Oh, But what does it all mean Hidalgo?
Are we to fly in the face of the North Wind forever?

My mind has gone blank at the question.
Stranger still, the story perceived in prescient anticipation of the exact mentioned query once expounded upon spanning millions of miles of eloquent esoteric linguini, wit and charm with a dash of philosophic consequence, to fool you (the eager) into belief.

What is belief Hidalgo, but the suspension of reality, for an adept deeper world of unseen truth?

Do we see reality at all my friend? It is already shaped by our perceptions, responds to our expectations, nay we have not a clue, perhaps the arcane texts written by the hobo scholars of old hold the answer, so yet we settle on the material and fixate it as the lone clear star in an otherwise dark and cloudy sky. Mysteries abound behind the cosmos. Even when we look, do we really see, or are we as an insect upon the written page, crawling over the plain meaning? Is our capacity to hear underwhelmed by our propensity to listen? All these senses must count for something, for God is in a blade of grass, is he not, felt by the trodden hoof of the foot.

You’re a clever mad man Hidalgo.

Ay, the penultimate creator, singing in a sea of song, shining in a wave of light, lost in a dance of fractals, we are all the same rascal, blind though we are to the portrait of man, always creating, same as my neighbor, weaving dreams into Technicolor realities to beam into a future unknown. Our descendants watching us as reality television, mocking our fallibility, or perhaps empathizing and learning through telescopes strong enough to win a foot race with the sun; flying around the bend of space time and back.

The birds of the island are calm today; think they favor a slumbering respite from the noonday heat?

Mayhaps we’ll take a stroll across the columnous muddy bed, risking grey clay mummified suffocation; I dreamt as such. Yesterday’s storms make the journey perilous. My own thoughts leak from the grandiose ether and compel me to genius, the condition of the interminably insane or divine.

My bare feet tread the good earth, the 3rd density, in a daily attempt to stay grounded, however my mind is always floating, receiving transmitted whispers. Sanctified secret musings of the muse. Scribbled poetry of another dimension, meaningless to the materially minded, yet wholesome for the moment. Like a thunderstorm whose power is plain, yet unheard and unseen as the forest falling with a tree. Where do the tree and the forest begin? Are they the same root? Like my thoughts from a universal mind, the zeitgeist of an all-encompassing mood, a social memory complex.

The sophists will claim you are dodging responsibility. These tangents serve only to feed your egoic mind, but put no food in your belly nor rent in another’s hand.

Ay, but its creation all the same.
A tirade of compulsions. The ringing of the hill grows, the natural chorus of bugly unison screaming its existence into the manifold, manifesting itself to the initiate.

For what are they asking, could it be peace?

Ha Ha! Those shrill like cries wound the ears of the prideful dog, but are contained in the silences of the infinite potential all the same.

A man may change one hundred lives in a day, and earn no material currency for his unasked effort. Therefore, who is trivial? I change the wind by simply being, its current flows over me and the endless blades alike.

Vibratory love, what is that feeling, the realest phenomena of all?

Bliss in its own awareness, reveling in self-revelation, actualization, the knowingness of the child who still sees the spirit existing in each of the physical realm’s shadows. The taste of the foul and pure passing without judgment to the innocent tongue. A simple being secure with the wisdom of the wise. Does the power come from you or the hill, inspiring motions, accounting on the page symbolically. Break it down further. Dissolve. ******* into nothingness.

What is cheating Hidalgo?

Is the ant called to my arm by its own volition, how did it find me here on this patch of earth formed into mound by ancestors buried below.

Opening up all channels now.

Death locks the door with life’s key.

Should I let him crawl over me repeatedly?

Ten words to speak before the coming of the night.

Creative Destruction
Awake from the trance
Guns and Bullets
Shoot from our hands
Teller of Tales
Faint whisperer
Of sordid man’s
Hallucinatory waking
Follow the Beam
Follow the beam
The world before this world
Secrets unseen
My best thoughts come
As I lie suspended awake in sleep
Before sleep
No troubles
The curse runs blood deep
He closes the book but still speaks in rhyme
The riddle draws madness
The tongue laps up the fire
Drawn from self same wells
Will and Desire
Pruning and Preening
Political Beasts are we
Lost in our notions
I find, I keep
Braggadocioc Players
Upon the Worldly stage
Every person has the story
Only what is real?
What is fate?
So I lift my hat
To another year born true
A quarter century passed
Play the tune


Am I awaken by words from another man’s sleep?
What is the source of the tetradactyl nature?
My hexagonal heap
Of flesh and bones
Earth and dust
Brought together again by unending sound vibrating ceaselessly
I sleep but am not rested
Eat but am never full
The piper plays among the sand
Whirling in the heart of the caged word
If I keep my eyes fixated on a point, in actuality my vision expands and visualizes all

Reputationally speaking,
I am an ant, with male pattern baldness
We forget to chuckle at life’s absurdities, just as we pass by flowers without engaging the fragrance.


Rest your head with the hillside now
Restless wanderer of fantastical dreams

Treading water silently until our legs melt
Just as the weary albatross cries its last song over the harbor or the butterfly ***** its freckled wings, so too will we see the setting of the sun and a coming of the new dawn. If the chalk works carved in the abandoned sidewalk are to be believed, so must we girdle ourselves for the coming tides and lift our spirits once more for the ebb and flow of circumstance. The bike rides in the gutter all the same, and the forgotten cemetery stone stands as testament to the age gone by.

There is form Here
Form, chance, life
Might I leave it for the after?
Might I trade for the steady?
Shall I walk the roads of eternity,
Forever calm in memory?
Shall I make myself malleable,
Finitely changing upon the whistle of whim?
Mayhaps I should linger Here
And feel the dread of existentialism
And wonder forever more.
Mayhaps I should search for an answer
Beyond the void of eternity
Beyond the vertigo of life.
And wonder I will as I wander
Into the future ever yonder
Searching for meaning
Reaching for sense
And may I find knowledge
That I might lay it to rest Here
Where we have all begun
Where we might all end.

( this poem can be read like its feather shape or horizontally to and fro )










              I
             go
             to fly                                                                                        so that I believe    
             so light                                                                           above
             with treads                                                          its plumes
               as wispy as the                                        so unruly shed                                                
                  feathers I collect along              an angel feathered
                        path cloven with grass    and mused mayhaps
                           autumn starts early for those angels

From all I've done and all I've said
let them not seek to find who I've been.
An obstacle stood and transformed
my acts and way of my life.
An obstacle stood and stopped me
many a time as I was going to speak.
My most unobserved acts,
and my writitings the most covered --
thence only they will feel me.
But mayhaps it is not worth to spend
this much care and this much effort to know me.
For -- in the more perfect society --
someone else like me created
will certainly appear and freely act.

And can you believe,
The horrible glee
With which his lips licked.
Dreaming-- carcass picked,

Reveling wholly.
Dismissing Holy
Enlightened beings,
Sinking in Needing.

Black black smack, alack!
I'm a crack-gack hack!
Or, mayhaps, I'm not?
Or, perhaps, just caught,

In nauseous verde waves
Of fanciful raves--
Rants all entertained--
I say makes me drained.

Baudelaire's half-baked,
Chatterton-- cracked
Morally, sorely
Standing half-poorly

But standing up still,
Avoiding the thrill
Of desert mirage,
It's poison barrage!

darling, how are you today?
i'm months into my first heartbreak
and i wonder if you're the same.
mayhaps our souls haven't crossed yet
and your eyes haven't experienced
the first touch of color
if we look at each other,
or how the red string of fate
grows shorter and shorter
as we wade into a thousand years
brought about by
our constant reincarnations.
i would wait a hundred lifetimes,
swim through a sea of heartbreaks
(like now),
go through a life where
you don't exist,
or you drive a knife to my chest,
if it means there exists such a thing—
where there is even just a single timeline
where i get to touch your lips with my fingers
and hold you in my arms as you sleep soundly,
as our hearts beat closer and closer.

Dogfish thunderheads whisper in Seagrove skies
after a dinner of Shiraz and shrimp with peppercorn skids
that filled me warm and these clouds echoing
in the water seem dark without the children
and their crab lights searching the shores
the foam crests roar upon day burnt toes
and I sit and I watch and I write
these words in a strained attempt to capture
Dads margarita redness and Moms new haven beauty.

Sister and I observe on this, mayhaps last trip
as a family lacking a bay, but we are full joyed:
we are contented in sandy sheets.
We are one, for this week, whole
and it is good.
Lord, it is good.

On Jordan's stormy banks we stand
Through the love of God our savior all will be well.

Ah, to be a little frog.

Allow me to hide amongst 'your' belongings.

Under the cushions of your swing set, upon your screen door, mayhaps even in your outside rainboots.

You may shoo me away at once, if you must. I will be back.

Ah, to be a little frog.

I think i shall hop away now.

Toodaloo.

Until next time.

The first time a pigeon lands on your head you WILL have conflicting feelings. These consist of, "this is a magical experience" and "please don't **** on me".

But if you stay calm, interested, determined, and lucky you may build a beautiful relationship.

Mayhaps on the chance, you did get pooped on. A torturous smear on your shirt is a valuable resource to a 17th-century European farmer. It is up to you decide if you want to be that farmer.

And lastly, if two parties of the columbiform do agree to the terms and conditions, they can form a lasting relationship.

That is what I hope to have done with you, my pigeon.
Yours Truly,
~Squab

A Terran, a Musician, and a Human walk into a bar and begin to converse in their unique animated fashions.  The Terran told colorful, heavily gestured stories of just how vast, vivid, and desolate, the world can be with adventurous direction and a little bit of luck.  The Musician listened intently and shared personal records of revolving themes and repetitive transcendence.  For Musician, it is simply a twist of perspective.  Then followed a volley of indiscriminate compliments between Human and Terran as Musician earned a few donations of an open microphone on this Friday afternoon.  When Musician returned with concerns of quality and substance, the enlightened friends had both agreed that the rehearsal was finely tuned, impeccable, even.  
     Shy and humming, Human was slightly disconcerting to their boisterous Terran and had to ask about those interests and talents that had not been discussed yet.  Human's eyes froze in small expansion though Musician concurred, compliments are fine but withholding one's self is an insult and a crime to all three beings in such a warmed gathering.  Human began with a facile face, then addled, as if a place to start had muddied underneath solid progressive counterparts.  At last, resolve returned with a solution to try at the open microphone first, mayhaps that would clear the meek performer's mind.  The invoked spirit of clarity overflowed beyond the stage as a silver silence engulfed the barroom.  Human's history was bursting of sky sharing resonant respiration once the song was sung from a place more real than truth.

****** *******.

Verily, thou art.

If thine own charms woulds't not deliquesce my pow'rs,
       mayhaps my quill
woulds't obey my

commands...

Yet ~ evermore ~ am I slave

to thy smirks

and provocations

...both vexations to me.


I turn 'round,
but come back

                       time again.

(Provoking my ire.)

Thou

                   knave.

    Rogue.

(****** *******.)

Thou've been a naughty swain.
Get thee to my rooms.

How just is justice?

little children are orphaned
Mothers lose their little ones
a jury is asked to give verdict.
Prove
beyond reasonable doubt.
Not even a hint of uncertainty.
An aggressive defense,
the guilty made a victim ;
Framing, hearsay, lies.
the snake will stoop so low
Perjury without a fear.
Taking away mercy.
Laughing at the easy win
Mocking the legal system.
At most ten years,
mayhaps less for good
Behavior, a pat on the back.

you are tethered here now
by just a few threads
gossamer thin
that flex and strain with
each laboured breathe

soon  the last of  them
will  fray and break
and you will be free
to float away

to see and enjoy
new vistas
to be
unencumbered
by that, that drew
you down into the dark

then untethered
you will fly to the heavens
like a bird, small against
the blue, blue sky

or perhaps more akin
to a dandelion seed
be taken by a gust of wind
to a new environ
mayhaps, a cliff top
by a shining blue sea
and there to take seed
and grow again and again
whilst the sea kisses the sand

Cakes Cookies Croissant
apple fritters
pie
so many choices
frosted or not
mayhaps sprinkles
ahh the calorie laden
sons of *******
Each bite
another nail
in your double wide coffin
accursed gods
wheat thins for everyone.

barely it was swaying terrifically in cotton wind of sharp niggling wafers that flummox specially the growling infant sea, this lake, where i am by and satting with my soft particular femme who's metal slithers from her very roundest nostrils glinting rather unobtrusive and stubbornly silver. and jousting by in meager dollops college children blatantly. a basic scent of nonsense huddles on the 2's and 3's (or mayhaps more) they slant upon the dappled lazy soil reticent and uncouthly tread upon with flats little souls. their heads are fat with gullible churning knowledge. they farted from the dusted books. that stately chord of mugging music. that lays in bricks and mortared sighs. on the hillest of tops over looking the cordial bay.

It's cloudy, the ***** is hiding up there,
In her own starry grave, but I know
She's watching me as she has thousands before
And she'll die eons before we see her light go out,
I will never live to that day, though she'll watch me still
I wonder if she's seen my children thrive, watched them age?
In a way I never will, and she's laughing, I know, at time
At my frail mind addled by drug and drink
Will she coddle them? Will she coddle this love I hold?
Will she fight for or against me? Beg me to let go?
If she is not a guardian, she's a poor excuse for an enemy.
And I will always be, eyeing her
Cursing her stars while ever reaching towards them
Mayhaps a symbol of a man I lost. May be the throne I aspire to own
Across the sky from my own Orion,
Carved into my skin
Driving me home.

Heat waves and the summer is tangible.
Lazy days
Lazy guitar
Lazy daisy.

You are a daisy,
not mine,
not anyone's.
You belong to sappy heat,
you belong to the Yuba River.

And perhaps we intersect for a reason.
Perhaps our paths cross on a cosmic scale.
And perhaps not.

Laying in the sun,
not a worry in the area,
still, you never met a cooler ***.

And the heat is tangible,
naturally so are your fingers.
You hands were sticky with sweat
and I really didn't mind, I mean it.

I would never lie,
not to you,
not to my mother,
not to god.

Well, mayhaps I would lie to god.
After all, the heat is tangible.

arrowing words,
whispering lips,
shotgun words,
freudian slips,

words as weapons.
cutting delicate hearts.
****** syllables.
bruising brains.

what power we wield,
not ever knowing,
the cost.
less often gain,
more often at great cost.

but, for the moment
of retention,
between,
careless thinking
and hurtful speakings,
push the pause.
because,
the words that have slain.
mayhaps be the ones lodged
within your brain.

Can't you do anything right?
As a nation, my we, my act I made up,
as a mind, as bear
me, the big ol' teddy bear I became
when she wed me,
as she did… yes, she did

my awesome new creature, some how
lost all hope of wind
change, whistled away,
the courage departed at the first, estimation-

- interupture, bloats out, bic bubble,  popped in
- this stream to rewind the new mine, sparkfire
- mine, me, I whistled that very tune, go
that rock song about a river in Russia,---
not then, now, then

I got angry, a gift I gave, was rejected, my god,
wombed man, what must I do to know
as you know, knowing good and evil?
- where did I miss,
- I gave, oops, an iron.
- I called it a gift, but it was a common tool
- we needed in those early days of suits and ties.
But when I got angry, at the rejection, I slipped
into a schema, a modulation, in a wave… a point
- this was that point, ever once began with
Green satin sheets, a gift too
slippery,
not a point a foul, judged evil,
no good at all.

Knowing, if I do know, y'know
like what one
might know,
once, upon a taste,
slow chew, soft chew to taste, something
in this other tree
is new, new as any new shown thing
in this new polity
state, a new being, yes. this is it.

Make up a mind, or find one ready
made to take you in, and you cease
to be
you.

--------- later, we take up these qwerty codes
as in olden time

signals, modulation rhythmic silent letters
sounding
----
time and space, as the vehicle, the bubble,
we live in, or on, or as a part,
perhaps, of a we, awe-ish,
we function as a piece, in the whole idea
holy,
fill it, fill the hole, fill the empty, whither
nothing was and now,

I see, I am.
Where nothing was, I am, now
seeing as I am
where nothing was, am I as
nothing, open source
spirit, in a word, mayhaps,
may has always
been your way to go, we say
may be could be, no permission,
no mission maybe, go,
this is the message, the medium we be in.
Certain,
something is real, as real as any angelos,
as an os
developed to reach Lex Fridman, as an an-
swerving answer found
round that prickly little hedgehog facsimile
wink, past, flash glimpse
sense,
eh, bow, oops,
wow, I ran into the strong man in Iran
ascriptural blockage bear trap for lying spirits
Where Persia yoostabe, I managed to slip
through on a green sheet, that flipped
over time into an invitation, to a party
three weeks ago. Missed it.

Daniel's message read,
Excused. How could you cogitate the ways
time and chance twist the dance to seem
a tangle of possibilities, burnt satin
ash of things that never mattered, spirits
unprecipitated, Red Spot, Ted Talk, chalk
it up to another Warholian pro-phecy
or pro- fessing fident confi dense ity, we
inspire con-spiritstory-aspirations, toward awes.
as we beingspirits, at most, we make wind in the
bubble, we heirs of breath y nada mas,
we breathe meaning, even, average, virtue, which is
virtually an idle word in many tongues, virtue is
"moral {moral, really, what is that?
-AI says they may use the same tool,
-in an ever where chess is infinitely played, let them learn}
Lex's AI reads Hello Poet- tryal
-link, link, think, reader, first reader, mora-
more more more or, no, now define,
- the point-
show
strength,
high character,
goodness;
manliness;
valor, bravery,
courage (in war{LIE, I cry, war, morally, repulsive,
I talk back to war as my moral use of courazonic
minds erupt in matters consci-ence
weighing the worthy breath
versus the empty breath});
excellence, worth,"
from vir "man" (from PIE root *wi-ro- "man").

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=virtue&ref=searchbar_searchhint>

Wierdo, dam, vvery wary are we, mere winds in minds
that never matter, participate - no price, appraise
an angel, a message, nada mas participate in
precipitation, frost warmed forms morning dew
drops, and those, flow after,
dropping plop, into this river of no returns,
royal flush. Try to or try et?
Po-et-ry…,
like Whiskey and Rye, why must something
hold the spirit of that thing
to taste a worth of trying again,
and try… in order
Think; I think, commas mean breathe, and ; these
are winks. I betcha, what Jesus would do, were you
to ask him, what is real, as real as any jibril jargon,
he would grammarwise as alwise, use a sign;
like that, quicken,
a wink, a thought cast to ever, after, as the games
expand, who wins, Al ai ai, bet on i-,
ante-up, you work the odds.

You think we think
winning is a numbers game, lots cast to exchange
worth of my time, packeted, as
words, mere breaths we may refine to mean
truth trumps love, as rock breaks scissors,
and we laugh, due to winning
requiring laughing
as the healing begins anew,
we live and breathe this spiring material,
eh, mater
mmma ma material matters of time and chance,
prayers are
living stories, packed in lines. Use of knowing,
learning how, conscientious, with sci use, be knowing
next-ifity acts as if
neti, neti is not an honest answer, it can be honed
to pierce the acting reality,
and leave us blowing in the wind.
To all in the good fight, I offer knowing
reproves instructions in war being wrong, not evil,
only not right.
War does no good, any polity it makes acts as
a destroying wind, with no mind of venging,
only raging, sound and fury,

and at the point of no hope, I think
I am and
still, after all
listing as a warming breeze, I make a joy
mmm and imagine
I enjoy you being, still, receiving grace,
gentle wisdom, nothing hidden, nothing broken
freedom defined as peace, shalom
taken as
bold liberty, no price, for truth, once known
remains
within the bubble we live and breathe in. You know.
When the battle was over,

the thought of war was blown away, we do that,
every day,
in certain conversations, as we pack parts and pieces
------------------------------

Ghost guns, spirit blades, hand to hand hand grenades,
not carnal, these cut and seal the deal.
Mortal being, live for ever, in a word, or many,
as many as survive the womb to die before
death, the second, as they count,
may hap occur once again, missed points,
that pierce the wrong lonely heart
and expose the image
on a single nanoparticle of silver
gleaming golden in the light.

-Slightly sadistic 17-year-old girl seeks suitable mate
Re: matters of dystopic fantasties
- A cannibalistic companion, mayhaps
to soothe lingering curiosities held captive by the bright red and steady rhythm of dripping blood
Disclaimer: this advertisement (pronounced ad-vur-tiz-ment) is not a cry for help - but next week's definitely will be
"Hi, I'm not usually like this, I haven't really done this sort of thing before, but..."
thinking to self I would like to carefully extract your organs and construct a small fortress out of them. I would like to staple your mouth to my mouth. I would-
"Oh, what? No, I didn't say anything."
- I'm imagining you as more of a shadow, all tangible beings seem bleak to me - but could you still hold my hand???
"Yes, it's lovely outside. Beautiful weather."
- But when we venture outside its proven that our eyes are much too sensitive for the light and inside beckons as much cooler and safer, inside of me is dangerous - and inside of you is an inferno



(Please set me on fire)

it's all
up in my head
all  these disparate threads

all these under the bedclothes
secrets
all these don't mean to be
but am what i am moments

all stuffed away in stacked suitcases
braced by not sure what you ,mean faces
all those sacred and scared places
within this wearied, wary and weirdly  warped soul

all the tattered scraps, the you are here, maps
the body slaps, the landings without *****
the god i need a nap snaps
all stacked racked and filed under
memories:
vivid, hazy, pleasant,pissant, piquant,
crazy, tearful, fearful, beerfull
and happy, sad glad mad,
**** why did i follow that there fad
bad...badass
fragile as glass
pain in the proverbial...
ask no questions ....
tell no lies
time flies....

all there bats in the belfry
cats in there pj's
no where, mayhaps be free
listening to internal dj's

dancing til dizzy
drinking slightly fizzy
alcohol.... misty tizzies,
getting bizzies...

all there, in a mixed up soup
smiling faces, put through paces
thoughtful moments, all the components
to make a life....to make a life
it's all up in my head.........
                                                roosting

I want to write about being crushed
Like something sat down on my chest
No one will ever read this
But I have to let this out

When I am around people I am happy
Because I love them
I want them not to worry
Please don't leave me alone

I am alone now....
Rather than one heart break that will heal
I have a perpetually breaking heart

Maybe there is nothing sitting on me
Maybe my chest collapsed
Someone probably beat me to death
That would be lovely
Death by blunt object to the lungs
Baseball bat mayhaps?

Depression is a crushing thing
Devastating
Irrational
Fleeting
It comes to stay a few days or a week
Then leaves much later than intended

Please don't leave me
I don't want to be alone
This silence stifles my thoughts
The emptiness causes my tearducts to weep

At night I slumber
Wishing to be held
Maybe, there's that word again, maybe someday
If I am very lucky

This sadness that crushes will fade I know
But each and every time
It takes longer to go

Here's the thing,  and I get it, right?  
The stigma behind allowing my child to meet those
Whom I'm seeing.
But truthfully,
I've never fully understood why
There is an insistence on judgment
With how I choose to raise
My own seedling

And furthermore why invest
Time into something that
Doesn't vibe, with your mom-life
Why hide?
I want her to see, what love is
What it means to give
What it means to hurt

And mayhaps
It's not fair to expose
Her to the truths of the human experience
I haven't shown her anything
I wouldn't have wanted myself
To see from her eyes
I shelter the parts that are dear
Children should be just that
While they are, after everything is said
And I've witnessed enough for both of us
In my own time

But to show her that brand of happiness
That comes from something maybe
Her father never might be able
To access.

That takes true courage.

Interestingly enough

(I miss you)

Mayhaps love
Is not the
Solution to all the problems in the world but the,
Specific cause, creating a problematic

(I miss you)

Yearning of the soul that creates issues as dark as
Obsidian, or could it be that love will never be
Understood

I miss you

if i
     could still dream
without thinking of them

if i could recall
      my nightmares
in anything a't'all__
.if i could feel less

       i absolutely would

but ev'r'mornin
doth i recall
the mirror and our
youngest faces


the **** goes off
          the shot goes off

if i had but a single dream
reflected on the television screen--
mayhaps eight i was.

    the explosions i cannot recall
but the dreams remain  the the the

towers fall.

              would that i could
               evacuate this path


              how can i be anything?

I wish you wellish
or I don't actively
wish you harm
I have my reasons
there good in my eyes
mayhaps i'm wrong
but either way
you needn't worry
I would never hurt you
in a way the courts could prove.

What The ****
Nature is weird
The order of it
Seems like madness
Perhaps order is false
Perhaps there is only chaos
Mayhaps I'm simply rambling.

a dream--
a nightmare:
a trip by the campfire
a castle by the bridge.

a scream
a cry
a fleetle of flies.
& mayhaps a mellow
of peace belies.

if nightmares,
if dreams,
could thus divine--
if could remove i
a snake from my eye--

i still believe.
i still cannot lie.

eminently lickable
possibly crunchable
with a tootsie roll center
mayhaps
you my friend are slim
with let's be honest
kind of a big head
you are unhealthy
if only to a minor degree
you make me think
of Dr Freud.

I am strange
To this I know
But I am not as deranged
As most would think so
I scream, I laugh, I cry and shed tears
I have my hopes, I have my fears
But we cry for different things, you and I
Different in laughter, sobs, and meanings of goodbye
Different of skin mayhaps, but that matters not
Different of opinion and the hatred it's wrought
Different personalities that sometimes collide
Different families that care and provide
But aside from the estranged difference between you and me
We are both a part of humanity
And if you are so mighty to decree
The insanity in me
Then you're a madman as well for not letting me be

The Life essentials as told by the dead
Mention Love above all
Alluding to connections missed, mayhaps it all means more to the dead
Love, a rouge virus banging on the walls of your head
Baggage sold to the dumb or poor
A capital offense with or without the bed

Making love but shoulda been a celebrated man
Whispering "I love you"
But shoulda plead the 5th instead

And here we go, once again
Date to date
Hand in hand
Until we leave or end up dead
Singing 'Darrin in a speeding corvette
Dating, married, or dead
Married to the marriage
Essentially, dead