Through dreary windshield and tired eyes
I let you in to my path, paved and distraught
Only to find you now ahead of me, just as expected
It would seem that no good deed goes unpunished
But is this unfair
Or just the natural order of the world?

Days fade .... lonely nights without a single star.
I stare at the ceiling sharpening my blade
and waiting in the dark..
You murdered my mind and took my love.
You'll believe my hands are tied, well I promise YOU
Father I'll take back what's mine.

You are a book without it's ink
I cry and cry pleading for someone
that could make me whole but I suppose
its not enough to make you think.

Fake smiles and hollow words is all you taught me daddy..
can't you see you have paved a road that's morbid and saddening?

Blow out my smile do it for the broken and the vile..
***** the flame as your love decays.

Your eyes are so demeaning
I have to pretend that I'm blind
to keep myself from seeing.
Don't do this dear Father your'e meant to be my Martyr.

Life without purpose
death without meaning
is this the life we have chosen
one without feeling?

I wait for the day the day when you see what you have sold....
WHEN MY HEART STOPS BEATING AND MY HANDS TURN COLD.....

I’m not a botanist,
or an avid gardener.

The horto I culture consists of two pots,
sits on a narrow sill
and soaks in its one-hour slit of sunshine.

This makes me unfit
to label much less
fathom the encroaching
sublime, which sprouts,
shoots, creeps, clings and endures
from far reaches beyond me.

It has spines
supple and rigid,
skins coarse, spiked, and silky,
quivering tips that are spidery,
and bunched as small dollops,
jagged teardrops and jigsaw puzzle pieces.

I’m not a botanist,
but if I were
I should still be struck dumb
by these numbing instances
a protesting tongue
insists it won’t box up
such greenery with the genial trappings
of a scientific classification,
or even the oddly
folksy catch-all “****.”

I can’t always tell what’s a ****, what not.

l know those greedy
intruders growing at the heart
of a meticulously turned earth
to spoil the well-ordered
plots of a barely adequate vocabulary.

It gets more complicated
with the thrilling misfits
and their sturdier notions
of choking life from inhospitable beds
poured and paved
to the detriment of meeker plantings.

Yesterday I met the peeks of ten
woody red stems poking through
a patch of chunky white gravel
spread thick between two
steel rails that fled to a horizon.

I watched the breeze
shake their candelabra arms
dressed in sparse leaves
and denser seed-packed sleeves,
and they welcomed it.

I'm not a botanist
and I can’t name these plants,
but I can admit, I admired them.

Maybe "Singing in the Rain" was really first doing laundry in the rain
Easter downpour, as solid as any I remember in Brooklyn, sans lightening
Big droplets, teaspoon size, coming down in successive sheets
like a hall of mirrors or glistening water, reflected further and further through
the misty air, and it's not cold, either, not muggy like Brooklyn
the air doesn't stick to your skin, cling to your body and line your nose
but the ***** water from the industrial sky still splashes on concrete
scattered small boiling mist of filth, oil, the mess of civilization,
the foaming "hidden creek" froths out from a concrete pipe behind this place
running underneath the parking lot, paved over like the river underneath 125th street in NYC
And I haul out my laundry, dragging it first across the ***** carpeting, then down the concrete
stairs, past remains of dust and play and gum turned black
until I reach the empty laundry room because who in their right mind would
do laundry on Easter in the middle of the downpour?
And I am dressed for it in a tank top and short skirt and the ***** rain hits my skin,
invigorates me, and I rush through it, smiling, listening to the remains of the creek
a shower of ***** water from a freshly polluted sky and I know no Broadway
dance moves and there are not street lights to cling to, only the inner ecstasy of
violating convention, droplets of water all over my chest, legs, being and I wash my hands
in icy rainwater flowing over someone's balcony like a refreshing waterfall

from a hole in the bed I crawl
from a window in my head I watch
from a sill, life in green rushes by
from a quiet air I think
myself into pounding and ringing

from the grey walls I roam
from the bus stop I dream
there’s a reality I’ve tasted before
but never savored, so
from a chalice of happy I sip myself
into stupid oblivion

from a beautiful scape I watch
the anxious sun beat color across the sky
and feel no heat

from eyes I make sense of a way home
leaving pieces as I go,
the roads paved in passing time 

from stairs I climb
room to room
and I’m here

from the pit of pity I mount the ledge
just to fall back
into bed

- c

Lennon told me Paul was strawberry
George reminded me love trumps lord
Overboard overcome overwrought
Flower child fishtailed dovelike all aboard
Come together
Get yourself together
Soldered together
Like joint dance banners painted to promote teenage ******* to youth
Tied us into our best days ahead of us
Chained to our ***** we swung like gamers
Untied to our integrity
Wrecking wreaking havoc
Ballooned on hubris
Hemorrhaging ego unlocked spewing spite
I respect good works deeds above good intentions
Road paved with broken glass
Don’t respect me when I’m gone
Tell the folks it’s OK to sing along
Let’s spend the night together
Talk all night in the altogether
Rather gather in clover and heather
Happy Ringo’s nest a featherbed
Laying lady laid cunning linguist
‘xplain to me in chiefly straight talk
Who questions whom?

when mamma played house
behind the white picket and brown door
tears paved the way
small and unsure of the worlds
i watched with curiosity, never understanding
you speak love words
what you aim to be
what you believe to be possible
your actions speak to your footing
what you really can do
who you really are
oh how hope messed mamma up
some day the disappointment will leave my words
got my own broken , testing the science
no wish for playing house
freedom and love for me, Amen

All I can think about,
are those words you left downtown--
on the paved walkway where we frolicked.

I want to return there,
so those few words can be found--
I want to hear them roll off your tongue.

Slowly my brain will churn and think of a response,
a response that may be easy, or it may not--
and you thought I would have forgotten.

No way,
and someday--
we will go retrieve them.

I only write letters to you when the leaves change colors,
My mood starts to bend as the winter wind blows in.
The gardens are wilting but I'm steadily growing,
Rising higher as the sunset comes earlier.
Do you think the snow will come this year?
Will it feel like home used to?
Upwards on the map where winter is a battle between the sun and the moon;
Winds chill bones, rattle teeth, and shake hands.
Will the paved streets sparkle with ice as the midnight hour creeps across the sky?
Think of me when you sit by the bonfires
Friends will laugh along and music will dance in the smoke,
But will it still feel like fall without me there?

I have built a statue
A monument for old.
Your name engraved by hand
In bold, in brazen gold.

I have named a building
After the way you say 'We're free'.
With a plaque to tell the whole wide world
The life you've painted for me.

I have paved a winding road
And branded it for two.
With slopes and loops and bridges to the sky
I hope it leads me back to you.

I have created a universe that never was
In honour of you and me.
Uncharted, unmarked, it's up in my head.
Only for us to see.

Set your sights out west, my friend
And know that on your back
Will always rest the dawn. Follow not
These golden roads paved by fools
Where every toll asks payment from
The only treasure one would hate to lose.
Pull the reigns on your hurried pace, and
Sing to silence when it calls your name.

Paradise paved it's way onto Earth. Behind the southern Alps, beneath the flowing Caribbean, beyond the rainbow, over the silver clouds, life is constantly blooming within each water-laden monsoon sapling. Mere things breathe. They are alive and carefree, busy yet not artificial, beautiful and god-made, innocent and all-knowing. Nature heals her lovers. She starts a jungle on mind's wilderness until the observer forgets about foolish social existence. For nature, kindness is not a virtue to be congratulated about. It is her habit. Nature comforts, provides, enlightens and what folks do not realize - nature speaks. Every celebrated invention starts with a single thought. Again, it is about what lies in you. Every journey starts with a single step. It is just a decision away. Every material desire that people today work for has ancestors inside. Within one. Nature shapes your soul into the beauty that she is. What nature offers to teach is divine. She says wisdom. Not intellect. She teaches courage before bravery. She teaches one to admire before criticize. "Seek ye and ye shall find". Nature trains eyes to seek beauty. Seek beauty, hunt for beauty, find beauty and this world would be the most beautiful illusion ever. Watch how nature beautifully combines pleasure and trouble  through disaster. When beauty is within, beauty comes inevitably and effortlessly like magnet draws iron. You will rule your kingdom alone once Nature shows to you her impossible miracles and incredible wonders.
Paradise paved it's way onto Earth, into me. How beautiful the music behind my head sounds, how lucky I am for it never ceases to play the hypnotizing tunes of heavenly activity and earthly buzz, amid noise. When I thought I had no shoulder to cry on, the black black nights sat all along. When no smile felt pure enough, I saw happy faces among the clouds. When the battle in my head overcame the sound of the music my heart played, birds sang sweetly into my ears. When my senses felt dry, it rained cats and dogs. When I had to learn my lesson, nature pretended harsh.
Out of all these layers of rawness around my soul, I peep out, trying to tell you what took me some unbelievable experiences to realize. The solutions to all problems, nature holds. Nature nurtures like a protective mother and provides like a careful father.
Above all, she is the only one in whom I lost myself and discovered the lost me.

flow upon the paved stones
wear these antlers that glow-
    a rich mighty little patient
made your shtick- a burning oven
whose books are thrown into that yawn
who are you, so ancient?

breaking rituals
of ups and downs
encounters and separations
peacefully we roam streets
paved with hopes
they hide mud of distrust

in conflict with the wind
with the sun and the rain
we carry umbrellas
sunglasses
and wind jackets

always on alert
we walk
step by step
sometimes with our head down
quite unaware
and suddenly stand amazed
as if facing the abyss
just a step from loneliness

Lemmings living lusciously in tiny boxes all the same – splashes of color
the whirring buzz of a paved path lures them like fish to their shiny frames
drab claims to a cube – clickty clack,
guffaw guffaw goes the lemming in cube 102
cube 104 pounds and releases, click click click, whirring slides overwhelm the brain of the lemming.
Beep beep beep,
ring ring ring,
millions of delicate digital lemmings walking off cliffs
plummeting to their pasteurized expiration
glued to more tiny shiny brightly lit boxes wanting verbosity and novelty
superficial thoughts grasp until every little living lemming wanders into the last chest,
the box made of satin, and silk, hammered shut and dropped into a rectangle mounded with dirt.
What comes next – nothing but more lemmings living in smaller boxes to their expiration dates

He was an old old man,
sitting in a chair,
older than he was,
he would sit in that old chair,
staring at the Corn Field,
maybe he saw something spectacular,
maybe God,
or an Angel,
he would take deep inhales,
as if they were his last,
making them count,
getting in one last victory,
the smell of his land,
the trees,
the animals,
the ski,
the planet,
but he never went,
he sat there,
rocking back and forth,
the farm was always quiet,
no visitors,
the rain came at times,
graying over the land,
which he didn't enjoy very much,
he'd close his big,
heavy wrinkled worn eyes,
and imagine running through the rain,
through the Corn Field,
as he did when he was young,
young and didn't think too much,
the Corn Field glowed,
like hot metal it glowed,
sometimes he never slept,
he'd just stay up for days,
Monklike,
no food,
no water,
no using the restroom,
almost stunned,
stunned by what?
I couldn't say for sure,
but his big green eyes,
were weighted on that Corn,
the rain would come,
and the house made a funny noise,
you could hear the birds,
chirping,
scattering looking for a dry place,
you could hear the road,
being drenched,
the hard rain drops,
smacking against the old paved road,
getting so loud,
only a hum came about,
emerging across the hill like a silent marching band,
or a group of lost holy men,
chanting humming something of significance,
but the sound of the rain drops,
tapping the leaves of the Corn,
that,
he could hear intently,
with this he'd softly press his aged lips together,
close his eyes,
and inhale,
suggesting to Death, or God,
that this moment,
is perfect for me to go,
but the rain was still to be watched by him,
the *** holes in the road,
filled like the palms of a child,
as it rained,
was to be heard by him,
he was okay with this,
he was okay with the duty he had,
to keep record,
of the beauty,
he had heard,
weeks would pass,
before seeing a truck,
a lonely old steel car,
or even the zig zagging hum of a fertilizing air plane,
he felt at times he wasn't even on Earth,
the he had died,
last harvest,
when the rain never came,
and the corn dried up,
and crumbled over on itself,
but he had food,
cans and cans of beans,
which he lived off of for a year,
but the corn had come back,
and he sat in the chair,
with wonderful eyes.

Part I:

You broke me once,
and then twice,
and then three times,
But then I lost count.

I can remember sweet kisses you gave to me,
On swollen lips.
Tears that rolled down my purple cheek.
And the prayers I sent to God,
That went unanswered.

I remember the words "no" and "stop".
Feelings of no control.
I can still feel your warm breath,
Hovering over my exposed, naked body.

I can still remember that moment.
When I could feel everything.
Everywhere.
And it hurt.

Unbearable, excruciating pain.
It built walls to keep you out.
But you're still here.
In my head.
In my home.
In my bed.

Sometimes, I see your shadow,
Watching me get undressed.
Intruding my dreams as I sleep,
Torturing me endlessly.

Sometimes, I wake to your voice,
Telling me to love you,
And that you love me,
And you would never hurt me,
We are the perfect soulmates.
But, I still feel my spine cold on the floor,
Colored in black and blue,
And it loves you too.

I feel your sweaty body,
Draining all the life inside of me.
I used to dance and sing.
I used to laugh uncontrollably,
I used to be free.

My body is shattered,
Broken and battered.
Useless and unlovable.
Disgusting trash.

Part II:

Where is my body?
Where is my mind?

What am I missing?
What am I feeling?

Am I alive?

Why did you hurt me?
Gaslight and manipulate me?

I was a child.
You made me bleed.
I was inebriated.
You took advantage of me.
Buried me and everything I wanted to be.

Stop standing there.
Stop following me.
How ******* dare you?
Just leave me be.

I don't deserve this.
You shouldn't be here.
I need to leave.
Please don't follow me.

Part III:

I was bound to you by my silence
Even miles apart,
You silenced me once again,
When I needed to sing my truth.

So much excruciating pain.
I had to crawl out of that grave.
You screamed profanities in my brain.
And I still paved my way.

I sang my truth.
You ***** me.
You abused me.
And so did he.
And now I'm setting myself free.

There are some pro wrestlers
Who always have to get all their **** in
There are people who expect things from them
And they give those things to those people
But for the rest of us
The match becomes predictable
As we await their signature moves

Which is why I think we need more wrestlers like Chris Jericho
He never had to get all his **** in
He served the story
Not his glory
He displayed the petulance of man
And showed us how we can say the right things
In the wrong way

Yes, we need more wrestlers like Chris Jericho
Someone who can host a talk show or headline Wrestlemania
Someone who can be comedic or vicious
We need people who understand the importance of looking foolish
As well as the obligation to maintain an edge
And people who can mentor the rookies
While hanging with the veterans

Yes, wrestling needs more people like Chris Jericho
People who don't depend on wrestling
He makes music
And has a podcast
Avenues being paved
For the crossroads many wrestlers face
Between business, art, physicality, and mentality
Where the road being left behind is physicality
It is hard to watch people hang on for the business

Yes, the world needs more people like Chris Jericho
He never cured a disease
Neither did he make one
He's a performer who creates
He creates for the benefit of himself and others
He's not a wrestler who has to get all his **** in
He understands signature moves can become crutches
On the path to a boring finisher

Tell me a story, traveller,

of unwalked roads you walked alone
beneath the blue and sunlit sky,
paved with earth or cobblestone
and straying clouds that wander by.

of strange lands and stranger folks
and strange songs they sang with you,
in strange tongues they call their home,
that, in your dreams, was somewhere new.

of temporary loves you loved,
then set your broken lovers free,
and healed your broken, heartless soul
beneath the starry sky and sea.

of darkened woods and foreign sound
that haunt the night-time every night.
of moons that follow footsteps quiet
and stars that watch in silent light.

of stormy nights and thunderclouds
that failed to bring your childish fears,
and drowning rain that drowned the winds
and brought you melancholic tears.

of snowy golden sunsets high
on mountain sides, ragged and old
and tears of wonder, tears of joy,
love of stories left untold.

of rivers running swiftly by
your resting sleep ere break of day.
of twilights that blanket the sky
and sweep the orange clouds away.

of lost lanterns and memories
and aimless wandering in the night.
of faraway towns of scattered starry
homes so warm and hearts so bright.

of lone camp-fires’ dancing songs
and lonely faded quiet applause.
of longing and of selfish pain,
of losing love and loving loss.

Tell me a story, traveller,
of reminiscing in grateful shade,
and of your final travel home
before your loving memories fade.

I got fired last night, the devil tryna take my life.
I think I'm going back to Christ.
Cuz the ******* stealing my thoughts.
So I just purchased a cross, from Ross.
Cuz remember I got fired.
Spent the next severely weeks tryna get hired.
Success is what I desire.
Everyday wake up tired and exhausted.
My soul is busted.
My soul is like a combustion.
Forget about my homies man, I found out I couldn't trust them.
Asked for a place to stay, they asked if I'm selling my J's away.
Until this day, ain't nothing the same.
Lord I get it.
You break a man down, so he knows to stay.
Jesus been paved the way.

did you ride a dirt road to work today?
no, your tires glided across
the pock marked *** holed streets that are paved
and if you feel that you bought the cement, asphalt, and tar
then I guess we all owe you a round of applause
because you did this all by yourself no help right
can you eat a sandwich while waiting for the bread to rise?
or maybe your parents and mine grandparents and the like
paid a fair adjusted tax rate so we could have these streets and lights
the hospitals to heal and schools to educate
filled with people who work jobs you didn't create
and the socialist programs that make you so sad
have you been to a socialist country? we don't have it so bad

it's not fair you scream
the redistribution of wealth you haven't earned
that's their problem why are you so concerned
have you elevated your status and YTD to a quarter of a mil
or are you just like the rest of us just crawling uphill
there’s not a single person you know that sits on the Forbes' list
and if there is then this question might make you ******
did you do all you could for the greater good
or did you focus your off shore funds on your laurel resting brood?
is your deductible charity limited to the parish of your choice?
it's not like the whole world should be privy to your voice
if you read these words and think loaded with liberal bias
opinion is within our rights but maybe you might just
review these criticisms and see if they apply to the life that you lead
would you still co sign or even agree with the grand ole party

The path to hell
They say it is paved with good intentions
I was never quite sure what it meant
Or who they were
But it felt right
So I did not question it
And walked on

Words are a funny thing
Things so similar in composition
So different in reality
Like ******
And heroine
One a dark hole threatening to destroy a life
The other a strong woman waiting to save you

They said the path to hell is paved with good intentions
So I let her try to help
I thought she meant well
It certainly seemed that way at first
But her presence was a poison, weakening me subtly
Destroying all of my independent strength
Making me reliant on her

******, heroine
Only one letter different
But by definition, they are worlds apart
Or so I thought
In my naivete
Life has taught me otherwise
I know things now

At least with ******, you know what you are getting into
It doesn't have a pretty facade
An alluring smile
It is a type of hell
But an honest one
One that if you commit to, you do in full knowledge
Unlike the heroine that killed me

Because **** me she did
Someone I saw as a hero at first
Turned into a villain
By the fault of nobody
Simple circumstance destroying all
The path to hell is paved with good intentions
And you can get there via ******, or heroine

Choke on the venom in your throat,
that burned away my care for you.
I toss away your words I wrote
that colored in a gracious hue.
All this time I stood by your side,
and defended you from bad words
that others quickly have supplied,
and replaced with great songs of birds.
So foolish in my thoughts of bliss,
that paved way for your mass abuse.
Nights I prayed for you to see this;
Instead you gave words that ******.
Another has received my sight,
one who will help me forget you.
when her image closes my night,
you're gone; with all the pain you drew.
In time I hope what drills your skull,
is how you lost me in this way.
Friendship found and revived, now dull,
brought about with want to betray..

In wine is truth, but truth is sometimes hurtful.
If I hurt you, I never meant it so.
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions,
and what's said can't be unsaid - this I know.

It's best to tell the truth and shame the Devil.
What might have happened is non-history.
So seize the moment, say what needed saying.
In wine is truth,
     and the truth shall set you free.

Dolly, Dolly, Dolly
you made the headlines again
Dolly, Dolly, Dolly
what would we do
without you?
Dolly, Dolly, Dolly
the paragon of generations
the backbone of industry
Dolly, Dolly, Dolly
you paved the way
and let us build so much
trapped as we were
in the cycle of birth and death
as life begets life
but now we’ve got you
Dolly, Dolly, Dolly
progress no longer bound by life
Dolly, Dolly, Dolly
that’s the name we gave you
the mother of multitudes
Dolly, Dolly, Dolly
praise to you who killed death!
and you who outmoded birth!
Dolly, Dolly, Dolly
never able to comprehend
what we gained from your life
oh, all the familiar faces!
of all the cows in the fields
of all the pigs in their pens
of all the people on the street
the solidarity is striking!
and it’s all thanks to you
Dolly, Dolly, Dolly

Its annoyance
Anointed
In pessimistic clairvoyance

Its the avoidance
Of the simplistic
And stoical
Components

Its motion
Less
Ness
In oceans
Of lip service

Its ***** potions
For the passionate

Its fake ****
And face lifts

Its abortions
In portions
Of subordinates
As gifts
In gifs
Of gorgeous
Ordinance
Distorted
In tortured
Tapping
Of the dead

Its all the fame
In shoving
The pain
Of loving
In the oven
Of stubborn
Mothers
Blubbering
Under the covers
With other men

Its the omens
Of the oh mans
In roman
Misnomers
Of fortunate
Misfortunes
Torn
From time

Its the mine mine mines
Confined
To their own kind
Pre signed
In old blood

Its consignment killers

Its the drugs

Its timeless thrillers

Its the shrugs

Its the thunder
Plundering
Structures
Rattling out
From under the bed

Its all the thoughts
In our heads
Blaring
The booms
Of the tamed

Its the assumed
The restrained

Its this tomb
Of shame
In doing
The same
Old **** again

And again
Its been
Better

Then again
I grin
When
Cold

Its when i should fold
That i embolden

Its all the No's

Its blankets nose

Its the cut blow
And lack of flow

Its fists and elbows
As opposed
To safety locks

Its ******* flu shots

Its everything
That ****** me off

Its the the stupid robots
And the silly riot cops
Fencing in the famished flocks

Its the *****
And the *****
In plastic boxes
Giving rocks
Off
Without us

Its the gold pots
And stacked stocks
Locked
From us

Its the Rocks
Inside my socks
As they knock
The blocks
Of billy bobs
Bobbling
On the dash

Its the harsh
And its the rash

Its inside the last
Bastion
Of dummassez
passing
Through the
Blast radius.

Alas

Its the mass graves
And the paved pools
Of anyone who knew
Anyone who stood

Its all us fools
As cool kids
Knowing
No show biz
In soul ****

Its in knowing this
And *******
And barking
At the moon
Soon
To swoon
None

I am peaking soon
In looming threat
Of lost concepts
Slipping away
Under the sun
Electing to quit
While im ahead
Way back when
It was fun
Way back when

It mattered

Its a gun
Shooting blather
Blathering
As a bladder
Would

Misanthropic
And misunderstood

A changed topic

Knock on wood

Bye is good

Goodbye

Told you

Its implied
In rite

So

Good
night
Until
next
time