Dearest friend, parent, lover
Whoever might be reading this
I'm sorry i couldn't stay strong.
I'm sorry i couldn't stand it anymore
It's not anyones fault, i just wasn't meant to be here.
Just like those flowers that never bloom. They just grow and starts hanging a bit, then dies.

Dear younger siblings.
Don't look up to me, look up to people like daddy or momma, they're happy, i weren't. One life lesson i've learnt is that happiness doesn't come without courage, but with too much courage you'll get tired and let go when you finally get there, and you'll end back where you started.

Dear older "sister"
You know who you are and you're probably reading this right now, smiling at how i mention you as my sister. You're the best person to ever be in my life, and even though you told me a couple of years ago that you were lesbian i never rethought the meaning of your hugs, cause i know we're sisters.
If it wasn't for you i would have done this a lot earlier so thank you.

Dear parents.
Don't cry, i'm not worth your beautiful tears..  I have nothing more to say than i know you lost me, but don't lose courage.

Dear best friend.
Thank you for always being there.
Thank you for telling me that everything will be alright.. It just hurts me to say that you were wrong.. And i'm sorry cause i know this will bring you pain.. But i know you have some other. Nice friends who'd support you.

Dear stranger.
I'm sorry if i was goind to know you in my no longer exisisting future.. You're better off without me anyways..

Dear myself.
I'm sorry i can't hold on anymore, i know that you had your happy times, and that a lot of people longed for your life, but i couldn't stand it anymore..

Dear person
I'm sorry the voices became too much.
I'm sorry i ran out of place to make scars.. I'm sorry i couldn't stand this inner pain anymore.. Dear person.. I'm sorry.. Goodbye..

Thinking of Eve Seeing First the Shiny Thing
The subtile beast, she saw eating of the tree she was
told
would **** her
if she ate it and she believed,
if she even touched it, she would die,
though die was something of a mystery.
What, she thought, is happening here?

The shining serpent thing
is living and eating the fruit of knowing
some thing known to this thing,
unknown to me, this shining serpent can't speak, needn't, but 'tis a beguiling
creature,
a scoff-god swallowing forbidden fruit
as nothing happens. Not dead,
what ever that may be,
why should I? Curioser
and curiosum it says, with its eyes,
"you shall know, as God knows, you shall not
surely die".
(those Kachinas, I imagine dancing off in time,
singing as the chorus of snakes,
"we hold such things as men can't hold in hands")

Oh, no, wait and see. We, you and me, we play no
past roles, no deed is redone, thoughts are rethought.

Everything has been thought, the object of thinking
is to think them again. Mr. Goethe made note of that fact,
when he thought, everything, excepting what I know,
is temporary at the moment, I recall the idea of

God knows what, but it ain't accidental,
and it ain't the misperception of decept-icons dancing
on the head of a pen.

You got that right - question - quest ions symbolize what
you do not know, so, who knows? Question marks
Symbolize the act of questioning. It's a primal need,
Wisdom, the principal thing of which
more is always desire-enabling.
Somebody beyond your knowing imagined that  right.
Would you believe the algorithm needed to program
perception of a who'll-go-rhyme,
or an I'll-go-rhythm positive knee-**** response
to the ***** of a pen or the whisper of a word,
which it is supposed, was written
by 100 monkeys with typewriters,
whacking away endlessly, balancing precariously
on the edge of the first 100 turtles
in the stack? What are the odds, eh?

Life has a plan with no plot, ought we think?
We shall not surely die, we know now, that's a lie.

Beyond believing lies, we know now, how and why
we are naked, by our own cognition.
We told us we are naked.
We, now, know that,

but here, in the pages of the book of life,
we are no longer subject to the ******* of fearing death.
Here, there is no more condemnation.
Believed lies re-cognized here,
affect no fear, we know,
the final foe fell. "It is finished" was no lie.
Take comfort here. Be still, and know,
rest prevents any
re-triggering viruses left by
the lying messenger's old fables, told as prophecy
or fair-tales oft sung as epics
pre-determining the possibility of evil winning in the end.
The words that built the lies remain,
not the lies. Evil never had a chance, life isn't fair.

The basic plot is a man-made thought, the purpose is not.
Life goes on, death never could have won
and now its power serves
to make eternal waves that keep thinkers thinking things differently.
Loneliness, after all is said and done,
is not
as common
as one might think. There's always
Details, details, details
God only knows.
Saying such a thing idly is vain.
Unless, you know, God knows.
****, that, too.
None of that here, you know.
no condemnation
Socrates was a joke, nothing new under the sun,
beyond that is no mortal's concern. Believe me.
Knowing nothing is far more difficult than men imagine.

Tongue in cheek was an old clue in fair play,
your gramps
could poke out his cheek like he had a snake in his mouth
struggling to break through sealed lips.  
Then he' tells a
fish-story and claims the magi know it true.
Tongue in cheek, so to speek, I see some missed conceptions
fructify from spores spat idly as ****** hells and damns
from tinkers tinning pots with crazy making lead solder.
Which meandered my other me to lead
Lead soldiers. I led the boys to war, that's what they were for.
It's all in the plot to make men of boys so we can help God
defend Heaven, in case…

What?
Good versus evil and all that whole lie.
Or is it faith we must defend?
How reasonable is that? What can **** an idea like
one of the big three?

Eve knew knowing good and evil cost her.
She paid attention to
the truth of all she so suddenly knew.
Otherwise,
she could not attempt the task of bringing
Able into the world, after the pain of Cain.

Oh, please, let Cain fulfill the promise, I cannot bear the pain,
said Adam in his shame.
Eve, on the other hand,
knew hope for joy she found in every
birth, and there were many twixt Able and Seth, all girls.
Cain had been gone for decades ere Seth came along.
Eve was o'er-joyed at the boy whose son would somehow
bring to bear the final sacrifice of travail and pain to
manifest the sons of God to play the role pre-ordained
for sons of God and their sons to play, wombed and un,
each, in his own way, the one creation groaned for,
the missing, wanted, desired, one, an
only begotten with just exactly your DNA,
one in 8 billion, a rare element, indeed.
You know.

Across the ocean, you meant nothing to me.
You were a destination, a photograph, a wish.
You plagued my winter woes with your heatwaves,
jumping into creeks in your underwear while I wrapped myself in another blanket, cold Canadian ice princess.
You slept under stars in close contact with beautiful nature, beautiful life, beautiful people, while I stared at them, upside down, from my window.
And then the big dipper dumped you into my lap, head on my chest so you could feel my heart beat and I could tangle my fingers in your hair.
Photographs aren't supposed to come to life.
Beautiful smiles and messy blonde hair are for fantasies and dreaming and rainy days, and not for my bed or my guitar or my lips
But there you were.

For two weeks I thought and rethought and plagued my heart with goodbye is coming. He will fly away from me. We are not birds meant to be caged
We are wanderers, nomads, free-spirits who need no tying down or tying knots,
And I want to tie myself to your bed post with barbed wire because it hurts that much to leave you anyway.
But you leave me.

And there you weren't.

There you weren't as I made up my mind that it's okay to love a nomad, as long as you're one too.
And it's okay to love a bird of flight, just build yourself some wings and follow
But I was mistaken, I was wrong and I was three steps behind you.
Because when you said "I'll see you later" you didn't mean later
You meant get out.
And I still don't know if you're scared or if you just don't want me,
You don't ******* want me.

High as the plane that brought you here to leave me, I stand lace clad, smoke screened and alone.
High enough to feel my lungs contracting with each breath that made my tongue taste less and less like yours,
High enough to feel my knees click where you held them once,
One time,
Because that was all it took.
I couldn't get high enough to stop retracing the lines that your fingers made up and down my sides as you felt the curve of my body for the first time.
My limbs were barren, cold, antarctic as you left them when you took your warm, summer hand away.

So I turned the shower up all the way, until it burned enough to feel like I was boiling my skin, baptizing your sinful touch off of my innocent body.
I burned my arms and legs until they cracked.
They cracked from dryness, even after I wet them with my tears,
And my first,
fourth,
tenth glass of wine.
And I threw the bottle against my bedroom door.
Watched it smash,
Wished it was me.
I'll clean it up later.

I'm here, so many years later,
Entertaining foolish notions
that I might go and just quit
everything, fearing my time's
up, I might have to renounce
all that I did love,
All I've become,
All of the work;
All for nothing.

I can't quit,
I spent years
crafting who I am,
Or who I thought I was.

Quitting the session almost
sounds like quitting on life
to an Irishman, I feel like
I've gone and quit
being who I am.

Thy time will come again,
When the world need be rethought
in the lair of some gremlins.

Piano plays softly in the background of her expressionless face; eighty eight keys wrapped so unforgivingly in her hair. She fades to nothing, intertwines herself with the lowest key, played pianissimo; so quiet we need to lean forward to hear past the building struggle of the other chaotic eightyseven; she is supporting an amalgamating masterpiece without fear in her eyes. I have never been given the chance to respect as much as her. I wait for the day she snaps. Repetition tinted with the smell of her blood tells me what exactly stains ivory in the quiet of the definition of the word “over”. I wonder when she’ll be so over. I’ve never seen her once break character as pain crossed with envy around her, I hate that she watches the children of our world starve, whilst she eats none herself, so I am in no right to be mad; it’s so hard not be mad these days. I wait for a day she looks down, a day when her eyes brim with tears of her own, heavy and useless after being so statue. It’s because it must be, must build to something unachievable at the top of the ribbon draped tree so we strive and forget the conditions we sign when we fall. I imagine a world where she taps her own keys, keeps no time to her own will. I long for a day when she can spell the music with her screams and my concept of monarchy is marred by the pure beauty of undoubted chaos. She is part of no background and she taste the wind on the tip of her tongue when she tangles her hair, and she can once again learn to smile; what on earth is so expected of her that I dare need to ponder this? I’ve spent every night and moment praying to gods I don’t belive in to give her wings; so scared to fasten one’s of my own in case she falls. She needs no net to fall. We’ll smash the keys, chip the ivory, learn to breathe, leave our shoes stray on the floor. We’ll feel the sand on our feet and sing to guitar; I am none the wiser than she. Let’s forget from whence we came and feel the elements of the moment in our heart racing chests and beg our brains to breathe past our laughter. This is the year to be reborn; I’ll speak when i’m not spoken to and break the fourth wall, love how the sky tells me to and smile at night. Together, I love the feeling of summer. Piano plays low like pain in the back of her head both diegetic and non diegetic in her storybook world; I dare you to teach me how to open the pages. She is background; rethought.

I was abused literally and pushed aside by teacher
He was in rage to see me when I tried to enter
He might have some grievances in mind to nurture
As I was doing fare in studies and position was assured

I was really ashy boy but excellent in pick up
I heard attentively and was cheered with thumb up
His behavior as teacher made great impact in mind
I might have taken it lightly if he was harsh or unkind

It is customary to show little disrespect to the poor students
Some of the discourtesy is extended with inferior comments
I was unable to think further but bore a grudge permanently
I remember those abusive remarks and   resisted him once vehemently

I thought and rethought about such behavior
As teacher he would have been considerate and held honor
I became reserved from that day and decided to keep silent
As it was now known to me that best way is to offer no comment

In social circle too certain disliking exist for people
It may be more intensive when they are incapable
Not in financial capacity to move forward and compete
Live under their dominance and agree to submit

I remained firm in approach but turned away from close contacts
I kept good will at heart and prayed for their well being in fact
This gave me enough of strength to observe them from distance
I was taken little note of and none observed my presence

I return gesture with kind words and remain aloof
I have enough of strength financially as single proof
They dare not to see me with inferiority and pull down
As I have established of my own and became powerfully known

I wish that same kind of maltreatment is not shown
To children who are unfortunate of having means of their own
They are really asset to us and builder of future generation
How can we be indifferent when question of building nation comes?

I have known some of the people getting blinded  
By sudden arrival of fortune and secretly confided
Their common sense gets unnatural boost to reveal
The arrogance is reflected and shown with no efforts to conceal

the man
I’ve only
just met
sober

     but have
     arm in arm
     week one
     through week
     three
     been jolly
with

is

     for the sake of his mother

revising

his life
cycle
from

****, sadness, balloons

to

sadness, ****, balloons

---

     it is either my attention span or my nakedness
in concrete poetry
that keeps me
from god

     (when a scar of thunder / outs itself / I am blue)

or bluish

     (like a sock in a blue
      coat’s
      pocket)
      
---

     by the
of a sudden
time
the man
is tolerable
he ha(s)
a number of

rethought

balloon

The cacophony of sounds twisted
And entwined in the metal trees
Shakes my soul as I look to the sodden skyline
I view the last discarded leaves of this placid dimension

A girl walks across the grass
It’s cold out,
About 43 degrees but she lacks shoes
On her tired feet
The black of day collects on the souls of her ragged feet
But it has no effect on her angelic, bohemian outlook
She carries a smile and a switch blade in her pocket
No explanation necessary

Between a rock and a hard place I plant a flower that is my conscious
Simply to watch it grow

The stone pathway, cold against my skin
Creates an aire of direction
Follow the yellow brick road
I seek the wizard but instead-
Find a mirror,
Blistered and fractal
Producing infinite images in my own likeness
A concept of this magnitude is difficult
Much like a human action
In perspective of a fly

Our self proclaimed purpose-
For what, power, money,
Control of the masses
Suppress their minds, diminish their conscious.
The common man deserves better than the plebian life
Of a dog ordered by an invisible master
A shot in the dark,
Who puts forth this motivational bowl of oats?
Bed of hay,
Ring of gold?

I sit and watch
Trying to understand the habits of the world
Every day, the script more blasé and uninteresting than the last

The show created for those who watch,
Whose production value is low.
One must look beyond the projection screen
To understand the man behind the scenes,
The man daring you to dream.

I stop and smell the same lily as yesterday,
Just to denote any change in my world
This lily, my favorite lily,
Lives on, in the grime and muck of
America

If god is all loving and the devil all evil,
Could they be, one in the same
Changing day to day
He too must have mood swings.

As a child you’re told you can be
Anything you want,
Can this be true?
What if you just want to be happy?

Must you step on the fingers of people
Barely holding on
To the edge of the highest peak to climb,
Watch them fall to their own demise?

My happiness stems
From stepping down
And lending a hand,
My success stems from
The success of the flowers in bloom around me,
For I,
Am the fertilizer of the mind

Cremate me,
Spread my ashes in
The woods,
A field,
A lake,
A river,
The oceans grand.
Your person remebered,
Your kindness admired.

Let these blind people
Step on your cold, ***** fingers,
And offer your other hand
As a stepping stool

They may find their happiness
But only for a time
When all is said and done
Can they explain
Their reason or rhyme?
Who they answer to now may not always,
Be there.
But when they too sign up
For the eternal rest
With themselves only
Their cross they shall bare.

The streets I wander
Grow cold with urgency,
Like a gadfly I stand in the way,
Producing images of
Love, and life,
Without deadlines, submission, or oppression.

Nobody listens, but I speak my mind
I dive on the grenade
To safe these
Ungrateful cowards.

Their words
Shallow and dry against my eardrum
I bleed for new meaning
A redefined existence

Change
Cannot be something you wait for
It can never be found,
Only made
This is my change,
My attempt at change.



You may not like what I say,
But at least I try.

I know
One day
I will die
With your best interests in my mouth,
Your knife in my back,
A smile in my eyes,
And happiness
In my heart.

I bleed for the many,
The lost in translation.
My transcendental mindset
Opening my path,
I leave my door open
For those who choose to read.

Fore I know my thoughts are my own,
Whether they have been thought before or not,
I know that I am thinking them now.

The garbled sound of polka music drones on,
In ominous dance.
Something has changed
Maybe tempo or key,
The color rethought
For me, it’s so easy to see
Far more difficult to show.



Awaken yourselves
To the feverish heat
Of wisdom
And accept that
To truly be wise
One must know he cannot know

The sandy coast of endless life
Carries on in the bleak of night
Your hairy eye and jestered hand
Shall curse me no more

I’ve seen the golden ray of dark
Beyond the sun
And opened portals
To greener, sharper, harsher worlds

The stringent silence
Piercing ears and harmful shouts
Have shown me pathways beyond the sun

I’ve opened my eyes simply to glance,
And there was a man,
Tired and beaten
His voice a crusty piece of bread
Left by the children, wasted and old




He asked but a question,
Where are you from?
My reply, wordless and empty,
I think to myself,

Home, home is where I am from.
Where I belong
In the nestle of my childhood blanket.
Scent of me filled with memory, old and discarded.

I wish to return but
Memories oh tasteless, sightless memories
They shall remain.

The man, sitting on a stump of what was an apple tree,
Repeats his timeless question.
I have no reply

Carrying my thought
Through barbed wire fences
I pray to a god that is not mine and
Find a crumbling remnant of a statue
Holding a silver tarnished scepter
With a quote painstakingly engraved into the stone
"All that lives shall perish in due time"




Is this my time my thought moves on.
These worlds I view beyond the golden rays of darkness
Show me that without death
There can never be new life

Oh these sandy coast of infinity
Set me free to a new beginning
But first my work must be complete
In this treacherous world in which
I reside

My family grows hungry for answers
And receive no helping of knowledge
Passed down through the ancient cave writings of
Peoples before
The past is real
But remains a memory
Dusty and forgotten by many

This life a flower past by,
By the masses,
Material goods and swirls of profits.

Your god is not my god,
Your money means nothing
Show me what you truly believe,
Not what the texts of heralds
And documented in secret libraries
And chastised caves have told you
I too shall remain but a memory
Or shall I live on,
This sandy coast of endless life,
Teaching the ways of passage and right.

Spent many years
Searching
But not knowing
What for

Thought that
Happiness was mine
But did not know
Life like love is blind

Saw signs of trouble
With subtle hints
She was colder than
Most fish

Knew it was coming
And had no regrets
As the door closed
Behind her she left

Rethought the future
Went on with life
Searching for new love
To light up the night


Asked friends
And acquaintance
To find
Me a date

I waited for her
At Starbucks for a blind date
And then she arrived
How do I rate

Her porcelain skin
Dark brown eyes
Long dark hair
She caught my eye

Found new love
After a few dates
Now life is fine
New love sublime

You look like you need a drink,
It's been a very long day.
But doesn't it just really stink,
That your drink has no place to stay?

Well fear no longer my very fine friend,
For I am here to help!
Your undying thirst will soon reach its end,
All you have to do is yelp.

But how in the world can I help you, you ask?
Or you might just say, "what's up?"
It really is rather I quite simple task,
All you need is one paper cup!

"That's all?" you doubt, not sure it is true.
Why yes, I tell you! Of course!
Look for yourself, you really must see!
They truly are quite a force.

Finally you rethought my proposal,
And then gave me a pleading look.
You knew that you wanted at your disposal
A cup! So I gave and you took.

See what I mean? Isn't it grand?
"It's magnificent!" you say.
"I love the feel of this paper cup in my hand,
And my thirst has at last gone away!"

When conversations lull,
or I’m left alone with myself,
(or unexplained shivers
puppet my shoulders)
I think of writing the perfect poem.

I have so many wonderful ideas
that have all been thought
but were too messy—
and they would all be rethought
until they were polished;
until they were spotless;
until they were blacksmithed
and welded and tallied and measured and remeasured and immaculate.
Then I would have written
a flawless poem.

But then again,
if someone (even me) wrote
the perfect poem,
it would be written.
And that would be that.

Woah, wherever do I think I'm going?
Don't know, these clothes are looking pretty showy
Ah, what am I to since nothing's going my way today?

Woah, good thing I didn't wear those heels
Although they always made me feel so tall
But now a casual look will keep me out of sight so I can do my own thing today

Stroll through the alley catching my sight everyday
Ah, this kind if feeling is making my heart pound
Then so suddenly a big gust of wind pushes right back on my hood
And everyone turns so quickly
In the end this weekend isn't going to be relaxing in the least

That's it I am quitting this life
Sure the pay is nothing to complain
My career is just painted with blue
I stand out today, they're looking this way
No more I am fleeing this life
All I've ever wanted was too much
Please stop looking at my face
But I took all these words and pocketed them away

Woah, it's been so long I can't remember
Don't know, I've stuck out like this since forever now
What am I to do since this is normal routine for me

Woah, I know I've heard this said before but
Don't know, the memory won't come
Oh my God, this is too much work just for a girl
But of course, I can never just speak honestly

Shouts fill the air so densely just looking for me
What's the big deal about meeting an idol
Oh hey don't this seem like a fun thing to do, I should've rethought
Cause in the end it turned out badly
But the spotlight then it seemed so bright
I really couldn't turn him down

Hey this life ain't all it had seemed
But those words are hanging on my tongue
Are they really as good as they say
I'm not very fun, why can't I just run
No more I am leaving this life
But those words just never come to life
God you're making me cry now
Yet I hold back the tears and pocketed them away

All this crying does you no good
Can't you hear the cheering from the crowd
All you ever wanted and more
In front of you now, so stand up, be proud
If this life is all it had seemed
Change it and just know you're not alone
Now go out there and show them what you really can do

Somehow singing isn't so bad
I can feel my chest about to burst
Overflowing through every note
I'll plunder your heart, make off with your heart
All those notes I've batted away
Fill this dream and fly straight out to you
Just remember to not blink
We'll be carrying on
Tomorrow is another day

A few days a part with time to think.
The results of my actions are starting to sink.
I try to move on despite that nagging voice,
wondering if I had made the right choice.

As I sit here thinking, this poem forms despite,
The feeling of sinking, and how I hate to write.
This is an outlet of the past, something I had let go,
but the drought did not last, and I have this to show.

I hate to write with form,
I despise of its grace.
But just as an impending storm,
I must finish the race.

I took her advice and rethought what I need.
But the reoccurring thought is how I must supersede.
Even the nights of which I don't spend alone.
My actions of betrayal I cannot condone.

Even when with her, there is a silent voice.
Hating me for making the wrong choice.
How can I stay with one when I think of another?
How long can I maintain this halfhearted cover?

I do not expect a reply, or even for this to be read.
I know our brief past, you wish to be dead.
Writing for me gives a final chance,
To express what I feel and finish the dance.

I know what we had was brief, yet true.
And I promise that I was genuine with you.
I am not trying to **** back into your grace.
I will do my best to give you your space.

I thought these poems I would limit to three,
Then you would never have to hear from me.
But maybe your reaction is worse than I intend,
Since after the last, you deleted me as your friend.

Even without you, I cannot stay with her.
With this everyday I am becoming more sure.
Although last week I had been with two,
I would rather have none if I can't have you.



Silly I know, you said you barely cared.
This was a thought you clearly shared.
Barely phased by me, you seemed to leave,
Leaving me with nothing to retrieve.

I hope you take all this with stride.
And realize how it kills my pride.
To admit such feelings when I attempt to be so tough.
And knowing that nothing I say will be good enough.

So for my actions I am torn on what to do.
When one has told me to stay away from you.
Another of whom you seem quite fond,
Told me to attempt to regain that bond.

As for me I don't know what to do.
I will do whatever is best for you.
I just don't want you last thoughts of me,
to be of a person you could not genuinely see.

You are an amazing girl, and deserve much more,
Than all the things I have had in-store.
We just moved so fast and I never had the chance,
To figure out what I wanted from our dance.

Being with you felt so right, and it was hard to ration,
the true feelings of my confused passion.
For your sake I am glad I told you then.
But I needed more time, despite no good when.

If I had more time maybe I would have silently chose you.
That is what my heart wanted me to do.
But you seemed disinterested, and I blew that chance.
And I had to come clean before we finished our dance.

So this is the second of three, and I don't expect a reply.
If I do not hear from you again, then I will let this all die.
I contemplate not sending this to give you your space,
But I feel that I must, as a “just in case.”

If you reply with a “stop,” after my send,
The trilogy of poems will come to an end.
I say this merely as a virtual knock.
I do not wish for this to end in a virtual block.

If you do not reply to me, there will one day be a third stance,
And it will truly mark the end of our dance.
I know I should not send this, but I must despite,
because I can't leave this behind without a fight.

I know for you I may be making this hard.
Perhaps this poem is an unfair card.
But I do not write this for style, or for something to do.
I feel compelled to write because I never got to say goodbye to you.

So here's the final verse in this second song.
If you wish it, I will not be here for long.
I conclude with a reluctant push of the send.
I hope one day you can find a dance that does not come to an end.

A thought may evaporate,
    But never fear for those that
Disappear into the cloud of forgotten
                  Memory, will one day rain down anew
Fresh and rethought.
           And as new ideas descend splashing
Down on your reinvigorated thoughts.

Yesterday the birds seemed rather peculiar.
The morning was cool, damp, rainey.
A chill went through the air.
Holiday season is here.
People are frantic.
Shopping.
Stressed.
Malls packed.
Mom losing her toddler.
Heart stops, cops called.
ALL due to her lack of concern and sick addiction of society pulling her in to the latest trend, best deal, better product.  
Is it really better?
Or are you being brainwashed?  
Do you need it?
You do zero research. You just believe the retailer.
Ignore your child.
Are you really better?
Then the next person you judge?
They are judging you.
Be careful.
Mom's in tears.
People everywhere.
Good people in the world.
Child found.
Heartbeats again.
Life rethought.
Retail therapy over.
Therapy considered.
Life goes on.
Birds fly by.

“The problem with falling is sooner or later
you’ll have to hit something.”
- Jenny Owen Youngs

My eyes met your eyes
at nine years old in the cafeteria.
I learned you were terrible
over a loud lunch where

your laughter met the spilled drink
and tears making their way
down another’s skin.

Your hands met my back
before I met the sting
of your unheated pool.
This was the standard when

my lips met your lips
at an age we boasted
in a space that was ours.

My friends met your personality
not once.
Our space was where you launched us.

My gaze met the Milky Way
when you were the only one
around to care for light years.

My feet met the ground
when you called me
your favorite expletive.
You rethought that stunt when

my fist met your face
upon remembering how terrible
you were in the first place.

I’m sorry that I surprised you with my insecurities, with my doubts, with my way of action.
I’m sorry of my silence,  but silence of a wind of lighting, looks so bright but so quit but also means a thousands words.
I’m sorry that I’ve been through a lot where I just compare you with every animal (male) in this field of land

I’m sorry that I wasted your time,
I’m sorry that I tried to take the risk with you, because I liked you and I thought I could love you, the way you fell in love with me
But I just can’t believe you, I can’t trust you, I cant be with you, can you forgive me?

Don’t get me wrong at one point I felt a spark
That maybe just maybe I could fall in love you
But it went away right quick when I rethought about the sadness that I could go through if I fell in love again

But than we have to think about everything is a risk
If you don’t take a risk where would you go in life?

A beginning,the gasp faster than a breath,an opening moment,repetitious happening
  non monumental,blockage of space .moment within a moment .
   Neurological click not some shtick ,the present AS A  present ,to be rethought ,again & again often deep from within.                                                                                                                     The taste,the color,the smell, not just the sight spinning like an auto slideshow
the WA,WA & stinging, even the uneven ringing ,grounded ,a repeat of the past
with no gap ,a quick flux ,then a rush ,embodies a simple thought,
a smile or a fright ,very real,no illusion ,to explain seems a delusion
but reality frozen in a moment ,stuck on a memory ,then it is past
revolving again ,no pain,back on the level plane,then a bump,the glitch
that spins it all ,so fast it is frozen yet again. Rick

There are no other words
  that better describe…

So I rethought the terms,  
  future and past

Bringing them into my
  perpetual present

To feast in the moment
   —instead of fast

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

I want to indulge myself in a new color,
but the chosen color is not so colorful.
I want to go too long with my loneliness
but the path is not so wonderful.
I took a break, wait a moment, I thought, rethought
to again started my journey.
I found you there, with lots of happiness, elation.
Deep Breath, I filled up with energy.
I start my journey again, but it has not a destination.

It’s not just your story,
It’s also every story around you,
love stories or breakups
friendships and heartaches
Adventures and late night phone calls
You could write about anything.
Not your feelings but maybe
Your best friend’s

But we choose writer’s block
Because in our mind,
The idea sounded much better
than the way it looks on paper

And we could write for days,
pages and pages and pages and pages and pages and pages and pages and pages and pages and pages and pages...
and it would feel like the words are insignificant,
like we worked so hard
to say nothing at all,

But the story is there,
Maybe it needs a twist,
A little color,
A coffee break,
A night out on the town.

Maybe it needs a good night of sleep
Maybe it’s about time to stop stressing
Maybe it needs to be written,
left behind,
Maybe it needs to be forgotten about,
Found,
Out of the blue
To be reread, refined,
rethought with a new perspective


We never run out of ideas,
We just question our ability
To make somebody feel something.

I am, as a thinking, word using muser,
of less
or more weight
in word's worth
on balance,
a day lived, doing nothing, but respiring
and desiring a joy use, as joy making use,
of me.
What's that worth
in time?

Time taken,
as granted, mine
to make use of, true,
any use I wish, after all,
all I've done
tripping old tale snares.
Recoding NANDs just
in case we need a second
reassurance this is the way
to enter
in to the peace past understanding creation,
the mindform used
to tell whole truth, sworn
to tell, circumstantially, as happening
to be led
to leave oaths being,
once sworn, sworn forever, and not like
happens only in movies, everytime,
once, regarding a quantum
of original thought,
rethought,
from first stories
of language, lingual word sage
tongue use, local mimicing ****** speech,
shibbolethargic sibblicity
barring outsiders
from making sense, save when
we all use our bodies to talk, say,
what we feel about the truth, the worth
of a straight
against a full-house, in a game of liar pride.

The winner calls the bluff,
or never shows her hand.

And all those free from guile, go on dancing.

I went looking after her smile, but it seemed I was given the wrong map. As I understood it, a smile wavers between lips and eyes, but I only came across a nose. I kept exploring, and rethought the directions I had, but remained lost. This time instead of a nose I stumbled upon a navel; so I kept looking. Searching. Can it be that one smiles with the whole body? I uncovered every last inch of skin with a thorough gaze yet wasn’t able to find where the smile hid. I looked from afar and real close, but never got close enough to your smile. Perhaps if you were still here, I’d be able to find your smile.

I am a moment
was going to say
the moment
then rethought that
satisfyingly a moment
if you are lucky enough
to get this far
then something
I am quite certain
will arrive on these
good vibes humming
between our verse
as if time were
our *****
oh