there is some kindness in the way
the earth is suspended on gravity's back.
how it
rotates on it's axis,
bound by the sacred trust
that space won't bottom out &
shake us all from the earth
like crumbs in the bed.

there is little kindness in the way
the earth is suspended
in war, in turmoil;
with handguns & machine guns
& bombs strapped to civilians-
tied to the greater majority
with the intentions of a few.

there is little kindness
in fighting fire with fire-
when our own backyards are burning
&
our neighbors are to blame.

there is little kindness in the fear
of what lies beneath a burka,
a niqab,
a turban-
a police uniform,
a trench coat
or a white robe
&
a
pointed
white
hood.

there is little kindness in the terror
that sleeps in the backs of our minds
and sets up shop in our beds
& lays low
while we condemn the third world,
the local news just confirms
and confirms
and confirms-
we were killing each other first.

there is little kindness in seeing humanity
as this side of the border
or that.
the world is more of a revolving door
that spins you dizzily
& spits you back out.

there is some kindness in the way
gravity still holds the earth
like some sick, sad science fair project;
like some ****** consolation prize.

humanity is
a bed of crumbs
clinging
thanklessly
to
sheets.

We will float together then sink
And everyone who told me a pond stone was nothing but a nuisance to open toes and hard boiled heads was nothing but the devil to me
Everyone who sinks becomes the foundation of those who rise
I don't need you to die and hover above me like a cloudy day
Bad weather bad coffee
My hand trembles and this
Sweater never keeps me warm
The shiver within my soul is all I'm concerned about
the white ghosts that sits on your fingertips never did you any better
All I get is dark blood and broken teeth
Ten missed calls and kisses to wipe off the salty lust of my ever present agony
Anyone who tells me that I'm **** can answer to the moss that thanklessly sits on the rocks who patiently wait for time to throw off its holey shoes and let the earth fall silent to its restless murmur
You've done me wonders soft Angeles
My toes weave throughout your docile grasp
While my stoic heart rests soundly beneath your cushioned palms
Sweltering and oozing, going numb then returning
All beneath the cusp of the delicate curls that nature brushes with her fine pearl comb
Anyone who says I'm doomed, done, hopeless, out of luck, out of time, out of ideas
Can answer to their own empty plates
I'm not giving out any answers
So you can fill the black void of your own cackles and despair
That are  better suited for the leaves that clench for dear life to the streets that have let them become a porridge of their own flakey guts
They smear across the roads indented forearms  like the boogers and black eyeliner smeared across your swollen lips
Dying for a finger to press them shut
Give them mercy
let them fall into a bland line
That the ticking clock can rest upon until it meets the shallow ridges of your rib cage sorrows
I'm listening
Humming beneath the manic sound of your quivers and heaves
I'm listening
To your story book hidden in the corner of a library floor kindred bodies go to rest their skeleton key fingers
theyll place them atop books that became the coffins for bodies now swimming in worms and the *** of their volatile passion that little have the right to coat their throats with but slurp up greedily regardless
One of them will unlock your beautiful brain
And I will be there
Resting amongst the pile of your hair
Sweaty and battered
The sunshine gleams upon you and god isn't a fox trap around my ankles
He's the circles of your eyes
And I'm ready to feel better

Carelessly crossing this chasm
For finding fallacy in fear,
Enter with enthusiasm,
Through thoughts that are thanklessly there.

Bringing bravery to the bridge,
Tripping over trepidation,
Pacing o’er pious pilgrimage,
Away from alienation.

Approach with awed anticipation,
The bridge beyond being banal,
To the valued validation,
Across achieving all your all.

Taking up this terrible truth,
Understanding what is under,
Spanning the other side will soothe
Being burdened by your blunder.

Within the realm of circumstance
You are a slave
To occurrences, a victim
Of probability,
A naysayer to God,
You speak prayers to chance,

Live thanklessly, not counting
The billions
Of tiny blessings, ignorant
To the little miracles,

Raindrops on pavement,
The soundtrack
In your all-seeing eyes, accidental,
A statistic, a probability,

As a blind man getting soaked,
Wanders home,
Happy for the shower,
Anticipating dry clothes,
Smells smoke,
And he knows,
A hundred percent certain,

Eight blocks before he arrives
At the front door
Blocked off by red trucks and news reporters,
That the fire is his own,

And he is thankful
For the symphony,
Grateful for his bones,
Glad this occured (it's all in the plan,
NOTHING happens at random)
And he never stops,
Smiling
Because he knows he's not alone

thanklessly the bankers
of Wall Street
meet in discrete fields
just outside of Tupelo
plotting to further victimize
the middle of America
through interest rate hikes
and trickle down economic theory
clearly they only have our interests
in heart…
corporate hedge funds
send tons of
industrial sludge
to ponds near elementary schools
where the rules are
pick up your messes
I guess they skipped that day of class…
rash covered babies
with minimal lung function
sit at the crossroads
or junction
of a nation in transition
the plight of the people is lost
on the wealthy unregulated
impoverished men sit
waiting for a V.A. date
and the medication necessary
to combat PTSD and hold down a job
loggers with broken backs attack
environmentalists
for risking their lives to save
species…the flora and fauna
but the powers that be don’t wanna…
the United States needs a comma –

Does a flower not bloom,
For the fear of losing her nectar?

Does a doe not give birth,
Knowing her child may be prey to the predator?

Does a spider not weave her web,
Though she sees it fall apart before her eyes?

Yes, the 'world' may rip you off all that you made...
Yes, the 'world' may kick aside all that you carefully put together...
Yes, the 'world' may thanklessly take away all that you held dear...

But is that reason enough to be like the world?
To bury your conscience; to be blind to the truth?

For is it the world that you shall have to answer?
Is it this world that will question you?

In the end, is it the world that shall haunt your dreams?
Is it this world that will give you refuge?

Is it not yourself you shall have to fall back on?
Is it not yourself that will ultimately be your guide?

You choose the self that will stay;
The self you came into the world with,
Or the self the world came into...

Yes, you choose the self.

Using the cold wall and my bare feet to regulate body temperature. Bracing up against her.And retreating.  Thumbing through dry white pages of skin as a dull orange glow
gleams off the edge of   a     r  i  b.           There is a clinking from the other room. The phone charger is getting hot.
We dream of power plants buzzing  far away; skylines full of towers. Wire tracks leading off limitless unto the
unknowable.  Vast.  Thataway.          And there is something ready to
consume us out there. In the woods and meadows. In the irreverent
nation of pocket warmers and folded map laminated
fingers  



There's no such thing as Vermont. The land doesn't know that name.
It hears the rustle of my dead branches and gurgling of moist earth
churning thanklessly beneath last years canopy, and thinks to answer,  ,,home. Home. Home,,.


None taken

I drag your body from the room As the Bluetooth quietly disconnects from your favorite speaker, and the signal is left empty and waiting for instructions, not coming.

As the pond swirls
we see in bland whimsical
the elaborations of the in-elaborates
firing fires with wet incendiaries
incinerating powerlessness in twisted embers

as if we do not stand afar
and thanklessly give them lighters
for puffed up in broken unity for bargains
tis better to let them dance on water
we will talk for them to speak in bitten reverse

who takes busyness from bees
the bush telegrams incites blinds galore
possum plays a blinder in dummy runs for fun
giving dogs bone to gnaw and share
the divested devil you see sees you not but himself