Broken glass falling on the altar,
trees sprouting through the walls.
The priest has long left.
This congregation
scattered to the wind.
Once a proud building,
a place of faith.
Saints and sinner coming together.
Now welcomes,
feral cats and one night sleepers.
Lying awake on
torn down pews,
staring up at tarnished murals.
Lord,
watch over us,
if just for tonight.
Jesus was brought precious metals.
The copper is stolen from the AC unit.
The structure is boarded up.
Shut out.
Remembering what it used to be,
trying to forget its future.

He said,
She said,
madness.
The cup is filled to the brim.
It is spreading,
not like a plague.
Please accept this illness as a sign of our good will.
Things will get darker before they
explode.
There is a reason for everything.
The plan has been laid out for
the world to mend.
He said that she said
pick the apple.
The voices become a roar,
echoing through the frontal lobe.
Where does the madness begin?
It begins with us.
It ends with us.
We are the complication.
We are the unbalanced equation.
He she,
she said,
madness.

Oh yes,
the end is coming.
Never fear,
you'll be too drunk to realize.

The ice flies through
electric avenues,
colliding with demigods and demons.
If there was a way to stop this storm,
it is far too late.
Spinning out of control,
into a darker abyss.
The laughter of a thousand scorn women
drowns out the fury.
The Moon will collide with the Earth.
It is only a matter of time
until the hourglass burns,
finally fixing all the cracks.
Lightning will strike through the
eye of a needle.
Then,
all the World's secrets will be revealed.
Falling off its axis,
turning towards damnation.
There is finally rest for the wicked.
There is justice for the unjust.
Laughter will fill the Universe.
The greatest joke ever told
was existence.

Shattered glass turns into
blood red water pouring
out of *******.

Life begins to
forget about
reality.

It is only at the end of the day
that night begins
to feel anxious.

Forget about the wind
and focus on the
breeze.

Oh,
the world has only
just begun.

There are worse things
than those that go
bump
in the night.
When the stars are too afraid to
come out from behind their cloud captors.
That is when the demons rise.
Slithering around your feet,
keeping everyone bolted to
their barstool.
Don't worry,
this will only take a minute.
An instant transformation.
Rise my monsters!
Rise!
Poison will be your undoing
and help you reach
a true form.
This is pure.
There are no limitations.
Be afraid of these ghouls.
They whisper and float
through the stale smell of
paradise.
They sit in neon lights,
waiting for the next round.
Rattling chains
as heavy as reality,
the fire burns down.
It gives birth to a new monster.
Just one more.
The world can stop spinning,
for one more.
The transformation is taking hold, it is almost complete.
Blind stares into mirrored walls,
watching as the everything goes black.
No recollection of
your birth.
Rise my monsters,
rise.

Sitting on a couch
filled with flowers,
praying to the Almighty that
there is an Almighty.
I keep my faith close to my heart,
in more than one way.
I watch the light in the bedroom
paint the hardwood floors.
Dancing to the tune of the muted television.
The fan adds a refreshing sound to the day,
drowning out the car alarms.
I am contemplating my faith while watching
TLC's "Breaking the Faith".
I normally do not write about faith or religion.
Lord,
Please forgive me.

Walking around the dead grass and up through the trees
the bell rings and they
scatter.
Not to the winds,
but to ground.
Looking around with wild in their eyes,
they want the world to end.
Then they can be kings.
Dodging a society that chained them to small strips of lands.
The map is drafted in blood and cold.
They never look up the heavens,
for fear of hope.
Hope is something to be earned,
not for everyone.
The sun forgets to shine,
waiting for the moon to die.

So old,
they have forgotten their names.
The flames of reality burn their skin,
scorched earth and flesh.

The angels look down from Heaven and
scream.
This is the chosen people.
One day,
The monsters will come out of their trees,
rise from the dead grass.
Walk this Earth as they once did.
Until then,
their eyes will pierce the ground
and their feet will float.

The fire rages
throwing shadows across
the trash.
Pepsi, Coke, Malboro
Cowboy Killers.
Lightning strikes the midnight black pavement.
Please Lord,
keep us safe.
Is this how the world ends?
A puff of smoke
tainted with a subtle hint of
Budweiser.
Oh, the humanity!

The wound has grown too large.
A bullet whispering through the air,
landing in a young mans chest.
The world ends
surrounded in yellow caution tape.
Police Line:
Do Not Cross.

Here the guardians sit
on the worlds edge,
looking over at the chaos,
coated in yellow gold and
thick black smog.
Choking on past sins,
the curtain falls on this
vaudeville show.

The world doesn't end in fire
or ice,
but both.

The wind howls
calling out to the
crumbling buildings
and the tenants that reside inside.
Slapping at the once ruby red bricks,
now a sad brown.
Time has taken its toll,
with no mercy.
No mercy for anyone.
The tenants are scared,
they cower in the center of the room.
What can be done?
The lion passes over the roof.
It crumbles.
Boards
snapped.
Screams
heard.

If you want to know about real sadness,
ask a clown.

Young man,
young man.
Don't walk through the sunbeams.
If they catch you,
it'll be your head.
But,
what use is a head,
if there is no body.

Whisper through the cracks in the painted tiles,
tell the preacher your sins.
He is the only one that can help you
through this trying time.
What if the times aren't trying?
The clock is broken.
Stuck
at a quarter til twelve.

I am feeling faded,
like looking through the eye of a needle.
Watching the brave men
charge into the abyss.
This is their greatest pleasure.
This is my worst nightmare.

We are greater
than the clock
the sun
the abyss.

I heard once that when you stare into the abyss,
it stares back.

I hope that my abyss is blind.
I hope that the tiles are not cracked.
I hope that the clouds block the sun.
I hope.

Old man,
old man.
What do you know?

I feel my head exploding,
splitting really,
into a thousand clouds of
silver.
An uncharted breakdown
that is so very familiar.
People should be held accountable for
the actions of others.
The pressure lessens its grip on
my spinal cord.
The musical adaptation of my life
blossoms before my very eyes.
Seen through a dream catcher
that is broken with
nightmares of fallen ancestors.
Please,
forgive me for rambling.
Words are hypnotic and
let me forget about
the ringing in my head.
A thousand decibels of silence,
shattered.
They are forgotten by society.
Forced to live in gangways with cockroaches and
the pages of old leather bound books.
They leave on
a wing and
a prayer.
Bathed in dust and dirt,
they hear the barking of the pitbull
inside my head.
Brought down by the blade.
I once observed a church being boarded up,
blocking out the elements and homeless.
It was calming.
Does that make me a horrible person?
Eerily beautiful.
I wish I could go back to that moment in time,
frozen in place.
My head explodes.
Can you hear the bell tower ringing Quasimodo?
Chimes louder than a bomb,
falling through the rotted out wood.
It's for the best.
The Horseman didn't need a head.
The silence will bring me back.
Remember,
our actions now
are our actions now.
Ring the bell!

I am a selfish poet.
I am a narcissist.
Yes,
I like to re-read my poetry.
Thinking to myself,
"Oh! You nailed it with that line!"
Then,
I won't write for months.
Don't want to give the people too much.
Keep them guessing,
wanting more.
What happens when they don't want more.
In a bright room,
I'm the dark center.
In a dark room,
I'm still the dark center.
That's the great thing about being a selfish poet.
I can always imagine being the center.

No,
not like an egg.
Watch my eyes flash from
wall to wall.
Breathing heavy
because that always helps.
My life gets better but
my poems get darker,
filled with anger.
Is this how life is supposed to feel?
Regretting the life that
got me to this point?
Fractures forming.
Oh,
this isn't the end.
There are years left to this.
In five years,
these days will be
the good ole days.
and in ten...
Whisked away on
the edge of a cloud.
Wow,
that was deep.

Driving
rolling over humanity
paying more attention to
my directions than
life.
Stopped at the corner,
onto
the Highway of Kings.
You're wearing khakis and a blazer,
brown loafers and a green derby cap.
Rolling your floral print luggage,
the only flowers in the area.
A knock off Louis V.
What is in that suitcase?
Your life?
Do you notice me stare?
I am looking for my right turn lane.
Forgotten tomorrow.

His hands had the strong odor of
advanced hand sanitizer.
To keep the germs away,
while having ***** thoughts.
99.99% effective.

The devil is whispering
through white plaster,
pock-marked walls.
The window's eyes are watching
every movement of the
hardwood floors, sending out
dust.
A front door with four locks,
but one is broken.
A back down with four locks,
but never opened.
The devil can't get out,
the demons can't get in.
Waiting for the chance
for redemption,
riding on the back of a cockroach.
Close the French doors to the bedroom,
shut out the world,
bathed in darkness,
hidden,
secluded,
perfect
for one more day.

write a poem they say
it'll be fun they say
why don't they practice what they preach
and write this poem for me
I hate writing poems with meanings
they never come out
right
or is it left
behind
this can be summed up in a word
disappointing
I hate long poems

I keep blinking,
flashing signs of God and man.
Hallelujah!
Gold crosses piercing into the thick, blue sky.
Follow the lines down to the bell tower,
on top of the rusted green roof.
Amen! I say Amen!

I'm anxious and
keep blinking.
Watching God through thick windows and
the sun is casting shadows.
Engulfing the bright red brick in doubt.

I keep blinking
and this is my only view.

A house for the faithful
closed,
boarded up from the elements
and the homeless.
The day of reckoning is upon it.

My eyes blink faster.
What have I done?
Wishing I could see the sky again.
Choirs of angels replaced by
the pigeons roosting on the falling gutter
of this fallen congregation.

Struggling with the faith
I have forgotten.

If life flashed before your eyes,
I'd better keep blinking.

The Lord's home is smothered by Black Locust.
Is this the new normal?
Doubting faith,
accepting that it's not just a building.
It's all around.

I keep blinking,
snapshots of forgotten faith.
Rain begins to fall on the Holy Site.
And I can't stop blinking.

I can only spin around in my chair
and forget.

In case of an emergency:
we will meet at the safe area,
we will trample those who are too slow,
push those who are weak,
and follow proper protocol.

Where is the safe area?

Use your imagination.

Can we use the elevators?

Only if you want to die.

This has been an informative meeting.
If you have any other questions,
don't ask me.

A bird in the hand used to be worth two in the bush,
however, with today’s current exchange rates
you’ll be lucky to get half.
And if the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree
we may never eat again.
But should it fall,
it’ll probably spoil the barrel.
We’ve stretched ourselves thin.
Living off of borrowed time.
The cat had to sell seven of his lives,
just to feed his family.
I’ve heard that the grass is always greener on
the other side
but,
all I can see is a strip mall being developed.
Gone are the days when a fool would part so easily with his money.
That fool lost it all in the stock market and bought a gun.
An empty purse frightens all.
Lucky for us, we pay with credit.
People can say all they want,
words will never hurt us.
However, if they use sticks and stones there may be a problem…
We don’t have good health insurance.
There is a fine line between hope and utter despair.
It is just the beginning.
What comes next
will have a profound impact
on everything in life.
The pieces of this puzzle
will fall into place.
That stars will fall into line.
The dawn will be reached through the darkest hour!
Rome was not built in a day.
Then again…
Rome was sacked…

The sky has darkened,
filled with clouds
a violent, jagged
black. Night has
shifted.
Thundering,
shattering across
the vast horizon.

St. Michael,
the Archangel.
Defend us in
battle.

The dream has given
way to nightmares.
Day retreats
to night.

This battle is
just another
variation of my own
jaded
reality.

I’m having a
conflict of interest.
Who will make it
out alive?

Be our protection
against the wickedness
and
snares of the Devil.

I need it now.

No shield to protect.

Dreams burned
white hot into
the back of accepting
consciousness.
Scarred from memories.

Unforgiving supernatural
spirits working
behind
the veil of what is
and what is to be.

May God rebuke him,
We humble pray.
And do thou,
O Prince of the Heavenly host,
by the power of
God.

These premonitions are growing
in the shadows of self-doubt.
Breeding self-destruction.
I must remember
better times.

If it is to be than
what can be done.
Predetermined outcomes
wait at the tipping
point between
this world
and
the gates of Hell.

Fire whipping through air
sapping life from all forms.
Red glow blinding.
Suffering ,
with a fleeting hope.

I must not forget
what past has presented.
What future holds…

Only when it is accepted that
the calloused hands of
Fate
hold the fragile strings.

Can I truly be free…

From?

****** into Hell Satan and
all the evil spirits.

Oh,
the ending is coming.

If I could only
wake up from this
haunting.
Eyes closed,
listening
to the music of life.
Watching bright light
overcome the
coal black distress.

Who prowl about
the World
seeking the ruin
of souls.

I can make it.
The time to be idle
has passed!
This battle will
turn into
all out
war.
When all one must do
is be the best person
they can be.

I can
And will.

I must.

Amen.

This is what I got.
A title that really means more
than all of these words.
Writing a poem is
like a breath of
cliche.
I have been working on
moer than I can handle.
It is causing me to misspell.

Sure,
I could sit down.
write
write
write
Why?

None of these poems will ever
change the world?
Maybe, they will change one person's world.
Maybe, they have changed my world.
I am different.
Before I had clockwork,
now I have this.

Is this a change?
Is this a poem?

The clock rocks
tick tock
all the way to paradise.
While you look,
at old pictures of
situations you can no longer
remember.
In a flash they are
gone.
Long and
short hands
motioning that
your life is draining.
And the blackbird sings,
but only for a moment.
Knocking over the hourglass,
shattered time.
Oh, the
humanity.
Ring the gong,
sending shockwaves through
the world.
The global population's ear's
perk up,
listening,
waiting.
For the catastrophe at hand
to begin.
Monuments shatter and crumble,
the mind begins to deteriorate.
And the clock,
ticks
on
and
on.

I’ll tell you how this poem ends.
It’s with a hard knock and
a whole lot of painful questions.
Who? What? Where? When? Why?
But no how?

That’s a secret.

This poem ends with like taking advantage
of you,
then leaving while you’re still asleep.

It never really goes anywhere.
Sizzle Sizzle Pop Smack.
Just like that,
this poem flashes before your eyes.
Blaine would be proud.

I never read poems til the
bitter end.

No, I skip ahead,
even in my own poetry.
First sentence
to
the last word.

What does that say about me?
Like I said,
more questions.

Impulsive?
Maybe.

Let’s end it here.
Would that be the cowardly thing to do?
Or would it put this poem out of its misery?
It is starting to drag its feet.

I believe it is time.
Fingers crossed,
behind the back.

Click Click Bang Bang.

Don’t you hate it when poems drag on,
word after
word after
word.

Finished.

I find myself
wanting to change,
everything.

I want to go
back and do it all over,
again.

Please,
just this once.
Don't listen to me.
I wouldn't change it.

It made me who I am
today.

I want to walk
over cobblestone roads.
Gaze over red clay tops
and
breathe foreign air.

Remember my
favorite wooden bench,
under the old tree,
dying.
Where I watch the water
speed by,
such is life.

Bolted firmly to the ground,
keeping me from...
Bridges in the foreground,
pale blue
summer sky.
Cloud creepying over
the city.
Whispering,
watching.

A work of art,
one of the finests I've ever seen.

A momentary vision
of something I did not
appreciate.

Next time...

I rubbed his foot.

Drowning in my pillow,
waking up
realizing that this
isn't me.
I am watching life
flash.
Days from sunrise to set
people,
places,
ideas...
Thinking of what should
have happened
but
what really occurred.
I keep re-reading this chapter,
like some emotional teenager.
The next chapter is
being drafted,
everyone has their pen.
They're scribbling.
What are they doing?
Should this be different?
Is it this hard to move on?
I am becoming restless,
tossing and turning.
Sun bursts through the curtains.
Slowly moving my eyes
to the music of
Mozart,
refocusing on the bottle of air-freshener.
Oh,
what another day.

St. Michael,
The Archangel.

What should I think?

Wake me from this haunting.

I have become
the monster.

Defend us in battle.
Be our protection
against ourselves.

This world will show
only what we need to see.

The Devil is
watching us
dance to the bottom
of the bottle.

Sinking

into disassembly
This is not my true face.
No one will ever see that
I prefer to keep it close.

Waltzing by myself…
The only dance I’m allowed.

St. Michael,
The Devil is seeking the
ruin of souls.

I’m anxious.

Drinking alone.
Just waiting for something to happen,
watching life spiral into
madness.

The universe is expanding
and I am staying the same.

What does this all mean?
The story is slowing down
and I need more time;
to fully understand
what the other side wants.

Bending to the will of others
Please help me now…

I am trying to be the
best I can be in this life.

Oh,
the ending is
coming far too soon.

Defend us.

I will become that
better person.
I know I can.

I must.

What happens now?

These dreams
are becoming far too
real.

It has been said by many
that  
practice makes perfect.
Do not force it.
It usually comes out horribly.
Many people have told me,
"keep writing, you need to write everyday."
The problem is...
I have nothing to write.
I would rather get day drunk and
watch reality TV.
Sip on a Seven and Seven
wacth the day pass me by and
misspell words, not giving a ****.
Yes, watch is misspelled...
That's the funny part.
I won't pretend that I am an even a decent writer.
I get drunk,
**** people off,
make bad decisions,
regret those decisions,
promise myself that I will do better,
plead with the Almighty that it will
never happen again.
In the end,
I have stories to tell,
but no voice.
Start on a poem
and walk away.
Read the last chapter of a book
because I am a literary rebel.
No.
I am just lazy
and I hate surprises.
I am not a starving artist.
My waistband has expanded.
Let's be honest
I'll never be famous
and this is the longest poem
I will write in the coming week.

Circle Circle
Dot Dot
This dream of mine has been shot.
This nursery rhyme is no longer
a good time.
The lights are dimming.
The sexes are mixing,
exposed to the epidemic.
Everything is becoming a work of
spin art.
No medicine can provide a vaccine
for this lifestyle.
Circle Circle.
Dot Dot.
Endless cycles of not.

Looking at the frozen rocks,
trying to decide what
is so beautiful about them.
There has to be something.
Beauty is in everything.
They glisten in this clear January day.
Thousands of them
sitting there.
Mysteries unsolved.
That is why the Gods
laugh at us.
We turn nothing into
nothing.
Our grasp on the infinite is
already so thin.
Every rock must be turned over.
The beauty is elusive.
That is the beauty.
Staring at these rocks
help make us understand what
might happen to us.
Carefully observing the universe spin,
traffic lights change,
birds fly overhead,
these rocks unfreeze.

Watching the concrete waves
overtake the painted yellow lines
adrift in a sea of construction and
chaos.
Head swirling with
diluted dreams of grandeur.
The world is starring at the stars,
hoping
that they dont shoot across the sky.
No one wants wishes to come true.
What would humanity have to strive for
if all the magic became reality?
The veil pulled off
and the grass changes colors.
Just remember
chaos was once
order.

Sitting in a bar.
A beer with perspiration.
Its raining outside.
Hear the shuffleboard shuffle.
Intoxicated poetics.
Sober state of mind.

Stools shrouded in mystery.
Double doors leading in.
Bartender’s creations. (chemical concoctions)
Saloon of slumlords and hipsters
Open mic night.
Hippie Howls.

Don’t worry we got this under control.
Malboro reds, cowboy killers.
Don’t spend you life wishing,
Spend it living.
Better yet, spend it drinking.
Liquid courage. (men becoming beasts)

Awkward rages.
The best is coming.
Shielding secret shame in this scene.
Hidden in a pint of pilsner.
Free thinkers in a haze of hops.
Lets get drunk.

Make shift graveyards on the walls.
Honoring the dead.
Rest in peace.
Nothing less, nothing more.

Old Heidelberg.
Before my time.

The stalls scrawled with graffiti.
For a good time call.
Scratched onto the stall.
“Spread love like butter on a hot bun”
Sherlock and Watson.
Bromance.
This is a bar of friends.

What is this bar?
Drunk off this atmosphere.
Window panes with neon signs.
Disillusioned.
Concealed.
Unfinished.
The moves fast and goes right by.
Springing forward without a shadow of a doubt.
Members of the Great Unwashed.
The signs of our time.
I think we’re going to split.

Can I get another drink?
One for the road.

Don’t cut me off quite yet.

Play your cards right
Put on a mask to hide
Stacked deck
I speak lies
Fluently addictive
I’m infected with the soul
***** tonk hip
Broken record stuck on repeat
Hit me.
21 bust
Dealer’s choice. Counting cards.
Gambling addiction
One last chance to win at this lifestyle.
House always wins.
All in.
Out of control.
Runnin the table for brief seconds.
It’s gone.
Laid down everything on black.
This is how I live.
Just an honest man in a gambling world.
Juggling priorities.
Impulsive. Instinctive.
Alive.
Pop the bottles,
Full throttle.
Pedal to the metal.
This ride doesn’t stop.
Commit to it.
Makin money, spending money.
Just hoping to break even.
Break the bank, crack the casino.
We learned on the streets.
How to play this game.
Betting on games we know we can’t win.
These lines will end you in bread lines.
Doing it on the soul purpose of chance.
Will you ever know this lifestyle?
Seemingly scheming.
Flipping cards to the end
Royal flush.
Trapped in casino bright lights.
Just trying to find out what its all about.
For better or worse, I’ve been changed.
Lets **** this world up,
Before it repays the favor.
You’ve gone past gone to far
In deep.
I see possibility in failure.
The best of both worlds.
Collision course.
Make a bet.
Throwin’ down the table.
Snakeeyes.

We
are the people
Igniting the flame
Breaking the chaos of the repetition.
Playing through this game of life
Trying to find the experience
Sliding into the grave
This is our fantasy
We live it everyday
Places to be,
People to see.
We’re never growing up
Dancing through life.
Graceful.
Precise.
Lost.
This is our final request.
Abuse.
Back then it was called making a man out of ya.
Blind folded, hands bond, cigarette on mouth.
Facing my ****** expectations of self-image.
What would you have us do.
You’re a king with no crown.
We all dream of heroics
But it fades in our memories.
We’ve have forgotten the dream.
This is a conversation between you and me.
Gazing at the stars.
This is our choice.
Living from day to day.
Minute to minute.
Focused on the ever-changing present.
This is our story.
And it goes a little something like this…

The makeshift congregation packed into the church.
Hands clasped in broken hallelujahs.
Consecration of this community.
Guidelines for the faithful, faithful for tonight.
At least for now we can be one.
Trascendental divinity, like a silent wind flowing through
Public servants to ourselves.
We are the Church.
Sewn in the fields of the faithful.
Strewn through life like an empty chalice.
Filled with Merlot.
Hear us Father for we have sinned.
Glory to you.
Buffet Catholics asking for salvation.
Forgiveness sandwiched between the bread and pasta salad.
Repentant.
Offering up prayers for the ******.
Quick to judgment.
With the ferocity of Charlemagne.
Partial acceptance into our open hands,
You made a valiant effort.
Sign of the cross with water blessed.
Genuflect.
Kneeling on the pews, praying for peace.
External.
Internal.
Oh! My children! God will have mercy.
Part of the flock for once
Maybe twice
A year.
Not even staying for the full length.
The faint smell of frankincense.
We offer you this gift.
Ceremonies steeped in tradition.
Rosebeads hung from the wrist of regulars.
This mass is being said in memory of…
We offer up these prayers for…
The meek will inherit the Earth.
If we leave anything.
Cynics questioning.
We’ve found hope in a paperback on a bookshelf.
Who is our shepherd?

Sleezy Santa
drinking honey flavored
Jack,
straight from the bottle.
Ruining your Childhood
one large gulp at a time.
Chasing it with
Natural Light.
Oh the weather outside is frightful.
***** snow falling on
a ***** town.
The only way that drunkard got on the roof
is through liquid courage.
That **** is slippery
and one misstep means
** ** Hospital
for Jolly ole St. Nick.
The holiday season would be thrown through a loop
with Kris Kringle stuck in a coma.
Mrs. Claus is filling the papers for sole custody of the elves.
Happy Holidays.

I’m sporadically pinging
bouncing off mental walls.
Take a deep breath
In and out.
Doesn’t help at all.
My mind is racing
100,000 miles a minute.
Looking at street lights
out library windows,
burning and bursting with
anxiety.
This structure is crumbling into
anarchy of the mind.
It’s about **** time.
My mind forgets
about reality
and remembers
the
worst
possible
scenarios.
The world stands still.
Figuratively,
of course the world is still spinning on its axis.
I can feel it in my bones.
Constantly in motion.
The law of conservation of energy states,
“That energy can be neither created nor destroyed.”
Therefore, it must change forms.
The mind is a powerful tool.
A powerful weapon
against oneself.
There is no way of stopping
what is to come.
The paths get wider and I stay the same.
It’s all in my head.
Nothing is changing.
Everything is the same.
In a world full of atoms
we are all in this
til the end.

Lost at sea
smashing into fragments
adrift in thought.

Crashing onto the rocks,
drawn like flies who
have rejected honey
for something stronger.

Winds whipping to and fro.
No rest for the wicked.
The future is evasive.

Clinging to the undertoe,

As the waves crash over.

The water rushed in
from side to
side.

Overtaking the ship
the moon turns a blind eye
to the malicious assault.
Hiding behind dark clouds.

This storm is far too great.
For man to weather.
It is relentless.

Erasing us with sea foam,
washing away,
drowning all.
Sacrificial offerings to the sea.
Reducing the ship to driftwood.

There must be a stand!
Never give up!
Until the last breath!
No regrets, only choices!

Plunge headfirst into the sea.

It takes without warning.
It is hopeless to abandon ship.
These rocks are stripping
us down to skeletal remains.
Reclaiming what it believes
to have been wrongfully
stolen.
Dragging the remnants down
to choke on seaweed.

Siren’s songs reminiscent of
better days.
Eternally locked away
within Davy Jones Locker.

Only to be reborn the next day,

crawling onto the shore,

gasping for air, as light shines

again.

Living in this
cold world.
Every detail is noticed.

The birds chirp
with a hum of
highway traffic.

They fly south
in search of
better opportunities.
Carpetbaggers.

The wind brings the
sweet smell of
civilization.
Breath in.
Breath out.

Favorite sun pokes out
from behind its shadowy veil
of sulfur spewing smokestacks.

Listening to the grass
move,
groaning to keep up
the world.
An environmental Atlas.

Maintenance men out
pulling
the weeds
silently screaming for help.

The leaves don't crunch,
they let out
an apathetic sigh.
They move on
to their next life.
They've fallen
down on their luck.

Listen to the sounds
of Mother
being pushed around.

Demons and Mirrors

I hope you will
remember me
for what you thought
I was,
not what I
really am. The
secrets I held
will stay with
me.
Please remember
that boy sitting
on a park bench in Prague,
wishing
he was back home.
Not the man
when he returned as.

I’m the man
with the demons
stuck behind the
mirrors.
Scratching for
the surface
of this
reality.

Oh,
if I could only
show the transformation
from
excited to
anxious.
No one will ever
be let into
what I
actually believe,
feel.
I must keep
this protection.
This is my kingdom.
Never let anyone
fully in,
It will drive them away.
Maybe,
that’s the best option.

Please remember me.


St. Michael,
the Archangel.
Defend us in battle.
Be our protector.

I’m the man
behind the mirror.

Please,
keep staring
at the broken reflection.

Just remember.

Where skin meets pole,
In low society.
Is where I thrive.
This isn’t the right choice.  
Singles hustlin.
Join me in these dollar days.
This is your light switch entrance.
Sitting at a marble bar
Loveless love, pay by the song.
Selfish fun, ***** talking on the jukebox.
Jazzin’ to the music.
Standing up on that marble stage,
Showing the world whats yours is ours.
Drunken memories lived to the fullest.
I’m out trying to discover America.
Stripped down to its rawest form.
This road is laden with fallen philosophies.
Tasting of ***** money.
Bitter.
Fully **** girls flashing. (lights)
Blow in the bathroom.
The nightlife you’ve always wanted.
Movie star lifestyle.
Dimly lit.
Have some backroom privacy.
Conversations with strangers.
This is naked in all sense of the word.
Sensual seduction.
Classical redemption.
Primal ecstasy.
Trying to make amends with myself.
This is a haggard lifestyle.
Society frowns upon us.
Shameful scandals.
Fake lovesick mannerisms
Paid for in advance.
Exposed on stage.
You’re in love with a stripper.
Kitty, Desire, Destiny, Velvet.
All the love you’ve been looking for,
For the price of admission.
Just sit back and watch the girls on stage.
This is it.
We’re searching for love.
And if we cant find love,
We’ll settle for lust and luck.
You’re well taken care of here.
Don’t you worry about a thing.
Just don’t run out of money.
Superficial lover for a pay as you go one-night stand.
Never lonely here.
Late night tonight.
In the back of the club.
Are we having déjà vu yet?
You’ve been here before.
You’ll be here tomorrow.
Just a little longer now.
Climbing up the pole to the ceiling,
Only to slam down in the splits.
Don’t worry it can only get better from here.
This is the right choice.
Bright light flashing.
You’re finally in the spotlight.
Sold out, checked out, cashed.
“Let me do all the work sweetheart.”
We must live the way we feel is right.
We’re all trying to make our way in this world.
Lets not forget each other.
Cocktails anyone?
Is this wrong?
Living in this life.
This party
that never ends.

Spinning
until I get dizzy
around my cubicle.

What a view.

10% me
90% what I never thought I would be

"The current webpage is trying to open a site in
your trusted sites list."

I don't trust anyone.
So,
let's extend that pleasure to this site.

I blur all the gossip.
Catch a glimpse of the Spiderman Timmy found in the landfill.
After everytime I use it I squirt some hand sanitizer.

The wall to my right
now left
is full of
certificates,
showing how important I can be.

There goes my Sierra Club calendar.
My slice of the outside environment.
This month is a river bed,
frozen,
choked with multicolored leaves.
Smooth water pushing through
smooth rocks.
Reminding me
that I give a presentation two Wednesdays from now.

The one constant
is the over-abundance
of files...
All over.
Reminding me
that I had a deadline
and
that I shouldn't be writing poetry...

I think it's time for a walk.

I had a dream last night.
Yes, another of those poems.
Fooled you.
Unoriginal hack of a poet.
well,
deal with it.
Just listen.

Where was I?

The dream...
It started out well enough.
I was in an unfamiliar place,
walking down a city street.

I'm over this dream.
It's all the same.
Same experiences.
Same dreams.

Fast forward.

I woke up at 1:32 AM.
Yes, I always remember the exact times.
Thirsty as hell, I drained my orange juice.
Warm orange juice tastes like ****.
It didn't satisfy this craving.
It had to be the teriyaki chicken...
I wouldn't be able to sleep.

Fell back asleep.

2:34 AM, still
thirsty.
Drained two glass of what tasted like Fruit Punch.

Fell back asleep.

6:35 AM alarm starts going off.
Time to go about the day.
Remember what yesterday was,
what tomorrow could have been.

Maybe I will dream tonight.
Maybe,
It will be blank.
Wouldn't be the first time it happened.

Oh,
how emotional.

If you're wondering
the street turned into green fields,
wet with morning,
smelling of fresh life.
I ran by ___.

You make up the rest.
Not even my dreams are original.

Life is rough
when you make it.

Lets do this
before the fire fight.
Hard, piercing eyes
blindfolded.
Awaiting time to
show one
the
way
to where they
came from.
Final moments flash
pseudo-relief.
This is all just
a trip down
an unfamiliar road.
The wait
is worse than
the event.
This isn't Heavens gate.
Thunderous
black heat
for
cold blood.
White hot reminders
piercing
through tired spirit.
The past breeds
tainted memories.
It's empty when
the world ends.
Lets do this.

Sometimes the hero must die
masking the hopeful vision.
A blanket of black.

Not all tales begin with “once upon a time
and end with twilight.
The villain will win.
Ushering in an unholy time.
Happily ever after?
Consider it dead.
This may not work out in the end.
The only question is
How will it end?
Will it end?
How long can this last?

To Death,
roses smell like
spirits
six feet deep.

Life is spent searching for life.

St. Michael,
The Archangel
Defend us in battle.

The oppressed will rise,
only to be crushed again.
Never forget…

Hope takes time.

But what if hope never comes.

That
is how stories end.

And if the story has to end,
at least the beginning can be remembered.

Watching as the flagship spirals
out of control.
Sweet neon lights
sputtering supernova
lighting the path back home.

Where is home?

A sign of the times.

Men of the year
walking down cracked walks
sideways.
These imperfections.
Imagine the path
smooth as whiskey
and water.
The element of life.

Imagine the path cleared
by pseudo-wilderness.
Wouldn't it be lovely?
Only interrupted by
the cat-calls of
taxis, metro, trains flying overhead.

Which way is the right way?

Row houses rise on either side
a testament to the time
when this broken down
trains car of a town
was a Pullman City.

Degrading into bricks and mortar,
rusting to the point of
being obsolete.

For a good time
call me
old-fashioned.
This is my former glory,
made into a city.

It's time to decommission.

This is what every show becomes
when the lights fade
and the curtain falls.
When sunlight turns to shadow.

I expect less.

Tonight, I will
begin drafting
the most amazing poem.

The poem that will define
not just my age,
but myself.

Wait.

No, I wont.
I have other
priorities to attend to.

This section of my life
will have to wait.

I am
eternally
listening to
a symphony of
coffee pots,
gossip,
and cheap ***.

A red coffee cup
chipped,
sits on my desk,
half full.

Where is this going?

I can be filthy.
However,
I find it to be cheap,
a play.
Oh, sure,
use another idiotic
graphic in your
mess of a poem.

Where is this going?