The way it walls in thunder across the sky
Strikes in lightning crashing by
Cries in drops fall tward the ground

  Just a sound
not a sound

Gasp for this thing you've never seen

                                    scream for that life you never knew

                                       cry for this hate you dont understand

                                              pray for your life to be something

                                    sing for everything else


                 sing me a picture ill paint you a song?
Do We Have A Deal?
                                     yes yes mr. whatever you say, just please let me go...

sometimes life throws you a curve ball
sometimes life wont play catch



                                                          Judge­ me please

                                                         ­ its what i begging

its what im calling for when i challenge life to entertain me



look at me, look through me, look to me, look past me and  
    
scream






scream everything you cant see
scream everything you cant sing
cry the rest out for the world to see
and build you a bridge for


                                                         so why do you get a bridge

                                         what makes you so ******* special?

                                         your tears, the pain you've never felt

                                                           ­                                                    its stolen, all of it

                                                  cant you just ******* wait for it to come to you

                                              you know it'll get there on its own

                                           then who will you lament for

                                       then who will cry and scream

 who will sing a lulaby
too sweet to sleep to...

sanity is relative

it's a hidden amenity

some convenience of clarity

like the kleenex in hotel bathrooms.

you'll be fine without it

better even maybe

depending on how big a mess you like to make..

because toilet paper works just the same

only maybe not as nice

same principal really-

most people cant even tell.

or maybe they're too busy

trying to tell themselves

the scotty they're holding

isnt 2 ply.

Mapping the veins on eyelids
A subtle lattice work of blue life
softly breathing, indifferently beating
a gentle pulse lifting skin
a rare moment of honesty, deliverance
found only in the frame of a dream

An exchange of minds would leave us breathless
Speechless, for here words have no bounds
no meaning, other than that which we bestow
delicatelydownward

a path is traced
Along the creeping blue
past through the notches of your spine
a path well known
never to be lost upon

My child. My life

Deep in a wish of denial
what i wouldnt give
to trade with you
A gift i tried to give
.but i was never good at sizes

my darling.mydear

If only i could
exchange once more
i promise i would get it right.
Instead, they tell me
its time to let go
to you my child-
the first ill never know

                                                           ­                                                       and so she slept
                                                           ­                                                     in sweet fragility
                                                       ­                                                        almost breathing

                                                      ­                                                                 and so i wept
                                                            ­                                              with subtle bravery
                                                         ­                                                             almo­st living.

Another night
filled with men
Wearing those eyes
that look,
the predatory one.
Staring-
gorging
on imaginary flesh;
but hey
that's why they pay me
And that's how
in a few more years
I won't be here.
Replaced-
with a younger model
Maybe even,
that I've trained
in my likeness

Finding his ***** hair In my clothing
What is seven years but one of your lifetimes
Even the cats have nine

Faces that can't choose
between a smile or a frown
I can assure you
my heart is breaking
Fortunately
the lattice work of scar tissue
cradles the pieces together.
Eventually
they'll knit back,
still beating all the while

The beautiful things
or body does

Do not mistake guilt for affection
Its a worse way of getting your heart broken
Than confusing *** with love

Where the off keys are the subtleties
Missing symmetries linking beats
Rhythms rhyming daytime stories
With nighttime attitudes
Dudes and ladies
Going crazy in lime light
More impressed by concept than conception
Misguided perhaps
maybe blinded
Influenced so greatly
By something stirred gently
On the off chance
What they need to say
Matches what was heard
Wheezed into a microphone
30 feet away
Elevated, but not above
Their ability for connection
And desire for attention
Packed rooms full of people
Wanting a label
To cling to or sing to
Making it easier to declare with conviction
Instead of trying to stick out by fitting in
(Afruitless effort, except by the trend setters)

Nauseous again
Looking
Somewhere
Someone
Something
Situations
Horizons
Sta­nding
Still here
Staring
Over there
Not mine
Its not mine
My place
My life
My friends
None of it
Is mine
Fakes
And liars
Lazy slight of hand
Kids
With big voices
Always drunk
Always drinking
Drink up drink up
who's in the cup
Who's turn
Who ****** up
Chewed
Not swallowed
Drank
And spat out
By kids
With big voices
This is not
My place.

poetry is meaningless
words are just the same
untouchable
by our own experiences
ungraced by that of others
there is an
infinite beauty
in the endless possibilities
but its nothing real
instead their own world
revolving
evolving
dissolving
into new connotations
to impact someone else
never less applicable
never more knowing
"tragically" unfeeling

words

they say anything you want
and tell them-
the audience,
what they need.
its not desire
for self exploration
they're looking for
Then they would write
instead,
they depend on you
the "poet"
to describe them
to tell them who they are
and how they feel
since beyond you-
it's a mystery
their mirrors are broken
covered in hairspray and cheap perfume
with all those moments of regret
clinging to the glass in faded memories
frosting it just enough
that nothing is clear
so its safe
and then
when you tell them
when you use these illusive words
to bring enlightenment
into everything they are
and ever will be
with a general abstract
they can relate to
they get the option
of becoming a connoisseur.
of speaking as though they know
because somehow its so familiar.
(Like the days at their granparents house
back when they were a child)
but because they know
even vaguely,
you've given them the right to rejection
to denial
and self righteousness
to civilized critiquing
when really
they're just missing the point
and honestly
im not angry enough to care
maybe later
but right now-
i just want the words
to speak
so that i
dont have
to say anything

wind, always gets lonely
                       turns chaotic
                          and fighting

            cold
freezes so bad
     it burns

                                                          ­                                                        dont worry sky
                                                             ­                       the ground will dry your tears
                                          move recklesly
excess
                   and
agitation
                     escapes        
surging down
                         w
                          a
                          r
       ­                   d
                                            ­   singing sweetly
                                                         ­        softly.

pose.aim.click

focus everybody!

it's not clear-

you'll have to grab another child to save

quickwhileeveryoneslooking

laugh    like its okay

like you're not buring up inside

like you dont care that you have to touch the poor

like you cant feel their filth through your designed costume



even the holy stare

even the homeless smile



                      the educated ask you to lunch

                       the profesionals drug your drinks



                                                               ­                   your protection needs payment
  
                                                      ­                                   so you charge the going rate

                                    and they pay

                                                         and you pay

                    



it's equilibrium

                but without the balance

I saw god once

he was a *** begging for change

So I gave him a quarter

And he sent me to hell