the good book says
one to tame
another to handle the whip
and groan at the horses
as they pull the
freedom carriage

freedom from what?

freedom from fields
of wheat and grass
freedom from
dirt and potatoes
freedom from the
bite of the whip
in the sweltering
Georgia pits

lord
this good book isn’t
very good at all
these horses can pull their own
but I am weak
tamed
invisible
I am a pipe cleaner
bent over and over
until it snaps
to quote
I don’t want to live on
this planet anymore
I don’t want to live at all

this is the sun breaking through
this is the vain bee trying to pollinate
this is my rose under glass

quake if you must
earth
I have been shattered already

promises locked onto a small hand
became broken fingernails
that were sharp as the needles
that littered your bedroom floor.
you never told me secrets anymore.

pink lemonade was mixed with
other things. stronger than the bleach
you used to dye your hair. sickly summers
in your throat reminded me of palma violets.
i’d hate to know what went inside it.

the people you loved became
people you’d forgotten.
i like to think you loved me once.
but now i live in your memories
and our childhood shines faintly like dreams.

Where Do poets Go
As I write a poem I often wonder where do poets go.
Do travel the world to look for that poem they have been waiting for?
Do just sit and think if I was a great poet would I have all the words to write a great poem?
Where do those poets go?
Do they go to the moon or mars? Or to the underground to find that super hero.
Do they travel to a parade to see all the flags that fly?
May be they go to heaven to find a love one or looks for a well known person.
Well I know of one poet that does know where he is going.
That is to bed to find a great poem.

When a mourning heart wanders, it leaves footprints to follow--
           On faint-lit streets and murky gutters I was led all along;
I saw my body last night, hung with barbed wires on a bough.
And as I dangle, bathing in moonlight, I was singing our song.

I broke my heart into a puzzle of pieces
hoping to rebuild the empty people that I met.
Each one asked for a sliver,
but just one was never enough.

I discovered people were more hollow than full,
and that they took more than they gave.
Soon I was the empty one,
my fragmented love living in those
who had already left.

What a breathtaking hell you must endure
to search for yourself in the people you have loved,

but lost.

You are Shakespeare in a world of fools,
poetry in a world of broken words and
broken feelings.

in a world full of desperate cryings
and spiteful noises,
You are the jazz instrument that
makes it quiet in my mind.

You are love in the middle of
this war i am fighting with myself.

Your lips, pure art,
You are the smile
that brings colour
in this black-and-white world.

You
a dance in a summer rain,
You
a rebel lost in a world of rules,
a free bird,
a mystery,
You
the richest wine,
that makes my dark feelings
numb.

You,
beautiful as Vincent's Starry Night,
Your eyes are two blue moons
i get lost in
You,
the one who has a shelter in my mind,
You,
the purest feet that have ever stepped on my heart.

You,
the voice that lifts me from the abyss
whenever i fall.


To be or not to be is no longer a question,
to be with You
is the only answer.