I was the star
who lost his
glow -

automated
as I function
living for the
sake of living
as my heart
has stop breathing
the love he
suppose to
give.

so...
I burried my own
unglowing star
thinking
its hopeless.

I've been reading, reading,
watching, watching,
and working, working
same old, same old
until I lost my glow
and stop being wishful
as I know time has stop
as I drop
my dream,
sometimes....

I lived because
I can still pretend.

one more time, she whispers,
she whispers violently, tremulously, like an addict whispers
to the fingernail marks in her skin, like persephone whispers to pomegranate seeds, like sin, and her whispers collect on dollar bills in the wind, and the money flies home but she's still sitting in that bin,

wondering if Hades ever regretted his win

I can't take it,
So I wrap it up
As a gift of words,
And poetry becomes
An emotion,
And I can be,
And I can live,
Here right now,
Poetry,
Life in words.

A moment cuffs you in the face
like Newton's overstated apple,
and the evening dissolves
into sharp, steady resolve...
You think about the extra drink you should have drunk,
the song you should have sung
and the man whose touch y so missed...

The Muse had disappeared.
**** Muse.

Every time you try to find news you want to *****,
not just a little, but expel the very core of emptiness out of you,
and you picked a fine time to stop swearing
because there is a man whose feel you have so **** missed...

The stars continue to twinkle across the Northern Sky,  
oblivious to the bouncing of our big Blue Ball,
un-answering dreamful wishes;
though, there are other stars lying closer to your heart,
a fresh start and the barbells below...  
And you realize
life is found in the letting go...

And the Muse reappears, smiles an aching, wondrous, Hello.

“Tell me quick,”
the demon smiled
with teeth as long
as a crocodile’s,
threatening to
chomp down on my hand,
and turn it into a stump
of mangled flesh.
“Do you think
that you will survive
all the monsters crawling
deep inside
you fragile fractured mind?”
The slimy skin
was glistening,
with over accentuated
varicose veins pumping
poison and acid.
I turned away
from the shadowy form
to ignore the coming storm
of my madness.
But he smiled
deep and darkly
as if he could see
the very heart of me.
I shivered with despair
tinkling in all my fear
because the monster
made it very clear
that I would die
this very evening.
Though I cried
he ignored me,
while he walked away.
In all the terrors that I’ve seen
this is the one that made me scream,
begging for the angels to rescue me,
but the feathered hosts
of heaven never came.
No mattered how hard I prayed
I was on my own.
There before me
lay a silver blade.
So, I grabbed it while I waited.
The beast came back to fill his gut,
so I shoved the blade right up his but
and watch the filth and blood
drain from his bowls.
A smoking mass of ****** blood
made the strangest kind of sound
as it drained in clumps onto the mud.
He howled in rage and agony;
but I just smiled
with a sinister glee,
because I found the monster
was not as beastly as me.
Now the forest may be full
of demons, trolls, or goblins,
but I know that I can stop them,
so I feel no fear.

I did not really listen
cause everything written
that I read
was devoured too fast.
It was only when I slowed down
that I saw the words
for more then what they were.
They became images in my head
of the spiraling universe they represented.

What will people say
such a scandalous affair
a trickle claiming to be rain
when no water ever
comes near here.

Oh, dear what will
they think.
I shiver to inquire
what would ever inspire
such vague ideas.

If I truly cared
what strangers thought
I would not
be who I am
a poet pleading wares of words.

Truly I am a fool,
because I care
just enough to want
people to read my words
but not enough to change
the core of who I am.

To the boy who isn’t welcome:

We talked about a future
We talked about a plan
We talked about how you could be my man

We talked from month to month
Week to week
Day to day

We talked for hours on end
And then you stopped
I was filled with worry
Regret
Frustration
And anger
Finally all I felt was pathetic

I never got a text first
I never got a call
I never got an apology
Now thinking about it
I never got anything at all

I felt accomplished when you did text me back

Goodbye to all the feelings
Goodbye to all the plans
Goodbye to all the “mornings”
Goodbye, goodbye forever
I never needed you
And you're never welcomed back

the faith-based initiative  like a code is
let us ****
and pose it all
as God's will

Good morning Springfield
how are you?
don’t you know me
I’m your working son?
I’m the poet who
drives up from Litchfield
and I’ll be heading home
when my shift is done.

Well, here comes the sun.
My shift is almost done.
I’m tired as I can be
without falling asleep.
As I head home
I hear good songs
playing on my cellphone.
I wish that they were louder
because that music is usually better
then what is playing on my radio.

I stop once or twice
after a long work night
to drop a pound of ****
and keep driving home.
Orange hazes paint the sky
but my eyes are tired and dry
and I can barely keep them open.
So, I turn the AC up full blast
as the early truckers speed on past.
Drops of visine and shades to help me see
as I stretch my right arm
on the seat right next to me.

One last song before my exit,
I hear Willie Nelson sing,
“Good Morning America,
I’m the Train they call New Orleans.”
Then I hit repeat to hear the song again
before my car come rolling in.
Now, I am finally home my friend.