I am twisted.
As self-inflicted
fissures
crack
from all the pressure
that fizzles within,

not from soda or gin
but from my growing discontent
as I contend
with this trend
Of infantilizing
women and men,

this categorizing
everything improperly
for the sake of comfort,
consistency, and certainty
labeling things
that need no label
instead of just letting beautiful things
be complicated and interesting.

The factory is dingy.
Black floors wear
oil lines, deep scratches,
and metal scraps.

The tools are worn
with rust and age lines
like the ones in ancient pines.

Giant fans block out
all normal sounds.
Spider webs cling precariously
to the orangeish red moving things
that hangs from the ceiling.

Cracked and ***** large garage doors
beep like garbage trucks backing up.
Rotten wood rises. Wind rushes in
cooling my sweat soaked skin.

A rusted cage openly displays
all the expensive implements
the workers need to get through
the long nights and longer days.

Office in the middle;

Black and green machines
run so loudly.
Scattered all around
those rough machines
are stacks of metal stairs,
spools of metal wires,
and puddles of water
which from the roof
that needs worked on.

This place is ***** and chaotic
out in the boonies.
I like it way more
then the antiseptic one
I worked at before
because it has more history
and character.

You’ve got nothing better to do
then start spreading your truths.
Well I’ve been spreading truth to.
Since before you were growing your *****,
I’ve been shedding my religious blues
by shredding all the lies, you guys used.

Till, I
brought you
the good news.

You are free

from

Dogmas

Sexism

Racism

Xenophobia

and all those judging your sins
with that outdated, poorly written text.

Yes, you are free from all that hate printed within
your savior’s false bleached tinted skin.

Though, I might not reach you
or your slew of pew hugging dudes
the few who I do get through to
will live a much richer life then you do.

I guess was stalking
Stephen Hawking,
a digital wonder
when he starts talking
speakers squawking
out more brilliance
then a million
of those treasure troll
jelly roll
spitting skoal
racist rednecks.

Chased down Bill Nye
the super sonic
science Guy
cause I hoped he could help
me learn why
creationist and politicians
get so far by telling lies.

Sat next to
Richard Dawkins
who left me gawking.
Never saw a scientist
so perfectly British
with his “Selfish Genes”
questioning everyone’s
“God Delusion.”

And Neil De Grass Tyson
was on the radio splicing
science with pop culture,
making “Star Talk” podcasts that
are trying to bring back
scientific literacy
before our society
actually becomes
The movie “Idiocracy.”

Her breaths are
the flames of
Anubis.

Her lips are
the cold fury
that becomes
the dread
of the undead
in Hade’s domain.

Her presence
proceeding
certain needing
to collapse
makes her
such a sick supplicant
suicidal somnolent
under the inevitable
onslaught
of each empty
underworld.

The frogs and the locust
weren’t so bad,
But when Moses attacked
With his snake staff
The river bed bled
Streams of red
Thick and congealed
Till the currents became scabs
For mankind to pick
Leaving long dry scars
In its wake
With no water for
The saints to slake
Their divine thirst
And though Jesus said
Suffer the children unto me
And that no one should harm them
It was the children
Who were hurt worse

What is one act of kindness
against a lifetime of darkness?
One kind word, one handshake,
one smile, one dollar,
one ear, one meal, one ride
against a bad year
or a bad life.
Sometimes it is the difference
between a good day
or a bad one.
Other times it only equals
one moment against
an army of shadows.
Sometimes it means the world
other times it is lost
in a sea of sour expressions.
Sometimes it is the difference
between life and death.

Stretched figure strains
working hard to get by,
while staying sore and tired
most of his life.

Lonely man in a home,
family forgotten.
Siblings lost to time.
Skin wrinkled, mostly deaf
eye sight almost gone.
No one knowing
what is going
on inside his mind.

Abused wife
desperately trying to get along
stressed and angry all the time,
always running away.

Housing brat
walks the block.
Neighbors
hear his mother scream,
know that something isn’t right
but they don’t do a ****** thing.

Abandoned brother,
abandoned son,
lonely druggee
judged by everyone
steals this and some of that
just to get something
to distract him from the fact
that his immediate family
doesn’t want him to come back.

I’ll be the keeper of their stories.
Though you might never know their names,
might never know their shame,
I will not let you forget their pain.

It feels like we live in separate realities.
In your world the pop songs sparkle.
Shiny things bring a better quality
and the invisible hand of greed
is always the best option.

In my world there is anger and tears;
thirty-six years of disappointment
peppered with worldwide violence.
There is hunger and desperation
where it could be avoided.
There is aggression where compassion
would be better served.

In your world SUVs and mansions
seem to be the golden standard,
and everyone dreams of
acquiring enough new stuff
to beat the other consumers.

In my world there is war
There are people just beyond
my fingers reach,
children outside my door
still suffering.
While upper middle class mothers
are setting up scheduled playdates,
daughters are out getting date *****.

People making choices
that no one should have to make
like water, or electricity
like food or heating
like gas to get to work
or a non-holey t-shirt
like killing your own mother
or someone will **** you
and your little brother
like selling drugs to make ends meet
or working a job that does not
provide any real stability.

In your world
bland statements stir the masses,
simpletons lead
the desperate, separate
but same factions
and your identity
is a prepackaged
commodity.

In my world
I rage against stupidity
but this anger is
slowly killing me.
Chest tightening,
it is frightening
how the wealth is passed on
how success is passed around
how art is watered down
to the most basic
and remedial bits of
repetitive ****.

In your world;
You do not see what I see
but I still see you
and right now
you are breaking my heart.

How cliché my love of clouds is,
but I have been enjoying this
cloud watching pastime
since before I was nine.

Today Athena’s hair is
long and bluish grey
losing fluffy bits
as they fly away
as the day gains
more morning shades.

Behind a brick building
proceeding the rising sun
receding colors of night
become a pink and orange phoenix
fighting a dragon with a pink and purple underbelly.

Occasionally, I am besieged by the cruelty of humanity.
Burning blankets of pain and anger inflame and engulf me.

But with a crack of kindness my hope is restored.
I meet a decent person who helps me out
when I am in need.
I meet a friendly person
who calms me down when I am panicking.
I see my better self reflected in strangers.

Then a ****** mows down
a crowd of innocent bystanders
with a van and a bunch of guns
and I am right ******* back
to where I started from.

How strange it is to dream
That we could meet in-between
In some romantic scene
Existing outside reality
Living in a bubble world
A place where neither extremes meet
Where there is no soul deforming opulence
Or in comparison no division
That leads to chilling forms of poverty

If we could dance in love
Away from the ways of hate and greed
Fulfill the need to feed the hungry
Cure all the disease
And seed hope
For each generation after

If there was more laughter
And fewer tears
Till only natural sorrows remained here
What a sweet romantic world that would be

Release me from your Trinity.
I did not volunteer to serve
a severely disturbed deity.
I do not sit resigned
to some petulant being
defined as the divine
with a split personality,
and a magical mind.

Though I navigated their world with a poet’s compass,
needle pointed northward towards the stars,
sails set open to capture heaven’s winds.
Clear fabric flapping;
I found strangers laughing
at what I had that they were lacking.

But with the quill of curiosity
and the telescope of hope
to chart the rough waters ahead of me,
I became the sea scribe of humanity
wanderer in love with those
who will never love or know me.

Squid ink to parchment,
I write to the complacent
sending cresting waves of
hope, wisdom, and love.
The seas become the ocean.
My arguments become less cogent.
Till, my heart capsizes
leaving no survivors
in this saltwater wasteland.

Sorrow splits the night
like lightning in the sky.
I see strangers
with an endless reserve
of tears clouding
their red and bag heavy eyes.
Makes me wonder why
they had to live
to see their children die.

I pass by these borders you plan to build
thick brick walls to block you from how
all these strange foreigners feel,
but I will take all the pain they receive,
make their scars a permanent part of me.
I will see this life break me
of all those playful star trek fantasies
of how we will be better human beings.

Cause, I have seen babies wearing bullet holes
like little red onesie, and crimson bibs,

seen pictures of places we will never be,
decimated cities, with scars so deep
that even the stones bleed.

I shudder
knowing we do not need
Hollywood monsters
because real nightmares
exist over there.

Please tell me how
do I move on
from these portraits of pain.

Again they strike
like sharks smelling blood
shredding the skin of night
with bullets and Van lights
burning the insides
of the innocents
who are unable
to find a safe place to hide;

But I still get to live my life
parse out a few sincere tears
for those who will never
get to go home again
for those who
I will never meet here.

These tears fade fast
and disappear
as I watch my shows
and eat my late night lunch.
I know they suffered.
I should feel more,
but time continues.
This pain is but a minor
selection on life’s menu
supplied by the internet venue;

And I am so Self-absorbed
that over half of this poem
is about me.

We are a species
with the ability
for self-directed
evolution.
We can decide
what qualities
are propagated.
We can be educated
not anesthetized by media lies.

We can be better
if we choose to be,
when we choose to be.

We can be
a great collective,
a shining light
that spans the stars,
extolling
the virtues
of creativity,
compassion,
and curiosity.

We can be
the heart
of humanistic priorities
that values
all of humanity
and treasures
this reality.

Her smile is not for me.
though beautifully displayed,
finding feathered heart
floating away.
These sweet small
contortions
are not for me
but being so beautiful.
I am glad I was there to see
her smiling at someone
even if it is not me.

--------------------------
I am jealous
Of how beauty looks
At another
How success
Finds another
How fairness
Is only a fairytale
Most of all
I am jealous
That my past self
Was more at peace then me

A beauty works
enshrouded by
obscuring light
long blond hair
verging on
silver grey
interesting
moving and smiling
working
seems kind
from what I can see.

Perhaps that is just
the bias in me
that wishes beauty
to be as beautiful
inside as what is outside.
I keep such thoughts to myself.

Anything to avoid pain
Medicate to a stupor state
Sugar coated OxyContin
****** attraction
Mediate the different ways
With only small intervals
Of pain
Sleep, work, play
Do not think
Snort, drink
Puncture your veins
Novelty for nonsense
Morphine and Novocain
Music to sooth the inner beast
Books, plays, tv
**** movies
*******
Anything to avoid
The deeply planted pain

I am no Vincent Van Goh.
Even though, I know
his dark lows,
and manic heights,
the painful trips
that haunted him
so long ago
are partly mine
to show in the growth
of my artistic soul.

I am no Edgar Allen Poe.
Even though, I know
similar melancholic moods
and addictive attitudes.
He is a part of my
personal history
of great things
that inspired me
and everything I write
has a part of the spark
that was once his heart
of darkness and light.

I am no Leonardo Da Vinci.
Even though, I share
his deep scientific curiosity
and inconsistent creativity.
I grow and flow poetically
as he did transitioning
from one grand passion to the next
obsessed then moving beyond
that which spawned
such obsession.

In life death and art
there are so many
who are a part of me
people I will never see
or live to be.
I am me……..
with all my painful parallels
on the same journey
just riding a different track.

Hate was the darkness
tied in thick frayed ropes
smothered in kerosene
swung over the biggest branch
and wrapped around my throat
while strangers pulled and tightened it.

It was the match lit that **** fire.
Their rage burned my skin
while choking me out
like a sadistic wrestler.

It was branding
and dismemberment.
All those children remember it.
It was little trinkets of remembrance,
bits of flesh, and teeth
Any part they could take of me
before and after
I hung lifelessly
from the most convenient tree.

But if you think this is just
some case of dark skinned history
Then check the news
and you will see
they are still lynching me.

I believe that the world is blind
Must be ******* blind
Because the horror images
Are so easy to find
You can see the sick disgusting
Blood and gore
Results of war
So ******* better be blind

I belief that the world is deaf
Must be ******* deaf
Because the voices are there
Strangers crying
Brothers plying better poetic wares
Screaming out you better beware
Poetically, comedicly, musically
You have got to be kidding me
When you say you do not hear

I believe this world is *******
Must be ******* *******
Change is overdue
And we cannot undue
The climate calamity
The span of our inhumanity
How the pain spreads
Like bubonic plague
While you walk
Your blue bonnet *** away
Oblivious

I believe in you
Has to be you
You have to choose
Because I can’t do it for you
Perhaps you can see beyond me
Look beyond my fatalism
My sad and painful cynicism
You can’t be worse then I once believed
Maybe you can be better

They laughed at the madman
Who talked fast and inconsistently
And I snickered to
Partook in the cruelty
Of judging indecently
Till I remembered myself
Till I saw the human being
Sitting patiently on a parking stump
Waiting for a connection
Needing a friend
Looking away not in
Perhaps hoping
For kindness
Even though
He wore a skin color
Labeled other
My stomached ached
With a desire to reprimand
Those who had been cruel
To take this strangers hands
As some saints would do
Instead, I stifled such sentiments
Now, I find my inhumanity
Bothers me more then
Other’s cruel behavior

Like the shadow
that covets the embrace
of day’s dwindling rays
as dark tendrils chase
loving light away,
I to race to face
that which retreats
from my sore and
swollen feet.

Rushing on
but when it is
within fingers reach,
I hear a noise,
I have a thought,
I turn my head,
then turn it back
and like the light
my love is gone.

Everything is leaving.
Water evaporates.
Currents race away.

The leaves part ways
with the trees that sway.
Flowers lose their petals
then loose themselves.

Bees take off for the hive.
Butterflies take off for the sky
then die.

Particles pass away
separated from what
they once were.

The seasons leave
and when the new year
gets here
the old one disappears.

Hair, skin, and teeth
Wrinkle, fall out, or just
become dust.

Even those you love
family, friends
pets, and partners
exit this stage.
Till, it is your turn
to find your place
and fade away.

As a rule
I was never good
at turning away
ignoring another’s pain
even when they tried to
make it a rule.

I do not begrudged
this hearty heart
that feels so deep
and drowns in part.

Knowing that strangers
may exist
but once we meet
we are no longer this.

Once we break bread together,
shed tears together,
walk in wavy roads
Of parallel pain together,
though we may be quite strange,
we are no longer strangers.

Thus in our mind’s connection
the only real option is to lessen
the suffering of one another.

I hear the train stutter
as it vibrates the whole block.
A conductor runs
those rusted cars
roughly across the tracks.
From the bank
I can see each car
with their random tags
from artists
all over this land.

The old tree wears new leaves.
Green things gleaming and moving
dancing like a grass skirt
with the warm whims
of these soft summer winds.

I will not succeed
and knowing such
sets me free to be me,
let’s my sails open
to solar winds.

Wings are ready to rise,
because I am ready to fall
ready to be drowned
in it all.
I can fly for now.

To be seen
By amorous eyes
Feel the friction from
Those positions
Of paralleled affections
With her long and
Glamorous thighs
Soft curling tongue
Athletic with desire’s
Fevered urgency

To lap love’s
Pooling juices

To linger
With fingers
Rolling softly
Across her skin
Hear her sighing

To feel her flesh vibrating
Her breath climaxing
In unison
Then sated
After ***’s fury has abated

To speak and listen
While cuddling
What a wonderful
Weekend that would be

They wrap a bag in a big bad bow,
silk that sparkles in the day’s reflected wonder,
blue that shimmers and waits to plays outside.
Instead the bag hides a steaming pile.
I spit rage and bile cause that vile
package is just one
more piece of purchased *******
one more perfect present
to present
a fake pre-constructed sentiment
of pre-ordered individuality.
It is consumerism, our kryptonite,
which is slowly destroying
curiosity and morality.

Please check this link out. Feedback would be greatly appreciated.


https://soundcloud.com/graff1980/earths-lullaby-3gp

This room is a prison
A soul ******* constriction
Of cold capitalistic ambition
Silent stares for the sake of
Professionalism

I can feel the embolism
Bubbling up in my blood vessels
Red water ready to burst
Till my heart hurts
From such callousness
In the name of business

Corporate copying
Money making, taking
And eventually losing
All that we are trained to believe
Is the measure of a successful
Human being

Disembodied voices
Sit in a conference call
To convince tellers
To tell people
That credit cards
Are awesome
That it won’t cost them
Much at all
And they can get rewards
Not mentioning
That the percentage
Of interest
Outweighs any rewards
They claim are so great
And if the cardholder is not careful
Heavy debt waits
To chain them to
Financial insecurity
And a job that is cruel
Countering the countenance
Of mankind’s
Desire to be free

Look how the water
sits.
Droplets
pool in
miniscule puddles,
comfortable positions
on this imperfect plant.

Petals gleaming, and bending in
the summer wind,
wearing light green,
soft, cool, and moist
orange and browns shades
surrounded by a pool
of random stones.

I close my eyes
massage my eyelids
see impossible impressions
of the pressure
become spherical
abstractions
distorted shapes
rippling in the void
of sightlessness.

I put on my shades
Scratched lenses
Light tints
Cracked partly
To the left end
Speckled and
Slightly fogged

It is my mind guard
And I find time
Mine the mine fields
Of my imperfect mind

Visions obscured
Or misdirected
By my preconceptions
Ignorance and arrogance
Though most do not know
I can tell I am color blind

They broke me with the shadows;
Fears and uncertainty,
loss haunting me,
till hope turned towards
celestial possibilities.

They broke me with love;
One father figure
who I figure
has something better
for me.

They broke me with confusion;
Contradicting rules
cornering this fool
till, I submitted.

And when I didn’t,
they broke me with fear
and hellfire.
Till, I either died
or gave in
to their desires.

He says with a certain amount of spit
that if they step on or burn it
he will **** them.

My feelings are torn.
While I mourn the loss rational thoughts
the passion of what he was taught
does not seem permeable.

I do not think I will be able
to separate him from the unstable
emotional connections
stirred by bland patriotic symbols.

It is so hot, that I can’t sleep.
I just sit silently sweating.
Till my gross oily skin
Forces me to take
My third or fourth
Shower of the day.

I can’t sleep
But laying in the darkness
Through my partially open door
Someone is passed out
With someone they love
Sleeping on my living room floor

I can’t sleep
So I write what I do not want to keep
Locked up in this hot head
Not impatient or violent
Almost feverish
With summer’s sweltering abuse

I can’t sleep
Because I do not trust
These people I know
Sleeping just beyond
This wooden door
If I opened it more
I am sure it would not be bad
The air is on
But the troubled part
Of my reptile mind
Does not want to risk
Any vulnerability

I can’t sleep
And this is bothering me
My own burden
My own proclivity
To endanger my sanity
Because
Because
Because
**** I don’t know why
I just can’t sleep

It has been almost
Two thousand
And five hundred years
Sine Plato’s cave
Spewed us out
Into an odyssey
Of light and
Philosophical
Humanity
Two and a half
Millennia
Spent clawing our way
Out of the dirt
Into this age
Of technological wonders
And now you
Want to blunder
Back in to
That cave that
Gave birth to
A new science
You want to
Take back
Evolution
And electricity
Medicines, and
Other utilities
Letting Freon
Burn a hole through
The atmosphere
That was protecting you
Letting old ideologies
Rebloom and consume
Taking the opposite
Of mushrooms
Twenty-five centuries
Till we succeed
In failing so completely
As you drag me
Back into
Plato’s cave

I am tired, so tired
Of ancient relics
Stark statues
That mark
Old attitudes
Bad ideals  
Enshrined in
The sacred skin
Of spiritual devotion

I am tired
Of blind faith
Celebrating hate
Bathing those
Who wait
In the blood of
Ignorance and violence

I am tired
Of the unreading masses
Thinking that they are
Taking me to task
For my bad ideas
Smart mouths
With no solid stance
To back up
Their empty chants

I am tired
Of the primed populations
Bending to the will of
Wealthy preachers
Who give less then
A particle for the truth
And make a fool
Out of all those who
Pay them
To play them

Are you true a dear and darling specter
Skin softly glinting
While wild winds start sprinting
Ruffling your sweet short haircut

Are you true a dream come from
Sparkling stars and their little brother
Our one true sun
Binary, light and dark
That which consumes
The heart and art
Of love

Are you true a fellow seeker
Truth speaker, lovely dreamer
Follower, leader, and teacher
Passionate and fierce protector
Of the hand that connect him and her
To you, me, and all our dreams
For a better world

Are you true a hopeful thought,
An idea that sought to take what
You were taught
And make yourself my equal
And on many occasions
my beloved better

Are you true a sight of desire
That stirs my eyes to better sights
Sees vessel and pupils dilate
With the thought of your skin
Touching my skin
With the thought of
Your thoughts exploring my thoughts
Merging the ****** and the intellectual
The passionate pleasure of ***
With the passionate explorations
Of the all the depths
Even you did not know you had

On the muddy Mooreland
The madness came
As naked warriors
Came rushing in
Blades in hand
Slashing man
After ****** man
Blood and guts
Gore for glory
Price paid
To play king maker stories
Daggers, and bows
Blow after blow
Barbaric and tragic

Some find magic
In these tales
Some find honor
Like mental *******
They imagine facing
Such odds with grace

Not knowing how
Their face would whiten
How their bowls would lighten
How courage would
Sink deep into the dark recesses
And the primal urge
Would be to run away

These battles did not make men heroes
Did not take ordinary to legendary status
They damaged victor and loser alike
Those who died
And those who survive
Where both broken

Language is the democratization
Of making shared meaning

Today I stopped to help a stranger
Pulled over on the highway’s shoulder
to make sure they were ok

but for every one time I do that
I recall ten or more times
I looked the others way
Because I had somewhere to be

Today I picked up a stranger even though
I know that in my state it is illegal
Most people are scared but not me
Even though for every one time
I picked up a stranger that I found
There was five or more
Where I left them on the road

Today I gave a homeless person
Some money and or some food
I felt good, pride,
That is not something everyone
Would try to do

But for every one or two
I am able to help
I can see a hundred more
Some starving in silent desperation
Some crying in public locations
Some holding up signs

Most I recall haunt my mind
And find their home in these line
I write and cry knowing I can be better
Knowing I can do more good
But knowing that it would cost me
My hard earned peace of mind
My hard earned wallet of green
And all those other precious things
That apparently I value above
Other human beings

These nightmares
Are black and white
Rectangle pieces of paper
Because colored
Cuts would hurt
Too much

Instead we track
Railway cars packed
People stacked
And dropped behind
Barbed wire restraints
Bare burnt brick buildings
Were soldier’s stole
Pretty clothes
Trinkets, and anything gold

Never forget
The nearly naked numbered men
That barely survived
The acid burning
Of women and children
Starving saints
More bone than flesh
Ovens made to cook
The stolen Skin of their kin

We hold such horrors
Far away
Keeping shallow thoughts close
While Forgetting those
Who suffered such indignities
But this is our shared history
Lessons we need to see repeatedly
So we do not let others succeed in
Seeding the same dark tyranny
In our modern democracy

Where have you gone
My thin trans friend
Internet companion
Daily confidant
Whose conversations
I enjoyed
Beautiful and dark
I miss your art
I miss the part
Of early mornings
Wondering and hoping
That you sent me
A message to read
Two times you left abruptly
Scared the **** out of me
But you came back online
How I tracked such times
Glad to find you alive
But your third departure
Seemed to be permanent
So I stalked your facebook
Just to take a one last look
And make sure you were still breathing
Make sure you were just leaving
Me and not life
Now knowing all is alright
I say goodbye to a memory
Of someone dear to me
Heartbroken but relieved
That you are alive