I was sitting quietly
just outside the city
beneath a starry sky,
contemplating all that is
in this strange 3d life
and enjoying a cool night.

Knowing that once
the night ate the day.
Then the sun ascended
in an orange expanding blaze,
reaching out to touch the blackness,
allowing the dark streaks
to sneak away.

I was slightly blinded;
Dry eyes sore and blurry
from the light a shining
as people hustled by.
It was a change you see
from my normal
nightly duties
of guarding empty factories.

Even so,
I still know
they are both
great places
to ponder the briefness
of our human existence.

What a dashing figure,
shirt unbuttoned halfway
as he delivered
his lines with grace.
However, this is not a gay man’s appraisal
of another man’s handsome face,
but a straight and secure observation,
a poet’s reflection
informed by the actor’s
performance.

I’m tired of love poems
Of sonnets that lie
Waiting to capture
That sweet kiss
That deep seated wish
Of eternal love
But the truth is
Even love is impermanent
Under this firmament
Above the ground
Love can be found
Love may be sound
But people change
And promises exchanged
Can’t always be maintained
So give me a love poem
That licks its’ lips
At an angel’s hips
That shakes with fevered desire
Run its’ flaming course till it expires
Then finds it end peacefully
Buried beneath memory’s tree
Till then it’s me loving you
Loving me

In the movement of space and time
We are less than footnotes in a sentence
In a paragraph
On a page
In a book
Of a never ending story
To be read or not
It does not matter
Time takes all

Your body of work
Is quite impressive
The taste of lips
Those summer kisses
The curvaceous hips
Deep inner thighs
Soft sighs of delight
Seductive moans
Are delicious
Your hazel gaze
And flowing red locks
Soft bulging *******
And knee high socks
Your soft pink slit
In which my desire fits
You are desirable
And I desire this
Your shoulders defined
Your musculature
Your tight frame
But most of all
Your mighty brain
The fount from which
Your creativity flows
The universe
Were worlds of words
Come and go
In my mind
Yours is the hand
I would love to hold
But I only get to see you
In the poetry and pics you post

I hope that when you feel love for yourselves and others that it becomes a driving force, that inspires acts of daily kindness, and courteousness. I want love to be contagious, so that when you smile at someone, or help them out they can't help but smile back and pass it on.
-2010

Her sweet blue eyes
are as deep as the
turquoise sky.
They pierce my heart,
and I hate
any guy
who makes her cry.

--------------------------------------
There is a knot in my stomach,
with a deep seated dread
that though my love currently needs me
she will leave me when she returns to
the dude who misused her heart.

I am flesh and blood,
kin to the sins you refuse
as you waste your life
allowing yourself
to be misused.

A thousand pleasures
delayed or denied
by crooks who
have lied and pried
where they have
no right to.

They spite and smite you.
As you go through
early embalmment,
because you spent
your whole life
decaying prematurely,

That’s why
when you see me
I am still smiling,
laughing, and enjoying
all those forbidden fruits
you call sin.

It was a small
white plastered walled
room
where I sat alone
studying French
before the bell
would sound
and send me home.

Cracked bits of plaster fell
turning to smoke
as they hit the floor
making a thin white mist
of dirt that exposed
a hidden figure.

A silk specter,
she moved through the air
as if gravity
wasn’t even there.
A beautiful swirling
nightmare
swimming in
this stale atmosphere

Dangerous hands
that could caress gently
or strangle menacingly.

Better than the bitter
poltergeists
that haunted
Hollywood screens,
cause she was
far more fascinating.

Undefined
mistress of
lost minds,
who lost time
trying to find
some sort of meaning.

I watched her
confused
and amazed
at the sight displayed
as she played
in some sort of
ethereal realm
allowing me
to see.
all of her
abstract majesty,
but just as quickly
she evaporated.

I do not think
anyone will believe
this strange story
so, I made it in to poetry.

Hopefully
she will come back
and haunt me
some day in the future.

This is the last poem
The month’s end

They lie in the rubble
As I take it all in
Crumbling figurines
Little toy soldiers
Falling
Little rag doll children
Dying

The wind does not whistle
Beautifully
Only mournful sobs
Sound here in this horror show

There is not enough power
In my heart to stop
What so many have started
So I shatter it on purpose
Break each beating ventricle
Into a thousand plus jagged parts

Red with life’s blood
Wet with life’s love
I pass out each piece
Giving as much power as I have
To give
Morbid love I know

Fractured and scattered among the nightmare
A song rings
The saint in me sings
Give it all to them

The bandaged people cringe and crawl
To them I cry
I love you all

He cannot take the violence
Cringing with every drop of life
Flinching with every human touch
Even tv violence is to much
Stomach knots up
And the shell hardens
As his head sinks in
And this hell envelopes him
Tv shootings wife beatings
Soldier bombing
Bullets flying
Every shadow is suspicion
Every stranger in his vision
A possible perpetrator
Another traitor
With loud noises
And sudden movements
Eyes avert
Shoulders slump
He stays away
Because the violence of life
Is just to much

The roaring wave rushes forth
Taking mere inches and feet
But wanting oh so much more
Collapsing on the beach
Then falling back in retreat
In defeat till the cycle repeats
The wave’s valiant struggle
---------------------------------------

I wish I had some of that old fury
That inspired me to be a better me
Pushing me physically and mentally
But in the calming
I have lost the favorite parts of myself

This is my sort of suicide letter.
I am letting you know that
you may not understand
but tonight I am going to die man.

I am tired of being dried
by the blood crusted black water
that rushes like a river
right over the heart of my hopeful soul.

Tonight I’m killing that angry *******
who despises me more than anyone
but in hating me he has loved me
cause hate is so much better than apathy.

At least that barbed wired *******
acknowledges me as worthy
of some sort of recognition.

So, I stare into the dark mirror painting of my life.
I smile as my reflection snarls,
“I am going to **** you, you *******.”

This is my sort of suicide letter.
I used my blood to write it,
took my reflection to task,
broke the glass into a hundred
jagged pieces
hoping I wouldn’t have to look at me,
but each fragment stared back you see
a sick distorted version of the person
I wanted to ****.

So, I took the most convenient shard,
then scratched a map straight to my heart
and as tiny tributaries flow away from
my cold and soon to be numb body
I smile greedily painting my poetry
in small lines of red that I hope will be read
when I am finally dead.

So, this is my sort of suicide letter.
I wrote it all in my head.
You will never really read it,
but I can see it perfectly
every night before I go to bed.

It runs so deep
The rage at sheep
When you let them
Switch the script
You got flipped
And fleeced
Had your morality
Phased shifted
While you were asleep
Subliminally
Subjected to group think
And you blame me
Go ahead
Point your guns
Direct your rage at me
It always seems to be
That the messengers
Gets you the truth
And then gets a bullet
From you

Feast or famine,
if we examine
nature’s pursuit
of balance,

we will see
all extremes
try to find
their faithful counter;

Like a crazy climate
that tries to
adjust to
current carbon caused extremes
by creating a new standard
of homeostasis,

like when animals
over populate
till their general populace
is pushed back on
by environmental restraints,
such as resource scarcity.

If you observe
you will see
pressure
will cause other species
population
inflation
to fall back down to
a more reasonable
figure.

However, we
human beings
have moved beyond
the environment’s ability
to steady our fertility.

Resources scarcity
can be managed by
emerging technology.
So, the limited environmental capacity
to sustain our human society
becomes more of a suggestion
then all of the previous pressures
that once pushed us back
for the sake of harmony.

How many times can you clench your fists
Claim defense while proactively seeking conflict
Looking to others as the culprit when you did it
How many times can you wage war
Taking more and more before
The blood soaked shores
Come back to haunt your greedy heart
Are you a tin can machine man
With little or no heart to feel for
Your victims in this strange war
Or are you human with eyes to see
That the soft warm flesh you cleave
Is not an illusion or video projection
But a genetic copy with only minor variations
That your enemy is not a nation
That fills its ranks with fanatic monsters
But a funhouse mirrors that reflects
The same passions and drives that move you
To do what you do
One look through this cold Chrystal clear blue lake
And you will be forced to take their pain as your own
Look just one time with an open mind and it will be known
That there is no enemy
Only unclaimed family

I think that I am full of truth
Artistic stuff to share with you
So that’s what I try to do
Living in this life I knew
But sometimes there is something else
I can’t even help myself
Don’t want to talk to anybody else
Maybe this is depression talking
Dark predator stalking
Ideas and expectations
Unexpected destinations
Sometimes they fail me
Sometimes they assail me
Like I am some sort of fool
I never thought I was cool
But sometimes I wish I was cool enough
To shake off this painful stuff

She broke her own heart
For a love that was not even fit enough
To bare her weight
To stare and say
Sweet promises for today
The feather fell
Flying lightly in the breeze
Cold as ice
Her skin was twice
As heavy as death
Her sorrow was as deep
As the Marianas Trench
Left her drenched in despair
The places where
She put her hopes for love’s return
That love once spurned
Could be restored
Instead her tumblr is erased
Her facebook is replaced
With a blank face
And old messages
Left unanswered

It was not a secret shame
I kept closeted to protect
My family name
I just came out
Questioning
Everything
Myself
My town
My teachers
**** the preachers
My books
My loves
My looks
I denied nothing
Truth is in the searching
A cycle
Knowing that we do not know
Finding old inclinations archaic
Finding one’s own weakness
And embracing it
Then destroying it
So I came out confused
Still taking ****
But open
And ready to learn

There is darkness
and major melancholia;
She is trembling,
a tiny lady
dry skin
chapping,
flesh cracking
and losing blood.

In those
open spaces
merely moments pass,
but those cracks
grow and expose
more of her soul.

Dark dandelions
and crimson roses
explode from the holes.
Tiny ruptures
fill with the rapture
of delightful smells,
as she takes
all of her hells
and makes art,
as she sculpts
each heartbreak
into a grand sculpture.

There is no noting
some grand healing
or great transformative power
in her transubstantiation
of pain into beauty,
merely art.

There was a time when things were fine
But he went from full time to part time
Then came to find they had no time for him
A short trip barely a blip when he slipped
And was stripped of his security
And the narrative went from the American dream
To some other sick sad distorted Norman Rockwell scene
And his family went from prosperous
To welfare kindling struggling and burning in anxiety
Choosing between eating and heating
Between water or electricity
but the numbers read him wrong
Statistically society claimed that he
Was a poor *** deserving his shame
Classified with those he despised
Those he never bothered to look in the eyes
Cause he just made bland generalizations
Now he is the generalized
Marginalized by the lies
Forgotten by those who fail to realize
They too are one high wire walk away from
The same kind of pain and devastation
Cause the safety net keeps getting clipped and snipped
Soon even you to will fit, falling right through to
The same sorry state of poverty

Pygmalion
Do not fall in love
With your illusion
Your marble lust
Will not serve you well
Will not help you grow
But see you soften
And become stale
For though your love
May be statuesque
She will chip
Falling to dust
Never learning
How to be
A beautifully unique
Human being
For she is only
A whisper
Crossing the void
And coming to nothing

You broke your back
Bled yourself
Wrapped your hands
Around your own neck
Stripped and scratched
Till you were a walking
Talking wound
But little brother
I still love you

Why do I seek truth? I must be careful to not retroactively define the reasons behind my seeking of the truth. If I list the best reasons for seeking the truth as I understand them now. I might define my previous attempts by my current understanding. This is dangerous to the truth because are memories are an ever evolving things adapting to the input of new information all the time. I actually understood this before I ever listened to the audio book on memory. Which was a couple months ago. I wrote a poem describing the process.
Why should one seek the truth? To build a better brain
The constant pursuit of new truths creates new neural pathways not only does this prevent the disintegration of old neural pathways by reinforcing them and rewiring them into other pathways it also increases (speculatively) the density of neural pathway. This should help prevent or postpone things like Alzheimer’s or dementia which seems to be something that might run in my family. Although, I wish I had such foresight when I was younger, I cannot honestly ascribe that to my reasons.

The truth empowers us. Our options are limited by our current understanding of reality. If we do not know that there is way we cannot pursue that way. If we think we cannot, we never will. Understanding there are almost infinite paths to any giving destination allows us the fortitude and freedom to push through obstacles, from any situation. This has not always been my reasoning but it to is a good one.

Fear is a good reason to seek the truth, and one that is probably much closer to my original intentions. Fear stems from uncertainty. If you know something bad is going to happen you can learn to accept it or by referencing the previous paragraph you can find a way to change it. As young man I was afraid of myself more than anything. I was curious about the cruelty of humans because of my mom’s behavior, and those around me. As much as I would like to believe otherwise I was very reactionary and I still am. My pursuits where a matter of whims. Educational reading did not really start until after I developed a taste for fiction. Even now I am a lazy self-educator. Well, lazy by the standards of what I know I am capable of. It has been my understanding that many people do not engage in much introspection and self-education. It is not their fault they are constantly bombarded by the pressures of life which sap their time and willpower.
Now I am getting bored with this process of self-discovery so I am going to go back to engaging in mindless dvd entertainment.

The beatings were never super brutal. They were just the rough thud of her working out her frustration. The real pain came when I resisted or when I expected something better. The moment I forgot who and where I was she would remind with the belt, a ***, a boot, a wooden paddle, the broom handle, or whatever implement. The only way I could come out a winner was to illustrate my anguish. I tried being strong but the stronger I was the more enraged she became. So, instead I gave her a way to feel more powerful, enough whines, whimpers, and tears to satisfy her rage but leave me less scarred then I might have been.

The quarter is seldom given
and change must be taken.

People in power will
seldom cede
a single cent
of authority.

Unless, they are forced to.

With a little help
from richer family
and friends
I could live on
the high end.
I could follow
fashion trends,
find a fabulous mansion
and go dancing
with actors and
their model companions.

Just three steps up on
the social ladder,
I could become
a capitalistic
champion
and conquer
all the lesser men
who are barely
managing
to compete
adequately.

I could plant
golden trees
which spring
financial
gratuities
in perpetuity,
and my annual returns
would cause others
to yearn and burn
in jealousy.

I could leave all
the human suffering,
as I detach from the facts
of human empathy
taking all the pleasure
for me
and leaving nothing
for the rest of humanity.

Then I could run
to become
president
and pretend to make
America great
while I continue to take
more and more for me.

With their indifference
lack of patience
and hostility
they scream at me,

“Go back to sleep
you black sheep.
We do not care
about the struggles
of all you others.
We do not regard
your pain as true
Or even equal to
our own.

Go back to sleep
and take the scraps.
Unless we decide
to take those back
trimming your thin skin
and adding to our fat.

Go back to sleep black sheep.
You are not allowed to leave.
We get to keep
you trapped in our greed
while we take what you need.
Just stay asleep
working and dying
while we are
high life flying.
Go to sleep…..

Wait wake up.
Another other
is coming for your stuff.
Vote for us.

Good little sheep,
now go back to sleep
to work and die for me.

Every heart beats in 3d
Waits for the world to see
What it will or won’t be
Not pre-destiny,
But sometimes expectations
Set up the situation
Till only one outcome
Becomes reality
Letting 3d hearts
Grow, shrink, shrivel, and beat
Pumping out heat
Imprisoning or freeing
Our 3d humanity

Old blue jeans
haven’t faded yet,
still unblurred
as he moves
undeterred
by a painful past;

Slightly slumping,
shoulders sagging
like a soldier
who is dragging
his body back
from an unknown war.

Well earned
wrinkles on his face
are deeply ingrained
as deep blue eyes
shield a soft soul
from feeling
to cold.

Brown spotted skin,
but his hair is still black,
the pain is still there
in the past
as a matter
of facts
that others lack.

It is all superficial.
People can’t even see
the surface scars
that he hides
behind his sleeves.
Desert dry eyes
can no longer
sooth a parched heart.

Outside
of our ability
to perceive
is his grief,
strange subtractions
from his life
like his parents,
his friends,
and his wife,

All we can see
is a solitary
sad stranger.

When she sings I cry
I am stuck on stilts
Kissing clouds
Suckling on her voice
Supping up the gravy of her thighs
Her music
Makes me feel

The soft muscles
Her tight abs
Behind those glasses
Light eyes sparkle
White lies
Dancing in the lyrics
For anyone who wants to feel it

She is like ******
My addiction
And I keep coming
And coming back again
Running my hands through her hair
But that is in dreams

Life is when dreams end
And I come back down to earth
Crashing
Comet cracking the crust
Spitting and spewing musical dust
And if lust isn’t enough
Then I must
Keep my distance

She jumps for the moon
Her only grief is gravity
Has a will of its’ own

The stars twinkle flirtatiously
Flaunting their love for her
Burning intensely with infinity
Making her yearn to burn with them
And within them

Fighting the will of earth’s
Gravitational field
She lunges again
Falling harder and farther

Facing a bruised bottom and much despair
She kisses the stars goodnight
And heads off alone
To sleep and dream of her starry lovers

Here’s to you
With your glassy eyes
I drink my scotch
And watch you die
TV girl
Fake blood and gore
Genre queen
Screaming horror
Elm Street
On Friday the Thirteenth
Hear me holler
I know what you did
Last summer
What a fling
What a dream
Haunted my teens
Hunting your victims
And I still don’t know why
I enjoyed
Watching them die

Why do I have to be tense
when the easily offended
are the ones who commit the offense
emit attitude with their pretense
moral to a biblical degree
With no true human decency
Publicly they frighten me
privately they sicken me
declaring hateful victory
over love and humanity
Or is it just me?

It is the face of a wraith,    
skin sagging,
flesh falling,
goosebumps crawling
with supernatural
sorrow and fatigue.

Bone thin,
Sobbing,
ancient pains
rising
from some
inner lining
of desperate
darkness.

Living corpse
in constant pain,
choppy movements
of echoed intent,
only a shadow
of the former
person.

Drawn in
an anorexic
frame
this specter
reigns
where once
a full bodied
figure
danced
in joy.

Nervous glances
fearing
they might catch this
emotional leprosy.
Society let her be,
slowly rotting
from the inside out.
Till she was hollowed.
Till even razor blades
could not scrape away
the suffering stain
and pain
of a relentless
existence.

I went back
In time to where the place was
Taking up space because
I was wrapped up in my own world

Teddy bears and a fluffy pink snake
Broken action figures
Battle damaged with no legs
Yellow rusted Tonka truck

Saturday morning cartoons
Hiding comic books in my room
Sneaking and reading while everyone slept
Stealing stealthily I quietly crept
Keeper of the secrets
I kept to myself

Shadows via the windows
Shadows in her smile
Danger in her temperament
Demons in her eyes

Snot and tears
Years of fear
But not of violence
The fear of still being here

The Trip is done
And I come back
Come back to myself
Back to the fact that I am strong
Back to the physical present
Where my presence belongs
Back to me away from the shades
Which haunts my memory
The shadows cannot touch me
But they still haunt me

When I have time to think,
when the dark thoughts
are hailing me
like Starfleet academy
across the universe
of my undermine;

In the dark regions
of my dreams
where legions
of thought demons
come rumbling in,
there is a red wave,
a reservoir of pain
reserved for the perturbed
parts of my overactive brain.

When the melancholia music plays,
switch flipped to repeat
as I listen to the beat
of my heart’s history,

I remember all that
was given to me,
the bits I took for granite
chipped rocks eroded
connections no longer
able to be loaded
because they are just
echoes of binary encoded
in my overloaded
grief molded
dual lobed
computing *****.

Even giants
have holes
in their heart,
dark shadows
that haunt
the old parts
split valves
breaking from stress,

big biceps
trained for
self defense
against
a monster
in their past,

chest pressing
the pain
others
were expressing.

But these beasts
do not repeat
the abuse.

They use
the pain,

give it
a new name,

and strive to be
ever better
then the darkness
that conquered
other fellows.

No fear,
just leg day.

I didn’t find my faith
behind a wooden pew,
from the singing choir,
or the books that I looked through.
The crucified figure
just hangs up there to wither
whether I believe
or feel I’ve been deceived.

I got no faith to speak of
I got no god to seek but
I can bare this burden
by myself.

Calvary ain’t doing it for me,
and despite the lie
salvation doesn’t come from,
a sip of symbolic wine.
You eat fake ******* flesh
and say that it is fine,
but I don’t want to waste
anymore of my time.

I got no faith to speak of
I got no god to seek but
I can bare this burden
by myself.

You can keep your wooden cross,
and I will take all that I loss
though the burden maybe heavy
it won’t crack my back
cause I like my facts
they keep me standing
semi steady.

I got no faith to speak of
I got no god to seek but
I can bare this burden
by myself.

Let us pretend
That this dark portent
Is a potent precursor
To your painful pursuer
The perfect person
To persecute you
You have no defense
Against this prosecutor
No safe haven
No soft heaven
No monster to placate
Till you find a safe place
Just the terror you wear there
On your cherubic childlike face

They say wait
Things will get better
Wait it’s in god’s hands now
Wait it will all work out
Cause our lord has a plan
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait says the man
We’ll I am tired of waiting
Of people debating
When I get the right
To be who I am
To love who I do
To stand up for what’s right
To fight
I ‘m not waiting
Tonight I write
For the rights of life
To get what we deserve
Instead waiting
For something
That will never come
On its’ own

Straight out of the gate
if you’re standing with hate
then you are my nemesis,
so vacate the premises
because your premise is
parallel to white supremacists.
Your weakness is obvious.
Our problems can’t be solved
by ignorance that abolishes
any semblance of human decency.

Life’s strange variety helps society
overcome unforeseen calamities,
create new works of art
and science that moves us
from here to where we could be
traveling universally,
whilst expanding intellectually.

Your violence
doesn’t help human beings;
It loosens the strings
that tie us together.
Defining a stranger
as a danger
because of their color,
imaginary borders,
or gender identity
doesn’t serve to
strengthen our foundations
but turns earth to rot
as those who have a lot
use the wealth they got
to disseminate hatred,
and take more and more.

I know you love it,
but take your Sexism,
Transphobia, Racism,
and discrimination
and shove it.

-2022 December

Come forth to dance my fairy kin
For long have I grieved the loss of innocence
Fluttering wings of fanciful dreams
Where children and cherubs sing
Where teddy bears parade and play
Till the picnic prepared is displayed
and they can devour delicious honey treats
Where goblins conceal themselves admiring
The playful Pegasus’s acrobatic flying
Where guardians with soft pearly feathered wings
Protect all young and saintly human beings
Where spirits offer solace to combat the grief
Of knowing that all things living will be deceased
It is a land of legends, fairytales, and myths
Where only children, fools, and dreamers visit
And I miss it dearly
For in adulthood I have been many years
Separated from that fantastic realm

The struggle is futility
Patient people play the part
Of impartiality
The wiser are restraint
Castigated for their intelligence
Castrated by their class
A classless struggle we abide
Poor children barely manage
To survive and seldom thrive
Not given access to the tools
Of excellence
But we wield the sword of obsolescence
Antiquated ideas put on the same level as
Modern machines and moral philosophies
Broad language discarded for
The disinfected nature of stupidity
Our language is censored
And free thought is crippled
Thus to succeed we must
Write to their level of understanding
So they can understand it
Which means we do not expect grandness
From the masses
That we underrate what they are capable of
The papacy’s power is palatable but detrimental
The Popes presence sends his parishioners
In to servitude as they submit to the
Sublimation of their identity
Unable to identify the truth from the lie
Unable to separate the flock from the I
I become the villain
For stating these things
So I drop names like Darwin and Thomas Paine
I wear the scarlet letter of poet and philosopher
Of Supplicant to science, Of literate romantic
I the son of Percy Bysshe Shelley
The son of Twain and Poe
The Son of Shakespeare and Baudelaire  
The son of logic and poetry
The lost ******* of peace, love, and understanding
I leave the eve of man’s ill behavior
To see the seething corps of corpses
Rise in ignorance strive for pestilence
With hopeful hate in their eye
To perpetuate the self-fulfilling prophecies
Of all types of apocalypses
But in the end it will be I that am despised
Thus if I must be hated then at least
Favor me with this tiny justice
Like Galileo, Giordano Bruno, and Copernicus
I will wear chains well earned
There is so much knowledge to be had
So learn, live, love and then learn some more

1.
Winter holds no pleasure
When life lay dying
Or merely dormant sleeping
Plants fall, withering away
From cold and bitter frost
Which bites viciously at my flesh
Numbness creeps upon my limb
Congestion fills my lungs
Fever plagues my flesh
A limbo between life and death
White powder like, water crystals
Fall and scatter across the landscape
Blizzards blinding me with their fury
2.
Cold winters touch
White powdered death
Smothering the earth
Brown grass dead or dying
Life has been forgotten
The spring and summer ease
Of living now becomes
A harsh tribute to survival
Baby’s death first and last breaths
Stillness settles upon their limbs
Mothers cry while father work
Hunting for any vestiges of
Food or firewood
Winter

Adonais, thine eyes crushed, bleed like watery wine.
Bruised flesh, spoiled spirit, heart broken.
Tears flow faster and farther than any river,
Raging against futility, suffering your insanity.
Your are beautiful, so full of the luster of youth,
So innocent, so unique, and so freaking stupid.
Wear your folly like a cracked golden crown
Vanity chaining you to a dead path
Rocks and dirt, pretty pebbles and thorns
Bleed your tender bare feet.
You hunger for truth but in your youth
Would not know it really?
Adonais sweet brother of mine
You feel betrayed because I strayed from your side,
But I was once Adonais to.
I walked similar shades of life as you.
Now, you become a brighter reflection of the shade I am.
Your agony rages are like red hot irons
Your sobs fill my heart with sorrow.
I cannot save you, but will not be faulted for trying,
And though we are living, cannot be faulted for crying.
Adonais one day you to will feel your soul dying,
And find yourself reborn newer not better,
Dryer not wetter.
Oh my dear sweet stubborn Adonais
Only time will tell,
But you are special now and will be then as well.

I got a friend who finds her heartbreaking
Even though she is breathtaking
Perfect flesh made for the taking
Of love of air of hope and dreams
It seems that screams haunt her heart
The lines built in her skin
Are threadings of the once him
She has lost a light that I never knew
I never had the pleasure to see it shine through
Only now do I get an inkling of her truth
She is a violin in the cemetery
A wolf with bat wings yes she is that scary
She is a writer like me a dark art beauty
Whether she will ever know it or not
She is a beloved dear friend
And I will treasure these moments
We shared till the end
Or until my Alzheimers kicks in

Some songs will make you cry,
some verses will make you wonder why
it feels as though no time has passed.

Some lyrics will make you think
spend your time perplexed
as you obsess over the talents
that other artists possess.

Some painting will
force you
to alter your view
as you turn your head
sideways,
to the left
and at an awkward angle
to the right,
even upside down,
in a curious query.

Some works of art
will stir a hardened heart
to actions
of minor and major compassion.

These fallen leaves
echo strange tragedies,
as roots rot, on the spot
and time’s fury does not
seem kind enough to stop.

Tiny green things, browning
and disintegrating,
as humans move to change
despite the desire to stay the same,
shedding memories like a lamb’s coat,
losing layers and layers to
our own frailty.
Mortality is the knife at our throat.

Fear is the thief of time,
and time is the rogue
who pilfers everything
we think we know or own.

The tree will go on but we won’t
leaves will come and go,
like the season’s melting snow
and all the rings inside the tree
will marks the passing of everything
including me.

Our love is a dry desert heat
Leaving me drowning in sweat
Till the scorpions sting me
Till life releases me

Our love is a furious tundra
Endless white winter land
Urging me on till my limbs go numb
Till I forgot where I came from

Our love is a hurricane
Wet and destructive
Violent and unproductive
Leaving chaos in its’ wake

What I am trying to say
Is our love really *****
So stay the **** out of my life
Oh **** wait, I’m *****
Let’s give it one more night