I take a pen

I cut my wrists and bleed

My life flows onto the page

Bright red, so terribly wonderful

The mountainous peaks and unending vales of my pysche

Stretch out in a flowing river of ink

Of blood

Of my immortal soul

Of me.

I paint the portrait with hues that can not be seen

And sing with the silent voice of trees that have since been felled.

I pull you in, I take you down

I want you to drown in an ocean of ink and paper,

To become lost in the borderless forests cultivated within my mind

I want to pull you into my skull,

So you can see me how I truly am.

I want you to know how truly alive I am.

Music springs from my fingers, meandering melodies take form

Morose meanings manifest, manipulating the masses.

My meaning is hidden , mirrors obscure my message.

Maybe there is no truth, the message is a mirage.

Mystifying miasma clouds my mentality

Megalomania, morphs music form within

Meaning goes missing, lost in the endless white noise.

I hear the drums and feel the beat,
I cannot help but move my feet.

There beside the ocean blue,
she dances to the music, too.

The drums pound on, and she comes near,
soon her heartbeat I can hear.

The island breeze all through the night,
works magic with the firelight.

Now inside me there is flame,
and it is then I ask her name.

She smiled then but did not answer,
the mysterious and lovely dancer.

We danced until the night was through,
And once more I asked her
Who are you.

She smiled then, and turned away,
and I've not seen her since that day.

But sometimes, under darkened skies,
I recall the fire in her eyes.

I want to live where the air is pure and clean.
Visions of Colorado wash over me, green and pure.
A good life, amidst the trees and the family I love.
What a beautiful dream.

Visions of Colorado wash over me, green and pure.
When I wake I am in Arizona, arid, dry, and brown.
What a beautiful dream.
I need an escape from this place.

When I wake I am in Arizona, arid, dry and brown.
I am leaving today.
I need an escape from this place.
The cool mountain breezes call to me.

I am leaving today.
I promise myself someday this will be my home forevermore.
The cool mountain breezes call to me.
A cabin by a stream will be my home here.

I want to live where the air is pure and clean.
I promise myself someday Colorado will be my home forevermore.
Living simply in a cabin by a stream.
What a beautiful dream.

The city tosses, turns, and finally rises,
Surrendering to daylight and giving itself over
to the bustling movements of its citizens.
At the crosswalk, an old codger in  rags holds a panhandling sign,

And nearby a bearded hippy plays guitar.
The sound of beggars, musicians, bored businessmen,
And all the teaming masses drift through back alleys,
And float through the air like the heady perfume of car exhaust.

Each street, each block, each break in the never-ending flow of man’s own personal jungle.
Brings to mind stepping into a whole other world.
Here, in one such strange nexus, a building likened to a castle,
Stares across a narrow stretch of road at an abandoned building,
Cracked broken and peeling, tattooed with graffiti from a hundred vagabond artists.
It conjoins directly to a new building,
the fresh, well maintained walls of which offer striking contrast.

The confused, confounding nature of the true jungle is in this manmade facsimile
More well reflected than anywhere else in the world.
The muggy air rings with life, the heat is stifling,
And for all that it has a strong allure.
This city, and all cities.
For in every corner, at every street, life bleeds from a city.
It grows from the crack like a flowering ****,
And in truth,
Is a flower born in the streets of a city, atop the stem of a dandelion
Any less a flower than a rose from the heart in the woodland?
To me, that a flower could be so brazen, so proudly out of place,
Makes it all the more a thing of beauty.