My life,
These times,
The epitome,
Of a downwards trajectory.

My existence is but a career,
I wish to resign,
So consider,
Every crooked letter of this poem
As one step closer to my resignation letter.

Recognise this note,
As my termination,
Of a short life,
Of poorly attempted dedication.

Working this life,
For minimum wage,
With out a break,
Except a broken sense of direction,
Displayed.

Life is merely a career
And I wish to swerve,
I wish to veer,
I wish for my torn family,
To not shed a tear.

I used to have a family
You know?
Back when I wasn't taken hostage
On your cold, ceramic tile counter top

And I used to eat real food
Did you notice I'm not a dog?
So feeding me mangled up, crushed bits of Purina
Doesn't make my coat shiny

I can remember a time when I felt alive
Instead of sleeping all day
Pretending to be dead
I used to be free

Then one day I was captured and sold into slavery
And you found me at that air-brushed T-shirt stand
In Ocean City
There you decided your life was incomplete without me

It's interesting how once we return to home
We forget about those summer nights
Wearing pucca shell necklaces
When you purchased me because of my superman shell

What is a superman anyway?
He mustn't be so super
If he can't get me far away
Far, far away from here

He found a boundless sea inside  a diamond,
she keeps close to her soul, love pulsates in that ruby precious.
She wears an all -knowing smile, so ravishing,
when he gazes in to it, through her clear blue eyes.

He has seen memories that  quietly rest in her hive,
come searching for him, honeybees seeking the drops,
sweetness of the past inebriating at any time later.


We are wishes perennial of the people of yore,
who never ceased to love us
even after leaving the earth, for realms higher
echoes we are, from labyrinths of time
relayed from the timeless realm,
that appears after counting every universe existing there.

and i wish i knew
how to love you
back

What kind of man
What kind of man am I?
Sits on his hands and watches
The world go by
That stares at the sky
Never bothers asking why
Who listens to fools
And hurts those he schools
And makes his own rules
Who leaves when he wants
And loves when he can
That works when he should
And plays as he would
He stays if he was
And prays just because
He's sad don't you know
And mad you should go
And proud as a man
Cause men will be men
What kind of man
What kind of man am I?

if I suffer at this
typewriter
think how I'd feel
among the lettuce-
pickers of Salinas?
I think of the men
I've known in
factories
with no way to
get out-
choking while living
choking while laughing
at Bob Hope or Lucille
Ball while
2 or 3 children beat
tennis ***** against
the wall.
some suicides are never
recorded.