You're too light hearted when I'm trying to be serious.
You're too distant when I'm feeling delirious.
You're always cracking jokes, while I'm trying to be honest
You're ******* with my hopes, while I'm trying my hardest.
You're leading me somewhere I'll never return from.
I'm pleading with you, can I leave a trail of bread crumbs?
Your maelstrom has already destroyed the past.
Your storm has already flooded the caste.
You're like the Wheel, spontaneous, yet ever present.
Thrice I tapped my heels, battling with resentment.
Where do I go, now that my home is in shambles?
You're already gone... at least, you left me my sandals.

Calloused hands.
They are a mother's fallacy.
She trades her beliefs, and the missing pages, for the acceptance of her counter-culture.

Bleeding families.
They are a father's destiny.
He devastates, and intimidates, his circle of trust from the inside out.

Off-key lullabies.
They are a daughter's inheritance.
She is born into subsistence, watching television instead of daydreams.

Frivolous fantasies.
They are a son's one-way ticket out.
He is carefully reckless, boldly reserved, and he will begin the cycle again.

I am resilient today
I've yet to right a wrong,
Write poem,
Sight a note,
Convey in pros,
Hope for hope,
Join the stream,
Bathe in logos,
Come close to host the thoughts of all;
Boast? I don't think so.
What's not achieved Isn't real?
Really?
I cannot convey the souls that reside this body,
This mind,
Chimed,
From which end of the chimera?
The poem intoned,
Vocal aspects of the crone.
Cyclically saying,
I am resilient.

Our rabbit tails flicker
on the edge of the heat-rush
like making love,
a viciously tender blush.
Here we are, Running,
from useful death;
our needed kindnesses.

Nature’s necessary provocation,
starts the ride,
ensuring death for an ensuing life.
Our blood is fast and heated,
releases and builds the tension,
in ligaments, Quick enough
but strobing the scut.

We are also the foxes
and so forwards we must follow it,
just as the time follows
the seeping wisps on the horizon
of the un-risen sun.
Come live with us and dine,
so we may die, when we need to.

There is a reason for your greed.
Follow those sparking tails
pinpointing life
in the living grasses.
Smell the heat
through the dewy stems
and be what must be done.

Feed your children of every description
to end, a forgotten bone milestone
but with endless input.
Become the prey of your own actions.
The grass takes your meat,
fluffs it up with sun,
for the rabbits
each and every time, it’s time to.

I'll be in the woods, but you won't need me. When I find the wood guarded by scarcity I too will steal, yet I will only take the milk that has already been liberated.

Los Angeles: The air available here is no longer adaptable, my lungs have not evolved like the rest and my filter is getting full, it’s getting complicated to breathe. The chemicals are no longer reacting like they are supposed to. I used up all the gas, the batteries too. I try to wind-up, pull the string, re-charge. These sources no longer work, I need something new. The wiring seems off, the lights sometimes flicker, rarely staying bright for long. I tried replacing the crank, yet there was not enough electricity to put it into rotation. I called for a tow-truck but it never showed, I pumped up my tires and pushed but I still could not roll. I opened the door, starting my journey to the woods…which I hope still exist.

On the lonely road, a crow was picking
At the fresh remains of a dead chicken.
It’s the circle of life, as far as I can see.
Everything is food; both you and me.
It’s all circle and cycles, you see.
Running away and then back again.
Life the enemy in our old age
That started out to be our friend.

It’s all ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Even solid steel is a victim of rust.
We can pretend might makes right
But that doesn’t stop the fall of night.
Water is necessary for us,
But without air, there is death.
We can live but a few moments
If we do not have our breath.

Without food, we will get weak.
And stone can break our bones.
Fire can consume us it is sure
But fire needs air, it is well known.
The crow pecks bones without joy
It is what it must to do survive.
The crow does not worry or frown.
It does what it does to stay alive.

The people that use that road
For the old crow’s grisly feast
Do not care for god or books
Or superstition in the least.
Congregations of god surely will
Hire mourners to wail their grief
About the loss of a pious soul.
No more honest than a thief.

Ears I don't need to hear the music you are.
I don't have to sing along to be one with thy song
You are the tune, my words fit in, meaning falls in place,
The voice rises and falls,the  journey of my music thus begins.

You are the river of nectar, that never ceases to nourish my shores.
That doesn't need any space or time to flow through; it never ends.
A drop of it's ebullience, I am catapulted from the flow of your wave.
I roam, searching for you, to return and immerse  in your fathomlessness.