They talk and bend,
They draw and write,
Harder and faster,
With ever clean hands,
Which might sometimes stoop to dirt,
Only to be disinfected after,
They peer down the microscope,
And examine the cells,
Each year the pictures are better,
But their eyes are darker,
They work,
To add that extra diamond,
And slave,
To remove that spot of rust,
But all their work,
Is like adding more water,
To a swimming pool of iron,
And their houses increase in space,
And their wives are wrapped in lace,
And their lives go to waste,
As they increase the yield,
They decrease the life,
And all that grow are empty supermodels,
Row by row,
Strong back, strong head,
Sword against the bugs,
And man falls with them,
Forgetting he is made,
Like the bugs himself,
Work,
Not to make the fields full,
But the heart,
Then the rust won’t matter,
And if pictures of cells are hazy,
Your eyes will be clear to understand

Why is it so cool to hate on a group
for their fashion sense?
Or that they like to be off the mainstream?
You are doing the same thing that
people were doing to the
grunge
goths
punks
hippies
beatniks
flappers

and they all did something with their counterculture.
Ever think that
ours is the hipsters?
Not really,
they've been around since The *** Pistols
actually
they started them.
They made it cool to go to a thrift store
and buy things out of comfort
then rip it up
change it so it looked brand new.

Punk
that made Hipsters.

But now they are just some fad
that people hate on.
Just because they like to talk about
indie bands
knowing them first
wearing band tee's of bands they listen too
wearing vintage and retro clothing
likes reading
being in a cafe
organic food
vegan.

Stereotyping a group is all people did.
Now I can't wear things or do things
because some ******* is going
to say
"Ha you're such a ******* hipster!"

Why don't we stop hating people on what they wear
because how do you expect to get past
racism
homophobia
sexism
ableism
fatphobia
transphobia
preju­dice
if we can't even get past how people dress?

my eyes are little television screens
projecting into my brain
still life images that capture my home
in all its unwavering solitude
the music curls around me
i feel the devil's blood in my veins
as a satanic elvis serenades me
with old refrains i can relate to
i lament my present foray
into social media poetry
but i'm much too intoxicated
for an emotional reponse
i choke down this rip of mad man OG
a sip of coffee mixed with E&J;
and wonder if hank bukowski
would have been a hit on facebook
had he emerged today.

the coffee shop on 1st street
you told me my eyes were warm and belonged here
I shrugged and gulped my coffee even though it burned my tongue
the bookstore on 2nd street
you told me my hands were made of love from the pages I've turned
I glanced at you and nervously chewed my fingernails until it hurt
the music store on 3rd street
you told me my heart was an acoustic guitar that'd been misplayed
I tripped over my shoelace and madly tied them up along with my heart
the arcade on 4th street
you told me my smile was worth all the time and effort because I deserved it
I went to the bathroom and before I left I smiled in the mirrors a little too hard
the beach off 5th street
you asked me what I was so afraid of that kept holding me back
I let the sand crumble between my fingers and told you that I was the sand and you were the waves

i want to be next to you
breathing your air
with your fingers intertwined with mine

i want to feel
your lips pressed against me
a thousand times a day

i would spend hours in silence with you
because we all know
actions speak louder than words

i want to be yours
and you to be mine
no questions asked

i could spend my life in admiration
you're the missing piece
to my empty soul

we could have those midnight talks
as we watch the stars
as perfect as you

or we could sleep in the most innocent way
so i no longer feel alone
and you have a reason to live

your lips were
as soft as mine
every time
we touched
there were
fireworks
between us
enough for beauty
too little for danger

i swear
i could stare
as long as you did
but you were
unique
so i stopped

your hands
warm in winter
cold in summer
watching movies
time flying
id sleep
when you were
distracted

sometimes
i wouldnt know
right from wrong
yes or no
but i rely
on instinct
only

its all a matter of
*****-innocent love
but
was it love
or imagination

what does a pulse prove
in the spirit of the moment
why
were you
the only one
and why
did i still feel
alone?

well we walk like critters crawling,
sprawlingly cosmopolitan in our nature.
We embrace all who feel to follow. But don’t
feel following should be forced on a creature.  

Stuff his lies down the neck of the preacher.
Stuff his tie down the neck of the teacher.  
Put the failed papers on his chest and set them on fire
May he rest in a relentless hell, or a cell with nothing but mirrors.