This box is empty:

it is my life, it's my art --


of giving away.

Having volunteered in the past and not a participant in unemployed client services I would like to volunteer that classification of application to process my admission to the tiny homes location

Defined without obstruction?
Yet, more learning is required if where people get a career move from.

Within the brain
Amidst the pain
Frequencies fade
Signals lost

Within the heart
Amidst the pain
Messages fade
Signals caught

Between the two
Amidst the pain
Thoughts fade
Signals gone

Within the soul
Amidst the pain
Decisions fade
Signals torn

Within my life
Amidst my pain
Life fades
Signals ignored

Lost between three
Past, present and future
Stuck in the middle
forever between the two

Trauma, trauma, trauma
Self defense mechanisms
Insecurities and flaws
Mental disadvantages

To put in simple terms
Feelings form into words
Confusion the product
The solution yet to be discovered

“I keep looking”

AI echoes rapture, sin follows fall.
Apple divides permanently. Feet
washed masses kneel. Technology
bleeds incessantly. Judas whispers
secretively. Cheek turned, swollen
red and twice-marked. Snake bite.

Phone: Adam's rib. Our monastery.
8 billion serpentine invocations tempt
slyly. Double-footsteps tread
sharply. Sun bright, all-encompassing.
Dagger's thread cuts warming
wind. God's breath. Now dead.

Meek misers collate heaven's earth.
Inherited wealth un-dispersed.
Blessed persecutors revel. 'Number'
signifying the eternal. Apple divides
permanently. Bread now spread
thinly. Hoard expands needle's eye.

Car with a driver

waiting for me, it is just --


too big to be parked.

Sew my ******* eyes open
and never let me sleep.
Watch until my blues run red
               and you've
          shown me what's
                     to see.

Tell the story of your golden crown,
you platinum-plated ****.
Let me know how brazen trumpets sound
               when filling up
                     with spit.

It's not enough to hate you.
And it's not enough to cry.
Crying havoc through your perfect teeth:
      it's much worse than a lie.

                          So lay me down on
                        5th street train tracks
                     where the old bums go to
                                       die.
                  Then roll out on your cart of
                                golden coin
                         and break some toys.

Play the game of pampered princes
      painted like paupers and ******.
Zip that costume up and hit the alleys.
                Catch a fix.
     Or a "swift one off the wrist."

Tug my bruising eyeballs out
and lay me down to bed.
Awake until the red turns black
               and your
           mouth starts spit-
               -ting lead.

Tell the story of your paper crown,
you hollow-hearted ****.
Let you know how hunting hounds do howl
      when crawling in
             the muck.

                       "You ain't nothin' but an *******,"
                     and "I don't believe in nothin' you're
                                  trying to prove." (The Falcon)