'Young lady, why is your poetry so dark?'
I don't know good sir, it's probably because I have my insides at war.

Vonnegut was easy to admire. He gave you the sense that he'd seen people die, that war was something he lived - like an oracle saying, "Hey, this is what war is, it ***** *****. So it goes," you know? Then there's trenches, and Hemmingway.


But what happens if more people actually split an atom?

I'm a writer. I have no idea.

I did watch a guy get beheaded today - on Youtube. Almost. 30 seconds in and I couldn't do it. I've never lived war, but I watched an English aid worker, at the mouth of death say, "My name is David Cawthorne Haines. Following a trend amongst our British prime ministers who can’t find the courage to say no to the Americans, it is we, the British public that, in the end, will pay the price for our Parliament’s selfish decisions.."

Then a faceless man starts to rip an aid worker's head off.

So it goes. Writers go to war. I never had to. But I watched from home, between a Friday and Monday, and do my best to warn my children about the end.

Mother Do You Think They'll Drop The Bomb?

For most my childhood, I was lucky enough to ask, "Mother do you think they CAN drop the bomb?"

If you know Floyd, as far as breaking my ***** goes, done. I finally get that, pops. ***** will always be broken. But the bomb? That's not too different than the ***** is it? There's always someone. The hippie's now, I feel, just hope a little less, and pray a **** ton more.

Her mind is an observatory.
A really fun one. You know,
With rock candy at the entrance,
And a gift shop full of unique keepsakes.

Like compassion.  
And warmth.

And when you step inside,
Her constellations are painted upon the dome ceiling,
Telling a story only visible
To those willing to connect the dots.

A story of glowing blues
And scattered specks
Of burning red,
With a dark void
Occupying the gaps
You so desperately wish to fill.

She has an entire solar system
Inside of her,
Hidden within the stars.
A heart as gold as the sun.
A soul as old as she wants.
And when she speaks,
You fall in love.
Because you don't have a choice.

Her voice echoes amphetamines
Along the walls of my skin.
Her smile shines
Like the crooked panels
On every straight paved sidewalk
I've ever known.

And when I look into her eyes,
The universe stares back.

I think she's a goddess.

We turn blind in faith
war for religion

stick stiff
to own belief

give gods name
invoke them

and our dogma goes so far
as to turn us

executioner.

I wish I could say that the sun stopped rising.
I wish I could say that the moon stopped shining,
And the stars collapsed one by one.

I wish I could say the ocean and the rivers ran dry,
And the mountains fell to the ground.
I wish I could say the sky lost it's blue and turned into blood red,
And all of humanity fell to it's knees.

I wish I could simply say: "The world ended,"
But it didn't.

The day you left,
Everyone was still alive,
And went about their daily lives.  
The sky was still the same baby blue color in the morning,
And the mountains still stood strong.

The oceans and the rivers still flowed with water,
And the stars painted the night sky.
The moon still shined with pride,
And the sun rose again.

The sun rose again,
And so will I.

Screams in the pitch black
Turn to butterflies, moths
Lilac wings beating wisps of air
Like wisps of ghosts
Invisible people, touching, reaching
Grabbing, pulling,
gnawing, curling around
Each part of the body at all times
The feeling creeps into the mind
Each and every day

Tossing on the blankets in bed
Latching, anchoring to them
Hands hold so tightly that the
Knuckles are white and
Ache with a deepness,
Like the deepness of
An endless black hole
And falling, nothingness surrounding
Every part of the body
Every part of the mind

Violently flailing, scratching
Clawing, dragging, raking,
None of them win the battle.
It grips us in the times
That our resolve falters
In our own darkness
Our own corner somewhere
between the synapses
firing terror
Our own abyss

The sky falls down,
we try to see through the mist,
reaching out in desperation,
we touch the unknown.