Admiration, often mistaken
As a sickly taste of desperation;
The desert sun falls on my back.
Borders tall, baked in radiation,
Sweat streaking tracks-
Where's my place, what's my designation?
Scale the wall, or go on under.
Dry lips crack, no ailing your suffer.
Starvation and dehydration
Walk, the Sahara

Conflagration,
Conflict & confusion.
Consternation,
What comes, and has been.
Condemnation,
Of fact, and of fiction.
Comatose.
One world, many nations

The odd thing
About the constant moving
Of a life grown up on the road

Is the people you meet
Know you will leave
And so you get their best

However brief

Who the ****, and why.
The owner of the eye
Can answer my question,
Whoever it is that's watching;
Stop wasting your time

Laissez-faire and free,
Nothing bothers me in
Bohemian living.

Fruit fresh plucked,
On the grass with the bees
Relaxing and eating.

Read a play, finish a novel
See what's up with sister
See what's up with father

Laissez-faire and free,
Why are you so worried
That I'm not worrying?

Vestal shores of youth,
Life! -Render once forth
Coasts, before every home.
Turn castles to glass,
Liken ivory to stone.
Our long mass, come to close-
Hunger no more.
What is achieved, at last;
The peace found within,
Begins to unfold.

Embrace change,
Welcome the weird
And invite in the strange.
Nothing to fear,
But what that yet
We don't understand.
Nothing to fear
But the feeling;
That we have still yet to comprehend.

In the pool hall,
We speak of revolution
And on resolutions.
How to wake people up?
We are all so consumed,
With the struggles of day-to-day.
So focused on the bottom line:
We're letting the future slip away.

Two sickly birds,
In their nest of salt,
And it's not their fault.
What do they know?

Views from split fingers,
And words from a covered mouth.
Phone off the ringer;
Lights on, empty house.
Venom, stingers:
Hooks in, doped out.

I see you here, now.
Phased out in dreamscapes.
Eclipse the conscience,
Those things lost in different states.
Screaming out my name-
Gentle lips, kiss my face

On the waterfront, in a freight car-
Call it passion, call it desire.
Whatever it is that inspires-
That thing that wrings
One more day out.

What songs angels sing!
As they ferry souls along,
On flight, in wing
En route:
But the dead walk amongst the living, too,
And sometimes even angels get confused.

Poor, empty vassal

The type to go
To die, "before his time."
If there is such a thing.
Sunglasses inside,
Though I'm trailed in shade
And trapped within,
Nights that rule day.

Sleep like a pillow, no one there

In my heart, in my head

You fear what you do,
Happening to you,
But do it the same.

I say I need space
You throw it in my face
And show me we'll never speak again

I will always love you

Starting gun;
Another run of
My fingers through your hair

Your cheek in my palm,
Resting my hand on your neck
Holding you again

In glass reflections,
An abstract of affection
When I see you everywhere

Fragments of when you cared

The apparitions cackle-
At last, exasperated crackles
That boon expiration

I sit here in silence
No empathy knows my pain
Sit here alone
Reflecting on my shame
And smash
What stares back from the mirror
The glass
Cracks, ****** knuckles and
Fingers

Snow ablaze:
What, that is desire.
No fairer sight, than to gaze
Through rosey red shades-
But risk being burned alight,
By arrogance and ignorance,
These frictionless fires.
Like night calls to day,
Egress, say my name.
Empty, hollow flame;
Bleeding quagmire.
As if a game to play,
The one to laugh last takes all;
Omission recusing the liar.

What fresh invention,
Breaking with convention;
To press down with anger,
And drive firm with depression.
Comfort in the arms, of a
Thorny ex. Bathed in attention.
A hopeless obsession- the silenced
Tongue wags,
In this quiet procession.

"The most exquisite face wrinkles and droops with age
Roses too must wither, mocking man's desire for any eternal beauty in materiality
Death will destroy the buds of youth, Cataclysms will demolish the grandeurs of this earth
But nothing can destroy the splendor of the astral cosmos"

Many forms, but crystalline perfection;
Mystics pine, on the meaning of raging storms;
In lieu of real connection. We can
Appreciate the beauty that is laid before.
Before our time, and we veer
Without axis, & detached from direction.

Quiet attrition.
Unavoidable, sadness and contrition.
But for the end of the numb,
Who does not feel the same.
Where we go under, and succumb.
When at wit's end, and we are done.
The game grown stale, the race run.
One last fling, before we finish;
I hope this was fun.

I don't want you have no difficulty,
With the things you're still in motion for.
Likewise those you have emotion for,
Physical love. Those who came before,
Those you still adore, and new flames
You think offer more.

Poison in my heart, I'm sorry that
You chose to drink down.
And when you depart,
I will be unwound

She comes in waves.
In vibration, pulsating;
In a silken grave.
Writhing, in pain and in pleasure;
Gyrations, a grind of leisure.
Bucking in the saddle;
Riding hard, and giving pressure.
On the range, right at home;
One who meets the measure

What man under modernity, is free?
Comparative to the peasantry preceding
We must seem to be
Shackled to a strange form
Of self-induced slavery

Quicker to bite the barrel,
Than pull the trigger.
The weight of life,
Sharper than the edge of a knife
But still lighter than the hammer.
The call of night, of ill light;
The difference between
Hellish damnation, and heavenly ascension.

Continuity and infinity,
Why they have to be
Is beyond me.
The end of all things, I
Wish I were lucky enough to see.
But more than that,
I wish I were free.

Winter child,
Drink the drink your mothers made.
Eat the bread your fathers gave; and
Step, one foot already in,
To an early grave.

Alone
But I won't be, forever.
This feeling will go, too
Like you.

When you're a joker
In a serious crowd
They can look at you like an idiot.
They will say you take nothing serious,
Witing you off for a Myshkin.
When quips are flying,
Well overhead.
Be direct, be loud.
Politeness & subtlety, are of no use
To folks with heads
Buried squarely in the ground

Blood from a stone;
Vulcan, erupt.
In his Ares heart,
Of the Zeno soul.
The battle drags on
For a cause, I do not know.

Easy to conceive,
The likes of thousands of souls
All as miserable as me.
In the likes of this world,
Like moss on a tree.
Stumped, but still living.

You can describe
The awe inducing beauty
Of a sun kissed morn
Or of the towering, starry night sky
And never realize it's value

A bad day away
From the end of things,
Cause not a person stays.

And everything remains the same,

Despite all the change.

An hour to twelve,
When the clock strikes.
I burn one down.

And the match reminds me of hell;

Of dark depths, lit by scorching light.

Most deepest of desires, and precious hopes
We are fond of holding you close,
Fearful we will share our thoughts

And be lost to ourselves

To understand, what we know we never can

Alone in the wind,
Blowing me once again,
Someplace, far off from here.
Better to live admist, breeze and mist,
In the clouds, awaiting a writ
To come on down, from a supposed higher power
Than labor on the wager
That things get better.

Tender flesh, pale & thin;
Cigarette burns pock cratered skin.
Entrails that entail, poison foretaste.
Hidden, not much to be read, that
Of false smiles, on a plaster face.
The cancer within,
Almost at its brim,
Building to the self-consumption
Surely bound to take it's place.

Persons who, not agreeing with you,
Will tell you, your perspective is wrong.
That lived experience,
Has clouded your lense of reality.
But they offer no real difference
Nothing so substantive
As to say,
Mine is fixed
And based in a place
Of true, unbiased rationality.

The emptiness, that fills
The hollow cavity, where
A heart should beat.
Where blood would go
Now, nothing flows.
What is there, that is meant to be?

Of the things kept inside,
And all the pain I've tried to hide.
Turned outside, onto the world,
Wherein the soul reside.
Spilled, to the ground
The collapse, of all that surrounds.
Careening down,
The end of a life.

Our love,
Are our hearts
Just written in the sand?
To be washed away with the tide.
Or will it withstand?
The test of time.

I don't stop
Crying, when others
Enter the room.
I just cry quietly
Or laspe into
A silent weeping.

Staring from the mirror back,
The complex past, displeasurable fact
But things I no longer think to change.
Accepting, trying to mend the pain,
The exception, that I'm still hurting;
The source, still of that same vein.

All those days, like a dunce
Sitting in the parking lot
Of her university.
A heart she never sees

Things unraveling, with no reason.
Hurt people, Hurt people;
Should I let this heart atrophy?
Or let misanthropy and apathy consume it?
Any naive notion disabused
Like love
Advantage, to you
All used

Some is too little,
And more is never enough.
Your chalice spill, an overflowing cup,
You would still moan
For a top up

What a web
Of clever widows.
The venom burns,
Acid lapped wounds,
Too early for the pain to subsist.
And of what I know,
She has yet to confess
And likely never remit.