Vomiting talk on love, greed and politics
Obsessing about pain, loneliness and metaphysics
The delusionist prophet in his unslumbering mind
Wandering over to you to let you in on a revelatory find
That you may or may not want but will come to know
While you raise the glass to your sweet red lips trying not to show
How bored yet fascinated you are with the next word or forty
Because it’s life before it happens or a coda to some other story
Told in a way that you cannot ignore because it’s the truth that blows
Flooded with the tears that you dried before they stained your pretty clothes
To mask the vacuousness of Saturday night boys who can only look
Acting **** sure in banter they memorized from a dead man's book
No more or less meaningful than anything I’ve ever said or could reveal
Of all things that I believe about life that I can no longer conceal
From my solitary existence where no man can stomach or stand
The constant state of thought rejecting out of hand
Trendy desperation of approval and shrewd thievery
Faith sales, unkindness and notorious celebrity
The things that make me sick with disgust over the human race
As I run through the cavities of another poet's dark place
I see men bragging and living on vicarious pleasure
Accepting ill-gotten gain for an earthly treasure
And emotionally immature desires fueling a mob’s fury
In reckless celebration causing injury
I see the down-hearted unable to find love
Because they are different or unattractive
I see two men born of the same mother
Begging on Christmas day leaning on one another
I see the bitterness I feel towards a woman
The one I thought was the only one
I laugh as I pass the things I once desired
And sneer at the people I once admired
I see adults talk while my child sings
And block my view to rearrange their things
I see a happy ******* her wedding day
But soon to be divorced with nothing to say
I see the only thing that makes people able to cope
Is to drink, smoke and **** while death tightens the rope
I see good people adopt a young boy
And then cancer robbing them of their joy
I see reality TV and a material girl become rich
Because of a *** tape and being a *****
I see a man go to war and learn about the horror
And then speak loudly with truth that causes furor
I see praying, evangelizing and moralizing
By men of sin taking advantage of true believing
I see selfish behavior in search of a feeling
Become useless activity devoid of meaning
But then I touch you and you turn to me
With the look of love that I want to see
And I wonder why I burden you
With the injuries my mind cannot subdue
I continue to kick the apple core in your garden
And curse the snake that made my mind harden
As your desperate beauty dances within my burning soul
Mocking it almost as if superficiality is in control
A lightness that incubates within the flame
Impervious to all its trauma and pain
Waiting for madness to end
And for sanity to begin

There is a girl
Who always looks like shes waiting
For something or someone
And still to this day,
I take a seat and watch for magic
Perhaps day without night
There has got to be something good
Any normal person would have left already
But the rain pouring down
Tells me she is not to blame
Tells me she has unfinished business
She still belongs to the garden
Giant shiny green plants with teeth
Devour her back into their wrath
Where she incubates
She must prove she is ready

what is it that i am looking for

what is that convulses my mind so

i don’t know, I just don’t know

yet I keep on searching for something

something i know not what

it is in the words, i know it is in the words

it demands a recognition,

perhaps it is an illusion of complex

temporal simultaneity that plays

upon my reason but what is it

that delivers a thousand shivers

and colors from everywhere and nowhere

is it the blank spot that enters my consciousness

bringing temporarily bright blackness

the blindness one receives if

engaged in an over prolonged look at the sun

is it the inner workings of my mind

trying to free some irritant that

has intended to punctuate my thinking

without permission

an attempt to perplex

this new apostasy

that incubates within

yet a confusion hangs suspended

Of this blank spot, this nothingness,

this void of inarticulate reality that

exaggerates its intentions to consummate

a separation but never succeeds in its completion

By Anonymous*

“Go on, summer woman.”
You sing
bitter lies,
ask her for
sweet, sordid music,
like honey or peaches
on her tongue.
In drooling language
she cries out a chant.
Men ask for love
as enormous as the sky.
Never easy, some may show
you life like wind and water,
but some are like rock,
mean as diamonds.
Shake our iron chains,
blow storm but weakly.

I trudge sadly,
avoiding essential trueness,
yet spring rain must flood.
A thousand mad urges
always crush my goddess
as she fluffs elaborate
apparatus,

whispers raw vision behind death,
soars beneath the moment.
Together blood, like sleep,
a rusty beauty,
incubates dreams.
Delicate, language, luscious, cool,
after drunk with need—
I love bare lust,
smooth and frantic.
You here,
a sweaty symphony.
Lick skin only after swimming.

So
eat, scream, shine,
ugly one,
picture a lazy beat
under heavy spray.

a sullen blue monday
can be a lovely green haven
when new profound thoughts sprout
and we know then that heaven is a state
induced by the euphoria and warmth
radiated by the creative hub on the hearth
that incubates our long-suffering dreams
let us go forward then, today a mess of hopes
and tomorrow couch potatoes venture out

Spring grows new life and colors.

Flower's crisp smells pour into the air it incubates.

Feet and body go out side the heat was so warm and hugging.

In the distants the marvelous sounds of lawn mowers turning on.

Birds sing and the sun fills the foliage with energy!

Let them see you

Grin, Grin, Grin

Then reach inside your head

Look, behold and see

The new apostate

That incubates within

3.
Picture:
smog pilfers
away some stars;
some cars
my words

Silence:
like a pinch, a piercer,
a piercing

Little winter:
a pistachio
salty, sweetly
confined a bead
I crack the door open
I eat it up

Clock:
a pistil
in it
time incubates

This lamplight
is like a pineapple
I want to write, write, write

Our green budgerie
Feels not weary
Sitting on her legs

Inside her clay ***
With the only thought
Of warming her eggs!

Any curious peek
She meets with her beak
Leave her alone

Shows her face
A divine happiness
Strictly her own!

She’s in no mood
To forgo her brood
Not relaxing till hatch

Steeped in motherhood
Eats little food
Her patience has no match!

We cannot do much
Except only watch
So long she incubates

Till one fine morn
Cute chicks are born
She has her new playmates!