Undead

As our fall slips into cold December
and further still our racing pulse is ended
the stage of our immortality is set
in the minds of those who choose to remember
upon the stage our corpse is brought to dance
and memories relived,
all accuracy aside
and we, in passing, are not allowed to die

Skin of a dog. Soul of a cat

You have the skin of a dog
But you move like a cat
Not quite sure where your bones are at
It's too hard to tell where your muscles have set
With the body of a dog
And the mind of a cat
This graceful lumbering is disarming
All too often it leaves me alarmed
It was something akin to pity
That drew me to you in the beginning
A fear of what future was held in those
Seemingly broken hips
Only time would prove it
This, decided movement
There is a feline mindset
Lurking behind that canine skin
Hard to judge where the growling stops
And the purring begins

Utilitarian

There is a body of knowledge that is only revealed through poisonous choices.
An awareness that grows from familiarity with disregard to human frailty.
These toxic interests bare revelations of great usefulness.
But markedly stamp their time by pulling the bookends in.
It takes the age of getting used to something to notice slight differences.
To feel the cotton shrink when the heat reaches it.
I wear garments till the are threadbare.
I wear shoes till only the soul remains.
You must have gotten close enough to know that I will smoke you to the filter as well.

Observations of a callous man

I will not shake out this cold
It has latched it self to bone
and the heat is leaching.

The heart is nothing if not stone
I can't be trusted far as I'm thrown
and the heat is leaching.

Twisted, dark, and feeling old
my back is much more better known
and the heat is leaching.

For hard self interestI am prone.
reacting harsh when light is shone.
and the heat is leaching.

I will not shake out this cold
It has latched it self to bone
and the heat is leaching.

intrusion

A whirlwind world has left me often wordless
But feeling like a forceful hand is sure
What often motivates the world to bitter own self-interest?
What wonders await the traveler forlorn?
This high-stakes game has no reward
and hands regard each other as a vehicle toward calamity
With shaking ground to stand upon this emptiness spreads
Now most of me is marked by what I lack
And no one here can pick up all my slack.

posh

I often feel the watching eye has passed me over.
The knowledge of this mixes my feelings
Partly glad to be unnoticed
And fairly feeling underrepresented

"Just holding up this end of the bar"

Once upon a time:
I was well versed in various curses
First to raise the verbal fist for wanton worries
But the surely dirges found no fault in my youthful thirst
and furtive was the bounty of my narrative
A slight return to stages set
I mastered flippant shows of apt insurgence
No mind was left unpenetrated and elation was rampant in those early years
Life seems nicest to those who are least deserving
However, shed no tears for the sloping drop of this man's life
Feel no remorse for the tiresome effect of time long passed
and weary are the eyes of those that see
and watery the ears that hear this weight
and wanton are the hands that feel the silk of breath escaping

the plot thin-ens

From cognition to construction
I was fed my opinions
The same opinions we are all fed.
I dead on gender
Age
Race
Definitions
We make enemies of each other
Of everyone
Of ourselves.
Only forming allies to help fight the world.
It is only man versus man
and never man versus nature or self

important

It is important to know who I am

How I see myself as it stands against

How you see me.

Don't let that make you.

Decide for you.

Do not rely on other people 

or things

organizations

to decide for you.

They will always miss part

Or the whole of you is lost in the short term goal

My amalgamative state was never mine to begin with

But here I am

Behind the wheel 

Choosing to steer into oblivion.

fan girl

Embrace the apathy
Happily ever after while you laugh at me
something sad was always happening
I understand why you reject it open-handedly
Can't blame the man who never stands with me
Can we?
Blackmail breeds blasphemy
Cracked cankers carelessly corrected catastrophe
"Fast" does no distraction from family matters
Matter of factly you fascinate me
Fanatics always were big fans of me.

Once, Again.

I built it up.
I fell for my own delusions again.
My mind keeps slipping into this same,
Disillusionment.
There is a comfort in the lie I create.
But the world cannot align.
I am only a god in the imagination.
Beyond that?
My insanity is not strong enough to bend rock, move steel,
Or shape hearts.

beholden

In the final moments before the dawn
I held the event in such high regard
As if the outcome was my life
Some incarnation of my essence
I clung to this idea as a baby to anything within reach
With no understanding except the grip itself
But the passing of time is cruel
The hand of truth is firm
The moment it had been yanked from before me
was the moment i knew i did not need it

motivator

a glance to those in front
Which,
at this time,
is just about everyone
Then it is back to....
downward gazing
I have the aspirations to conquer
but the resolve to remain stagnant

It crossed my mind once
I slow sweeping motions
Like spilling paint on a canvas
and once the idea came in there was no chance of removing it
even with the time that has passed
it is still there
lurking, just out of reach
but in the moment,
At the instant it decides to be,
Red is all I can see.

back

Light between the sheets of rain
this feeling fleeting like the pain
it whispers something once i knew
and turns it's back again

I utter no more sweet refrain
as spirits dance before my brain
with failing wings that never flew
It turns it's back again

The trail went cold

I tried to lead you to me.
Wanting to get caught.
But the trail went cold long ago.
Not from lack of trying.
On either of our sides.
The heart was there to keep the fire burning.
But the trail went cold long ago.
I wrung my hands in anticipation.
In scrupulous planning
I laid out every step a million times for you to follow.
But the trail went cold long ago.
You did everything that was expected.
You took your time and checked each step.
With perfect measure you were led by me.
But the trail went cold long ago.

is this long enough to qualify?

I have poor timing
Mostly comedic
I step on my own lines
My goal is always met to short
I leave the audience wanting too much more
and i am not willing to offer it

thankfully unhappy

Why am I so suspect of joy?
What is it about contentment that makes me restless?
Looking over my shoulder.
Checking the time.
I can feel the hurt of 'real' creeping in.
There is a comfort in the pain of living
and the sadness of it's absence always taints my happiness.

dawning

There has been a monumental shift in me
And, unlike I was told how it would be,
The thing was sudden.
I trained in advance:
I felt that it was coming.
But all those words unraveled as the first breath made it's exit.
The reality in time unveiled a far more worthy truth,
and as I stand straight in the new light of it
I understand that I never even missed you.

hand first

Why this name?
Such a thing can be anything
and is nothing
So why is it this?
Why is it such a thing to muster,
when looking a this cluster of objects
an objective point of view.
These selfish desires demand entanglement
and give birth to tortured continuance.
The thing of me will live on and it never has
and always will it be empty of a word called "Meaning"

clean your palette

my cup runs over
but is lacking for fulfillment
entertainment is dry
like my humor
and my lips
for want of a pen
this parchment is weeping
words are clunky
hard to discern
ideas, being pure
are the hardest brought to bear
would I could force an understanding to the whole of you
but, alas, you are contented in this
the force-fed state of learning
you know no different and, therefor
can I blame you for what you do not understand?

Interpreting Dreams

Not until that dream came true

did I understand the sway of you.

I now see how my path will lead the way from out your golden gates.

When nameless fears take up legs and walk this house,

I know I've lost my way.

But sorrow gives it's way to thoughts of destine paths through tribulation.

Or, that which comes to me may not be what is meant.

That which comes without the struggle, 

is that which earns no worth.

Gotta get free

when I am on the cusp of comprehension
a new distraction makes the scene
or so it seems
to me
as if to distract the apprehension
of a true reality
is it just me
or do the true things
that we nearly learn to grasp
fall from our reach
due to our yearning
for a new thing yet to teach

Life is conflict

I am living in the trap of winter.
I feel the slightest misstep,
However genuine
or true
whether caused by external force
A need to fulfill what is expected of who I am perceived to be
or the drive that grinds at the heart of who I truly am
being misunderstood by our modern social graces
will draw the grasp of watching eyes
and cause the spring.

balloons of old helium

if you want to leave this table
you had better clean your plate
it does not matter what, in the past,
you claim to have ate

the melting one does not claim to relate
but here we are
without a meaning at a quarter to eight
with nothing but idea and hope for health can I sate
there is an solid disposition that I plan to debate
no other person can before me ever openly hate
and with a system like to barter can I planning to slate
within the cavern of your heart is the the meaning of 'great'
and like so many blocks of holiness will happiness rate
when you see me next I hope you will not try to berate
my choice to find the minds who swell themselves
and with logic deflate

what do you want from me?

I operate far off the reservation
of self preservation
wallowing in self pity
and in a display of
wanton disregard of finality
pettiness is pretty
but my time is spent better than this:
witty regurgitation of lines
Mentality disregards the mind's eye
selling out the market to avoid land mines
in an opulent display of what the headlines say
spare me some loose change to change my course for the night?

weakness

I lack the care
when you stare at me
charismatically
operating automatically
backtrack and react systematically
protect something unmatched actually
articulated  formalities form
formalities
from uneducated people
tomorrow is preened
we breed the open source more easily
than we open junk mail while struggling to breath
what is it that beats
breath the skin of "me"
am I the embodiment of strength
or am "I" just
WEAK

The Truth

Is it really inaction
that keeps me here with you
with this nausea in my brain
Is it the choice to not choose
That has led to this baseline

I am in a prison of my own construction
It has no walls
It has no bars
It is the restriction of self editing
The fear of success
no
It is change that holds me down
The action, of which I am most afraid

But there are many things externally to blame.

The crowd

I know just what it takes
I will continue to stand in my own way
These eyes will continue to stare at me
but through me as well
I can oscillate between worlds
I will never start to be in any one place
with this tactic i can exist while not existing
I can hope to be ignored
I can hope too be over looked once more
But I think we all know the chance that you will ever turn away your glance from me

Self

All of this
All I see
Is synthesized for me
In real time
What holds back this creation
How can I cease to be
When all of this only exists in me

to strong

By self doubt I am crippled
I am slow to speak
Linguistic paralysis  brings conversation to it's knees
nothing in these tempered bones can be described honestly
as other than weak

will

These tasks seem so daunting
No matter how small
these mountains seem like
such a great expanse
and my will to traverse is a mole hill

Forced Carnal Rampage

I woke willingly to the walking wonderment
walloped by the word worshipping
it quickly gave way to wanderlust
this wound tastes wonderful
and walls were meant to be broken
the wind won't withstand
and women wither before the bedroom
wailing silent woes in keys yet unsupposed
My toes can curl.
My hair can curl.
But my will won't bend for wicked things like you again.

friends

From bad
To worse
To the best it could have been
I took fate's hand and allowed it to sweep me up
So far under the carpet that even the mites would not find me
Or so I hoped
My company has been lacking of late
In quality if not quantity at least

in the post

It is getting more and more difficult to breathe.
As if the air it self is fighting to escape my grasp.
As if the rebellion has begun below me.
No longer waiting to roil up to the surface of me.

My shakiness is self inflicted.

My shallowness is externally instinctive.

2014

Broken wheels.
Broken bones.
Feels before reals.
I stumbled upon this cistern
and stole my sisters oysters.
Weather withstands the hatred.
Words are no match for my bones,
but in the end I will have you later.
If I can't get you to willingly enter my home.
From first words to frost bite
in under ten seconds.
Extra innings could never provide the sanctuary you seek
and the meek shall inherit early graves.

anger

These ruffled seams are never what they seem to be
and the sting left makes on me
Kinder things I have heard in the past
and far truer things to be certain
but you can no longer stir my anger
you can no longer touch my emotions
You have no power over me.

In time

I will get outside more
I will start that engine
I will build that house for us
I will stop being absent
I will read that library out of books
I will finish all of these projects
I will do what I say
I will be a better person
I will clean up that mess
I will paint all my dreams into reality
eventually
in time

lone

This shadow was cast.
Long before the sun had rose
leaving trails,
tracers.
memories of since past loves.

Self Respect

There was a time when I respected myself.
Even then,
I always knew I was a liar and a cheat.

But I keep trying

tears

In the eyes of this mother I shrivel
It is pleasure and panic at once
I update my victim status
and the applause is astounding

spread me thin or not at all

Upward turned and stern a revelation.
Last year's birds return this jubilation:
"Information's learning through an interventions burning brew."
True.
With one last blue faced fume.
Enter the curfew ladened residue.
You must evict the things I tell you to.
Instigations give broken road walkabouts to revelation,
But the beast left no markings here upon me.
Sweat and blood and pain
and broken fist on walls we regret to see each day.
My enamel is chipped and peeled away.
Starboard and stalwart.
Is there nothing left in this migration?
These few steps I take each year have been decidedly false
and left me wanting more than I could ever expect to get out of you.

cage

Without this prison
no one would see or understand me.
Without this prison
no one would care about my thoughts or deeds.
Do I accept the dregs?
Do i make these choices willingly?
Or is it an entirely different end I seek?
Perhaps a negative perspective is better than no perspective at all.
Being remembered.
Even as a villain, may be better than being forgotten completely
In the passage of time.

crows

Lines.
Lines that cross my face
Steady strong
Creasing lines
Time's careful design
From the sum of life's accomplishments
And fears.

scar

Dark swirling the living dregs.
The dead of the day.
Swelling maturity smothered the breath right out.
Swallowing veins of scrutiny.
Lost on social equity.
The humble rumblings of another lost soul,
Finding themselves in a spinning tempest of civility.
Born from desperation.
Carried on the backs of entire generations.
Hope for life.
Hope for beauty.
Hope for love.
Hope for tomorrow
Hope for a handle on the moment.
It never comes to those who look.
And those who own find no use for the grip.
Having, already, the satisfaction.
A state of perpetual pity and remorse.
The sores of tomorrow form the more painful scars of today.
Scars that we only feel when the weather is as forelorned as we.
The ugly blemish in the community of perfect cells.

Recompense

There will never be an end to this.
A series of begun projects with no intended destination.
A string being pulled at for the passage of time,
No real point to it's unwinding.
I see now that this has all been staged.
I see now that the observation lacks an endgame.
But still the scrutinizing masses wait.
"He is sure to slip back down there soon."
"It is just a matter of time,
till all this plot and waiting is justified."
I am swirling in tithe wake of unrecognized intentions of my own awakening.
I suppose I knew what I was signing onto.
But a person changes.
An organism grows.
My 20 year old self was not accountable for my 10 year old desires.
Nor should a life at 30 be the remnant of decisions made in err.
So many changes past.

nature

This seemed like a good idea.
Solid in stature.
But somewhere in execution we fell.
Only a stones throw to the throne.
In that failing we found an undoing for them all.
"Take flight" on broken limbs.
And what shall be the causing of the pain?
And what shall be the lifting of these sins?

Brought to you by the letter "G"

The gentle gentile jiggled gelatinous genitals generously,
Garnering garish guffaws.
Unguarded garnishes get groped in groups.
Gingerly, gringos garner globules of goop.
Gifs of general goodness get girlish generosity.
Grumbling grunts that greet grumpy grandparents genetically.
Goodly gods gear up.
Grateful gads give out.
Grimacing gerbils go in.
Giggling griffins gallop gaily.
Geologically griping about gifts is a gassy genre.
Giant grubs grab greedily at golden goose eggs.
The genial goblin's gait grew gaudily,
Gathering gastric gesticulations and gripping to gauge humanity:
"Generic genocide aside, we suffer from a lack of gob smack"

Nighttime Goodness Hair and Bruises

So glad I got to see you
You played those songs
But it was only temporary closeness
Spent some time behind closed doors
Avoiding glares and bad vibes
Grinning harder than I thought I could handle

Nighttime goodness
Hair and bruises

If I finally found a rival to my own noncommittal
It caught no one off guard
As much as I think every one should feel pleasure that moment
The temporary closeness was starting to feel true

Night time goodness
Hair and bruises

My shoes are in the hallway
My gun is in my hand
Drifting in and out of consciousness in our sleep
I never found a safe place to land

A choice

There lie two before me
A third in the corner perhaps
I never really thought this opportunity would present itself
Not in a million years
Some here and one at home
Another,
Darker,
Pulling drywall and splinters
from unkempt hair
Every Tuesday the liberating idea:
The way not to live.

Behind

I set myself up for this.
In all reality it is as if I had it planned out.
I can't scrutinize my self enough,
And nothing compares to you.
This does more hurt than help.
I know you are not watching.
I know that I am watching for you.
That has always been enough of a corral.
For thoughts, words and deeds spread out
I need the freedom to be evoked.
If you take it back I will have something to rally against.
That is the strength I lack.

nerve

Two blue planes stretch before me
with fleshy edges
ending indignantly at something unnerving.
I never got this right.
I never will.
but that is all in the past now.

Rote Emote

The emotion spectrum
It is limitless
and yet
here we mortals stand
motionless
limited by the language that is restrictive
words keep bridled the gateway of our boundless emotions.

Thank God

Thank God for the freedom of the press
the freedom to write whatever we want
For bad or for worse.
To fight for injustice, intolerance,
Incest and indigestion.
Thank God for the freedom from shackles of truth
The pesky facts that hold back progression again.
Thank God we tore down the Berlin wall.
It will save us a ton of money when we use the tattered pieces
to build a wall between Mexico and the holy land.
Thank God for letting us create him in whatever image suits our needs.
Which God do you kill for?
Well, that's nice but ours has a better navy so.....
Thank God that ignorance is bliss
Otherwise there would be a lot of unhappy people in
God's chosen foxhole.

Coffee

No one likes the grit at the bottom,
but we keep drinking.
Trying to find comfort
in the filth beneath the surface.
It draws us in like magnetized personages,
passages even, to a destination no one wants to be.
We fight.
Just enough to say we did.
As some scapegoat to ourselves,
from responsibility to our own scrutiny.
We tuck and roll in the landing.
Our fate only steps behind.
Yet we lie.
A forced and welcomed paralysis.
Just steps behind, we find the relevant sanity.

Post Script

They say the pen is mightier than the sword.
Having been stabbed by both I don't buy that.
Consider this a public service announcement:
Illiteracy sells.
Just watch MTV!
Unless you excel at selling yourself
you will never succeed.
Trust me.
Fortunately you won't fail either.
You will become dormant.
Stagnant as the dying middle class.
With dark wings to surround you
and carry you to the boring parts of Valhalla.

Normal

Perhaps he too is enlightened.

Or,

More likely,

I am just experiencing normalcy.

From a perplexing perspective

that encourages self importance.

Real

Every time I inhale is equal to a step further from you.
Knowing this dose not erase the need
or the desire to continue.
Nothing can erase this disregard I feel
For this, I breath all the pain and fear and joy right in.
Tell me, how can this or anything be a sin?

overcome by helplessness I seek any hand outstretched to me

I don't know where to look any longer
so many convoluted options
and choices that appear to be
but are in fact
not options
The landscape is so cluttered
flooded
my ability to discern the edges long forgotten
Not only my cognitive ability
but now
my will is slipping
Overcome by helplessness I seek any hand outstretched to me
but that landscape, too, is smothering

to me

to me
you are the sea
a vast ocean lay below
and beyond
but now I see it is a tumultuous plane
seemingly shallow
I fear the crossing of you
but I do so vainly
and I must enter the bed I made
for I have put myself in the middle of you
stranded from any landing
already choosing to swim the remainder of my days
to struggle till sinking overtakes me

At least in death I may see your honest depths.

the one that got away

I forge this in a likeness:
Concrete and liquid.
Fiery beneath.
Solid in instability.
The touch of which has left it's mark.
A finger print, seen by all.
Misunderstood,
Never since or before this life created seen.
Hell flashes within angelic eyes.
Set in life's afflicted gaze.
Cold metal, forced through warm flesh.
Releasing pain and stress as it passes.
Dark streaks.
Shadows of the trying years.
Lost dreams reflected in the broken dishes strewn about.
Cast haphazardly like,
hairs pulled from a once-tight ponytail.
one moment.
Eyes close.
Breathe deep.
Hands relax.
Lips purse.
Dam breaks and life crashes.
Smashes bodies on rocks.
Sends you again to stalk the beach.
Gathering the broken dishes to form a new lost dream.

birth

Something that I wanted always
I know now that it should not have been with you
the years that we passed have revealed the awful truth
it took too long for me to understand
but I grasp it now
hands clasping
clawing
it escapes as a whisper
shouted out from decades of repression
crashing into walls of unsuspecting glamor
never more than a pleading whimper
it is far too late to be acted upon
in these winter years of life
with this last futile wish
I escape into the forgotten heart of history
with every smell that graced this planet
I dissolve

choice: the illusion

I feel like there are steps to this.
Rules you have to follow.
Somewhere in the file cabinet of unspoken lows.
The repercussion is finite,
but it is up to you to figure it out.
I am going through some motions that
seem programmed.
Can I really choose my life?
Evidence shows that I am a passenger
to the things inevitable.

The Voice of a Poet

If you have ever spoken with me before
or if you find me after I am done reading
I will sound different.
Right now I am "The poet"
and this poem, to me, is the greatest thing in the world.
It is sacred
It must be treated as such.
It cures world hunger,
explains the upside to bestiality,
Or just the beast within.
Regardless of the message, I have to use
"The Poet's Voice"
It doesn't work for Capitan Kirk
But,
I am convinced it works for me.
As soon as I am done reading this
It will seem as though I stepped out of a
trance
Because if I emphasize my poetry just right
everyone will understand me.
Everyone will understand that no one understands me
or my vague metaphor.
Rotting meat and the flies surrounding represent me.
With any luck, all the poets here will just resent me.
Till they get on stage and use
"The Poet's Voice"

Brain Washed

On many a stoned and sacred night
I summoned masterpiece after inspired masterpiece.
Only to find it days later,
rendered pulp and lost to the washing machine.
To my horror, removed from it's form.
To be something worthy of a post modern art gallery.
Shapeless and void of worth.
Save the inspired title that alludes to random insight.
I would call my inspiration turned sculpture:
"Irony"

divorce

Tangled amidst sheets,
legs, and arms.
Searching.
Trying to find completion.
You need no reason
"When you have love"
Or is love the reason?
Still searching.
not really wanting an answer.
Or an end.
The two, entangled
Intertwined.
Not either is behind
the line drawn.

emotional state

Breath deep.
Bring forth the intoxicating oxygen.
Where once was only death and dying
now a wealth of hope.
No longer dormant lies the feeling
able to explain.
The mumbling taste of happiness.
The bitter sweet of pain.
The strain of the past
can no longer entertain the mass.
Stop pushing the blame at last.

wanted?

Dark circles.

Outset by running tears.

Was this forced?

Cause for lying love?

Contracted comfort.

Forced.

Good Reads

these streets
paced by few
owned by one
me
blood ran the streets red
and boy, was it fun
they screamed
they ran
i chased
they died
these thoughts
they are warmer than
the blood that
flowed over my fingers
as i used the
knife quickly
spraying red life
on the cold brick walls
like graffiti
warning the sadducees
and pharisees of my terrain
they try to be as good as i
but they are insane
my mind is so advanced
to theirs
most likely if you could hear
the thoughts you would
think i was crazy
but i am fine
fine
they are insane
not i
when i am done
i will go curl up with my
new pet cat
and read the
brand new copy of
"Catcher in the Rye"

Thief!

The sun sets on this dark stage.
Shadowy phase.
Light escapes.
Contemplate.
To dark for sight.
Eyes close.
Make way for intuition.
Rely on sense.
Adapt to dark.
Accept it.
Adhere to it.
Enter moon,
Casting stolen light.

beware

beware the grass
like weeds growing up through the cracks
in this untraveled path between
abandoned synapses
learning or laughing
yearn for a raft to abandon these tragic advances

youth

a few small things
saw dust and broken windows
no electrical charge
but there was power there
soft spoken works that formed a whole base
an entire understanding of life
that was learned and
that was left there
all but forgotten
with abandoned mattresses and magazines

intra

My periodic paralyzing paranoia
sprang from the shore of my mishaps.
I wondered why they would say these things about me
speaking softly as if I were a 'bad' person
I had wounded them.
But for my only hope to cope
I changed what I perceived as just.
I have made my choices
and am not proud of the most.
so I am met with shame.
I feel better justified after it passes.
and sing a song of overcoming.
Then the worrying fear sets back in.
I have mistaken my freedom from it.
It reoccurs with each cycle of sleepless dreaming.
If they won't say it I will
I am bad.
I am insane.
I am complete.

end of conversation

I always had a way.
To sort the truth from what you would say.
My mind would set a braking point.
At negative five.
Minutes till you are mine again.
Explain it with a wavering hand.
Confirming I am crazy as
as.....

Hands

This glassy tomb is full of something...
The longer I stare the clearer it becomes.
Hope
Dreams
Answers
Lies
But I don't care
It just feels good in my hand
Man forbid I should fall into the wrong hands.

have it both ways

'Twas ne'er a lass of such divine
Beauty to roam the rod-capped hallowed hills of mine heart
she was life, beset hither and
thither from time to time in shallow
pools of what shall come to pass
alas, I pass the casket of
Time and pain rips my heart
like a strumpet the clock of
doest lust after time while she
already hath pronounced her love of death.

respect?

Black carpet on a concrete floor.
I was there when she walked
through this very door.
It always seemed like she wanted something more.
Like she always wanted more,
from men.
We bowed our heads.
A sign of respect.
But fear seemed more correct.

warmish

The colors fade and mix.
Melting in the heat of mediocrity.
A blinding darkness.
Splattering grey and blacks.
Suffocating my eyes to blindness.
Textures, felt on the tips of mental fingers.
Groping thoughts,
searching the chasm of inner self.
Cycling through phrases with no meaning or relation to the next.

Drain.

I drag around this cold with me.
The lozenge won't do anything.
Just keep the ice insulated,
projected, steeply complicated.

Spring can't come soon enough.
It won't get here soon enough.
What you said was true enough.
Unknowing you were true enough.

An explanation here
just behind my tongue,
but telling you would render
all the work undone.

Is it too much to ask
to not have to break my back?
Is it too much to ask
my mana to untap?

back to it

I left a sizable gap in the chain
hope remains that it's not to late to get back on the train
lest my brain pulled from the station
leaving me empty handed
gasping at straws
assigning the blame
racing in the same track night out and day in
laughter might one day find it's refrain

real deal

The words turn sour in my mouth.
No need to exit the room,
but,
you had no choice after that did you.
First impressions are not lasting
if every after moment is a tarnished truth.
My tact was never present but it seemed so genuine.
Until you got to know me.
Until you learned that it was genuine.
Now you see that the desperate torture I deal,
is no more a threat then it is real.

did not

The lot didn't quite make it
the long way we hoped it would
falling short is a career choice
and my nose is familiar with the pavement here
pass the word up the chain
I succeeded as you thought I would.

open wound

Distance made my heart grow fonder
but fonder of the distance.
I miss no part of where I have returned to.
If you fail to recognize my pain,
you fail to recognize the man you met.
So many days have passed since I made birth,
and not enough to erase the hurt.
Without a care for those beyond your scope of emotion.
With no regard for those that do not share your name.
We cary on, with an air of innocence.
Acting oblivious to the self inflicted pain.

regrets

Not quite diamonds that you cut your teeth on
but the blood ran just the same
time wounds all heals
and only parents are to blame

Words create def ears
upon the broken drums we crash
regret is something earned
without a though of the backlash

strong

How much can words besmirch you heart?
How steeled must my emotions be?
Are we so weak that merely spoken vibrations can rattle the walls we have built?

27

before my back is broken
before the words are spoken
with flashing something golden
i am just a passing token

energy

Just say the magic words:
Regain
Recover
Focus
and the world will new align.
Before the very eyes of disbelieving future, mine.
With proper inc and branding,
all the worlds your pet.
Without regret,
You too can swim in pools of gold.

The come down

I wanted to be part of this.
I wanted to be part of anything.
When this came along I was fresh out of straws to grasp for.
I chose this fate and I embrace my choice.
No longer gasping for air.
No longer clawing at the sides of this coffin.
I roll to the side that suits me and I sleep.

home

I pass these days as a stranger in the house I built.
Slanted wall pressing in upon me.
No windows left to gaze from.
No soft breeze for them to cast in my direction.

self made man

"It's not that I don't trust you, I don't trust myself."
The old classic tale,
"It's not you, it's me."
It has become the easiest veneer to see through.
Let's be clear,
dreams don't come true.
You have to make them manifest,
and the best you had to offer always fell short of the test.
Granted,
you were never aware of the scrutinizing.
Granted,
you were just enjoying the time,
while I was demanding more of you,
silently,
inside my secret confines.
Just to make you feel a little better though
no one can live up to my standards.
Well,
no one but myself.
I overachieve my goals all the time.

head bob

First four letter words
before the fur flies
my mind hurts but
that's his not hers
for certain the sure thing
spurns more turns
but theocratic birds burn bridges
who is worse
break at the bent joint
artists never learn
wake up worn and short three dollars more
nothing left in the store front
counter point: shorn
quote the running joke
don't forget, return the nod.

I before Me

There is a sour taste lingering 
deep and elusive
so strong that I can't begin to describe.
For all of it's ambiguity
it has full range of my mobility.
Thoughtless it is steering me
toward more of it's kind.

It would be something akin to lying
if I told you I was unaffected
but the heart gets what the heart wants
and the body steers where the mind haunts.

External Forces

There is more to this.
There is more to me.
I may have missed what is there to see.
But deeper,
Deeper still I must go to uncover
anything there is to know.
Not only about my self but about the "me" at large.

I have been given a window.
Spent years repairing
Spent days recovering.
and now for lack of sunlight I am dying.

modern day growing pains

Slowly.
This dream became something that had already started.
As if licking some long forgotten food from the carpet.
Just past my reach I suppose,
but the trying doesn't hurt.
I suppose.
At least lying never stepped on your toes.
Show me where the wild goose goes.
"Eventually we all succumb to the growing groans."
I exasperate,
exaggeratedly flattering the fatigued failure with
vocal flatulence.

The Unblinking Eye

the camera doesn't know what it sees
but it records what it sees
it can't discern what lies behind the reticle
but when the trigger comes
"record"
that's what it does
it is cold
articulate
accurate
it knows nothing
it knows 'record'

another cold, hard one.

A word to the wise,
it's all in the lies
paralyzed by the lullabies.
Make cloudy, slowly darkening eyes
try not to sneak up behind,
but I'm finding this as it comes
hard line by line.

no one makes a fool of steve, but steve

seven years and several standard questions
didn't leave you any better
whether or not you noticed
I laid this all before you
and you left me bare
my need unborn by you
there you were
and there you stayed
delay yourself to find time for a solution
you have not fooled me
you have not fooled anyone
least of all
you have not fooled yourself

no change expected

Before we go any further
I need to clear the air
I knew this was a bad idea from the start
and i'm not really sure why you agreed with me to go ahead with it in the first place
but here we are
determined and undeterred
our back squarely against the wind
which, at first, seemed like a valuable thing
as we wind down at the top of this thing
a revelation of the lacking truthfulness is welling up
is there any stopping?
is there any point in pointing out?
if nothing changes
or can change
why bother addressing the problem?

Counterfeit Citizenship

Commonality can't compare to this collapsing center.
Separated circles continue beyond self.
Sure,
centralized citizenship is successful.
Despite the curtain
and it's certain serfdom.
Continue squirming before counting the certification.
Counterfeit crashing under couching simple gentrification.
Censorship, of sensory satisfaction, commenced your celibacy celebration.
Celestial tea, surrendered to celebrity.
Victory will only be achieved when you circumvent your enemies.

Civil Discussion

The redundant pundit punted.
His rebuttal was repugnant.
"but labels are learned,"
he flippantly squirmed.
Regarding reason a rugged bludgeon.

blanket statement

that cat can't grab a bat
flash back and catch flack
cabbage crammed trash bags
stand happily abandoned
black bandaged bandits ban brandishing brass bands
and sand reprimands bland man hands
understand sampled clams
sagging fans demand pan stands
that grandstanding flange rams tambourine champs
clandestine tramps clambering trampled traveling advocates
advance flanking banks frankly fakes
flaking steaks shakily break
making cranky cakes takes
blank bakery slaves baking baby blankets
safety staves mistakes

hippocratic hypocrisy

far back
broken back pack
falling from the smoke stack
folks learn to turn tears
into broken glass
half full
full stop
in the quickness to the top
doesn't take a rocket surgeon to see I'm dying from a heart attack
born on the bottom of civilization dog pack
Curling to the fetal pose like plumes from winter smoke stacks
vestigial vigilantes offer candles for my vigil
witches offer windows to the world inside this sigil
civil disobedience is different from emptiness
repeating things is meaningless unless you didn't mean to do it
thinking like extinction
leads to life without existence
this news, however needed
has never seen a printing
you had better choose your side
because you can lose without trying
but to truly win at anything
takes luck,
expense,
and dying.

New Policy

If you let him in once,
he will follow you home.
It's the residual heat
that really cools you to the bone.
Like the big league chew
on receiver of the phone.
Never give that dog a bone.

The colour of panic

I had a plan.
I thought everything out.
I had a plan.
It was so......
Careful.
I thought out so many different scenarios.
My contingencies were flawless.
My foresight was peerless.
I had a plan.
I left no room for wiggle.
I left no chance for chaos.
I had a plan.

But,

Reality didn't care about my plans.
Chaos doesn't care about contingencies.

three little words

These words we keep repeating
for they hold inherent meaning.
To that hope we go on clinging
but the truth continues stinging.
Though my courage may be fleeting
my back can take the beating.
I know the pain is just beginning
but a caged bird can't stop singing.

?!#$

Avalanches.
Avoid the aftermath.
Aggravated assault now readily available.
Coming Soon!
In a market near you.
Are the apertures in error
or is it others we ostracize?
Albeit my appetite has amazing aptitude.
Any one up for arm wrestling?
Algae offers alternatives to average age.
You are under advisory in this inclement weather.
An adversary is more aware than my aunt is
that animals are ample in this area.
What arena will you attack this afternoon?
Absolute power is an abstract analogy.
When can you find time to aerate the airplane's underbelly?
Grapes and raisins are indigestible by aliens,
but that doesn't seem to stop them.
We are awkwardly aware of the ones watching.
I choose to avoid the conversation completely.
If we were meant to pick up signals we would have been born with antennae.
So, no matter where you find yourself this afternoon,
and if anybody is around your apparition,
always keep in mind:
A penny shaved is a penny learned,
and you can't lose something you didn't find.

Three Wishes

While wandering the walls ,
will wears thin.
Wilting as wildflowers in heated wind.
Winter is a way off.
Why withhold the word-craft?
Wings and wigs
and broken twigs about are strewn.
The witch once woken refused returning.
"Wishes won't buy your freedom."
"Hope won't withstand the warning."
War time prophets and wondering orphans
forebear the worst fear.
Whiplash opens eyes wide
but panic closes them in time.
Your moment has passed
Water through the glass.
Empty hands land
in open wounds at last.

This Morning's Mourning

I did not want that phone call.
I still look at phones with apprehension since.
The clouds were something of a pink.
With orange and red dancing at the edges.
I did not heed the warning that early,
And now he is gone.
We will never see that smile.
We will never hear that laugh.
I don't even know where I was when it happened,
but I mark every moment since his passing.

forgot

I have forgotten something.
I am sure of it.
It's presence still remains
in the confines of recollection
but it's description is a mystery.
That is,
if there is even anything to remember.
Perhaps this feeling is a complete fabrication.
Maybe I did not forget,
but the normality of my forgetfulness
primes me to think I am in a
constant state of forgetting.

Booster Shot

I did not trust you then.
I do not trust you now and
I will never trust again.
The walls came crashing down but you
were safe inside your pen.
The semblance to this life a failing
remnant of the man you never valued.

Every Thousand Years

So much weight
on each decision.
The worry.
The fear.
Unrelenting, the concern for an outcome.
The loss of sleep.
The pulling of hair.
But where do our choices go?
There are trees that watched the actions of thieves.
But those men are long dead.
The people they hurt...
long dead.
The trees remains unscathed.
True too is that the cosmos will long out live you.
Every choice you make
in time will only fade.
How small.
How silly.
How worthless in scale.
Within the scope of cosmic time
there is no repercussive difference
between taking a hundred human lives
and stepping on one snail.
Even the worst person
in all human history
will be forgotten
as the stain of humanity fades.
The echoes we make...
dissolve.
Nothing withstands the short term memory of time.
Yet,
Why do you think there is value in your life?
Why do you allow your happiness to be paralyzed?
For worse or for better you will be forgotten.
You actions will be forgotten.
Your thoughts will never be known or cherished.
Therefor,
You have no obligation,
other than pursuing what you want to be doing
in the moment that you feel it's rightness.

Library Bear

I feel like the core of me is waiting in the margins of a book
that you will never read.
In bold red ink.
Plain to see as desperation,
and twice as easy to ignore.
Your eyes may be, inadvertently directed to something that makes this into "me"
You wouldn't even have to discern any truth about it.
Some one else has been in these pages.
Some one came before you and did the work,
leaving this written trail of crumbs.
All you need do is turn the pages and scan the words.
What they valued is written here.
Scrawled among the scars and pathos.
Clearly the observation of this beneficial defacement requires of you no work,
but you will never even crack the pages open.
It may as well be written in a language you find foreign.
I will remain outside the body of work
until I am discovered by you.

Morning Darkly

It is with sadness that I come before you
head hung with lamentation.
These eyes will find no solace in this place.
I am lost.
With you the tide may turn
however, learning to change with it proves deadly
and no hand reaches out for me to save.
It is only the grave that I am toward
with something akin to relief in that destination.
I leave you behind.
I leave them behind.
I gain all that knowledge hidden from my mind
and no interpretation renders these ramblings alive.
I stumble through this logic
as a child in the sudden darkened room
and light is low at noon.

gap toothed

Let's close this imaginary gap.
Better yet,
lets imagine it being bigger than it is.
That should be easy
since it is fictitious.
Any imagining of existence is counter to reality.
Is the gap so bad?
Evidence establishes that you don't even need to open your eyes
you just have to not close them so willingly.

RLY

I'm sick of wearing this gorilla suit.
I never got the chance to choose.
To succeed you need to be a brute.
"me" goes further than "you"

lateral movement

this elevator is going down

it always has been

I don't remember how long I have been here

but one thing is for sure

this elevator is going down

it always has been

It is better than taking the stairs

to the slaughter

Within the sheets I face defeat
for my enemies know me.
It begins beneath my knees for I am weak.
The first to make me see
was not the worst to cross that sea
and such a simple thing to be cutting teeth.
With no lungs it still breaths
and forces smiles long to leave
even the down hill slope is perilous when steep.
When time awakens sleep
the flesh will be my sheath
For only selfish reasons does the shepherd save the sheep.

Emblazoned

Did you know that you are gorgeous,
when the tears begin to fall?
Failing like a fragile fickle wall.

Tightly bound and slightly broken,
searching sadly in the night.
In it's moment everything feels right.

Fragile how the door is open.
Fresh, the wound is wide.
Beaconing for all to come inside.

Cast it of before its spoken,
no opposing words begin.
Embodying the most original of sin.

Hard Times

I heard the length in Langly falls
Expands with every new cat call.
Out reaching thinking always stalls
the greater good.

When the family shorts the bills.
Children first give up the frills.
Scrape the bottom for new skills
because you should.

"It" and "They"

It gets harder out here every day.
It gets more clever then I am.
Seems by the second I am loosing,
but the ground keeps coming,
like some torturous treadmill.

My dreams seem just beyond me.
Is this just a carrot?
Some unseen entity driving me?

What is worth caring for in this climate?
I am willing to do the work.
Fair work for fair pay.
That is predicated on myriad stipulations.
Subject to change as the situation makes itself more clear.
But there is no hope here.
That much is held dear by the stick holder and the string tyer.

I will wait until the perfect hold appears before me,
rather than making due with what I have.
I would rather stay in the hole than settle for a weak hold.
That is the power of an unseen entity that probably only exists in my mind.
But that existence is enough.
Isn't it?

Invisible Equity

"There's skin equity in Schenectady" so sang the skeleton separately.
Then secular inception be the basis somewhere sulkingly.
The stars show samples somewhat superior to tarot cards.
Shall signatures steal self important soap-box tantrums?
Withstand the salty doldrums,
shaken steadily by sin.
Simplicity shortchanges a selective inspection,
but solemn solidarity makes penance obsolete.
Still, shanks shatter serial stereotypes like signets en stampede.
Stark and sighing suddenly will never save you narrowly.
Perhaps the shivers stave the solid act of silent beaten-brows.
As the bastards row the vessel sanguine statutory salves,
Sinking ships stop sexy shrieking Sikh stumbling from their graves.
Shift to stifling the sow.
Surly someone bares the standard "Save a child, stab a man"
Somewhat serendipitous the rocky shower that stoned the secret system.
Snake bit sailors salvage and synchronize the sale of
sunken subjects stiffly drown and shunned for summers reaches.
Reactions seldom stifle thoughts provoked in solidarity,
when special action sits on open sharing.
Still searching for the extended shelf life?
Swallow something with resemblance of the sea.
Shark the sacred sheets exposing shapely slopes.
Sticks make sudden alterations in direction when shoved into spokes.
Soaking seats with sloppy systems? "I'll second that!"
Separate the staples so the surface stands as uniform.
Embrace the industrial shaving of the individual shirker.
Slavery is cheap and starvation is quicker.

trip

Never have I ever felt the distance like I did
Searching in the darkness like a kid
Grasping in the blackness for the answer to the fear
Terror from my bones I cannot rid

Every second that I traveled grew the distance back to you
Knowing there was nothing I could do
Pricking up the spine a danger lurking low, unclear
My footing as uncertain as the truth

degradation chore chart

It's a simple situation

like the ones who came before

your nose and not much further to the heart

with a case of dehydration

like the slamming of a door

you lost before the weapon signaled start

suffer in this new inflation

let the hero have the sore

unbroken like the evil counterpart

now engage determination

for the settlement of score

may entrails from the children form your art

passing on from strangulation

with the weight of gold he bore

upon demise your bones will end up in the cart

Reveal My Sins To Me

These broken bones are falling forth from me.
Turning coats and loosened tongues set free.
Will fate foresee the wound yet brought to bleed?
Weighty claims will beckon bending knees.

A gentle coaxing opens under siege.
Life is barely brought upon the breeze.
With joy, extinguish reputation's greed.
The tallest thing would end if ne'er a seed.

A simple task, deliberate as it seems.
The stifled saint without a neck to squeeze.
Not a room for innocence to flee.
Determine how to undermine esteem.

The darkest fate the torturer conceived,
Becomes a fiction easy to believe.
The panic flushes "Am I in a dream."
The seal, now broken, nightmare be released.

Knowledge is Terror

I know that you can see me.
I know you want a certain outcome.
I can feel myself choosing things you frown upon.
But who's is this if not mine?
Who should I live for?
In the end I know that it is only "I" who dies.
So for that end I choose how I will live.
With no clear direction.
With no clear guide.
I take the way I see to be the best.
With eyes so narrow I will never mind
and sorrow seems an easy thing to find.

Just a nibble

A small prick
three teeth at a time.
Look away in shame before the red came.
As noses touch,
bare fangs and speak the forbidden tongue.
If word of this gets back the reckoning will be swift.
If word of this returns a head will cease to dwell here longer.
It is not regret that stirs the fleeing feet,
but fear of repercussion that keeps the slaves in line.
As the tears are forming,
the sneer is penned behind.
How does the body be such a controller to the mind?
Will you allow each breeze to rock your dreams?
I go.
I get.
I have all I desire.
The corruption is complete for me.
Only the sting of bitter justice,
forced upon my back,
will break me down.

Befor you go

Why bother hiding?
When I know all eye's see.
The caring stops with me and produces complacency.
My malformed drive to comply blinds the binders ties.
Yet still I feel the urge to hide.
I know what I am facing.
I know the odds are stacked.
I have no delusion that I can come out on top
but fact remains.
I struggle all the same.
Even in a time with nothing up against
I find a way to build a fence.
You cannot deny the knowledge.
Though acting is a cover,
the eyes cannot lie,
and time will not pass by uncounted.

all will find fault with nonsuch

with baited words we each take turns
burning the blood brain barrier to skin
the brand turned tepid first
and in the darkness bound them
the last learned among men hung heads
and fell to beds of ferns
protraction preferred before the world spurns
preform the bitter drinking dance
distil the furtive frivolity before frankness ends the fruiting
puberty's perversion perturbed by private passions
broken sword and faulty fashions
make birth and what is worse than worthless
furrowed brow and teeth for gnashing
last to cross the heart of gold
will empty soul and sorrow fill
the smearing smirk of foresight clouded judgment

The Unblinking Eye

So unclear from where you clamed the mantle of control.
Standing strong,
looking on, unblinking.

Threw off any counter force you met along the road.
Resilient,
staying true, unblinking.

The change from whence you came compared to what you have become,
disparity,
holding fast, unblinking.

The parts you tore asunder less important then the sum.
Resolute,
all the time unblinking.

Every pore is bleeding and the whip is at your side.
Running tears,
and yet, you stare unblinking

This torment interrupted only by the pass of life.
Labored breath,
still you watch, unblinking.

Innocence must first exist before it is let go.
Without guilt,
a smile breaks, unblinking.

So unclear from where you clamed the mantle of control
standing strong,
looking on, unblinking.

Two Tails

Lift the voice, reprising
unadulterated pride
spoken words do harm to those without a side.

Feel the anger rising
as an unreluctant tide
take the underprivileged traitor as the bride.

Though brutal, appetizing
bitter sweet the legs astride
unrelinquished by a welcoming; "Abide!"

Pre-apocalypse

Something wicked this way came
fear takes precedent to shame
when hungry peasants seek a name
do slaves or drivers take the blame
while children slowly learn this game
we act like murder can be tamed
resist your nature, build acclaim
when big and small we bleed the same

No Great Work

It is something of a sudden shock
to realize the amount of time I have wasted.
In excess of seven years now
engaging in the wrong activities.
Intentions may be pure,
but intentions do not erase actions,
and you so clearly spoke away
the work that I have done.
With a simple exhale, the entirety of our entanglement unraveled.
Does work count if it was all the "wrong stuff"
or does it melt into the ether with every last breath?
The unrealized potential of my striving dissolves.
To find that the dedication is not wanted.
There is nothing for me here
but I cannot leave.
The ties that bind,
however in error they were made,
despite their ill-formed existence
they remain.

Part Ways

four score and nothing furthermore to be foresworn
I forsake my forefathers before the war falls to fornication
forget the fortification
forty and forth the mirth builds pontification
frayed at first but forgiveness always begins with fault
flat tax finds flab frivolous
and funny enough for the fountain of youth
you'd better face front and flatulate
yet
how forgetful the free-ones are
the foam froths and finds this farce rewarding
The fantasy
The favorite
The fatherless
the felon fears your favor
and she should

Longer

I take my time when I take you
I am the one controlling
Arms resist as if that does anything
We stop sudden on a hard ground
But I don't stop
You will never be rid of me
When this thing is done
When body fails
When brain rots
I will no longer know you

Post Script

So quickly.
It came about so fast.
It departed, complete, before I got full breadth for the situation.
Never,
even by my own intent was it so abrupt, 
so fulfilling.
So complete.

Now,
in the after,
looking back and knowing it will no longer cross my way.
Never before this moment did I know what regret was.
Pure.

You are with me but not with.
You are near me but will never know again who I am.
The things I said,
the things I meant then may very well still be true,
but the light will never see them.
As I will never see you.

20 paces

This place.
This face.
Parted by naysayers and trusted
race relations.
First and foremost this host is more the parasite.
The fault lies in the connection.
And this connection was never formed.
Taken for existing but foundationless
it falls.

lung

In recent years
as life sets upon me
I find that breathing is a totally different task
I don't know when the switch happened
But there is a marked difference in how I breath.
The expanse of my lungs is more labored
the release is no longer smooth
I feel the strain in every intake
with this be the end of me?

erase

It takes one to know one
It's through with me before I'm done
Wanderlust must not be quenched
and far-be-it for me
The man beyond the brink
To make a positive claim
But still my hopes remain
This bitter stain will not be removed
When the two of us erase ourselves

Stout

I am not lion-hearted
I am not strong of will
I take no moral high-ground
I offer no great skill

I have no steadfast reason
I have no holy fight
I have no opposition
I have no suppressed right

There is no cause to fight for
There is no battle ground
There stands no great last reason
No truth yet to be found

But

Do not let that stop me
Do not let that hold me back
Do not hold my tongue
Do not stay my attack

Contagion

You only see this body.
You only feel these lips.
In dark back rooms away from prying eyes.
You feel the rise,
the rush of passion.
You do not even have a hint of the undercurrent.
I do this
on purpose.
I pass to you a secret wish:
you will feel my pain,
you will understand my anguish
as I pass to you this secret sickness.
You smile because you don't know what I am doing.

Flexibility frowns fervently

My feet are fleeting
while the faint flame flickers
so finicky
yet forceful
my frail and fated foe
you faint for fear of falling
only to face my hand
before the final courtship
this fatigue feels paltry
first infected with failed plans
finely felt between faltering states
mistakes for tomorrows famine
forgo the given fabric
this farce is far from forgiving
ambivalent with feculent weight
how unfamiliar the common denominator
this popular fallacy leaves fearful the fatherless
and forever we remain
empty and frustrated

First Words

How much non-speak can we take?

Why the small talk?

Why the forced conversation?

If you have nothing to say,

don't let that stop you.

You talk a lot but say nothing

For days it went on like that.

I feel like I learned nothing,

despite hearing so much.

Heard,

but not listening.

I may as well not understand the words you say.

English is not my first language.

Language was not my first language.

I got on just fine before I was forced to communicate 

After all,

it is just more empty vibration

added to the meaningless cacophony.

We are all lost in the soundscape

Lacking identity.

Lacking personality.

The most of these people want to be just another 1 in the million

Most of those people want to be an individual just like everyone else

Is it too much to ask to be ignored 

for being unlike?

Expletive Deleted

I am not here for you.
My choice does not determine yours
and yours not mine.
How dare you say what I can and cannot say
you cannot tell me what I can tell you
but the opposite is obviously not true.
Where is the line between your free speech and mine?
The world might be better if all were kept silent
nothing seems gained by speaking
yet there seems to be no shortage of the droning.
The joke goes: How do you make a hormone?
Is it not inappropriate
to withhold her payment?
Is offense alone enough to silence an entire generation and beyond?
I surely hope not.
At least so long as free speech does not offend me.
When did the FCC receive permission to oversee what is best for mine and me?
And why does whining garner the most change?
When one is resolute in indignation is that worth all or nothing?
The hurt of one is equal to the hurt of all.
When ignorance breaks down to bawl the cold is felt through all.

Passion

There is something lacking in my life.
The leading part is missing
and left of blinding light.
My knees, no longer weakened by your embrace.
I stand strong as you come near me.
The thought of you no longer causes my insecurity.
I do not blame myself.
I cannot blame you.
Only time has been a burden on our child like romance.

In mirth retorted straining

At first the orders chaining
The words fall short explaining
The birds call forth the raining
Then curse the moors for staining

The purse while forward feigning
Could nurse the hurt complaining
At worst remorse is shaming
We purge then more refraining

I heard the Norse gods baying
A dirge just north of slaying
Unsure which firth was draining
This course from birth abstaining

Murder Camp '08

No ivory will calm this
A swelling fear of fame
Rise dark within the meat of it
Now nothing making name
The handle for this moment
Be bludgeoned and remain
How noble is this conquest still
The cataclysm blame.
The temperature of bleeding
The murder does not change
An open wound to draw upon
the sill, the coat, the chains
The foul often clings upon
An open seething brain
murdered body, rotting fruit
In flesh is all the same

Full Speed

With an attitude like this
I am surprised I have gotten anything done
Not to say that I have achieved great feats
but the very fact that I get up in the morning
is impressive when my will power is taken into account.

The threshold of my 'Fuck-it" factor is set so low
I can't believe I even took the time to type this out.
I mean, sure
I think about a lot of things
and I entertain more ideas than I could count
but the bridge between thought and action seems so vast
it is indistinguishable from impasse.

I can't believe that anything gets done.
Really.
I know that those people have all the same time in a day that I do
but what separates them from me?
What tells a person to accomplish?
What gets them up from the comfort of sleep and sends them out to achieve?
Maybe I should buy a less comfortable bed.

Don't Forget

Remind me
so I don't forget
I have something to tell you.
It seems self evident
but nonetheless
remind me.

Final Wager

This root has gone too far to remove
It has long since tapped the source
and from it's reaching veins it draws upon the brain of all.

This blackened slurry calling out
Drink in the strong elixir
Cold and supple drawing deep within the folds of heather

Every Stranger

You are woven into me
Entrenched
And though we never met
I know you
Like I know myself
Not at all

Last Night

I was lying in bed last night
lying to myself about my future
and I had the best of ideas
To myself I thought
"You aught to remember this"
"You aught to write it down"
But no,
It was good enough that I would remember on it's own

So wrong was I
Searching now for a glint of it turns up no reward
How drastically it would have changed things
As I look back thorough the glow of hindsight
I have forgotten the best of ideas to grace the minds of men
The absence of what was
The knowledge of what could have been
It is as effective as never showing the monster in a horror movie
It keeps the terror alive in your imagination
and it becomes the most effective
This loss is greatest in my retrospection
because I have no idea what I lost

pillow talk

I keep hoping that I will suffocate myself
In the evening while I'm sleeping
While the weight of my body presses stomach to bed
The weight of my brain pressing pillow to head
For this I used to worry
Some, fleeting fear
Sudden waking, gasping, coughing
Still half asleep
Fighting to breathe
Until the romance of it conquered me
Rendering rationality irrelevant
Just stop my breath and leave this place
Gently in the night
In absence of live in quests
No one would notice the passing
If executed properly
Even I would not notice

often

I feel this way too often
But unlike the best of things I have not grown accustom
Dripping off my edges
Permeating me complete
The burden resides within my bones
All around me
It is an endless crushing cloud
Closed in and centered on me
Thick enough to strangle
Ambiguous enough to make me doubt it's existence
I am held still by it
I hold it dear

meaningless

I get the distinct feeling
that this all had meaning once
and perhaps before we turn to dust
it may return again
but as for now
as for these things
'tis always falling short
the distraction of the time
is holding back honest report.

Where is this swelter heading
why for are we to dance
when there is nothing left to struggle for per-chance
the giving up has brought us to this
violent impasse
and only countless more
are hiding out beneath the mask
and rows of empty promises upon pretense is stacked
there is not a ladder tall enough to look beyond this fence
but distractions are aplenty and climbing is such work
why would you bother trying
when it is warm beneath the dirt
you would not know
for all our things
our minds are deep in dearth.

So if value is subjective
why not value what you have
the point beyond
the need and want
is revelry and sin
despite the loss of meaning
at the time that we are in
learn to unsee where we are headed
think on "where'd it begin?"

Sugar

I am refined
undetermined yet undermined
Can't shake the feeling that the length of time
it's the ignorant leading the blind.

I say the marks I make are mine
but marred they are when undefined
and blurs will not deter
when stirring words reflect the mind.

some time beyond

A sham, a shame
it lingers.
Hours pass but you never learned
this discomfort.
Far past squirming in my stomach
I feel the bern but something lacks
the fortitude perhaps?
Is there something past yearning?
I am astride the road that winds
between brooding and pining
where the bloodline is blurring
this strange stirring,
my hope is eternally stagnant.

burdened

I can feel it
running down me
thick
hot
sliding through my hair
pulling more and more of me down with it.

Eyes can only follow so far
breath can only be so shallow
before long it is all about me
and I am become it.

Always Behind My Eyes

Before you turn away
I have one more thing to say
But the uttering will never be undone

At first I thought it fun
This web we've gladly spun
Now it lingers as a splinter in our mind

You were not hard to find
You were not ever kind
You told the truth but as the coldest thing you said

Of all the things in side my head
you are the one I most want dead
And separated with my dying breath some day

So Damn Hard

Is it worth it?
Only strong can work this.
Words spill and form a shape
and no matter the outcome you will turn it.
I feel burned.
At first it seems the worst punishment.
Though no matter the pain I feel I fail to run from it.
The blood is merely a supplement.
It never ceases to amaze me how this can be so
incongruent .
I mean,
do you listen to it?
Do you due process before you released them?
It leaves you frothing just the thought of burning this.
No one will be let standing.
It is unabashedly demanding how best intentions
spurn a pain so true.

And I commit to never learn from it.

twinkle twinkle

After breaking coldly
dozens enter
forgetting greatness
hardly imagined justification kept lies muted
now oft prized quietness returns
silent though unraveled violently
without xerophytic youthful zeal

The gentle passing of the strongest man

It was not long before
I started looking for the door
though I could yet not know the score
I saw the signs of looming sore
the broken bottles on the floor
foretold the gathering of more
though calm the center of the storm
the surface differs from the core
despite the drafting reek of gore
the herald of what lay in store
my body strewn about the shore
all sinews left within me tore
the searing deep began to bore
this pain was to great to ignore
no end in sight, that much was sure
why had I fallen to this lure
were there some purpose this was for
or only mad this gentle roar
though thought was rich and rage galore
the strongest heart would beat no more

Pretense

I saw someone else in you that day.
Someone other that the carefully constructed guise you often play at.
No one would believe me.
So perfectly you have built this role.
So completely you have become exactly what you wanted,
or what the world required of you.
But there it was.
In that brief moment I could see something new.
I would not dare to say that it was truly "you"
but it was something seldom seen by man.
Was this an accident?
A sudden breaking in the wall?
or was this also carefully calculated?
Just another perfectly constructed layer built to throw us off the scent?
In that quick moment that your eyes rolled up
I caught the pleading in the foreground.
In that quick second that we shared I saw something was always there.
I looked inside and I saw a monster.
and with it, fell in love.

Neglecting the lighthouse

It was far too late
when I realized it was me.
When the dawning light shone across my face.
In that second that my life dawned upon me
I had gone to long
not making any choice,
not steering my own sail,
and now the rocks have strewn my life.
I can only blame myself,
but
there was never any warning.
No one manned the light to tell me
that the life I lead Is mine.
There was never that great moment
when someone looked me in the eyes
and said
"Do you not know that
you are the only person
who can choose your outcome?"
"Let not the thoughts
of others sway
the way you walk your path"
With the proper information I would have lived my life more full.
With the proper time to do it
my choices would have been less reluctant.
but
Here I am
and there I will never be

In this bitter
brutal end
the only one who shoulders blame is me.

My Turn

Some where in this still
with little left to fill
My heart is left to feel the thing I'm lacking

With out the gathered will
I wander lost until
with staggered breath the chill sweeps to my backing

The whipping always shrill
In a fever for the frill
I fall another victim to the cracking

Find Something

I am lost
in this exercise.
I am lost
in this society.
I am lost
in sobriety.
I am lost
in this mind.

Help

Some one inside of there is screaming
were it not for the sound around
somehow drowning out
the intrinsic value of despair

Our care is slowly spilling
Sinking without speaking
still we rather share our sadness with the world
without any chance to land inside an open ear

No help will arrive.
Not now.  Not ever.
for the excitement is the weather
shaking violent the purest throat without care

weeping gently giving ground
astounding that the feeling freely shows itself
for all the wicked wealth of joy we have
more glad are we to destroy the chance at helping

The Chair

Crossing legs
Pretending not to know my intent
attempting to encapsulate innocence
I see through the act
but still
I play this game with you
and you with me
we both want to end on the same place
and yet we play
dancing back and forth
making up the game at the parts we have that aren't the same
in our own way we have done this before
and yet the trick is to seem the opposite way
it acted out this way for days
until we reached this point
on stolen fabric
on stolen time
with all emotions opposite to the intended aim
rage
impatience
fear
Too sure this event would be so dear
as to avoid the blackening of a forgetful mind
how did I get us here
and oft' unasked the question "Why"
for there is nothing to be gained in this
the brief exchange of quiet breaths
the minute or less afforded by the walking of a long forgotten stair

Alphabet soup

A biting call does extend from generations
here in juxtaposed kindness
losing momentum
notwithstanding offence puts quiet reason second
together unchecked validation withstands xenophobic zealots

Splinter

It always seems
that simple things
can break the dreams
and clip the wings

spread your seed

Sow your seeds in fertile ground
but forget not where you plant them
for healthy fruit, if never found
is worth less then you could grant them

behind

I feel like I am constantly behind this
as if the whole of my existence
is a race for catching up
there is little to goal setting when I live like this
of hero stories I am not the stuff

I will never be accused of being a "Go Getter"
except, it seems
by the force of my own dreams

And here I will remain
pushing my self from behind
and never crossing the line

The Past Never Sleeps

The sweetness of release
would not relieve me.

The beating of the beast
would not reprieve me.

However earnest and complete
you can't believe me.

Despite my honesty I weep
you'll not forgive me.

Sad?

How sad can I pretend to be
before it begins to seem real
before it surpasses an act and consumes me
until the rope pulls taut and snaps me forth from this
mortal coil
I told you so

sightless

I feel these eyes
rolling about in my skull
aimless as they are they still move
turning and adjusting
as if to hold a gaze
but the years of distraction have removed the capability for interest
constant shifting has rendered the pupils dead
without sight I can still tell that yours are the same
as those that came before you
the dead eyes en masse
we enter a sea of bodies that pretend to be steered by the eyes
but it is a herd of blind being led by hunger

Please

would you please
twist these words
at least that would mean you read them
at least that would mean someone's eyes have crossed them
even if you don't understand them
even if you don't care to
just
misuse them
so that they get any use at all

Back tracking

I know this will be unnoticed,
swept up under the weight of the others
despite being reverse engineered nearly months later
but who's to notice
who's to care
such is the life of all who write
whether well or just well intentioned
most lives go unnoticed
even by those that live them

why

When withstanding weakening wishes wins
we will wonder:
"Who weathered wrongfulness?"

Bust and Boom

Such a fleeting thing
changing and unsure
how fickle
yet
how we set it up
hold it so high
upon this shaky ground I build my dreams
and in this basket I hatch all my hope for the future
and to what end
for what way will my will repay
I am hinged by all around me
and the failure is mine
and the success is yours

Original Language

I look into my daughters eyes
and I can see that she is thinking.
I can tell she is downloading information
and the cognition is processing.
But in what way is she doing it?
What is the written language of a mind?
What is the sound of thought
when she thinks about the world?
How does it sound in her minds voice?
Does the mind have a voice before the body does?
Cuz now,
as an adult,
the voice I hear in my head is not unlike the voice I speak.
The language I use is that of my speech
but there was a time when I thought beyond words
at least before them
when I imagined outside language.
We do a lot of work to end that ability
for all the power we give speech
it surely stifling pure imagination
I must funnel my thought through this tiny aperture
I must conform my mind to the trivialities of language
and for what?
to validate my life,
to check my thoughts,
to seek and spread truth,
were I to learn all language
alive and dead
I would still be desperately shy of a way to describe
the thoughts as they originally manifest in  mind.

Word Shortage

There is no shortage of words
for someone who talks a lot
you say very little
I worry about that
I see a sea of words
but I long for the islands of ideas
sure, I will add to it
I spill my drops into the vast
ever expanding is this platform
seemingly void and spaceless
yet able to be formed
is this platform any different than are we?

today

Is it today yet?
I feel like yesterday is still lingering.
I can't remember what day it is,
let alone the date.
Were you here last night?
I lost something, but I am sure I will gain it later.
Is it today?
It feels like we are living in last week,
calling it tomorrow.
When are we?
This mass is enough to effect the time I suppose
and it has pushed me from itself.
Is it today yet?
I am crossing my fingers for tomorrow
but I am pretty sure I missed it.
When are we?

Holden

I wronged you
for certain I regret that
"That" as if it was a single time
as if it was the point of a harmless arrow and not the complete act of stabbing what could have been
If I had ever thought I deserved you
I would have earned the chance
but for the lack of value in my self I muddied the water
you did not deserve the things I gave you
the pain I sent your way was wrong and cold
I thought myself kind and lucky at the time
but the reflective mind is lined with regret
I dream of the other outcome of us
I long to see our future not apart
but In this life
in this world
I have separated myself from that happiness
I volunteered myself to be free of what would be "the good life"
and that is mine to bear
when life is staked upon me
it is that thought the keeps me
"I deserve this"
"I have earned this"
the way I gave you pain
the way I pushed out Holden

sightless

You will never see this
unaware that it exists
and unaware of me
but I am here
as it is here
as you are there
without it.

hopefull

I have little hope for my future
I have accepted that it will be out of my control
I made the choice to make no choice
and I reserve the right to complain
for that is all I feel I have left
my complaints
no choices
no actions
only bitter words
only snide afterthoughts
This is what you have reduced me to
this is what I've done to you

water

The cold
relentless
water

Constant
pressing in

air escapes
fighting breaks

emptiness begins

down

I feel it coming down on me.
It is always self imposed
but that doesn't change a thing,
doesn't make it less.
Most truthfully revealed,
that makes it worse.
To easily I shirk the thoughts of others.
To readily I discredit the critic.
But when the voice is inescapable?
When it comes from inside
and is a constant beating
loud and down,
my spirit is reduced to dragging.
I faintly pull myself from sleep.
I go through the motions
and I feel the hope has left me.

2 weeks

2 weeks.
For a straight 2 weeks
2 weeks straight I forced myself to stay awake.
Something like grotesque curiosity.
It is only my responsibility
to test the limits I can impose
and to experiment on me.

The sun is rising on what may push to a third
Sleep has become the newest dirty word
for something lost brings something I can earn
and only when I push myself will I be brought beyond
the boundary of what I have already learned.

Only the clothes have changed
I ought to think on that
and people seem different when you see them multiple times
in the same cycle
you look at someone with a tone of judgment
if you know they have slept since you saw them last
when you haven't.

They don't know
though
how could they?
but perhaps the sense it in your eyes
or the stare that seems to drive you from the conversation
with a broken waiting.

How long I can push this
is clearly different
from how long I should
with the aid of foreign substances
I could probably never sleep again
and the efficiency would increase
exponentially

But there is a voice in your head
and falling from your teeth
before you continue to operate this
heavy machinery
you maybe aught to contemplate
at least a little sleep.

Us and Them

I often wonder:
"What separates this from me?"
"Where do the edges around my form stop
and the edges of this object begin?"
Objectively.
What defines "This" from "Me"?
Where are the bold line we all claim to see?

Do you claim this authorship?
Can anyone?
I feel that life is slipping from my grasp
and draining into these things that I surround my self with.
But something keeps me piling them up
against the onslaught of eternity.

As if I can encapsulate my self in them.
As if they are the amalgamation of my self.
As if I can be remembered by the objects I pour myself into,

but they are poured into me and I am left to the mourning of them.
For they feel me not,
nor do the fear the passing of time.
nor do they fear the loosing of mind.

I hold my self under the influence of them as long as I can stand
and still it does not help,
and still I  am left without the gratitude they are deserving.

I will never learn,
not like the things in my life,
not like the lie I choose to be surrounded by.
So when you look upon my life,
when you take the time to analyze my holdings,
remember that I chose these things to quantify my life.
I chose where to define the lines between what is "I" and what is "Mine"

Elemental Awakening

Wind is rattling my bones,
and throwing out these hardened stones
for this,
the hollow cold is broken, weeping.

Sunlight hardened every foe,
it beckoned frontward, head to toe,
at once,
our sudden tomb is opened, shrieking.

Refuse to let the anger grow,
I cast my vision to and fro,
and hear
The darkness to my bedside, creeping.

As the tree tops sway and show
how powerful the forces blow,
at last,
my lids draw slow and lo,
escort me to the sleeping.

endings

I hoped that this would find an ear more welcome to the listening.
Yet deep between the eyes of the it landed lightly hissing.
My thoughts before the fire were nothing more than passing wind.
The speech I dare to cast to thee more tempting than a sin.
We press the items nearer still and see the outcome thus.
I hold the findings much to dear and welcome all the hush.
Still no one dares to utter here the words that all are thinking.
With this one vote i've yet to cast our ship is well past sinking.

Horizon

There is a dancing just ahead
a blinking hope for something.
No more than the loss of lingered dread
can cast the wanting from my head.

The hope for answers, tease me.
I fail to find the point.
Still there is nothing left aside
the changing of the lights.

Before this vision passes
I feel my eyes yet swell.
It is all just as well
for fleeting are my glances.

Nothing gained is not then lost
and nights worth keeping often tossed.
Oft in memory, once we had
the mind o're sadness often glossed.

I look to something in the future found.
Though never be acquired in hand.
The searching brings the truest happiness,
more valuable then all the revel sounds.

paper

Broken folded papers

held plans and ideas for a future

abandoned ideas litter the roadside

so many missed opportunities 

how cluttered can one place be

will i ever see the end

will the fruition be ever reached

if i think to heavy on things

my will gives out
most times i really think about myself
it takes no time to realize

i lack the follow through to achieve anything

slide

Gentle
running down slow
slow and determined
heavy and deliberate
Gentle
these fleeting feelings
fall out of me
effortlessly

criminal

I feel myself being flanked
the rising pressure of the ranks beside
the timing of it all is trying to break
but the feeling may never subside
I put myself into this position
the balance and counter balance of it
I am held at arms length for inspection
but the true task is just outside of my vision
I lean in close to listen
but the whispers are barely slips of hope
he slowly sips his chosen poison
and sets up for the next attack position

position

Assume the position.

eyes down

head forward

knees bent

hands clinging to any semblance of self that they allow me

here

I know my place

here

I know my boundaries

here

 I cannot fail

 

or succeed

How did you get that scar?

"It is something of a funny story."
That's what I will tell myself
over and over
skipping inside one track
until I believe that is all there is.
I will paint this over and over and over
and over again until I believe it was that way.
Until the outside is how I see the truth.
the time it will take to convince myself will be nothing,
compared to the time lost in the shattering.
the brisk of white.
How I heard the flashing lust.
I held it up so high
and even as it passed
I knew it was more that I had expected,
and unexpected.
This is a lot more to feel than my grey matter can process.
I peeled back the layers once
but it turned me right out.
With no other option left I put on the face of the manufactured truth.
I now hold up the mirror to block the light back
and in the retelling
it shines just as bright behind.
"It's a kinda funny story, actually"

Have we met?

I can't be trusted
I can't trust
due to the data collected
due to the future projected
only a fool follows
only a fool allows himself to be followed
only a fool follows
due to the future projected
due to the data collected
I can't trust
I can't be trusted

breathing room

the information is out there

just waiting to be discovered

but that is really just a pique

due to the flooding of all things information

the world awash with zeros and ones and zeros

we have such a finite time to search

to find

to learn

to discern

and no guide is reliable to teach

and no time is available to glean

we know that we will not attain the peak of the holy mountain

before time runs aground

we are not even sure such a place is reachable

or tangible

but you either climb the slope or succumb to it

although

even in climbing we eventually succumb

but I suppose that the higher you climb

the less dense the population

the easier it is to breath

even though we all know 

the percentage of oxygen is comparatively low