it is not desired to submit to the maze
some how survival of the organism
depends upon it
it is not of merit to walk alone
but at times it’s necessary
none the wiser are my thorns
that i caress and polish them
although there’s rubbish in my soul
a gentle apocalypse sometimes wanders
within and incinerates my soiled heart
there will be no ashes
the electromagneticity
of electrons have silently dimmed away
what can be said of Los Angeles skies
that my eyes have cried about
inside worlds move simultaneously
politics heresy peace nihilism
ides no longer just
in March but forever
thoughts on being men
women on lay over
we think too late
archaic rebellion manifesto now
sold at local retailers
the revolution will be
AI shrapnel lands on
where he needs to
make amends neutral we
quiver as we’re lead
convenience in our head
riffs asunder in a
past that grappled with
the rights of gods
we the people found
in loss but ego
40 year engagement strong
the greatness of our
thoughts freedom at what
cost let us ponder
grief at the shift
of our great age
nothing certain short of
death tearing down the
walls of hate running
circles talking heads lowered
anarchies repossessed mid loan
hope in the periphery
the thoughts of the sounds you make your face in pain your eyes ash gray grow like wild honey suckle vines outward from the insides of my composting heart
look she says can i get a break today my blood borrowed by thirteen murder scenes lined up coming from my vocal chords ready for the gate to fall
i know the demons they feed well from me the prescription don’t eat before the range or you’re gonna get rotted rice and peas rolling down your caved in chest
the elders said before you were set free to the prison this would be caution daughter and sons your fathers were heavy into maleficent fun be advised that their sins you’ll be liquidating
sometime during the birth of a new day before cackles and moans from all of the earthly species blurt to the urban sky, she dreamt of an apocalypse on Prozac diagnosed as fake news. maybe we should…was what she thinks she said.
even as you are
here bruised and
curled up begging
for a breath’s instant
of attention i am not
willing to give it
beyond fragile are you
so much that weeping
you can’t do so you
look to me for comfort
i admit that i take and take
and when i am asked to share
i only contribute hollow tin
words that dribble out
of a no longer necessary
part of me
i don’t pity you
and i realize that i don’t
really care about you
i string you along for
my base needs
your tears and hardships
disappointments and pains
do not steal neither my
appetite, rest or peace of mind
i am perfectly happy if
you die but if you live it
does not really matter
you are welcomed to
continue down this road
but if you turn back
i will not follow you
not one thing can make me
love you or want you
i can not say i need
anything you give
neither your joy or smiles
or sophomoric gifts have any
value to me
albeit if you want to enter
you have been warned of the risks
and know that i don’t love you
the beach is really quiet today in spite of spilled ice cream and footprints left behind by a generation who still has not known the shores of old and the foxholes through which a reluctant liberty quietly arrives like a heart broken whore the breeze is desperate to make me smile and see me flicker my arms about my head like a puppet the breeze is not at all like the chiffon of the bride turned widow on that shore of ashen filled dreams collected by a letter delivered ten weekes later no these children with the ice cream and soccer balls and songs about a dance that is so disassociated from anything that i know will never understand these shores the way these shores have come to know me
the beach is really quiet today in spite of spilled ice cream and footprints left behind by a generation who still has not known the shores of old and the foxholes through which a reluctant liberty quietly arrives like a heart broken whore the breeze is desperate to make me smile and see me flicker my arms about my head like a puppet the breeze is not at all like the chiffon of the bride turned widow on that shore of ashen filled dreams collected by a letter delivered ten weekes later no these children with the ice cream and soccer balls and songs about a dance that is so disassociated from anything that i know will never understand these shores the way these shores have come to know me
the beach is really quiet today in spite of spilled ice cream and footprints left behind by a generation who still has not known the shores of old and the foxholes through which a reluctant liberty quietly arrives like a heart broken whore the breeze is desperate to make me smile and see me flicker my arms about my head like a puppet the breeze is not at all like the chiffon of the bride turned widow on that shore of ashen filled dreams collected by a letter delivered ten weekes later no these children with the ice cream and soccer balls and songs about a dance that is so disassociated from anything that i know will never understand these shores the way these shores have come to know me
time you have been my mother
a neutral righteous witness teacher priestess
self infliction my addictions there you stood
clocking the hemorrhaging of life
you not a crying virgin
me not a prodigal child
time your love is always tough
heavy handed in my thoughts
wasted in my inner voice
you continue to birth me
unto gray colored spectacle
time a savage fighter woman mother
slowly through your passing hands
do i learn to howl with pulsing throat
all of my passion all of my rage
you guide me through this valley
in front underneath above and behind
the shadow of man
where i sit betrothed
to another day of tumultuous blessing
words less spoken 