A man

I don't know what it means to be a man anymore
it definitely isn't that
it isn't marriage and children
it isn't bull headed arrogance
it isn't machismo and stoic ice faces
I can't tell anymore
I know people like to think so
its easy to disrespect the child dressed in his father's clothes
trying to emulate this big scary man from his youth
the man with mallet hands who tells you how to be strong
but in doing so shows you his weaknesses
its easy to put on his shoes and wear them around
its harder to choose your own and wear them around
its not courageous to do the old thing over again
I know people like to think so
does being a man have to be that?
i hope not
i hope men change their ways because they give me a bad rap
i know that they will not
id like them to try anyways
there are many ways to be a man
its not my fault none of them have been found out

hollow rubber band

I don't like people all that much
they usually make me mad
they tell me how to live and when to be docile and obedient
it is anger
they create
in flows up my veins
protruded up on my forearms as i clench my fist
i am their work
their project to repair and fix
i rebuke their corrective measure and counsel
i know do not know what will happen tomorrow or today
i cannot deiced my fate from others
i am emboldened by my anti this or that
i am encouraged by their attempts
normalcy is a disease i will not catch
i am not enthralled by their successes
i do not know how to tell them
i am the enduring leather from the blade
they slice and cut and trim and shear
there is a mess on the floor that is left
a pile of rubble and i am is whats left
the trouble is it all grows back
their work is like the hollow rubber band that always snaps back
no matter how far you push and pull
i always come back
right at you

The sidewalk's burden

I can't shake this hatred
it is embedded in my skin
just those little words
made me into some kind of thing
i can't think straight and i am churning in my belly
it burns me down and metamorphosis into ash
i am swept away under the rug
like i was never there
30 years was nothing
my life is hard
an illusion
it tricks me sometimes
disruption pulls me out
ripped from the glass tube
it keeps me calm
subdued into a stupor
from my interruption
i am bleeding red and see again
the walls having crumbled
the floor cracking
the shingles from the roof falling in near my head
there is a ray of light peering in
the dry wall is easy to break out of
the grass is dead
no green in sight
it is just as desolate here as it is in the house
it is still decrepit
the concrete sidewalks breaking from their burden
the roads have been up rooted and covered in asphalt
they tell me it covers up the cracks
but we all know they are there

The waking

In the morning
I read Li young lee
I like his child like wonderment
how he embodies the thoughts of being alien
perplexed by the comings and goings of human beings
just as i am stunned by their activities
i feel kismet between he and i
I like reading Nietzsche
he makes me feel lucidity
between flashes of sanity
clarity of my mind
i wonder if i have always been this way
thought this way
my foot steps always lead me here
and i read eternal reoccurrence and I'm satiated with thinking of thinking
I like being silly because my head is heavy
an anvil chained around my skull
it weighs me down and i look at the floor
i see all the foot steps of people
i wonder if i look like them and walk just the same
i wonder what they look at me and see
a man with an anvil chained to his head
In the afternoon i elevate consciousness to watch down from the clouds
i transcend on the mountain top
i can see how all the actors play their roles
i see myself and giggle and chuckle from my core
i nap and dream
to turn it all off
shut it down to refresh from thinking and thinking
my slumber takes me hand in hand with desires and sought after dreams
i fight and solider on and on
i live fantastical romances with a woman i love
i fly between fir tress above grassy fields
then i wake and see my hardened clay feet
In the evening I like to listen to music
loud guitars make me feel anger and rage
i dream of what id do in their face
what harm id inflict and exercise my animalistic tendencies
it carries on until I'm done
when i sleep i giggle and is sillies
i dream of nothing sometimes
just black and then the waking

Reach

Where has my brain gone today?
I feel it slipped and dropped from its place
I'm wandering from space to space
I wonder why I am in this place
If I can escape to the place I'm going to
I keep pondering why do it at all
Can I make it away
I feel stuck in thought
A quicksand pulling me down further into my thoughts
The illuminating lights dancing above head
Give me light to see
I am curious
to what I'll be
What places I will be
Stuck in
My arms reach for the other option out
I reach further still
Motionless
My feet are still
Yet I reach
That my art will be the branch
Of my ascending
Up the mountain
Up and over the hill
To the peak
And then what will be left for arms to reach
What would it matter?
If I reached
My mountain
I am lost trying to find that branch
to pull me up
Somewhere to put my feet
Still I reach

I am a baby

I am a baby
Brand new
The softness of my skin
The pink epidermis
Seeing
Feeling
Sensing
I must re read
Re do
Begin
To do something new
I must be re broke and remade
A new redone me for you
Lady Poetry
Now old and haggard
Leave her to become dust to blow with the wind
And to be
rediscovered
reincarnated
To be brought through
In my wildish ways
left to the dust of old and haggard men
Remember the youthful invincibility of anger and rage
How the beasts push you in raging and not let the dying of the light go without a fight
In wisdom and time
Lady poetry sits and waits
It is in thought and maticulation and intuitive contemplation
Spontaneous and teleological
I wait and sit to see where she comes out
what the line of my life will drag and pull
and
create
sitting
waiting
and seeing
How lady poetry has changed in her new state
and in mine

waiting for the end

Silence is beautiful in the night
when you hear the frogs croaking their tune for the moon
In the night the wild bests ride
I can hear all the buried dead men alive
As they holler their stories far and wide
Of tales of hardships and men who had it hard
Their stories read long and slow like the torture that was inflicted
with the hands of those well equipped to deal it out and they still live today
The dead men buried alive are still waiting
for it all to end in the midst of shackles and blood
As their skin is peeled back over their eyes
they still feel it's barrage of fists and knives
Bruises and cuts opened and bled more with a red that never ends
Vibrant as it is cutthroat and beautiful
wondering when it will end
they were put in cold wooden boxes for the wealth they never gained
I can hear them cry and wail all night
Telling their stories and waiting for the end

Get to the real stuff

When there is nothing to write
Don't
When there is
When it pours out your skin
From underneath your fingernails
bursting
out and in each droplet of blood
is a thousand blood soaked pages
When it is the depth of your soul from top to bottom
Write like there is no end to the moment
you are in
From which time stops and your hand
never ceases it's sway
 Up an down and all over
Scribbled in black blood
All you see is the mass of black  and then you gaze closer
to the page and the words reveal themselves to you
and then the picture becomes clear
then the meaning peers out to you
right through you
expression mediated through your consciousness
only write like that
and only when it is like that
Everything else is shit to buffer between until you
get to the real stuff

The mad king's fire

The mad king
plays a tune to the roasting of his subjects
They burn and flesh peels from their bones
Jesters try to appease his mad ramblings with humor
He tells a joke and trick and joke and trick and not a chuckle comes down from the crown
He finds his pleasure from pain and suffering
To watch them scream as they are engulfed in flames
The fire is wild and red dancing in the middle
The mad crazy king
Crazy and mad
The screams are louder and heard through the square
As they crumble to dust and blow away in the gust
The next is heard bellowing for help from the dancing red fire
It dances on them
Until they are charred black and the mad kings says enough
he never says enough
He just chuckles and laughs drunk
drunk laughs
choking on his drink from the mixture
not a soul fights
No one yells in defiance
But cheers cheers
for the next bonfire in the mad king's name

Drifting out drifting in drifting gone

Play in
exhale out
Plug out and in
Drift into psychotropic abyss
To wander the revelatory rivers and sands
of the ever changing landscape of my mind
See all and see nothing
No thing
Not a thing
Know not a thing
Then you know much
if you know nothing
Wise like the owl
The 360 degree turn around
Full circle
The flat circle that is time
What is...is and what isn't
is not
Played out
Antiquated
the forms of young adult ambition
Best things
More stuff
New things stuff you have not seen yet
The monotonous race to be hip cool
Those who are smooth sailing like a wave
Just on the surface
But under the oceans is where all the cool stuff is
The big dance of two
The performance that evokes emotion
through emotive players
ans they play their to genuine authenticity
Clay men and women
Man's sculpture of reality
The virtual reality of the mental transcendental landscape
In my mind a thousand winds change
a thousand times
Drifting in a loop
of never ending
never stagnant
Stories that are told in infinite ways in an infinite time
an infinite motion
toward nothing
drifting out
drifting in
drifting
gone

The hole in the roof

There is a hole in the roof
I can see the drips that have splattered on blue plastic
I can see the hole that the rain forced up like a corkscrew
Pressure built until the audible sound of rupture
Rang in my ears
The sound of the water falling is everywhere
I can hear it on the top of the garbage
it slides off of the metal exterior and down the sides to the ground
Until a puddle has formed around it
Sinking slowly into the dirt
I can relate
being surrounded by water
drowning alone
I know how the dirt feels
on the soles of my bare feet
How moist the dirt is around my toes and how the cold water feels
that is up around my sides now
It won't be long until it topples over me and I'll be gone

In 485 days 16 hours and 11 minutes

Love makes me sick
Not like vomiting throwing up
Sick like i get mad
Love makes me crazy sick mad lunatic
All I want is love
I want it in my veins
In my brain
In my thinking and all I do
I cannot do anything but think of her
Love makes me out of my mind
I need it like air to breathe and water to stay wet
I wake up and think of the pages I'd write for my muse
Love makes me sick
I'm in addicts anonymous for love
 it is something I just don't do
It costs too much for me to give
 it requires my body and soul to segregate themselves
Screaming howling at the moon at the stars
thinking of all the romantic things I loathe
Abhorring them now
when I have no love
Clean and sober for over a year
I haven't touched the stuff in 485 days and 16 hours and 11 minutes

Our bones are but the lines dawdling the universe

Our bones are but
the lines dawdling the universe
a malleable mold of stars
from which we grow
as fragmented pieces of the source
of all that we see
We the stars
who glimmer and shine and exceed the threshold of being
by life in all that we do
The love we have in the eyes of the kismet
of two stars linking up again
The heartache we endure in the loss of our parting again
A violent bloody separation it is
In the adventures we take
in life on top the mountain high
The perils we encountered and overcame
In all that we are
we shine and glimmer
like beacons calling the universe to come back together again
We are the stars of the universe
Each of us shine and glimmer and excite in a myriad of light
as we illuminate the sky with our life
Whether lived with veracious tenacity or not
We all
are but the vain lines dawdling the whole universe
a blank mold of stars

Leave me alone

Leave me alone
People just leave me be
Don't be like a bee
whizzing around my neck
I swing and tell you to shoo
before I swat you dead
These bee people swarm me and think they know
what it means to be me
They think that have the right to tell me how it is
Even if they are weak like small things to me
I could crush with the heel of my vans and hear them crunch and squirm to fading silence
It would be messy and your gooey guts would be spread out on the floor
So I endue your bee buzzing and goings on until
I can walk away from your ugly company
The kind of ugly
that feigns of death
Its stuck on the place
I must leave it to stink someone else
Else I'd die from their insufferable
whizzing and leaving going
Too stupid to see the door
I kill them anyways for be such and abhorrent bore

I like the quiet

I like the quiet
I like the quiet and calm
The still particles that can be stationary on the sound
Riding each wave to a standstill
I like quiet
The things we so in the dark and tranquil waters of the night
 Holding the ones we look into at the evening and the ones we dream of and
wake up to when we make the form of a waking body
A moving body of particles and cells that break from their slumber
The rising of the sun from its nap beyond the clouds
I like the quiet
Do you know why?
Do you know the loud earth shattering tones of the voices that creep and crawl in
the waking hours of my mind's lengthy corridors
The steps they make in the marble
make echoing resonations
bouncing from wall to wall
ceiling to ceiling
They always yammer on this and that
Blood curdling screams
come out from the shadows
to cease the never ending beckoning
I cannot suffer through their illusions and the thoughts they conjure
like witches in my mind
The twisting and contortions made from their potions and cauldrons
that are holding the most viscous solutions
Veracious creatures captured in the much
and you can see their form as they
struggle and tussle
to break free
I like the quiet for the witches are still and their creatures slumber
Deep in the depth of the dream
I like quiet

Great beyond any measure one can think of

There is something transcendent about love
that makes the soul whole again and puts me at peace and wings can grow
spread wide and glisten white in the glow and warmth of the light
and takes me back to my home
in the sky close as one can get to the heavens
There is something terribly evil about the world
that corrupts the wings of a pure soul and forces it to reveal
its clay feet
grounded in sorrow forever
stuck like concrete shoes
still forming its shape
I only know of the evil that destroy's the Angels of men
and the goddesses of women in their place comes a man with clay feet
a woman who once was supreme to only retain her beauty that causes
the once Angles now men to lust for her
To possess her beauty as a trophy
and to worship hr as once was the role of men
To worship her imperfections as an artist does with a muse
that is what makes her beautiful and great beyond any measure
one can think of

Wet on the concrete

It is so cold
out on the concrete today and it is raining a torrential storm
that won't stop forcing the homeless and down trotted to the water front
where they can shiver on cold and wet pathways that the rich and well to do
run on and pass by
them with their snooty noses
barely can see down their noses
they are so large
just up into the city center
all the tall banks and big buildings
where the affluent pour out of
natural grocery stores and artisan coffee shops
and the cold and wet sit on the concrete
watching and holding resentment
in their loins
It is the only thing that keeps us warm as we see these people gripe and moan about heavy grocery bags and wet socks
and at night
when they get to go to their warm homes
we the people
get to be cold and wet on the concrete