Happy New Year

Nothing has changed

Tomorrow is just tomorrow

Your problems are unmoved by this declaration of glee and joy

Tuesday gone to Wednesday

No one celebrates grass growing because it is just what it does

But maybe tomorrow is like a conscious choice to make poor decisions or wise ones

To get drunk or stoned

To meet a girl or a boy

To have tomorrow be whatever you want it to be

That’s worth celebrating

Life

She was existentialism realized to the fullest

Long legs a man could climb smaller mountains

Hair falls on an endless scale and soft as the sand of the beaches we had laid

Supple lips protruding debauchery

She had life on her tongue and I was going to taste it

The joy

The heartbreak

The paths we discovered without no push or pull

Yet we found them anyways

It was meant to be

We would see the dirtiest of alleys

The deepest bottles filled with the most amazing things

The highest highs spinning in the middle of the room

I took one look at you and I could not stop

I could not turn away

Once at opportunities door

Future words to say

I never thought this day would be here

I never thought I would meet someone

I just figured I would be alone for the rest of my days

Then you just walked into my life and shattered it all

The shards lay on the ground and I didn’t even try to pick them up

I think it may have been the happiest I had been during that part of my life

Thank you for your hammer

What will come

In the middle of the road

                                                I sat cross legged

                                                Unafraid

                                                Yet cognizant of everything

                                                The map has gone astray

Somehow we met in the middle and swiveled and turned

Back to old familiar things of new and old

New and old

New and old

New and old

As I sat there a grand silence befell me

Cars whizzed and wooed by so fast my ears could have been ripped off

Nothing came of the sitting

So I leap to walking moving shaking across the front lawn at full moon in the day light

That said fuck you

No one cared

A kind of phase I am going through

They would say as they plotted and schemed for indoctrination

A cult like thing family is

With the togetherness and fake kindness and religion…Oh religion

What a fools horse hitching people do

From Bogota to Peru and Brazil to Israel

The mind boggling things they do

I left that bag of tricks the jokster peddles

Inside that bag he would reach and time and time again failure beseech him on to me

Gone from the road a man sees things needing seeing and I need to see them

The hopelessness and debauchery all whores

For attention

For intimacy for money

What a bad group they are

Whores for money will do anything

I see the devil in the south on the road and he wears sandals in Florida

High heels in Georgia

Boots in Alabama

Every day he showed his face and I snarled and gnarled at him shooed him away

Only for him to be back again tomorrow and the next day

I think it is in the air here

That American scent and ugly face

Petty

Greedy

Reckless things not meant long for this world

What do I see upon my arrival back home nothing but the same

Like time paused and played back when I came back

                                                                So I sit

                                                                Cross legged in the road

                                                                Thinking to see

                                                                What will come

Fuck you

Keep struggling for the struggle

Wrestling with reasons for the questions

Why’s go for days in spring summer and fall

As leaves fall to the floor

I rage for the homeless

The addicts

The alcoholics

The junkies

How shiny polish on this town surrounded by brightness

In front of town hall

Under bridges

Under guard

Under watch

I will never go for the lock and key deal

In spring worlds collide for the young ones

The little boys and girls with hope

With old friends and lovers

Tear rotting eye lids let go for the things they lost

In which they do not know the list for which has been stolen

They came in the night and slipped it out

In sacks they went away with disobedience

They made and incision around the top and emptied the contents in a jar

From which I write these words

A renegade using poetry as my only weapon against the tyranny of others

I write long scribbling for the children

Think of them in this

Think of you in this

Think of you in this world

Think of war in this world

Think of protest in this

Think going and go!

The streets are calling for you to forget yesterday and look on to tomorrow to find a way to say fuck you

Cold and slow

The time I spent on the road was quick and fast as it was ugly and excruciating

I met marijuana mobster and his chick LuLu 2 barrels

Who got the name on the account that she got terribly bloody from a 2 barrel shotgun

I met crazy mad men and women on the brink of addiction and obsessions possessive

Pan handled for meat and mead

The rich came down from their ivories to see the common folk who bleed and perspire for poverty as the elite gaww and gasp of the poor in cages like a zoo

They feel bad so they purchase a thing or two

Maybe they continue an arrangement of sorts like a prostitute and a politician

Money for services rendered behind closed doors

The longer the prostitute performs the duties of his or her position

The more you receive

The tools of consumerism

Quick fast to play in sweltering Florida and Georgia just after July

I was driven mad by my surroundings as they ate me

Enough for the day

To sustain the battle of today

Tomorrow it would be coming soon

So I better get ready for the pain

As teeth and blood grind away

Eternal golden red was the reason for this spell and so shall it be

My time on the road like a certain kind of death

Cold and slow

Pondering

I got this pondering in my head banging at my chamber door and it continues.  This slamming on the wood of my door.   I read and I distract, avoid the aversive from my mind, and escape the intrusive from my grave; Cognitive processes running wild with the needle drawing furiously.  Bleeding ink on the paper until I am dry