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They sing, they all sing.

The choir sang

and the angels

made a crowd

to hear mortals

moan

All the sadness

and hope in this room

could sink battleships

you can tell the strong

from the weak

its in there song

and hidden behind the eye’s

and its hard to see

in the dim light

jazz cafe

My table, where i sat

was united cultures

of friendship

and a trinity

is a tripod

and an easier

leg to stand on

then one’s own

My head was pounding

and I left my body

and hid in the refined

confinement

that happens

when i have a headache

every day since i was seven

and thats not the pain

my people have felt

but my own

and very personal

imagine being a child

and trying to claw your eyes out

or asking your parents

to do it for you

throwing up

was sweet relief

and not the point

of defeat where

I once was drunk

taking hang overs

like heart aches

and moving on

what the Jazz Cafe

My head aches

and my parents

and even this poem

are yearning for

is a forgone conclusion

where there is none

and thats Why life is obscure

and you feel perturbed

when you have a lot to teach

but even more to learn

I lean left on an oreo

and right on a twinkie

and these junk foods

hold more substance

than a fancy meal

served by a snooty waiter

it has more soul

than stolen rock and roll

I have always made new friends

and lost touch with old ones

but we are all brothers

and sisters

How sweet freedom can be

when we allow ourselves to be free

how easy love is

when one drops there heart

dusts it off and runs full speed

into the daydreams

moving at such a high velocity

that it becomes reality

and we are all smiles

and thanks

The choir sings

there sweet escape

giving even more

than what they take.

Disgrace Land

Today i sat at a bus stop

a brick bench

outside of a saloon

where drunks got to gathering

and doing what they do best

crawling inside bottles

hidden in the dim lit

atmosphere of another

lost generation

with no definition

sitting out in the sun

I wished them well

and wanted for them

to experience beauty

as I have seen it

but then thought

about how crowded

that might make things

and I have always disliked crowds

but I would never

crown myself a coward

I walk tall

I hold my head up

and saunter regally

The king of the city

regarded as a pauper

On paper

is where my blue blood

spirit flows

and no one knows

but those

who take the time to read

and nurture the seed

and watch it grow

Where do we go

with how little we know

super computers

will one day

take the place of poets

as our hearts become machines

and our dreams are LED lights

when our mothers are bored

with our souls as programs

our binary language

can not defeat the virus

as we watch our lives

pass by us

I am still at a bus stop

not waiting for anything

and enjoying the sun

and I would like to think

it is also enjoying me

Youth in Asia

The difference is the horror

and the happiness

the tears of a clown

is the only

happy medium

I’m rare

and full of rage

making another page

in a long line

of failures

the success

has yet to come

and I don’t plan on it

this is mine

and your just a spy

trying to figure out

my obscurities

in your scrutiny

you find less of your self

I think it’s sad

how you will never know

the hell you cause

and the heaven you stray from

Oh earth angels

why do you hide

behind the cloak of

security

mad men want your blood

and all I want is your tears

so give me your suffering

and I will say

I have suffered as well

give me your tired

and I will offer you my bed

and watch you sleep

a withering creep in the night

stealing your peace

laughing to myself

give me your poor

and I will tell

how I have been poor as well

and that was the time

when i found happiness

or believed in the illusion

going to the well-fair office

my nine dollar fishing pole

and my orange cat

pumpkin, who is dead by now

but lives forever

in an unhappy child hood

of a tiny tin soldier

Chicenitza

I wanted to make something beautiful

and my mind went blank

and all I had was this

a pocket full of lost hopes

and broken dreams

a stomach full of hunger

and a heart made out of lead

sometimes my mind

thinks I have cancer

I have to cut it out

and can’t

fearing men in white coats

with rubber gloves

knowing they are

only humane

and if angels

where doctors

and dentist

I might trust them

a little more than I do now

How have we strayed

so far from eden

It should have started off bad

instead of ending in rapture

and after the fire

and brimstone

the meek shall

crawl out of there caves

sun starved

dark dwelling

idiots

to inherit this earth

it is mine for now

and I give it all

with  a small

rate of interest

I do expect you to pay it back

in forms of literature

or live as a character

and be interesting

it is harder

than letting the world

end before you

lets take a stride

past the mold

and be hero’s

of solid gold

W.N.D.

We, the kids of Chaos

who stand distantly divided

and are of the same

shadowy past

over midnights

and trials and tribulations

we emerge

as you imagine

the legions from hell

or fire storms

we burn the wicked

in our wreckage

while leaving shells

of souls

this service

is brought to you

by the weeping mothers

who never knew how to love

we sail her tears to new dawns

if this wasn’t a desert

I could get a drink

something cold and stiff

and I would turn

to anyone who would listen

and say, remember poets

the anti archetypes of men

the down cast

and down trodden

Remember poets

so you don’t forget

how beautiful the sky can feel

or that nothing gold stays

and how each day

is something to be defined

your friends but die in the desert

but not in hearts

there they float forever

in free from

Writers never die

they are just reborn

with every arranged word

and deranged verb

The diction haunts

till your disturbed

with delight

and you cant fight your urge

to find your own courage

so develop your inner deluge

and start with this

never forget poets

writers never die

they are just reborn

Hoarse Hockey

 

 

You want my blood

and I’m just giving you vinegar

and at each step

I am more eager

to feed your fever

fill you up enough

to leave you

hungry

I know change

and depictions

I have seen flowers

as signs of forgiveness

but usually as an admission

of guilt

Your tall stilts don’t stand

so high

I have always given flowers

for the right reasons

like when things suck

or one needs a horticultural hug

I’ll even bring some

to your funeral

and I picked one out

for each and everyone of you

Smell my carnations

my roses

My tulips

and daffodils

sniff till you get a nose full

or carry my pollen

to lovers

and be

beyond existence

it’s where the truth lies

Men behind curtains

and more curtains

with men behind them

and so on

making circles

till I am dizzy

I have never been sick

from a traveling carnival

though i have tried

all the fried dough

and zipper rides

I find myself

on this merry go round

and my stomach is not happy

and neither am I

My Way

There are private detectives at work

and I am not one of them

let them unfurl the mysteries of the universe

while I am becoming another one

In a current state of mind

may we be content

and take promise

in tomorrow’s sunrise

and its sun sets

and let’s take bets

its going to do the same

tomorrow

Im giving it odds

three two one

in its favor

I savor these sweet moments

with a tender kiss good bye

on to new times

and new kicks

and other ways

to make limericks

I’m transfixed

and a martyr mash

with a shot of savior

the flavor lingers

on your tongue

like an ageless whiskey

and for those that don’t drink

Sinatra said it best

When he said

“I feel bad for those that don’t drink

because when they wake up

thats the best they are going to feel

all day”

we wake up sick in the morning

a belly of anvils, led and rocks

mixed with turpentine

He asks me how I’m doing this morning

I grin and bear it and say “just fine”

and the evenings we unwind

we both got women to find

so we part way’s

He walks out singing

“Nancy”

and she has her black boots on

he doesn’t know that

and neither did I

till she phoned me and told me

and I did not reply

Quite Quite

This is it

everything all encompassed

shift speeds and the direction

of your locomotion

Lunacy

is never taken for granted

sometime last night

there was an eclipse

of a most beautiful

proportion

it turned dark

and slowly came back to life

in a full moon delight

under it

a million stars shine

in a million galaxies

and it appears to me

that is also infinite

a million times infinity

and we stretch

and contrast

every time we are asked

How big do you really think

we are

How small do we appear

are we just here

to disappear

a doe finds a dear

in the middle of the woods

as species stay unto itself

and its a miracle

how anything finds anything

particles to neutrons

making eons of combinations

some still think its creation

rather than evaluation

and elevation and expansion

its a tricky think of

exaltation

that’s now in devo

and where do we go

when are souls expire

are we to be fertilizer

or simple worm food

Our time will turn sepia

and our entirety

not even a memory

thats a product of the mind

and the silence

will be brilliant

Attacked By bed-bugs

Remembering all the beautiful faces

and how they are only skin deep

as everyone is searching

for an absolute absolution

that brings them peace

or they are making

horror films

out of the cinema of life

feeling infinitively small

on an expanding planet

where the voices

don’t carry

in the likeness of perfection

everything becomes muddled

as do all possibilities

of finding truth

or that which you are

searching

find yourself

wondering 

what others think

in a pursuit

to solve our own

puzzles

and the pieces accumulate

and its hard to put

together

with so much gray wash

abandon all hopes

and with it

breath wildly

into days

that pass

like tumble weeds

a desert thirst

for all things passionate

and resonate

tonight I’ll let

all the sleeping dogs

lie

I have been once bitten

and twice shy

Vacuum Landscape Architect

The rain falls hard outside my window

and its washing away with it

the last few days of winter

to bring things into a spring fever

lovers will lock hand and hand

strolling idly by bodies of water

as big as the ocean

and as small as a puddle

within them

holds their significance

To whom it may concern

when a lover finds me

I’m going to sit beneath the sheets

showing her the magic

of my zippo lighter

and teach her about Nihilism

and burn the sheets

with us in them

as the Shakespeares

rip off another love sonnet

another drunk rolls away

in the gutter

while a junky escapes

rehab to find the comfort

of the streets and there sin

we are all part of everything

from the dandelion

to the cheetah

I fall asleep in a magma womb

to awake in a field of poppy seeds

I own not a dog

as I search for a Heart

A brain and courage

I take the coins off my eye’s

and rub them together

to break up the silence

enjoying the noise

I search for more things

to make friction with

I bind her wrist

behind her back

and make her sit

execution style

and one second

after the pin hits

and after the trigger is squeezed

like the membranes of an orange

making juice

I ask her to tell the truth

as to what was the last thing

that went threw her mind

I spend all night, a week and then a year

and the time tallies up

waiting for her reply

I guess I have given up

and this is done for

as her corpse turn to ashes

and my hair grows longer

than i would like

I slap my face

and tell my self to wake up

get a grip old boy

your losing it

Demi god and still Human

I saw the most brilliant glow

around the moon tonight

it was like a halo

above me head

in a gigantic perfect circle

and all the times

I have spent looking

at the moon

which has been many

I have never seen

such brilliance

Tonight, I am an angel

or something even better

that a word doesn’t

exist to describe

but thats why we have poems

and poets

the dogs howl madly

but the moon inst full

there is just a little missing

and soon it will be

and then the dogs will really howl

I feel shallow

and if i just turned over

on my stomach

I could drown

and what joy

that might bring to some

and sadness to others

but instead

we should all

look at whats above

and beyond us

It all seems

like a waste

when I should

just be staring

at the moon

keeping it all selfishly

to myself

instead I’m trying to

write about it

so we can share

a simple bond in beauty

if our souls can’t

and won’t

I (destroyed warehouse, memorial plaque).

There is a break in the silence

but it rushes back as regularly

as the geyser at Yellowstone

lost in Montana

your old faithful

thats not so faithful anymore

but that is the way

things change

what once was to be counted on

is a depleting memory

the people I have met

don’t stay in touch

twenty four years

of being a loner

and what have I learned

I’m arrogant

and the greatest

A degenerate

yet wholesome

and I’m homely

and everyone’s busy getting older

and uglier

Getting engaged

or already married

having kids

these children

who are dull

creating more

that is dull

I am bored with it

these rules of engagement

have me inciting war fare

just to see some action

The everyday

eats away at me like a cancer

someone once told me

I was a surrealist painting personified

I wish i believed it

and that they didn’t lie

someone coughs outside my window

as they have been for most of the night

get it over with already

and please don’t disturb me

I am trying to read and write

tonight carries with it a soft gloom

and tiny terrors

but its the fight

to keep the spark glowing

so it grows into a giant fire

sering mortal flesh

in tin can head heads

which is as small as the spark

once was

tonight it burns

as a candle

to all those

who made the path

as I am just one more notch

on the earths equator