Not a soul to trust,

A this solitary rate,

the hearts gate surly shall rust.

So again,

-its me and my pen

for these particularly peculiar days

When lightning strikes,

-the mind fights,

or when the pen has something more insightful to say.

The impermanency, the versatility.

No more many men of conviction.  Just dissention,

where their symbols can merely be peeled off and replaced.

Not worn in fear of letdown nor betrayal.

But fashioned to please, to be ahead, to be behind the lead.

The swapping of stickers in a way quite sickening.

A practice followed by those always needing to sell something

they themselves refuse to buy.

Stickers can be sides, each beyond a line,

yet with all the lower ranks kicking up dust, by deserting like the tide.

Barely a sword drawn, hardly a tail to find.

And then the avengers

Boredom, pain and malcontent seem the only ingredients

to birth those of conviction.

But as a single particle can bring life or death

when added to the equation

so do the words from the biggest of mouths.

Thoroughbreds on a course, eyes limited, nostrils a fire

Stampeding their voices over the terrain inhabited by those

who unlike themselves are actually affected.

Or the mules whose hard lives, contribute to self righteous ideals

hard to drop.

Soldier of god, patriot, the fanatical, the pawns of politics,

all in all nothing but fools with different chemistry.

Jaded and hated, for a reason,  corrupted and used

Forever in no short of supply with the races always full,

of those near blind, by their speed to react.

Numbered and sponsored they all race to eventually stop

in the place they had started.

Running on empty and bearing stickers still.

if you have to be productive.

Yet when every second of the day

and as every day fades away,

and at years end it leads you to say

-where has it all gone?,   then something is wrong.

And what is “have to”?

Is it similar to having to breath,

or is it you know not another way.

Programmed. A sorrowful single current sea,

so fearful to just be.

A stubborn pillar erect and steadfast yet with fleeting purpose

amongst the rubble of the magnificent atrium that was to exist.

We are supposed to sleep eat and shit our days away.

That’s why we are here.

Why must we feel guilty for a gift given.

Why must we bring hell to everywhere we find heaven

Would you tolerate a child’s refusal to play with the toy you gave him

When it only seems to fills him with fear.

The child with worry in his brow,

will he use this toy as efficiently as possible.

Will his small hands find the always urgent desire to improve it.

Will he find away to carry it with him always,

not as a toy but as a burden.

Surly you wish not the puzzled puppy eyes looking to you.

For the simple joys he shuns always getting February from May

and to the natural world he becomes an orphan.

And what would  you have to say to this boy?

A sympathetic speech to derive  the difference from being driven

and driving your life away.

How often the tragedy when a gift leaves one confused.

The words you leave that troubled child

may be the same your god has for you.

Ah, that sea between you and we

What I am to you, and you to me

One of plain symbolism, old ideas and T.V

And I, of relics, abstract sentiment and poetry

Oh suffer so, my values and curiosity

A lifeless intangible unseen

In your psychology

A character, a play I ponder

Your dichotomies

Unfound and indescript I exist

Beneath your society

As two universal polarities

We’re just ghosts, salt air

The dew on each other’s daisies

With the ambulance on standby each and every day

For death is the only thing that could possibly be eventful

The stale stagnated and repetition

There is no growth here, only decay

I’m merely waiting for death in this old town of mine

Where your goals and dreams may be abandoned haphazardly

Left faded and forgotten in the mind

Drinking and drugging as the sick

Deciphering our dementia

Are old tricks and cheap kicks

As a person I cease to grow

And my soul atrophies, though

I have no need to be a somebody

But I will not condemn myself so early

To living the life of a nobody

So I continue to walk on

In a solace song

The cold branches left upon the yellowed grass

Tight and only capable of snapping

How can I go from life’s stick to sapling?

I’d rather be a palm tree dancing in the wind

Yes above a playground that my life should be

No more bronzed heads of people in my history

Just smiling strangers

On my swing, my slide

Then off into the world gone by

I used to feed ducks as a child

Now I feed debts

Big nasty swans that I could avoid then

Surround me now

These trees I once climbed for fun

I now scale to get away

When your joys become necessities

You’re dieing.

Land, streams, rivulets, in marsh are cookie clear-cut and designed

Things are smaller at a distance, as well my resistance

I look at it all from twenty thousand feet above

And from there I make my decisions on love

For ones life is but a pattern, like that earth we tread on

When stuck in the tall grass. The clarities  gone

Keep that head in the clouds, as long as your looking down

It’s not impersonal, but sound

And from where I see, we’re bound

Like rivulets through trees, we’re designed to be

Though it seems unlikely, you have to learn to see

It all makes more sense from above

Looking down from up, its easier to find love

Even 20,000 feet above

I feel so grounded with out my love

I never felt so low

Until the time you flew my way, and continued to go

Tell me you are willing to see

What I have found to be

From 20,000 feet above

Our puzzle piece reality.

Fantasy books and poetry

One for the mind, one for the heart and one for the soul

I write sarcastic essays

Narrative and bad poetry

One for the mind, one for the heart, and one for the soul

I watch public broadcasting

Football, and the ocean rising

One for the mind, one for the heart and one for the soul

And yet, it’s quite amazing

After all these things I divide

One for the mind, one for the heart and one for the soul

I have

But one woman

One for the mind, one for the heart and one for the soul

Chocolate, flowers and teddy bears

Self-conscious fear

Diamond commercials filled

With melodramatic tears

As a man your love and devotion are weighed

As the ladies get paid

To get laid

For a few days

we feel quite poor

having no one to go to Hallmark for

But these are the minds tricks

that put track marks

on a mans dick

So don’t go looking or love

Don’t go looking for sex

It’s heroin and that’s why

There’s track marks

on your dick

Just got to let those things happen

and stay true

it far easier to relax

and let love and lust

find you

Go ahead

And spread yourself like jam

to sweeten the world

but don’t rush to hand your world

to one single girl

Every hole can be a bear trap

And every smile a guillotine

It’s all too easy to loose a head

so take heed to what I said

Don’t go looking or love

Don’t go looking for sex

Its heroin and that’s why,

There are track marks on your dick

Though we don’t know it

For our eyes

Have been darkened in prior

And our lost saviors

Ideals gone

The mouths of truth beheaded

By the blade of lies

Gripped by fear

As the bells of history

Lull a lone warning

Heard by none

The strangers to disaster

Folly the future

And unborn

The error of good fortune

Lacking knowledge of

Misfortune

A steep narrow to slip

When grip has gone to arrogance

Time and god may be inept

With what could be done

Under the dark

Dark sun.

What is it that one fears?

The spider’s steps to death

Creeping precise

Accurate with every spring of the sword like legs

Or, the web of things unknown

Paralyzing with the peculiar and unpredictable

Left without mobility

As fate finically closes forward

Perhaps the fortuitous fangs

Instilling the ominous fright of oblivion

Crushing ones will, diminishing the soul

Becoming merely substance and a afterthought

So what is it that you fear?

The ability to step where you do not

For you cannot, comprehend

The venom

The end of the known path

- Or when all paths find their end.