Zombies

Stressful is a song sung by the many.
Reiterated beyond twos and threes.
Fallen cakes clawing towards an untimely oblivion.
Why wander through a truth that screams our undying fiction?
Sensing rotting flesh reminding us that pain is in the eye of the beholder.
For God's sake are we preparing or propagating?
I once heard from a wise man that we are what we eat.
Do.
Fuck.
Know.
Thank god I didn't argue.
Point is, we are asking for it.
Beds made and remade,  still
looking like a hot mess.
Who in the fuck wants to be a zombie?!
It isn't Haiti's fault.
We look and sound like fools in the ears
of the greater good .
Twisting and turning in the sloppy mud of excuses .
I thank God everyday my name isn't Sarah Palin.
Mon Dieu!
I hope we all remember to love, because even if our
brainless bodies die our souls shall prevail.

Nuggets

Once upon a time there were nuggets.
Not the processed kind.
Not an unnamed sludge of pinks and blues.
I'm speaking, or telling, of a time when we
BELIEVED.

A truth

Feathers float down.

Hard to catch in my hands.

Tangible in my thoughts.

Redundant and still extremely annoying.

Strapped through and through itself.

I imagine so much. Imagine through and through.

Still it isn't enough.

Does it ever feel like it though?

Needles in the hands of others.

Repressed fire, smoldering like an awaiting phoenix.

Just not as romantic.

Pleading doesn't do,

feeling won't do, but I must.

Still it must.

There are not enough mothers in the world

to dry these tears away, but I have to, 

still I have to.

Beastly

In a series of disappointments lies the beast of repentance.
Bellowing as loud as any before him
Reducing himself to a mewling kitten,
Searching for his mother's teet.
His warnings echo not through past references.
He minds not the redundancy,
that is so obvious.
Even stubborn creatures call for help.
What a word "help" is.

It's like things.
It's like a dirty cali.
It's an unsung man.
It's all the it's in an off color bucket.
Sensing and absorbing
through levels and byways.

Las Vegas!!!!

Marriages can end anywhere,  no sense of borders.
People can live anywhere,  they know the city limits.
Or the sense of walls and what is held within them.
Ask the last people to live in my home.
They'll tell you its true.

Wow

Wow!  It's becoming silly.
Tiresome is waiting for arts to become
the forefront.
Medicine made to medicate our own passions.
We're relying on a self reliance that shouldn't
be defined in the first place.
Oh! Have they turned our eyes outward
instead of inward or upward?
Children will weep for ages to come.
Dare you call me a cynic?
I, a child of God who bears as much
witness as you?
I once wrote a song.
Mediocre at best.
It taught me one thing though.
We must express ourselves.
Freedom is a word but if you truly
understand it, you can move mountains.
This connection that is a gift,
is also our downfall.
We're like blundering babiez.
We're like typical similies and
over used metaphors.
We're like the word like.
Wow its becoming redundant!
We can regard our documentaries
without a shred of real action.
We can know "secrets" but
still we must be reminded.
God help us all....

Too....

Too much fire and light... touched and surrounded by too much darkness.
Too many worries and too much stress.
Too many of the same people and the same problems.
Too many insecurities laying amongst a pit of snakes.
Too and true, laying around surrounded by too many truths.
Too much negativity perpetrated by mine and my own.
Too much... way too much....

Sisters

I once saw two old women cross the street.
I had seen so many in my day but these were particularly interesting to me.
They looked like two little girls I had known, their arms entwined,
clasped by the hands, like a beautiful Chinese brooch.
That seemed to have no beginning and no end.
The smaller one of the two,
I could see her eyes sparkle even at a fair distance.
Her wrinkles could not even mask them.
Her hair bounced like perfect ringlets only found on
Victorian dolls now a days.
I found it strange that her youth was so apparent.
Taller one of the pair, she seemed a
great Queen, ripped out from some Historical drama
that featured her royalty.
Hair too long and full to be nothing but alien for such a frail frame.
She held her companion as tightly and as firmly as
any mother would her offspring.
Yet the shorter one didn't seem look like she was being led.
They looked like they were in mutual support,
like the sun holding the Earth or
the Earth holding the moon.
Their clothes had no importance just pieces arranged as
flatteringly possible for there age dictated
what was comfortable and of function.
I could not put a culture to their worn out faces.
They seemed to be of all and of no one.
Being like all the women I had loved in my life...
My daughters, wives, lovers, and friends.
An endless flood of memories of why i had loved women in the first place.
But mostly they seemed like sisters.
Like two that had seen each other love and lost,
saw the same parents parents pass,
given and taken grief from one another.
They walked like sentinels that had barely gained breath.
Still clinging to the little graceful femininity they possessed.
I loved them for all of that and more.
I wanted to extend my reach from Heaven and
wrap them in my releasing embrace.
To be selfish and have them with me.
For I miss them as my own.

Sanctuary

A lack of sleep burns me to ashes.
Buries and burns my calm demeanor.
I'm not only looking for rest,
I'm looking for an answer.
It really seems like I sleep amongst many,
letting them recount to me their muted chorus.
Answers I am seeking are self contrived confusion,

A blind folded child trying to grasp his closest playmate.

I think upon the time when I considered myself a gilded youth,
teaming with a naivety and ego seldom seen before.
Of dreaming of distant forests and towering trees and eager bodies.
Of being the greatest conjurer, the ultimate creator of my reality.
It seems like I slept amongst many mans definitions of me,
without them uttering one word.
So silly it seems,
the night time world so sweet in her tender whispers only to be insulted by Her.
To let her dissonant cadence disrupt a perfect sanctuary.
So holy unto itself that it bears the right to be called that.
Sometimes, at times, I think, maybe, it has lost its sanctity.
It could have been required of ancient man to have a time
to visit their own personal hell.
To live amongst the fieriest bowels of themselves.
That we need a time to paint our own torture.
Sounds too cynical, too modern maybe in that we
drown in constant beeps and rings, buzzers and whizzes!
That we are allowing ourselves to be defined by masses the suffer.
That we all must suffer.
That the "connection" dictates what goes on in our own minds.
I know the sleep will come someday.
Caressing me like she did many life times ago.
When I actually knew what tired meant.
When I actually was a man,
Blessed be God for here comes the aurora.