Category: Poetry

I am not lost; nor, am I a cause.
I am no one’s; under any laws.

I’ve an aim in mind for legacy…
One unmatched in its immensity.

I’ll out-create all I’ve seen destroyed.
By the end, all skills will be deployed.

Celebrate now, but conjure the end.
Strong lasts long; but remember to bend.

Sight is set ever on the distance.
Now, past & future-coexistence.

We all of us find ourselves lost in our times.
Do not trust the certain soul; that all but climbs.

We thrive on routines, but not inside the ruts.
We must weave in new strains without going nuts.

We swell & fall to pump life thru digestion.
We masticate it all with hard cold questions.

Eyes on horizon is the right way to go.
It lashes us to the big picture; you know?

Shepard the livid nows but remain steady…
Keep your hands busy; but,  keep your mind ready.

Novel threads of life pass us by every second.
Treat every strange thing as if it’s been beckoned.

I’ve left more blood on the page…it’s what you want.
I trot out the trauma for my freak flag flaunt.

I’m naked, standing & looking for leather.
I am not ticklish; so, put down that feather.

So, yes; I’m frustrated, I’m scared & worried.
Our freedom from danger hasn’t been hurried.

Time drags on & every day there’s something worse.
Where is the big red line in our sand…a hearse?

I’ll keep meeting moments no matter the lows.
I leave rebuttals for psychotic shit shows.

If they cheat, it’s over-that is the code.
Being unfaithful is not á la mode.

If they lie, expose them…no exceptions.
You can’t build certainty on deceptions.

Trust isn’t given; it’s earned & broken.
Respect demanded cannot be token.

Finding things hidden distinctly from view…
Tell us about the character of you.

More angry at the spotlight than your crime…
Is exactly why you’re still doing time.

Every life lived is a dead end.
It’s not the finish but the bend.

No destinations, just journeys.
Nowt of note on our last gurney.

How’d you get there; what did you do?
A life flatlined…to look at you.

No substance there behind the eyes.
No giddy fear; no hot takes wise.

No jaded comical one line.
No veritas in vino wine.

You’ve no crepe skin or wrinkles deep.
You’ve no broken face when you weep.

Just doubling down on boring bland…
Down to your last plot of land. 

Self-improvement cannot brand the herded cow.
Nor, can finery raise up the muddy sow.

Fatted calves cannot grasp sacrificial rites.
Crops are not aware of prayers to erase blights.

Rain is ignorant to the dances you do.
Water won’t listen to your feet or to you.

Weakness & disease will not register prayers.
We aren’t the concern of molecules & air.

Do what you will; but my opinion is don’t.
If action is the cure, then survive…most won’t.

We tend our wells of heat;
Formed by bodies & sheets.

That just right feel of air…
Cycled from live skin bare.

Warmth & comfort rosy…
Thread counts pushing cozy.

Curled up in state for days.
Still, builds fire where we lay.

A second away grows cold.
Stay; til winter grows old.

Whether alone or one,
Warm beds in winter…fun.

Inch by inch in season’s swinging purgatory.
Figuring paths thru on the sails of a story.

I take a note of this & elements of that.
Hair of the dog that bit you & wing of a bat.

Turn up the sous vide in iron basins of milk.
A letter from the sole of a heart you have bilked.

Dash of turmeric, ginger, black cohosh & dong.
Stirring & folding pieces…not clockwise, clockwrong.

All in aide of an ointment for conjoining parts.
Each of my joints is now a complaining old fart. 

Does hate know how much cut eye we give ourselves for free?
That nobody on Earth is a bigger enemy?

We’re not good person pickers; with our thirst for challenge.
When it comes to matters of love…“have heart, will scavenge.”

Do it know survival instincts required to come out?
That to exit, we’re readied to fight all; without clout?

Most do not come out to live life mired down by the herd.
Escaping those old binary dynamics absurd.

Much of life lived is defined by the flow of masses.
Roots wanna keep us in the chorus; kissing asses.

So, meekly stand out; or, just burn all their dogma down.
 Just leave the herd behind so your magick can be found.

Marriage, children & accompanied death…
Arbitrary markers of life’s success.

The road most have traveled eluded me.
Slippery perhaps cuz I pruned my tree.

I removed all of the pendulous limbs.
The ones that threatened with dangerous whims.

Then took the sick ones who could not be helped.
The slime filled crumblers & cracked ones that yelped.

We’re here on the top branch, snug in our hole.
Now, our tree looks like a telephone pole.

I will not sire & I will not pair off.
No married folks asked give more smiles than scoffs.