want and need

we are so much more
than godlessness.
we are the core root
of the god we envision,
and through that vision,
we project our divinity on
others,
expanding upon personal
belief
systems composed of our
own experiences.
with or without godliness,
or a primal concept of
an energy, or consciousness
that somehow governs matter
and that which we cannot yet
gather into an intellectual structure
where we can grasp a particular
understanding of something
bigger than ourselves.
we must alter our consciousness
to move on and expand
upon our own experiences.
it's a form of hunger
that we need to quench
with self exploration,
grasping such things
as soul and spirit and
internal justification.
what is your purpose?
what is the purpose
of our nature?
where must we go?
with whom must we travel?
we go on into an interdependence
with all other living beings
to nurture a higher form
of thought,
of perception,
and evolution.
we are fundamental
to our own development.
we are solely responsible
for our own evolutionary process.
we are the link
between
spirit and form.
when we fight
and restrict ourselves,
we essentially restrict
the progress of entire generations
with our lackluster thoughts
on spirit and soul.
we inhibit the growth
of entire cultures.
and this is why we must
let go of want
in order to expose
that which we need.

the human in me

you'll never hear
someone say
on their deathbed
that they didn't
spend enough time
at work
or paying more
taxes
or stressing
about the little things
in life that
cause the heart to beat
faster with fear
and anxiety.

what you will hear
is they wish they had
loved more,
spent more time with family,
let go of their inhibitions,
evolved and experienced
existence as it should be:
freely.

so what are we doing here?
what is this for?
maybe we should concern
ourselves with getting past
ourselves rather than
impeding the progress of others.
maybe we should learn to dig
the essence of existence.
maybe we should put
childish things aside
and grow the fuck up.

we need more
dirty hippie talk
and less contrived ideas
to hold back progress for
religion and money,
for corporations
and politicians,
for economic advancement
and monetary gain.
we need the human experience.

sell us some truth

Left wing
Right wing
same thing;
choose your state of
execution.
redundancy.
complacency.
what we have is
a system of
the distant elite
painting targets
on those who have been
marked since birth,
a working class
without enough class
to be considered relevant.
we don't have to make a
decision,
the decision has been made
for us, an incision in just the right place,
and if the news is slow, they'll blame it on race
or guns or abortion or the music of the generations
that's caused the politicians
to put labels on music
on art to make sure
what you're seeing isn't against their
particular agenda.
welcome to America.
we've already been sold out.

shoot, stab, and destroy.

people are fatal.
they hold guns.
they cradle guns.
they become trapped
in cowboy images
wrapped up in a time
unlike our own.
they fit every round
in the clip
and secure it
into the weapon.
they become bound
by the idea
that they are not fatal.
they are impartial to
intention.
the trigger is cold.
the flash is bright.
under it all
there is only death.
people in other countries
do not have access to guns.
they stab
with the knife,
they slash
with the ax.
they blow each other
up
with bombs
and yet the war goes on.
that's why we should
all move
to the moon where
there aren't weapons yet.
maybe we can have a few minutes
before someone
starts throwing stones.

pretend you're rich

i'm confronted by
beautiful people every day.
they wear lipstick
and dress in the latest
fashions
from China.
their cars cost more
per month
than their rent.
they put on a good face
and emulate the wealth
that they seek.
they
piss and shit
just like everyone else,
but somehow believe
they are above the rest.
in the back of their minds,
they are always fantasizing
about the day their ship comes in
and they can finally afford
to truly live.
it will happen
one day
out of the blue;
a million dollars
will suddenly shoot
out of their asses,
and won't the rest of us
be sorry for not giving
a shit?

touch faith

fuck the preachers
and the soothsayers.
fuck those who prey
on the weak,
the gullible,
the fearful masses
with religion
and tithing.

the more you give
to build the next
mega-church,
the easier it will be
for you
to properly repent.

a church is a business,
 plain and simple.
its very construction lends
to the idea of capitalism,
but without all the messy taxes.

the only thing a church
has to do with faith
depends upon the
preacher man's ability
to sell you the need
to part with your money.
cults do the same thing
but with less doctrine.

it's so funny to see
all of the bumper stickers,
like little badges for Jesus,
proclaiming their paid for
place at the pearly gates.
it's even funnier to see
those same people
throwing around judgement,
contempt,
and superiority
for the Lord.
but the funniest thing
is that it is all based
on their fear of what
happens
when the lights go out.

faith and religion have their place,
and it is totally fine if
it isn't used for greed,
for electing political officials,
for proclaiming your superiority
over everyone else.
but it never stops at personal
proclamations. it continues
to build until
you want everyone else
saved from themselves
in the same way it saved
you from yourself.
however,
some people read more
than just one book,
some read entire libraries
of information
that completely contradict
the very nature
of your professed truth,
some people want more
than just a story;
they want something tangible,
something that will actually
help the world
for the sake of all people,
not just a few who have brainwashed themselves
into believing they are more
chosen
than the next guy.

start a fire

the stars break
 in your eyes
   so often
  it has been
     suggested
that you may
         be
c  o  s  m  i  c

tiny particles of
        light,
dancing through
 the atmosphere,
     gathering
             in form,
    bent by will

threads of energy
tumbling through
  the universe at
   s  p  e  e  d  s
        too fast to see
with the naked eye

you are the matrix
of consciousness,
bound by reason,
always deducing
the next move
in this galactic
                   forum
of form and function,
always within the
parameters of
c  o  n  t  r  o  l

it would be such a waste
not to travel at the speed
       you're capable,
to not take full advantage
of the quicken pulse
knocking out in your
                       chest,
not to be the brightest
             impulse in the
    electrical storm
         of life

burn a little bit brighter
        t  o  d  a  y
     and tomorrow,
         illuminate
               the
      c  o  s  m  o  s

shine on

no matter
how little time
you have,
you have to keep
making time
for the rest
of your life.

i still cry
when i hear
John Lennon
died.

we have to
stop killing
our heroes,
or there won't be
anyone left
to look up to.

i won't ask
for redemption.
some never leave you,
they're taken from you
by those under
the assumption
that life
isn't for living.

take a few
minutes
to rummage through
the minutes
of living.

give someone a flower
before they're in the ground.
sing a song in harmony
before ever making a sound.

let us live forever together
let us start living better
no matter the weather
for storms will always rise
and love will forever gather.

we need to ask why
birds don't just fly,
they soar,
and no matter
who you are, there's
nothing to kill or die for.

L o v e

it's okay to allow
the tears
for all the fears
you've kept
through
the years.
it's fine to cry
for those
who've
passed you by
as long as
you try
to accept
that those tears
will someday
dry.
and you'll
be left
to heft
the weight
on your own
for the deeds
you've sown.
and as long as
you've grown
beyond
the stones
that were thrown
in judgment,
you will survive
and strive
even if you happen
to be alive
after all of
your fears
have finally died.
at least you've
tried
when so many others
tend to lie
to themselves
about the truest wealth.
no matter
if life was tough,
you've always relied
on love.

a certain power

hold on
to who
you have.
we are
fragile
things,
composed
of love and
life and the
ever present
need to feel
needed.
allow for
heart and
healing
and acceptance
of all that we
encounter.
we are the matrix
of mind
and composition
and energy,
forever flowing.
enjoy the moments
ever present.
be the feeling
you wish to
receive,
the feeling you
wish to believe.
be complete,
and that completion
will reflect upon
those who
compliment you.
be good
to one another.

between index and thumb

she got her fix
at the airport terminal
at LAX,
right up front
with all the other passengers
who were patiently waiting
for their way out.

low clouds choked the view from outside
the sweeping windows.
blue fairy lights winked
on the runway.
there were several people smoking
cigarettes outside on the platform. there was
dotted confusion as the display
read: DELAY.

she tore into her pocket
and removed a pressed flower,
dry and brittle and two shades
lighter than it was when it was alive.
she blinked twice
as she held it
between index and thumb,
cautiously remembering
who it had come from.

he had been a boy then,
but she saw him as a man now
who watched the flower grow
with water and sun and soil
and a smile just before he
planted it.

she wondered if he would see her
in the same way as when
he handed
the flower
to her
                 so many years ago
    or if he would know
exactly what to say
in the same way
as he had
so many tomorrows
later.
                                   
               she
had never stopped remembering
even as the wrinkles began to
line her face
what it was like to taste
the air
when he was near.
but she had been married by then
and so had he-
it wasn't the same
as it had been
              when
they were young,
drowning in the sun,
playing in a patch of flowers
like the very one
she held
between index and thumb.

"forty years is a long time to
be away," she said into the phone.

"far too long to be alone in the
company of others," he replied.

he
had lost his wife
the weekend before Christmas.
she
had lost her love
six years ago, this past April.
In June, she suddenly recalled
his face, and found the dried little
flower in a box, tucked away
in the closet
where she only kept precious things.

she looked him up
and found
he still lived in the same small town
where she had worn a frown
the day she had left him behind ...
in fact,
             he lived in the same small
house where they had first met
when she fell from her bicycle
and scraped her knee
and he came out to see
if he could be
of any help
to the little girl crying.

fondly,
             she remembered how
inseparable they had been
back then
when
life
wasn't so complicated.

you see,
there was a time
     when a little girl
of a certain color
    and
           a little boy
of another color
would have been frowned upon
  for holding hands
in a patch of flowers
                     under the sun
like the very one
she held between
                   index and thumb.

the thought made her numb,
how some
could succumb
to ignorance
as if it were bliss.
but she had wasted forty years
and dried too many tears
on what others insisted she be.
"and now," she thought aloud, "is the time
for me,
a time where
i can finally be
with the man i hold
such fond memories."

and when she boarded the plane,
she knew life would never be the same.
for now, she could finally get on
with living.

she
      landed in a small town
just before sunset
with a single chest
that contained
all that remained
               of her life before.

as she walked down the ramp,
she noticed a man
holding the same
pressed flower
as the one she held in her own hand,
and there was a smile on his face
just like the one he wore
so many yesterdays before
when he had planted it.

"forty years is a long time to
be away," he whispered in her ear.

"far too long not to be with
the one you love," she said
like a smile
on the lips
of he
who planted it.

shade my shadow clean

the same record spins
shade my shadow clean
a sigh of seduction
spread the dirt from me
hold this moment
as long as you can
  take it with you,
pulled along by a dying man
with the same sigh
                      escaping
as the cloud stricken sky
  as it's fading,
leaning in on a worn winter
where the wind shakes
the brittle branches breaking
     fall
  fall
falling
   as the tears
 from the stricken
        sky
shade my shadow clean
and lean down as
you kiss me
                     away
like the passing of days
after the world has come to an end
where we can pretend
that it is all coming back again
       so we can start
                the record spinning
                                      once more

where we could go if there was nowhere left in the world

i'll believe in you
if you'll believe in me.
we could run away from this,
take ourselves to the
farthest reaches,
and never look back.
we could begin all over again,
start something new,
and leave empty handed.
we would only have to bring
what we would need to survive-
the wind, the rain, and the soil
we'll tread as we make our escape.
if we go far enough,
we could see lions
and bristly old evergreens.
we might find ourselves out there
and never care
where it was we came from.
if we try hard enough,
we could forget who we were,
we could become something new.
there would never be
the nine to five,
or the elusive checkbook
to hold us back.
we could be kids again
without
worry or regret.
we could run barefoot
through mossy green fields
and dip our toes into
cold, flowing streams
and wrestle away the memories
like storybook fairy tales,
telling all who come in our path
of the new world
just over the next hill.
maybe we'll see old pirate ships
filled with treasures
we could skip like rocks across a pond.
or find dinosaurs in forgotten lands
that read adventures of us
by campfire
to all those who follow in our wake.
we could set the moon on fire
and roast marshmallows
in its orbit.
we could tame wild dragons
and learn to fly
the way they used to
before there was such a thing
as religion.
we could listen to the call
of pixies from the great forest
beyond it all
and create our own call
so they know we're listening.
we could live only for today
and play
in the surf
of mighty behemoths
living under the sea,
waiting to tell their secrets
only to you and me.
we could find a lost civilization,
or make our own.
or we could close the book and stare into
one another's eyes
until the sun rises
through murky waters
just on the other side of oblivion.

so tell them

every breath is speaking
of a different way
of a better life
of giving back to us
another chance

we all come from
the same love eternal
a moment of peace
in tranquility
effortlessly
so passionately - speaking

a moment of love
living complete
in hallowed raindrops
under moonlit diamonds
where the sky
is just another way out
and we have a tendency
to shout
when all we need
is a whisper

a look of innocence

being in lust
is a sexual fire-
burning
for someone
in a way that
trims away the fat
from the very action
  of need
  of want
  of desire.
hot breath coursing
along sensual skin,
tongues touching
playfully as hands
gather
at the warmth,
kneading passion
from within.
just a look
can tell a million
truths,
and a glance can
shake the stars,
but an eye caught
in the moment of desire
kindles a fire
igniting passions from afar.

a crumb from the cake we should not eat

there is a certain level
of disgust
harbored for those
elected to office
who use their power
for anything other
than the will of the people,
brandishing their
new found glory
to aid the corporate
minority,
the charmed,
the indifferent.

have elections
ever been about
the silent majority,
those who work
throughout their lives
just to make ends meet?
what of those who strive
for a better existence,
for a small piece of the pie,
for a common goal
to get by and be happy?

have politicians
ever wondered about
the conditions
of the poor,
the realities
of the middle ground
workers who often
are left with nothing
when it comes time
to hang up the tool belt
and rest
after a lifetime of labor?

we are nothing
if we are not united.

they give us racism
and abortion
and religion
and drugs
and wars
and tax
and trials
and oil
to occupy our days
in order to keep
a tight noose
about our necks
so we can't look around
at any other possibilities
other than what they
throw in our faces.

we are divided
for control.
we are controlled
in our division.

we are nothing
if we are not united.

Just the right word.

Vulgarity is like
a fine wine,
no matter how costly,
it is still worth downing the
entire bottle.

Fuck can mean so many things.
It adds just the right amount
of flavor to spice up any
sentence.
But when used in just the right measurement,
it can become downright devastating.

Bring me words with ferocity,
with disgust,
with devilish intent.
Make those words melt
as butter on my flailing tongue.
Let them whip out among the masses,
let them bring tears to the eyes
of the weak,
the innocent,
the proper.
Only then will I know what
beauty such words hold.
Only then will I know
accomplishment.

Don't be mistaken,
using vulgarity
for the sake of vulgarity
just makes you an asshole,
a tit,
a cunting fool.

So choose your moment
and allow
the words to roll
from your tongue
as intended,
like a fine wine
better consumed
than spit out
like a Nancy.

Winter Worn

the time is right.
the wine is ripe.
autumn leaves drip
from the sky,
and the wind crests
           a secret cold
  of golden tongues.
the trapped and tired
warm themselves
      by gripping fires
that tangle flames
like the tails of snakes
swimming to the deep
below,                 rushing waves
           of ember and coal.
soon,       winter will be at hand,
and another year will have passed.
i can feel the shivers from here
as a frozen tear
                         sheds
          from the eyes
   of the wasted.

there is always a reason for hope

ours isn't just a dream.
ours is the beginning
of a new era.
what we bring
to the table
is an entirely
new way
of thinking.
out with the old,
the devastated,
the derelict,
the dead
and greedy ways
of the past,
replaced by
integrity and
understanding,
by the fascination
of a new way.
we are this moment.
we stand,
and we take control.
we remain resolute,
and we sway the world.
by our hands,
we can deliver
society from
the fraudulent,
the disturbed,
the wealthy,
the evil that has
befallen us
from time's very root.
if we say nothing,
nothing will ever change.
if we scream,
others will hear,
others will sound out,
and our voices can
be heard as a roar
of an earthquake
forming beneath their feet.
choices are simple.
actions require more than words.
what we leave behind
is proportionate to
what we accomplish
while we're here.

endless obstacles in our path

under plight,
we resign ourselves to
much ado about nothing.
we cannot fight
what we cannot see,
like standing still,
imagining we are running
through the gambit
of denial
and self realization,
plotting the course,
bounding over
obstacles
in our path,
remembering all that we
have scaled in our wake.
simple moments
bring us back to the fight;
a mother's kiss,
a child's smile,
leaning against a wall
in Spring,
watching the clouds pass
like tufts of cotton
against a blue silkscreen.
the troubles never leave,
but resolve and determination
lessen the blow.
and it's reason enough
to wake up in the morn
to a gentle breeze
and grab another piece
of the momentum
that threatens to
make us fall.
we are nothing
if we are not
tenacious.

toss my salad

i'm not a Republican.
i agree with a few Democrats,
but not enough to align myself
with the Devil.
i'm not sure what a fucking
Libertarian is. i don't think they do either.
i'm too reliant to be an Independent.
Fuck Nazis.
i'm too important to myself
to be a Socialist,
and Communism just seems
like a different degree of
the oligarchy we're already
living in.
i don't want my government ran
like a business
because businesses are run by
self important narcissists
on a crash course with greed.
i don't want my government ran
like a daycare because
i'm way too old to be put down
for a nap.
all i want is financial stability,
a few new roads,
basic rights,
a medical system that's not
intent on making me bankrupt,
availability at an actual education,
and some environmentally sound
way to drive my ass
from point A
to
point B.
i want corporations
to stay out of my asshole.
i want less television
and more music.
i want art
and peace
and dignity.
i want to
stand for America.
i want America to be American.
i want to be.

she wants to get away

i know this woman
in a maddening situation.
she's not where she wants to be.
she's not who she wants to be with.
"but such is life,"
she says. "when you plant a tree,
you can't expect it to come up
anywhere but where
you dug the hole."
after the children
have went to school,
and the husband is gone
for the day,
she sits beneath
a shade tree
with a book
and pretends that the story
is her life,
where it should have led,
who she should have been.
she often wonders
if there is an alternate her
out in an alternate there
living the way she
intended.
she wonders if this other her
is happy,
but she's sure she is.
"anything's better than this,"
she says closing the book
and placing it on her lap.
she stares off into the clouds
and wonders aloud,
"who the hell am i, really?"

when the children come home,
they scream for a snack
before diner.
they hit each other and cry.
they break the family picture
that was hanging in the stairway
that resembles the lie
she has lived for far too long.

when the husband gets home,
he makes a drink
and settles back
in his favorite chair,
unaware
that she is at the brink,
hovering over the sink
in the kitchen,
wanting so badly
to puke
it all away.

in the morning,
the children have went off
to school,
and the husband has gone too.
she's finally alone again
and takes a walk to
clear her head.

sometimes she wishes
she were dead,
but that's a silly notion.
she's more than aware
that's it's them
that puts that thought there.
it's the thought
of an ungrateful family,
regret for opportunity
lost ... in a type of purgatory
that makes her stomach clench.


and that's when an idea comes.
"maybe i just need to
be fucked. maybe i just need
a way to get away
from this and that
and those children. maybe
it's me that's the problem."

soon,
she meets him.
he's rough
and rugged,
nothing like the man
that comes home
in the evening.
this one is different.
he looks at her in a way
that makes her feel
wanted,
needed,
lustful,
upended.

every morning
she goes to see him
after the children
have went off to school
and the husband
has left for the day.
it's a way
for her to unwind.
she melts for
the texture of his hands,
the curve of his beard,
the edge of a smile
that comes from his eyes
when he stares
at her
for too long.

and she doesn't wonder
of that other her
in that other there
somewhere,
living the life
she always wanted.

"maybe one day
i'll just go away
and never look back
at what used to be
and finally see
that the life of the other her
is the life i want for me."