of course it was beautiful,
it was an impossibility,
that i held close to my heart.

until it vanished, suddenly,
without so much as a warning,
i truly ought to have cried.

instead, i turned away,
an irresponsible keeper,
of my own ludicrous ideas.

i’ve not yet found another,
nor clearly recalled,
my mislaid vision.

i shall keep looking,
always for the beautiful,
struggling for the unobtainable.

for whatever reason i am,
peddler of the impossible,
cherisher of the absurd.

the cigarette wobbled all the while
she often cackled about her youth

but her eyes betrayed her humor
for sincere regrets and shattered hope

she often slurred too much
to talk about abandoned dreams

so I would listen to her fairy-tales
wondering how much she believed

eventually she’d forget I was there
become lost in mummbles to herself

I tried to smile, but it was hard
Inevitably, I’d excuse myself…

she kept on talking, smoking, drinking
until, at last, she passed away

gone, to wherever a godless woman goes
I missed her then, that old lady… grandma

the heart, it races quicker,
caught up in the scheme.

you hear him… even snicker,
at humor never seen.

the common-man points his finger,
at black ink upon a page.

he escapes his life to linger,
on some fantastic stage.

immortal is the bringer,
who manages to assuage…

the discontented,
with his fiction.

I wonder what road you’ve walked
To what odd men you’ve surely talked

I contemplate just how you came to be
A person so much worse than me

Set in stone by some chance combination?
Determined by adolescent recreation?

Whom to blame for what you are?
By what fate you’ve come so far?

To cross my path and make me see
Just how miserable a life can be

I stare into your abyss of a soul
Grab my walking stick and off I go

Each step widens the gap between
What I can see and what I have seen

Some place down the road I may recall
You weren’t really so bad after all

tattered dreams began to creep
i could scarcely think of sleep

i looked about and was not alone
everywhere lie a restless drone

pain escaped in troubled breathes
dismantled wills must acquiesce

told to work and to procreate
distempered men we incarcerate

fear subversion, but not of self
distraction successful, ideal of wealth

failure impossible, self medication
easier to swallow the external delegation

lie still and they will lie too
it’s what society requires all do

eyes closed for restless slumber
just until they call my number

the rain fell down my face too
and I sniffled with the wind
what else could a child do
all around me malice grinned

a flash of lightning struck the ground
the newly-splintered tree despaired
meanwhile, his fists barely made a sound
but screams and thunder left me scared

I shivered, wept, and gasped for air
covered my ears in vain and hummed
this was the world – cruel, unfair
in which night by night I numbed

I sat with my ear plugs
shouting just loud enough
to drown out the fellows
rants about whatever

I could hardly stand to
watch him sit there
like a useless broken
furnishing by the fire

I rarely looked up
doubting he cared anyway
lost in my own thoughts
actively ignoring the fool

because some of my blood
ran through his veins
he was useless nevertheless
hardly worth talking about

across space and time, it spews these sounds
in tuxedos suits or in silken gowns .

it bares its teeth and squaks quite loudly
flaunting ties and bows pretty proudly .

the noise, the sounds, the squaks the same
taught to speak, and no refrain .

most mouths move and spew that way
few do manage a thing to say .

boisterous mouths, the incessant babels,
alternatively, perhaps, society just unravels .

that all one saw could be obtained
that life was living unconstrained

how I ran past youth, swift and sure
convinced, completely, the world was pure

upon arrival it became quite clear
this world was theirs and I was here

not for my own desires to pursue
just a worker to support the few

the few that owned all I might want
and I’d work fiendishly or be forgot

so I did, I laboured, a jaded slave
their walls to build, roads to pave

whatever made, I could not pretend
belonged to me, I was not an end

a system with no king for a coup
only politicians that corruption renew

they preached me free markets, not men
made idleness and free thought a sin

god on their side, then science too
where I found hope, they would construe

only reminders of work to be done
sold me their lies, one by one

in frustration I bred my own replacement
stupid, hoping they’d get better placement

so I gave away my life; now feeble and old
can barely subsist on the money they stole

how long should we live in quiet protest
in a system that lets only dead men rest

in some remote temple stare
at mirages, however, fair

actualizations hardly theorized
all potential there unrealized

a beacon for, well, just the two
journeyed by and could not eschew

weary drifters they came to see
how everything there ought to be

perceived in awe the tailored art
renewed their will to impart

what they want, what they will
of course the statues remain still

how long before the place is lost
all its meaning simply tossed

what yet is there left to convey
but to what might it give way

a peaceful place, but how enduring
when all about it life is churning

how long dare the visitors remain
the statues stare as if in vain

beautiful, constant, fixedly glaring
and two travellers, perpetually preparing

so long ago, inside they crept
and never left, but only slept

the orange pair was fine,
but matched no style of mine,

black leather, khaki plaid, muted blue
too many options for a god-damn shoe

massaging insoles, ventilated sides,
advanced synthetic or traditional cow hides?

blinking lights, open-ended or enclosed,
who on earth, all these variations, proposed?

I can’t wear blue, I’m feeling sad…
risqué red, on a man, just looks bad…

black is far too common, white much too plain,
green is ugly; pink, maroon, purple – I disdain.

Velcro screams senior citizen; curly laces lame
buttons on a shoe – now that’s a crying shame

I want convenience, simplicity, yet outstanding style
trying on pair 14 of 975 – I’ll be here quite a while

ah, to hell with this whole shoe game…
I’m going home barefoot – just the way I came.

it semed immenent
until she
appeared

i became lost
in lust
immediatly

my life was
no longer
mine

Self preservation and enjoyment, both.
To live and love, an intermingled oath.

Even those that love does not employ,
Should stay alive, to occasionally enjoy.

So it pains me, hurts me deeply, to see
Those I knew, or loved, or both… plea.

For death. Actions expediate sure demise.
It hurts enough, to yield tear-filled eyes.

Strangers too, I might never chance to meet.
They lunge to non-existence head-over-feet.

In the name of enjoyment, sensation, a lie
Laugh and joke, drink and smoke, get high.

I watch on, some grimly play. This life.
Misery around me is overwhelmingly rife.

Escapes are deadly, distorting, overtaking.
The minds of so many, all around are breaking.

How long can a man stand in sorrowful rubble?
Watching all he ever might have loved crumble.

What’s left for the man that waits sober?
When all breaks down, and life’s almost over.

What’s left for that man but that he may die too.
And in the end, then, how is he different than you?

Impressionable, soft, the surface, is
Transformed into the mind’s image.

Muscle, sweat, salt, eyeballs, are
Twitching, stinging, aching, creating.

Form, taken, given, inevitable, is
Somehow unintentional, startling.

Nightmares, flashbacks, the past, is
Embodied there. Destroyed instantaneously.

Cracks, chunks, dust, anger, anxiety, are
Splattered. Baseball bat’s sole purpose.

Damned, cursed, mumbling, mad, man, is
Plagued, fabricating reminders of, a hell.

Personal, poignant, agonizing, memories, are
Like water through cracks, flooding, the man.

Bizarre, crumbles, cries, screams, smirks, are
Left after the battle with what once was.

Clay face, eyeless, mouth-less, is.
The man, the idea, the destruction, of.

In space, compressed

two dimensions

and sketches

outline attraction

no lashes
no people

eyes, only

two of them

never have I
envisioned
so much tension

tear the page

the eyes linger

damn shy dispositions

always stopping
at the eyes

I’d almost forgoten them,
But for a scent, or a phrase
Would bring them back
And they’d linger for days

Almost mad at their presence,
I struggled terribly within
To banish them, forget them,
So they’d never come again.

I would sweat in the stillness
The cold darkness of night
Blurry-eyed and frustrated…
They caused me so much plight

I could barely live
I pleaded and fought
To extinguish my memories
But I never forgot.

A struggle, worthwhile?
What was I doing and why?
Always trying to dismiss-
That which cannot die.

Yes, gliding about the earth
how much he must see in a day
and how big it must seem, too

He seems to love life, greatly,
always singing as he sweeps by
overhead… chirping, whistling

It seems to me, that it seems
to him… life is a wonder to
rejoice in and explore always

And I would like to sing about it
but I have not the time; I am
not free to soar above humanity

No, I am stuck in it for now,
and it restricts life, though
I am not sure it should. It does.

It leaves little for singing,
less for exploring on a whim.
Oh, I dream of flying, like him.

And perhaps they will let me,
someday, when I am expired,
and useless. Dead I bet.

Maybe then. How I shall sing.
Like him I shall rejoice in life,
just as soon as this one ends.

relentlessly you try to shape me; do I change?
I do not know myself, this just all seems strange.

you tell me to pray, you instruct me to kill,
you confine all my being, and preach me free will

you tell me to work, and you tell me to pray
my sweat for your world, you’ve made it this way

fight for your freedom to infringe upon mine,
support your ambition – the whole world confine

let us all work, let us defend, let us obey
the pain, the pain – comes either way

so you think that I listen; don’t notice them die
work and pray until I’m oblivious to the lie

and I’d argue I’m not, but I don’t really know…
scary thought is, perhaps you’ve already let go.

it whispered softly to their madness
pleading with it to unleash
merciless power on the psyche.

it might have, but they still sat.
quietly, staring in distrust back
and forth amongst themselves.

each glance met with an equal
unsettling momentary peer of hatred
and blood turned to fiery ice.

anger overwhelmed its host
burst into reality with a scream
that made all other passions vanish.

standing sternly now, a man-puppet
grasped something deadly, sharp,
and plunged forth with wrath.

he fell in the room of mirrors.
hardly alive, defeated by himself.
the needle deep within his arm.

worthless now, but victorious, too
the soaked, pathetic-looking man stood

stumbled out to the edge of the plateau
and let out a resonating yell

that expired whatever energy he had left.

it was that moment he lived for
and that moment that he died for

most would say he was a lucky man.

On a road once painted brown…
Now scribbled black…headed from town…

Both are smiling and enjoying the earth,
Imagining what mother’s cooking on her modern day hearth.

As the moon escapes the prison of its brother,
The generations enjoy the company of one and other.

The father tells of his shy young-man ways,
The boy remarks on the difference in their days.

Laughter fills the cool dry air…
The world seems still on the road right there.

The man’s hardened hands pat his son on the shoulder,
He stares in awe – his child gets older –

As the trod of the stallions pound at the road,
The best of generations form to make a new mold.

As the two approach their turn onto their dirt path,
A black Mazda going ninety cruises right past.

I’m glad I can still be kissed in my dreams,
And that familiar voice speaks when the evenings are still.
I’m glad for my love, albeit its object is no longer real.

Some say love dies when distance is great.
Others say time can extinguish the flame.
My lover’s been long gone; my love is just the same.

When my heart starts to pang and I get short of breath,
When tears from my eyes, memories start to jerk…
I try to stay calm and remember – my love has gone only to work.

It is loving and caring, it smiles and it laughs,
It stays up late and takes mid-day naps,

The secret to life, sometimes has a bad day,
Sometimes it leaves when you want it to stay.

This abundant thing is emotional and kind,
It’s adorned sometimes with jewelry, sometimes with a mind,

It sleeps and it wakes…
It gives and it takes…

But always this thing, wields life day to day…
It has the power to work and the power to play…

The secret is the person; the friends you’ve come to know…
They are the ones you live with; the ones who with you grow…

They are the nameless faces, who smile in their car…
It is important to remember – it is they – and they are.

My hands are feeble,
My body’s failing,
My mind is lacking,
Yet my thoughts still prevailing.

My family’s long since left me,
With tears and a mangled heart,
I retreated to a bench…
It sits solidly in the park.

I have found it to be more stable…
Than the world that’s left me behind.
It is surely more compassionate…
Than any man that I could find.

It listens to my stories,
It waits for me at night,
And in the cold embraces me…
As I dream about the fight.

It understands my pain,
The pain it too has known…
We were not always friends…
It was once left all alone.

It knows the cold of the night,
And it knows the cruelty of mankind.
It’s aware of how they’ll use you,
And how they’ll disregard your mind.

The park bench cares, or so I think,
It tries to ease my pain,
And though it is not living,
I love it just the same.

Some people say park benches…
Do not have souls – not me.
I have found more love in my park bench,
Then I’ve ever known in humanity.

Technology has taken over,
Fat bodies now sit at home.
People no longer get along-
Most people live alone.

Our minds are slowly fading.
The new generations are lost-
To laziness and loathsomeness…
Technology has surely cost.

Children are manufactured;
Their parents are machine.
The elderly are suicidal-
Gone mad by what they’ve seen.

The world is in a depression,
Well, the world that can feel,
Most of the world is metal.
Hard to believe that this is real.

The trees have all been uprooted,
The oceans polluted by mechanical mess.
The atmosphere is nearly non existent-
For these problems – there is no one to address.

The president is a processor,
Its calculations never wrong.
The world is now at peace-
We wanted this all along.

The machines, they clean your home,
They remove the smog, the oil, the rust…
They do not communicate with humans-
Other than to tell us what we must.

The humans, we have not much to say.
We listen to what we’re told-
We hardly see each other.
The machines have made men cold.

Televisions are in our eyes,
The radio in our ears.
We do not have much control-
We’ve lost it over the years.

We listen to what the machines decide.
We feel what they insist.
Our body is wired now-
We have no will to resist.

The world is such a different place,
Than that of my childhood.
Man has given himself to technology-
Just like we said we would.

My life is sure convenient-
There is no pressure for me to act.
I can watch the world on cruise control-
As I just sit back.

There are of course a few drawbacks.
Like to write this, I had to choose,
Keep the wires in my brain-
Or rip them out to write my views.

It is only a matter of time now-
My body will shutdown for life-
I will leave 2092 –
The world with no apparent strife.