A shattered mind..... the war inside my soul....

i fall down laughing...the crystal tears have shown themselves again....

in the end was it worth it?

in the sane mind of a schizophrenic.....

a rose sits perfectly in the sunset....

its over now...

your the person you wanted to become.....

No app for that so it goes obsolete.

Proof thats in pudding

but the whole world is dieting

and that gelatinous

sugary heap of truth

sits ignored on the untouched shelf of storage at one of our major grocery chains.

Girl: ” You mean the world to me”

Boy : ”........”

Girl: “But my boyfriend means the universe...”

Boy : × ×

---

Caressing fire

with palms of clay

swaying to the mold

of his gold form

breathless and beautiful

speechless and bold

reaching the threshold

of his eyes

where sighs slip

sculpted and gripped

tripping over each other

with lips of lovers

and all I can do is smile

he fits so well

hard to tell

what shape

we will take

for he is solidly

chiseled in me

[a work of art we will be]

1998

One hundred years have passed

since the Amazon's fiery blast

placed our climate on the fast track

to complete planetary crisis- unsurpassed.

The polar ice caps swiftly melted;

millions of species' existences thus ended.

Low-lying population centers were wasted

when the flood waters rose as projected.

As the power stations' roofs went under,

the newscasters predicted we all would hunger

and decline rapidly in number...

but on the mountain, we're built tougher.

High elevation farms survived;

newly temperate elevation was revived,

so primitive agriculture and livestock thrived

and our tiny group wasn't deprived.

Flood waters are beginning to recede,

as The Great Climatologist decreed,

but the dropping temperature will impede

our ability to plant and grow our seeds.

Soon, from the peaks we will descend,

the Long Winter with which to contend,

and pray we've learned not to reoffend-

for Earth is finally on the mend. Repent.

Amazon rainforest.

They call it the lungs of the world.

Our world is a teenager,

Turning to dark places for help.

The teenager smoked a pack too much,

And now has lung cancer to boot.

Along with an addiction to smoke and destruction.

We don't stand a chance.

Sculpted in the west,

And thrown to the east,

Left now somewhere in between.

Where do you seek purpose when peril no longer feeds it?

Left dragging yourself through dusty streets,

Listening to crowds caw in annoyance as your heels slide against the concrete,

Nowhere to go,

Nowhere to be.

I’ve been out howling at the bottom shelf

Trippen, rippen; gunnen at my better self

Sorry if my shell has been through hell

Any ninja in me is a drunken swell

Surfing tha bottoms waves

Sorry if my way wasn’t paved

Map and compass were both destroyed by today

Hurricanes; sharks unforeseen

I’m the enemy fighting everyone close to me

Loose my demons free in my poetry

Plant a seed of peace

So use to war aim at my shadow in the morning

My left hook was my warning

Right hand full of righteous fury

Never accused of purity but I bet my actions match words

Both curve my French into a curse

I threw at my head; blame a witch or my thirst

For more, delusions of hero burned with my bridges

Along with my religious

Only thing you can’t accuse me of is fictitious

Plead guilty to pursuing bad times and high

Pretty weird guy, shoulda been from another time

Zone or dimension, other side of tracks by design

Jeans fit good, genes are ripped in half, why

I’ve been out howling at the bottom shelf

Trippen, rippen; gunnen at my better self

Sorry if my shell has been through hell

Any ninja in me is a drunken swell

Surfing tha bottoms waves

Sorry if my way wasn’t paved

Too many writers,

Too many fucking “writers,”

Tell me, when you use your head to think up some treacherous set for your dumb fucking poetry, do you think of the time you spent sat on an old carpet, dripping down the wall of a local crack den?

Fucking lie to me, and tell me, when you press your contented fingertips against your keys, and type some shit about overcoming tragedy, do you think about the time those hands were pressed against the now open throat of some kid at a party because he wanted to see how much it would bleed?

You’re fucking suburban,

And you’re a fucking embarassment,

I’d put a cigarette out on your iris if I could,

I’d watch your fucking pupil melt away, and as you drifted into blindness,

I’d watch you find something to write about.

Go outside,

Get the fuck out of my face.