After my dance, I take me down to the river
and gaze at the slippery water
swirling twirling ever ebb and flow
without stopping and without regard
for who's watching
and I know that it will keep on moving until
it dries up and becomes dust
and then it will move on and on
and now I know why I do what I do…
The girl who pulls you in
with her welcoming charm.
Offering you favors and
easing your obsessions with
hers.
She is a chameleon validating
every trip you take her on.
Topping you with one better.
Cooler than you unless you're
with her.
She makes you feel special
by her presence.
The further she medicates
the more separate she becomes
always needing an adversary
She'll be back after she wears
on another for a while
Eventually you'll lose her, though.
It gets too much or she leaves
before it can.
Except in my case.
My image haunters her.
The closest thing to life
she's ever felt.
I move on and climb from my own bottom.
She doesn't even try.
We make no sense to each
other anymore.
Both coming from a different
view.
But we continue to love
one another.
Love is different with no future.
It's like loving and hating
at the same time
I've learned this is how I
should view all relationships.
Like they have no future.
My decisions clouded with
expectations I've been fed.
There has to be somewhere
between need and emptiness
that I will be.
Sad and fractured
I try to accumulate my
pain and assign it out
to others.
I have been so wrapped
up in this race away
from my source needs.
I must take care of myself.
I know my limitations.
My desires.
I am ready for bed.
Goodnight.
In a dream I had last nite
My brother awoke to the sound
of a wave crashing like thunder
across the bow of the small craft
in which he'd set sail at birth
In this dream I thought that I heard him say:
"The morning sun that once inspired
now cuts me like a knife.
Just when I thought that I knew
much about life.
I find myself awake from a dream
In time to see my lifelong scheme
collapse in pride and strife."
In this dream
He turns around and rows swiftly
toward the moor
But in the morning
when I awake
I wonder if it were me
rowing toward a greater shore
Capture fluorescent raptures
lifting you high to the sun
Cultivate and seize the space debris
Your DNA's set on stun
Will the world's skin escape and win?
High speed in a getaway car
It's so easy to be a shattered entity
Where the real earth is never too far
The dragon men have the junkie Zen
Oh will you will you come with me
To explore the cosmos after you're compost
And you're as high as you can be.
Matthew Laura Belvedere
Jesus Christ Romeo
Charlie Chaplin
Romanticized Trampette of Heaven
Lord Orlando is a millionaire
Yet Lady Maria loves his heart of husband
Lady Maria, what be a man yet made of air
Though he be a millionaire
Work is common yet love is rare
A tramp may be more debonaire
I would rather keep knowledge
Than be kept of wealth's privilege
What is a man yet made of air
Though he be a millionaire
Gentility is extraordinaire
A beggar may be more austere
Hard work every dollar I've earned
Yet from this hope is love learned
What be a man yet made of air
Though he be a millionaire
Can a man float on the air
A bird oft times has more flair
Every day in giving travail
Where futile efforts avail
What be a man yet made of air
Though he be a millionaire
What do the bees care
A flower gives a sweeter aire
Meadows where love grows Wilde
Wealth never makes the weather mild
What be a man yet made of air
Climbing heavenly stairs
Ginger Rogers Fred Astaire
Lovers may always dance on aire
Artists truest love of hope
From Society's tragedy elope
What be a man yet made of air
His eyes profoundly stare
We'd make a beautiful pair
Orlando my love is sincere
What purpose does wealth serve
Where lovers hearts are pure.
Bowman Lake is in Montana,
Great place to wear a bandana.
Ranchers, cowboys and grizzly bears,
Trout, elk, deer are tasty fares.
The big sky country is a mighty sight,
Be nice to the locals, you'll have no fright.
Lots of lands and spaces to roam and go,
In Montana you'll never suffer with vertigo.
Why live in a dirty old filthy city,
Big sky land is serene and pretty.
No pollution of any kind,
Will give you total peace of mind.
Your family will prosper and appreciate,
Other people you will not denigrate.
Be happy that you have a life to live,
Montana — a state that will always give.
From the people and locals there,
Learn a lesson 'bout being fair.
The people, locals are as nice as the countryside,
So with others, try to peacefully abide.
The Night Commuters of Uganda Fear…
Their burgeoning growth from children to something not human or recognizable,
Horizons that imperceptibly transform the brightness of morn to the haze of evening
Evening, crawling with darkness and shadows, full of brilliant empty faces
You cannot see amidst the blackened huts and rounded eyes of the damned.
The Night Commuters of Uganda Fear…
Frail lengthening femurs that spell manhood to men who were never children,
Enraged soldiers who mourn the loss of the innocence they possessed for a day
And lost it when they severed the lips from a girl's mouth who refused to be prostituted
Realizing too late, that for them, there is no sleep, no comfort and no absolution.
The Night Commuters of Uganda Fear…
The curling lip of a lunatic, his name issuing from the mouth like comfort,
His mind lost to the labyrinthine maze of the battered child's denial and projection
Earnestly attempting to master the past of his time, to the future of their time
Yet blind to the wisdom of the sworn oath of ages, that to "harm my little
ones…"
Demands the harshest of penalties, of destroyed hope and ravaged souls lost,
Into the nightmare fog of faces that continually accuse, that never cease to be
Engaged in a constant marathon of fear, these children run alone, shuffling below God.
Being sacrificed to the inferno, they are many thousands.
They are children.
Without Protection.
Ignored.
Alone.