Poems

His Curious Head

She remembers the innocent questions how full of wonderment
He lays his curious head between her legs
She carries him deep into slumber
Each night reruns of reruns a moment captured in eternity
He bought his strings then his wings then absence and silence.
She prays and waits
Attached they still pretend
He returns dressed like a man with the world in his head
He still lays his curious head between her legs
She still carries his burden in his bed

Crucified by Numbers.

Each day feels like a junkies daydream
The streets are filled with long drawn shadows
Circling the ground we walk on
I’m hiding somewhere inside the stratosphere
Watching all my pieces keep falling
Watching as the scars are opening wider
with each ray of sun shine.


The Hands of Angels

Soon it will all come to pass.
Through all the nights of desperate darkness and the long days of servitude
the winds will soon carry a message loud and clear
that will open all the windows and clean out all the cobwebs that exist
There is only love and love will bring all the greatness back to your life
Passion and purpose fuel all great deeds
Remain true to your passion and the light will shine forth
Hold no hatred or darkness in your heart
It only festers and turn you against the path that flows with purity and enlightenment
Follow your steps with both grace and purpose your life is meant for greatness
Be patient and part of the process
Let all the darkness fall away
Time has a way of redeeming and rescuing all that are prepared for their mission in life
Be not afraid for you are not alone
You are guided by the hands of the angels
In each step in each moment in each soul.

150 ft later

He's falling like a 200lb human stone.
Straight down to the thawing river.
45 years of creation, flash before his eyes.
In a divine orchestrated sequence of events
the angels fell over themselves guiding his fall
Feet straight, head right, that's it.
Hitting the liquid cement.
Hitting full force with every bone.
The angels covered the pain
with celebrated darkness.
Heavenly amnesia.
The days of a man are exquisitely numbered.
Each second guarded.
The angels fear no evil.
Fate is written by the creators hands in gold and silver.
Until those days are over each life has a sequel?



My Divine Purpose.

Suffocating the demons.
Clearing the divine path.
Finding my precious partner.
Like the wind seeking the trees
the sky the sun.
I wait for the your breathe upon my cheek
As clear away all the debris of my life.
Those limiting thoughts that only restrain
and have blinded my purpose.
I hold on to this dream.




Daily Addictions.

The world inside my head keeps changing.
From cynical to unstable.
I reach out to your heavenly heart
trying to see my reasons for being.
Apply my daily addictions
hoping I'm following your roads.
The roads you designed for my soul.
I'm creeping like a bug a tiny insect you've created.
Then scattered in the mist through the passages of light
My days as I face the sun
keeping my hopes and dreams alive
I believe your mercy guides me
Like the winds that cross the waves of the mighty ocean
Your hand nurture me
I fall to my knees
Your love wills forever rescues me.



A Symphony of Sweat and Semen.

I stand before your exposing my solitary tarnished emotions
Columns of abused sensibilities fall across your naked ass
I see pictures of purple nipples
all pierced by the surgeons teeth.
Lubricated by strangers semen.
I squeeze your tiny mould
Your voice almost collapses as you stain the
humid mid-summers night air
with your temped reaction.
I contemplate the width and depth of my erection
I feel almost nothingness, emptiness it's a rubber fisted fuck.
Genius in it's dimensions.
I beg for the tension between you thighs.
I follow your commands.
Your thoughts are of dusty Latin oranges
across the hair lips of Portuguese scarred midgets.
Soon your demons and uterus reunite.
It never really comes close to the big band.
I follow like a solitary assassin.
We have reached the impenetrable unyielding desires.
fatalism figures in her somewhere.
I fall asleep to the mechanical rhythms of the ancient air condition air
As the symphony of sweat and semen plays out its desolate tune
To the bellows and cries of empty primal emotions
Cutting me to shreds.
I twist and I turn in my sleepless bed


A Cracked Baby Doll.

Cracked baby doll.
Broken smile.
Warped brown eyes.
Twisted frozen laugh
Forever held in that quintessential moment.

Innocence taken.
Thin sliver of skin splits into oblivion.
Moment carved for eternity in the emotion membranes.
First and final tears soiled the memory of the birthday doll
Now transfixed in that spot
Under the broken window sill

As the wind moves the filthy curtain
The dust that settles tries to cover the memory
Lodged in the baby doll eyes
The devils faithless moment.
Loins and sweat pushing and penetrating
Baby blond strains of hair fall to the floor

The birds the trees the subtle mountain air can never heal
The desperate cries that polluted lies
That lie behind the walls
That stairs that lead to the
Cracked baby doll smile


Good Vibes on the Hudson.

Fat beats across the Hudson river
Echoes of pure ecstasy tripping and rebounding off the old brown stones.
Through the halls of the meat packing district.
Moving in and out of the sinews ready to be slices and diced up.
Smiling faces dressed in yellow and green
Hugging and kissing gyrating to the communal vibes, man.
The moon at first shy and cautious hiding behind irregular grey sheets of clouds.
Just couldn't help himself and pushed through beaming from ear to ear.
Smiling at the waving hands.
As the beats and grooves fade into the shimmering Hudson
Hearts are opened wider with hope and vision new life for the morning sky.
The sun will smile as the rumor filters through.
That the moon fell in love the fat boys and fly girls



Days of Desire

She brought the memory of love back to my door
a tidal wave of mixed emotions
left me praying for more
I crashed and burned through the days of desire.
She united my heart and somehow I learned to see to feel and to believe.
It's all so compelling when you break down the door
You feel all those naked emotions.
At times they were like thunder
Still I somehow beg for more
But through all the strained times
I can still feel her breath pass right through me
While the scent of her skin humbles me,






Building Our Own Prison

Some say fate is something we create
A sequence of events we later edit.
Rationalize compartmentalize.
Then reduce down do psychological sound bites.
While the screens suck away at our lives
a million blinks per hour.

Love, seem so fleeting.
It begins like a cool spring morning
a torrent of great expectations.
Slowly spluttered out with one indecision after another.
Until all that remains are fragmented footprints of regret.

The days seem to pass unyielding.
No time to face the truth and reflect
Only the harsh reminder as we stare into the mirror.
Avoiding the obvious until the obvious is all that’s left.

We build our own walls.
Create our own prisons.
Then fall into the worm filled earth.
Sending our tears and memories to the stars
To the smiling heavens .
Hopeful of a new start.
Or are we just second guessing.

A Kind of Rage

A kind of rage breaks through my skin
my system bleeds with the insensitivity of others.
I walk in rabid circles no clues just grooves
Tempting my time here on mother earth
I rage in riotous glory for tonight we are fixed with
a sharpen tongue
upon the open expanse of time and deranged space
I coil up like the cobra awaiting my next assault
the blue blooded poison
the pressure just won’t stop as I turn and tumble
in my tulmut
Heaven watches with a rueful glee as we test
her sovereignty
I breath the air of hope and promise helpless
to her vanity.
The city stained night covers my head with a
leaden hand and a tight leather fist
Patterns of insanity and destruction force through my coat of
compliance
I rage in the silence I rage through the sheets of silence
Is there no time of purpose a time of perpetual purpose
I walk like an idiot though rooms coated with dreams
dreams are the architects of youthful desire
I color each dream with a rail of gold so as not to tarnish the cover
The exterior of the desire
I sit and stare into the well of patience
the water is dark and still so still it’s
absent of life
any movement would be a sign
a shot of inspired action,
yes it is to action
I crave the dubious results of action.


Blue and White Balloons

Blue and white balloons fill the autumn sky
Prays of peace hope and a return to the promised land.
We carry the message with pride.
While bloodbaths fills the headlines.
Nobody comes out clean.
Every move gets you deeper into the ancient quick sand.
While the media plays ping-pong.
Until the next outlaw comes along.
How do you keep your head and heart strong
Surrounded by centuries of hate
And barrels of gun power waiting to ignite.