The Good in Our Lives

The Good in Our Lives

Whether it is need or want

We can argue,

Your eyes tell of unfulfilled desire

To be held, entered and released

I carry those eyes in my mind/soul/spirit

This is the nightmare of the darkest kind

This is the daydream one only hopes to experience

It is the embodiment of all that is good in our lives

The Screams of the Beast Within

The Screams of the Beast Within

The arch of your back goes higher

You release a sound between and a growl and a sigh

emanates from deep within your soul

my hand tightens around your neck

restricting you slightly,

holding you through the ride

you shutter slightly and pull me in deeper

your eyes widen, they tell me you need more

no words are spoken

you are far from satiated

you grasp me tighter

and raise your body higher to meet mine

until your shutter grows to uncontrollable heights

you release your power as it flows

and I meet the release with another breathe

and the exhale of the beast within

screams with unrelenting passion

the fall is higher than we both anticipate

but the fall is one together,

entwined in everlasting dreams.


Darkness sits on the abyss

tempting, bringing me to the edge

fingers, like brush strokes

Trace the smoothness of your heat

like a match, ready to ignite

explosions are held in check

lasting until the wick is spent of fuel

aching to release

but the grip tightens, softly at first

a rush, needing a want, floating

the edge never forgives

teetering inches away

moments are hours, days

the whip cracks, and you fly away

never coming back

until the ride starts again.

Vestiges of America

Tarnished, not only the bronze

but this so called humanity

living in past light and faded glory.

We are guilty of non-emotion

false hope rises every four years

and the revolving door

keeps on churning the chaos.

My school days made more sense

every year a clean slate

every year not measured against the past

every year a new goal

not the rehash of human waste.

We won’t survive,

our deaths will be in vane

for all the worth of a bronze vestige

for all the worth of naked souls

and another lost cause.

Raise your fist

sit for America

i don’t care to notice,

your actions are your deeds

my actions are mine

as i sit in disgust

of the america i once knew.


Depression is the ragged shard

Found in the rags and waste

Humanity has long forgotten.

It is the slice that draws blood

Without the cut of skin

Without the telltale bruising

It is the soiled newspapers

Days old but somehow still relevant

Covering the loneliness of the forgotten

It is the vestige for the victimless

The last step off the plane

Returning home from the wars

The feed the frenzy

It is my comfort.


all these words

every line and every letter

my thoughts, hopes

mostly despair and unfinished dreams

hang in mid air

like a pinata, dangling in anguished suspense

you want everything to be for you

and it is, just take it

but sometimes, no words come out

they sit in my head, they are the most endearing

they are the deepest of loves, afraid, always afraid

not everything can be hit with a stick, not these

and they hurt the most, wanting to be out there

no where to go, sentenced to their chamber

not even a ghost of their whisper

can be known.



I am lost in the softness of the rain

Which run small rivulets upon your skin

Unsalted tears from the heavens

You were born to wear this velvet sheen

The beauty of which gleans on this summer day

And as rainbows grace the skies

And flowers shimmer in crystal light

Your love floats upon the heavens

Where once my youth once craved everlasting

To be holding hands with you on moonlit dreams

Smiley Face

He pushes his shopping cart down the rutted makeshift sidewalk

Half humming a tune no one else would care to hear

Nothing makes sense in this world of his, but then again, what does

And you, in your hybrid self-indulgence feel sorry for his fate as you trudge off to work

In daily dreams of lethargic trance, not realizing you are any richer

Than some bum with flop soled shoes and one sock, encased in matted human waste

The sun beat leather, one could call it a face, is an inkling of our own mirrored image

If we ever looked closer beneath the makeup we call happiness

Oh, I imagine everyone else must feel blessed, if such a word ever made sense,

But your gods never gave a crap about the pittance of crimpled dollars

Which buy the guilt of your own lost life, as you follow like lemmings

To the coffee pots, that churn away, making the miserable mud even more so.

But keep your eyes on the road, and avert yourselves to the things you call horror

Because those are the very things that are humanity and you have created the borders

And you have become judge jury and executioner to the invisible masses

Who could care not one iota of your ‘freedom’…you will never, if you ever gave life a moment,

You will never… be free, caught in the hysteria of every moment that doesn’t matter

Your own genocide will be the history of your emoji filled dereliction.