Poem: Been Here for Years

Not a poetic bone in her body, that’s the thing

that gives us respite, most of us

more than anything, no slogans or acronyms

to make me fly an airplane

into a building, I know what must happen

for us to survive, we need a steady hand

because we are insane, as is shown

in the mirror every morning

when the floss is red, with the blood

spilling over, and we don’t have a choice

to see what we need

before having it, my fingers are crossed.

Poem: Been Here for Years

Poem: Downtown, No Cement 3

It’s okay, everybody calm down

and settle with us, debts of gratitude

admiration and teamwork, we shall

logically arrange the fragments

of what once was, mortal shadows

portraying positivity and willing

blindness, once through the tunnel

work will begin, hopefully our leader

pointing us true, with held noses

trudging through sludge is the way

to make change, coin flip funding

the path, hopefully to loving victory

Poem: Downtown, No Cement 3

Poem: Downtown, No Cement 2

I’m chuffed and huffed, blown’ your house

down and stable where you keep your horses

because they’re everything, hopes of a million

binge purges, but at least I can still feel

the effect of drugs, like the one who spoke

at my college he twisted my sight,

but not enough was done, an impossible

task of a stepping stone, we might be getting

everything set up, in the future

hoping we can close for the storm impends.

Poem: Downtown, No Cement 2

Poem: Downtown, No Cement

“woo” my head shouts like my voice

would be, maybe not, delicate customs

in intricate intentions, I’ll stay

silent for now, mirroring the harbinger

cackling under bloody sky, dig a hole

swallowing a protein pill that tastes just

like ass, the alternative though,

racing all around wallpapering

blueprints of a shelter, because perhaps

the beast is born, and we are in trouble

Poem: Downtown, No Cement

Poem: Coming this Fall

Morality’s appealing in the subtext,

underused and oversexed,

plying at your disinterest

with a cannibal crowbar,

scarfing to the last is butterscotch

reality programming, who wants a home

premieres the homeless living

in a house together, competing for nothing,

and in the end they all must leave,

“Human Comedy” produced by Mark Burnett.

Poem: Coming this Fall

Poem: The Shadow Knows

He who says horrible things,

tickling,

tickling the ivories with a feather,

taunting trumpets from behind

the hill, march at his sides

out of step, disagreeable and hair trigger

tempers tear at the heat making multiple

maniacs, spouting like a fountain

of opinion, or more like a hydrant

in a riot, but what a party.

Poem: The Shadow Knows

Really, No Comment 3

To rest among corpses fits, logically when it’s considered

through a Dickens lens, for we’re all dead anyway

especially now, finding life in the grit

smirking and chuckling like a reflex reaction,

ungirded with intent to punish and judge

worthy those that claimed a place, leaving non grata

bygone brothers and sisters, pitiable portions

of the landscape, we are born again

in a bizarro centerpiece, let the chips fall

for they may crush, and that’s what we want.

Really, No Comment 3