long live the consumer sell out

I'm going to make this the last
vision of fields

the one where the flowers wilt
in Meadows

this one is for her and him
and them.

the sky is blue so they tell
from my room

the door has been closed for sometime
the outside world and its glamour doesn't
feed the soul as reading the old blue book
can...

master of mind
she can't do

the world will and can and is
Choking you.

but never mind sweet and flattering words for they
are sure to fleet

and fly high when
the opportunity
makes itself

the thing to do now is
let the greatest of tears
fall
and let the greatest memories fade

for what is life but
a place we brush up with
then our glory fades with love ones
history herstory
already fades

the grave is stone and dirt and grass
the urn is ash and enclosed dust
nothing really counters the
relinquished heartburn

if you want my opinion
be as a sheep not
a wolf

live how they want
and depression and sadness
will over come you in
a heart beat

if you want to know the secret of joy
then come and sit with me
we can discuss the
properties of man
we can expel doubt from the circle
and make squares

or we can just eat some food and
ask out bodies to hold up till the decay
allows them to rot
many are vain

but none like you
for you seek out
a truth
but deny the source

what would it be like if God
walked in the room?

would he see the
shallowness of your depth
and laugh
or
cry?

he'd probably go to
a cross and die.

the root of beer

to be drunk everynight
encounters a slight wrench in the game plan

to be high everyday
encounters a slight bolt in the engine

to be in prayer every waking hour
leaves one high and drunk


now is the hour
get on them knees


pray

death is life in a counter culture like mine

if the future moves forward I'm back a couple decades
I'm now relieving myself of my car and soon
some of my most prized possessions,
my underground hip hop tapes.
a nerdy collection of people's music
no one ever heard except a couple thoundsand people.

I have no income

I have no future

I'm either planning to move back to the Midwest
as i found my parents will be foreclosing on their home
and moving to Iowa...
I feel a great need to help them or
if a miracle happens I can stay here and work a job, but those
dreams are steadily fading...
I'm no more than a drum beat away
from
losing all my possessions
and becoming a roaming monk.
a lost soul
a mystic man with no home land

America
woe woe to you

she has fallen.

gross the girl's eyes are on water

if the tears indicated
sadness, then this girl was sick.

she hunched over the tabletop and read a letter.
one would believe, he said some splitting remarks...
----------------------------leaving codes

no oxoxoxoxxx

"I was merely a passenger,
a side-stepping-stone on the way to his greatness"
sniffling out her sobs
and snot nose retracting beams of
nasal blockage.

I can't handle when they tell me of there heart ache
just by passing them in public.
leave, go in your room,
tell god.

but here i witnessed it all
and couldn't of been more disturbed
by the thought of never needing or wanting such
access into one's personal life
especially in public, but the tears fell

dream catchers strike out


the suffering is a byproduct of the want of
attention

the byproduct then turns into a life beating blood force

un-rationalized by the discernment of judgement

it messy in the end
and here adjacent from my picnic table I witnessed
this
-------- byproduct.

i threw my brown bagged lunch in the trash.

lets make things easy on ourselves...kill the bias and drowned in the opinion

harder for me to wake up
harder for me to sleep at night
its harder to apply for a job
its harder to breathe
fresh even in the hills
the coughing is nightly
the insanity is what can shake
heart strings, threads, needles sow.
harder to call the people i love
its harder to pray for direction
the slip of liqour goes down with a sort of
ease
the keyboard is easier to type
when know one looks
the bed spends more time on my ass
then the feet
and it still is hard
to ask
for hands out
but thankful when they come

i never thought of life on my planet would be a constant meditation on death

never saw the hardest walk to a cross
then when I decided to pick up
mine
and follow his.

redemption
is the light bulb flickering
before out....

you might not wear a mask but you're ulgy

pride can
look humble

and the bottom tends to
have bitter teeth gashing at feet of
holy highs and righteous rollers

the problem with the critic
is he misunderstands
the lesson

he can teach but never learn
he can tell you of formulas
but never invent
he himself is
a restricted
poem

he is an Amen
more to his own flesh
than his heart is,

poop is the new piss

looks like shit
she says
overlooking the gallery on
telegraph

I mean
what colors and shades does
he think he's using?

and the contrast?

sipping a gin and tonic
I slide up behind her and

comment

wow it almost looks real

ha! do you hear this fool
this poop is the new piss!

ART

the ground is air

last
time
we walked
this far
the
breath


lost
all
hope

gasped
fresh
inhales
a
longing for
smog


open up the road

lost ocean of doubt

it sways
it talks of this
it talks of that

it tells one to stop its course
turn the ship around

it sways
it tells tales
it tells of betrayals

it talks of waves
turning the sound off

it is dark in caves
but the sun is out there

its time to board
and not look
back at the
ocean floor

two days with no sight of the end at hand

wilt warm the brandy is sipped by an expert
the wine is gulped like a fish on dry air
the beer is vats of fryer oil in the gut
the gin is the easiest with bubbles

the party goes on for nights
the days are short
the long nights
are wrong lights to a
decision made by fools with wine glasses
on top of broken televisions

she complains and talks of leaving relinquishing her duties to me
I'd be a full time nanny
with nothing
a slave
and a decent man
of the night where the long wash board
and dishes would pile
and my old heart tickers with fury
over the keyboards
and I still, like a caveman, write longhand

the lonely night of my love
is over and I'm left with a bitter
twinge of aspiration
to keep the gas pedal compressed down\until the
root of disaster fades

or the heaven's open and I pray
so loud the quieting souls repent
or God opens the clouds back and sends me his
son
the glory of his wrath subsided
into the rapture of the end

I go to the frig and
crack the 6th beer open
its time to finish this one.

she lies to you and can't tell the truth to me

she sees another

yet i fully understand why

I gave up being jealous
if needs to feel his touch
and grow cold to mine

i fully understand why.

I'm not of a man anymore

(at least to the worlds standards)

I'm poor in wealth
rich in spirit

I lack nothing of god
but gain nothing from the world
seek first the kingdom

and the world will naturally despise you.

the joy of spirit comes from the holy
not the longings of fantasy
I've become a man and gave up the wrestling
the wandering
the struggle can consume me
and I'll happily laugh at the clouds
nothing really takes my joy away
anymore

poverty is the gift from god
and it is given to those who use it wisely

prepare yourself.

if i was simple, you'd need not tell me

nothing is like the sky
nothing is plain blue like my eyes

if I'm simple you need not tell me.

if long walks to gather my peace
would suffice then my feet would never stop
stepping in line

if I'm simple you need not tell me.

the same cereal in the mornings
make me boring
you need not tell me

the TV always on
makes one dull
you need not tell me

if the only book
you've read is the bible
you need not tell me

if the only simple thing we do
is die

need not remind the deceased
awake the living.

if we are simple, you need not tell us.

if aspirations makes you travel far away
would not the dying longing of heart disappear?

if I'm simple you need not tell me.

if I long for her and she
stands firm in not wanting me
you need not tell me

a flower looks simple from a distant
but until your nose sniffs
and the smell opens up your eyes
then you need not tell me.

I too, was once simple in scope and complex
at length, but when you approach me gentle

then you to can smell my rose
and find the budding of my soul.


if you never change your dream and rot in poverty
the beauty will only be seen from those
that wish to smell

if I'm simple, you need not tell me.

not one color

not one color, but many make our
faces

not simple shades but deep lines
engrave wisdom in wrinkles

not one color can be found on
the body. but dozens

not simple lines or shallow eyes
make sleep restore beauty
but the dreams we sleep on
and the waking hours we chose
to sleep through make us
alive

not one color
not two colors

m i l l i o n s
of shades and complexities
make us; define us

breathe with each other
the blood in side keeps us red

but our faces tell of a different story
one with crying, laughter
heartaches
and everyday letdowns
the girl getting away
the life we'd hope for
that passed

not one color makes us
but many shades.

strong words only cause reaction

time to be a man
time to hold up the cup and
praise man
for his invention

time to be a woman
time to hold up the cup and
praise woman
for her strong will

time to be human
time to hold up the cup and
praise the human race
for their survival

time to be children
time to hold up the cup and
praise the father
for his gift of life

time to be godly
time to hold up the cup and
pray for holiness

God knows we need it.

comedy is a depressed man's form of ...

the ego usually has little to say
but the mouth is always running

he can be charming, but sad
as such thinkers are

the funny face
is a broken heart

the funny bone
is the center of grief

tragedy is the
humorous
epic of downfall

the downfall
is actually the selling
of the joke


and then comes the pause



the pause is the

remedy

it makes everyone
in the room
laugh


its the sad man's
mask

its the way he
closes in on the danger of life and
makes it futile in scope.