The Thoughtful Rye

I’ve been counting the days until you are back

you’ve been firing guns at the slightest of sounds

how did it feel to watch your brother be put into the ground

I have yet to see you weep

I have seen the photos of the men you’ve killed

their minds are scattered all over the rye

and I have yet to see you blink

I stopped my thoughts from going too far into heaven 

and I will never let my children breathe 

We are just counting down, waiting for blood, then washing our hands

Cheering for our good deeds

and as for me, I will remember the faces of lives I take

I will not count or wash my body

I will not shed tears or blink

I will free their minds on top of this rye

So the world can finally think

Building Bridges

46.92, A fly pets my hand and there is still time to think of you.

Staying relaxed, changing my tone.

Fixing myself. 

Walking off this broadway, turning into something new again.

Playing old songs that still get stuck in my head. 

And he’s made love with cupid, while I discover a new shade of blue, since Hades is a fool. 

I let her go and started building bridges to get to a lagoon.

For it’s time to find a new tune. 

Feeling loved in yellow sweaters, feeling loved on a pull out couch. 

Feeling loved in green lights, feeling loved with nothing to do. 

I am ashamed to care for your name. 

I wasn’t expecting to. 

Though when you speak, I can’t hear and I’m still mirthful. 

Still, even when the intoxicated woman cries, pleading to clean. 

Still, even when we hear our potential is nothing but shit. 

You are the sun that melts puddles.

Stick nor stone will break me, for I have every day to wait for you. 

It's Been Awhile

I’ve been trying so hard to remember what you said

There painting a picture in my mind

but it doesn’t change, your mole, or that bald head

You said words that were kind

It’s all gone to waste

For there is no bigger feeling than to be missed

I am wishing to be thinner and I am thinking of growing my hair

She cries every time I open the door, for I am closing in on 6 feet

and she truly loves me and only me

There are letters for you, and gifts 

I can’t seem to mail them

for I am closing in on 6 feet and there will be no way I could be missed

Fooling The Fools

I swear to you, I will take this stone and make you brake 

I will take your blood, ask for wine, and quench my thirst for days

And if you know Joseph walked on water, then my death will be in sand

For this slouch is all that I am.

I will thank oh little town of Bethlehem for my pessimistic eyes  

And I will not blame your God for my mistakes,

For he and the brightest of stars have died

No faith of books and lies will make me plea on my knees

because he deserved to die

I’ve locked my daughter in a closet to keep her safe,

I will never let her see the torture of a man that prays.

She and I will live a life, keeping our minds, and loving our sins

For if I were Buddha, Ginsberg, or Ghadi the devil would love my name.

So, my dear dog, grandmother, co-worker, be a holy light shining the way

for states will sink, love will have conditions, and a burning bush will sing,

When we are fools.  

Naked Heart

I woke up in a clouded home, unaware of my chaos and seeing dicks being sucked by the awkward, starved attention whore. 

I’m in awe, for today I was robbed, she killed Mr. Brown, getting away with the great pumpkin. 

And I forget the names of prophets and ware a crown that states I’m going to hell because I burned a life giving, alcoholic with the lash of my tongue. As he cuts trees and beats the child like faith out of a woman with a child like gun.

And Jesus Christ starts an early day to unconditionally love the sinners, sinking them in the ocean until the last bubble pops.

Fuck the flirting young men stalking my steps and whistling their mating call. The sun’s scent is haunting the night and my chest burns.

But I praise my cigarettes, making love to every burning taste my lungs hate. For they saved my soul and lit my sins a way.

I inked my body to create a mind, molding the eye sight to preach about things that only they’ve seen.

Making co-workers wet, telling them stories of my passionate fucks from past lovers, imagining their own naked body pressed up on mine.

I am no romantic, I don’t bury flowers in the grave and I untied threads from hearts that were double knotted to my fingers.

Even a year has past since I last weeped and she is still untamed. For when I see her from time to time she remembers our past and smiles, unafraid of pain. Shaking my stomach, melting my brain, reminding me of my life on mountain tops and I love her.

I met cupid, so young and cute. Not ashamed of her name, yet hides in the clouds.

I’m happy now, I’m new and can swim, loving the smell of blood. Kicking cans and sending cards to 1722.

Look at my new feet, I grew and smile brighter than the smoked up Buddha doll the ignorant boy wears around his green neck, thinking he’ll create a new world.

 So, I am sending what love I have left to the the people I have left. For they will teach me worldly things and I will be singing on those mountain tops.

Rebirth

I am staring at this hollow shell

Indecisive on concluding my love.

The church has forgotten my name and friends of my family sent me to hell.

For I have given up on faith and befriended death. 

He is caring and gifts me an end. 

I am a believer though, of moments, creating a big picture,

Telling stories of lives I will never hear.

So, I will damn those empty shells proudly for their ignorant hearts. 

Because my realistic ideas have carried me above heaven

And my insecure dark love has concurred hell.

While the rest fear in the dark,

Praying for someone to save them from their insane thoughts.

But I lust loudly of beautiful women

And kill those men who banished me in the open.

I will not fall and be ashamed of my thoughts.

No God will save me,

For I have nothing to be saved from. 

The Drunken Thoughts of A Crow

I am hammered and cold

Punching trees and bricks with a painful fist 

Riding in the back of a stick shift

In defeat from a well rehearsed dick

And my thoughts linger on irrelevant things like my sex life

And being in love

I’m fighting for something and it’s unclear

I’ll attempt to make a fictional name for myself and be heard

I read the palm of a prophet last night

And it said I’m alright

But is just made me sicker

Because my little brother cried under his bed

While I just drank quicker

Then knowing my mother shivers in an office 

Or in her sped up drives

Of my lack of care and a debt of gray hair

Though my life is fine

I just can’t provide for you

I am no tortured soul

I am not afraid of death or love

I am just as tall, as you

Unorganized Thoughts

Shake my hand. I am ashamed.

Stains and a distinct reek of death.

My eyes wonder above my head.

Skin shaved body, lay upon me.

Chalk lines on a sidewalk,

a kid playing with a bee. 

Beer is thrown, stacks, with a bike in the back

and the distinct bitter taste of death.

Knitting young women, two men talking about Kerouac.

Dressed up in fine outfits, nothing more than for themselves. 

Dream of youth and the friend you lost in the war.

Me loosing the ability to send streams of lakes and rivers

to the cracks of the floor. 

Life is acting like a whore and death is a father

that only speaks of false hopes and promises.

Mocking little man, I face you and find you sad. 

I only contemplate of the mix of your soon to be grave,

filled with dirt and piss.

Pretty lady curl your body up to me. 

Death floats in the air 

and my organs are sinking ships.