BB pt II

And if I were to decide to leave words and fall in love

how would my melodies and songs feel for wasting their time

to dance in hallways and leave landmarks of memories in snow

how would my delicate crooked hands deal with letting go

to walk up to a sentimental girl and touch her glass cheeks

would I be nervous to break every line it took to make

because she is perfect, and I am frighten

would it be fair to gift her my eyes

that see pain, farms, and blood stains

just to show her I am real and I am mad

for there are four states that state I am blind

but each word I give to you I will stand by them

creating greater bridges to walk across land

for there is no time to waste

before you or him or I know it

I will hold something real and be sending it back

with no wish of blood for once

because I am not ashamed of caring for your name this time

for loving something bigger than me and my words

this is something I will never give back

or share or celebrate 

fantasies and hand shakes

I will spend our time covered in arms

and never have you out of sight. 

Cold Turkey Blues

I am still hearing sighs from neighborhood dogs

singing some cold turkey blues 

and it has become tougher to sleep

drunk a night or seven a week

counting down each day until days become newspaper articles and deja vu  

bleeding through nostrils, hands, or mouth

petting brows

eyes are glued to mirrors and reflections 

spotting receding hairlines and wrinkles on my head

while waiting for twenty-one

lsd playing some casualty of birth 

running from cars and stealing cops

careers, rearing cars 

and the dead sheep is keeping me warm tonight

brother baby son follow some old families love of guns

and cut your fat in half 

foamy mouths on mountain tops 

seizing seizures

die, dying, dead

dreaming, waking, being

crying, fucking, blowing

mother was beat in the head

mother was loving men

I am teasing time

closing my eyes waiting for the sound of a train

or swinging on swings, kicking the trees

fall in love

find a hobby or fear

I am sorry your funeral will never be on my mind

dead or alive, I will be kissing your no lip upper lip and loosing track of time

Ta-Da

I’ve been waiting for voices 

to show me historical change

to teach me ying and yang 

I am being patient.

I am still waiting. 

Still, death has a nice ring to it,

like Methodist bells

that make my ears bleed.

My mind is twisted

torturing my own sexy body

and yet I still lay in bed

expecting some babe to show me their chest 

and yet my playful thoughts

playfully tell her things 

and I am as happy as can be.

I am holding my breath

for there are only 6 weeks left

and I am turning blue

like the island sky I met

with a half sincere smile. 

Because I already met love

with trees, and mountain tops.

With friends and sweat

that ruins my hair due.

There is nothing left,

the last cigarette wasn’t the best.

So, I am still waiting

and death bell’s are playing me a sweet tune.

Stress

Your fingernails are scraping my sheets!

bleak, raw veins, they shriek 

causing my insignificant blood stream to change colors significantly 

and I am still beating off, right on cue,

thumping, ticking, pounding like a heart’s beat

electric chair, pepper formed diamonds attracted to my hazel like sight 

trying to remember memories that were never there

Ugly madman, you are fucking seaman

and the babies are blue

blue like the washed up solider men pissing their pants

the calender is burning the offices of the nation

proud colors, we sing of red white and blue 

and the yellow coward is fingering the cheap dollar store brand doll

while caressing my chest, playing some sweet radio tune

swagger walks the streets of disbelief

still relieving pain from these courtroom cunts

expanding, like the burnt froth I grease down my throat 

listening to story tellers and god spellers 

babbling like some redundant column of an angst love

seeing my thoughts as well as the tickle sensation 

of brother john’s touch

because it’s easier to laugh

and damn you for that

for not reading my words

thinking I am building electric factories

and not bleeding on paper.

I am still dancing for you

and you boy, won’t even bash an eye lash

I can not bare my lies anymore,

my secrets of insecurities.

I'm tired of shedding metaphors,

expecting for an applause.

Every line down the road is creaking my mind

and my vision is bursting with pain.

He's a drunken anchor and she's a chopped down giving tree.

Grandfather is rocking back pills, while his son blows a line.

And his son, my cousin certainly isn't straying away from any tree.

While Mr. dead beat is sailing boats in Florida.

So close to her and his tank top. 

I am overwhelmed and despondent.

I will kill for the sight of blood.

Why can I not shed one god damn tear?

Holden be my friend and cut me down. 

Tell me why you hate me.

I'm a contradiction

But I will stay true and call any ecologist a fool. 

I will kiss the brain of Shakespeare,

for he discovered the cure for sickness and love.

Death, sweet caring death, you will be my greatest victory.  

Acronym

I am rotten to the core. I’ve killed my father and forgave him

Couldn’t I have just been older than fourteen, with the devil on my shoulder

And without concern for the women I gifted false promises to

Nothing wrapped and without love they and I watched the bunches leave

Nothing taken, nor shall I shed tears for your hollow soul

Oh, but it has all  become a bore now, your naked body and your speech

Though thinking, drinking, I still some how miss you

Standing, falling, sleeping, I still some how pray to you

Thankfully I accept this awkward walk and speech I received

Anything less wouldn’t be me and I come from a long line of fucked up Lees

Now, it does not mean I am ashamed, for I have love and live with untamed  

Dare the man or God to allow a flame to melt my heart for it is nothing but stone

On my own, I am just a half, as if someone ate me and I was too tart

Now, for if I grow with you, the sun, and mother earth

May I be ripe and sweet

Years of love making and story telling, though…

Our message of love has turned black and passion is routine 

Weddings and oaths is where love dies

Not even a God or authors can rewrite the history of us

Tattered and sore, you gazed your beat eyes towards something more

Weak and sick, I kissed you and felt a prick of endless pain

On my own I crawl, forgetting what my mother taught

Fearing that I must grow accustom to this ack 

Empty rooms, and teenage dogs 

Earning fame and loosing reasoning

Today I remember friends who took my hands and made me stand

The Buzz Poem

I never had a man teach me to shave, 

So, I am left with cuts from single blades

Stringing along my life 

In an effort to make sense of my misery

Mom, dear mom, I forget your warm love

And I miss the frank thoughts of random strangers

preaching together their life, as if they had the answers to a pop quiz

But question those beliefs, 

Discover the answer of Christ and galaxies

For when I settled on the fact that one plus one really equaled two

I divided my gold and was down to negative one

And while we’re at it, fuck your fear, your indecisive thoughts

those grave robbers, gold diggers, and that pick pocketer

Make your mark, for you are clever

You influenced a weak man to write

to love, to speak

So raise your cheeks, and find pride in love and hope.