Insult

I talk of things stupid
Of consequence, I think not. Hah!
I don’t know what matters.
I talk to be talking. I repeat to mock.
I recite to remember the insult.
Something about
a mother, a sister, a father, a wart, a whole face, about size.
You deserve it. I deserve it. We’re fallen.
You skewer my tongue as you stand on it.
Blood flows; can’t say more and I leave.
You won. There’s always a bigger fish.
Life has to be more than this.

Poor Pitiful Death

Poor pitiful Death,
lost his way, didn’t know what to do when I died.
Challenge me to a duel — saw my Dad and ran.
I saw him though bowed – one knee – at my side
everyone in white except him
as I walked down the aisle.
One knee he kept in defiance delightfully for
he found pride raking lost souls
anticipating dragging my corpse
like the Axis at Auschwitz.
I cackle uninhibited at his hollow peace–
not to mock, just that the moment of fulfillment–
my wedding night– has come
and I will meet it unrestrained.

Norseman

I await a flash of light
Or an illusion from after today.
I sit in my black leather chair that was made in China
I dream of dueling dragons in the forest clearing, but
I brush my teeth to fight gingivitis.
I crave the mud, the disease of ignorance, the scar marking not survival but victory: All the glamour and pride of a primitive existence.

I imagine illiterate warriors vying for a place of standing: to be in charge.
But they will stoop way below the ground when total darkness comes.
Like minuscule mice under a giant’s shadow
Running from death.

You planted your seed across the many fields,
That are tan from gathering water and honey for their lord’s table.
You have gray hair. Your seeds are now half men
Growing fast while you are away fighting.
Warrior, you are like a cat calculating the best way to sit: Turning circles

Defiantly, you look death in the face and spat on the ground.
Must you leap into death if it cannot be overtaken?
You will die warrior. What will live on?

Scream your pagan chant into the wind.
No one hears you.
You are alone.
You do not know who gathered dust and formed the brain that is fast thinking of a way out (but is still too slow), a way to cheat death.
I can hear the misery behind your battle cry as you compose a symphony of swords and kill your enemy.

I hate the manipulation

I hate the manipulation.
The guitar riff.
The low cut spagetti strap shirt
The blinking banner of binary code above my homepage.
The rythm of sex on the dance floor
The name calling
The image of the starving 4 year old across the world. Send Money.
The smiling lobbyist in rush hour traffic after a good day at work
The droplets of sweat falling- bluring the inspired word of God
The composer conducting death from the read of the theatre
Who do you think you are?

I Want to Give Abundantly

I don’t want to lose it,
But give it, the most intimate part of me.
Divulge for you to see and touch; embrace.
Just for you
For nothing in return.
I will accept, but shy away from demanding more.
It is not giving unless giving and not expecting.
It is impossible though for just you to receive.
It takes two to tango.
If the greatest gift one can bestow upon his friend is to die
in his place,
Is it greater to live in shame the rest of one’s known life?
Wouldn’t it be a worse sacrifice; (I mean) a better one?
I contemplate whether it is shameful if it is sacrificial?
After all the Lamb Sacrifice is why I live and breathe.
I fear the feelings that would proceed
and the flesh addiction I would feed
more of us together alone.
My only solace in my choice to remain pure
Is what would she think, the girl in the future?
The one I don’t know if you are her,
The one I might be closer to than you.
I might love her more and deeper
beyond the horizon where we can’t see.
I will trust the Book for my dilemma of making a decision
I can only make once
And never return to the way things were before.
It says wait for a ring. Yeah, and the second ring at that.
Could things be closer? Could our relationship be deeper?
Ask me in twenty years.

I Will not Forget You

I don’t feel rebellious, but I wanted to fulfill a rebellious thought.
It’s the music that doesn’t talk about, but speaks directly to you;
It calms my fermenting mind and heart torn between what is best
And what I want.
It’s like murdering with Manson serenading your rage in the background,
but the opposite. The music gives me peace
Like you do.

Never Satisfied

Tight hugs, penetrating understanding,
Chocolate, vanilla ice cream and peanut butter,
first place ‘video games, search engines, NY Times Bests’.
Nothing, things undone fail to satiate — never will;
Just things just deeper than those just done.
Curse or blessing?
Old men learn too late to change their ways, to reconcile.
Fortunate I am to find nothing in my search, for
Someday it and I will fall away — rot and die –
unless someone can transport me to a far off place
To become whole under a golden sky.

My Utmost

Nothing can ever make us even
or tip the scales in my favor.
I could bow down for 182 days
I could build 93 houses for the poor
I could shower in lighter fluid and burn on an altar.
I could take all my friends out to eat, individually
But nothing could ever make us, you and me, equal.

Thinking of You

Haven’t been a good friend in a long, long time,
You still followed me though alleys of darkness
addicted to self-mutilation, contemplating an empty eulogy.
Who do you think you are!? Why would you sink so low?
On the surface you stand unmoving, your legs, drenched in my problems,
I am not worthy, tainting your ivory robe, mentioning your name;
you go through grief and pain in my name,
pulling me into your movements, up from the undertow.
Wow. I am not hallucinating on Lucy’s Diamonds,
maybe I am, no one seems to understand my adoration:
More than my dad, mom, girlfriend,
than strawberry ice cream on a sweltering summer day,
or the sound of rain.
In love with the possibility to live fully,
giving me, the unemotional lackey of logic, passion.
You do more than suffice. Kill me, if you give satisfaction
I am so familiar with the book of life,
Can’t see the power behind each crimson letter.
You held out a hand to the homeless sitting in his rain soaked box,
Hugged the Goth with his ghost face jumping in the concert pit,
Listened to the troubles of the girls dancing in the Bay Area fog.
"Do.-Do.-Do.-Do." You sing daily revolutionizing my senses as
I dance in the rain, laugh at the thunder, and bow to the lightening,
hearing your voice above the children crying, the horns of rage honking, the hypocrites calling on you.
Never want to go all the way, because I never can,
but can try and will put my love into words and actions-
which give them less justice than fetuses received in ’72 –
Sharing because I want to give a glimpse, cover their cares.
Stumbling in the slippery mud, Stand up!
refreshed and ready to battle spirits from a different dimension;
I can hear their fascination with you:
from my friends and the celebrities (miles away, but we see everyday),
Staining everything you created, hanging loosely in the air,
my hope and reason behind my pain,
I smelled you when mucus barricaded my nose and I couldn’t breathe.
My scholarship to happiness: Free and paid ahead of time.
I do not fear and welcome death,
But please let me work two lives chalk full of changed lives, hopeful hearts, and luscious hugs of serendipity
you planned for me before I began.

I Never Had a Hero

Never had a hero, never a soul friend.
Never wanted to be someone an’ have to defend
all the faults my mentor might possess.
Lonely, I ridiculed my friends’ idol fickleness.
My new idea is escorted to the social coroner;
My heart ambles again back to my lonesome corner.
Going underground, I am small, my hope falls
They turn. My aura shrivels, erecting walls
I will never be an aborigine.
Sigh, the homestead just is not in me.
Call me fanatic, a zealot; a nut.
Yes, but I am loved, but. . .
at the price of pride and self-sufficiency?
I pray, "One friend please! To share my psyche?!
To crumble on–soaking the sweat before it dries
Dripping off my brain as it cools when I’ve cried."
I once feared I would never be satisfied,
From all hearts I would have to hide.
Never knew GI Joe, or MJ, or even Bill Gates,
Never had an idol (except self) and it was no mistake
There was no altar to lay down on until you clutched me.
With you, I can be who and all and what I want to be.