About my poetry...I never have. I think it subtracts from the personal effect of the writing. Maybe it doesn't, I don't know.
I just don't do it
Spontaneous ProseAnd for all you angel-hearted hipster beatniks who panic and race with your lit cigarettes and nostalgic bleeding booze binges to achieve long curious hikes into supernatural levels of conciousness with shaking hands glancing unto lamp-lit kitchens hosting gentle tender suppers of loving romance with sad greedylike eyes of forgotten Zeus Gods I ask you why do you lay on cold angry steps of halfway homes vomiting spewing tiny darkened tales of what you were when you know this is America with beaches and seas and Big forgotten forests that ninth century time Indians lost time and and hope to explore and exist. America where homes ofSpontaneous Prose
024Rise and bear witness to a song of glory from the valiant angels, who ask the questions we need to hear. About living breathing whispering American lives, driven to madness by chemical-filled libraries, filled with screams and sobs from burning knowledge, engulfed in interwoven flames of our existentialist youth. Supernatural cosmic brilliance gleams from halfway homes, where intoxication and a typewriter become a social atom bomb. Where prompt refusals to drop obsession ring clear as wedding bells announcing the seraphic matrimony of heinous unsanctifie024
023I've screamed ballads from car windows to windshields about fatigued brilliant childhood. Reincarnated shining tales of drugs and love and the beauty of a burning building. I've met the truly mad ones mad for living mad for life and mad for dying. Who strolled through nostalgic angry downtown streets tripping and fucking through illuminating hallucinations crying and laughing all the while. Who lay on the darkened marble steps of a library chanting whispering vomiting coughing sordid stories of the better life. Life on the streets dancing barefoot on broken bottles023
022We sing for the times where we will live by passion and dreams and not by law. We will weep for the future, because it's all we have. We are prevalent. We are invincible. Fingertips laced with bad luck, like the whispers of Macbeth, only with greater tragedies. Breathe the words you speak, as I become our distance. We yearn to overcome and grow, to denounce boundaries until we can't fight anymore. We're bleeding as one; with broken eyes and healed hearts. And as the rain falls and our lips crash, we can almost taste the wate022
broken selfShe bulldozed over you like a nuisance house in a perfect suburban neighborhood Nothing left but a pile of debris, begging to be disposed of. Your soul remained strong, bruised but left standing like the strongest steel beam You never deserved it, your beauty was untold and unheard. She will never capture your essence, her underlying cruelty could never withold the passionate intensity that radiated from your beautiful eyes. You emerged out of the cheap rented dumpster with your spirit finally free. Standing tall, the prize show of the upscale block. You have returned with vengeance, graceful and boldbroken self
01Interwoven. Watch it ignite; He lit the sky on fire There has to be only seconds left until it all comes plummeting down on her Unexpecting, naieve, careless. Falls. smoldering and interactive, embraces the embers whipes the ashes on her eyelids It's all beautiful tonight. Lit up. He carries the gas can and book of matches in his hand It holds the keys to his heart Anger, relentless, ambivalence Extinguished. grey surroundings, she stands there in full color. yellow, orange, red, pink, purple Refreshed, tears flowing, abandoned by the one she loved01
Retaliate however you wish, but bottom line, if I decide to have the last word, I will. And I promise they'll be the loudest.
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"Take my hand and walk me to the end..."
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