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Between You And What I Would Prefer

Whatever success you believe you have acquired,
Obtained and have?
I am glad for you.
Really...
I am.

However...
Do not ever perceive what you believe,
Adds to your attraction...
Suits me.
It may do that for others.
But it does nothing to excite my appetite.
I am not motivate by traps like that.

You see...
Having something that is real I can feel,
Means more to me...
Than your ability to socialize pretentions.

Maybe others choose to snuggle up,
To whatever it is that you may give.
But if given the choice,
Between you and what I would prefer?
I'd take a cold beer.
Without question!

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Without A Need For Others To Interpret

You claim to know what it is that you 'see'?
And still allow yourself to disrespect it?
Either you don't know it for what it is...
Or,
Your perception of it is not grounded on fact.

You claim to know what it is that you 'see'?
And still allow yourself to disrespect it?
Either you don't know it for what it is...
Or,
Your perception of it is not grounded on fact.

And perceptions not ground on fact,
Could eliminate what you thought you had...
For someone else to appreciate,
With a knowing what it is that they have!
Without a need for others to interpret.

'Hang in there! '

No. YOU hang in there.
That's your expertise.
I have a life to live with doings to be pursued.
With no intentions to swing in the wind.
Or be linked to a ball and chain.

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You DON'T Have To Accept It For What It Is

See it the way you want to.
Call it what you wish.
Hop on one leg and do backflips.

Bling, trinkets and obsession with possessions,
Have changed in purpose and value.
Overnight this has happened.

And if you are the type that clings,
To the ways of yesterday...
It is going to be especially difficult for you to see,
A reality you have never embraced...
As it had been,
Rapidly change its significance...
In the minds of those who accepted it,
To have moved on to a higher consciousness.

Leaving you permanently cemented like so many,
In a concrete state of disbelief!
And whatever that belief was or had been...
Whichever way you want to put it,
Does not exist!

And you DON'T have to accept it,
For what it is.
And this 'may' bring you 'some' relief,
As you stubbornly face the days ahead.
You 'DON'T have to accept it,
For what it is.
You never have.
So...
What difference does it make 'now'?

Suggestion?
Do what you normally do.
Ignore the facts.

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Patrick White

What I Would Say To You

What I would say to you if you were near,
if this definitive namelessless that walks me down to the river
to add my tears to the flowing, to sit on my rock
and stare at my self in reverse on a throne of water
enrobed in my star-dazzled solitude, setting fire
to poems I never wanted to own,
every burning lily of paper floating away
like another crown I've set free
from this domain of air and shadows
to seek its own regency, its own unknowable moment of shining,
weren't the eyeless oblivion that engendered us both;
I would say to you in the pyres and the petals
of these wild wounded swans, in the black down and ash
of these exorcised ghosts, in the dream wakes
of these poems that confess their love to the flames
with every exhalation, with every feather of smoke
gone to smudge the sky of the stars that brought them here
in the form of a man, I would say,
it was always the hive of your silence
that was the fairest likeness of you, the bluest honey
rarer than night, I've ever tasted.
And I'd try not to talk too much,
letting the fish jump for the two of us,
and the winged serpents of the luminosity slip away
like things not said into the water
and I'd draw you in under the bough of my arm
that was never much of a yoke
as if you were the fruit of an astounded tree,
and hold you a long time in the vastness
before I turned to kiss you for everything
and fall down back into the silver grass
to make love to you on the moon.
And you in my arms again, your cheek on my chest
your leg across mine, my hand, a wing of tender caresses,
I would mingle blood and starlight
with the wine of your body and being
like a chalice lying empty by the river
that has brought us both to drink from one another
like the deer that will come out later from the grove
to drink from their own reflections. And gestures of life and death
would flutter through me like the red-winged blackbirds
among the scepters of the cattails,
and I'd want to thank and accuse the incomprehensible sky
for this night of being human long enough
to understand its brevity is its beauty
and its brevity goes on forever like you and I,
burnt poems, wounded swans, lovers, indelibly.

Life is suggested to us, never proclaimed,
like the course of the river, as the limbs of the fallen oak
look as if they're trying to swim, and one poem
more enduring than the rest,
floats downstream under a frozen elbow
raised to take the next stroke,
and with a final flare as it comes to the end of itself
levitates up into the air and disappears like a buddha
into the absolute perfect emptiness of an enlightenment
that grasps at nothing. Form
is emptiness; emptiness is form, and the poem
had a good death I suppose as a lifeboat in flames,
and though you're not with me now,
we've never been apart, as the shadow of an unknown bird
lands on the water, and then another,
and I think of them as you and I
arriving somewhere together out of the sky and the night
and the bright vacancy
between the sidereal knots
in the nets of the constellations, to drift among the stars awhile
weary of flying, two poems back from the dead.

And I wonder what love is, knowing
love is I wonder what love is,
as the fireflies flash their assent,
and the cars pass in the distance on highbeam,
and the frogs spring away from their flints. And I come here
as much for the island that spreads the stream
into the waterlegs of a woman
like the orchid of her sex, as to be alone with myself
like a wharf deeply saddened by a thousand farewells,
to launch my fleet of poems
like the blossoms of the abandoned orchard on the far bank.
I like being a child alone on the shores of things,
turning the stones over, lost like a fragrance
among the whispering flowers, ruling my loneliness like a stick, .
and I've always asked questions no one could answer,
awed by the fact of being here at all
under stars I can name like personal friends, but here,
everything's got a mouth of its own to answer,
and the answers seem more timeless for being left unsaid.

And I'm never as old by these waters
as I am anywhere else, and the dusty apricot of the moon
you told me to watch as you would
is always so much more on this undulant black mirror
than a window will ever be able to say to a man at a desk.
There's a birch and three willows
and the third of the three is you
dipping your hair in the water
as if you were trying to root in glass.
And it's no surprise to know you know how
to drink the whole river in a single gulp
and swallow a whole star with your eyes
in a single glimmer
the way a solitary dropp of water
at the tip of the tongue of the stargrass
entirely fits the entire skin of the sky
because I already know how you can consume the whole of me
from the nightsong in the flight of the bird in my voice
and from a single hair of your head,
or the eyelash on your cheek
that is all that separates us now,
from the ashes on the last breath of a single burning poem,
so I can be here with you as I have always been
on the other side of death
where everything in creation
above and below this river of night,
from the furthest galaxy
to the dragonfly on my right
is expanding like a lily of fire into us,
as if we were the emptiness that receives the light.
So it's easy to know where it's all going;
releasing these little fire-boats on the stream,
raising themselves up like the breathless flowers of a dream
rooted in the infinite depths of the knowing,
it's always, like birds and stars and fish
been flowing into us.

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At The Best Of Your Ability

Do what you do.
And do that,
At the best of your ability.

If you are seeking an assistance,
To create or develop your initiative...
You are not doing what you do!

You are trying to find a way...
To waste someone else's time.
Hopefully it will be someone like you,
Who doesn't mind having a lot of time to waste.
And searches for more of it to procrastinate.

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Do What You've Gotta (8 Years Ago)

Do what you've gotta
Cause you've just gotta do what you've gotta do in life.
Cause I'll do what I've gotta do
I don't give a damn what you've gotta do
but I will say I'm so... you know... sick of you!
I used to say I loved your eyes,
your smile and your laugh, but I lied!
now we can take seperate paths
cause we're more than through
your not even my mate
so leave my life so I can, ... concentrate!
on what I've gotta do, where I've gotta go
if some guy sleeps with you, your not mine, no!
cause our love sparkled for a long time
but we lost the sparkle we lost the shine
but looking back I wouldn't turn back the time
cause we were like the sky without the blue
I'll forget you, try something new, just continue
cause we're given the choice do what we whatta
we will leave each other, do what we gotta.

I'm just forgetting everything else in life
and just doing what I've gotta do.
Just doing what I've gotta do.

This was one of the first ever things I wrote
it just made me laugh but forget the forced rimes
and forget some of the silly slang
I said gotta and whatta on the last lines!
But it doesn't matter cause they are long gone times
but one thing has come from it which is not bad
cause sometimes you've 'gotta' go back
you've 'gotta' go back to find the fire you once had.

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Dance, Dance, Dance, 'til You Can Dance No More

As I drove 'cross town today
To get my Holiday shopping under way
With my car radio tuned in
Classic Rock - - let the dance begin

On comes a Don Henley from 1985
- -'All She Wants to Do Is Dance'- -
Up comes the volume
Down comes all four car windows

Take that you hip-hoppers
Wish I had my old speakers
From my '66 Malibu
Then the lyrics struck me

Maybe I've been watchin'
Too many presidental debates
Maybe just too much CNN
Twenty-four hours a day

I have no idea if this is what
Henley was trying to say
But given the state of America's
Foreign and energy policies

Our refusal to sign
The Kyoto Protocol
Ratified by 170 other countries
To reduce greehouse gases

And our nonplused reaction to that
And the six-year Iraq War

THE IRAQ WAR - -? ? ?
It's our war
Bought and
Paid for

Its cost to date in U.S. dollars
If relevant to you $469,509,480,910
U.S. troups dead
A very relevant 3,865

I said I'm no sure who Henley
Had on his mind
When he wrote and sang
'All she wants to do is dance'

All I could see in my minds eye
As I drove on
Was my Uncle Sam in a dress
Dancing and wantin' to party

Thats' what Don's song was saying to me
War's in a Surge mode
Demos first 100 days
Are long gone

'And all she wants to do is dance
Rebels being rebels
Since I don't know when
And all she wants to do is dance

Molotov cocktails the local drink
They make 'em up right
In the kitchen sink
Carzy people walkin' 'round with blood in their eyes

And all she wants to do
is dance, dance, dance'

We're busy getting ready
To dance through the Holidays
Macy's and Wall Mart
Already playing Siren's song

And all we want to do is dance
'Never mind the heat
Comin' off the street'
All we want to do is dance

And make romance
We want to party
How did Don know
He'd make me pull over

Park my car and listen
To his refrian
And suddenly
Not feel like dancing

**November 17,2007**

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Patrick White

What I Would Say

What I would say to you if you were near,
if this definitive namelessness that walks me down to the river
to add my tears to the flowing, to sit on my rock
and stare at my self in reverse on a throne of water
enrobed in my star-dazzled solitude, setting fire
to poems I never wanted to own,
every burning lily of paper floating away
like another crown I've set free
from this domain of air and shadows
to seek its own regency, its own unknowable moment of shining,
weren't the eyeless oblivion that engendered us both.
I would say to you in the pyres and the petals
of these wild wounded swans, in the black down and ash
of these exorcised ghosts, in the dream wakes
of these poems that confess their love to the flames
with every exhalation, with every feather of smoke
gone to smudge the sky of the stars that brought them here
in the form of a man, I would say,
it was always the hive of your silence
that was the fairest likeness of you, the bluest honey
rarer than night, I've ever tasted.
And I'd try not to talk too much,
letting the fish jump for the two of us,
and the winged serpents of the luminosity slip away
like things not said into the water
and I'd draw you in under the bough of my arm
that was never much of a yoke
as if you were the fruit of an astounded tree,
and hold you a long time in the vastness
before I turned to kiss you for everything
and fall down back into the silver grass
to make love to you on the moon.
And you in my arms again, your cheek on my chest
your leg across mine, my hand, a wing of tender caresses,
I would mingle blood and starlight
with the wine of your body and being
like a chalice lying empty by the river
that has brought us both to drink from one another
like the deer that will come out later from the grove
to drink from their own reflections. And gestures of life and death
would flutter through me like the red-winged blackbirds
among the sceptres of the cattails,
and I'd want to thank and accuse the incomprehensible sky
for this night of being human long enough
to understand its brevity is its beauty
and its brevity goes on forever like you and I,
burnt poems, wounded swans, lovers, indelibly.

Life is suggested to us, never proclaimed,
like the course of the river, as the limbs of the fallen oak
look as if they're trying to swim, and one poem
more enduring than the rest,
floats downstream under a frozen elbow
raised to take the next stroke,
and with a final flare as it comes to the end of itself
levitates up into the air and disappears like a buddha
into the absolute perfect emptiness of an enlightenment
that grasps at nothing. Form
is emptiness; emptiness is form, and the poem
had a good death I suppose as a lifeboat in flames,
and though you're not with me now,
we've never been apart, as the shadow of an unknown bird
lands on the water, and then another,
and I think of them as you and I
arriving somewhere together out of the sky and the night
and the bright vacancy
between the sidereal knots
in the nets of the constellations, to drift among the stars awhile
weary of flying, two poems back from the dead.

And I wonder what love is, knowing
love is I wonder what love is,
as the fireflies flash their assent,
and the cars pass in the distance on highbeam,
and the frogs spring away from their flints. And I come here
as much for the island that spreads the stream
into the water legs of a woman
like the orchid of her sex, as to be alone with myself
like a wharf deeply saddened by a thousand farewells,
to launch my fleet of poems
like the blossoms of the abandoned orchard on the far bank.
I like being a child alone on the shores of things,
turning the stones over, lost like a fragrance
among the whispering flowers, ruling my loneliness like a stick.
And I've always asked questions no one could answer,
awed by the fact of being here at all
under stars I can name like personal friends, but here,
everything's got a mouth of its own to answer,
and the answers seem more timeless for being left unsaid.

And I'm never as old by these waters
as I am anywhere else, and the dusty apricot of the moon
you told me to watch as you would
is always so much more on this undulant black mirror
than a window will ever be able to say to a man at a desk.
There's a birch and three willows
and the third of the three is you
dipping your hair in the water
as if your roots weren't enough for the glass.
And it's no surprise to know you know how
to drink the whole river in a single gulp
and swallow a whole star with your eyes
in a single glimmer
the way a solitary dropp of water
at the tip of the tongue of the stargrass
entirely fits the entire skin of the sky
because I already know how you can consume the whole of me
from the night song in the flight of the bird in my voice
and from a single hair of your head,
or the eyelash on your cheek
that is all that separates us now,
from the ashes on the last breath of a single burning poem.
I can be here with you as I have always been
on the other side of death
where everything in creation
above and below this river of night,
from the furthest galaxy
to the dragonfly on my right
is expanding like a lily of fire into us,
as if we were the emptiness that receives the light.
So it's easy to know where it's all going,
releasing these little fire-boats on the stream,
raising themselves up like the breathless flowers of a dream
rooted in the infinite depths of the knowing,
it's always, like birds and stars and fish in the flowing,
been going to us.

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Your Ability To Screw

I'd rather have you betray me with treason,
Openly to get it over with.
Than to learn...
You've been sneaking to sleep with me,
Under sheets heated.
To then discover from a friend,
That's just a part of your process...
To unify the community.
I'd rather have you betray me with treason,
Openly to get it over with.
But then again...
That is exactly what you have been doing.
And I was only focused on your ability to screw well.
Who knew,
No matter what you did I still wouldn't care.

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I Have Been Doing This For Many Years

Who am I to say,
What will and will not take place...
In my life?
The one I consciously live,
Inspite of outside distractions?
I imagine it is my ability to convince myself,
My brain and all that is attached to it,
Has empowered me to think.

And as incredible as that may seem...
I have even made my own decisions.
Without placing blame on anyone else.
And believe it or not,
I have been doing this for many years.
And at times feeling much alone,
In my quest to do more of it!
With a hope I don't get arrested for attempted daring.

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When my love did what I would not, what I would not

When my love did what I would not, what I would not,
I could hear his merry voice upon the wind,
Crying, "e;Fairest, shut your eyes, for see you should not.
Love is blind!"

When my love said what I say not, what I say not,
With a joyous laugh he quieted my fears,
Whispering, "Fairest, hearken not, for hear you may not.
Hath Love ears?"

When my love said, "Will you longer let me seek it?
Blind and deaf is she that doth not bid me come!"
All my heart said murmuring, "Dearest, can I speak it?
Love is dumb!

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If You Have Been Given The Opportunity

IF you have been given the opportunity,
To be invited to view a bigger picture of life...
That includes you,
But for some reason...
You are no longer tha main topic of it?
Grab a hold onto this opportunity.

You may discover a different world,
You had no idea existed.
And others like yourself,
Finding the useless need...
To adorn rose colored glasses.

Getting a much wider vision of life,
And how the experience of living it...
Can benefit with a more rewarding purpose,
That redefines your identity with clarity!
If...
You have been given that opportunity.

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What 'Fit' Would I Want

Identity?
I've had one for so long.
All my life,
I have lived to perfect it.
I don't get upset with those with none.
Those who prefer to turn away and run...
If confronted!

Identity?
I know who I am without question.
Acceptance I don't seek.
Not from those
Who believe my identity
Might leave others afraid to speak.
Those familiar with others,
Who shuffle along with stances weak.

I have no problem,
Being me and that might offend.
'Too bad! '
'Get over it! '
Nothing else or more is there...
I care to share with them!
What 'fit' would I want,
If that which I enjoy...
Provides me comfort?

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George Meredith

Modern Love XIV: What Soul Would Bargain

What soul would bargain for a cure that brings
Contempt the nobler agony to kill?
Rather let me bear on the bitter ill,
And strike this rusty bosom with new stings!
It seems there is another veering fit
Since on a gold-haired lady's eyeballs pure,
I looked with little prospect of a cure,
The while her mouth's red bow loosed shafts of wit.
Just heaven! can it be true that jealousy
Has decked the woman thus? and does her head
Swim somewhat for possessions forfeited?
Madam, you teach me many things that be.
I open an old book, and there I find
That "Women still may love whom they deceive."
Such love I prize not, madam: by your leave,
The game you play at is not to my mind.

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To what shore would you cross

To what shore would you cross,
O my heart?
there is no traveller before you,
there is no road:
Where is the movement,
where is the rest,
on that shore?

There is no water; no boat, no boatman, is there;

There is not so much as a rope to tow the boat, nor a man to draw it.
No earth, no sky, no time, no thing, is there: no shore, no ford!

There, there is neither body nor mind:
and where is the place that shall still the thirst of the soul?
You shall find naught in that emptiness.
Be strong, and enter into your own body:
for there your foothold is firm.
Consider it well,
O my heart!
go not elsewhere,
Kabîr says: 'Put all imaginations away,
and stand fast in that which you are.'

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What Incentive Would They Have...

Those upper crust need not be butter uppers.
You or anyone else will not find them,
Trying to impress with mispronounced quotations,
Used to address the interest of those captivated...
By proper etiquette or ivy league schools selected,
To attend at the benefit of their well dressed children.
Not when one can afford,
To buy 'who' and what they want to satisfy whims.
Not them!

What incentive would they have,
To make attempts to publicly flaunt their wealth?
Folks like this can claim to own the air others breathe.
And to pollute it if they chose to do it,
The moment they decided to do this to leave...
If anyone dared to believe,
Their doing it was a joke!
And to impress anyone who insisted,
What incentive would they have to do this?

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Losing You

i need you in my life i know that much
i can feel it more with each touch
yet i am pushing you away
knowing youll leave me one day
you dont deserve me you deserve better
someone whos true and beautifully clever
i wish i could have you to hold foerver u are my world
i wish i could always stay your girl
i hope what you say is true
cause if you leave theres no getting over you
your the best thing thats happened yet
you make my heart beat right through my chest
you held me when i needed it the most
you kept me safe and warm tight and close
im afraid youll disapear like all of the others
im afraid the love thats growing i will smother
please stay dont let me go and break my heart
its you i need now to keep me out of the dark
my life will end if you leave
everything inside will start to bleed

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Do You?

Do you feel the tears that fall from my face?
Do you see the trail they leave?
Everyone of them has purpose
And a very good one at that

Do you also lay awake at night crying?
Do you also feel that you have to much stress right now?
Well i do, and i hate it!
Why can't we be together right now?

Do you want to end your life?
Do you want to disappear without a trace?
Cause I do!
And I want you to come with me!

Do you want to be together forever?
Do you want to be happy?
I do and it's only going to be with you!
I have tried to live without you, but I couldn't do it!

Do you love me enough to live and be happy?
Do you know that I love you with all my heart?
I will never leave or abandon you!
Cause i would be a fool to leave you!

Do you ever wonder what life would be like in our future together?
Do you ever wonder what life would be like without me?
I have and it sounds great!
But i can't live a second without you, or i would fall apart!

Do you know how it feels to be in love?
Do you know how it feels to be ripped apart from the one you love?
I do, because i look into your eyes and deep into your soul!
I do and i can't stand one more second apart from you!

(6-27-05)

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There Are Many More Like Me To See

Is there any 'particular' reason why you question me?
Any reason at all you question my integrity with intensity?
My experience and acquired wisdom you detect as delusional.
Or believe me to fantasize the real issues to minmize?
Why?

Is it that I do not expose wounds or scars left by obstacles?
Am I not reflecting enough pain from a suffering done,
To buffer the sounds of groans I've numbed...
From the taking of drugs or the drinking of alcohol,
And thrown out of local bars when I've gone too far?
To be seen stumbling around until I fall and discovered bawling?

I've been through all of that.
Long before you began to probe with xrays and radar.

Is there any 'particular' reason,
Why you address me with disrespect?
Or feel free and okay to express indiginites you think I'll accept?
Is it my appearance, where I live, speak or choose to dress...
That you perceive me as being someone less who's beneath you?

OR...
Could it be I have an identity you don't often enough see?
And you...
From what you have observed from others to view,
Have been conditioned to treat me like dirt?

Well...
I hope you're prepared to be traumatized!
Because there are many more like me to see...
Once the veil has been removed from your tunnel visioned eyes,
To shock and surprise.

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Patrick White

I See You In The Eyes Of The Rain

I see you in the eyes of the rain
and in the broken aspirations of the swallow
that hit the windowpane dead on.
Fire that no longer burns.
Water that no longer drowns.
Earth that no longer receives.
A gust of air that no one breathes.

I see you in the tender, green tendrils
of the wild grapevines clinging to life
like the last plank of a shipwrecked lifeboat
washed up on the shore of the moon.
The most bitter farewells are those
compelled by understanding
to cry a little in the open doorway
and leave as if there were nothing more to say.

Words lightyears beyond communication.
Metaphors like burning bridges
that never quite make it to the other side.
And o how gentle an eclipse comes
to a lover's coltish eyes
when it's time to say good-bye
and if you're a bad man, it's revenge,
and if you're good, it's a sacrifice.

Good-bye, get out, be gone,
I'll live on in my palace of lonely windows
like a man with class in an hourglass
and I'll write faceless songs
to the passage of time as autumn approaches.

Leave me now to the pain
I must wrestle with alone
like an angel in my way
that knows I don't have what it takes
to pull up stakes like a heretic
before I burn for the mistakes I made
on your invigilated test of love.

Once I feel like a loser again
I know I'm at home with myself
and I can feel the clouds laughing in tears
as I get around like rain.
I loved your body like a wishing well.
You loved my brain like an occult spell.

Three afterlives of a star, once you left me
holding the medicine bag of your absence,
I named a desolate street after you
like some kind of municipal gift
to the run down ghetto of a sub-prime heart.

My pain is consoled by my art
like a weather vane is comforted by the weather.
I ghost write the lyrics of the storm.
I incite riots against the norm.
I blood my poems like spearheads
in a wound that never scars the moon.

I shall be the nightwatchman
who makes the rounds of the zodiac
inspecting doors and windows
that are steadfastly closed to him
like lilies in the festering gene pools
of the idle rich in their bridal tents
spawning into money like goldfish.

I shall be an eagle at the extremity
of my wingspan and soar over the smoke
of burning cities like a cinder of freedom
in the eye of a failed revolution
and I will not lament my own extinction
when my starmud settles like a constellation
into the hearsay of bloodshot mirrors.

I will linger in precipitous heights
then shriek like the paper airplane of a poem
down on some bumptious homing pigeon
that was promised a comfortable flight
from here to there, until it was
snatched from the air like a pillow fight.

I will do this because I can feel the glee
of my talons sinking into hypocrisy
like the three crescents of the moon
with an eyrie full of skeletal snakes
that look like a pit full of twisted combs
without any meat on their bones.

Liars convince. Communicators convey.
It isn't what I say. It's the way I say it
that makes all the difference to the meaning
that tones me like a moody chameleon
resonating with a tuning fork of colour
that flickers like a photo-op of lightning
trying to get a glimpse of itself in the mirror.

And then I'm an illiterate divinity student
with a heart as big as an orphanage
full of baffled pilgrims that have lost their way
crutching through the labyrinths of the divine
on a cross that walks them to the end of the line
like the rapture of an apocalyptic anti-climax.

I talk to God about you and she talks back
like a comprehensive alibi for the way things are.
She's got a scar as big as the smile
on the dark side of her face she keeps
turned away from me like an embarassed moon
she doesn't want to reveal to anyone.
But I can see it in the rear view mirror
of my infernal lucidity leading me away from her
like an atomic Sufi reversing my spin
in the charged particle field of my happy sin.

I walk on the wild side in cowboy boots
in a truce with the shadows of Zen
that says a great general may establish peace
but that doesn't mean he gets to enjoy it.
And I'm resigned to the sternness of my discipline
like salt to the earth, like a sail to the wind,
like a ferocious heart to a gentle mind.

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Do Not Wait For Others to Live Up to Expectations

I've learned a few things...
With time and age.
And what experience brings.

One major lesson,
That took a long time for me to accept!
Do not wait for others to live up to expectations.
Yours or theirs,
Suspected or professed.

Time will move on and leave you in regret.
That has been the best lesson yet,
I have learned!

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