Goodbye for now

Inspiration seems to have run dry and I don't see myself writing more in the future. Maybe things will change, it doesn't feel like it now. I look at what I've published here over the last several years and I can't tell you where all this came from. Inspiration, I had believed, was from somewhere above. Now I"m not so sure. These poems weren't meant as autobiographical sketches and yet I can see myself in many of them. This doesn't sit well with me and has been a discouragement. Thank you for checking out my work, this could all turn around, you never know, but for now I'm done.

alchemy (2 magnum opusi)

It was there
though I don't know how it got
I can tell you with a considerably high degree of confidence
of it's presence and location within
for I see myself practicing an alchemy
with thoughts deranged making their way
into the stew
the broth in the brew
into not one, but two magnum opusi
tweedle deedle dee and tweedly umbi
get 'em by
I see myself succeeding in this alchemical work
playing itself outside of me
and pretending it's a poem
This alchemical voice all too often silenced
before the pivotal motive of the book has been read
burning bushes it returns
and it is to this location I direct you
when I say I know where it is
and though I do not inform you
of the items in the magical box
when I pulled them from my hat
they were all there
they were all alone, crying, some with real tears
others substituting with expensive reproductions

I couldn't tell you what's in my heart right now
if you'd let me
I stand condemned, alone, leaving this
life atoned
I don't even know
It's full of ghosts and dead bones
filled with history and broken dreams
to the brim with emotion
to the extent
that a heart can be broken
I claim mind has been broken a few times
and it never crossed mind
how the last time was worse than the last time
and every time was just like that
So look out, I'm courtin' the jester
I'm on the hunt for a crime
I'm telling lies just for lying

and I am not distracted by the dramatic strains
of Franz Schubert's 8th symphony, ushering in
the dramatic while I sit and try to think
of something to say
and a way I can say it
with meaningless syntax
and dreamless taxed sin
that's the stuff I'm wallowing in
it's like gooey taffy, the color of Granny Smith
even smells like green apple, the kind God doesn't grow
in Indianapolis in the summertime
I'm assuming that's to imply
that apples can be found on each and every tree
when the magical season of summer is in session
and that there has never been a summer that has not
brought us much and more ever needed
never in need of anything more

I was that poet voice
took a liking to your mind
together we rollicked in forests
and made shepherd's pie on St. Patty's Day
and what a day, that day, Patty O'the Day
I gave you the words on this page
Though their eventual response be rage
Try to find meaning in them
I dare you
It cannot be donealc

Fate shows up late

Do you know
what is going wrong?
There was a time, you know,
You knew, you know you knew
You knew what you needed to do
to get by
but now you aren't so sure
Someone must have planted
seeds of discord
into the fertile ground of your heart
See how they have grown
See how they have grown
Over and Over
See how they have grown, over-grown

Now you know,
You know
the reason I've been singing
that same sad song all evening
you sing with me, too
Come on and sing with me, too
La la la la land, we are going to
La la la la land, we are floating to
La la la la land, we are never turning back
No turning back or ever even thinking we've been gone

We all know what's going wrong
We can feel it in our bones, we feel it
In our bones
Already told you there's no looking back
Say it again, it is worth being said
Violets are blue and roses are red
red as the blood that pours out of your head
pumping with the slowing pace
of your heartbeat
Lucky shot, can't shoot worth a damn
Must have been fate
though it showed up late
for dinner

LInes Etched in Desert Sand

This can't be
the end of things
the line of time etched in sand
disturbed by foot or hand

This can't be
an aspect of time
from moot point to mute point
no language demand

or experience recall
or innocence regain
sleeping, dreaming
never the same

Photoshopped Golem

The lighting
reflects from your porcelain skin
shaved, coiffed for perfection
accomplished via Photoshop
robot eternal
perfection, infused with spirit
except in the moment

wha a joke.
I heard someone laugh
he thinks the thing is human
hypnotized by the beauty in the face
he forgets to appreciate
he will never even know
just how close he came
to falling in love
with a figment of his own imagination

the idols, lined up against the wall
the people
take these abominations at face value
flesh and blood encompassing
hollow shells
dirty dolls

last kiss

forgotten tongue-play
betwixt apostate minds
that squander reality
for relatively small fines

licking taste buds
a gentle tug of war
between pixels and reality
for a small stipend more

sucking fingers,
soggy with saliva
and dust to make the stuff
of Davids and Godivas

spit co-mingled, tasted and swallowed
spit co-mingling with my brain
spit co-mingling on an airplane
this spit will drive you insane

that's why I'm sucking my fingers
I put my tongue in your mouth
I taste the Jolly Rancher cherry
it's been a favorite, no doubt
it's sour kick mingles with your spit
spit it out, spit it out
spit it out?
your saliva drips a colorful hue
i only wish to taste of it too...

Apostate! Repent (Part 1)

This was my life's work.
It's all I had going for me.
A head in a hand basket.
A knuckle-rust sandwich.
Stored neatly in a corner
Reserved for mice and maggots
Wrapped in used aluminum foil
Just as I left it
on that cold and only day
Far away from grey skies and blue turtle tails.
Most days I could barely concentrate.
Too much pressure.
Too many distractions
...and though I realized this was to be
The last stand of my memorys
I couldn't help but feel as if more than time was being wasted.

It's the way my brain works.
Nothing gets done.
I fall in love
with the thought of impermanence
until the cold realization
it's my own illusion
whispering away on the wind
no one else's... I fail again.

This beginning leans
towards the end
No indication
an anti-climax of sorts
and if there's a God in heaven,
if I haven't wasted all this life struggling against the weight of damnation in vain...
I will be redeemed in it's eccentricity

I've courted eccentricity
a blind lover
eager for the afterglow.
Expectations I've hoarded are staggering
They turn me into an eager handyman of souls.
An eccentric nature I've absorbed
Yet loathsome to me.
Craving acceptance
but damned the man who can figure me out.
It hurts so much to know I've missed you.
The signal resignation
I've been forced to grant normalcy.


Riding the speed of sound
Your command fills the room
How many heads turned
Looking for the Source
What was the question?
How did you know my name?
Her name, her name, her name, my name
Important words our parents used
To describe us

You must speak if you wish to be heard
First command respect
Next command obedience
Obedience to the power of a word
Don't tell me to read, I'm lazy with sloth
Read to me, let me close my eyes
And pretend creation is the purpose of the world
"Poets writing about poetry
I can't tell you how much they bore me"

The former word rides accompanied
One on the left side
One on the right side they fly
To the ears, the brains, the hearts, the soul
Speak it into being
Only one could
Speak it into being
Soon comes the day
Davar drips from my tongue
The air around me will turn from oxygen
To liquid to gel to something more durable
Inside this cocoon I'm walking into
I can manipulate all things
I can experiment with five, six dimensions or more
So that my cocoon
This eternal hibernation unit I've designed
And powered by my creativity
Is heaven
This cocoon, evolved brain
Is all I've wanted needed
All I'll ever need and want
Planted the Davar
Almost a century until it was ready
Blossomed now into
My beautiful reward

Laying back
Close the folds in on me
Only room for two
I lie in bliss
Waiting for you


Thoughts thoughts thoughts thoughts don't stop they won't stop keep coming unbidden don't stop try to catch one examine exhausting roll it over six sides to a die random molecular structure quarks misfiring


Gotta tell someone gotta tell you big plans for everybody just another bubble rising from the bottom of a Pilsner glass don't wanna over think this but who am I kidding I've already thought it over and decided I've already overthought it the dictionary is my friend Roget is my partner in crime

very little sense

...but I won't twist it or turn it, mold it or meld it, sing it or speak it, let it lie let it die let it be let me see...

A general rule of catharsis the recovery process is often difficult the changes it affords take considerable time to assimilate and this is not always a smooth process as one tends to gravitate