Lone Cat

There is a lone pussy
Wandering in the night.
It responds to my call.
But my nightmare voice
Puts it on guard.

Where will its spry legs
Pounce its young body to?

Hello Creativity

Hello creativity,
Is your whirlwind blowing?

My dirty hair is ruffled,
I just thought that it was you

Some spidery fingers,
Have sifted through my hair.


Hello creativity,
Is your whirlwind blowing?

I feel you in my blood,
You have increased its flow.

My brain is ready to pounce,
While my angry vision blurs.


Hello creativity,
Is your whirlwind blowing?

My windmill shudders,
And its Unstable structure shakes.

I need you to be strong,
And snap the seams.

The Dry Well

How does one replenish the will's well? My irresponsible thirst has sapped its reserve. I pull on the rope, but the bucket comes up dry. I toss down a coin, and it disturbs the dirt.

Without my will's luck, my habits wain. Without my will's water, my humanity wilts. Without my will's well, my soul becomes limp.

Untitled.

The dank street is empty and hostile; the rich couple strolls on guard and unaware. The cars zoom by, poor and awful, as they walk with insecurity in their lost steps. They avert their eyes from the drivers' seats as they probe their way back to their elusive hotel. The dark has caught a hold of their survival senses, and the adrenaline is ready to pump.

But they are no animals; their unseasoned reflexes quiver uncertainly. I can see they are ready to run.

Will they meet a savage this dreadful evening, and be brought, low and ugly, to the state we're in?

My Insanity

Keep it leashed,
Heavily bound,
Heavily scrutinized.

Keep it leashed,
For it bares its teeth,
For it gnaws the leather.

Keep it leashed,
As it lunges lustily,
As it seeks escape.

Keep it leashed,
While its eyes roll,
While its body quivers.

Keep it leashed,
When it screams release,
When it mourns captivity.

Keep it leashed,
With its intelligence maintained,
With its creativity controlled.

Keep it leashed,
Though the booze infests,
Though the hold weakens.

Keep it leashed,
Before the world implodes,
Before my mind speaks.

Keep it leashed,
Because people are hurt,
Because bridges are burned,
Because earthquakes happen,
Because the fall is constant.

The Title

And so my youth slipped,
Into the abyss,
Though I knew not,
What was amiss.

My youth fell for miles,
While my upstart,
Heart,
Dripped with denial.


Until it hit dirt,
And lay,
Crippled and hurt.


From the cliff I stared,
Down at its form,
The things we shared,
Now battered and torn.


No longer young,
Or free,
I cast my soul,
Into the sea.


I washed ashore,
Alive,
And toward nothing,
I now strive,
While power,
Derives,
Bad honey,
From my hive.

Desperate and dumb,
My lazy fingers strum,
The stiff chords of fate,
That have failed to titillate.

Hubris and the Lost Romance

I never bore you,
Ill will or malice,
And you never became,
My golden chalice.

I wanted your love,
To merge with mine,
But left alone,
All passion will pine.

You're tiny but strong,
And sometimes wrong,
And your catty song,
Was depressingly long.

Your brain is large,
But largely fettered,
I hope to meet it,
When it's more weathered.

When you see the world,
With a clearer eye,
I will be waiting,
So please stop by.

My hovel is humble,
And my head does fall,
For the girl who came,
And destroyed my all.

But I wait for your knock,
With despair in my heart,
Because I know we won't meet,
Before you depart.

I give you my luck.
In every endeavor,
Your lovely hand rests,
Upon your life's lever.

You're awful and wonderful,
You're talented and supreme,
It is I that has loved you,
It is I that has dreamed.

I am sad that my lips,
Never fell upon yours,
In a world that is bent,
By lovers and whores.

The Dishes are Dirty

The dishes are dirty,
And their smell punches me dead in the nose.

The dishes are dirty,
And the water is running, gaining in heat.

The dishes are dirty,
And soapy bubbles fill the sink.

The dishes are dirty,
And my hands are way too clean.

For it was my clean hands,
That made these dishes dirty.

Untitled

They day is sluggish, my head is heavy, my eyes are droopy. Time crawls when you're low and tired, when life slows you down and crumples your frame. I feel antsy but listless; alive but useless; young but hopeless.

I walk on a dangerous path. The scenery that once excited me now fills me with guilt. I hang my head and stare at my feet. I can no longer tell if I'm gaining elevation. For my legs report no burn, and I'm too scared to raise my eyes.

It's gotten dark now. The temperature has dropped. I've killed time, but I know that it will eventually have its vengeance.

Untitled

Sensitive and light-hearted, they have the polite fascination of the child, but the willful wisdom of the well-lived. Their eyes hold kindness and affection. Despite their age, a deep courage exudes from their core, a strength time usually sucks away. Generous and eccentric, they are blessed by the unashamed innocence of the altruist.

They've been brought low but still fly high.

They traipse through fire but are cool to touch.

They dance with death but enjoy the evening.