A presumed societal right to be alive
An assumed historical recognition of
Pursuit of Happiness
Unborn life has no liberty within confines
of a womb,
no pursuit of happiness on the path to
parturition as birth and this world
misery, certainty of death.
On balance, no question of rights
Not “one of us” to any
No haunting stories for company
First, do no harm
Then, do what ye will
Clear rules – simple, short, consistent
Unwanted equates to without value.
Mother Earth is old, tired, sick
of slatternly bastard brats
pulling her teats, calling rude names,
fucking her over and over
wouldn’t you be
sick of them?
How can I say:
I feel so much better about
my abject self, about
my desperation to understand.
Vampire. Resurrection without life.
Blessedly not required to kill innocent
victims. Soothing drugs for sustenance
Of course they shame us for caring,
taking a stand.
Of course they strike to topple,
to bring balance into question.
Politics, power, physics of electricity
-- of course corruption rules.
We need this chits to survive,
to have any effect on causality,
to be protected.
Humanity is far too cruel, to deadly
to face without sufficient funds
Losing my mind
I am more normalized
less of a target
It’s not about finding answers,
living better. Life’s about wearing us
so we die.
The good, the brave, the truly innocent
inhaling ideals like cotton candy get
Cynical old goats are required
to prevail well past sinking.
You look at me in disdain, seethe
or outright insults specifically to be mean.
I have never done a deed to harm you.
I have only lived as I am.
How can I be eager to support your cause,
to be inconvenienced by your
Every crevice, chink
filled in with disappointment,
inspiration will not shine through.
No impelling dreams,
hope’s dalliance with Spring
no more renews.
Sweet vibrant muse has died.
My cold heart bound inside,
no longer used.
Trees lusty greenery
Wind touch, trunk to branches.
Birds cry greeting in arbor breeze.
Endtime dreams of planet Earth.
We assume worth is ours to name. Act
like we’re more than a bored God’s game
or random plague.
Depression is an autoimmune disease
Parts of us attacking other parts --
isn’t that what we do?
How find the words to understand
that’s not what attack cells are for?
Am I able to manifest wizardry?
Imbue will with brilliant purit?
Dar to commit poetry as if language
equates to power?
Who makes those rules (track down the
loopholes) that shoves my coven under?
True law thunders human reptile mind.
Essential evil or good, not a question of
At apocalypse, know who you are.
Where we arrive after
murder of innocents is
no kind of paradise.
Please, be advised, all zealots of war:
bloodthirst is demonic lust.
always here for me
showing me how to be
defining my world.
Middle Earth middle week
Jupiter, Pluto, Sun
Beltane New Moon
retrogrades – be stillness
before the wind returns.
I hate based on anyone’s odious behavior
Hate is too important to squander
by mired anxieties
as if all we need is angry goading
to scale that jagged peak
to bleed for grand glory.
Whatever you want to say about
President Obama, at least he’s sane.
Strangely, that’s not a given.
Depths of loss, of emptiness
too slick with tears for climbing
Disappeared from space
So restful to never be
All Now extinguished
I’ve gone dark
since she’s been away
You truly ought to be ashamed --
forcing innocents to be pulled into this
evil, harsh and painful world
to hate and be hated like you
It is not only “Black Lives” that have been
to the point of unacknowledged homicide
Feasting on ooze of wounds long
old hermitic senses skewed.
Fuck ye cunts ‘n’ joysticks --
fuzzy skulls selectively babbling
no more lovebliss
rips of emptiness
Pride of proof – Poof
scattered tribe, globules
not yet within attention’s realm
I live in the beautiful, mystical shadows
This is not a home of fear, or
temporary abandon of lighter realms
Shadow encloses gently, silently in
eternal loving embrace safe from
sear of too bright light
words are meanings
whispered, screamed, modulated, prayed.
they suffuse sound with meaning,
structure pain into shareable expression,
not just uttered suffering.
when not sufficiently respected,
flung like deranged puzzle shards,
or primped into fashion, they may
fray out of simple recognition.
That too is meaningful.
I am not asking for your advice, platitudes
or smiling words to let you feel above
If you would truly give, then give your
time, you attentive ears and mind, your
warm hand of solace and support with no
thought but fellowship in this place of
No end in this living universe
Galaxies die and form
Tragedy Comedy Romance
in endless recombination
detriment of attention
to floods and flames, tags and
names, wages of fame,
doses of emotions.
Nobody, everybody, somebody,
aging bodies at every stage of decay.
No man knows [multi-gendered, do
-- all inclusive “they” or “we”.]
Visions, dystopic dreams, waterfall
And no, I don’t know yours or those you
Scabs of skin and memories. Unequal,
full beyond capacity.
Tell me a story, your story
from that overflowing bin.
Really, I am asking – Let me in.
And you, besieged with longing for
audience, as are we all,
won’t listen to my plea.
Overwhelmed in the screaming of
or opportunities chased or denied.
so tricksey; intimate
The essence of me as we.
The opposite of fear is confidence.
Never questioned acceptance
Conditionless clear-visioned love
as foundation of self.
Hillary – don’t get me wrong – I adored
back in the 90s. She was that earnest
idealist who fought for her beliefs.
But all the hard years toughened her,
made her more calculating.
She felt mean opposition and learned to
be wary (who wouldn’t?),
to fix her focus more practical, tactical
toward her own reward.
Bernie, he’s one of those old lovable 60s
radicals who never gave up the fight,
working each day for what could be,
always believing in we the people, in what
all could do, could be. He lives to hold
that shining possibility we want to call
America. Why can’t we all?
Crass absurdity translated as wild-eyed
Humor fast escapes
What else have we to do, what more sane,
than carry through always on what most
to every you? (And by “you” I mean the
me within our minds)
This aged heart, weathered, exhausted, no
solace of servitude.
The history of social behaviors must be
These are the rules we’ve searched for all
how to behave acceptably.
But (like the English language) rules come
that also must be learned.
And there are ever more split off
exceptions and special
circumstance never explicitly clear.
We’re meant to pick it up like measles (if
we hadn’t been
vaccinated out of harm’s pathology),
Some of us seem to be immune.
Yet that’s a bad outcome. Our own
If we all removed those masks we use to
pretend to be
acceptable, would we reveal such horrors
so oh please,
let us not have done this bizarre
Or would we find we’re not so different,
each of us different,
but fine on the whole?
If we spoke what we heard in our minds,
what might we learn?
If we reached out with real intention,
what would we feel?
Illusions so vital
protected at expense of unforced peril.
Experience a dream of each mind’s own,
how communicate to mutual trade in
and intimate regard?
Private wars of shield and sword further
worthwhile. What churns us to these
How might we better behave, believe,
Nothing to be done
No one to await
No one to do it with
No future, nothing forward
Pain expressed into anger explodes to
What is the root feeling you seek
from things, people, experience
You tell yourself want, need?
Identify, encapsulate, comprehending
you yearn to be, how you long to feel, to
root experience that leads directly into
Tendrils tease, wave in ascendant breeze,
with higher, ephemeral tools, social local
Democratic Socialism implies rules made
by the people, not some
bureaucratic stale state. If the people
want a modified freedom of trade
and innovation strengthened with strong
safety netting that none fall into
failed degradation, that marketplace
mistakes in business plans not result
in starvation on the street – but isn’t that
part of the original capitalism theory?
What the people classically desire is
freedom of self-determination to be all
can with the ability to move further,
forward, not paralyzed by fear of failure
equating to game over, real death. And of
course there are social goods and
services sane people can agree are better
provided outside of goads for profit.
idling -- 12/30/15-3/12/16
I explore these ragged lines, paint in
from forceps to reaper
explosion to explosion of unmapped
that left me limp, incomplete, drained,
yet still exploring