I wanted to be
Understood
To be irreplaceable
But even the mightiest of loves
Is adrift between illusion and fantasy
The chasm too wide
The silence too deep
You wanted me to be whole
You wanted me to be confident
You wanted me to be stable
But I’m none of those things
I’m vulnerable, kind, sensitive
And there’s nothing worse then being gentle
In a world stilted on false bravado
The world rewards
Angry bitter people
Such people
Wear me out
Drain me
Suffocate me
I’d prefer my solitude
Ya see
To be a poet
It requires that you have
Muscles in your soul
You told me to grow up
But I said why
The world’s full of fucked up grown ups
The road becomes too long
Time blurs
Love’s a vapor
I let it all go
I let you go
I was being dragged
So, I let it all go
Broken World
The Phases Of Writing
1. Fame makes great writers drunks and madmen
2. Fame makes good writers self conscious and reclusive
3. Fame makes okay (commercial) writers rich and predicable
- Anonymity makes horrible writers drunks and madmen.
Be advised, being a drunk and a madman does not make you a great
writer—but sadly, it often comes with the territory, see rule #1 and #4.—
If you don’t find any of this shit helpful, then go live your life and write about what you hear, see and feel, then have a taco—-
Helpful Hint
“Try and make the pretty stuff sound sad and the sad stuff sound pretty—” V Uriz
Feel free to substitute your word of choice in place of the word “pretty”—depending on your mood—
Teller of Tales
a crazed woman cut my heart out of my chest, she then carelessly disassembled it and put it back together all wrong, it was slippery with blood and hard to handle, so she shoved it back inside me where the organ for caring and giving a shit use to be…..these days I compulsively take my pulse in search of a rhythm, but all I feel is an occasional spastic fluttering in my chest, like a bird beating its wings against hurricane winds—and when it gets dark, it stops all together—
come closer to me, go ahead, lay your head on my chest, I’ll whisper, cause others may be listening—-at night those blues come stalking me, they peer through my blinds like some nefarious wide-eyed peeping Tom, leaving foggy predatory breath on the window pane—-the bleakness of it all tramples across the nothingness of another specter ridden midnight—I can feel my heart go still, like an unworn love left hanging in someones dusty closet, an addiction traded against a corrupted souls collateral, broken people warehoused like damaged goods, young kids with no fire in their eyes, an old guy going in circles on the metro for an as-semblance of company, the scent of morning rain on dirty pavement, damp leaves smoldering in the drizzle, the stench of alley piss—-time is blurring by like a whirl-wind whooshing past my car window on a Sunday drive to nowhere in-particular—-once again, I’m tired of me and how things get all twisted, I’m left staring into the futility of a gray weather beaten morning, realizing I’m no longer running from something, nor running to something—-I’m slowly being crushed under the ache that comes with knowing there’s got to be something better than this—-someplace—–somewhere—-cause this life is way to long to be miserable and far to short to be boring—its time I set that caged bird free, so lets get on with it boys—-
there’s too much pain in the world to believe I’m immune to it, or can hide from it—–or selfishly fear that I’m the only one being consumed by it—that would be a righteous sadness, the kind of sadness that beckons the lugubrious to replay a heartbreak love song over and over again. Real sadness has no soundtrack, no words, no explanation—-its like tree sap that mysteriously shows up on your hands and can’t be washed off—-
people always ask me the same question “Was that story true or made-up?” To be perfectly honest, I’m don’t know anymore. Most of the stuff I once thought was true, ends up being a lie or an illusion, and what I thought was fiction (made-up) is just an alternative version of truth or reality that I’ve failed to grasp. I’ve come to believe that what’s true, and what’s made up, is a predilection reserved for the teller of tales.
but I do know this, one day that little bird trapped inside us all will be set free—-
Paint me Black
Paint me black
Paint me blind
There’s a sadness inside
Only you could find
Love seems to me
A half written song
Promises of forever sleeping
Here then gone
I’m sorry for you
And all the things I’ve done wrong
Lets live, lets laugh
There’s no future living in the past
The song of silence
Erasing me from you
Pieces of nothing
Coloring me blue
Holding my breath
Counting to ten
Taking us to places
We’ve never been
———————–Love———————
Love lies
Loves true
Love forgets
Forgets about you
Love hides
Love pretends
Love starts
Then it ends
Love hurts
Love saves
Love crashes
Like a tidal-wave
Love runs
Loves brave
Loves in the words
We forget to say
Loves a vapor
Love is blue
Loves crying out
Crying out for you
Loves a joke
Loves blind
Love says yes
Then changes its mind
Love screams
Nothings free
Love made a fool
A fool of me
Loves a sinner
Loves a saint
Love is what it is
And ain’t what it ain’t
Love rumbles
Love shakes
Loves like a
California Earthquake
Loves slow
Loves fast
Loves a promise
That seldom lasts
Love burns
Love wounds
Love hides
In an ancient tomb
Love falls
Love fails
Loves heaven
Loves hell
Love burns
Loves hot
Loves mistaken
For the things it’s not
Love screams
Nothings free
Love made a fool
A fool of me
Loves a sinner
Loves a saint
Love is what it is
And ain’t what it ain’t
Desire Is My Address
I’m just a little bit lost
A little bit hurt
chasing my loses
for all I’m worth
Our walls crumble
In gods time
into a merciless sea
An earthquake swallowed us up
nothing left, just you and I
Desire is my address
An empty house of dyeing houseplants
I wanted more
More than anyone could give
Come on home with me
Show me what ya got
Take off all your clothes
And I’ll untie that reticent knot
We’ll never get what we don’t deserve
Unlearning everything
Shy innocence hiding beneath us all
The ocean feels me
The moon slow walks across the sky
Everything collapses into infinity
Into you and I
gravity pulls us into an event horizon
Somethings are irretrievable
Take the body, the mind will follow
Lately I’ve been thinking about tears. There’s a variety of tears. There’s the garden variety sad tears. There’s angry tears, mad tears, frustrated tears, tears of laughter, broken hearted tears, tears of joy, tears of gratitude. But the worst of all tears is the ugly tears. They come at night when hopelessness surrounds. They come in the hollow hours of timeless time, like a collapsing bridge between being to late to be evening and yet to early to be called morning. It’s the hour of shadows creeping though darkness, black on black.
Ugly tears come from a dark retched place deep within ones crumpled soul. These tears come out with this god awful sound of great despair and unspeakable sadness. It an ache that’s inescapable like a jagged knife ripping through bone and tissue. It’s a bad night that knows no end. It causes the face to contort, whence then wrinkle into a clenched fist. No words come out, just a high pitched sick whining sound, like a coyote with it’s leg caught in a trap. It’s the sound of someone choking on raw suffering. Everything is stifled and muted and of no use. All that remains is a wounded indescribable wailing. Salty tears trace down your cheek, strings of slobber drool from your lips.
It’s sick tears, its trying to not “let go tears”. Maybe it’s like puking your guts out. You heave and gag and feel your skin crawl. You feel yourself covered in a cold sweat. Why is it so hard to let go of the broken pieces?
But after the dry heaves subside, suddenly you feel relieved. Ugly tears wash the hurt away. Sometimes you have to put your finger down the throat of your soul and empty yourself out. There’s a knowingness that things can change. But ya gotta hold on. The sun is peeking beneath the horizon. You’ve made it through another mortal night. No more waiting on the sunrise. They say take the body and the mind will follow. Make no mistake, we all must fight to preserve our sanity.
Take your body to places that nurture goodness, kindness, a place where smiles incubate. Don’t be ashamed to shed your tears. To be alive is to touch all the emotional basis. Don’t be one of those who stifles laughter or hides their tears. Feel, Feel Feel. That is what it is be alive. Take your clothes off and sit in the sun and let it’s warmth and light replenish you.
Buy a harmonica or a Kazoo. Learn to play a ukulele. Be a storyteller, who surprises you with an unexpected punch line. Cause life is a punch line. Roll down your car windows and play some John Prine on your car radio. Let it all go, the laughter, the tears the brokenness. Lean into the day and wake up slowly letting the day quietly unfold. Enjoy your own company, be your own best friend, Most importantly is find reasons to smile=====take the body the mind will follow.
Democracy Lost
Billionaires paying no taxes
The presidents a felon
When he opens his mouth
There’s a rat you’ll be smelling
The truths a lie
Lies are facts
When listening to
That Fox news crap
4 more years
Of crazy drama
Republicans suckling Trump
Likes he’s their mama
Spewing hate and division
Gaining power like Hitler
Selling his brand
To the highest bider
America, America
What a shame
The experiment failed
Only ourselves to blame
No one spoke up
When they came for you and me
Now there’s no one left
To save our liberty
Bezos, Zuckerberg
And Elon Musk
Greed and money
In gold they trust
Call themselves patriots
Saluting their king
Kissing his ass
Like it’s a gold ring
Disrespects women
‘and gets kinda pushy
Say’s they can trust him
While he’s grabbing their #@%$
Hair colored orange
Replaces red white and blue
If ya piss on the constitution
He’ll pardon you
Repeat Chorus
Hero’s
Hero’s
And this is how it feels, now and again
Wet earthy scent after a rain
A sky destined to never return
Her warm breath whispering in my ear
More sensual than a kiss
Excavating lost passions
Outside the traffic snarls
Horns and sirens are unrelenting
Other peoples lives and troubles
Intrusive noise gives birth to city chaos
Strangers stare back
At me, through me
We’re all
worn-out
Heros
Misfits, lost in another days meaningless commotion
Revisiting past houses once lived in
The walls retain specters
Trespassing on frozen memories
Like a favorite movie playing in the back of my mind
Hearts pierced, souls tattooed
Everyone uniquely the same
Real life goes by undiscovered
Nothing matters anymore
A head full of shitty poems
Empty words dredged from the ether
Ashes filling my journals
Everything becomes
A reprieve
Or a lost cause
Sad Farewells

We leave little pieces of ourselves behind. And it’s those little things that comprise a lifetime. The days seem slow but the years go by like a hurricane, sweeping the days away like a zephyr. Time is a train with it’s dark tunnels and clattering steel rails. It rattles and shakes over bridges suspended between then and now, here and there. Leaves me wondering where am I going? Where am I meant to be? I’m a weary traveler staring out my window as time flashes by in a blur. The whistle blows, new passengers climb aboard, while others suddenly depart, unexpectedly leaving us behind——mumbling sad farewells.
Sweeping vistas lay across the countryside, cityscapes fall by the wayside. The sun tight ropes the horizon. The scent of damp fields filters through the open window. Oh, to behold the beauty of life. There are those who sleep thru the entire sojourn, drowsy and uninterested. Some choose to complain the entire trip. For them, nothing is a miracle—-they’re in a constant hurry to get nowhere.
We don’t always choose who is seated next to us, but be kind and considerate. This is how we make friends and find connections and compassion. People come and people go, love is happenstance, so keep an open heart.
We never know when the conductor is going to come down the isle and ask for our ticket. We don’t know when we’ll be reaching our last stop, our final destination. It doesn’t matter if you’re in first class or riding coach, we’re all on the same train, we are all riding separate yet together.
Some believe that the train track is circular and goes on forever. But the train track is linear and goes forward on a straight line. It keeps going forward undeterred, it continues, with or without you.
We are all passengers, moving through time and space. And the trip goes by oh so fast. Don’t waste a single moment. Before long the whistle may be calling you home.