This Man's Burden pt.1

I
sat
teetering on the edge of my
stupid
ego,
a highchair propped up precariously, lifted by

pats on the back and

hastily told stories of
likes and dislikes and

superficial commonality,
looked at her...
her eyes saw but didn’t see,

for

they were

forging beginnings & endings

before the tale was told....
i
knew many of her issues

and felt helpless to aid her in defeating her demons,
and
i know people can be unfair
and
i know they can hurt,
but my male mental is to keep rolling,
her’s is to lash out....

hurt me...
this time without
vocalization,
unlike many times when

i was the subject of a vent session,

the succession of events that followed,

didn’t help
OUR
plight,
my bandages from previous wounds still weeping,
just like
her eyes,
I’m afraid....
afraid i cant reach out & touch that
place in her heart,
that touches her mind,
lost to me years ago...
i lost my band during a clash of ideas,
she no longer wore hers soon after....
i evolved a shell of sorts to shield me from those daggers,
but
i left her out in the cold.. and

i cant trace my steps back 2 her,
i carefully lean back in my highchair, and

wish for a restart button,
That’s not reality
....an escape?
That’s not reality,
we've crossed the thin line between love & hate so many times,
we have its location saved on GPS,
where is the poetry i felt in those lips?
can it be so gone so far away?
I’m
almost pleading with my pride to turn aside for
one second,
i just got it back
.. unnatural,
and i know that her way
has to be found by she who walks it
before she can walk back 2 me, fully,
our situation
more like an arrangement of convenience,
a look at my walls reveals
old 12inch vinyl records
and

posters of
Caribbean islands

and
graduation pics of my babies,
vicious white houses behind picket fences,
boats acquired for retirement outings,
most of the images are faded..
the air is smoky,
the ceiling is spotted,

the plush carpet
worn to the hardwood floor...
climb off my chair to reach out to
her
...the figure
...odorous wax
... my legs give

Be Easy My Soul

Be Easy My Soul
I long for
dense coastlines,
black sand beaches,
surf rinsing my mind clean,
I want to touch what the sky reaches,
I just want away...
with my conscience on mute,
no strings attached like a prostitute...
i'm tired...
I pray not to have my path set right,
but a change of pace toward a new colored light,
tired of blue colored light...
ekg'z show my heart beating out pain in morse code..
dot-dot-dot-dash...
away from the jungle in my head that are the dense tangle of
emotion trees,
& moral bushes,
common sense fruit,
do whut i gotta do creeks,
dat run backward & I
left my paddle somewhere,
when,
last week?..
I hear music but cant replay it,
songs but can't sing,
my choir is a cacaphony of
misey, & I

keep askin

for it all!!
wtf is my problem?
guess I dont learn too good..
this trail I walk runs in circles...its only 10miles long..
so around and round I plod
with nothing gained but more jungle,
my legs hurt,
my feet pang,
my nose bleeds from the migraine
I keep thinking I caused,
I look in the mirror & see the Shadow Man..
Be Easy My Soul..
im tired..
so tired

Amid a Blur of Colors

Amid a Blur of Colors

my mind dwells in the rinse water of a painter's studio,
my reasoning less sound and stark,
less reds or blues more purples,
and

half mixed concoctions,
stress like liquid thinner,
my resolve dissolving,
so where before i had purple
now emotions give my person too many shades 2 choose from,
ah!

They choose ME!
what to do what to do when black & white lend their essence to
bright primary logic &
birth hybrid reason,
beautiful on there own

but
so hard to match,
I so need 2 b refreshed,
lest the colors i detest dry & mar my picture,
Pray the the artist 2 rerender my abstract into something i can comprehend,
so now the green trees & houses with chimneys are
swirls of thought & color,
& my thoughts definition is merely
YOUR perception of the full..so now
reasonable issues no longer base my images,
Degas gives way 2 Dali,
where is the artistic hand who will
solidify this emo-esque existence or
who will embrace this WhirlWind of "huh" in their frame of acceptance,
& display me on the wall in response saying
"I do understand,

ur hand i will steady, ur heart I will ease?"
when will the 1st bold stroke be made?

Build Me...The Dreamer's Prayer

Build Me a happy place, from which I'll never have to leave

damn

I still can imagine Eden, green leaves and trees

Build me a Dream that I never have to awake from

safe in a fleshy hold, nightmares locked outside the doors

Build me a boat that floats outside on the water

just for me, float me from the lake to the river

down waterfalls to the sea

Build me a verse without "alas" place my ilk next to Shakespeare

I don't need the fame, I just want you to HEAR

Build me a castle with the warmth of a cottage

a better mousetrap, a legacy that deserves homage

build me a job I'm in love with

build me a love I can deal with

build me a heart with a teflon cover

but the veins run thru, and

to the true, it's uncovered

Build me a Truth that's not immersed in lies

im tired of trying to decipher shifty eyes

Build me a guitar with strings gilt of gold

with magical ballads that reminisce on their own

build me a song that makes the World reel on it's axis

Build me a story that I'm not afraid to relate

Build me a treehouse that sits on Olympus

Where I can sit and converse with Midas about not being Tempted

Build me Forever, in the eyes of Jah

Build me an Hourglass where the sands Loop in the jar

Build me a peace

or just a piece of peace

or a piece of peace of mind

Build Me

LSD

The Pen Ran dry, only Etching deep Crying lines of Blankness on the paper,

the voices started Moaning again, the Faces push thru the walls

the Sweat smells like Sea Salt, Dripping from my face, Wash my face in Blue Seawater

Look in the mirror

Short Dreads writhing like Snakes, Water dripping from my face has turned Red

Congealing Like Blood

the Paper screaming for retribution, Trees and Brush with crows in their Boughs

Spring up into my living Room, I fall into 4-foot mud Pits

on my way to the Paper, Climb out, I'm nearly Screaming for a Release

Grab the knife discarded onto the kitchen floor, "don't do it", they say, knife to Wrist

the Pain is more like a Burn, the ink spills from my Wrist like blood, easily forming

Legible Script on the Page

It flows without Reason, Without Remorse, it Dries instantly, the trip is Over,

I dry Heave

Next Morning

Awake in a pile of my Own Words

LSD

untitled

My Sword Lies

Bloodless by My Hand

Dull,

For I

Forgot to

Maintain

It's Wit

I AM FOR THE BLACKSMITH TODAY!

I Long for a New

EDGE

ON LIFE!

Inspiration...The Spark

THAT SPARK

Used to Brighten the Streets Where I Lived

In Pitch Black Swampy Blues I

Dwelt in Comfortable Warmth

That SPARK Outshone the Moon

Troubles

Always threatened It's Light But

I Believed in that SPARK

And SHE Believed in ME

But

Hopes and Dreams get Waylaid

BY

Pirates and Reality Shows

And Bush's WAR

and

Failed Love

and

Failed Love

and

Failed Love Hurts

and

The SPARK,

SHE couldn't Take It Anymore

and

SHE

Slowly SMOTHERED Beneath the Baggage

I Am Looking For HER Desperately

For Without HER I am BLIND

I Have Naught...BUT

DARK