Old World Order

The winds are bringing change
carrying dust of decaying structures.
Dust that could blind
those entranced in the past.
Lessons learned
face turned
to the verdant plain
where new plans will be lain.
Potential to fill a spiritual abyss
we can be an oasis
within a desert of complacency
that, as rain drops,
we are changing
to a sea of morality. 
Education, work, faith
endowed with a sense of mission
from a vision. 
We make revisions 
to the world
with each decision
leading to serve. 


Before the Walk Out

Getting dressed slowly
she stretches like a lioness
with no reservations.
My body on vacation
I admire the view
that recently
was stormy weather. 
She slips into jeans
then crawls between me and sheets
pawing like a kitten
with the smile of a raccoon
as she looked up
from the dark of covers. 
I could tell
from the way she lied
when talking to
since she nuzzled against my breast
demanding a caress that fabric
“Let’s go out,” 
she purred. 
My eyes shifted 
to the raining outside.
She was 
the sad ghost of a woman
wanting to swim
in the same lake she drowned.

Why I Drink (An Ode to the Past I Was)

I smoke to get high
I drink for the taste
and when my taste gives out
I drink till pass out.
Cause I want to be rid of my sense
…but can’t wait for them to return.
Alcohol is poison,
but I’m trying to kill the depression
that resides inside of me.
The drinking, the getting drunk,
the waking and sobering up
are as close to me 
as the little things
like my rapping a past 
that sober me would never mention.
Or trying to kiss girls
that I had made as friends.
Perhaps for that reason.
It’s the experiences
between us that made me trust you.
…Maybe that is how I will die.
Vomiting and shivering.
I should have started to stop at 7.
But that was blasphemy
although 13 was bad luck.
In cloudy retrospect
I can’t remember where I stopped
though I began when I started to think.
…I don’t know how to stop that.
Not on my own yet.
In truth…
This is more than the drinking.
This is more than getting drunk.
This is more than the waking and sobering up.
This is a battle to keep your memories
while still trying to forget you.
I’m an imaginary friend.
I’m sorry for the lack of visits.
They were few.
You were leaving.
I couldn’t stop my life for that could I?
Should I?
For but a mere day…
why didn’t I?

The Grey of my Mind

Tell me the size of your eyes.
I want to devise 
a way to get inside
your mind.
Tell me
what will I find?
You and I
two of a kind
both blind.
Me in one way.
You on Sundays
though we were still learning.
So redux
Another redo.
This is everything
we’ve already been through.
Walking in a land 
Thinking of this makes me
This is reality torn
If it made sense
It was me pretending.
Like a cheshire cat
Your darkness is grinning.
Off with my head
to get ahead.
No sorrow or lust
you felt nothing instead.
I was wedded 
to you in my head
so i dreaded this.
I did not expect it.
These changing signals
made me feel epileptic. 
This is a minor stroke
but if I take a toke
I can cloud my mind in a cloak.
Then dream and pretend.
This is not as it seems.
Or the end.
It’s a testament.
To me, myself, and my memories
that I cannot get sentiments 
imprinted on the grey
of my mind.


Examining Beauty

Look at this flower and its beauty.
What has it done
to deserve the title?
Should the thorn
make me yearn for it more
for I now love it less.
I must confess
I cannot stand the uniformity of belief
without seeing what lies beneath.
Though it warms everyone
I do not admire the radiance of the sun,
diamonds in eyes,
silky black threads
that scatter as one lives
under white clouds from skies in a bed.
Why is this flower so called
only known for its beauty
and that is all.
But what is the reason?
Our minds committed treason
and we subscribed
to thoughts that aren’t justified.
Perhaps on the inside
the beauty is all the same
though its sad
that we concentrate on a name
flower, beauty, nouns bringing ideas
that few care to examine or critique.
But if each flower
is described as beautiful
is any flower unique?