If only we knew
RUMI would never have been born.....
Time lends him a shoulder of legendary
years hence since he's gone

O Rumi hear my heart
My soul slaps me...
can I ever be another Rumi
ever like thee, tell me
O Rumi

I lose friendz
all of 'em in the walk
of wilderness of time

sad to say without any reason or rhyme

Tell me friendz,
If my love alone is the reason for my crime
then tell me also
how with moderna kinds of friends
I must
CHIME...

When was the last time U ate?
can U tell me what day this is?

the sun is trying to find the angles
in the cut glass tumbler
amber refractions rising like a day
aurora
poorly blown popcorn ceiling
catching the shifting ice
warm neutrality
illusions of safety
like dust
no passage
trails grown stale
and kinder with loss

dear depression, 2/7/15
every time I hear your name
I get squesmish. every time
I see you I cry. every time
I'm reminded that you wont leave
me alone I feel trapped.

You ask for forgiveness
While sticking the knife in my back
Crouched down, waiting
For the next attack

Every step I take
Is on broken glass
Bleeding; watching
Fear I cannot fake

Your words are insulting
Every threat I hope is the last
Your dilusions twist me
Suffocating me in their grasp

Alas, no one can hear me
Your voice is too loud
I am fading, losing my grip
Why can't you let me be?

hacked my way
she said
I was sleeping
crawled hunkered down
haunted
her arm is across my chest
her hips tucked against me
the heat woke me
feel her breasts full upon
my back
the thin quilt
the low light

she wants to be a part of my
life so bad
so I let her in
make me happy
the television scrolls its happiness
the vintage laughter on the walls
old 94' Saturday Nite live
re runs...

Trump
Russia
Lines drawn in the street
the culmination of echoes from our past

The lines being drawn in the sand
when will we ever understand
there is bloodshed in our street
Send the troops home

There's no good reason for them to roam
these are desolate times
We have settled for ill faded rhyme
the resistance is enormous

I'm sick as I've been tonight,
and our voices rise,
the volume climbs
an octave.

Walking through Wynwood in Miami
seemed to bring some levity
some clarity
some red and blistered feet.
But coming home
we set an expectation
for the house sick traveler and his wife.