haemo

the truth tastes like blood
it drips from my mouth
standing still in my red shadow
my teeth are red
red like my rage

Judas kisses
wash my feet of the dirt
I walked through
the truth is still the truth
in outer space
and blood is still red
red like my rage

nooses smile golden loops
hanging like lies
smiling at me
but all I taste is blood

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Mortal

So it goes:
Life.
In out.
Nothing turned to something
and becomes nothing again,
legacies fade too…
There is hope
in knowing our diseased ideas
die too.
Eventually.
Pink girls;
blue boys.
Are these lies fixed?
Can we escape?
Are we stuck on this island?
Surrounded,
clueless.
Existentialism consoles us:
all we have are thoughts –
theories
to try control.
Adrift at sea;
deep waters,
shallow thoughts.
The waves rock the boat
and we rock along too.

An Answer To A Question Posed

As he sits down at the bus stop
and glances at his watch –
a bus pulls up.
He looks: B4.
It’s familiar, he’s seen it before
but he knows it’s not his.
When will the bus come?
Will it?
Waiting… For a bus
that might not come.
Feet start tapping.
Sighs start escaping.
Patience starts flickering.
The wind blows,
papers fly.
A napkin, stained, flitters to his feet
like a butterfly learning to fly.
“Love needs faith”
written in black ink across one corner.
A bus suddenly pulls up.
The doors open.
A hand reaches out.
His smile reaches in.
He takes his hand.
Bus U5.

Chocolate & Morphine: Satire of Society

The faded white paint peels perniciously
from these haunting hospital hallways…
Wards filled with beds filled with bodies filled with sickness:
a stitch in time saves none.

Disinfectant (the omnipresent ghost)
saunters around like a drunk,
making sure to get noticed by all.
Helium-filled GET WELL SOON! balloons
limply deflating among deflated bodies wearing
weathered blood-stained gowns.

Plump bags filled with clear liquids
stand slumped beside bedsides:
IV transfusions transfusing HIV?
Needles, catheters and antigens
hopelessly fighting these pervasive pathogens.

Death strolls around (cane in hand)
carefree and calm,
handing out chocolate & morphine
(accepted without heed).
He alone gets to laugh last.

Staccato beeps echo like wretched weeps &
hearts murmur their mumbles,
drowning among these malicious maladies.
Society?
Critical but stable.

Butterflies

Sweet creation
flittering above the river &
between the overgrowth,
floating, naïve to these contemplations.
Explosions of noise on those fragile wings;
the air tastes of dark blue misery.
Yet you’re so peaceful
in the Garden of Eden
before the Fall of Man…
Before Man became man.
Come here, sweet beauty!
Stay a while.

No, don’t try escape my clasp!
Here, let me
tear
those wings off!
Let me tear up.
Death begets Life;
Life begets Death.

Fly now, sweet thing, fly now!

my Parents

they raised me not to take
but to give where ever possible
my Parents
gave me everything i needed
i did not have to ask
my Parents
did not raise me with the back of their hands
but with the love in their hearts
my Parents
taught me to be helpful
and loyal to what I do
my Parents
were never inconsistent with their love
so neither am i with mine because
my Parents
taught me to have a mind and heart
before an ego or agenda
my Parents
will never leave me
even when they pass
my Parents
are the reason i will be a good parent
and my children will owe it to
my Parents
have made me into me
and i thank them
my Parents

Splinters

I give my hand
You stare at it
Green eyes meet look away
Nobody is perfect
I know
But I’m here for you
Don’t you see?
You can’t
You’ve turned the
Other way.
I tried to carry
Your cross with you
But you’d rather
Let it fall
And break into

Splinters.

Maybe heroes aren’t real
After all.
Maybe the cross we carry
Will be the last weight
That weighs down our
Hopelessly lost purpled souls.