Calculated Risk

The world is fucked,

          You are cut from the cloth

           Of a broken man,

           and a woman,

Born into imperfection,

 what are we,

to expect,

Lodged between a sea of expectations,

And the impossibility of those dreams,

We settle into cracks,

In between two fractured pieces,

Of pavement and earth,

       A hobble,

        staircase to

           our dreams.

            The heavens pity,

                Looking upon

                     A sad


Carry on as unprepared carillon,

          Gone are the carefree days,

             Stressful nights

             Never ending shifts


The unresponsive mornings will stop someday

    Is that the only weariless sleep we are allowed?

                 Or is resting upon our laurels

                            More peaceful.

Seek thy hallow resting

         Dig claws deep into soil,

          take root  and grow,

            meaningful actions,

                                    one thousand butterflies take flight,

                                    cherry blossoms dancing in the autumn wind,

                       a hand held for the first time,

Release beauty into this stagnant world.



They looked on with a certain bit of horror,
not the type that comes from sadistic curiosity,
there was general concern in their eyes,
ours had been tainted from years of exposure,
a young angry socialite scolds her mother,
the wrong shoes, and an old outfit perhaps,
and the rage of an old testament God,
she coerced and spit and rained obscenity,
onto her trophy mother 18 years her senior,
the one sided battle raged on the omnipresent screen,
no imperfections just lights , sound and color,
the two wretches may as well have been there.

Notes scribbled onto thin screens and nonphysical devices,
Pity and disgust reigned in the minds of the onlookers,
“Did we come from this?” and “Do they do any good,”
Questions and judgments spilled from the young crowd,
“Yes!” it is through action that we were able to get to this point,
There were far greater people in times before these two existed,
The good done cannot be trumped by a few years of regression
“hundreds of years of progress got us to this point” said the professor,
He smiled and asked, “What can we gain from this?” no volunteers to answer,
For they all saw was frivolous waste and eccentric bouts of overwhelming anger,
They knew of none of these;nothing was wasted not even light from the faintest star,
Technology and capability does not make an advanced civilization,
It is the mindset of the people, the culture , the societies ,
That is where the progress must take its biggest leap,
For without a mindset that enables growth,
Man is doomed to a state of repetition.

We watched God give birth to stars in an instant sharing in the majesty of creation,
And in the next instant the universe snuffs out the seemingly eternal flame of another,
Impossible Skylines screaming into the sky being looked upon from hundreds of miles,
And vehicles that don’t fly but seem to move matter around them instantaneously,
Men wrote stories about how we are now living and yet they were still so wrong,
The richest man in the world spends most of his fortune on bettering society,
The poorest amongst men is able to provide for his family and have dreams,
when his children will go further than and change the world even more.
I implore you children move towards progress with frightening speed,
you are never too old to learn something new, the explorer spirit is
endemic to our species but more importantly it is key in our survival.

In the Eve

The Nocturnal skyline finds itself spilling over a glittering cityscape,
Van Gogh would have happily painted this scene onto a naked canvas,
The chill in the wind wraps itself around everyone within its grasp,
Most are out and about congregating amongst themselves,
An endless array of clubs, bars, and lounges populate opposing streets,
Some collecting warmth from one another, and others hoping to do the same,
Hoping to find an astrological match for at least the evening,
I’ll pass, walking alone preferring the company of the essences,
The spirit of this place is accompanying me at the moment,
walking the crowded sidewalks without intention or urgency, yet,
heavy and distended with thoughts , they will be my mistresses this eve.

I grow under moonlight,
The impropriety of my age manages to sneak up on me,
And I ask myself if it is wrong for me to be wasting my youth on ponderings?
Squandering it on thoughts; ideas that may never be solved in anyone’s lifetime,
I look around and notice that the city has swallowed most of its citizens by now,
Now alone in the streets, was I going to sing and dance like Gene Kelly?
Sadly there was no precipitation to speak of , just a savage biting cold,
Maybe I’d post up against a wall and sadly reflect on love lost and times past,
with cigarette in hand staring down at pock marked, gum encrusted side-walk,
A facsimile of Ol’ Blue Eyes himself, a prototypical cool that is timeless,
The wind toppled a few stacks of old newspapers beneath a bench,
I watched for a second as the papers were yanked to and fro.

The streets weren’t completely empty the light post illuminated the streets,
Some with a burnt auburn others were shades of light lavender,
I was momentarily transfixed on a cruel building stabbing into the night sky,
Like a picket fence for giants the skyline at times made the city feel like a fortress,
I ventured onward the quiet was palpable it was alive at times, menacing even,
A man sat in repose by himself not unlike me, except he had nowhere to be,
He was already where life had felt it fair , I look into his eyes momentarily,
I catch a glimpse of a life etched out onto once smooth skin and a heart full of hope,
Hardship and pain were now the only things he has to hold onto,
I give him what’s in my wallet and force a smile and saunter off into the night once more,
A speck of sand in a sea of dust.

Can,Tank,or Us?

Technology is paralysis,
An anesthesia of the mind,
scientists say we are getting dumber,
it would be more comforting to say lazy,
give us the optimistic illusion of an easy fix,
our phones now think for us,
our problem , elimination of the need to think,
there is no longer a need to do or provide,
it is all done for us in a prepackaged manner,
the overproduction of life-sustaining commodities,
the under production of work ethic,
elimination of the middle man,
we have stripped away process ,
and gained instant gratification,
momentary satisfaction of primal urges,
the birth of modern greed.

With unlimited potential,
we graze the edge of eternity,
as we plumb the depths of an endless abyss,
communicate in ways once thought impossible,
in the span of a few rotations we have grown,
a collision course towards the brightest light,
yet still held back by clawed fingers,
pointed teeth and eyes that gleam
a snarl a call to the past
a return to simplicity.

From the sonnets of Shakespeare,
To the epics of homer,
And the Cantos of Dante,
We have proven nature wrong,
But it is not outside our nature to cooperate,
We look within and beyond ourselves
We are both mirrors and windows
The Savage and the civilized
we walk a sliver of a tightrope,
Inches from actualization and obliteration,
we are the bastard children of Janus,
Idiosyncratic savants at best.

They point at our capacity to think,
the usage of tools in accomplishing tasks,
our vivid displays of intellect….
They say that’s what makes us human,
not the creation of art,
the diffusion of culture,
our capacity for love,
an earnest willingness to believe,
or a keen eye that looks on with curiosity,
the use of tools does not define us,
our intentions and our want to create does,
in fact the spirit of man is in the process of creating a solution,
the artifact for which the solution is resolved is only a part.


The Rough Draft
Ten words down the line the L in the second paragraph begins twitching and moves,
the letter crawls all across the page interjecting itself into words unfamiliar words.
he rubs his eyes to see if there is any truth to this mockery of form and logic,
unsurprisingly it moves with lithe ,freely forming new and exotic sounding items,
finally it attaches itself onto “isten” apparently taking the scenic route back home,
the newly formed “listen,” something he felt he hadn’t done in God knows how many years,
all the words that cling onto the inside of his skull and only grow with each day,
his head always feels full, his ears ringing, and his heart beating with anxiety,
sweat pours out from every pore on his body as cold as mid January,
the first step in a long process completed; time to edit.

Version 2.0
Word wrangling made easy, they were all over the places pulsating moving,
a paper now teeming with life,
they writhed making an ungodly noise,
and like maggots they squirmed with an ungodly liveliness,
luckily for him it was only a few letters nothing to substantial,
and there was a pattern to the movements they were all consonants,
so for the most part they would attach to vowels,
and each consonant feared treading beyond the dreaded second paragraph,
his nose was completely blocked, vision blurred, hearing muted and touch was strange,
his sense were dulling maybe fatigue maybe he was losing it.

Frst Draft

Where did my eyes go, sorry aye meant “I” the first person singular pronoun,
u no, the one denoting self or lack thereof in my case, sense they are gone…
hmm no(w) (w)here’d my “K” and “W” saunter off to??
All trails point back to, botulism.
They are less like maggots now and more like ants there is a sentience to them,
they are organizing and trying to break me I know they are,
and by disappearing and reappearing they are doing a damn fine job,
I’ve burnt every blank sheet of paper in the house just to be safe,
I am feeling better and I am ready to start on the next part of the paper if it will let me.

Second Giraffed
ths s nt wht t pprs t b
my delete button is acting screwy,this is not what it appears to be,
it all came to me in a stt of flux, state of flx, something is wrong I feel lik…
I feel like i am disintegrating that’s better I feel somehow this problem is resolving itself,
and by itself I of course mean me,with a handful of fingers pointing at the protagonist,
starting at the very fabric of my being and unfurling me completely in a neat pile of yarn,
maybe neat is an overstatement a lack of coherent structure would be a better adjective.

Final Laugh
I watched a play from my room today my brother was there and i felt like he was worried,
I could no longer taste the air not could i pronounce the structure of visibility…
I was laying in bed watching a floating T.V.
Scene One: flashed across the screen.
(E):Sorry doc I came as soon as I could,
(D):not a problem Ed I figured you would,
(E):What happened Doc should I be worried,
(D):the prognosis is okay but I’m still glad you hurried,
(E):elaborate maybe the details you could save me for another time is he alright,
(D):simple not quite complex in fact so sit down you should and take a breather relax,
(E):exhaustion fatigue just explain to me why he wasn’t breathing and his eyes could not see,
(D):my first instincts yes but test after test was inconclusive ,
(E):so these answers are still proving to be quite elusive?
(D):these are matters of the mind not my specialty on a brighter note he is perfectly healthy.
(E): now what?
(D):Here’s my card call if you need anything, in the morning I have some calls to make,
(E): Where?
(D): Psychiatry.

Surely You Jest

Four self reflexive lines of poetry, a metaphor in a sense
or within a sentence in this case,
minus the books hence the irregularity of the proceeding,
not to be confined and shelved , rather to be exploited
left to die an acute case of profuse bleeding.

Hope is leading you down a tunnel where the light is in a state of receding,
exceeding the optimism of a moment the day is delayed,
you should stop reading if you are looking for sense to be made,
it’s a fragile facade and a hapless charade on your part,
maybe naivety on mine but we are both a fault,
a structure half hazy full of constant divergences and a state of endless tumult,
were you expecting results, halt, hit the back button this is the wrong place,
speaking of space the planets are never aligned.

Multiply the stars totality and you have a fraction of my mental selves,
building lies in my great workshop busy as Santa’s little elves.
slaves perhaps but their smiles have you fooled,
and with their cute little tools and pasted on grins,
blood boils beneath and they expose all their sins,
the darkness rages within like a series of collapsed stars,
and in their toy cars lay your demise full proof and fully plotted,
they cross all their T’s but leave their eyes oddly un-dotted.

In a Weird Way

Drop all preconceived notions,
leave experience behind this time it is of no use here.
There aren’t questions or answers to speak of,
just a sense of constant discovery and infinite wonder,
finding out something new each time add to the mystique,
i always try to arrive with brand new eyes and ears.

My mind has become so useless in this place,
a purposeless tool I have in my possession,
it only serves to make holes in a place devoid of imperfection.

I cupped my hands together and closed my eyes ,
and felt the air streaming along the hairs on my arm,
The wind danced amongst a forest of gentle follicles,
it then grazed a seemingly jagged and endless desert.

Its always cold there,frigid,pure, and sharp …
The warmth left this place long ago and it still feels right,
a place to inhabit and a place to absorb ,
this is a place where one detaches from all things.

The sounds of rustling paper and sweeping polar sands,
the shuffling of words on migrant papers,
accompanied only by the whispers of a dehydrated tundra.

I could see it and maybe it did not make sense at the time,
perhaps it wasn’t there for the benefit of being understood,
perhaps it was a reminder to just remain in its presence.

A closet at the edge of the universe ,
a storage space for all the leftover beauty of the beginning,
this place is a refuge for what we fear and don’t understand,
the lobby and sitting area for creation.

As the world begins shifting around me,
the water colors outline everything
and begin filling in the conspicuous emptiness.

The colors fill in everything except the void,
it remains there to serve as a reminder for change,
it balances and destroys , so new can be.