thunderheads shake
tornados rattle
tumbleweeds roll

spit it out
do it fast and frantic
rant and rave
Kerouac the mother
slap your hot naked words down
like a drunken tyrant
smash your way on to the page

a bedlam structure
of bloody tarnation
segregation
elitism

ferocious roars
of highly imagined
atrocities
to be heaped upon those
who huff and puff against
this crushing rockhead of ages

papist smears
laying prostrate
millions of the gullible
hear ye
hear ye
he (we) will destroy all
but the Bethlehem box of rightousness

his universe
your tomb
in chains
no other way

so say these Bethlehem designed scaffold jockeys
from an ingenious structure of lies

remains of the day
ceremoniously discarded
at twilight's door

a glass of boubon
exiling the extraneous
'til night is no more

the dark calm
ignites a parallel world
I hope to explore

refreshing
recapitulating
a long lost chord

pennies pinched
red hot
roaring steel
hissing
squealing

thrilling
the danger of closeness

let's do it again!
here comes the local
who will be doomed this round
a nickle
a dime
quarters are out of bounds
tucked away
for the thirsty walk home
and recap

don't listen to the rabbis
no one can help you
figure it out
what do you want?
how do you like it?
delve into your sweet spot
dig yourself
do yourself
for better or worse
if you can't do this
you lose
no mater what anyone says

for better or worse
no one cares
those that love you
love you

reminds me of a joke:
a Canadian asks: what do Americans really think of Canada?
an American responds: they don't

so what do multitudes think of you?

out of silence
a piano voice
tinkling on the high keys
a repetative riff
content with itself
for now, waiting easily
calmly for change
it is an intriguing figure
but seems unsure how to proceed

how long is too long
before cracking wide
into grand orchestral space
colored and flighty
rearranging destiny
by the milli second

the world bends around my head
such massive gravity enforcing
the slow and plodding to fall
into orbit clouding my view
adding to the density
squashing me
hardly functioning in this
alotment of volume
mass hysteria by all my moving parts
I shall surely explode
a super novella of moans and groans
a brooding tragedy
darkness in light
death in life
my only grace
being a cautionary tale
do not fall into a self made grave
coldness, hardness, deadness
to escape entrapment

.
I would write of the universe
time
existence
life and death
but I've come to the conclusion
I know nothing of these things
other than
that they are

to describe even one of them
is impossible
so I can only write my feelings

"feelings"
touchy little things
always getting in the way
of each other

there is less truth known in this arena
than if I wrote a fictional compendium
on the shape and state of the cosmos

.
cardboard boxes
cartons carted
from here to where...
into storage
or shipment
relocation being the matter at hand

upon arrival
or retrieval
said boxes are summarily
slashed
gutted
squashed
trashed
or burned

sometimes though,
put into storage themselves
smaller ones into larger
to be stacked in a corner
on a shelf
in a new house
more than likely to be called back into
service once again