hey cool i like em! They seem really genuine. I use to write lots of poetry, I even performed and stuff. i guess i stopped.

i have this one i wrote, probably one of the last, which is also in letter form:

This poem is for someone very close to me who was taken away one night and sent to a place where kids' minds are forced into uniform cubical shapes in molds of dogmatic psychological punishment.

My Dear Friend,
There are those who hide alphabets in the corners of their lips and Morse code under their tongue
The ones who encrypt ransom notes on scrolls rolled into their veins
Those who walk through walls disregarding the lumps banged into their heads,
Those who laugh hysterically when slapped to the floor,
and yawn in the face of charging bulls
There are those who draw transparent maps on Plexiglas windows looking out onto endless mute walls,
and those who build entire cities in the air so they can destroy them with a breath for shits and giggles
There are those with blueprints to the trapdoors in the linoleum
There are those who must protect the contraband within them with
Technicolor veils of identity which they can change like so many TV channels
There are those who turn their cell bars into vaulting poles
'cause baby, there's a file in the cake
but that doesn't mean you should forget to lick the frosting off your fingers
You know the ones who tear pages out of the bible, fold 'em into swans and call 'em prayers
Those who look back on the pillar of salt and sprinkle a little on their gruel 'cause that bland shit is a sin
There are those who, when asked why they won't comply, will look you in the eye and recite pi to the thousandth digit
while simultaneously making small talk about the alignments of the planets,
spiraling chaotically like bipolar fireflies doing the Horah
Those with the power to either warm hearts or burn them to a crisp
I hope you are one of those, dear friend,
because a rolling stone gathers no moss,
and a spinning soul can be nailed to no cross

July 2004

here's some rambling i did awhile back.

Whiskey women and trail blazing adventure sparks the oil that lights the flame. Time tempted to spill over into unwanted machinations, the gears slicked and cranked at the ready to follow an ever winding road to oblivion. I sat up drinking thinking up this imaginary machine that turns gears into dreams. The lights of the eyes burn the hardwood floors of many moons and walked over the blue ones, yes much time has passed since I last left you hanging out the window to dry your tears, but before I could realize your raving algorithms, I thought I’d follow the sun and with angels in the outlets, I am electric. All charged like that wire you sold me while trying to stay alive. You snapped like a vine twisting in night’s wine. This is the vino that we drink. This is the uproar that causes panic to be dismantled…and we wait for the breakdown. The tenement windows lit up like fireflies and I’m still dreaming of a charged atom that has no force over the gears that have slipped past your eternity as the smoke of the engine hits your lips. I was wrestling with freedom, while you were wrestling with hopeless abandonment and trying to follow Rimbaud but got lost in the migrations of your own mind as you watch the moss grow old and grapes go sour. The green leaves shine in neon midnight and they are dying with you. I’m tired now that I’ve seen the steely gates of your laughter rising out of the sewer. A million pieces of me left on the ledge while you waited for the moon to jump. I shot arrows into diamond dirt and the asphalt you left behind. Ground in rushing to a reflection, a mirrored gaze cast in shadow with the heat of that engine and those gears. The smoke hit your lips and the dance begins again. The dance of a thousand nothings rolled into one because movement needs motive so the galaxies collide bursting forth with illumination of mind and mine was lost forever. So empty the pool that surrounds your deafening existence. Rise up from the last rays of an ever dying sOn. You know that your mood is that of hellish fire spread over hot concrete. And I am flying against the river of your discontent. I’m just feeling my way through the cracked metal, the shards of glass. I bleed over into moonshine and lick the amber from my wounds, while you ponder whiskey women, gears, atoms and the blue moon. You follow a winding road through electric angels, panic, and eternity. You twist in the neon midnight with a glass of vino in your hand, you are lucid as the smoke of that machine hits your lips, the dance begins again.