mirrors

like a blanketed illusion for a magician eyes
a synopsis for a lifestyle filled with alibis
a diluted form of living drawn for rat like mice
you built the hanger for your backbone hung with fishing line
and to say the least, that's fine by me; for a midnight conversation
toned by plastic teeth and those rabbits pulled from hats - straight to
their dying breed, they licked their chops and died alone from all the
poisoned tea.

it all gets lost.

the motion of everything tangable in an untangable world of dreams

my mood. somber like morning yet sharp like a fresh cup of black coffee.
my feet. they're uprooted from this lonely world like old broken fence posts.
my soul. tattered as torn sheets on a laundry line.
my heart. it reads blue, black and red.
my eyes. they're as open as every book they've never laid eyes on.
and me. i'm just dancing in the shadows of these oh so manufactured lifestyles with these silk skinned bony fingers transcribing my thoughts on plastic keys to this oh so hectic world.

the pulse of this dancing city

imagination station.
a park bench and some autumn wind.
wet pebbled concrete.
yellow taxi cabs.
the last pedals of a late summer rose ground into the sidewalk.
aluminum street lights flickering in a gray sky.
large medal green dumpsters surrounded by lakes of urine and malt liquor bottles.
business class heels an black umbrella and a hounds tooth jacket.
sewer caps steaming.
pink and blue neon.
bird shit.
flags.
and the pulse of this dancing city.

do wah diddy, diddy DUMB diddy DOOO!

hey! you ever think how fucked up it is that pretty much every single thing that can be exploited in the world.. is exploited? it's a carnival life and we're all the clowns... all for money, power, religion and the reddest lips from kool-aid?? and the funny thing is that when you die - you die. all your shit, materials, belief systems, clubs, ignorance, etc... that shit just hangs, it rots and the world get's more fucked as more folks chase the flashing lights. and you... you're dead. no one gives a shit about it except for your groupies... because the world, the birds, fish, even your so called friend commerce. it all keeps moving. climbing up the ladder never really matters unless you're doing something positive and real. and good show on those positive types the ones trying to keep mama nature "life's mama".

so chill out with the hamster wheel lifestyles and watch children be. or watch a bird fly around. especially in a city. a birds just trying to survive. watch them. not that shit on CBS. a crow is a Survivor. you'll learn some shit. they don't know shit about life. they just live. until you give them shit. same for little kids.

anyway. be nice to one another, create your own ideas, art, love and share the shit for free. don't hold shit over peoples heads and just be rad. seriously. go see some shit that people have to share for free. it's rad. jump out of your cages and throw your clam shells back into the ocean. the natives had it all right before the white folk came here and fucked it all up. money, power, religion and the reddest lips from kool-aid. come on kids. we're better than all of this jazz.

untitled

my soul is cleansed like a native baptism in the water of this northwestern coastline.
a breath away from societies commercialism's, i bob like a seal in the swell traveled westerly.

my mind bleeds towards the eagles above me, soaring with noble grace like natures watchmen.
moon hovering above the distant eastern cascading mountain tops.

i am one with it all. alive and innocent. something so far away from our everyday everything's.

yet this blessing only realized once returned to my home in this modern metropolis.
so far away from the northwestern coastlines. so far away from the breath of natures near untainted everything.

a city's kool-aid for the fashionably hip

weight loss, whiskey, cigs, or pills
cocaine, attention, some dollar bills
religious dictation of scandal like thrills
magazine lifestyle found on capital hill!!

the freeze

oh man!

man, sometimes this place can bleed ugly.
ugly like rich kids spoiled with complaints of made up problems.
problems like prime time television.
television full of made up dreams.
dreams of something bigger and better.
better get away from their convenient lives.
lives of the minimum wage rock stars.
stars could you take me away?

seasonal gusts of something textured

the autumn leaves go well with amber bright stop lights
they go well with the smell of rain on dry pavement
well with romance, well with sunrise and midnight moonlight
they go well with any single instance of change

duped on the dream of the dipper

cut out of manilla in folder like form

broadcast for comedy, i run towards the door

with a constant effort for a broken cause

who the hell am i to judge?

but the baaa's they baaa and the lemming jump

and the carbon copies they give me the mumps

and i ain't no symphony and i sure ain't no monk

but i'm far from a creature addicted to sum

and i may be a cynic or a living slump

but i can sing and dance to my own beat and drum

it's a simple life for an imbalanced bum