End The war

Photo By: Kris Berrios

Into You

Everyday I walk past myself
Falling from lost leaves that scatter
Scatter across my soul

A forgotten match that strikes forth to you

Sudden to a sweet red kiss
Thrashing through the doves

Bound by sheets through sheer in and out of wet time

And earning that last deep and deadly kiss

Escaping into you

Backwards American

I’m a backwards American
What does it mean when those who shun the desolate meaning of torture
Look away brushing the lint off their dark blue suites
I’m a backwards American
Living within a glory that has no sun
A fading light that falls across the eyes of children
A fading light that falls with every solider falling onto the hot red earth
Hot red earth

Looking for that day
Our daily bread
Washing away the hate and the lies
Open your mouths and take the wafer
Washing it down
Washing it down
With bile

I’m a backwards American
Watching everyday
As behind closed doors
Behind red oak doors

Words with a smile
A dark black smile

As the crow flies over our heads

As the winds blow through our hair

As a baby is born

As we die

As we make love

As we drink from the cup

As we end

Not understanding why

Fascism is a feeling

Don’t stick to the arid dreams of decay
Thinking about your nostradamus nightmare lie
Who become the factors of our own demise?
Setting fourth a reality all to common to the bible,
How then walking up and down skidrow
How then walking through the streets of New Orleans
White trailer city under the thoughts of the forgotten
In a refuse society of the have knot’s
Fascism is a feeling
It’s like a virus
It pours into your rectum
Spreading out like fingers through your insides
It devours your sense of reason
The unknowable
You just start to believe.
Your function as a body
As a heart
As a brain
Soon starts to blacken and decay
So when the battle cries sound
You come around and lend the shell of what you once were
Over to what you have become
And then when you sit
Across from concentration camp 1,2 and 3
You lean up against a wall
And cry for the now
And for the should haves

Poker Night

The cigarette smoke rises above the poker table
3 am
Open sores and open wallets
A puddle of money
Washing the floors
With greed and hunger
Every hand is breath
Every tick, tock, tick
Of the clock gives soundtrack to the night
With hangdog eyes
And keen sense
The players wipe the small crystaline beads of sweat from their brows
4 am
The night moves forward like a slug leaving it’s long wet and slipper trail
I look up to my father as I hold the groceries in small brown paper bag
A carton of eggs, milk, chocolate chip cookies, toilet paper and some turkey meat.
I tug on his shirt like any 9 year old would

“Dad” I whisper.

“Mom is going to worry.”

He shoos me away taking another puff of his desire.
Never taking his eyes off the table.

Self

I’m not your blanket of the absolute
I’m not your falling feigned heart
I’m the coward the pity
I’m the masturbated
Fantasy of a broken dream

Over and over
Craving the day
When the tough comes easy
And the easy tough

8th and Spring hard sunny winter day
No rain of inspiration or rain to cleanse the air
Somebody got shot today.
Somebody lost there everyday

Walking through a Murakami world

Trying to see my true self in the mirror today.

i dream

I dream of the day when stormy tears dissinagreate like sand.
When the hope of the poor inspire the change
The cardinal eye of justified hope
Bleeds through the thoughts of broken hands destroyed by the hammer of deceit.
A Japanese whisper
A mountain of despair
The road along the highway swallowed up all those many more
Raping the posterior question of desire
And honoring the hangnail bloody stump of society
Gives me a fuckin headache

Don’t sit and honor the wicked
Don’t feed them from the bile within.
Strap up your pride
Take control of your acid reflux of regurgitated lies.