i am tired

of being tired

and wanting. waiting.

its painful to move.

like the day after an accident.

smells make my stomach turn

like its mixing concrete.

maybe i can build a pier

then i could swim deeper without drowning.

and wave to the sail boats.

maybe catch the breeze myself.

Wild W. West

He goes by Wild Wild West

the steed he rides is the handsomest

his mantra is wild freedom

that is his one and only quest

so he rules the wild wild west.

I met mister Wild Wild West

and thought at first my luck had turned fresh

when my optimism was smitten

I found the gun strapped to my chest

I joined mister Wild Wild West.

I watch sir Wild Wild West

in his frustrated happiness

he kept his own till they were bitten

then let the vultures do the rest

this is the wild wild west.

I asked Wild Wild West

how he planned to win his endless quest

he said drink whiskey with your breakfast

and read your mother's letters less!

and you'll rule the wild wild west.

Damn that Wild Wild West

'cause I love my dear mother best

I then saw he was the devil in a wranglers neckerchief!

Damn that Wild Wild West.

if the sky were just lower

My father told me that i could be a flower

blooming by a jungle stream

but i've since moved far to the desert

and there are needles where the flowers might have been

if the jungle were just closer, then my fight might not be over

its a shame

a hell of a shame

that i'm wilting, and there has been no rain

My father said that i might be an eagle

raised with turkeys and fed down on the ground

well i know that i've been bathing in the dust bowls

roaming the edges of this sun bleached desert town

if the sky were just lower, it'd be so much easier to shoulder

its a shame

a hell of a shame

that i still gobble, to the call of my name

My mother showed me how the glories bloom in morning

then planted seeds deep down into my hands

but now the trowel that she so wisely gave me

is buried and lost somewhere down underground

if the earth weren't so big, then i'd sift for miles and dig

its a shame, oh what a shame

its a shame, oh what a shame

its a shame, oh such a shame

i'm a shame a hell of a shame

i'm a shame

God in my conscious

I feel comfortable with God, with the concept of God. I don't know what God thinks of my actions. I constantly wonder. I try to ask. If God's will was synonymous with my conscious then it would make things easier. Instead, my conscious has been molded by my surroundings and my parents. Which I do not regret. It has proved invaluable to my well-being. God cannot be synonymous with my conscious, unless there is no absolute truth. Environs shape a person’s conscious, we can be convinced of any number of “truths.” To maintain an identity of an incorruptible truth, God cannot be born perfectly present in our conscious because we are corruptible.

So we seek to perfect our conscious and at the same time hone our self control to its influence. As if self-control isn’t enough of a challenge. What good are efforts of self-control based on a faulty conscious? How disappointing this could be.

How then do I connect with a God who is not inherently present in my mind? How do I know when I have? If I could stop being just an image of God, and partake in the mind of my creator. If I could rid myself of my own corruptible conscious, and comprehend God’s. If God has a perfect conscious, can I have it too? It must rid questions of right and wrong, religion, sexuality, war and justice. God’s conscious would be a powerfully uniting force, instead of the divisive moral and theological complication that theology has become.

buzzing in my knees

i see the stars, they float, they flicker through the trees...

the traffic swells like the ocean, so at ease.

and i know this. this, wonder for my need.

this growing, growing hope for utter peace...

when windows they slide shut, doors slam close and freeze.

it seals me from the bluster and the breeze.

and i know this. this aching in my knees.

this buzzing, this buzzing that causes me to run... till i'm free

tar the roads

if by chance you have broken my window and stolen my things

then may God bless you. while i curse you. and try not to.

if you're the one who begs me for money in parking lots at night.

may God have mercy on you. and teach me to.

it's too much to have you picking my pockets

while i sweep up broken glass.

i want to punch you between the eyes.

and let you use your lying money

to fix the damage i could do to your nose.

because i sweat. to sleep in a basement.

i have been loaned. to learn what i couldn't otherwise.

i eat one meal a day because i can't afford more.

we should use you to tar the roads and fill potholes.

i am going to sleep well tonight. and i pity you. i am sorry.

because i know things could be worse. but you don't even know better.

both eyes wide.

I have never felt like a visitor in my own home,

nor as lonely in my hometown. until now.

It was never too hard leaving my family for an adventure,

never did it evoke a tear. until now.

I have become an individual for better or worse,

it makes me lonely. I miss home.

I miss the Pennsylvania creeks. the intense green of summer.

I miss knowing my family in the everyday details.

But I realize now that it is not solved by my return.

It makes me feel a bit like a stranger.

I am a different person visiting home environs.

So much of my history is carved in the dirt here.

Though now wheels have been lashed to my feet. and i roll on.

without brakes. over dirt that has hardened.

on toward what is uncertain and inconsistent.

my brakes are my bare hands, knees, and elbows.

no longer is a helmet provided.

I realize that I am the driver praying for traveling mercies,

both eyes wide.