For many years,
I didn't own a
television.
I didn't want one.
The news gave me
anxiety, and most of
the movies were
horrible.
Bad actors,
terrible acting
and predictable plots.

I wasn't buying any
of it.

My Dad loved
watching movies.
He often used the word,
contrived
when summarizing them.

I remember watching
The Grapes of Wrath
with him.
After the movie, Dad talked
about leaving in his will,
a list of his ten favorite
movies for his seven kids
to watch sometime.
He wanted us to know
him better.

He forgot about it and died
a few years later.
I always thought Dad had
too much faith in mankind.
But, after watching The Grapes
of Wrath again, maybe he
didn't.
I hope we all live until
we die.

Under my eyelids,
small and large, hidden feelings.
They are pinching, twisting,
healing me.

But when I open my eyes,
everything begins anew.
The train cuts through reality
flowing in a big hurry.
This is my private driving force.

The nod of ironic thoughts
bursts inside implicit words.
Welcome my smile-finally
you have appeared!
My missed special guest.

Now, everything is fine.
I only enjoy a comic mood.
It was too serious and heavy
So, I switch off my mode:
Complicating Even Simple
I choose to jump in a rumpled glory
between spicy, witty meanings.

Is this water still water
in the photo taken a moment ago,
or is it reflecting the sky
in a dark mirror of wishes,
drifting through the mind?

Do the thoughts wear the words?
Do they embrace stillness and truth?
There is no single pattern to interpret.
Alternative facts appear credible.

What was predictable, a sweet certainty,
became a distant mirage of memories,
touching softly reality and its interpretations,
sealed tightly in the crystal bottle,
sinking slowly into oblivion without regrets.

Canceled words are so infinite and quiet,
bringing a deep indigo relief,
inexpressible and so beautiful.
No doubts. No screams.
Just a peaceful self-reconciliation.

How could I shield myself from the words
that lift me into the highest lowness?
Dearly beloved, raw openness,
the source of my grace and imperfection.

I feel strangely weightless
when my precognition
whispers to me about my possible future.
I hush all my names,
they’re not statues carved
by the thoughts of others.

I watch people drift in and out,
I touch the tree leaves in the cold wind.
Looking tenderly into the eyes of black ravens
I just try to see what they see.

I don’t fear the dark,
the primal womb that gives light
and birth to worlds spread across space.
Losing someone I love is my only fear.
Death comes uninvited, in its own time.

Love is my helpless, naked truth.
My moral compass still works
in my body.
At night, I find sleep and rest.
In light, the warmth,
and the souls of others.

I see the tired hearts
I find solace, looking into the light.
The body brings fleeting fullness.
I gather the crumbs of mystery,
expecting nothing,
just enough to find my dignity
and make peace with the unreachable.

I wake to a sky painted gray,
Another day carved from the endless stone,
Dragging my shadow through time’s heavy hands,
While the question festers: where do I belong?
The mirror offers no map,
Only the hollow stare of someone aging too fast,
Late twenties—a milestone to nowhere,
Just a rung in the ladder I never asked to climb.
The world outside is a roaring machine,
Grinding hope into sparks that vanish in the dark.
Corruption drips from the seams of the streets,
And I can’t decide if I’m angry,
Or just too tired to care.
I keep moving, though,
Lost in the rhythm of meaningless tasks.
My purpose feels like a phantom,
Always one step ahead,
Always laughing as I stumble behind.
Happiness? It’s a language I don’t speak.
It’s a dream I don’t dare to dream,
Not when the weight of my flaws
Makes me wonder if anyone could
Love me for who I am,
And not the mask I wear to survive is starting to crack.
The chaos grows louder each year,
Like a wildfire feasting on the brittle bones of society.
And yet, I think—I hope—I can find a quiet place,
A haven amidst the ruin,
Where the world’s collapse doesn’t matter.
I don’t need salvation,
Just a corner of warmth,
A voice that says, Stay awhile, I'm with you.
A home, not built of bricks,
But of arms that hold me when the ash falls.
And so I wander,
Through this maze of broken dreams and empty days,
Waiting for a break in the storm,
For a hand to guide me,
For the fire to rage and the world to end,
While I finally find the peace
Of wondering home.

Today the weather mirrored me—
gray thoughts hung low, heavy and wide.
I lay in bed, heard leaves brush secrets,
heard the wind howl what I hide.

I peeked through blinds, saw flooded walks,
rain pouring like it never ends.
A world soaked through in quiet grief,
no rush to break, no need to mend.

I stepped outside—my shoes went dark,
each step a soft and sinking sigh.
My hair, once dried from morning’s rinse,
now clung like truths I brushed aside.

Cold traced fingers down my neck,
the air was sharp, the silence loud.
But somehow, soaked and shivering,
it felt like standing in a crowd.

It hasn’t rained in far too long—
just like I haven’t cried for days.
But now the sky and I agree:
we flood in our own sacred ways.

if i die young, know i died unhappy and life’s unfair,
if i grow old and die traditionally,
know i died unhappy and life was a misery

i’d tell you a tale
of all of my life’s history
but it would all be derailed and all sound pale
in the words of my mouths contradictory
so i’ll leave you with my frail words for the cemetery;

if i die young, know i died unhappy and life’s unfair,
if i grow old and die traditionally,
know i died unhappy and life was a misery

when i’ll die, i’ll die artistically
candle lights, speaking words lyrically
and if youll ask me if i could go back and do it all again, if i’d make a change,
i’d say in a heartbeat
and if i did, i wouldn’t have to repeat

if i die young, know i died unhappy and life’s unfair,
if i grow old and die traditionally,
know i died unhappy and life was a misery

for i didn’t do it my way,
i did it life’s way
if a decision could have swayed
me in another direction,
i would be happier, in the life of my correction,
that got lost and died with life
while i waited to come back to mine

so if i die young, know i died unhappy and life’s unfair,
if i grow old and die traditionally,
know i died unhappy and life was a misery

and to my life, i miss you
and to my cat-child, i miss you
and to my moms eyes, i miss you
and to my sister-child, i miss you
and to what was once mine, i miss you

“I look at you,” he told me, “and I think to myself; now here’s a guy whose got it all: he’s over fed, has a nice watch on his wrist and his shoes, although not my style, are brand new. The only thing he doesn’t have are troubles and worries.”

“bartender,” I shouted, “I’ll take one more and the tab.”

“hey man what about me,” he asked, “mind topping me off?”

“and another one for the poor sap next to me.”

“you see what I mean,” he continued. “you can afford to buy drinks for yourself and for others. as for myself, they forced me into a war I didn’t support and I also got my *** shot off for a cause unknown. I was stripped of my emotions, gutted from my life, they sodomized my psyche, carved the dream out of my head and I was never given a chance at having children or a future. and all this happened before I ever held a beer or tasted a cigarette or had a woman in my bed.”

I didn’t bother responding
in hopes that he’d get the hint
but as expected, he was as
clueless as my ex-wife
and as he carried on
with relentless persistency
each word dug in like a cat scratch
and all I could do was clench my glass tighter and tighter to contain myself.

“I’ve been spit on, kicked out, beat up and let down,” he further continued. “the streets are hard and unkind and everywhere you go you’re unwanted and everything is locked. why do you think I pour into these bars late at night? to drink? naw man, I just need a place to go, a roof over my head you know?”

that was it.
I had enough.

I finished my drink,
got off the stool
and headed toward the exit.

“hey buddy,” he shouted, “can I get another one for the road?”

“no.”

“just one more?”

“NO!” I screamed.

“c’mon man, you’ve got everything and I’ve got nothing. what makes you better than anyone else?”

“now look here you bumbling idiot…”

“but…but…but…” he interrupted.

“I’ve heard your tales of woe and now you’re going to listen to me,” I said sternly. “I look overfed because of poor diet and lack of exercise caused by working 60-80 hours a week with no time to take care of myself. I have a nice watch and new shoes but it came with a price. I’ve traded in my freedom for comfort, my time for materials and any chance of love for success. you say I have everything and you have nothing? I say you’re wrong. you’ve got something I no longer possess and that my friend is soul. don’t lose that. don’t buy into the mold. don’t conform. don’t become like everyone else. most of the people you see in here have imprisoned themselves into their own personal hell. that’s the way society wants it. but you’re free. truly free. and another thing… don’t worry about sorrow. everyone’s got problems and nobody wants to hear about it. why do you think people are in here? for the enjoyment? no, there here to forget. just. like. you.”

“******* *******! I don’t need a lecture from you or your cheap advice. all I need is a ******* drink!”

…and with that,
I walked out into the
dark and empty streets
where they greeted me
with their silence.

An emotional wind,
just to clear the daily fields,
to ask a moment after,
with childish tenderness.

They have a soul
like an old building,
with a million windows,
and one locked door.

They are so different,
more than a straight line.
They save the world,
seeing, feeling, not less.

Not a doctoral degree,
no frame that fits.
Perhaps don’t read the words,
they think beyond two and one.

They burn the dinner,
tangled in their inner world.
Flickering light, voice—
A scratch of structure is too much.

States of agitation,
flow of information,
and the beautiful creatures,
make sense without logic.

They give to this dimension
more than they’ll ever know.
Paradox in the crowd,
unclassified,
a blessing for society,
yet invisible.