there's no crime that can't be presented
as some kind of heroic action.
if you've something to say against it,
then you're plotting an insurrection.
then no matter how loud you're screaming
at those giving their lives to get drafted,
you're a traitor that stands on the front lines
while the patriots watch from a distance.
every word can be framed as a slogan,
every question's a sign of resistance.
as the crowd splits in different directions,
there's no evil that can't be presented
as some kind of heroic action.

Leak into another night
     I am dead mechanical
Cut black lines into my skin
     Tattoo me with asphalt
Touch my face one time--kiss me goodbye with an insult
          I'm just fading tail lights
          It isn't my fault.

               Your fingertips are tracing something...
         And my reddened eyes are craving something...
     Some might hope for for the weather's improvement,
                        but, me?, I'm hard in love
                        with the cold front that's
                                     moving in.

Let me crawl across the sky--
     a skull coated in red wine.
The Titan's getting tipsy.
     I'm at home in the sweating night.
Cracked my ribs one time, kissing asphalt on Orange Street
          Then I had to stand up
                    screaming
      after sweating through sheets!

                My memory surrendered something...
            Your frozen face was mending something...
        Might have hoped for condition's improvement,
                        but, me?, I'm hard in love
                           with my aching--that's
                                     all I am.

Dead Mechanical
     Romanticize it.
Dead Mechanical
     I can't eclipse it!
Make me fiction, or ***** my fingertips.
     Let me lie. I am Dead Mechanical.

I'm damp from soaking in my spite and
I don't have a jacket.
I'm dumb for eating up your crumbs and
filling up on famine.

Your hands
     are death traps
Your eyes
     are road maps
faking destinations.
Making preparations
     to sever me off spitefully...
     lacerate me, sight unseen

     Our town is an eraser, now, and you've made me into fade marks
     Stayed quiet on the margins til I marked your words and got smart
     Smarting heart and scabbing memories...Already! Let me peel it off
          Let me peel it off. Destroy me and then peel it off.

Street lights are laughing cruel again and
I can't even blame them.
Stupid, I drowned in the belief that
believing was an agent.

Your words
     false star maps
Your laughter?
     A death trap--
A blooded incantation
A prepared exhalation
     So sever me off spitefully...
     slash out my eyes so I can't see.

                                      Claw me up, while I wait
                                      tear every single atom
                                                    I have
                                                     in me
                                                  from me

     Our town is an eraser, now, and you've made me into fade marks
     Stayed quiet on the margins til I marked your words and got smart
     Smarting heart and scabbing memories...Already! Let me peel it off
          Let me peel it off. Destroy me and then peel it off.

I spoke with two people at the party Saturday.
A young police officer, short-haired, fit,
chiseled face who had two young children.
He felt constrained by the law, without discretion
to question mopes (perps) aggressively
or to let go those who were obviously no threat.
Even at a family function he seemed straight-backed, correct,
devoted to his role as our protector (and his children’s)
yet I thought perhaps too deeply in debt, indentured
to the rules and laws of legislators and destined
to be disappointed (or worse). I thought his courage
and devotion (to whom or what?) would surely
be poorly repaid and that this lesson
was necessary to ready him with wisdom
for death or further living. I worried like a brother
about the unpredictable dangers, even terrors,
he must daily face, and the pleasure he takes in facing them.
How will he return to the fragility of family,
of the soul alone, after wielding the force
of the state, the blind, combined will of us all?

Next a business exec, retired from a well known
global investment firm. At first we talked about
the lush beauty of the northeast compared to the arid west
(although he loves every inch of the west, too).
Then somehow we got beyond light conversation
when he complained about the perceived decline in values
for instance how the Ten Commandments can’t be publicly
displayed. He said we can all agree on God
but I said I have a mechanistic view of the universe
(although the unknowable always sits just out of reach
of the known). I told him my dad’s theory of reincarnation,
a good man and a corporate seeker of God also, whose shoes
I could never fill unless I swore belief in a supreme being.
No hard feelings. Then he told me the story
of his dying friend, an atheist, not even a deist
like the founding fathers, who opened his eyes for the last time
to correct the exec’s misperception that now he’d meet his maker.
Having exceeded the bounds of acceptable conversation
I went looking for my children. Nothing more to question.

sometimes you sit in the dark all alone
and it's not a guiding light that you want,
but for someone to be there with you,
to know that they know the dark, too,
to have them keep you company.
for the light can become a trap, you see,
like a constant pressure to push through,
so you'd rather have someone stay with you
to practice counting each other's breaths.
there's a sense of hope to mutual setbacks,
tethered by the unseen hand you're holding
as you co-write a step-by-step guide to coping.

Yeah, this world is a cold place, the wind blows through my soul
Shoulders are heavy, stress makes me feel like a loaded coal
Smile is glued on, but my insides don't feel bright
Need a little something, something to hold me tighter🤗
So baby, can I give you a hug?🤔
Just a squeeze, to chase this blues
My heart feels like it's broken
See, it's not about being weak, it's not about being soft
Sometimes the strongest warriors need a place to crawl back up
Life is a battlefield, but even kings need a rest
And your hugs, baby, are the best!🥺
So baby, can I give you a hug?🤔
Just hold me tight, make me feel safe🥺
Nothing fancy, nothing new, just your hugs, it's  medicine
More than just a hug,🤗 it's a whisper of hope
A reminder that kindness, even in small doses, can do the trick
So baby, come on, hold me🤗
Please, give me a little squeeze🤗
To remind me that I'm human, and that's all I need to feel🥺❤️

there is peace to be found in stillness,
watching life play out from a distance
like a belated guest that joined halfway through,
like none of this pain belongs to you
and you could stand up and walk away
anytime if you wished to.
when you see yourself on the screen, does it move you?
do you want to step in and interrupt it,
knowing exactly what's going to happen?
of course, you can always edit it later
before it gets sent to storage,
before you decide which one you like better.
for you are the viewer and the director,
making commentary on your own lack of skill;
an omnipotent deity, if you will.
now that's a comparison you could get behind,
but it's all taking place inside of your mind
and the next scene's coming up soon.
it's a shame you've missed on so much of the plot
worrying about small mistakes.
now you know that nobody else seems to care,
so just take a seat and enjoy the view
like none of those fears belong to you,
watching life reveal itself in the distance.
there is hope to be found in stillness.

this body doesn't belong to you.
you want to crawl out of it,
and the only think you can think of
is how good it would feel
to just peel it off
and disappear.
you can hear them talk about you,
every word is like a slap in the face.
you feel small in this open space,
but their laughter resonates
and all the exits are locked.
so you try to make sense of it,
try to teach yourself their ways,
try to follow the rules of their game.
they say you can't win if you don't play,
but you haven't won yet.
this body isn't the one you chose.
you wish you could give it back,
write a complaint to the maker,
but they don't accept returns.
so you live through your thoughts,
dreaming of the day
when you can change your clothes,
your address, your name,
finally peel it off
and disappear.

This heart is bruised and battered
It’s been contorted and squeezed into so many shapes that it’s forgotten it’s form
It doesn’t know what it is, it doesn’t know what it wants
But there is beauty in that isn’t there?
Maybe the heart is elastic
Maybe it is relaxing slowly into its form rather than searching for a mold
Maybe it needs patience
Maybe it needs love
For now I leave it be
I hold it in its agony, give it my love and wait