I don't ask your permission
to make a fool of myself,
tell you publicly
what my near, dear ones
have almost no clue

my mental torment,
headache-constant,
imperial and impervious
poetry, pills, therapy,
caring words
don't pay my kind of bills

a man has a job.
Feed you family.
Protect and serve.

do  it well,
there is no acceptable excuse.
none.

was supposed to be easing on down,
slipping under.

come so far, my soul is old.
my tired is w/o definition.
the legs, knotted shoulders,
body aging faster than I can write.
the doctors only give me
if's and unless's,
contingencies in order
to die a little slower

warped, reversal of causality,
the older I get,
the more mouths to feed.
tough, this unexpected situation,
a nine lives time survivor,
do it again?

defraud myself,
living like I can afford
to write,
with courageous reckless abandon,
when earnest is deadly
and Lady Luck gave me the finger.

simply amazing.
eyes, constantly tearing,
nobody notices.

Do not ! Like this poem,
don't.
hate weak,
been strong so long.
this well, just got dregs left,
drudgery ain't potable, or even
worth drinking.

need nothing,
for myself, need nothing.
not one object on this planet
want to posses or be possessed by.

Monday wrestle with strife,
star in my reality show once again.
now, deny reality.

Do not!
Like this poem,
don't.
hate weak,
been strong so long.

my voice is stilled,
it's poverty exposed,
ashamed of every word I ever wrote.

hush me not, for tis true,
write on for an audience of one,
on but one subject,
a life, mine,
yet, still unmastered,
after decades of trying.

poverty exposed,
a life unmasked
for what it is worth,
or not.

i might look naive
                  but i have seen life
          from the position i'm in
                  from the dawn of the day
         *to the edge of the night
sitting on the head of a pin

             i may look to be
                       new to the scene
                  but believe me i've always been here
         you talk of the past
                   like it's history
                           blink and disappear

        i have seen life
                  in the face of a child
                         life in the crook of the old
                 at the edge of the hurt
        at the end of the smile
                   life for all that it's worth

                      i have seen life
            on it's darker side
   seen it on the left and the right
               seen it places never thought that i would
          from the middle
                    from the front
                            *from behind

I’m stuck at a crossroad,
where my mind, body and spirit are trying to meet.
They are trying to move at the same pace,
move on the same beat.
But they fail to do so.
They are always nearly in sync,
but they always stop in their tracks before meeting.
Almost like an acquaintance who looks familiar but you are hesitant to say hello.
That ‘hello’ never transpires,
that ‘hello’ never meets that familiar looking person,
just as my mind, body, and spirit never meet.