Feed Your Head

Midnight Wonder/Wander
 
Head in the clouds,
soul on the brink
 
of salvation and/or annihilation
at any/every moment.
 
The signs in the sky
appear to point out our future in space.
 
The signs in my mind
seek to find the path home to source.
 
But the signs on the street
are marketed for entirely different ends,
singing their songs about realtors
who have erected
new neighborhoods
as far as the eye can see
in this suburban wonderland
(Call Alice;
she might know
the truth by now).
 
Chopping down trees,
chasing deer
from their home.
Come meet me at midnight,
my friend;
we’ll stare straight
into heaven’s void together.
I too know
what it is
to roam.


Thank you to Raja Williams for posting “Platitudes toward Paradise” at the CTU Publishing site recently. The poem is an excerpt from my full-length collection, Happy Hour Hallelujah.
 

Cleansing Karma under the Sun

Just to Be on the Safe Side
 
A day with so much shine
even the shadows
wouldn’t dare
try to tame us.
 
But night always falls,
same as the sun,
same as the stars,
same as our nature,
same as these
bombs.
 
Protection offered by the light
still goes a long way
in life,
but a nuclear missile
defense system
isn’t the worst idea
either.
 
All I ever want to say is something perfect,
but I’ll keep settling for less every time
as long as the process comes with a promise
to continue urging me forward…
 
with a kiss, with a caress,
with a push, with a shove,
with whatever force
equals out
to evolution
in the end.


It would be preposterous to claim that I was blinded by the light. So I won’t. But I will swear to the fact that it did give me a nice buzz (and a cleansing sweat).
 
Two of my poems (Manifesting Minutes All the While; and Burning down the Throne) have been published today here in Tuck Magazine.

Seasonal Shift with a Hint of Frution

Kool-Aid
 
Green is the color of envy,
and jealous are the eyes
that once could see
but lost all focus.
 
Better to have never experienced God
to begin with
than to have sipped
from golden chalice
then turned your back
on heaven’s gate.
 
But always be careful
when walking toward the light
through dark tunnels
that it’s not just a train
coming your way.


With the birth of Spring on a sunny day, I would only pray for a season of peace. Grace is more pure than poetry. It always gets straight to the point.
 
“Gardening” is out this week here at Dissident Voice.

Prophecies and Hand-Me-Downs

Numbers Game
 
Let’s stay awake
through all hours of the night,
here with the pillows,
and talk about heavy subjects
such as whether or not
soulmates actually exist;
 
or
 
let’s get sloppy drunk
to receive the revelation
that the sky is set to fall
in eleven hours.
 
Age is just a number,
it’s true…
until it kills you.
 
Platitudes and empty promises
are not one and the same.
I’ve consumed them both in triple doses.
One keeps me high as a kite
most of the time,
and the other always
leaves me in the lurch.
 
Prophecies and hand-me-downs
predict a righteous future.
I saw you up there screaming for your silver.
Even if you have a pile
of jewels and gold,
you’ll still be starving and cold
by the time you taste your grave.

This is the blitzkrieg we’ve all been begging for. Full-frontal assault. Lord, please have mercy on us all.
 

Dionysus Dancing

Admission to the Dance
 
I love the idea
of wandering around
spreading a gospel of peace
 
but when shit hits the fan
and the war goes hot
there’s still a lot
of Old Testament
rattling
down in my bones

My poem “Press Any Button … Go Boom” is out this week at Dissident Voice.
 
A selection of excerpts from “217 Poetic Points” can be read in this month’s issue of Visual Verse.


chaos-songs-weasel-press-front-cover

Chaos Songs, published by Weasel Press, is available here on Amazon.

On Time (and our modifications)

There are only so many hours in each day,
but we can always stretch the truth
(at least a little)
 
until it snaps;
and karma
is a (rubber) band of light.
 
We drink these vital juices
straight from the navel of ancient garden.
 
There may be worms
in a few bad apples,
but when the holy womb bursts
we sip nectar
from the fountain of youth;
 
granted rest,
despite our war
with lying clocks.

Spring forward on righteous Sunday. Rise early to praise the sun. Sending all these birds into a flurry. Waking up the blooms upon each branch.
 
I do believe in purity. I have grown so hardened. For a good cause, I hope…
songs-of-a-dissident-front
Songs of a Dissident, my chapbook released through Transcendent Zero Press, is available here on Amazon. I’d like to thank everyone who has read the collection, as well as anyone who decides to pick up a copy today. Your support is greatly appreciated.
 
Cheers to a great week ahead, my friends!