FREESTYLEVISION

What’s going on Magic Man right here
My plan is to remove the soothing excuses that are said inside you ear . To unveil the blindfold that hide your eyes closed, that mask and disguise the truth from the youth. Political figures try to unfold and gain political power through telling you lies and not to mention their political ties with pharmaceutical companies giving campaign contributions around this time on the side, on the side, on the side. Zoloft, Prozac, Paxil, Nexium, people wait in line for their prescriptions for all of them, but what’s really next to them is the grim reaper with an open grave for Mike, Karen, Jill, and Dave or poor African American people because we are all just modern day slaves or at least that’s what the government portrays us as, and just like General Petraeus has the government betrayed us and never had our backs. Giving a tax break to the rich asking poor people again just to be their b*tch. Here is a few things that I wish Bush did.
Get bushwhacked in Bushwick
Get attacked in Iraq and blown up in little pieces and bits just like the kids of the innocent.
This sh*t really makes me sick. Now you can see what the government’s focus really is instead of spending money on education for the kids or shelters for the homeless to live.
So much bullsh*t for us to fix. I have a few point s and I promise I will be real quick.

Global warming is storming our nation, we facing environmental gifts being replaced with man made desecration.

I am still waiting for solar energy to take over my life but that might take a lifetime and that just ain’t right.

Time is fleeting were needing a new leader and a new reason. In our nation that wasting away, but all we have to see on TV. Screens is propaganda from all the people that are trying to take his seat. So as far as I can see this nation is doomed, but maybe you should ask you government officials what’s going on and not listen to me.

It’s all bullsh*t!!!

Take care of me
What a large request for a small circumstance.
I can handle the bills the babies, the boss and
Whatever else the universe tosses at me,
but
I need you to take care of me.
I have ten thousand hands in ten million things
I can situate, talk, cook, contemplate, cuss and cradle
All at the same time
And place words together to rhyme insanity to reason
But I can’t hold me tight enough,
just right enough
For things to stop moving all at once.
I need you to wrap me in quiet and heat and to repeat
This nightly so that I may sleep and wake with fresh
Mind and renewed faith
Make me able to face what comes from heaven
And hell
Just to be held by you.
Take care of me.

Note to self:

Respectfully,
I decline

I no longer wish to participate
In this inane
Circle of foolishness.

What were you thinking
You weren’t drinking
When you made
The decision to
Affront
Your well thought out mission
To succeed in life and love.

How could you
Lower your guard
Like that
How could you chop
Your soul full of
Holes to fit
Somebody else’s sh*t in.

Please,
I respectfully decline to
stand in this line of fire.

I turn your stomach
When his voice
Rises up and crescendos
Down around your ears

I provide the headaches
That persuade you
Not to partake in
Love making that makes
Neither love nor sense and
Creates a profound
Thankfulness for ortho novum
Or whatever device that will
Prevent life from occurring
And stirring up words like
Forever and daddy, and together
For the baby
I profusely implore
You to put a stop
To this extreme hurt
Your causing
before the
Welfare Baptist Church
Has a new member calling
Hallelujah
And singing
Give me my check spirituals
And no means to really love the
Self that is congregated
In misused motivations
It’s serial
Self destruction

I unequivocally request,
At the behest
Of your common sense
That you get your clothes, and your head right and
Get the hell out of there
And back on track

Sincerely, and I’m so not playing
With you

Self

In one way or another we all must compromise a piece of ourselves.
Whether it’s our values, beliefs, actions or grief.
We all must whore ourselves out in some way.
Corporate theocracy
Institutional racism
Ejaculation of a nation.
Remarks from the action war hero
destined to kill for the badge of honor
Awarded with scar tissue instead of a face.
It is no wonder
We feel a little used
Just a little bit bruised
By the reality of life
By not putting up more of a fight.
Your own quest for moral good is
shattered in the name of the game
Called “keeping your cool”
We all sell a thread of our souls
To relish in what is supposed to be
How they tell us to see.
Clothes unmade in America.
Feeling always scared of us.
The truth beholds all that is
unfair and unjust.
We sell ourselves just at the cusp.
Whores of America united in lust.
Fascist statements unite us at the bust.
The moral code
Undetectable through the actions
of the supreme.
Metamorphosized into a nightmarish dream.
Who is our team?
Whores of America united at the seams.

1. How to add to the ongoing conversation that is
web-like over us all is a question. Or subtract,
pare down to an essence of something.
Information is not knowledge someone once said
I’m sure. Leading, lending itself
to definitions, and the observer is the decider
I guess we could propose

as long as it doesn’t touch the nose
of all the observed that pine for retribution
to be started right after the next
commercial frees them up for compensation.

Package deals abound, just check the travel sites.
I’ve been to Greece in my mind, never Carolina.
Taylor never trumps Elvis or Memphis, but
I digress into subterfuge and list wanderings.

The clock ticks on, the birds clatter in their cages.
The dryer tumbles with buttons ringing
staccato changes to the invisible music that
Cage talked about. More fuel for sloth, etc.

Are we about to leave the tunnel entered some
administrations ago? The casual lack of truth
still seems to hold sway. The light is all fluff,
no substance. Parking in the vast lot drains one’s reserve.

Cue the studied attempt to really care this time.
I’m lost being elsewhere while here most
of the time. It’s compounded by all the
acquisitioning of what is truly empty.

2. Discernment leaves you unprotected. Please return
as the brain explores. My thought on this vanished
across the street as the wind ruffled the vintage oaks
into a friskier presentation. The day continues,
lightens up our looking into matters, like lunch
and which beer really gathers the mental chatter best.

Out in the distance trailers of clouds form-up
in huddles, traverse the emptiness that this time
lacks any other story. We’re overdue
at the bubbleworks called work. There the artificial
civility reigns supreme. Daubing on our “make-up”
we love the repartee that passes over the clientele’s heads.
Although trivia pursuit shouldn’t be a career goal.

Ah, but all this is invention of a sort. Sometimes
it is integral to the failing light
that holds out a promise beyond understanding.
The music returns again, fuzzing the vents
and off-shoots of plaintive study. What
proposes a finality to these suppositions is
left to your mind completing the numbers,
the colors, the whole panoply constructed
even as we all go on with our less than complete lives.

Fanning the radio dial driving away creates
unintentional stories that are part of all
our consciousness add to alluvial packing
of the frontal lobe. I’m enjoying
the break from my own self-created distress
signals and merge with traffic south.

The Hopi people believe they were birthed
From the womb of the earth
A canyon grand and gaping
On Mother Earth herself
Red rocks spread out like a blanket across all the temples
So red, in fact, they make the water look like blood

Her mighty and towering walls of sandstone, limestone, and shale
Reach to the heavens, arms stretched for miles
The Hopi don’t go there unless a special ceremony is performed
With medicine men and women giving blessings, saying prayers, asking favors
Perhaps so few return because they remember birth is painful

But I am not afraid of her – those red lips so inviting
I pause upon them cautious, joyous, my senses reeling
Knowing what only a woman can know
The more gentle the touch, the more pleasure to be had
I slip into her depths reverently, with one wish
To experience her completely

She opens to me, sharing her hidden secrets
I explore her hungrily, already knowing what I will find
But she fills me with surprise and pleasure nonetheless
So swollen is she with life, timeless gifts for all to behold and protect
I express my intense gratitude for the miracle of her
Knowing that I am blessed to behold and possess her
If even for such a brief interlude

Leaving her is painful, an uphill journey I savor to the end
Sure that I will feel her effects on me for days
Each step a reminder of how she pleasured me
Romanced me, seduced me, took me over
We share now a common bond, an eternal secret
That we are each strong, resilient, and somehow ageless
We are Canyon Women

On this blue sky day
the clouds are painting poetry.
Is the wind the author, I wonder?

Long lines wisp straight across the horizon,
could be “projective verse”
far as the breath will go.

The short puffs are Williams or Cummings descending
down toward earth, its vast girth the open
auditorium where this all plays out above.

The palm trees behind the wall are exclamation
points breaking the lines that ever
change and fall before our eyes.

The birds dot the phrases
with deft maneuvers moving
in and out of the spreading stanzas.

And as it all moves west what remains
is the zen of the capacious screen
in all its ravaging completeness.

An Observation, Not a Condemned Nation.
This from the Eyes of an Army Veteran…
Red is the Blood we shed. All men and women

Limbs on the Floor. No matter what Color or
Race..
White is the Corporate mans’ Financial
Gains, Boardroom Games. Filled with the poor
Mans’ Pain. Oil prices higher, Soldiers
Under Fire…
Blue is the Remains and Feeling to
Lost Limbs of Brave men and women. Fighting,
Dying, Trying to see the Patriotic Cause.
Keeping US Free from Cruel Leaders, who’s
Only Care…
Is for Oppression and Capital Gains.
Last…
The Stars are Years of Tears….

Hollywood sold me a story
When I was a young Boy. A tale of
Family, Caring, Love and Sharing.
What’s that Morning Sound?
As I yawn from My bed?
The running of little feet but not of
Playful Children so Sweet. It’s the
Pitter-patter of furry rats looking for a morning treat,
Maybe a bite to eat?
Where are my tree lined streets and
Mrs. Cleaver with Her breakfast sweets?
I look around and hear the sound
Of Naked City Streets.
Yells, Sirens, Bullets whizzing past,
Bodies lying on the Ground.
Not a Tree or a Smile to be found.
Just Sad faces looking to the Ground.
Searching for that missing
Peace, Love & Happiness.
I know it’s somewhere Around?

1. The vertical and the horizontal extend out
to plain forever. The trees are dripping
leavings over unknown lives.
Collateral outfits crowd the gutters.
Last night’s bar bottles glisten in the street.

Coarse recourse & cheap sh*t talk
scatters the mom & pop grocery dirge.
We’re smoking & looking for options,
glassy-eyed, sun-blind, off course again.
Still pumping the stuff, waiting for enough.

2. Columns wake morning light stays
aspiring delivers sight caught rays
engulfs drains rashers part senses
glow listing strains fringe fences

as throws tilt amidst carnage doze
slows leeward bulks turns frees silt
raining, gathering, ameliorates lilt
sums, as the quiet after morning storm hums