Are You Ready To Die?

Are you ready to die?

Ready to fall straight down

And snap back up with a broken neck

Ready to drown

To be broken into four on a rack

Are you ready to die?

To be poisoned by your lover

Are you ready to cry

Are you ready to suffer

Are you ready to die?

To sleep into a blackness forever

To choke on the darkness

And fall eternal into the pit

To shake with a nervousness of dying

And convulse in a full on epileptic fit

Are you ready to die?

Are you ready to feel excruciating pain

Ready to bust

And into the nothingness spray

Ready to sleep

And dream nothing forever

Ready to die

And come back never

You Are Drowning Me

You are drowning me

You are giving me ideas

You are vaccinating me against joy

And injecting me with fears

You are breaking me

You are winning my heart

I’ll put it all away

Every last piece of art

You are destroying me

I can feel myself disintegrate

The darkness is here

With the darkness I’ll integrate

You are poisoning me

I am holding my throat

You are changing into a demon

Cloven feet and head of a goat

You are eating me alive

And I am screaming

But there is no devil for real

And I am only dreaming

Now The Poem

Now the poem is located

Directly below the brain

And sometimes gets dislodged

And goes out of the fingertips

And down the drain

Now the poem is beating

Just like your heart

It doesn’t speak necessarily

Bringing it alive is all the art

For many days you could invent

And on and on drone

You can’t believe in yourself

When you are simply

An indistinguishable clone

Now the poem circulates

It gives heat to its viewer

It tastes like chicken

Serve it barbequed on a skewer

Stick it on the fence

Or wear it in your eyes

Give it to bus driver

As kind of a stranger surprise

Now the poem is flushed

Down the sewers into the sea

A piece of rotting thought

That has sickened everyone

Including me

Frothing With Verse

I extract the lesson

And stunned

He comes unspinning

In tongues

Out to where they toss and turn

In the street

Spitting out alternate versions

Of the golden rule

Frothing with verse


“Is it bad?” she asks

“Who is it?” I ask


“I’m sorry.  He is the worst one”

I wave my hands

And damn the demon to all hell


Out the window heaven

Like a beam of unsolicited light

The line up down the street

And many to repeat

Inside a hell burns

An empty death

A lonely walk down a road finally


Is It Fortunate To Die?

Is it fortunate to die?

To spin a tale that just fries

To sit alone asking why

Is it fortunate to die?


Tomb upon tomb

It is only tombs!

And the living fight for the deads doom

Out of disinterest in lying

I fall to my knees and cry

Is the world not yet over

Is it fortunate to die?


And what I am now

In this holy moment of now

Do I sense any power that is not fleeting

Do I feel any skin of “now” in the past

Or the future?

Is there any sense at all to try?

In a world to be over

Is it fortunate to die?

Able To Kindle Hope By Being A Liar

Able to count to death

And use every word

Until there is only one left

Able to live forever

In a dreamy dimension

Dressed in leather

Able to do good in every moment

To drown in beauty

And not vomit

Able to envision heaven

And ignore all hells

Able to go to God

Whenever he rings his bells

Able to force newness and change

Able to forgive old sins

With the fresh blood of new pain

Able to kindle hope by being a liar

Able to go deep in the ocean

And within water create a fire

Able to breathe in outer space

Able to do good deeds

And yet not be responsible for any waste

Able to be the past

And ignore all modernity

Able to kill time

To submerge into eternity

You Don’t Even Whisper

You don’t even whisper

While I go around screaming

You spend all your time worrying

I spend all my time dreaming

You don’t even think about me

I’m not on your radar

But I think about you all day

And write a contrast poem later

You don’t even know me

But I study you

You’re my favorite specimen

I enjoy your delusions

With my razor sharp skepticism

You don’t even get the humor

But I am laughing at it so hard

You have a tendency to not go anywhere

And I have a penchant for taking things way too far

You say I’m not original

But I create it all alone

You give lip service to criticism

While I write my bias in a poem