Avenues of America

There are
no streets
in the world
like in New York City.

They are hard.

They are relentless.

They are grimy
and filled with piss.

They are
obscenely
overcrowded.

They will swallow
you up,
digest you, half way,
and regurgitate you
back out.

Then,
run you over.

As you lay there,
left for dead,
breathing
your last pathetic breath,
the rats
and pigeons
and bums
pick through
the rest
of your soul.

The way
they did
with me.

Visiting Grandpa

We always visit
the cemetery,
every city,
we ever visit.

I don't know
what it is,
but
we  just have to
look at dead people.

Usually,
we stand there
and share a memory or two
about the deceased.

This time
it felt
weird.

Our dog was
acting
strange.

She was calm.

Usually,
she licks the walls
and pisses herself.

It was a nice change.

After hoping over
a few graves,
we ended up
at my great grandfather's.

There was a table
over the top of it
with chairs
surrounding it.

We all sat down.

Including the dog.

It was almost like
a channeling,
but we weren't
intentionally
doing it.

It happened spontaneous
and beyond our control.

The spirits were guiding us.

I could feel eyes on me.

The dog was staring at me.

It was my grandpa,
I could feel him
behind those crusty eyes.

He spoke.

Live
that untamed awesomeness
that resides
within you.

It is
what they call
heaven.

It is in you.

Close your eyes.

Feel it?

Now
live
it.

See you later.

Ruff ruff.

She jumped down
and began licking
the face on the tombstone.

When I awoke,
I felt
heaven
inside me.

To this day,
I wonder how
I could have
missed it.

Flying Fish

He called in 

and said he wanted

wings.

Sure, 

I said,

I'll have them 

ready 

for you.

When he came around,

there were no wings.

I apologized

like a moron.

He threw his

frozen fish

at my face

and left the building.

He really wanted

those wings

and I 

was the worst

person in the world

for not giving them

to him.

I sure as fuck

should have given it

to him.

Instead,

I choose 

to let him go

and chase after

his next

disappointment.

One after another,

he will find them

till he dies

of suicide,

disguised 

as a heart attack.

All because 

I didn't give him

his stupid wings.

Shame,

All he had to do 

was wait

or maybe have

some compassion.

People forget.

You know?

He could've had his fucking fish.

He didn't.

They flew away

along with

the last bit

of happiness

in his  heart.

The Undertaker's Revenge

When he shook
my hand
I could feel
he was
off.

When he spoke
and cried,
I could tell
he was
deranged.

This was no ordinary man.

He had
a sickness.

I just couldn't
figure out
what it was.

Days later,
a friend told me.

He's an undertaker.

He came to this
motivational class
to sell people
their plots.

It made sense.

I mean,
we were
planning our
future.

He fit right in.

He found the right people.

The sacred ones.

He stayed away from me.

I was too
full of life.

But I'll never forget
the way
he sized
me up.

I could hear his thoughts.

One day,
your day
will come
and when it does,
I'll be there,
putting your suit on
your stretched out
cold body
and I'll make damn sure
you
look off,
the same way
you look at
me.

May you rest in peace.

God is Love

She was watching
from the pews.

Every holy Sunday,
he would deliver
an inspiring sermon.

Every holy Sunday,
she would get
more and more
aroused.

This was just
an innocent crush.

More and more
she could not
resist
the temptation.

After his sermon,
she would greet him
and thank him.

After a few more,
she had to
confess
her sins.

He would listen,
most patiently, but
respectfully.

For he,
was a man
of the cloth.

But as she continued
to confess,
he found himself
growing
in his robe.

He could only ignore
his natural
thoughts
for so long.

Before making love
behind the altar.

He left
his robe
behind,
to have a life
and a marriage
with a woman
willing enough
to risk it all
in front
of the eyes
of God.

Is this wrong?

If so,
then so is
God.

I, on the other hand,
believe
there is no
wrong,
when love
is alive.

Even behind the altar.

For love is God.

No one can resist.

This
proves
it.

Purification

They're so perfect.

So shiny.

So good.

This is
exactly
what we want.

Perfection.

We want nice, large,
tasty
apples.

We don't care
how
they're grown.

We don't care
how
they got there.

We just expect them
to look
perfect.

We are obsessed
with perfect.

It's killing us.

This need.

Manufacturers
love our imperfect need
for perfection.

They've even developed
a seed
that kills
not just insects,
but everything
you find ugly
inside
you.

So perfect.

We need this
in every part
of our lives.

In our children,
in our selves,
in our food.

Doesn't matter
if we feed our souls
poison
in the process.

The sad thing is
we don't even
realize
we are doing this.

We are killing
ourselves
for looks
based on a false
perception.

It's time
to burn
the fields.

It's time
to burn
our lies.

It's time
to turn
this world
ugly.

The way it was meant to be.

Time for a Check up

He told me

to cough.

I did.

I felt his caress.

Cough again, please.

I did.

It was all 

very 

awkward.

I can't imagine 

leading 

this kind of life.

Going home after

touching stranger's balls

all day

and cooking dinner

with those same

hands

and feeding meals 

to your wife and kids.

I always wondered

if he got 

some sort of 

kick 

out of it.

Sometimes a lil too much.

Nobody would really know.

It's all very creepy,

but this is the world

we live in.

It's so full

of cancer

and balls.

We need these weirdos.

I mean,

professionals.

Putting Out the Fire

He set himself on fire.

No one
lifted a finger.

They turned
deaf
to his screams.

They turned
blind
to his melting flesh.

No one
really
knew
what to do.

What can you do
when someone is
killing themselves
in front of
you?

Huh?

I sure as fuck don't know.

I woke up
before I could
find out what
I
did.

What would
you
do?

Piss on him?

A Moat for the Burning Planet

I stared at the emptiness.

My eyes
kept going.

Deeper into the void.

All vanished.

The rocks,
the sand,
the insects,
life
turned
white.

I was alone
in the middle of
nowhere.

This where
I found
my peace.

This is where
I stay
when the world's
on fire.

Turning Towards the Sun

It's so hard for us
to say,
we're proud of you.

It's so hard for us
to say,
We love you.

It's so hard for us
to say,
thanks
or sorry
sincerely.

Why?

We don't need
to hide.

We don't need
to be proud.

What we need
is to
speak up.

We need
to show
our appreciation.

For each other.

For our lives.

For ourselves.

This family needs
to wake up
from this gloomy slumber.

This family needs
to step out
into the light
and forever
turn our backs
from this darkness.

We Need Nothing Else

We don't know how to love.

We were never taught.

Our parents were never taught.

No one they every knew
were ever taught.

It's all a travesty.

We need to begin
to study
and read
and experience
and apply
and give
into LOVE.

No more hating women
because of their
insane mood swings
or men
because of their
sheer stupidity.

No.

Love them unconditionally.

Love their mistakes,
their flaws,
their lies,
their everything,
till is feels as though
that is all
you are doing.

Just love.

Love the person
that just cut you off,
love the eyes
of a murder,
love the rude customer
you just helped,
love the butterfly
that just kissed your balls.

Love,
it's the greatest gift,
feeling,
treasure
in the world.

We need nothing else.

True Potential

It starts
when we begin
to understand.

We are limited.

Even among
the tiniest
of pleasures.

Stop that.
Don't do that.
Cut that out.
Shut up.
Quit it.

Yes, at first,
we put up a fight,
but eventually,
we give in.

We listen.
We obey.
We follow.
We stop
being ourselves.

We continue this
obedience
until we have
a stroke.

It's a stroke
of luck.

It's our chance
to start over.

Yet, once again,
they try and stop us.

We begin to understand
again.

We lose our ourselves
again.

We pass it on
to our children.

We are all to blame
for this
mistake.

But it's not too late.

We can begin
again
to understand,
there's a different way.

Only then
can we accept
our true
potential.

The Dying Flower

She knows
she is wrong.

She knows
all these thoughts are
killing herself.

She's stabbing
her own heart
with her own words.

She's doing it everyday.

She sees
her blood,
she touches it,
plays with it,
drinks it.

Yet keeps on.

There is no stopping her.

She's grown to love
her torture.

Like a flower
needs sunshine,
she needs
her twisted thoughts.

She'll keep the blood
flowing
till she's dry,
then one bright day
she'll wither away.

Her once beautiful life
brittle
and being swept away
by a gentle wind.

This Dream is Real

They were inanimate.

They'd just lay around the house
and were only useful
when we'd physically
touch them.

I decided
they were
boring.

They needed life.

They needed a personality.

I could give it to them.

The cheese in the fridge
had mold.

I ordered it
to cut the mold
out.

It woke up
and did exactly that.

I focused on my stereo.

It came on
and played some soft
metal music.

It smiled
as the tunes
grew louder.

Before I knew it,
the whole house was
alive.

It was breathing
and dancing
and following my every
order.

This was,
of course,
my dream.

But this could be
our reality.

Our minds
possess
this power.

We are too dumb
to believe
this.

Not me.

Just look at my pen.

It wrote this
entire poem
without me
lifting
a finger.

Believe me.

This dream is real.

Childhood Dreams

I've been dreaming
of her
since I was a boy.

I'd imagine her
cooking me food,
naked.

I'd create fantasies of her
licking my balls
and massaging my back
after a hard day's work.

When I would get up,
I'd cry
and listen to
sad songs because
some young slut
broke my heart.

I'd wipe the tears away
and listen for hours
and wait.

She was getting closer.

I could feel her
on my back
and balls.

Every step of my life.

I knew
I was with her
this past weekend.

We've been together now
for three years.

We've gone through
many, many
sad times
and bad times
and some of the best moments
of our lives.

Together.

This time,
we were in
San Francisco,
staying in a cheap
motel room,
right above a cheap
strip club.

She cried,
just like I dreamed
when I was a boy.

I put my arms around her
exactly
like I remembered I would.

She was the woman
of my dreams.

I smiled
and it seemed like
an odd time to do so.

She just didn't know.

I knew.

I could see
the future
just like
when I was young.

We fought again,
but I didn't seem to mind
as much as I
used to.

I knew that every fight
we've fought,
has brought us closer
to our dream:

Our marriage.

It's all I've ever
dreamed about
since I was listening to those
sad, sad songs.

A Jolt of Terror

You know
it's funny when
looking out
of a window
of a plane
and the jet moves
violently
and without warning.

A jolt of terror
runs throughout
my body.

Only
for a brief moment.

Then,
the laughter comes.

A myriad
of giggles
and snorts.

If the planes
does
go down,
that's all there is.

Goodnight.

This doesn't necessarily
have
to happen
on a plane
either.

This
crash and burn
could happen
anywhere.

Anytime.

I would still
have the same
response.

What else could I do?

Pit of Cancer

Our generation is
deteriorating.

We are
consumed
with others.

We are
obsessed
with their
lives.

Well our lives
are spiraling
out of control.

It makes no sense.

We can't even
focus
on ourselves
without
comparing
to another.

Who cares about them?

They've never helped
you
in any way,
shape, or
form.

They've done
the exact
opposite.

For once
in your precious life
put down your phone,
turn off your tv,
unplug everything.

Enjoy yourself.

Enjoy your surroundings.

You are so
very goddamn
blessed
in every way
imaginable.

Figure it out.

The way
you are
living
is awful.

You are giving
yourself
cancer.

Get it?

Cancer, disease, illness,
insanity.

You
are doing
this
all
to yourself.

Stop.

Just stop.

Have I lost you
again?

Are you distracted
by another
advertisement?

She's not even real
and that pill
won't save you.

Know Failure

Know failure.

Get it
deep
down
in your heart
and be
comfortable
with the idea
that you're going
to lose
big time.

It's ok.

There's two sides
to a coin.

You're also
going to
win
big.

In anything
you want.

Don't let
anybody
tell you
otherwise.

They, yes,
they
want you
to not only
fail,
but lose all.

They want you
to be buried
with regrets
and broken dreams.

They
want you
crying
in your grave.

Don't
let it
happen.

You
have the choice.

YOU.

It's your decision
and only yours.

Take a damn chance
for once
in your life.

Fail.

A million times.

But,
for fuck's sake
keep going.

Enjoy the failure
and enjoy the lessons
each one
gives you.

I want you
to smile,
not only
in your casket,
but on your
bed each night.

You don't deserve
the life
you are
forced
to live.

It's time.

Time to create
your life
full of failures,
full of victories,
free of fears,
and filled with bliss.

The only reason
why
we were put
on this earth.

So,
the only question
remains is
why are you sitting
here?

Be gone
with your bad
self!

Jehovah's Bug

Persistence.

Some of us have it,
most of us
don't.

Jehovah Witnesses do.

We can all
take a page
from their book.

Most of us are
lazy
and give up
way too easily.

Sure,
their conversion rate
is not impressive,
but how many times
have you invited
a complete stranger
into your home
because of this?

I'm going to be
as persistent
as they are.

Except,
with my writing, drawing,
health,
endurance,
sexual stamina,
prosperity,
and even
becoming a
better person.

Yes,
me.

Or maybe,
I'm setting myself up
to become a
Jehovah's Witness.

It's fine.

I sure do
love
to bug
the shit
out of everyone.

May I come in?

Laughing Hair

My great grandpa
never
smiled much.

He was burdened.

He knew adversity.

That would give these
new kids
nightmares
till their own mind
destroyed
their own body.

He
lived on.

Expressionless.

Doesn't mean
he didn't know how
to make others
smile,
even after he's been dead
for 10 years.

He made me laugh
today.

My grandpa
was giving me a haircut
and he told me
when his father
would cut his hair.

He'd ask him
how he wanted it,
long or short?

And my grandpa would tell him.

He'd cut it
his own way.

Took his time too.

Made sure it was nice and short
when my grandpa wanted
the exact opposite.

We both laughed.

A good memory
passed on
from one generation
to the next.

Now, it's my turn
to fuck
with someone.

Except,
I'll laugh
with them
while I'm
alive
and blowing their beautiful hair
off of their shoulders.

Poop Nips

Saved by the bell
is not a
tv show.

It's how they used
to tell
if a person
was dead.

The doctors
would tie
a piece of string
to the patients's toes
and the other end
to a bell.

If the bell
stopped
ringing,
and they did not
feel a
pulse,
the patient
was pronounced dead.

Very primitive.

As a result,
a few
were buried
alive.

This
will not happen
to me.

Everyone
will know
when I'm dead.

First,
I will let out
a huge
wet fart.

Then,
I'll shit out
a nipple.

The doctor
will hold the nipple
up
and my family
will start crying.

They'll eventually
bronze it
and hand it over
to my grandchildren,
to remind them
that life
is fucking strange,
especially their grandfather's.

Possibilities

There was
nothing
in our heads.

It was clean and open.

Then,
came our
parents.

They sat us
in front of the tv
while they
tried
to forget
their failures.

They sent us
to school
to get an
education?

We learned
all about
fear.

We had to
accept
this
as our world.

Just as our parents did.

And their parents too.

The never ending cycle
spinning
out of control.

All hopes
and dreams
cast
aside.

All life
wasted
and warped.

It's over for them.

This is our world.

This is our time
to forget
all
that we've been taught.

This is our time
to wake up
our minds
to the infinite
possibilities
within ourselves.

This is our time
to take back
what is ours:

LIFE.

In the Bones

The soul
does not reside
in the heart.

Nor in the brain.

Or the liver.

It's in our bones.

It hides
in the marrow.

Where nothing
can harm it.

When we die,
it's not
released.

It stays there.

In the bones.

It dreams there
till it cannot
dream
anymore.

Then it is
finally
released.

It becomes
something
new.

Something
different.

Something
not
like
you.

So we never remember
our past lives.

We wouldn't want to.

We wouldn't be able
to start
anew.

We would
collapse
under
our past mistakes.

Like we do now.

Like we've done
in the past.

Like we'll do
in the future.

Unless,
we listen
to
our
bones.

Empty

Evolution
is a slow
process.

Most
have no patience
for it.

Most
can't even make it
across town
without having
a thought of suicide.

Yes,
it would be much
easier
to be dead.

I can't argue with that.

But,
how much better
would life be
if we ceased
to care?

We let people
pass us
without any
resentment.

We let people
be different
and appreciate their
existence.

We cannot do this.

Look within our own homes.

It's nothing, but
agitation and
rage.

Yet,
We want
to save
the world.

Why can't we just
let things be
and work
on ourselves
and better our conditions?

No one needs
our help.

We can only make
things
worse.

I have some advice:
create.

Create a new television,
one that will make us
all
shut it off
and laugh at each other.

Or create
our own movies.

Ones that we can
pass down
and not be ashamed
about.

Or create
our own
books.

Anything.

We owe it
to ourselves.

We deserve better.

Or this world
is better off
without
us.

This Rusted World

He was uncontrollable.

One second,
he's be in his playpen,
the next,
he'd be outside
with a spray can
writing his name
in his own language
on the side
of the house.

As he got older,
he stole things,
anything
he could get his
chunky lil hands on.

At school,
he was
a menace.

He was simply
bored
with what the teachers
were trying
to cram
into his enlarged head.

Our mother
and any man
she was with,
would try
and scold him.

Absolutely
nothing
worked.

His ass would be
bruised and broken,
but he'd still manage
to sneak out
and cause some more
havoc.

It seemed as if
there was no
solution.

Until...

Adderall came along.

The cure all drug
to make your
hyper ass kid
shut up
and behave
like a well trained zombie.

It's fucked.

Is what it is.

It was
the last
resort.

She was doing her best,
but as a single mother,
she needed
help.

The doctor said,
he has
ADD.
Here is a prescription for
adderall.
Have him take it
and you'll see a
traumatic improvement.

She did.

He did too.

He had no choice.

He liked pills too,
even birth control.

No one
should have done this.

No one
should be
tamed.

There are people
destined
to be mad.

He was one of them.

I don't blame
my mother though.

I never will.

I, too,
wanted to
kill him
at times.

We all have
something
to learn from this
experience.

If and when I have a
child
and they are nuts,
I'm not sure what
I'll do.

What I'd like to say
I'll do is
let them be
mad
and accept them
for who
they are.

Cause I know,
this world
would not be
what it is
without these
maniacs.

And who am I
to stop them
from helping
to evolve
this rusted world?