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The dust in the lights on the walls of subway tunnels
Patterns of love in the dark
It’s like night underground
Cool and electric
How I nearly died
at her hands
In love’s winter
now long ago,
and in the dark, the train stops.
And the poem stops.


Stockholm Syndrome

Stockholm Syndrome

When he sleeps he looks like an angel, someone once said. He dreams of the dead moving, and seeking escape in the wan light of a dying world, perhaps already dead, save for him.
Her alarm, church bells from her iPhone wakes him from a view from above of an old graveyard in a forest in the sickly blue dawn, of himself almost surrounded by the shambling corpse. He does not want to leave himself there. It is the cold dark before daylight in her apartment. She is angry at having to wake and dress and go to work.She instructs him to clean the bathroom floor when she is gone. He puts on his clothes and
goes into the bathroom.
He takes some spray cleaner and a sponge with a scrubbing surface on one side, and diligently cleans his blood, the blood she spilled off of the toilet seat cover, ruby splashes from his heart fading into disinfectant, blurring like the tears of humiliation in his eyes. He makes sure it is immaculately clean, that there is no trace of his own blood on her toilet.He wants to please her. He wants so desperately to be happy with him when she gets home. He then works on the floor scrubbing away the crimson love for her that once flowed from his heart. He leaves no evidence in the winter morning of the night when she held the knife,
eyes gleaming like the dawn of a dead dream world with hate and relish for his fear at her death threat before she
struck his face, splashing misshapen roses on the bedcovers, which dripped on her carpet
like crimson petals for her to walk on the next morning, as he staggered bleeding from her bedroom into the bathroom. 
The floor is clean, and he thinks disoriented still, “She will be so happy when she gets home.”
The tires of her car scrape the gravel
outside as the day closes like the door of a taxidermy shop. She walks in angry.
She is not impressed.


West Portal Station

West Portal Station

A kiss good bye
a blow to the face
a leather jacket
torn strips of lace

Love is an emotion
You choose to live without,
So I stop laying poems on your altar
sick and tired
Of being devout

I pass West Portal Station
on my way to my new life
St. Francis Church slides by,
under a pale blue dawn sky,
will I ever find a true wife?
One that loves me completely,
won’t cut me up and eat me,
Won’t play sick games,
with drugs and knives,
and childhood names

One who will enjoy me,
won’t try to destroy me
One who will believe me,
Love and never leave me

I’ve had enough of this cemetery,
systems attacking 
love with thoughts so scary
I’ve had enough of cold war chess,
for having thoughts
of love,
forced to confess,
So I laugh and sign the paper,
Ride subways to escape her,
dream of two tickets to
writing floating poems about this place

Somehow , Someway, Somewhere-
above a peaceful earth,
sleeping garden of new birth,
Live and laughter filled with mirth-
A kiss above the stars

Love Is A Curse

Love is a curse,
it strikes without warning,
causes infinite hurt,
says goodbye in the morning.

Tracks my bitter tears
Across the years
Like tiny stars
In the sky

Left alone with my fears
Mind shifting painful gears
Manufacturing a tortured why?

I’ll tell you why:

A soul mate died
because  they lied
No one saw the years I cried 
society demanded success on my part,
when only sadness was my heart
Said to put on a brave face
and let the weak die with a
cold lack of grace,
flashed brand new portraits of long dead men,
Said, “You don’t have them, that’s your sin.
You can’t take care,
of those you love,
of those that love you,
you’ll never win.”
I can’t help but put others
when one has too little
It makes it worse.
To love all that live 
is my only motive,
but I can’t afford
the candle votive,
so I light a discarded
ignore the brand name,
Trademarked Regret,
and all I have is
sorrowful verse, of silent
cries afflicted,
with love’s curse-
smoke my regret slowly and reflect,
how many died
of neglect,
and think of a way to save the rest,
pray I’m not put to the test,
with sweet nostalgia
dance away,
under love’s gentle curse,
always held sway.
The moon above my
face in anguish
For love, in longing’s evening languish,
heart calling Love’s distance dancing
In the night
Like bats dipping,
Shadows in moonlit flight
Time you’re
gone increases, 
making it worse,
You were by far,
the sweetest curse

Why Should I Be Loyal?

I was every innocent child that in a frightened voice said no, and that were asked if they wanted to be whipped; why should I be loyal?
I was every kid in school
Who got picked on, beaten because he looked different.
Why should I be loyal?
I was every lover who was beaten, promised it would never happen again, then beaten,
Why should I be loyal?
I was every one who was not allowed to finish a sentence, because they were innocent, but their interrogator wanted to prove them guilty by silencing them, so they could inflict more abuse. 
Why should I be loyal?
I was everyone who was threatened with murder,
Just for someone’s sadistic kicks.
Why should I be loyal?
I was every one who needed time to think about whether or not they wanted to be with someone who treated them this way, and was given none, just an ultimatum.
Why should I be loyal?

I should be, just not to you, my ex-abuser.
I should be, 
just not to you.

Food For Thought

Hendrix played the blues
I keep paying dues
Can’t stand to watch the news
People being killed
The rich want to be thrilled,
The poor their bellies filled,
And I need food for thought.

Where do these people come from?

Where do they come from, I help them, then have to ask them to leave,
I give them shelter, services, resources, from my resources for one,
They try to trap me and enslave me, try to make my life no fun.
Cut me off from the people that I love, boss me around, using whatever tools I can find,
And when I show my affection for all people,
they, not all people, try to rape my mind,
I keep saying love peace love, I say you can come to my place, next thing they make a mess and try to put me down,
Scare me with a false version of a tyrannical God, or a boogie man called the devil that they made up to try to scare me, falsely accuse the people and the musics and the cultures, that I love the most, of being evil, ’cause they’re jealous of me and my good time, try to separate me from the people that I know Devine, those that love me most,
That includes gods and godesses, Father Son and Holy Ghost, some times I feel like telling all my friends to back off, because I don’t want them to be victimized,
But then I don’t know who to turn to when my safety’s compromised.
Where do these people come from,
I do my best to help them, then they hurt me, and I have to ask them to leave,
They take my love as weakness, I do believe. 
I love you, please respect my home,
So I don’t have to ask you to leave.