I hate the fact that everything breaks
Hearts and horses, especially plates.
A man would like to sleep but then awakes
The weather so sunny shifts, never waits.

Everything breaks, smashed or just a bit
Buildings crumble, teeth are chipped
The white shirt gets a spot, a lady takes a fit.
Morning brings daybreak, the champion is whipped.

Cars stop in the middle of nowhere, for no reason.
Coffee breaks, cigarettes, tea and cakes
Broken legs and second acts
Relationships and broken backs
Voices and promises and hymens
Banks and records, even cut diamonds.

It makes you see so clear
How if nothing ever broke
Nothing would happen, appear.
Life, living, just a broken fall
Before we’re returned to the bottom

The unchanging all.

God must have made the gun

That strong, heaven sending death stick.

I cannot see man, weak man

Making such a perfect, infallible beast.

Sticks, stones, knives and rope

These are different

They are not anonymous like a gun or god.

……….

Not all the hymns, from all the lips

In all the churches the world over

Will make me know different

Faith, hope, charity, goodwill

These are godly things,

But so too is a gun.

……….

I am sure that if god sits

On his throne high above,

He sits with a gun across his lap,

In fear of those below.

Those below with many guns

And many heavenly thoughts.

“all that exists is made from all that it is not”
……

Why do we awake from sleep?

Why not rest in dream’s soft keep?

And let heaven fill

with creatures less despised?

……..

Why do all things slowly rot?

Why live if only then to die?

Why are some fools, others not?

Why don’t real men cry?

………….

Why am I me, not him?

Why’s the sun bright not dim?

Why doesn’t nothing exist?

Why can’t we resist

the clock’s consistent commands?

…….

Why is one plus one two — not three?

Why does shit happen — to me?

Why is fire hot — not cold?

Why is it we grow old

and celebrate our own demise?

Enfin, why not?

She said     it was

stupid        meaningless       empty

this poem.

That it did nothing for her —

no thing depends upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water.

Yet, she aspired to greatness.

Cracking shells with her dull pen

she looked for the elusive pearl

to string around her slender neck.

She aspired to greatness

with an ungreat full mind.

And I two rows back

struck dumb

by her thick, reaching thighs

and the

vain pounding of her hard head,

tried to overlook her inconsistencies

thinking I might

see eternity in a grain of sand,

that I might

jump down from my high and firy cross.

But I could not,

the farmer in my green soul

knowing

that so much does depend upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water.

That so much does depend upon

empty beauty

full

filled with in

significance.

— to that other half, my “bene” factor

The shoes you wear for half a year

I’ll wear for 6 or more.

The shirt you wear this season

I’ll wear a lifetime long.

The music you listen to until the next big thing

I’ll dance to every day.

The drinks you sip at and never finish

I’ll to the bottom and quick.

The crusts of bread you leave at the side of your plate

I’ll live off of — better I’ve never ate!

The broad smile you flash infrequently

I’ll wear a lifetime long.

The thoughts so strong and sure, you think

I’ll in weakness push them to the brink.

The life you live like a tailored suit

I’ll live in spirit, a forever bearing fruit.