Emote-ING

The sands of the hourglass keeps falling
The clock keeps ticking
Time keeps running
I stare at it not seeing
Just watching
But not really seeing
The shades that are black and white, monotonous, boring
Inside concrete walls sitting
And sitting
Waiting for nothing
Doing the motions again and again constantly repeating
Now lying
Looking at the ceiling
Still it’s black and white, unmoving
Sleeping
The colors burst forth, hear voices laughing
See lips smiling
Feel rain pouring
The heart is beating
Eyes flutter open, it’s black and white again…nothing is stirring.

Struggling

Up and down the merry-go-round to and fro on the great see-saw round and round my head goes round wakefulness and slumber up and about with laughter and sobriety to hysterics of a hyena and to cries of ghosts searching for the saving light on and on and on and in and out circling circles round about sporting a smile and wearing a frown stepping back and taking a step to joyful glee of insanity and sober reality that stars shine up above and the flutter of wings of a dove the question is: to love or not to love?

Imagined Reality

of sharp speared horns of unicorns
of golden glittering wings of pies of butterflies
of glistening scales of rainbow on the tails that fades of mermaids
of blazing infernal fires of the ago eons by gigantic cosmic dragons
of Lisa Croft, Indiana Jones, and Maria Makiling--swinging, shooting, and singing (respectively) . . .


. . . for a pot of golden tinkling metals that are ringing a siren sound of longing for those who long to seek the unfounded treasures--


of Jack Sparrow with his broken compass with a crazy arrow
of smiles from lips that crinkles the eyes to delight the southrough the wandering of the mind
of angels and fairies
of golden roses and lush green grasses
of El Dorado and Atlantis
of the Knight of nights and kisses and caresses
of passion unleashed in a wonderland island of dreamland . . .




. . . dream on!

Strung up on hook and i

The guitar that hungs as it is strung up on a hook is what i eye to be strummed from G to D the E and C with up and up down down and up and up that sound may spill from the O of its mouth always open for a strum like my exposed heart the shape of a heart always out in the open that love may touch that the soul may rejoice to electrify the mind that commands my eyes to eye the guitar that hungs as it is strung up on a hook and that i may strum from E to D again then C and G and A minor to F sharp minor for a minor sound that ascends from the depths of the recess of the cobwebed mind that has allowed the exposed heart to play its song for the longest time now and is now eyeing the guitar that hungs as it is strung up on a hook and i

Sam Raping Maria

Maria gave a blood chilling scream of salty tears a hiccup of blood and sweat a labored breath barely breathing upon pieces of torn clothing of blue, white, yellow, and red as red as blood as red as rage as red as a rose in the garden of war with guns from M16 to 14 to baby armalite to infant to .45 with bullets of gold that shine from the heart to pierce the dreadful laughter from the salivating mouth of Sam whose greedy fingers greedily clutching the smooth, now bruised hips of Maria defiling her mounds pinching her nipples to agonizing red again red in her eyes in her heart her red heart aflame boiling to the boiling point but Sam keeps her on chains colored chains with animated designs with faces of Paris Hilton, Usher, Shakira, Fernando Poe, and Gloria. Sam feeds Maria scraps a day just to keep her barely alive for him to push in and out, in and out, in and out of Maria and plunder again the juices of her cunt until the pain grows numb and everyday, every hour, every minute, every second a never ending nightmare Maria got used to, Maira got used to, to dull the pain so the pain will go away...Maria close your eyes while i take and take and take and take...Maria close your eyes. For Sam will slap her, whip her if she whimpers of freedom...freedom, freedom, freedom a distant sound out of reach from the closed hand...of Maria. Sated Sam laughs out loud at the poor Maria in shambles and crumbles in tears in pain and in shame matted with sweat and blood of blood colored red, bloody red...in her cunt it is red, in her mind it is red, in her heart it is red, in her feverish soul it is red and red would her wrists be when she would manage to untangle the chains and red would be the day that Maria opens her eyes and red would be the land where she would wage her war and red would be the blood of Sam as Maria will enlist all the Marias in a war against imperialists.