Playing To The Beat Of The Winds


silent rolling hills

grasses still

as the trees standing above them

watchful soldiers

on the eve of battle

there’s a flower garden too


and purple petals particularly pushy

each inching higher than the other

for light

red brick preventing

further advance

Stonewall Jackson

come again

there’s a pretty little girl

dancing in the middle of it all

serenity mixed

with delicious vulgarity

as played with herself to the beat of the winds

enveloped me

fully clothed

yet confidently nude

in expression

and in awe of wonder

there’s no one to tell her

how to dress

or how to live

so she danced

she danced

and everyone that came near her

became white as the milk

that dripped

from her bosoms




On The Problems Many Seem To Forget…


there’s emptiness

on this road

stepping to the beat

of hunger


and shame

every blink of my eye

sends a waterfall of compassion

every rise of my chest

charges the air with electricity

to power the depressed

and give legs to the fallen

I was not sent here

to give the good news

I am

the news

all around me

men fiddle with lives

as a girl does with her dolls

but when she becomes a woman

she handles her children

as her very breath

these men have not matured

past the idles of babes

yet we call them masters



along with the downcast

and the plagued

I spit upon their presumptuous ways

and in battle I will strike them

cut them down

divide them up among the angels of death

for their time has ended

the sons of men were given

a task from above

to watch over his creation

to love all

as he is loved

but he tore down his father

and ripped apart his mother

he turned brother towards sister

and the animals too follow

in these desolate ways




Daytime Is A Bastard To My Existence



Cast aside

torn apart

by wolves

picked clean by vultures

and sapped of any manhood left

by desperate bitches

wishing not to be able to walk

when morning light

strikes their thighs

still gleaming from my light

injected into their living

yet lifeless


trudging in the desert

frost bitten by the night

the moon closes the wounds

with songs sung by starlight

till I’m asleep in a dream

sunlight opens them up again

tearing my spirit

ripping the soul

daytime is bastard to my existence

and the clouds are the mob

mocking me with cover

only to reveal rays brighter


than before

eating food takes energy

and it tastes sweet for such

a short time

I wish it never did

to begin with

where I’m walking

mishappen footprints may tell

a flock of crows

drone on and on

If only I was David

I’d strike them with thunderous bolts

and eat their brains fresh

as nature

did to mine

when I was born

I was not given eyes

to see people

nor the ears

to hear them

I can only guess

how they feel

and predict after practice

what their words mean

those genuinely cunning

and others

desperate for a one night stand

they’re all bred

from the same cloth

and the fire

turns all to dust


The Machine Lies To Us All


Mechanical whir
electric humming
metal earthquakes
that shake me to the core
not withstanding
I enjoy
looking at the clouds
noticing the shapes
wondering if I’ll ever get there
not staged landings
like they did on the moon
how do people distrust
the election numbers
yet believe NASA
when they said we landed
on an object few of us
if any
have ever seen
the shock waves
from cross country wires
must be short circuiting
common sense
how do I love
something I’ve never seen
they ask
because it’s the unseen
that keeps the seen
and allows us to choose
what to do
with our breaths


Thin Crimson Lines Drip Down Her Temple


thick clouds surround me
the sky is a mellow grey
air seems still
and though my heart beats slow
my brain is racing
far ahead of my skull
which bends at the pressure
of expanding thought
skin shatters
as the ceiling above it
killing my spectators
and allowing me to marry
the love of my life
thin crimson lines
drip down her temple
mixing with the whiteness
of virgin climax
she tastes like you
only sweeter
the object of relationship
is not love
but freedom
in the partnership
of two souls
bound by one
not by metal circling a digit
but contentment in connection
in a lifelong desire
to enjoy one another


Living With Aspergers Is Like Shadow Watching



Living with aspergers
is watching someone’s shadow
and guessing
who they might be
I see motions
and I think
they’re speaking
I hear commotion
and I think
they’re moving
images fade together
unless there’s darkness
then nothing at all
I hope out of kindness
but kindness is rarely returned
the mysteries of the night
confound the complexity
of unexplained sound


Dear Her (and the names are endless possibility)



Dear her
(and the names are endless possibility)
I’m sorry
I’m so
so sorry
for being a sick bastard
appearing clumsy
and dropping things in front of you
just so you’d pick them up
and I’d get a glance
at boobs
shy glances
mixed with dirty thoughts
two parts greed
one part jealousy
in a six inch tube
gives you a complete mess
even Clorox failed
to remove the stains
I’m sorry I wanted you for that
that alone
I didn’t know what I was doing
(I did)
I didn’t know what was happening
(I did)
I just wanted to talk
and I thought that was the best way to
cunning youth
lip locked with honest desire
I can tell you I’ve changed
keep a calendar, though
you’d always know
I’m just as quick to change my mind
as the leaves blow
with a sudden breeze


I’m Talking To You Without Mentioning Your Name


I don’t know who you are
honestly I can barely pronounce
your name
hometown is a blank line
along with a everything else
this world seems to value
above heart
and trust
or honesty
they say I talk to myself
midnight comes
and goes
Kansas City plays on
into extra innings
as I murmur thoughts
only my pen understands
my words are sometimes
the drippings
from dry humping memories
and other times flowers
I keep tossing at tombstones
and many times
(Wisconsin knows best)
it’s me talking to you
without referencing your name
dancing with dawn
cheating on the night
I’m somehow married to both
because I’m indecisive as hell
and I missed the bus to heaven

Pretending To Pretend To Care What You Think


I haven’t written about aspergers
in a few
maybe I’m tired
of saying it
writing it
reading about it
pretending to pretend
I care what people think about it
and me
I tear labels off
and cast in the trash
just like in reality
they’re made of plastic
never to truly last
I don’t need to write it
for you to know I have it
and don’t tell me
I’m a warrior
something special
or wonderful
I cheat on myself everyday
and inflict deep wounds
far wider than anything
ever pictured on the moon
I’m a terrible
terribly shy
yet no longer friendless
poetically inspired
and forever addicted
someone who can’t say hi
but has followers
in the thousands
depressed at times
beyond measure
yet able to wake
from the crushing pressure
of the sea
just in time to make you think
I’m one of you
what a catch


Her Smile Makes Life Worth Living


smile that lasts
for hours
after the sun goes down
you can see it
through the reflection in the window
even the moon
takes a step back
in her presence
nothing romantic about us two, though
she’s just a friend to you
you’ll never be in love
but that’s fine
because she’ll change your life
without a kiss
or even much of a flirt
I knew it all along
and am simply happy to relish
in her happiness
for the length of her smile
makes living this life
just a little bit more