Poem: Prurience

Love someone, you cannot have,
you'll learn the feel of yearning.
For someone who has something priceless to you,
while they throw it away on some other.
The other wont care and the Irony grows,
but never reunification for any.
Whist you love her so, and she loves another,
there never is any fulfillment.
The distance is far and it only get farther,
though feel that I'm meant just for her.
Her pure disregard is the ice to my prurience,
casting a lake on my Falls.

Poem: Schwarzenegger

As a child I loved you.
Only You and one other (Michael Keaton).
My two Actor Men,
who could do no wrong:
My Idols, my Heroes, my Gods.
The Men of my life.

When I started acting,
my agent contacted yours,
You sent me a Press picture
from the movie "Predator"
picture-frame sized,
you holding a big gun
with a cigar in your mouth,
and a photocopied autograph.
I knew it was photocopied
but I still loved it.
Sylvester Stallone had nothing on you.
(Michael Keaton sent me a personally signed
"Bettlegeuse" poster).
Did you even read my letter?
I was nine.
Somehow I doubt you did.

Now you're the Governor of my state;
I've never been more ashamed.
How could you?
I loved you.
I looked up to you.
Like Reagan you fled to Politics.
Unlike Reagon,
you have no political sense at all.

You've killed the memory I held
of you, Arnold.
A warm, childhood, fantasy hero.
Laid waste to feed
your greedy, hungry, little ego.

Ashamed, Arnold.
Just Ashamed.
Feel it.
Feel the disapointment you have caused,
to this person, to this child,
to children who idolized you everywhere.

Feel the Shame.

Poem: Bumrest

Is there ever enough rest
for a bum on the streets?
There are no bums I know
who say they're well-rested.
From sprinklers to cops
to cold or the shakes;
there's always something
to keep a bum moving.
The promise of food,
or money, drugs,
or just clean socks.
Maybe a need to pee.
Always on the move.
A nap in the park,
a drunken knockout before dawn,
who knows what day it is,
when the world is not marked
by sleeping and waking,
night and day,
job and freedom.
Just hours, just time,
ticking away forever.

Some bums stay awake to fight the time,
others choose downers to slow it to a still.
Some choose nothing but prayer and meditation;
they're usually the Nuttiest.
But time must pass regardless,
and none of us get enough rest.

The mind gets fuzzy after a couple of days
without sleep.
Even when you're sober as a skunk.
Too fuzzy to make plans sometimes,
to make sentences.
A slight, blurry, auric-fuzz
on the edge of your vision,
surrounding everything you see,
slowing reaction time.

What? Huh? Muscles ache.
The jaw clenches.
Speed or crack is almost tempting,
just to change the exhaustion.
But, no.
Got to just keep walking.
Been here writing too long.
Need to go to the bathroom.
Just keep going until sundown.
Then sleep.

Then another day.

Poem: Tired (#3?)

Too tired to write
too dirty to clean
the sweat on my skin
leaves a bubbling sheen

No way to think well
with the fuzz in my head
the best I can manage
to wish I was dead.

Though the world is pretty
with fun all around...

I'm tired, my friend,
I'm tired of it all...

Poem: Underground

Like an underground river You,
my tears, are always there.
Like I am divided in two
and the bottom half is always crying.
While the top half
interacts with the World.
I can descend into my river
whenever I wish,
simply by letting my guard down,
thinking one too many thoughts
in the wrong direction and
Whoops! Splash!
Drowning and crying,
crying and drowning.

But I never die,
nor am I ever saved
by a Hero or Goddess.

I simply pull myself up,
pretending the river doesn't exist
- and I go on with life.
Unresolved.
Unfixed.
Uncompleted.
About to slip at any moment
back down into the river.
But for now I'm OK.

I used to think the river was good
and may lead somewhere Holy.
Now not so sure,
new power comes
with new introspection.
The more I rise above,
the easier it gets...

Living in the River for years,
the tears are more familiar
than the warmth.
Cold, sepparate, and salty.
They know me so well
that the warmth of Love
always confuses, a creature of
dark being shined by the sun.
The initial warmth so beautiful,
so close,
that the coldness
which used to be my life
is seen as it is;
Sad and Lonely.

Yearning for life in the sun.
Not to be. Not to be.
To imagine I know what Lucifer felt,
what Adam and Eve experienced.
Denial from the Heaven
that oncce was known to them.
Writ in stone:
"Thou Mayest Never Return."
Cast from the most beautiful place
in existance -
to...well... You get the idea.

To imagine I know what they felt;
is that not Pride
of the first degree?

Poem: Payday

Woke up deeply sad about Her,
almost crying,
then remembered it was Payday;
the one day a month I'm rich.
Bum-rich.
It didn't really change my feelings.

Early morning, sun just rising.
Me, deciding weither to cry,
to go back to sleep,
or to get up and start my day.
Deciding to cry, no tears come.
Hiding my head under the top
of my sleeping bag,
no sleep same.
Windering again about crying
and if it was good for me
or just self-perpetuating
dis-ease.

I get up to start my Payday
in foul spirits.

Walking by the seaside,
first thing in the grey morning,
is a hard place to stay
in a foul mood.
Truly beautiful,
my sadness seems petty and small
in comparrison to the Ocean,
who has seen so much.
So much death,
so much birth,
and here's little 'ol me;
Sleeping in the same spot
that countless
Ohlohnes Natives
also slept.

She's using me, I know,
though she may not.
He's done using me, I know,
though he may not.

How can my life change?
Withuot outside intervention?

Thoughts: Dog Owners

Dogs are for people who like to yell, command, and repeat, at other beings. People who enjoy yelling "No Poofie! No Poofie! No Poofie!" Forever in an endless number of commanding tones. Moreso dogs are for people who like telling stories to other people about times when they were yelling "No Poofie!" and it happened to be funny to them.

I guess this is a healthier outlet for people with those sorts of tendancies, while cats have thier own opinions about who they like and don't have to obey their "Master." Dogs are known and loved for taking abuse and being so stupid as to still love their "Master." As long as they are being fed.