Hot words pressed on an ivory page. By the Goldsmith? By the Wind. Wordy joy forgets Wastes. Disintegrates. The blackest stains remain Poisoned. Piercing. Throw sticks, throw stones Please... Hot words divide homes. On this page  Your ink remains. Ink, far thicker than blood. Our ink-tainted Blood.

Afflicted man. Held hostage by a cramped mortal frame, Foreign to his own eyes.  A prisoner's rage kept at bay Only by the day’s appeasing rations. If you shave his hair, paint him white: Would the mad man howl in his human plight? A forgotten name and numeric code to hold place, A man stares back at a stranger face. A man. A number. Sardined among all others. A man. A head. Tossed about on sea of dread. "Free the prisoner!" The swollen heads cry. Peasantry, collectively out number The Royal Family, Nobility, Gentry. Yet, their breathless voice go unheard. One day... The ocean tides churn Charging winds fast at the horizon. Sure, as Alexandria's fire did aid the sicken mariners ashore, Starlight spears a grim pit sky. Relentless breath lapping, wrapping, whispering, wailing A man once tied, set sailing Set free.

Ignore it... what bliss Turn your head; find happiness. But you are kindhearted With a crown of intellect Why do you turn away? There is pain at the sight, A most agonizing form If the eyes were to stay. To sit and dwell Is to compose your own Hell. Be dumb and be free; Blind, busy... happy. Let this jungle consume you Let it breathe in your smell. You are part of the cycle The wane... the swell. But who are you, To submit to the great circus? You, A mere speck, on a dot Among an orbit continuum, Life here sustained By the fearsome burning sun. Your head of youth, once filled With intent to be the jungle king. Those lofty dreams now waste away, For your tamer is the ring. All living will decay You, the feeble lion king Lie down Obey

Like a child within the boundary-line confines Of   the parental mind. Where a barren white room, holds the low Echoing words   of imaginary beasts. Where doors stay latched tightly With child-proof locks, Time left to perception, Don't bother hanging clocks. Where promising lies Of a mothers melodic lullabies, Tell stories of a tomorrow guaranteed, Limbs are cloth wrapped, For broken bones of children   miscarried. Where wailing mouths are silenced... Not by the breast, but milk of the flower. They   are weaned on wet bottles, Which give   them feigned power. Now, this dull room stays lit For the comfort of sight. Children like to pretend They have no fright. Sitting like ducks... For their fated good night. Location: Agnes R. Katz Plaza Eyeball chairs by artist: Louise Bourgeois

How rambling the wild river, How confined, is that roaring river. How calm the silence, How mad, that deafening silence! How freeing is the drug? How shackling, that very drug. How clear, how luminous their eyes. How dim, how clouded your eyes. I tilt my face to the sky, Not in strife-- But to laugh with a sigh. This thing is a bit funny For, as we perceive it, Is not solely in the eye to see. How honey-sweet the success, How bitter that insurmountable success. How crippling the defeat. How rousing, that sting of defeat. How fair the beautiful people How amazingly ugly, those beautiful people. How vast our knowledge, How miniscule is our human knowledge? I lift my face to the sky, Not wanting an answer, But I still ask why? They cry tears of joy But I can't be bought. They feel the sorrows of a moment, Never again to happen, left in the past, forgot. How strong the pow...

As morning rises, I awake Wishing to wake as another, Born not to this likening Yet here I stand. A breath in time Lifting steady--  World sorrows, upon my back. A blip of an instant, As a delicate gold chain Breaks my heart. Who for? Ones I never have known. Oh, poor creature of fate I wish not to be! As a spear driven Through enemy hearts, I too driven-- Fiercely with emotion. Expresser of a world suppressed, longing for ease of logic. Level-headed Libra Yet, merely a guise Oh, indecisive mind. Pulling, tugging, struggling-- Child in a candy store Sugar heights Hearts feather-light. Sweet--now low, Crashing cymbals Hearts lead balloons. As the wallowing willow Bows to blustering winds. Dearest companion sadness, Writes invitation to seclusion. Hey you! Harbinger of passion-- Hope floats on your summits Hey you! Fabricated and formed In pits of despair-- On lofty elevations. Carry on! You, lovely savant o...

  See, you put your insecurity on me   Scared I’d find love elsewhere   And leave   In the end it was you—   To pack your bag and deceive   Kept me high on a shelf   Pale porcelain doll  Hidden from your other self.  Six winters; a few too long.  Daddy walked, and topsy turvy--  Life seemed wrong.  Not knowing who you were,  Life's purpose, your song.  The world was a lie  But you kept it inside  Couldn't live couldn't die.  Vice seeking--  Make the pain subside!  Big new house, but all alone  Shelter dog with no true home.  No joy to be had,  Couldn't eat, only weep.  Lie upon soft grass  Where you peacefully sleep.  Perfect images transfixed  Faultless, in your brain.  Pretty honey gives no comfort.  Feelings not the same. ...

Today the sunshine is here. For the first time in months She is able to gaze upon it. Most days, she searches with out-stretched arms Yet, the cold, iron bars keep her from seeking it. As a caged bird she cannot sing, Silence is her only scream. Some days feel like an eternity-- As darkness is the only thing to see. Yet, in these dark days of despair, What is the thing that keeps her there? She asks, "Where is the light?" "When may I sing?" This midnight seems unending. Yet, it's these days of seldom, Keeping her in place. When rays of sun... Shine upon her face. (written 1/22/15)