Historically Crazy... and Unconscious

I
Am
historically crazy and unconscious
with all this
can't fake it
or make it
and take it
and break through?

I
Am
historically crazy and histrionic
subsonic
am I broken?
or hoping?
or even open
to you?

the art I create is the life that I live is the hope that I give where foundations unsteady tip over and break the illusions that hold us the possessions that own us and you know you know this

I
Am
historically crazy and unconscious
unresponsive
is it stealing?
revealing?
or kneeling
to find truth?

I
Am
historically crazy and despondent
sardonic
will I chase it?
or face it?
erase it
and fall through?

the life I create with the art that I hate with the heart that I break where unsteady foundations cause me to stumble and fall through the life I forestall the obsessions that build me I hide from all

To Be Human

Why should I resent this world?
When it is all I know and have known?
Maybe there is more to know, maybe not
That is a gamble wagered in the heart
What if it is wrong to be human?
To have this self-awareness and perception?
To have intention and words,
And feelings too human for those words?
What if humanity is nature's nightmare?
Should I dissolve myself back to dust?
That would be as useless as a drop of rain
Falling away in disgust of the rainbow.
What if I feel the burden of the pain and nightmares
That my particular life has borne?
Should I eat a bullet in fear,
No.
Better to bear witness, with eyes open
Unafraid
Unashamed
To be human.

And Generatons Pass

God loves war
It is His theater
Out of the ground
Man was made
The same dark,
Bloody and haunted
Ground of his birth
Where Abel lies buried
By a brother
Who toiled the ground
And generations pass
Each fighting for
A small plot
While God is on the side
Of the defender
So too God is on the side
Of the invader
Watching this brutal drama
Unfolding by starlight
Through a thousand tongues
And out of the ground
From which he rose
For which he fought
Believed, bled, struggled
Into this same ground
He crawls back
And generations pass
As the weapons grew deadlier
His heart grew colder
His head confused
By his God's delight
In comedy, tragedy, history
As generations pass...

And what a show it is!

This land, And the people that walk it

Watch this land
Always be careful
It likes nothing better
Than to rise up
And strike you hard
On the heel
Like a viper
This land
And the people that walk it
Sin is their nature
Sudden violence their sin
So be careful
Where you step
Around here.

I am the Blind Man

I look but do not see
I feign to shadows
My heart pounds
Confusing sounds near me
I have weak hands to grasp
I have no teeth to bite
I crave food always
And it fails to nourish me
I live like this
In a city unknown
I am rendered thus
I am the Blind Man.

in security

who do you accuse?
with your presence
forced violently into
my sleeping life
you smell of cigar smoke
and skin bracer
and yellowing paper
i find you whispered
who do you accuse?
with your menacing glare
behind leathery eyes
formaldehyde suit stiff
you haunt the night
and all other places
where honest men tremble
in labyrinthine sanctuaries
who do you accuse?
and why do i bother to ask
because i know it is me
i know by my fear
i am guilty of nothing
nothing save my fear
but it is enough
cut from my own soul
there is no guilt
there is only suspicion
there is no wrong done
none is needed
i have crawled on my belly
through small holes
walked dirt paths alone
through nightmare lands
i have wandered in mazes
among relics of my life
and watched good men die
from the sin of my fear
hopeless
helpless
but honest
i am who i accuse
who do you accuse?

Haiku #4

five syllables rest
with seven upon my chest
no others expressed