Sonnet 1

the wake of youth something was ascertained,
eyes roam toward other figures to gaze,
heart swings rapid as her hand he then gains,
something dreamt of one many recent days,
simple words put forth to ensue a thought,
hoping her defenses soon surrender,
her wonderful being though none is ought,
my words can't compare to her lips tender,
refute constant want to sing her praises,
a voiceless vessel in admiration,
thus, I give and kiss in many phases,
to send her spirit more elevation,
this woman beset upon me by grace,
living in her eyes to lay by her waist,

The Walls of Morrow

On the way in scouts were looking for new soldiers...

I walked in the cold ash of the gods slowly towards my destination,
Looking upon in despair as a line was forming outside the doors to hell,
People encircling me stepping crooked and confused with hesitation,
Passing the first guard i entered single file to be awakened by the smell,

A maze of things and sounds sexed my senses ,
The sounds of children crying and people sighing,
Endless rows of lines, aisles , and fences,
Cameras attached to white steel and gray post prying,

They watch our every move and monitor our glances,
They hold guns that fire red lasers ,
The modern workers move in slow dreadful advances,
The people look around for foreign scraps to savor,

Pushing their existence to and frow pulling their excess weight along,
Marked down everyday by the beast the eldest guards sit at door seats,
Divided divisions of detriment and white cement sing a sorrowful song,
While i gander over the remains of the dead meats,

No separation at all; here everyone is the same,
Not many smiles to grasp in this place;not much to gain,
But Marx would not have chose this equality,
The shelter of misunderstood forced camaraderie,

Much to be learned about our pluto pseudo mocracy,
Mocking me with endless plastic,
The intercom calls for a guard of store,
He jogs gun in hand as if going to do something drastic,

Families usually separate at the front,
Men distracted by endless box visions,
Children cling to lesser things to hunt,
While the women make family decisions,

Legal dealers of misery ,drugs, and artificial happiness,
This is our beginning and our very start,
Minorities and class systems intertwine,
The first guard said to me "Welcome to Wal-Mart"

4,142,009 thoughts

young men full of problems and poetry walk quietly alone,
the rare gems of the mind sitting waiting to escape,
they sit contemplating the demise of nothing at home,
they pray quietly by candles for the strength to hesitate,
the poets speak in metaphors,similes, and questions,

you see like...

the whole time Icarus flew toward the sun he was looking at it,
whats the irony in that?

long and enduring but everything has one end;my patience,
complacent, when asked but, ask thrice and my reply may change,
strange and hectic,neglected and hard to swallow;my thoughts,
distraught,my mind aligns itself with the reigning rays of fallen angels,
tangled in my own wrong and right,what the hell happened to my innocence and insight?
these thoughts that run me crazy...(in no paticular order)

what time do i have to be at work?what time do i have to be at school?i have a test? what do i need to do at work? is my mom okay? is my dad okay? wheres my girlfriend ?is she okay? where'd i leave off in this book? wasn't i reading that book first? to be or no to be? is the proletariat ever going to remove the capitalist shoe from its neck? are black people going to gain something good soon? why is that man looking at me?why is that woman looking at me? is she looking at me? why was she looking at me? are those people okay?is that family okay?she looked at me right? does my car need an oil change? how much gas is in my car? whens the last time i wrote?i wonder what my girlfriends doing?i wonder what shes thinking?have i meditated this week? i havent been doing enough lately have I? is everyone in my family okay? are all my friends okay?do i need a haircut?how do i look?whats today? ......stop

thinking for a minute just to regain some consciousness about who you are yourself,
when was the last time you looked inside to feed your soul some wealth ,
sit down young boy and fall on your face then pray,
your mother looks at you worried everyday,
your 19 and you pity all but your own mind and body,
hardly any time to remember your innocence...
when you gave it all away you thought you wouldn't remember it..

vultures flying round my brain like birds in bugs bunny cartoons,
waiting to feed on the remains of some bit of composure,
i think if i just take the time to stop and think about ME soon,
then half of this could come to some closure...

you walk in circles that are really squares,
youll walk over here just to get there,
you have no need for direction,
look at new imperfections for progression...

Psalm of Jenin

white and black keffiyeh draped clinching close to my neck,
to keep me warm in the cold when the world clothed us with neglect,
stone in my hand walking over bodies through the sand,
praying five times a day reading Al 'Quran ,
i make salat and kneel to the east;children lay stiff in bank that's west,
my father had a heart so used steel to push it out his chest,
my baby brother died in his sleep when they bulldozed our house,
his eulogy was a photo of my mother crying with an open mouth,
buried him under rubble so if I get a gun ill do nothing subtle ,
i learned how to count by watching the death toll double,
red is the blood they spill, green for land that's taken,
black for the times in which we suffer,white for the emptiness of Palestine forsaken,
mistaken I am not while the anger brews in my fist,
the way they take mercilessly and the violence does not subsist,
dust rising from mortar shells blocks my view of a cloudy sky,
i have no options,no choices, but to fight or sit and die,
Animal treatment results in animalistic behavior,
So some strap bombs to their chest so they have heaven later to savor,
Palestinians are niggers,
Palestinians are chinks,
sitting watching bullets fly while my third eye slowly blinks,
Palestinians are wetbacks,
Palestinians are kikes,
overlooking their reflection to see who they're acting like,
If i see a tank Ill use all the strength and bravery i contain,
to stop it with my bare hands since they've driven me insane,
pressured by the moans of a genocidal war,
walking in deaths shadow stains a once innocent core,
women and children can do no more than slowly sit and wait,
while the devil wipes his mouth us and seeks to stock his plate,
this must seem surreal;maybe even like a bad dream,
nights flooded with innocent screams i hear at age 13,
my people remain strong throughout despite everything they see and saw,
loosely gripping injustice but still praising Allah.

mine eyes stare at the sun cause i haven't seen much worth shit,
the walking prelude to a kiss that does not exist,
clinching moon rays ;hand out the window ;cigarette in fist,
selfish writer who cannot escape the "I" or "me",
liver regaining life from underage Hennesy,
scented with cocoa butter, toilet water, and smoke,
when i die i want them to recite what i wrote,
A/C student riding the waves of youthful confusion,
always allowing breast,buttocks,and lips for intrusion,
carries a pad with him in his left pocket,
around his neck lay a many different lockets,
of late accompanied by a Brazilian,the Joy, or a man identified as Reed,
all sitting contemplating life while their eyes bleed,
fathers face is his when he looks in the glass,
and hes chasing the same standards for chivalry and class,
no woman now; most Ive known hate my site,
so i hold onto the stars and fornicate with pale light,
slim or skinny both claim title to his figure,
the blank expression on his face populates many pictures,
with two heads and four eyes; and half a brain,
destitute of half the signs that he's sane,
many times stepping forward or back from destruction,
every step he owns is light percussion,
nothing too self doubtful about his person,
a cynic though waiting like an old man for conditions to worsen,
speaks too many but revealing to very few,
i wouldn't tell you everything even if i knew you,
face in a book ears glued to jazz and soul,
hes warm at heart when the weather is cold,
inside him dwells an invincible wit,
never too far away from a smart ass statement,
complacent...he will continue

Leona One in Six

her hymen broke when she was thirteen along with her dreams,
it was not her choice to lose her self esteem,
she gave up on men and lost lost all her confidence,
now there's no hope in her or thoughts of resilience,
she smells of hazel ,coral bells , and gin,
her face;plain, eyes; gray, figure;thin,
and her stringy brown hair chases her shadow ,
as if a mirror afoot men look into her checking their echo,
gazing straight but seeing the ground,
she walks as if she were trying to avoid sound,
waiting on the corner under streetlight inspection,
she sits smoking bitterly in retrospection,
they come in her room quiet and don't ask or tell;then shes took,
and when they finish with her ;never a second look,
she repeats more misery every time she switches tricks,
men with no desire to love leave her eternally sick,
living every moment of her first time over and over again,
shes a slave to cocaine , a man with a cane, and wallows in all her sins,
mind never together far apart sprawled out like her legs,
usually found on her knees but does not ever beg,
she takes the money to a man that treats her like father,
none for her, none to steal, she sees no reason to bother,
she neglects her own spirit but tries to keep her body clean,
she showers in her hotel room before any act obscene,
some men like to hit her, some men like to spit ,
some men do not stop when she yells "quit!!!!!",
she works parties and partakes with women too,
she makes more money if subject for groups,
this woman is a lovely painting of abuse,
she will lay in sorrow and plead for misuse,
men full of promethazine who emanate marijuana,
the neighborhood where she was raised held no such drama,
desire to escape but shes blank;so no attempt,
all her being will go to her pimp.


....are you a pimp?

opaque rays shining through,
the glass is hardly stained,
moving grays float to blue,
but black will be obtained,

the theme for thinking sitting with no soul round,
the mind realizes its solitude and holds onto the justice,
the ashes float like snow toward the ground,
a glass of liver demise and a stiff wrist never fusses ,

Fuck the world around him,
he'll go into his own mind,
Where thoughts of bodies swim,
and where waves of you recline,

the outline for pre -insanity.
every damn night.