Is sexual intercourse an honest Expression?

We make that face, we twitch our legs,
but is sex an honest expression?
Some say it’s the nature’s way,
Someone had to teach the kids the lesson,
but is sexual intercourse an honest expression?
They pick the brightest, or the shyest.
They say, “Hush, hush, don’t fear my penis.”
At the end of the day, they turn away & say,
“Next!”
So, is sex really an honest expression?
I have to say, I’m somewhat jealous.
“What do you mean”, you ask,
“Jealous of the raped?”
Well, yeh, look at where they are now,
also rich & famous, live in the palaces.
Maybe that’s how society function?
No? It’s not the way to treat kids?
Why don’t we ask the honest gents?

Half & half.

I keep tripping myself.
There's a chasm
that's my wound.
How it got there,
I forgot.
Hitting that record button
to find some clues,
to remind myself.
It cuts me in the middle.
Livers, lungs, brains, hearts
all fell out.
Then there are two people
instead of one.
They're somewhere else.
I try & try to beckon them:
incentives, illusions.
Impossible task.
What if I'm more scared than
they are?
How can they come home
when I'm not strong enough?

Wouldn’t it be nice.

Not having to decide
or hear any noise.
Wouldn't it be nice
to lose weight just like that,
don't have to sit back
or look at another face.
Wouldn't it be nice.
Don't have to write another word,
or think of another excuse.
Wouldn't it be nice
to have no one to worry about
or any one to worry of.
Wouldn't it be nice.
Not having to drain another life,
or drink another Kool-Aid.
Wouldn't it be nice
to just sleep & see no stars,
don't have to endure the glares
of another desert or the injuries
of another just dessert.
Wouldn't it be nice
to just say nothing at all,
don't have to deal at all.
Wouldn't it be nice.

So what.

The brain of a melon, ass of a truck,
so what so what there's no magic carpet ride.
So what so what so what.
I forgot the words while brushing my teeth
so what so what so what.
It's all a dream, no fairness, just sirens,
so what so what so what.
When the light is dimming, the beer is spilling,
mama's crying, baby's begging,
so what so what so what.
Scan the room for things to take
throw away in the next garbage bin.
So what so what so what.
Can't get outta bed till coffee's in mind
so what so what so what.
The words & rhythms all in my head
they rebel cause I lazy get them wrong
so what so what so what.
There's a virgin land with virgin lads
to fuck & to have, God must've said:
so what so what so what. 

Keeping up.

All I ever wanted to do
is to keep up with this thing.
I never know where it will turn.
One moment, it's despair,
the next, sunbeams.
Never satisfied with good living.
So, we are stuck together.
When it's happy, I feel bad.
When it's sad, I gain insight.

All I ever wanted to do
is to keep up with this you.
So arrogant & full of pride,
yet manage to keep the light.
When they say "bow", you say "fight".
Swimming in the moment,
except when you cry.
Maybe none of it's good,
nor any of this bad.

All I ever can do is keeping up
with this life.

Cloudy noon.

I feel privileged to have a window
to the open sky
where the clouds part
there's the space above,
and between the silver linings,
a light that sometimes gentle
sometimes scorches.
Everything changes down below,
and yet there's lost signal.
What can contribute
to the shadows & echos?
Are we not a part of the whole?
The same air past our nostrils?
Through the earth we come & go?
What is life when it's gentle & beautiful? 

That afternoon nap.

Had one of those afternoon sleep
that dreams are made out of.
Can't stop the brain from floating
into the soft wind & warm sunbeams
where I grinded into something hard
while the body is held immobile.
Then the whole body disappeared
into something that's opposite of pain.
The eyes won't open. The breath not felt.
Still I hear the world's turning
with joyance creatures all about.
When it's time to come back
I forgot how to say hi.
Feel like it's the first time
that I have used my eyes.
The sun's burning bright,
the clouds' shades' just right.
I have to ask myself again, & again,
"Where have I been? Where am I?"

In-accessible.

There was a land made out of rivers & streams,
faires & star dust, sunshine through the leaves.
They froze in place as beautiful as can be,
an oasis that has become inaccessible.
The horrors of cliffs & deserts,
time stretches the distant, distorts the road.
Can't let go of finding things more beautiful,
maybe the next bleak dawn,
maybe the next broken soul.
Will it still be accessible?
Muster the strength as I grow old.
What I had was complete, long time ago.
Maybe the next wreck holds the map
and the strength to stay.
It's been inaccessible.
Not something that can be brought & sold.
Mountains of debts to cover up the guilt.
It's really inaccessible.
No-man's land in the dark, no one knows how far.
Scared of returning, paradise then death.
So inaccessible, pride & dust.