I see

inspiration, pouring over the

dawn hinge horizon,

rays of a new age- thoughts.

I see

the door swinging,

hello daytime, the rush

and push-pull-fast-go

of a schedule.

We must do,

we must earn,

we must complete,

this is utopia-

minus perfection-

we listen to the hierarchies commands,

question? no.

I see

ignorance pooling in the

bottomless pits labeled tear ducts,

babies molded into

a design set for

destruction-

don’t think, just do,

don’t care, just act.

Why strive, children,

when

you can follow the sheep to

the

slaughter house?

I see

a flag of possibilities,

red blood smearing our steps

as middle class blue

debate the moral code

of this fine society-

let us not forget white,

pure, raw, blinding

…binding…

light.

I see

moments of white,

selfless kindness,

in genuine laughter,

naive intentions,

consumed love making.

The baby sucking at

hope, maybe, hope.

I see

the slice of skin

the burn of breathing,

attention seeking? or

death.

Proverb 3:14 commands the gays,

to love

like all common sensed

lovers.

Shamefully, common sense

is far from

common.

I see

you.

Striding,

wandering,

learning,

absorbing.

Hardly quiet, those

who claim mysterious

are foolish,

the novelties

written into your flesh,

the orchestra

strumming through your mind,

prove otherwise.

I see

myself,

a girl

a woman

a human.

Feeble attempts to lick

satisfaction and

bathe in

the orgasm we

coin knowledge.

To understand and fall

back in self pity and mindless

manners.

Be more, find more

listen,

-my tongue mastered the language

of empathy

while my mind crumbles and writhes.

A toddler heart,

cradled in him.

I see

time,

mocking us all.

For we waste it,

by speculating the

time

wasted

on wasting time.

Waste.

Ones mans waste

is another’s treasure.

Learn from the past, fold it

and keep it in your

denim pockets.

Find your present

and kiss her with

a passion

the wicked grin at.

Mind your future,

don’t live in

the true

arbitrary manner

it is defined.

I see,

I see,

I see,

I see the “holy angel-headed hipsters”

Ginsberg so masterfully

perceived

We are more than an

archetype.

I see,

so much through

my blind eyes.