Trump's bioenergetics

 Donald trumps lips and face.
People say he is an extrovert,
but those lips have become tighter.
Compounding through Epstein stress.

The voicebox louder.
The charm begs tweaking.
The comb-over pheno greeked.
The glare says stay out!

The vocal cord pulses into the narcissism,
but another cord pulses into approval seeking.
He began the seductor, and ended a provoker.
The inner trump a villian unknown.

The outer trump a hero.
One checking on the other.
Nosy brothers
and personal altercations.

A man who doesn't know what he truly wants.
But tells himself he does through the indulgence.
The indulgence of food and luxury.
The indulgence in women and sex.

The inner trump lost in the ocean of deviated desires.
The outer trump all focus all machinery for calculated soundbites.
For news theater that echoes through languages and channels.
America needed an Icon and Netan-yahoo needed a puppet.

Ghosts and admirers

 She started giving those classes upstairs
All the most popular gym goers went
The grace of a choreography
While I stayed on the first floor old machinery

Learning from ghosts and admirers
So far from my reach
No way of making connection
Just glances from so far off

every exercise building oneself up
Sculpting oneself rounded
The heart beats and sweat falls
the way they all move in unison

I the observer just an admirer
Just a ghost with the weights on myself
I wish feelings would just go stale
as they seem to come and go in others

But they intensify like addrenaline
infecting the organs and the brain

hatyārā bāgh

 I see the tiger almost half a ton of killing power
It looks at me first as prey then as it's friend
We race up and down the ragged hills
Time has gone and it could devour me at any moment

I chase it and it chases me
It is so majestic just too deadly
It's very presence wakes the primal inside me
My bones and muscles scream

I want to have the strength of it
I want to move like it
I want to stalk other creatures
I want that killing power

It races up the slope and I struggle to keep pace
It's markings are an ancient alphabet
It's eyes are flames and it's claws are swords
Will it tear me apart?

Fangs into the jugular and pulsing blood out
Until I die
But I don't die, I stand 
I chuff! I Growl...

what I seek

 I was once the intruder
Now Im the owner
I seek the north facing
I seek new land

Well paved streets
new grass and a sense of welcome
A season that transitions smoothly
Trees that carry the fruit for an extra week

That's what I seek
A garage with tools
So that I may tinker
My trusty dog and nosy neighbors

You look at me and you wouldn't guess it
It's a simple existance
where the sunshines on my land
I'll put a garden there

The electric heart

 I looked up the street
A line had fallen
Fire rocked and rolled serpentine
The pylon exploded with action and noise

The road was all damp from the storm just twenty minutes passed
Water and chaos married on the boulevard
Someone's missing
The streets are always full with seekers

Oh have I become a seeker
Wandering around under where the street light used to shine
Now only lit up by my own neon neediness
With the power out maybe hearts might bleed in peace

dreams can be drowned in what remains of the deluge
These sad eyes keep seeing the world for what it is
I who worship storms can care not if cables snap
Feed unashamedly off a different energy

Cast away again.

 He got left there again like an abandoned child.
His woman told him to get out.
He found space there in the local flat.
All alone feeling his own confusion.

Inside and out that smooth lonliness.
The kind a man binds himself to.
The kind he feels openly and drinks coffee to.
Watching the big and small hand change position.

He hears some clumsy banging below.
He puts his alarm on and drops his head onto the pillow.
Slowly slipping off to sleep but then waking again.
Eyes won't shut and a single tear drop forms.

He forces his body out of bed and shuts the window.
Wincing at the heat that will now accumulate.
He swings the curtain to draw it across the window.
closing himself then climbing back into bed.

Throwing the sheet over himself and giving up on the world.
A simple bed to fall into slumber, to pretend all is well.

The morning pressure

 i get up before the sun everyday.
It feels like pressure.
I never did get used to it.
Its not something I always did.

I struggle with the alarm.
often waking up before it.
wallowing in the unconmfortable silence.
The only noise my stomach growling.

Then the inevitable ringtone comes blaring.
I turn and flick it off.
use all of my strength to lift myself out of bed.
Throw some underwear on and walk downstairs.

I make my breakfast reluctantly.
Eggs frying,coffee brewing, a shake blending.
It hushes the stomach.
It prepares me but the morning is always too pressing.