Shutting up

 People would do well to shut up.
To stay trap clamped
To politely abstain from their yarns
Their rants and laughter

People can make it easier on the world
By shutting up all of you can cure the world
Words spoken spurted through lips
Tongue so proud, tone intact

But forget all that, use ears
Or eyes to read these letters into words
These cattle into herds
This sewage into wastewater collection

Like volume of cursewords
Rising from the stadiums
Of dumbfounded excited nobodies
Who have squandered their personal integrity

To join a mediocre collective 
Who scream their voiceboxes until wheezing
Just shut up and sit down
you have a lot to prove but a big void where the brain is supposed to be

Yes Charles I want to be a writer

 It does come bursting out of me
Like instinct
Like embrace
Like surrender

Dominance
excitement
anticipation
Creativity

It does come out of me
Do I want the fame?
The money?
The lifestyle?

You said I wasn't ready,
You are right.
It does come out of my soul like a rocket
Without it many vices would consume me

Why yes the sun inside me is burning for me to write
So I write, dear God I write
And i will keep doing it until I die
Or until it dies in me

The fruit of my words

 My poetry doesn't move you enough.
I wish it was me that was missing something here.
But it was you...
I took my words and formed a garden path for you to follow.

Down down where all seasons converge, all weather, all twilight.
There I have grown a fruit tree with the most delicious fruit you've ever tasted.
But you don't bite in...
Instead you pretend you know the flavor.

Your imagination doesn't turn.
My words just fall flat like autumn leaves under that same tree!
Or worse the uneaten fruit that spent a month on the tree.
Developing through those sunfilled days, sits rotting.

It doesn't move you.
The metaphor was built like a house whose curvature,
surrounded the eternal fruit tree of my verse.
You grin and say- They're just words!

Just imagine if you could see and taste the fruit.
A pomegranate persimmon looking fruit.
whose perfect sourness livened your senses.
That exposed flavors you never knew existed.

That exposed illusions in your waking life,
that leave you unsustained.

Yellow dusty passenger

 The roll of flab comes over the arm rest and enters my private space
It was my turn to keep my prejudices to myself
While he gave me a huge roll of fat all over my arms
The sweaty watch strap the three chins and the beady eyes focusing in

I didn't give him permission to flood over me with that roll of fat
Or encourage the man to eat or avoid treatment
The steamy vapor changes our seat space
He burps casually relieving himself with several heavy breaths after

He laughs at a joke using animal puns on his instagram
The flab flexes, expands and contracts flacid and moist
The first yellow dusted snack makes it's way from stained fingers
Those fine yellow dust particles accumulate

Then the man sneezes and the yellow cloud covers the slim hostess
Her shriek made the man jump and the bag of cheetos spilt all over us

The brave coward

 Steve couldn't wait to celebrate his victory
He broke the jaw of the man who had confronted him in the pub
Sirens had landed and screamed like unfed children
the man on the floor bleeding and cursing

The police burst in, but Steve had left minutes before
He was leaning outside the abandoned fish and chip shop
cradling his knuckles and checking his manhood
But inside the scared boy lingered

The very fear that made him overact
Like a threatening piece of graffiti under the wotn's old entry bridge
That would spark up as if written in gasoline
Surge down his thin forearms

From some neglected room of his heart
That part that needed and taunted others for needing
The joke spins gets digested and doubles back to haunt old Steve
The respect I hold for him was for the pain that he could carry

Still pretending with his jeer
With his tireless lsd trip that protected him
Street lights burning abandoned orphans hang down
Drooping like used condoms

The very fear you invented now reverberating back through the radio speakers
The hell you conjured is in the back seat meddling with your senses
You give the cops the slip but your own demons handcuff you
And I see clearly what these demons are as they feed on your spine

Primal Tropidurus

 The lizard scoots like a rider
Sprints sideways across a wall
To catch the beetles and spiders
It nods and shakes it's head

It's all the fire and fury of a dragon
Sunlight speeding it up in the hush
heating the limbs pushing it forward
flashing legs send it boosting into the shade

It ducks down and staunches up on it's haunches
It's flicks the fork tongue to check the air
Then one eighties on the wall
The reptillian leer appears

The majestic colored marks on it's body
Adjusts to the color of a nearby trunk
In some minutes it will be camouflage
A mouth planning to devour

Blending slowly into surroundings
a silent game
Power in stillness
A violent calculation

The Joker under his tongue

 Lanky Steve was leary in the night 
He was impulse, he was carelessness
A shunner of consequence
Dancing the dance of a senseless existence

Hiding when sober and crashing
Exposing himself when high or drunk
He walked the abandoned railway
stumbling not falling

Tripping into the night
Where insane dogs barked and barked
Their echoes fusing into strange music
He was heedless

almost jogging each footfall a scoff
Building into laugh greeting the dog barks
distilling the darkness for a drop of sinister
That would float his hostile mind

Into the capital city
Emotion slowed things down
vehemence sped them up
his tab under the tongue was a joker 

The things he thought were completely exposed
were secret
Those things he was sure the world couldn't see
Were obvious