the vision came wrapped in heat shimmer
and boots that didn’t fit
one with no face offered me a kingdom of interrupted signal
saying: this is the price of dreaming

I blinked and the wind was made of static

a horse galloped through the hallway mirror,
its hooves echoed in reverse
I coughed cajun into my hands
watched it cut the lines off my palms

and knew— sunshine would not come clean again

My words are always on the page
or streamed online.
They are written down.
They are read,
and mostly inside my head.

But lately,
I have wanted to hear these words,
spoken from my mouth,
and heard.

I want those thoughts
to be engaged
in a two way conversation.
I want those words
to be used
to develop more solutions
to my daily challenges.
I want them
to have a useful purpose
in my life.
I want them
to create innovative
and proactive strategies.

AIdo's soul is alive God
Because you kept him alive God
AIdo's soul is dirty with
Blood stains
Please God wash AIdo's soul
And make it whiter than snow
After you wash AIdo's soul put
A bandaid so that the cut can
Heal
Because AIdo knows there is a
Cut in his soul
The cut is small, and the size
Of his little fingers

As we age we begin to see things and people disappear
We pray that we could still keep our family near

The small black glowing box now has become one of my best friends
Allowing me to see the past, observe the present, and view new trends

Snatch is what I call this plastic box of mine with its bright glase
My friend always near reflecting back at me with every phase

My silent partner permanently by my side always near
Snatch my best friend , my trusty ipad relieving my fear

Nonverbal (though he could talk)
most of his responses
happened to be witnessed
as his characteristic
and courtesy enigmatic
trademark shoulder shrug.

If born free and clear today
skilled professional diagnosticians
employed within the mental health field,
would probably unanimously agree
he met criteria
as high functioning autistic spectrum
predicated upon withdrawn
and introverted behavior classic indications
after observing him in the classroom
just another brick in the wall.

Listen,
To the whisper
Of propaganda in the wind
Or the howling of their lies
As it swirls around the skies.

See,
The smirks
Upon deceptive faces
Secrets locked away
In boxes where they'll stay.

Feel,
A heavy sense
Deeply rooted in your soul
As evil tries to make its home
When darkness came to roam.

Taste
The toxic cancer
So deep into your bones
Yet this silence came.

To muffle your desperate groans.

Beneath the ash-grey skies of longing,
the earth breathes—not for you,
not for me, but for itself.
A pulse steady, undaunted by
the footsteps we leave behind.

You will see the shadows move,
and not ask why.
You will taste the salt of oceans past,
and still the waves will rise—
relentless, unforgiving, and free.

They bend, they whisper,
yes, they falter, but like the trees
that bow to the storm, they rise again.

I wish I had a time machine
that would take me back
to the days I remember,
the days when I was free as the wind.
I remember the days
when life was so fine and innocent.
I wish I could live back in the days when
everyone was there with a smile,
when we were kids, when we were young,
when we would live just for fun.

The alphabet soup
simmers on the page,
a feast for the mind,
delivered on stage.

Season with spices,
and stir in some meat,
your meal is eaten,
sad, happy or sweet

Orators all know,
good lines are done well,
poems need cooking,
these stories we tell.

Old Clem is quite the sight, 

shooting up every night. 

To manage grief and pain, 

letting the silver reign. 

An Indian summer's fight, 

destitute, knows what's right! 

The pain that is known so well, 

will grow with the evening's spell! 

Canopied by the trees, 

rain falls and dampens leaves. 

Suffering again tonight 

finding no sweet respite. 

Cold as the mountain air