Talk is Cheap

Like the the clothes on your back,
Like the wife you burried.
Like the Job you married.
Like the TV you loved.
The TV dinners you relished.
 The times of lies you embellished.
Talk is Cheap.
  For no sooner is it spoken it is rotten.
Like some unseen check point, with positive conversations being the passport.
As soon as something negative crosses the armed bulgarian gaurds,
You are sent packed and shipped back to the singles ship yards.
Talk is Cheap,
Like the long lasting sweet smell of dollar perfume
Like the Ads blistered across your life, posted and packed along  higway Salt Lake
Like the pop songs hailed today.
Like hours of toil mounting only to hair pennies saved.
Soon sailed, now rotten and ofcoarse the marathon hours of converse long ago forgotten.
Talk is Cheap.

Where on Earth is it

It wasn't in your Bed as you slept. 
You searched for it as you looked in the mirror this morning.
But found your reflection all things the same.

Nor did you find it after a quickly devoured perfect Breakfast.
You looked for it as you raced to work in your polished car.
The days dreamed for it while at work, of in space, some where far.
It wasn't in your Bike ride home.
Nope, couldn't find it on your skate board weekend, or roller blades 2.
Tried to find it nightly on endless channels of the TV.
You even looked while out in your RV.

You hiked all over out in wide open spaces.
Even looked on lips and picture perfect faces.
Turned every page and read every Chapter 2.


You've ran and pushed your body to limits of endurance.
You've slept, you've gourged, yet your still hungry starving and near Death.
Grazed up and down Shopping Halls,
Smoked and drank all sorts of things.
Yet the well remains dry for some reason you don't know why.
Then one day old and grey. After you have traveled this earth East, North, West and South.
You find it. In the oddest of places.
In a Lost Ones sad Eyes now the sun shines.  Sad Eyes now happy in yours.

Q

Waiting in life's line. Watching silently as rows apon rows stand up and move on. The sweeping hand of nights liberty.  The grandfather master thief called time.  Its a sad tail to think life moves as a snail. For today is no different  from tomorrow.  A penny earned is a penny misplaced.  All boiling down to lessons earned and love you crossed.  Across the barren plains, across fat sofas rich with grease and oil spilled. Across the TV's screen your life you dreamed.
 Suddenly the Que you have been watching like a silent tomb moves ahead, will it be my turn? when will I be dead? That is the last question grasped in your mortal head.
 Soon slumbering in a silent tomb your bones sit. Dust miles high. Nothing moved,  no signs of life, not even a fly.
 Miles of bones, your parents before you all lie in rust.  Now the throngs you join in the moment of your gloom. Born a blurred vision, stress, old age, all conviently canned & condensed.  All lying quietly in a dusty room with no flowers. No bloom.
 Watch your Que, make the most of your fate, for if you have today, its never to late.  Tell them how much you love. Reach out to the lonely lost and opressed. All this will make it worth the wait.  All this in killing the ugly hands we call fate.

Strangers Bargian

To lay across from a stranger. To look into the strangers eyes and ignore the lies.  A convenient relationship built on agreements. A Strangers Bargian.   Here they lie. Eye to Eye. Night after night. Through ages they gave up finding love. They gave up fantasy and infatuations. As strangers they silently slept/  Every night.
 In the law they are freed, they agreed. They had enough to seal a deal. They could tolerate enough and nothing better ever came. Love came into previous lives, but like the passing flakes of snow, they soon melted in trying heat.
 Here they lie. Used to the cold night. Silently sleeping happy, no drama or any sparks. Just complacency.  One pays the bills the other spends the time.
 A strangers bargain so commonly signed. So many lost couples. So many chemical loves.
     A Living Divorce.

Duality

Two sides of the same coin but they rarely ever see eye to eye. What am I talking about. Keep reading. Its funny how a man can make a meaningful connexion on a first date. There can be total alignment. A feeling of certianty. The women hides her feelings so perfectly well, as if she is a natural born actor always hiding her true face and self from her pursuer the whole time from moment one. The hidden enigma, what she feels, what she claims you don't listen to. Yet she never speaks her true face leading a man to believe all is well in the first date or even while in the 4th-month of their relationship.
Its the riddle men have yet to crack. Its the riddle they may never understand. As if by some lotery of luck, or if she never lets her true face ruin her relationship she marrys. The Duality of her love.
As it seems in the world around us, that can all be for a short time.

 The Duality of women is a riddle I will never understand. 

The Line

The imaginary, the elusive, the exclusive. Draw it far, draw it wide. Draw it right by myside. Inbetween you, between me. Tell me what cant you see? Build it up, make it high, divide asunder both earth and sky. What ever you do don't behonest, don't lie, use your line between you. Between eye.
Divide asunder both bone and brain, divide asunder equality and the sain. Rip apart any hope and build your line across the imaginary solid textured sky.
Take out the S and leave U. Draw it to an O around your heart. Make it complete and draw it all around your tiny feet.
If lies could speak you have spoken. Walls towering high , a cross in the written sky. Dance in it, bend it, manage, but don't forget your I. All lies now are imaginarly seen. All-sain lays now barried in your heart. So keep on looking and building with in your Line Blind seeing Eye.

Across the Plains of Soul

Ash and stricken. Raked and ruin. Blood baths battered. Tickled thru torture. Ghosts of loves past haunting and spooking. Poor choices making once richness a dessert of barren old pain. Her head pondering lost across times miss fortune. Moving on like a mower over brown lawns. How her hauntings richness so much richer then pain, anguish in ashes of pure disdain. Her toy tormenting. Toying in her torment. This walk across souls siberia. Hope in liberation. Each sunset a new dawn of beginning. Begging to be forgotten. Erasing static stains. Only thru immense pain can true loves remain. Saintly sands transforming the man. Barren wastelands walk to transform wells of water into wishing pools so pure and clean that her face will never be seen. Her bloody hands will never be spoken. Her tentacles cut, ship sails free. To sail on reaching paradise across this barren Sea.