Short Drill In Poems

Drill in me the essence of your soul
inscribe in me indelible your breath and presence
so that I will no longer breathe in another for completeness and stillness…....

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Hate
Is but a bully picking in a little kid
The horrid odor of garbage and death
Noise of a drill in the street or a drunken man cussing
You may say you hate something but to hate makes you Despicable...

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Justify the beat
Tall tower
Tellen' em
Dialogue shadows
Systemic analogue
Named them soon
Drill in the ear
Wondrous circular emphasis
Imaginative Mercedes
Drive to heaven, circle the eagle
Jar a jar a jar jar, you'll see....

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Poisoned rivers,
Fishless streams,
Is this really the fruition?
Of all our dreams?
They drill in our oceans,
Just for our locomotion,
To enable the money grabbers,
To gratify their own needs.

They cut down our forests,
And say it’s for all of us,
Leaving our children without any leaves,
Is it possible since our birth?
We’ve been wiping the smile,
From the face of the earth?...

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Poisoned rivers,
Fishless streams,
Is this the fruition of all our dreams?

They drill in our oceans,
Just for our locomotion,
To enable the money-grabbers,
To gratify their own needs.

They cut down our forests,
Saying it’s just to please,
Leaving our children without any leaves.

Is it possible that ever since our birth?
They’ve been wiping the smile,
From the face of the earth?...

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Poisoned rivers,
Fishless streams,
Is this the fruition of all our dreams?
They drill in our oceans
Just for locomotion
And enable the money-grabbers
To pander their own needs.

They cut down our forests seemingly with ease
And they say it’s for the good of all of us,
But it leaves our children without any leaves.

Is it possible that ever since my birth?
We’ve been wiping the smile,
From the face of the earth?...

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At the space between stars
I saw you, glowing fingers
a dark drill in and out; I saw
you— like dust that follows
from planets' clouds.

I saw you— within a strewn coma;
eyes still clear from the 
comet— that did not move the petals
framing your glance.

There I saw you— orbit slowing, 
star-crossed; but tune
still in unknown radio waves. 

You must happen—
to crack the cocoon, for
it melts the butterfly within....

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Quicksand caught generation epoch,
restless whirring of a drill in the dust.
Zenith of color shifts saturation to none,
black and white film on video cassette.
Ensnared in a cage lowering to molten,
hourglass is losing sand to run dry.
Eyes fixate to the sunny horizon,
flicker dims as monsters crawl,
from beneath beds, closets,
bathroom stalls.
Those noises,
creaks in the floor,
are very real.
Ignore them,
rummy for thy belly to fill....

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the good days
i get home from school
the smell of garlic on the stove
the sweet scent of cobbler in the oven
the sound of the tv booming
an action movie plays of on the screen
the bad days 
the smell of liquor overwhelms me
the vague sound of a drill in the garage
the stronger the smell the more insults are thrown at me 
the drill stops and the gunshots begin
will the highs and lows ever stop
the good days are good but the bad just hurt
but now the bad is just a day...

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