"For the Deaf Heart"
lets push the inside outside, relic features like basement jumble eyelids with caskets for bedroom suffix, put the ignition to the
blood pump and keep ringing the door bell mind attic, creep inside the two dimension Excalibur rendition, poignant meeting with
business suit leisure craft, witch spells like broom stick Grissel whistles, eat the circus and smile that toothy stretch of land
opportunity, cross your legs and count to infinity, never met another crippled fairy of the devil so ill keep hitting the soft
pillow till nightmares scream for dreams, endure the last longitude of battle ships to afraid to go out to the murky water salt
has been eager to skinny dip into the massaged blankets like tongue dancing in food for soft applause, figure flying , figure
fighting endurance tattooed on rough skin, inching like dry dosed work melancholy, keep the finger on lock and load, never shoot
twice.cut open the tuna can, ban the book before the cat lands on its feet, retreat and exhale that lovely close call aroma, drum beat and fluid advice full formed and proceed again, first comes the pause, soon bleak minded enigma, wrath leached blood sucking
church steeples, another round for the dogs of the underground and one for the creeps, plausible understanding, informed locomotion
entwined sanitation, we have zombie body castrated molar mouths, a free starving eastern heart digital jet fueled compound, speak
elegantly , this sober anxiety lets open catastrophe of your mythology and mental property,form rooted, devil high pitch shifter
knuckle dusting thought computers, place the seconds down to the oblivion than start again.
catch ball with a silhouette of a robot, wrecking the inner bred fragment bullshit draw drop, formulate the second prodigal hand of
nuclear shell shock, a formal divide of what we all thought, crept in like the icy hand of a pin prop.
There is an Allie in your mind that wakes up with frantic images, two tones vintage cry baby tear drops on the hemisphere of day
time night light concubines, a settling image , like two eyes and one mouth, scream drink and love the wrong one,
falling letters leave blank taste until you learn how to read the vowels, one says , a dismantle oracle of insurgence , endures
yours truly, pick up the candle light, jackal lantern yourself like Buddhist Molotov comfort, battle zone mufflers, louder than
the own thoughts in your thought processor, reboot , repack, share the exact, count down count in, let the flood begin. flourish
flower literature , let winter set the Pulitzer prize winner blank sinner counter offer, kill the dead space suit junkie then try
to find a bluff on the earth, that sets enough stutters to let bondage blank making offers, penetrate the castle and destroy the
hive. then burn, set the fire and stay alive, justifiable meaning like naked crow caws in sun setting reflective eye mirror image
gore protesting sound fillers and rendition five finger discount grave diggers, count down to the soupy ashtray cauldron of
another mans stalled fun, reap the joy, than deploy creased lines on old hands, cross deficient ring leader strong choke hold
meters, put a quarter in and see you later.
Ill put back the food on the shelf, with intention of never seeing the truth behind the buying concept, such is a metaphor that
bends like back breaking heckler informative, an attitude of angular proportion while Saturn rings decide to give its marriage to
some asshole we never slayed lips on, but the climb is too far for astro turfing body morph calender staring, We need thunder ache
time impulse and slow ghost waves, monogamous porn star heroin tripping, needle execute body gripping, slow cotton patch
alcohol bandage stripping, multiple brain wash wood chipping, jealousy expanding word written teeth gritting. butter churned lunch
meat rancid back pack teenage dreaming, pushing the inner circle, Einstein bridge agnostic memory overdose eclipsing.
Put my pallet to use, excursion through, Loise and Clark misadventure time, misprint the ego label insert the dime bag, inherent
all five senses plus two, cough than turn the other cheek. uniform the platform nervous system light checks the brilliant treat or
trick with painting face bullet hole slow motion space frames, put it on the wall to let the inner vices spray violent collapse, than relapse the plenty, open up the steamy pipe, cut down the oldest trees, for another gutted image of tainted dreams.
Written by Adam Guerra
Posted on 10-17-12
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
For the Deaf Heart
"For the Deaf Heart"
lets push the inside outside, relic features like basement jumble eyelids with caskets for bedroom suffix, put the ignition to the
blood pump and keep ringing the door bell mind attic, creep inside the two dimension Excalibur rendition, poignant meeting with
business suit leisure craft, witch spells like broom stick Grissel whistles, eat the circus and smile that toothy stretch of land
opportunity, cross your legs and count to infinity, never met another crippled fairy of the devil so ill keep hitting the soft
pillow till nightmares scream for dreams, endure the last longitude of battle ships to afraid to go out to the murky water salt
has been eager to skinny dip into the massaged blankets like tongue dancing in food for soft applause, figure flying , figure
fighting endurance tattooed on rough skin, inching like dry dosed work melancholy, keep the finger on lock and load, never shoot
twice.cut open the tuna can, ban the book before the cat lands on its feet, retreat and exhale that lovely close call aroma, drum beat and fluid advice full formed and proceed again, first comes the pause, soon bleak minded enigma, wrath leached blood sucking
church steeples, another round for the dogs of the underground and one for the creeps, plausible understanding, informed locomotion
entwined sanitation, we have zombie body castrated molar mouths, a free starving eastern heart digital jet fueled compound, speak
elegantly , this sober anxiety lets open catastrophe of your mythology and mental property,form rooted, devil high pitch shifter
knuckle dusting thought computers, place the seconds down to the oblivion than start again.
catch ball with a silhouette of a robot, wrecking the inner bred fragment bullshit draw drop, formulate the second prodigal hand of
nuclear shell shock, a formal divide of what we all thought, crept in like the icy hand of a pin prop.
There is an Allie in your mind that wakes up with frantic images, two tones vintage cry baby tear drops on the hemisphere of day
time night light concubines, a settling image , like two eyes and one mouth, scream drink and love the wrong one,
falling letters leave blank taste until you learn how to read the vowels, one says , a dismantle oracle of insurgence , endures
yours truly, pick up the candle light, jackal lantern yourself like Buddhist Molotov comfort, battle zone mufflers, louder than
the own thoughts in your thought processor, reboot , repack, share the exact, count down count in, let the flood begin. flourish
flower literature , let winter set the Pulitzer prize winner blank sinner counter offer, kill the dead space suit junkie then try
to find a bluff on the earth, that sets enough stutters to let bondage blank making offers, penetrate the castle and destroy the
hive. then burn, set the fire and stay alive, justifiable meaning like naked crow caws in sun setting reflective eye mirror image
gore protesting sound fillers and rendition five finger discount grave diggers, count down to the soupy ashtray cauldron of
another mans stalled fun, reap the joy, than deploy creased lines on old hands, cross deficient ring leader strong choke hold
meters, put a quarter in and see you later.
Ill put back the food on the shelf, with intention of never seeing the truth behind the buying concept, such is a metaphor that
bends like back breaking heckler informative, an attitude of angular proportion while Saturn rings decide to give its marriage to
some asshole we never slayed lips on, but the climb is too far for astro turfing body morph calender staring, We need thunder ache
time impulse and slow ghost waves, monogamous porn star heroin tripping, needle execute body gripping, slow cotton patch
alcohol bandage stripping, multiple brain wash wood chipping, jealousy expanding word written teeth gritting. butter churned lunch
meat rancid back pack teenage dreaming, pushing the inner circle, Einstein bridge agnostic memory overdose eclipsing.
Put my pallet to use, excursion through, Loise and Clark misadventure time, misprint the ego label insert the dime bag, inherent
all five senses plus two, cough than turn the other cheek. uniform the platform nervous system light checks the brilliant treat or
trick with painting face bullet hole slow motion space frames, put it on the wall to let the inner vices spray violent collapse, than relapse the plenty, open up the steamy pipe, cut down the oldest trees, for another gutted image of tainted dreams.
Written by Adam Guerra
Posted on 10/17/12
lets push the inside outside, relic features like basement jumble eyelids with caskets for bedroom suffix, put the ignition to the
blood pump and keep ringing the door bell mind attic, creep inside the two dimension Excalibur rendition, poignant meeting with
business suit leisure craft, witch spells like broom stick Grissel whistles, eat the circus and smile that toothy stretch of land
opportunity, cross your legs and count to infinity, never met another crippled fairy of the devil so ill keep hitting the soft
pillow till nightmares scream for dreams, endure the last longitude of battle ships to afraid to go out to the murky water salt
has been eager to skinny dip into the massaged blankets like tongue dancing in food for soft applause, figure flying , figure
fighting endurance tattooed on rough skin, inching like dry dosed work melancholy, keep the finger on lock and load, never shoot
twice.cut open the tuna can, ban the book before the cat lands on its feet, retreat and exhale that lovely close call aroma, drum beat and fluid advice full formed and proceed again, first comes the pause, soon bleak minded enigma, wrath leached blood sucking
church steeples, another round for the dogs of the underground and one for the creeps, plausible understanding, informed locomotion
entwined sanitation, we have zombie body castrated molar mouths, a free starving eastern heart digital jet fueled compound, speak
elegantly , this sober anxiety lets open catastrophe of your mythology and mental property,form rooted, devil high pitch shifter
knuckle dusting thought computers, place the seconds down to the oblivion than start again.
catch ball with a silhouette of a robot, wrecking the inner bred fragment bullshit draw drop, formulate the second prodigal hand of
nuclear shell shock, a formal divide of what we all thought, crept in like the icy hand of a pin prop.
There is an Allie in your mind that wakes up with frantic images, two tones vintage cry baby tear drops on the hemisphere of day
time night light concubines, a settling image , like two eyes and one mouth, scream drink and love the wrong one,
falling letters leave blank taste until you learn how to read the vowels, one says , a dismantle oracle of insurgence , endures
yours truly, pick up the candle light, jackal lantern yourself like Buddhist Molotov comfort, battle zone mufflers, louder than
the own thoughts in your thought processor, reboot , repack, share the exact, count down count in, let the flood begin. flourish
flower literature , let winter set the Pulitzer prize winner blank sinner counter offer, kill the dead space suit junkie then try
to find a bluff on the earth, that sets enough stutters to let bondage blank making offers, penetrate the castle and destroy the
hive. then burn, set the fire and stay alive, justifiable meaning like naked crow caws in sun setting reflective eye mirror image
gore protesting sound fillers and rendition five finger discount grave diggers, count down to the soupy ashtray cauldron of
another mans stalled fun, reap the joy, than deploy creased lines on old hands, cross deficient ring leader strong choke hold
meters, put a quarter in and see you later.
Ill put back the food on the shelf, with intention of never seeing the truth behind the buying concept, such is a metaphor that
bends like back breaking heckler informative, an attitude of angular proportion while Saturn rings decide to give its marriage to
some asshole we never slayed lips on, but the climb is too far for astro turfing body morph calender staring, We need thunder ache
time impulse and slow ghost waves, monogamous porn star heroin tripping, needle execute body gripping, slow cotton patch
alcohol bandage stripping, multiple brain wash wood chipping, jealousy expanding word written teeth gritting. butter churned lunch
meat rancid back pack teenage dreaming, pushing the inner circle, Einstein bridge agnostic memory overdose eclipsing.
Put my pallet to use, excursion through, Loise and Clark misadventure time, misprint the ego label insert the dime bag, inherent
all five senses plus two, cough than turn the other cheek. uniform the platform nervous system light checks the brilliant treat or
trick with painting face bullet hole slow motion space frames, put it on the wall to let the inner vices spray violent collapse, than relapse the plenty, open up the steamy pipe, cut down the oldest trees, for another gutted image of tainted dreams.
Written by Adam Guerra
Posted on 10/17/12
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
she has a monster inside her skin
She has a monster inside her skin that pours out lies that give birth to more ignorance
and with in the moment of hugging distance everything turns to silence, old picture movies and unwashed hands.
She goes through the steps, as if moving her feet are just operations that the machine tells her to do.
her loose tracked mouth opens with cracked lips and bubblegum breath, a tongue that snakes slither would be excited for
during its last day of dying rest, like calloused movements in the bowl of dirty bathwater, loose change and regretful letters
she bows down to the mirror, exacting a precious movement, stabbing towards the west position , like cigarettes and milkshakes are
treats for abortion doctors.
Her wrists are broken tea pot corrections on the long sliver of two headlights and a heroin needle.
She rides voices down to the bone and shatters.
She has a monster inside her skin that smells of alabaster and smoked up tobacco rolled up and shipped out, starlit and hunted down.
her body creeks like ugly wooden floors in the middle of a full moon light, she walks.
She is the castle high, ring finger pointed to the northern pretense suggestion of confusion, indigested through poignant
open cast staring privilege plotting, self insurged by company least forgetful.
there is no more promise in her voice, just the ugly sharing gift that spits out of the sockets, dislocated joints and sickle cell
projection.
She wants to taste your running fears.
She wants to collect you dreams and fill them with falling towers and liars eyes.
She wants a place to call home.
She has a monster inside her skin that shoves coal on the fire, burn the bridge and collect the bones automatic rust settings.
she has a monster inside her skin.
Written by Adam Guerra
Posted on 10/06/12
and with in the moment of hugging distance everything turns to silence, old picture movies and unwashed hands.
She goes through the steps, as if moving her feet are just operations that the machine tells her to do.
her loose tracked mouth opens with cracked lips and bubblegum breath, a tongue that snakes slither would be excited for
during its last day of dying rest, like calloused movements in the bowl of dirty bathwater, loose change and regretful letters
she bows down to the mirror, exacting a precious movement, stabbing towards the west position , like cigarettes and milkshakes are
treats for abortion doctors.
Her wrists are broken tea pot corrections on the long sliver of two headlights and a heroin needle.
She rides voices down to the bone and shatters.
She has a monster inside her skin that smells of alabaster and smoked up tobacco rolled up and shipped out, starlit and hunted down.
her body creeks like ugly wooden floors in the middle of a full moon light, she walks.
She is the castle high, ring finger pointed to the northern pretense suggestion of confusion, indigested through poignant
open cast staring privilege plotting, self insurged by company least forgetful.
there is no more promise in her voice, just the ugly sharing gift that spits out of the sockets, dislocated joints and sickle cell
projection.
She wants to taste your running fears.
She wants to collect you dreams and fill them with falling towers and liars eyes.
She wants a place to call home.
She has a monster inside her skin that shoves coal on the fire, burn the bridge and collect the bones automatic rust settings.
she has a monster inside her skin.
Written by Adam Guerra
Posted on 10/06/12
Sunday, September 9, 2012
I cant think
I cant think.
Words sound like burning houses and footsteps that crackle on twigs in a forest fire.
Like piano trickle touch from numb hands to deaf ears.
And this shaky persona of what is called truth, turns to iv needles , heart beats per minute, like slow waltz dances of death, which is with in our words that speak like silver plated gun shot 45 caliber rounds, like children playthings. So we wait our turn.
The reaper of life is an abrupt period on the end of a beautiful sentence.
A deceitful puzzle, chiseling away at your back bone memory, like tattered rags to cover your bruised
egotistical metaphors, caught up like hammering key strokes with in the hands of time, focusing on the corrective momentum that keeps you sane, for one more day.
I cant think.
Words sound like choking minutes on the metronome scaling like dragon serpent tongue.
Like broken ladder steps from soaring minds and mute voices.
And as this tremble quake like shivering shakes, we turn our heads to complete the choices
we make from past mistakes, of a higher idea, that leaves
no room for the creations of what
was laid like lacerations of a younger year , stuttering like giving more fear towards the influential
steps leading to what we know as here,
the present day murder of martyrs ,
the still birth giver of first starters, a concubine of
abortion divine ,
a truth well stricken but not enough to be well given a proper burial ground, so we pray....
Words sound like soft dog whimpers and the bottom of a Jack Daniels bottle.
Hollow misused instruments of death swallow.
And as this humming tune comes to an end, the heart beats per minute, with the wound that never mends, molded like silly putty to the mind of a local nobody,
We leave like the piss stained back alleys that we are.
I cant think.
Written by Adam Guerra
Words sound like burning houses and footsteps that crackle on twigs in a forest fire.
Like piano trickle touch from numb hands to deaf ears.
And this shaky persona of what is called truth, turns to iv needles , heart beats per minute, like slow waltz dances of death, which is with in our words that speak like silver plated gun shot 45 caliber rounds, like children playthings. So we wait our turn.
The reaper of life is an abrupt period on the end of a beautiful sentence.
A deceitful puzzle, chiseling away at your back bone memory, like tattered rags to cover your bruised
egotistical metaphors, caught up like hammering key strokes with in the hands of time, focusing on the corrective momentum that keeps you sane, for one more day.
I cant think.
Words sound like choking minutes on the metronome scaling like dragon serpent tongue.
Like broken ladder steps from soaring minds and mute voices.
And as this tremble quake like shivering shakes, we turn our heads to complete the choices
we make from past mistakes, of a higher idea, that leaves
no room for the creations of what
was laid like lacerations of a younger year , stuttering like giving more fear towards the influential
steps leading to what we know as here,
the present day murder of martyrs ,
the still birth giver of first starters, a concubine of
abortion divine ,
a truth well stricken but not enough to be well given a proper burial ground, so we pray....
Words sound like soft dog whimpers and the bottom of a Jack Daniels bottle.
Hollow misused instruments of death swallow.
And as this humming tune comes to an end, the heart beats per minute, with the wound that never mends, molded like silly putty to the mind of a local nobody,
We leave like the piss stained back alleys that we are.
I cant think.
Written by Adam Guerra
Posted 09/03/12
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Pat
Pat
Have you ever wanted to spread your wings and forget about the world
like really spread your arms and feel the deserving air, reach into your lungs and grab your verry existence
Have you ever wanted to spread your wings and forget about the world
like really spread your arms and feel the deserving air, reach into your lungs and grab your verry existence
and yell into your ears, pound on your chest and rush like water falls to the edge of all your bounderies
Push up off the concrete floors that have set you in your path of delusion and snip off all of gravitys little tricks
so you can finally smile forever so you can finally smile forever....
I knew a girl who once did, she would breath in second hand smoke and stutter her way through school with no real heroes except for
her cousin she drew on the only purple note book she had, and everyday would be a new reminder of somthing she never had,
Parents that cared for her....
While daddy was out selling crack..
Mommy would whore her body out for nickel bags of pot, with out any hesitation for the goodness of humanity as
the whole torment of stranger danger consumed little pats life,
she dreamed of snuggling with a big stuffed teddy bear
that smelled like strawberries insdead of an ugly pillow that smelled like and ashtrey
She dreamed of holding hands with compassion instead of being pushed away by hands that were never washed
her mind was a house filled with crack pipes and heroin nightmares, her heart beat was like a record on repeat
as needle skipped from father to mother to stranger to her only brother.
Though her voice was not strong, her heart matched towards the want of a better life, cut away from the cocaine nose
jobs of parental guidence that put shame into the eqaution by entering her memories forver, like an addictive itch she
cant scratch, as if to never go away from the emptiness of a refridgerater, or the dry thirst that was provided everyday,
She watches in slow motion like time being disected by God, her family being ripped apart by drugs, and her cries get stronger,
till ther is no stutter left in her vocal chords to hook onto rehabilitation by her eyes, she has seen more hurt in her 10 years
of living than I will ever, and she mutters softly spoken sentences to me that only come from 30 year old wemon.
I dont want to be alive she says!
If life is this hard, shoot me dead, shoot me up, leave me for dead!
and as My head turns away, I see somthing like ghosts , startling my presence.
She is gone but not forgotten, my little cousin of only 10.
Written By Adam Guerra
Push up off the concrete floors that have set you in your path of delusion and snip off all of gravitys little tricks
so you can finally smile forever so you can finally smile forever....
I knew a girl who once did, she would breath in second hand smoke and stutter her way through school with no real heroes except for
her cousin she drew on the only purple note book she had, and everyday would be a new reminder of somthing she never had,
Parents that cared for her....
While daddy was out selling crack..
Mommy would whore her body out for nickel bags of pot, with out any hesitation for the goodness of humanity as
the whole torment of stranger danger consumed little pats life,
she dreamed of snuggling with a big stuffed teddy bear
that smelled like strawberries insdead of an ugly pillow that smelled like and ashtrey
She dreamed of holding hands with compassion instead of being pushed away by hands that were never washed
her mind was a house filled with crack pipes and heroin nightmares, her heart beat was like a record on repeat
as needle skipped from father to mother to stranger to her only brother.
Though her voice was not strong, her heart matched towards the want of a better life, cut away from the cocaine nose
jobs of parental guidence that put shame into the eqaution by entering her memories forver, like an addictive itch she
cant scratch, as if to never go away from the emptiness of a refridgerater, or the dry thirst that was provided everyday,
She watches in slow motion like time being disected by God, her family being ripped apart by drugs, and her cries get stronger,
till ther is no stutter left in her vocal chords to hook onto rehabilitation by her eyes, she has seen more hurt in her 10 years
of living than I will ever, and she mutters softly spoken sentences to me that only come from 30 year old wemon.
I dont want to be alive she says!
If life is this hard, shoot me dead, shoot me up, leave me for dead!
and as My head turns away, I see somthing like ghosts , startling my presence.
She is gone but not forgotten, my little cousin of only 10.
Written By Adam Guerra
Posted on 08/12/12
First Child
First Child
Tonight I am feeling alittle mis treated, beyond this greaving distaste in my mouth
there is an empty pit growing, seeding like amputations of lesser known minds
that grow quietly like open casket veiwings and as i accept my fate
the rythmic expectations that were once singing like melodic choirs of angelic voices
drown out the pain caused by years of alcoholic vices
And I know in the timid explanation of two hands that time has shown
we have not been introduced to an original happiness like this before
all has been structured by the artifical drooling of ugliness
and chemicals just look like fuzzy faces that I drink away
Plain sight is no more a beautiful image if all I see is ugly!
Colorblind imagery is not good if you are wanting to paint the world!
And by the timing that has flourished through these grape vines for bones that blossem sweet nectar
for blood and sweet somthings from whispers We remember that the second hand of vertical descent towards
the 6 foot imagination hustling deeply nested liked baby birds before the moment of jumping is manicly
inspired by instinct, so we try to look forward with out using the hanging rope that our reasons provide us
We dont want to kill imagination for more reality!
because reality is a peice of the problem
Because there is a kinder story than rape
Becuase there is a map inside our palms that grow to our hearts and the beats per minute show as footsteps
deaply nestled inside the sprockets of our machine bodies, needing more electrical current hugs and kisses
to inspire the fire with in our time capsule memories.
because we , like any other animal need love, this compassion of written sentences acted out like paychecks
that cause smiles from a hard days work, when left splintered by the aching mind of other individuals that
think they work harder than you, by the back breaking endevours that swallow you like 5 zoloft pills
in the middle of a long 3 am wake up call, beneath the endless script of never forgetting with what you are stuck
with, clarifying the balance of compassion well given by driving the pen further down the road , to escape the near
ending fear and we scream like leaporsy burns!
WE will not give up!
We will stand in this unit like needle pins in the skin for soft measure
Untill we gather more corouge to push back even the most evil of ignorance
untill it surrenders with white flags and buckled knees
untill the phrase "i will try" turns into "it is done"
untill the moon finally gets its wish to be respected as much as the sun
untill My wife gets her happiness back
until my brother finds that he is perfect how he is
untill my father realizes he did a great job in raising his son
untill my mother finds out that she has inspired me to do my best
And we stand like abrupting volcanoes, spewing out the magic that covers all like silk blankets for resting
We grow unto fully fledged spiret cadavaers that breathe the same as love gives off
and forge ahead the timing of exhausted minutes, but the smile of the observant never questions our questions
becuase some where out there, there is a man by the name of Adam, who knows not the awnsers, but he will sure as hell
try to find where his beginnings will end.
And as he stands amongst a crowd of famliar faces and strangers, once again holding his heart out on his sleeves,
tucking away at nothing that scabs or heals, he hopes to find dignity, in the fields that lay before him, planted like
seeds from the words of other poets, just like him.
Written By Adam Guerra
Posted on 08/12/12
Tonight I am feeling alittle mis treated, beyond this greaving distaste in my mouth
there is an empty pit growing, seeding like amputations of lesser known minds
that grow quietly like open casket veiwings and as i accept my fate
the rythmic expectations that were once singing like melodic choirs of angelic voices
drown out the pain caused by years of alcoholic vices
And I know in the timid explanation of two hands that time has shown
we have not been introduced to an original happiness like this before
all has been structured by the artifical drooling of ugliness
and chemicals just look like fuzzy faces that I drink away
Plain sight is no more a beautiful image if all I see is ugly!
Colorblind imagery is not good if you are wanting to paint the world!
And by the timing that has flourished through these grape vines for bones that blossem sweet nectar
for blood and sweet somthings from whispers We remember that the second hand of vertical descent towards
the 6 foot imagination hustling deeply nested liked baby birds before the moment of jumping is manicly
inspired by instinct, so we try to look forward with out using the hanging rope that our reasons provide us
We dont want to kill imagination for more reality!
because reality is a peice of the problem
Because there is a kinder story than rape
Becuase there is a map inside our palms that grow to our hearts and the beats per minute show as footsteps
deaply nestled inside the sprockets of our machine bodies, needing more electrical current hugs and kisses
to inspire the fire with in our time capsule memories.
because we , like any other animal need love, this compassion of written sentences acted out like paychecks
that cause smiles from a hard days work, when left splintered by the aching mind of other individuals that
think they work harder than you, by the back breaking endevours that swallow you like 5 zoloft pills
in the middle of a long 3 am wake up call, beneath the endless script of never forgetting with what you are stuck
with, clarifying the balance of compassion well given by driving the pen further down the road , to escape the near
ending fear and we scream like leaporsy burns!
WE will not give up!
We will stand in this unit like needle pins in the skin for soft measure
Untill we gather more corouge to push back even the most evil of ignorance
untill it surrenders with white flags and buckled knees
untill the phrase "i will try" turns into "it is done"
untill the moon finally gets its wish to be respected as much as the sun
untill My wife gets her happiness back
until my brother finds that he is perfect how he is
untill my father realizes he did a great job in raising his son
untill my mother finds out that she has inspired me to do my best
And we stand like abrupting volcanoes, spewing out the magic that covers all like silk blankets for resting
We grow unto fully fledged spiret cadavaers that breathe the same as love gives off
and forge ahead the timing of exhausted minutes, but the smile of the observant never questions our questions
becuase some where out there, there is a man by the name of Adam, who knows not the awnsers, but he will sure as hell
try to find where his beginnings will end.
And as he stands amongst a crowd of famliar faces and strangers, once again holding his heart out on his sleeves,
tucking away at nothing that scabs or heals, he hopes to find dignity, in the fields that lay before him, planted like
seeds from the words of other poets, just like him.
Written By Adam Guerra
Posted on 08/12/12
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
My four chamber Chariot
"My four chamber Chariot" ( For my Wife)
I keep this fire stored in this chariot heartthumbing like papers that pull apartAnd I know that time can be a killerA distinct recipe for new born thought thrillersBut I reach and climb these unbearable mountains I call ideasthey pull and tug my head thoughts for comfort and its not finished yetSo we wait....
and its like kitty cat claws through wool when were are togetherWe may disagree and some parts may tether, we make a good blanket when it gets cold
I cant help but make sand castles out of your voice and not fear when the tide comes in because of the barrier of joy
our silence is more than golden because if it wasn't it would be a price and this is priceless
We don't let the wonder of the unjust misguide us
Lets just wait for the time to disguise us
put us back into the chariot heart that finds uslike thumbing through papers cause this love is a must
And I cant wait for our mountains to crashand our oceans to sing songs of nonsense
Its like kitty cat claws through wool, you an I
and I cant help to make sand castles out of your voice and not fear when the tide comes cause I know we can rebuild this three foot frame work
We have the blueprints tattooed on our wedding fingers
We don't let the wonder misguide us
Lets just wait for time to disguise us
put us back in this chariot heart that blinds us
Written By Adam Guerra
Posted on 6/22/12
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