The Perplexed Poet's Perch

immersed in inner turmoil where the hatchet takes its count reflections in the tinfoil speak to brave and bold amounts of circumstantial relics sentimental to a fault the kind that makes one jealous drinking tears that taste of salt and so the hour rings empty for the faded and disturbed as once more the ink tempts me just a servant of the words the scale and scope of verses take the sentiments to heart detail the hopeful curses for it's now they will depart immersed in inner turmoil below currents made of sand reflections in the tinfoil speak beyond simple commands to calculated crosses 'neath the fortune teller's card with nothing but the losses that have come in hitting hard and so the hour holds empty for it knows no other way as always the ink tempts me serving the words I betray the scale and scope of verses take the sentiments to heart detail the hopeful curses for it's now they will depart whereby the latest symptom born of such wells of despair will always find its rhythm will always be waiting there immersed in inner turmoil where belief had kept it ground reflections in the tinfoil are ready to burn it down with existential relics lighting bridges without halt these wings were once angelic now just tears that taste of salt and so the hour ends empty as a distant scream is heard never will ink not tempt me I'm a servant of the words the scale and scope of verses take the sentiments to heart detail the hopeful curses for it's now they will depart whereby the latest symptom born of such wells of despair will always find its rhythm will always be waiting there immersed... (07/02/26)

here we go time and again comes some bro with “not all men” don't know why it's still the trend battle cry of “not all men” so let's talk about the fact guys will balk and will push back when we move the spotlight from the abused o'er to the ones who abuse and own the act I'm confused what's up with that the instinct of so many why, methinks it speaks plenty here we go time and again comes some bro with “not all men” don't know why it's still the trend hear him cry out “not all men” put the blame where it belongs say it plain that rape is wrong don't mince words or hem and haw time to purge the culture's claw silence hides perpetrators shine the light on these traitors preying on humanity shadows gone and we see thee stop teaching girls how to be perfect victims so they can earn our empathy instead address the men who would inflict them all of these wounds we will not see here we go time and again comes some bro with “not all men” don't know why it's still the trend battle cry of “not all men” (06/30/26)

never say never and never say die change in the weather it is always nigh has been forever a consistent lie never say never and never say die one for the money which they like a lot not being funny as far as they got they locked in on it and took it to heart ran it like Sonic and it was the spark one that has triggered so many wildfires and reconfigured how many are wired never say never and never say die change in the weather it is always nigh has been forever a consistent lie never say never and never say die one for the money don't expect a two they like it sunny like climate can do refuse to move on to step from the sun they are holding on to step number one with the imbalance that it has now caused scale-tipping talents garner their applause never say never and never say die change in the weather it is always nigh has been forever a consistent lie never say never and never say die one for the money now they represent the cold and cunning of the one percent and so they spoon feed the slop to us all my inner Goonie it answers the call seeking adventures worthy endeavor to alter postures will they change... never say never and never say die change in the weather it is always nigh has been forever a consistent lie never say never and never say die (06/22/26)

huckory, duckery, shock it is fuckery o' clock the clock struck one struck for freedom huckory, duckery, shock muckory, shuckery, bloc once more fuckery o' clock the clock struck two Netanyahu muckory, shuckery, bloc the days are getting goosey we're turning on each other the screws are getting loose see and I am one cold mother buckory, cuckery, hoc it's still fuckery o' clock the clock struck three from sea to sea buckory, cuckery, hoc huckory, duckery, shock yup, it's fuckery o' clock the clock struck four illegal war huckory, duckery, shock the days are getting goosey we're turning on each other the screws are getting loose see and I am one cold mother knuckory, suckery, cocks it stays fuckery o' clock the clock struck five mind like a hive, for genocide knuckory, suckery, cocks cruxory, luxury yacht fucking fuckery o' clock the clock struck six for avarice cruxory, luxury yacht the days are getting goosey we're turning on each other the screws are getting loose see and I am one cold mother yuckory, stuckery, mock always fuckery o' clock clock struck seven no more questions yuckory, stuckery, mock huckory, duckery, shock it is fuckery o' clock the clock struck eight as racists hate, no balanced weight huckory, duckery, shock the days are getting goosey we're turning on each other the screws are getting loose see and I am one cold mother tuckory, luckery, lock n'er not fuckery o' clock the clock struck nine justice maligned tuckory, luckery, lock fluxory, huxtery, rock can't stand fuckery o' clock the clock struck ten vast corruption, that never ends fluxory, huxtery, rock the days are getting goosey we're turning on each other the screws are getting loose see and I am one cold mother uckory, juxtery, plot why it's fuckery o' clock struck eleven caving heads in uckory, juxtery, plot huckory, duckery, shock yup, it's fuckery o' clock the clock struck twelve one percent hell huckory, duckery, shock (06/20/26)

saw the strings of the schemers with all their ways and means here playing at redeemer death waiting in the wings can't tell from my demeanor for nothing's as it seems yes, once I was a dreamer was a time I could dream the dawn came with the thunder was carrying a storm the current pulling under the sky painted to warn of each these dark tides turning the ways of their unrest how we should be discerning if we're to be our best the dawn came in to portend various plots and schemes they are trying to upend the way a dreamer dreams they know that one must have hope courage must be equal and the dreamer must evoke a belief in people saw the strings of the schemers with all their ways and means here playing at redeemer death waiting in the wings can't tell from my demeanor for nothing's as it seems yes, once I was a dreamer was a time I could dream the dawn came with the thunder no sunlight could be seen what eroded asunder was systemically deemed order of operations the failures cascading how do you break a nation keep the dreamers waking saw the strings of the schemer with all their ways and means here playing at redeemer death waiting in the wings can't tell from my demeanor for nothing's as it seems yes, once I was a dreamer a dreamer's meant to dream the dawn came in to portend the losses one by one visionaries left to fend for what life could be won where there are no perceived wins no, nothing here but costs with no one to believe in the dreamer's will was lost saw the strings of the schemers with all their ways and means here playing at redeemer death waiting in the wings can't tell from my demeanor for nothing's as it seems yes, once I was a dreamer was a time I could dream (06/19/26)

the sinister conversion heart rotted on the spit apathetic perversion all we have left of it we have truly lost our way a trillion times over avarice now owns the day we the people shoulder the burdens of the wealthy the fees that they inflict the pulse no longer healthy reflected in edict the documents are dusty founders turning in graves it's getting kind of musky the foundations betrayed the sinister conversion heart rotted on the spit apathetic perversion all we have left of it I saw these cold tides turning establishment of fees have paid with all my earnings these costs of poverty we have truly lost our way a trillion times over avarice now owns the day we just push the boulder the hill keeps getting steeper lines constantly redrawn the put upon seem eager to place these shackles on the covenants are crusty founders turning in their graves it's getting kind of musky showing signs of decay the sinister conversion heart rotted on the spit apathetic perversion all we have left of it I saw these cold tides turning establishment of fees have paid with all my earnings these costs of poverty we have truly lost our way a trillion times over avarice now owns the day methods growing colder laying waste to safety nets and the aid that matters to fund yachts and private jets excess served on platters machine no longer rusty for our blood soaks the gears the air is sour and musky so much it may not clear the sinister conversion heart rotted on the spit apathetic perversion all we have left of it I saw these cold tides turning establishment of fees have paid with all my earnings these costs of poverty we have truly lost our way a trillion times over as we're feeding this decay we die of exposure (06/16/26)

when I turn the lenses inward used to not like what I'd see there were days the pain had hindered who I thought that I would be was a man of many faces a mask for each occasion as time would apply its graces with healing motivation making scars out of the wounded fusing mask with tainted flesh the hard edges were obtunded still the days brought cuts so fresh that I never saw it coming times like this when I would feel that the person I'm becoming would be able to be healed when I turn the lenses inward used to not like what I'd see there were days the pain had hindered who I thought that I would be was a man of many faces but each facade was a lie the way the wounded embraces was the very way that I came with grace to all the scars left where the blades had let them in gave them more than just my last breath had hope to be whole again with a process of blood-letting as the pen left crimson stains was the heart's way of forgetting moving on from this refrain when I turn the lenses inward used to not like what I'd see there were days the pain had hindered who I thought that I would be so played the part of the injured was a role penned just for me 'til a new shape had been rendered one they fitted with a fee was a man of many faces who had faced many a cost once believing in these places that too much of me was lost that I'd only get back traces of what came before the scars with a sleeve bereft of aces and no hand there holding cards so I never saw it coming never thought it could be real that with all of this succumbing I would find the means to heal when I turn the lenses inward used to not like what I'd see there were days the pain had hindered who I thought that I would be so played the part of the injured though no mask is worn for free still all that had been surrendered came back eventually was a man of many faces and each they served a purpose I am grateful for their graces am thankful for their service they created needed distance while allowing wounds to breathe like a balm over existence so it wouldn't cut as deep with the pen to clean the wounds out should an infection set in with the madness getting tuned out giving it less chance to win when I turn the lenses inward used to not like what I'd see there were days the pain had hindered who I thought that I would be (06/15/26)

I'm not a man of action here resting on my laurels I've got no satisfaction clearly bankrupt of morals completely out of fashion embroiled in many quarrels am here to write the caption to give form to the horrors I'm not a man of action for I am a man of words by no means a distraction nor the whim of the disturbed with some lines gaining traction while the others go unheard magnifying infractions and the culling of the herd there was no way to know it when I first picked up the pen that I'd become a poet and I would do it again with nothing to show for it but the words I'm carving in stained with ink as I pour it over scarred and fragile skin I'm not a man of action read the cards there in my hand I have not done a fraction of what I know that I can was part of the attraction and always part of the plan everything's a transaction from what I now understand there was no way to know it when I first picked up the pen that I'd become a poet and I would do it again with nothing to show for it but the words I'm carving in stained with ink as I pour it over scarred and fragile skin I'm not a man of action yet there's action in the verbs same goes for the reactions and the identities purged all part of the abstraction and of that which is observed am here to pen the caption for I am a man of words there was no way to know it when I first picked up the pen that I'd become a poet and I would do it again with nothing to show for it but the words I'm carving in stained with ink as I pour it over scarred and fragile skin (06/14/26)

I came for the rhythm I came for the rhyme the former was given before it was time the latter was bidden at first show of signs I came for the rhythm I came for the rhyme I picked up the inkwell I bled for each word sentenced to this cold hell with what was fostered the muses were confined kept there in the cage and all of them resigned to suffer this rage I picked up the inkwell and started to spill these words meant to dispel the weight of this will with this path undefined itself a blank page and all of it designed to make me engage I came for the rhythm I came for the rhyme all of it was given none of it was mine that truth wasn't hidden it showed every time I came for the rhythm I came for the rhyme I picked up the inkwell bled deep for each piece each cut was its own tell repeated at least once for each collection showing persistence as each introspection fashioned resistance I came for the rhythm I came for the rhyme way to breach the schism as I set to climb cliffs of unforgiven martyred in their time I came for the rhythm I came for the rhyme I picked up the inkwell picked up the habit I welcomed this old hell as would an addict the muses by design danced upon this stage the suffering sublime meant less on the page I came for the rhythm I came for the rhyme the former was given before it was time the latter was bidden at first show of signs I came for the rhythm I came for the rhyme I picked up the inkwell was then when I heard the tolling of the bell with each and every word (6/10/26)

where once I believed find now I cannot heart penned to my sleeve somehow I forgot why it was conceived I once cared a lot where once I believed find now I cannot time is ever-changing in truth, so are we always rearranging who we are to be broken into pieces time and time again scar tissue increases with reconstruction time is ever-changing influencing all with ways of estranging what's penned to the wall from its very meaning purpose is unmoored still it bears repeating this I can't afford where once I believed find now I cannot my heart sought reprieve thought it worth a shot yes, I am aggrieved gave it all I've got where once I believed find now I cannot time is ever-changing the world is in flux saw where it was aiming but not where it struck still I kept it burning as long as I could flames of hope all yearning just to see the good where once I believed find now I cannot heart penned to my sleeve somehow I forgot why it was conceived I once cared a lot where once I believed find now I cannot time is ever-changing in truth, so are we always rearranging who we are to be broken into pieces some forever lost scar tissue increases it costs what it costs yes, I am aggrieved gave it all I've got where once I believed find now I cannot (05/27/26)

I crawled into a hole could see no way out of for darkness was the goal a point I was proud of but it cost me my soul just to be allowed love I crawled into a hole could see no way out of I came here a junkie taught that love was the cure it made me feel something in that moment was sure it had to be magic panacea of mind made all the more tragic when I left it behind I crawled into a hole could see no way out of for each second it stole the heart was endowed love with pieces of the whole there beneath the shroud of that old ill-fated hole I knew no way out of I came here a junkie believed love was the cure was praying for something beyond what I'd endured such things would be magic panacea of self I became an addict for the way that it felt I crawled into a hole could see no way out of dictated by the toll I now lived in doubt of for I had not a soul no token of loud love I crawled into a hole not meant to crawl out of I came here a junkie looked to love as the cure knew it was the one thing that would always be pure I tasted its magic panacea of heart the length of my habit hell, it became an art I crawled into a hole could see no way out of for darkness was the goal a point I was proud of but it cost me my soul just to be allowed love I crawled into a hole could see no way out of needed to feel something needed life reassured I came here a junkie thought that love was the cure (05/25/26)

poly want a market betting on the strife everything's a target everything in life odds aren't in your favor house holds all the cards place your bets and savor life without regard Rob E. wants a market that still has a soul not one that's so dark it's under the control of the apathetic cogs of the machine such builds are pathetic thrive on being mean care to make a wager I wager you would we are all just players long been understood cruelty is selling always making bank darkness so compelling it's now pulling rank poly want a market void of decency compassion discarded in its infancy humanity worsens with every bet placed no form of exertion just utter disgrace Rob E. wants a market that's not so corrupt see how this all started know that we are fucked all our worst impulses fully on display finger on the pulse is feeling it decay care to make a wager I wager you would we are all just players long been understood cruelty is selling always making bank darkness so compelling it's now pulling rank poly want a market betting on each blow everything's a target the new status quo (5/24/26)

only one 86'd here is me innocent, but they ain't gonna buy it for one time she was quite the homie and though we were both children at the time it seems that Sally's last name is Comey and so I too am now charged with a crime she sold 86 be-fore day seven apparently that was all it took now the right is rolling in hog heaven labeling the lot of us as crooks anyone who's shopped at Sally's Seashells especially if you ever served then you're an accomplice that's what Kash sells and your prosecution is deserved Sally sells seashells by the seashore which I really never gave too much thought lately though life's taken a detour and now I think about her quite a lot at one time she was quite the homie and though we have not talked for quite a while Sally's last name it seems is Comey and so Sally and I are here on trial so perhaps the moral of this story that I only now have realized any can be sacrificed for glory on the watch of old Kash Crazy Eyes bid farewell to seashore shell arranging lest you draw that crazy bastard's ire he sees the beach side coups that you're staging he's gonna prosecute you for his sire Sally sold seashells by the seashore but that was before Justice came to dine she ain't selling nothing anymore and only thing she's serving now is time (05/06/26)

where once I cast a shadow I now find an empty page the light was all I had though landing on this tattered stage I've seen the tables turning and I know what those acts mean the potential for earnings cut out of here in the spring where once I cast fated die I now roll but ash and bone for we no longer ask why we just submit to the throne I have seen this errored way now become the only path gilded furor left in play only room for writ and wrath we cannot turn a blind eye and then still expect to see operators standing by who are there for you and me where once I bled in battle I now find the tap is dry enough to have me rattled but is it here I shall die I have seen hope returning have watered it with my tears the lack of light concerning hasn't been this dark in years we cannot turn a blind eye and then still expect to see operators standing by who are there for you and me hang it up, force perspective drop out of the fucking fight follow your own directive and be your own fucking light where once I looked for answers I now turn to reconcile the potency of cancers that we churn out with a smile I've seen all that tomorrow could bare if we would grow it but we breed only sorrow and what's worse is that we know it we cannot turn a blind eye and then still expect to see operators standing by who are there for you and me hang it up, force perspective drop out of the fucking fight follow your own directive and be your own fucking light where once I cast a shadow and I had long been resigned to be there but for battle now I come only to shine I have seen hope returning have watered it with my tears let's set these bridges burning not been there for us in years we cannot turn a blind eye and then still expect to see operators standing by who are there for you and me hang it up, force perspective drop out of the fucking fight follow your own directive and be your own fucking light (05/05/26)

the chorus faded out in the night their words falling like sands through the glass and the prophets blinded by the light they could never see beyond the past while our heroes are all digging graves and the poets sing out by the stones oh no, now nothing here can be saved no there is nothing left to call home we struggle to make sense of it all as we cradle that last remnant spark leaving these words written on the wall the sum of these whispers in the dark the waters keep rising around us with a volatile stain on our tongues and still we're not sure how they found us or if that brand new day has begun so we have to just keep on dancing with the spirit of hope in our hearts while this dark tide keeps on advancing we have to find new ways to impart the medium is not the message we can take the pen, draw our own arc don't have to stay within this wreckage can be more than whispers in the dark the champions are on vacation the evermore has all but expired nothing to ease, there's no placation the day we seized had long been retired and our heroes are buried under the very ground they were sent to clear once battle cries, now distant thunder barely audible, no one can hear saw reflections of fortune's favored and we believed that it left a mark 'twas not the start of something braver thus began the whispers in the dark the armaments have been surrendered the blood we spilled has been painted o'er our resignation's long been tendered and the job's been posted on the board with what's left of hope, we're still dancing upon feet both swollen and blistered still waters rush in, tide's entrancing and all that's left, are but the whispers (04/30/26)

I've been playing this role so long I no longer know who I am scene one...take one...action and the boy became a poet he cut his teeth a broken bard took a piece then, he would owe it his wrists lay open from the shard he bore his heart for all to see the rest he hid behind a mask the fragile organ on his sleeve broke without ever being asked and that was when he traced the scars to before the lines and laughter found masks extending back so far seems he was always an actor how did everything go so wrong how did this get so out of hand I've been playing these roles so long I no longer know who I am scene two...take one...action the poet became a pauper he's forever a broken ward treading in a depth of water far from any visible shore knowing that at any minute his arms and legs could just give out but he's here, he's long been in it and this is what his life's about so he holds there in the struggle turning it all into an art it is a piece in his puzzle yes he was born to play this part I've been playing these roles so long I no longer know who I am it seems this is where I belong was always penned into the plan scene three...take one...action the pauper became a fable a story told as a warning what was left upon the table would keep the lines of ants forming not sated by the scraps they tossed what with all of their strings attached as such his appetite was lost and he would never get it back all replaced by primal hungers for teeth that never took a bite is it really any wonder that he was unfit for this fight I knew the words to every song yet I was not part of the band I've been playing these roles so long I no longer know who I am scene four...take one...action the fable became an echo a broken track set to repeat he was unable to let go of that which would bring his defeat for it was part of his nature an innate rhythm, out of time was his very nomenclature the way he always spoke in rhyme growing fainter and more distant and as such, much less impactful the desperate and persistent ringing off walls of the castle I've been playing these roles so long I no longer know who I am wonder if there will come a dawn where I'll finally understand ...cut (04/27/26)