I have to fight for something higher
something more meaningful than a life
dedicated
to money, security and the latter years
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Why can’t I write?
Is it the weed?
And the reason I can’t stop;
is because I am too afraid to write?

It is not just about the lust for the opposite sex anymore,
it is about the feeling of sinking teeth into something delicious,
about the energy of beauty
the energy of a woman
because I am a man
and I need that muse

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On a plane back home, away from
already waiting for that moment
too aware of the minutes apart
to be concerned with looking forward to anything new

Sitting in a park
weeks later
staring at passionate reunions
knowing how sweet those feelings will be
when two lovers who became strangers
will become lovers once again

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“Utah provides much inspiration.”

That’s what she said to me.
That is all she could say to me.
She was married
finally happy, if only for a moment
after years of submission
willed or volunteered
willed and volunteered
years of his way
years of no choice
years of “…just this one for me…”

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Hundreds of pounds
being carried on these shoulders

the sirens have begun
from every direction

diamonds among the hustle
deciding unknown effects

it’s hard to wake up
these days keep on passing

no heat is needed
as long as the trains still warm the way
across america

af

(written in little notebook)

Stop being stupid
Pretty please
Pretty, pretty please

There is not much I ask for;

I give freedom, trust
don’t really pressure
though I am passionate, intense;
I believe with trust
and always, your individualism comes first…

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This guy is amazing
giving me a smile on my face on a Sunday night:

well-dressed in a dive bar
Persian, polished and tight off his ass
harmonizing in (Arabic) scales effortlessly
seamlessly to hipster-electro-pop-rock
fed-up with everyone thinking he is insane
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