Zig-zagging through the trees
She is running
Doesn't know why, or where, but she is
Then she stops
She looks around
There nothing there.
She begins to relax
But then the world starts to fade to black
And she starts to fall.

O the mustangs stung like mosquitoes,
fast as lightning & thunderbolts,
liberators & fortresses,
hurricanes & tornadoes,
hell cats & bears,
invaders & dragons,
good grief Lord,
those mighty Gordons!

O wily foxes & quick lancers,
avengers & vindicators,
swordfish, barracuda,
some tuna, albacore.
Gladiators in the gauntlet,
zig-zagging & spitting fire,
spewing molten hot-lead,
bright-tracers in the night,
forever fighting
with their all their might,
bombing their daylights out
and into submission,
la morte, stone dead.

O they sank the Rising Sun,
'cause they had that *****,
battling against all wrong
& protecting only
what was right!

It comes after heavy rains.
Naked amphibious marauder
crouched beneath dampened stars
bip-bipping its personal intercom;
soporific in sleep-weary bleary-eyed dreams.

I imagine a Cop on his elbows
zig-zagging, belly-flat
under cover of darkness;
he not naked; peaked cap askew,
shoulder pips glinting in half moon;
he too,  predator on a mission -
Echo - Charlie - Zebra.

The freezer kicks in
out-droning night sounds.
Light eases between blinds.
I slurp chocolate dregs from a crazed mug.
Over and out.

frozen in time he was quite the spectacle
thick rimmed frames traced rigid lines
projected from kaleidoscope eyes
sharp with the corners of unknown dimensions
caught hot handed
both in expectation and reminisce
so awkwardly present

most nights
he spins fairytales
double-dipping moons in molten watches
skewered with his arms
      these wooden poles
stirring the coals buried in ashes
he steps lightly.stomps
dances with the rings of saturn
then rolls like thunder
chasing Zeus's sore words
zig-zagging down to earth
ooohhhh…..
he may not melt hearts with that shoodoop
  that bebop
but they break for his habit of
making promises

he who holds time in the cave below his tongue
which now juts left off the reef of his lip
slip into
trip - - - skip
fall.into.this.
go mad for the pitch of his sweat
glaring at the spotlight
Dalí
painting worlds in the moments
between your ears and soul
he is god to their populations
and their hymns excite
rhythms ignite
visions of hard candy
tumbling your teeth smooth as river stones

he does not belong in a gallery
no high tipping wine sipping city slicker big wig
should ever feel comfortable in his blast radius
he makes bombs from tribal instruments
wigwam concoctions
set to test resting souls for pulses
paradiddle defibrillator
triplet stent for arteries
he is tall
and now thin
pressed against the wall as if under interrogation

splitting breath from its carbon
asphyxiated by the frame
he spells his words with motion
I find him
mute

I'm kinda tired of having these reoccurring dreams about you and waking up and you're still not here.
what ever happened to predictability?
I'm torn between the two. Between what's wrong and what's right.
I was happier then.
Or was that me? Or am I now me?
Like holding water in your hand.
Would you go back to then? Just beginning then?
Would you?

~

There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent

To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on

My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads

She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The **** interrupted,
“Didn’t, don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort  

This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,

“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”

Perplexed she climbed upon its back,
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…

Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray

She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up

When it appeared hopping happily,
jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy

Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me

*And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…..

We like to think we are hard to understand
Intricate mazes with twisting chaotic paths
Leading to numerous outcomes
Mysteries woven within our stories
Constantly changing and always anew
We like to believe we are elaborate structures
Constructs of pure ingenuity
Winding corridors with infinite knowledge
With mysterious doors holding plethoras of secrets
Darkened halls to shroud our true motives
Stairways up and down, leading anywhere and everywhere
We like to fool the world
Building these zig-zagging stories
Losing the truth the farther we burrow
Forgetting who we are in the labyrinths of our minds
Forever lost in what we have become
We lied to ourselves
With broken confidence, striving to be who we want
Rather than who we are
Living in a world of other grande designs
Trying to keep up against time itself
We doubted ourselves
Unable to look at the mirrors which spoke the most truth
Turning away and hiding in the lies we fortified around us
The barricaded conscience, locked away and ignored
Emotion took hold and there you sat
We all sat and wondered
Where would "I" fit in this broken world
Of towering deceptive motives
Glimmering pedestals of deceit
Trick rooms and evil men
We all asked ourselves "Where will I go"
When people see the place I've hidden myself away
Calling us out, asking to venture, deep through our halls
We felt simple opposed to the world
Far greater stories, fascinating, colorful
And our structures crumbled
And there we sat
Alone, where the world could see what we ignored in that mirror
But we understood
That Truth can set you free
Despite the lies we make ourselves believe
For simplicity is truth itself

Like hamsters on a wheel we ran
Away from horses hooves
Zig zagging through trees
To be hunted like deer
Hiding in holes
Covered in dirt
Crawling under rocks like insects

One by one, we fell.

In terror, we ran back to the place we knew best. Entered the darkness, remembering our way to the waterside.

Safety, of a kind.

The heavy moon poured light from the star laden sky. We merged from the thick copse to be bathed in the calming white of her rays.

Eyes drawn to the glint of the moons' light, touching the tops of the ripples in the water, made brighter still by the surrounding darkness.

Shimmering, like magic.

It was cold, perfectly cold, and the air was fresh and open, the kind of night the veil stays so thin into the night and you can almost see just by feeling. When you can feel the serene and endless expanse of the universe. An overwhelming sense of purity and clarity.

Nothing, and everything.

The slight movement of air on the trees and the gentle lapping of water on the bank told us we were safe, for now at least.

We returned to the real through trees and fields, passing streams and reeds along the lakeside.

We were separated. I knew then, I felt it. I was strangely comforted by its sadness.

Peaceful sleep, first for an age.

I woke before dawn clutching a vision. A message so clear it could never be dream. Time passed, finally their eyes caught mine and stared into my soul. Then it was gone, in an instant hidden.

The vision was realised.

Bees in a hive, making honey
United, in duty, for the colony.
Zestfully searching for hours,
Zig zagging among the flowers

Sunrise, their tunes they deploy,
Oscillating, their songs of joy.
Nesting and putting on a show,
Greeting the bees as they go

a heavily decorated door creaks open to disturb the silence-
"why don't you turn on the light?" he asks her,
but she likes the shape of the night;
the way the sky hugs close to the earth and resembles the bell of a glass cover over a cake on a bakery counter.
"life is sweet like that..." she sings,
"like a pastry on display,
something sweet that we can taste."
there's a certain way of looking at it.
your eyes half closed,
one hand high on a hip and the other clasping a cigarette.
"yeah,
i mean,
i guess that makes sense..."

"one ******* roll!"
of the drum,
of a car,
of our calendar.
things have changed.
the universe is stretching,
the earth has grown;
and so has she,
into a species of flower that can't be grown indoors no matter how many lamps you point at her face-
she needs the sun...
and the wild.
let her grow free in the sun of foreign hillsides,
by a creek in the meadow she's dreamt of for years...
with the fruit farms.
"yeah...the fruit farms." she smiles.
she's always wanted to sell fruit on the highway a few miles from the farm she'll own,
on land she bought,
in a house she built,
feasting daily upon earthly treasures she grew
in the dirt
with her hands.
let her feed you a story for breakfast;
a picture she'll paint with scenes of her dreams that she only occasionally shares...
when the mood is hopeful and kind and she's not worried about anyone laughing.
listen to her heart;
type-writer keys over the hum of radio space.
rest your head-
ear pressed to her chest;
listen.
like curious neighbors in the backyard in the sleepy hours of the weekend between breakfast and lunch,
coffee and cartoons.
let her show you one of her dreams.
a prized,
***** pebble she keeps cradled in a pocket full of lint.
she's an old soul...
peering through dirt colored eyes just as wide as a child's.

"it's been a long time since i've seen the ocean..."
she whispers to herself under the last drag of her third cigarette.

but she hates the beach,
and the crowds of the vain who gather there to worship starving,
sacred bodies;
she just likes the sound.
the throaty yell of prehistoric waves breaking over zagging shorelines.
she says the sound "helps her dream."
it doesn't "help" her dream,
nothing helps her sleep...
it just makes her think;
of unimaginable beasts that have swam in our seas,
and the shape she's been told that the continents once made.
she thinks of mer-maids and voyagers and the rustic ship that brought her great-grandmother over at age thirteen...
this time she's not dreaming,
just remembering things that she's never seen.
her ***** feet need a stroll through the sands of a pristine scene-
she's heard such thing used to exist.

she mumbles, "it hurts to know that nothing is sacred..."

but she is.
a mess of tangled heart-strings and sentences,
she's sacred.
and so are the four tiny walls that hide her from the world.

Flippant polymaths exude the frippery of travail for lapsed inordinate surgical gains in temporal but temporary acclaim that owes its provenance to the gullarge accentuated by the guttural tempests of silent windfalls that wrestle with sharks and snarky cagamosis with pilfered fame without rulers for rules that own the profligacy of a cineaste game

We cannot surpass our talents with ease when the treecheese of inevitable distance between equipoise and insanity is a tantamount inanity of prolixity for the sake of freedom rather than servitude to the slow meandered steps of trudged verbigeration that needs to be exorcised from the seat of authority for the plodding inconvenience of time earned that shakes the listless yearning people who lie and spurn

Demagogues are trifles because they are anoegenetic and care not for the abligurition that consumes the energy of a dismal life lived on fringes rather than reaped with grimaces for binges that continue to absorb the painful pangs of twinges that hedonists are of interest

We cannot exorcise the demons that give stygian weight to exchequers beyond the gamut of money but rather the currency of velocity of thought that owes its weight to weightlessness of spaces between the spacious and the limited tract of isolative territory that many mendicants looking for sustenance travail in insolence and in perjury of their solemn duties for self-serious honesty they lack a vista to see their crimes as more than just a pettifoggery of disputatious wranglers that wrench and then contemn the objects of their moral scruples to contend with nothing but the vacant expanse of a limitless injury for a momentary slip of cultivation and countenance

Frippery is hard to cobble with lapidary wit because succinct grievances are fallow ground for the permanence of atrocity and the temperance of felicity to conform to the desiccated pathways of limpid but livid excoriations of willful ingenuity met with aleatory rambles that sprawl incalescence with words as a dying occupation that is resurrected from the abeyance of its pragmatic utility to distinguish class from crust.

The triadic fatuousness of snarky sharks recruiting the gullarge of paranoiacs to deputized alacrity lead many strident vocations astray as they pilfer the nullibiety of spectral ignorance and defy the gravitas of the primiparas of a swollen technocracy, an outrage that scarecrows with prevenance have adumbrated against with strident accelerations of sublime velocity

So we swim in perilous straits against the demiurge of inclemency in fated rittles for the turpitude of wraiths and engineer every aborning day a new foofaraw of unalloyed atrocity
Now more than never should be deployed to ensure that the castigation of scoundrels and guttersnipes that exert a rip tide to those stranded on the shores of littoral desiccation might find the pristine beachgoing public an amenable treat proffered by exorcised sheepishness in reiterative bleats that quarkswarm only the antinomy of sentient masteries by shoveled civilizations proctor to horological insistence in design

So we designated an abeyance of heydays to create a rippled nostalgia that creeps in the winter storms that singe even glabrous ignorance with the twinges in absentia of the regal crows that circle the sun as the sustenance of the alighted moon as we reach for the heaved Richter teeming with ablution for venial commination of prolix croons that exert a Palo Alto rhyme

Phenomenological fields distal to the cephalocaudal origination of limber and the ironic counterpoint to that strife in excess rather than dearth of the henchmen behind the exchequer showcase that fluid thoughts surpass the limits of the dentistry of cosmetic cosmology simultaneously a scientific boon but a coarse albatross

We are criminals in a world stranded by ****** apostasy because of the sincerity of minstrels meets plodding human ignorance as exemplars rather than the apotheosis of divine excoriation of wastrels and flattybouches who webdoodle their way into the extinction line in some computer file swiped from eccedentesiasts who often in uncouth barbarity forgetfully abide without the temperance of floss

So what are we to make of magisterial wits of wiseacres who pilot tenable objectives like Indiana Jones flexing his comical whip when the gunfire of cacophony inundates our ears with a lisp of cockalorum imposture rich in chewing tobacco and its ungainly gripes and tenacious grip

Should we seek salvation from the treecheese of arboreous terrain amenable to the newfangled windfall of agricultural whims that dare now with caprice but not quixotic disdain to reconfigure the parsimonious levered engagement of melliferous fungible transaction between sabbaticals and chief financiers dubbing the vociferous limn of the primeval fulgurant incandescent ethereal quips?

We strive for palaces issued with dimes, dozens and scores of retinues that retain the patina of sophistry as the gullarge makes the vangermytes cozy in their defensively mechanized citadel buffered against the unheralded malversations of mammon intersecting with primordial chemistry that give the philanderer a guise of philanthropy despite professed gainsay that perjures because hucksters are winsome with fiduciary risk

So we calumniate with lapsed puns and Potter’s Spells as we dredge the indemnity of bustling heydays that extend beyond the bailiwick stated because of the prolonged trace of nostalgia that frazzles our voluntary expeditions with misanthropy as each libertine instinct becomes subject to stop and frisk

How to balk at such a garrulous repartee as proffered by swanky intransigence that shakes it off in a quaky town that hates the Swift refrain that endangers the fatalism of recuperated foresight borrowed from the armamentarium of corrupted killjoys who swim in a dalliance with the itchy myths that drift from powerlessness to voguish debauchery of insouciant internecine fringes frayed by the tomes that decry Stygian drift

Shiftless and rooted in rintinole absolved by plackiques that enchant the voyeurism of repined squalor of industrious frippery deracinated from the aureate complicity of largesse calibrated to mobilize the skittish mercurial yuppies to a dance with divestiture, taxes and an earthen death, we sprint the evergreen mile toward the scrupulous invention of enthusiastic euphemisms arbitrated by the procrustean silt of the leaky faucet of enigmatic timelessness etched by chiselers to beat “Us and Them” and warn the vanguard of the front rank about the thespian rift

Exhaustive rescue squads prepared for the dearth of monetary heft in times of perilous drought denigrate the authors of famine to the indulgent parents of inordinate sabotage of narrative for riskless arbitrage that is the outrage of sciamachies between platonic indifference and the tantrums of the feckless in the dangerous hearth of the cavernous wilderness of limitless imaginations that stagger so far beyond orbit they become satellites to vagrancy and whittled paragons too distant to dissolve in the ethereal chemistry of incalescent uproar sadly flanged by the Dopplers of ephemeral fate

Squandered by the desuetude of a snarky intervention I issue invective at the proctors of deafferented limbs for barbarous swine meeting expediency in demise, bemoaning the placid distaste of rectified cries that issue candles for each acrimony beyond the permutation of the staid inflexible limit of 88’

Bashfully we careen through argosies of curiosity to fossick the stalactites of timeworn intuition and reckon with their converse ironies that drip faucets of mildew that remain hidden unless poked by plucky flashlights to inspect the paragon of erosive filigrees of a bewildering paradox of polarized design that one meets the ceiling at inception and the cousin strives to clamber empty space to know with faint certainty the bulldozed irony of superordinate coexistence

Now we return to the majesty of a spurned wiseacre that evades the snappy parlance of a wrenched friction between the physical and the metaphysical elements that constitute a commensurate reality so supernal that its ostentation creates lifetimes of reiterative growth that spawns crimson red and bloviated blues to find a fulcrum of balance between the malversation on one hand of criminal sinister machinations and on the other hand the execrable self-righteous ignorance of a hidden vehicles of dexterity that are subsumed by a subtlety of legislative graft that owes its forbearance to the sanctimony of perseveration without the laurels of persistence

Now we wed the concepts between the ambidexterity of a monolithic titan who wanes rather than waxes himself because his glabrous head already exposed requires nothing new because the empire that struck back is denuded by the thorny imbroglio of a sunken Rose

Timmynoggies are perfect for haberdasheries of saccharine and glib excellence as measured by the ****** cacophony of unmerited applause that strains the resourcefulness of the silent mastery of magistrates in mellifluous alcoves surrounded by the soundproofed rigors of an execrable dereliction wilt into the imaginations of the few that watch movies with errantry rather than pleasantries of gaudy nonsense enchanted by a striptease of the wanton zeitgeist that some balk at but everyone knows

Time earns the spangled banners of sloganeering because of the fastidious creations of pole folders that maneuver between quips borrowed from antique movies and swindled affectations of yearning of many of all fears inevitable with the malevolent passage of the technocracy from cheers to vehement inveighed jeers

We should fear the watershed because it necessitates the evaporation of winsome ambition and implores the subservience of a guiltless fascination with abominable regress concomitant to the acceleration of money preceding a whipsawed downfall ensured by the funereal spates of requiems to oneironauts who plunged to their deaths on headlong flickering whims past the craggy landscape of lunar concordance and through the abeyance of qualms to flabbergasted self-importance in the eradication of provident fears

Memorials exist encoded in the temporal twinges of agony that straddle the cardiovascular throbs of impermanence that sweat with each simple beat to blather about the repetitious nature of a livid nature scrambled in exodus of the emigration of senseless blather to the subroutines of regimented sleepless paragons of travail in every pedestrian feat accelerated with each passing foot traversed by vigilant and eager feet

Tempests crowd the cluttered hamartithia of dredged incompetence leading to the foreclosure that precedes the simple derelictions that amount to grievous uncertainties that squawk in the plumage of the frippery decay of an autumnal fall from gracile riches landlocked without room to sprawl rigged against every track that is a surefire gleeful keepsake to meet, greet and serenade the claques adorned with the monikers of the Greeks

Trembling beneath the weight of mellifluous sauntering dingy designs that exude the anguish of our provident but incidental remonstration against the plodding indifference of the artistic clerisy we sputter against intransigent annulments of the emotive human engine calibrated with creaky pistons that rumble with furor of abrasive protest in timely haphazard elemental designs for vanguard ears

Tridents shed the fossicked leaves that are divisible by two but not inevitably glue that solders the identities of people congregated around a situation of gleeful sprees rather than wistful regress into a temerity without regret that gets dangled in the purview of the spiteful wings of armies that drawl when they sing vapid songs for vaped bongs but not the soberly cheers because of the deafening din of conformity oblivious of the honorific crescendos that still peak after so many restless years

Confederates line the avenues of bustling caverns of cumulative human disdain so willfully flouted by the wrenched corrosive frictions of vibrant deformation of the cultural narrative that encapsulates the collective bubbles chewed and jettisoned like bandied candy and then defamed without justice because  hurricanes churn up the reclusive emergence of protective vanity chased down as a sunken cost for a siphoned glory of tribal pride despite the strictures of logic

Creeping with insistence is a subaudition of governing gravel that entombs many steadfast lies that embodied people living delusory lives under a paradigm that has been subverted by the feats of science into a morass of irrelevance and the chances are many of those so deluded still breathe the air now more polluted but balk at the memories of the fallen passengers on the convalescent train that accelerates sunblind but respectfully toward a systematic engrossment of swollen intellects whimpering about the tautologic

We finance our prescient rodomontade with rodeos equipped with zany clowns who spurn the tridents of Poseidon because of the iridescent gloss of sheepish and flippant zealots who churn against the wrestling match of televised irony with accentuated eccedentesiastic disdain amended by a tolerable diversion of ennobled gallantry zip-zagging among the many valid quodlibets and missing the mark entirely on purpose to vacate the possible raillery of those who balk at time’s chosen serpentine tracks because of limited pedagogical tracts

So lets solder a forceful brunt against the senseless regalia of modern omphalos and return to the plenipotentiary fields of resourceful human inquiry into the chagrins outmoded by convenience but amplified in vociferation by the prosthetic extension of a grangull humanity outfoxing itself into a zugzwang inevitable in the future with collateral losses because of senseless invidiousness orchestrated by the immiscible dermatology of divisive facts often about race and ineluctable tax

We conclude with the optimism that refineries become gentrified by the superlunary squadrons who bask in beatific beams of anonymity and that the pollution preceding our evolution is just adventitious rather than central to the amelioration of wavy screens ennobling so many upstarts to teach themselves the majesty of lucid dreams and to capitalize on ludic ideals divorced from the urchins of radical idealisms that ironically poach rarefied air with smug pollution of narrative scares

Without trepidation we can muster the largesse of civility to create a progeny that has a recursive progeny of heirs that defiantly imagine a world bereft of specters of the soporific imagination enforced by the lapidation of insight from termagants who stride with ursine acrimony naked bare and envision a global meliorism that is careful, picaresque, pragmatic and filled with meritocratic care

With those ornaments of an aureate measure in mind


We leap beyond the enumerated infinity in time's proper design

An Abecedarian Poem: The Hunt

A gazelle shrieks, her voice loud-
Bitten by a lion,crazed and proud.
Craving life, she darts away,
Daylight fading, for darkness she prays.
Evil and fierce, the lion charges on,
Following her every move, she was his pawn.
Growling behind her, he becomes irate,
Her life he desired, he could no longer wait.
In a dire manner she follows her path,
Jumping and leaping to escape his wrath.
Kind and gentle, the gazelle is fazed,
Lost as to why the lion is so crazed.
Madly, the lion lets out a roar,
Never willing to lose a war.
Over fallen trees she bounds,
Path unclear, her heart pounds.
Quickly, she passes out of the lion’s sight,
Realizing that she could hide and avoid the fight.
Soon, he stops and catches her smell,
Teeth exposed, his chest began to swell.
Unsure of an escape, she remains in place,
Valuing her last moments before the final chase.
Wailing in anger, he knows she will not be found,
Xanthic fur matted, he paws at the ground.
Yelping once, he gives up for the day,
Zig-zagging away from his beloved prey.

Stained-glass Jesus
Third-eye light
Glinting silver metal
Blinding my sight
Fourth-of-July light show
Lighting up my mind
Pinball bounces
Side to side
Gripping the nightstand
Walking across the floor
Lightening bolts zagging
Green colors and more
All this light and color
Is just too much sometimes
Even when I close my eyes
It's always me they find

Uneven I fly
In the dead of night
Zig zagging towards the moon
Then I disappear
Until you catch my eye
And zoom into hysterical *silence

The smell of your skin
is too familiar
It’s almost like we’ve
gone back in time
   To the days when I could
   caress my favorite features
   of yours—your hands—
   without a second thought
but I’m wondering if
this is too much, if I’m
crossing a line, or
if I’m zig-zagging streams
on the bar graph of time
and a calamitous end
will meet all entangled

Your strengthening grip
on my hip assures me though,
that nothing outside of this
firm mattress covered by
sky blue sheets with bleach stained clouds
matters—at all—so let’s lay here
for ten hours straight
and bask in the warmth
of each other’s glowing souls,
reconnected at last,
   with old questions drowning
  in the abyss of the unknown
because why would I ruin a
moment so perfect as this?

Fixing loose-curl auburn lockets, the pins embed
And turn again. Step, and forward sway the hipbone,
Thirty, forty, a flight of granite looming forward,
Front and back, past my skirt tail – laden laced, pearly

Quiet go the foot pads, front illuminations rest forgotten,
Past the small mouse scuffling four-paw: zigging, zagging
Along the stair stage. Past the morning call in woodpecker
Tongue, squalls and loudly names the dawning. Softly,
I ascend the cold rough stairwell;
careful
Not to spend courage whole.

Wring the rusty thoughts of amorphous dreaming, eat the
Bad thought before the stairwell – ******* orts and morsels thin
Of single tipped barbs, and doubted quenching
alas
Before they mean too much.

Wave with white hands a fare-thee-well, the apparition
That pauses; portentously grinding its nothing on the wall
Seemingly real the whitewash of nothing, he is voided
But lives existent in that other-world well,
Singing, and that much better for it.

Twitch the dreaming skull-bone loose, and question not,
As I mask my tooth-grin with knuckled fingers;
He spots me slinking past the wound in time
and calls me closer,
So that I may meet him.

I always hurt by caring too much
Expecting similar effort in return
This time thought I could maintain control
Some habits too deeply rooted to unlearn

There seems to be no magic number
Of heartbreaks able to change my ways
Come back to the very thing that destroys me
Resolve weakens in a matter of days

Each time I crash a little harder
The throbbing gets worse, injuries more severe
Plunged into a deep pool of denial
Would rather live a lie than face you not here

Although the agony is somewhat unbearable
Weight of dishonesty too heavy to hold
Know without a doubt it does not compare
To torment of watching our romance unfold

The most difficult decision I have ever made
Has been to give up on what I poured time into
Level the skyscraper that took eons to build
Clear unsalvagable wreckage and begin anew

Though all that remains are tiny pieces and dust
Of love we were so proud to call our home
I desperately scramble for answers in the ruins
Mind broken, I relentlessly comb

Looking like a pitiful fool
Witnesses point, scoff loudly, and stare
They don't understand how it feels to lose your heart
Should be embarrassed but I'm far too unaware

Oblivious to disarrayed surroundings
Aching nerves scorch muscles with greif
Any semblance of time long ago flew away
Have been trapped an eternity in a stupor of disbelief

****** sore palms red from scouring sharp sections
Hunting the same oversifted handfuls of our past for a trace
Of intimacy once lacing our brittle tired bones
Is it the feeling or just familiarity I chase?

All I know is functions halt when I'm on my own
Unsure if I can survive without you by my side
Whether its your soul or simply your presence I need
Or something else all together I can't decide

I was not clingy until you carried me on your back
Was not jealous before I discovered your power
One glance leaves head dizzy, drawing in with your charm
Emotions grow wild, stronger by the hour

So I'm stuck here stumbling mumbling incoherently
Staggering zig-zagging directions soaked
Love left me beaten, too ****** up to form a sane thought  
Mental state disturbed by the lies on which I choked

Conscience becoming numb, withdrawn into my shell
Long to close eyes for a semi-permanent sleep
I've not yet felt such emptiness before
An old hole reopens for each promise you failed to keep

Hopefully this will be enough
To secure chains constricting my heart
Lift the veil so my stubborn eyes can see next time
Stop the flood of high-pressure emotions before they can start

I am an irrational fear
I bear claw at your beehive of a brain
I’m ice crystallizing on the window of your mind
I’ll insta-freeze your thoughts
No amount of heat will get you going again

Fight or flight
But I make you always choose the latter
I’m the elephant in the room
hanging from above your head by
Thimble thread

I’m a taxi service
Driving you up the wall
Zig-zagging up the walls tearing you to and fro
Never giving you respite from the whirl of anxiety until
Crashing you straight into the ground

A professional packager is part of what I am
I’ll pack you so tight into the box
There’s no air to fit in any crevice
The trick is it’s a mime-made box of
Your creation

I’m the black sun to your planet
Everything you do revolves around me
I don’t get off light but **** all of yours away
A tick on the underside of your spirit
Leeching away your life till all that’s left
are your broken bones

I am the ghost in the mirror
I am the shade in your stride
I’m the monster under your bed
And you cannot hide
From me

I am strong, I am fierce
I am relentless, I am calamity
I am the rock tied to your leg
Pulling you under

I am You.

Running fast, really fast. I get this feeling at the pit of my stomach. Almost like butterflies  from excitement or nervousness. But this feeling is clearly different. My feet finally lift off the ground and I started to fly. I was in complete control now. I Flew. Flying so fast and zooming high. Zig zagging everywhere feeling free to do as I please, I “fall” down to the ground head first Speeding like a bullet. Then I save myself last minuet like they do with the fighter jets during an air show. People gasping in awe to be witnessing a blue eyed blonde haired girl fly. People cant accept the fact that i am completely and simply anti gravity. But it is completely and easily controlled. But then, I woke up. Starring at the plane whit ceiling, and the plane white everything. What a joy.  I thought to myself. Another day stuck in this prison. A nurse came into my room. "You appear to be doing better since your last....outburst....and we are "happy" to allow you to roam the halls again." she said clearly not happy that there was another one to keep track of. I'm in a mental hospital. I'm insane. I certainly do not agree. I think im fine.

We were all born crying,
And sometimes I think that even our tiny bodies could already feel the pressure of an unfair world.
A world where women’s bodies are a prize to be won or an object to rank.
A world where people obey the sign in the museum that says “Do Not Touch”,
And those same people decide that it’s a suggestion when a woman says “Do not touch”

Hands on my body before my first period.
Not sweet hands like sweet caroline.
Before, evil was something I used to look for in Disney villains, now, it’s eyes are everywhere, glued to my 17 year old body.
It’s in my neighborhood, in my coffee shop, in my bed. It whispers me shakespearean sonnets and tells me I’m ****.
Runs its fingers up and down my spine, zig zagging over the bone. Its kisses are soft and gentle, like springtime. It makes me feel important and deserving.
Then the sonnets turn from Romeo and Juliet to Macbeth, and It tells me:

****** thou art; ****** will be thy end.

Touching hands, not sweet hands.
Hard, cold, unloving, cigarette stained hands.
Cold hands on my beautiful body, my spectacular self.
I call out to nothing, and nothing responds.
I sink deeper into the bed, wanting time to stop, fast forward, or rewind or something.
I wait for the sonnets to end, and the pain to go away.
I wait for grass to grow and paint to dry.
And then it stops

and I am not me.

He was an old old man,
sitting in a chair,
older than he was,
he would sit in that old chair,
staring at the Corn Field,
maybe he saw something spectacular,
maybe God,
or an Angel,
he would take deep inhales,
as if they were his last,
making them count,
getting in one last victory,
the smell of his land,
the trees,
the animals,
the ski,
the planet,
but he never went,
he sat there,
rocking back and forth,
the farm was always quiet,
no visitors,
the rain came at times,
graying over the land,
which he didn't enjoy very much,
he'd close his big,
heavy wrinkled worn eyes,
and imagine running through the rain,
through the Corn Field,
as he did when he was young,
young and didn't think too much,
the Corn Field glowed,
like hot metal it glowed,
sometimes he never slept,
he'd just stay up for days,
Monklike,
no food,
no water,
no using the restroom,
almost stunned,
stunned by what?
I couldn't say for sure,
but his big green eyes,
were weighted on that Corn,
the rain would come,
and the house made a funny noise,
you could hear the birds,
chirping,
scattering looking for a dry place,
you could hear the road,
being drenched,
the hard rain drops,
smacking against the old paved road,
getting so loud,
only a hum came about,
emerging across the hill like a silent marching band,
or a group of lost holy men,
chanting humming something of significance,
but the sound of the rain drops,
tapping the leaves of the Corn,
that,
he could hear intently,
with this he'd softly press his aged lips together,
close his eyes,
and inhale,
suggesting to Death, or God,
that this moment,
is perfect for me to go,
but the rain was still to be watched by him,
the *** holes in the road,
filled like the palms of a child,
as it rained,
was to be heard by him,
he was okay with this,
he was okay with the duty he had,
to keep record,
of the beauty,
he had heard,
weeks would pass,
before seeing a truck,
a lonely old steel car,
or even the zig zagging hum of a fertilizing air plane,
he felt at times he wasn't even on Earth,
the he had died,
last harvest,
when the rain never came,
and the corn dried up,
and crumbled over on itself,
but he had food,
cans and cans of beans,
which he lived off of for a year,
but the corn had come back,
and he sat in the chair,
with wonderful eyes.

Unsolicited advice
against its storm I brace
Showing no fear or shame
as they get up in my face

In other words ...

They tell me to zig
when I'm zagging
"Hurry up man!"
when I'm lagging

"That's not the way
I'd do it!" they opine
"Better listen to me,
get to it!" every time

Hmm, if that's true
then I'll know
just what to do
when I am you!

More precisely ...

When I do what you say
in my own peculiar way
You stand
beaming with pride
taking credit

If I dare to complain
you declare me insane
then expose me to
ridicule on Reddit
(You don't regret it—
there, I've said it!)

Now I had my say
what will you do?
Hopefully MYOB
not misconstrue

"We just told  you
the best way to go
You must listen to us
don’t you know?”

Thanks!  If that's true
then I'll know
just what to do
when I am you!

As odd as that sounds
it must be true
I'll be doing sooo much better
when I am you!





8/20/2022

Poetry form:  Lyric

A sauté of unsolicited advice with a dash of fun.  All we're trying to do is get rid of the bitterness and make the rest of the flavors pop.  Yummy!

Mark Toney © 2022

Imagine a road.
That led to anywhere you wanted it to lead to. Anywhere.
Even to a place from storybooks and make-belief.
Even to a place you made inside your head.

Now imagine a person.
Walking down that road.
Or running. Or flying. Or zig-zagging up and down in vague caterpillar-like motions.
But there's a person. And there's a road.
And the road leads to someplace else.
And Someplace Else is far away.
And Far Away is where you need to be.

Fickle gleaming light once shown bright
through the tunnels of your eye holes;
dreaming and deeming yourself truthful
in action and fastened in your traction
                             (on the Traveled Path)
A refraction, split in two.
Mind soaked in indecisive dew.
At a loss, where do the paths cross?
Crossing your mind, two zig-zagging,
                              spiraling,
                                              constantly
                              colliding
comet tails leave debris that hails
down on the soft and welcoming
surface of the brain.

sometimes i think about
how it would be
to be
in someone's arms
whenever i felt like it
like a kind of
lilting tune
that beckons, draws in
draws out
complications
i don't want love
and all that comes zig-zagging after it
i just want to be held.
maybe my mom didn't hold me enough as a child
i mean
she had a lot of kids to hold
i guess
maybe the funny, quirky redheaded one
didn't get a chance
maybe i'm one of those people
who will grow up deranged
because my parents let me cry at night
instead of rocking me
holding me
comforting me
i learned to
rock myself
back and forth
my arms holding
my knees
comforting
the empty valley
in my chest
badly
because i never
learned
how.

Birds Dont Sing and
i know you asked me why;
you said I never knew
the places that you do -

corner store with the
Corvette Cassette, or the
urbanite Chinatown,
Origins of your youth.

i may not know them but
i do know Lovely You and
Lovers Rock too, where we
spent an hour washing the

stone with tactile tips.
a Lilly of my day, as
at night, or, oh-no, Oh
Devil in disguise.

when i look with my eyes
i see So Many Details,
strings from Kites zigging
a bedroom span, zagging

back across, No Rules,
like the rivers or roots we grew by.
attempting to Think Feel
my way through the space -

no not forever, but yes
Everything Goes; like how
You Hear Colours while
i try to draw them out

of what i return to you.
like light, only of a kind
before the reflection, a reply,
now i'm Giving up that Feeling

i don't know how,
we broke something inside.

a race car
Zig zagging
on freeway

.

Nothing more than a pretty smile

There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent

To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on

My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads,
following the same schedule
as the other…identical

She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The **** interrupted,
“Didn’t…don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort

This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,

“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”

Perplexed she climbed upon its back
and flew, holding onto
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…

Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray

She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up

When it appeared, hopping happily
Jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy

Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me

And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…..

Adolescent *******,
you were an accomplished one,
you left me abandoned and apparently I was a *****,
I was beaten and bruised because of your backstabbing, blabber mouth,
you didn't wear a caution sign.
You were cold and careless, you had a concrete heart,
I was damaged and you were dangerous.
I felt dead as a door nail while you were doubting my ability,
elaborating your evil words filling my empty heart and soul.
I was failing to live up to your expectations.
To you I was a filthy, flawed, female,
my heart was flimsy
and I apparently had false information about what was going on
and I was fortunate to have you in my life.
Waiting for you to get to your grave because what you did to me was grim and gruesome
and not once did you ever feel guilty for the haunting, half hearted stuff you did to me. you were heartless and hateful.
you had no hazard sign on you and so I was helpless trying to hide from your humiliating words but I was so hopeful that things could change,
but that was idiotic and impractical and I was imagining all these things.
You had a jagged heart,
you told me I was a jackpot but I was too juvenile to think that I wasn't,
maybe you were jealous and I was just full of joy.
I saw this Kaleidoscope of new colors, thinking maybe you were kindhearted, likable, but all of these loving things were limited and weren't long-term.
you weren't loyal but I knew this was a majestic thing only a magician could pull off.
your masculinity was marvelous,
almost motherly, and I was misguided and mortified,
for what was about to happen again is noteworthy.
I thought you were so nice
I was obedient to your commands,
oblivious to what was happening,
I was trying to be optimistic, open-minded to good thoughts
but the past ,periodically came up and I smelled her perfume on you,
it was pointless this pain kept occurring,
when was it going to be peaceful,
I thought everything was perfect.
still seeing if I qualify for your questionable test,
I was queasy because you were always quick to respond as I became quiet,
so now I was the reckless one in this rare love affair.
was it really reasonable to have me go through all of this
and during all this rough, Rotten and rigid love you never showed one sign of remorse.
I was suffering from your secondhand secrets,
you were selfish so I stood silent,
for this was several times a week and sleepless nights were scary and I shouldn't be surprised but I'm now safe and sane,
our love was tattered, tense and tough.
It was ugly, unacceptable and unhealthy,
you said you were unfinished but I was also useless.
it was unknown what was happening, unrealistic but when our house turned vacant after I was vulnerable because of your vain, vicious and violent words it was not visible but I was weak because of how your wicked, warped, whispering was saying how I  was worthless,
we were just in our youth and we were young.
I was zig zagging through our love, like a newly bought zipper. We
were the animals in the zoo without knowing...