My little deer
Is that you
peeking between the trees
peering at the stag
but your heart's
still not at ease
... time ago
a short time
a stray cupid's arrow
shot the night air
splitting your spirit in two
frightened you took off
from the foreboding
hiding in a lea
there was sun
and cloudless skies
but not really
as your insides
raged
in a storm
in a hourglass
with sand pebbles fighting
to heal
for the best
now as you peer
between the trees
of salvation
do you hear
birds singing near a brook
... songs sung
so beautiful
in concerto
with the chipmunks, *****, crickets
then, as you take
that step forward
so lion hearted
peering
between those
branches
of redemption
my little deer
are there rays
of sunshine
peeking back

LR-4/23/17

The Unknown Desert
This area has some secrets some are unaware of here is a list first material items black sand apples that contained milk and the same grasses that grows along the coastal highway in California and sea gulls and chipmunks just like those found across the Golden Gate in San Francisco in The great conservationist John Muir’s stand of Redwoods. Then a black desert a jungle a secret pass a tunnel under the railroad right next to the place where it snowed all year round and Miss America undiscovered though.

We will start in order with the black sand this was the purist black crystal regular sand not so much
Ocean beach sand has a lot of powder content this you could scoop up hands full let it do that small
Wonder usually reserved for hour glasses gently cascade out soothing as it escapes whatever had it
Bound not being involved with the Spring Side mine in a professional sense I can only guess but like the
Mighty mountain of slack that stood as a giant discard pile to the mine operation this sand now it comes
To mind it had to be a pulverized cast off type of coal dust. They had a show one time that delved into
The byproducts of coal defiantly not as tasty or wonderus as the finds produced by George Washington Carver
From what he referred to as the lowly Peanut this will lead us into the Black Desert mentioned this was
The far end of the Spring Side mine to the east along the rail road right of way Why an artist never
Painted this I guess as spoken it was unknown Donna even missed it with her camera but it truly was a
Miniature desert with the same vistas but all contained within a quarter mile the long open stretch
Comparable to a large pond bordered at the edges by dunes with these grasses found along the coast I
wonder did someone while traveling harvest some then bring them and transplant them whatever they
Thrived and had the same pleasant effect not only on the eye but the soul it was always filled with the
Quietest hush our smallest land of enchantment Georgia O Keefe would have found it matched the
Dream shapes of New Mexico only thing missing were the flowers and sculls everything else was right
Here in your very own back yard it also was a bird sanctuary and the chipmunks still scurry about on this
Now lost dream land gone just like the native tribes the I lone the Sack, Pawnee, Potawatomie’s and the
Greatest tribe the Kickapoo bet you didn’t know this used to be Black Hawk hunting ground.
The milk apples not too big of a thrill unless your six and you look across the small pasture just out in
Front of homer’s Barn was their house Miss America undiscovered lived there I know beauty she didn’t
Walk around and she wasn’t at black desert but she shimmered just like a desert princess she could have
Been covered in coal dust it wouldn’t have mattered it would have looked liked gold dust if she had an
Native American name it would have been trance maker when she came outside the rest of the world
Stopped all activity except the part of paying her homage she was so humble she killed me if they had
Those portable oxen units back then I most likely would have been dragging one around in one of those
famous little red wagons she left me breathless then like a great devastating storm the news crossed the
Yard and ally she was getting married well what should you do probably not this but this is for everyone
Who has loved a living dream then fate oh blackest fate thy name was Richard comes and steals the
Most precious living one away I just went to say goodbye outside her bedroom window that wasn’t
What the girls that were to make up her wedding party heard a mix between a Irish Banshee and a small
Calf tangled in barb wire in a terrible storm would come close as you can expect someone finally said
What is that the answer the little neighbor boy did she close the window no she sealed my feelings for ever by her action of mercy, I don’t care I passed into the far
Reaches of agonies domain but I looked up from the ground where I was laying soaked in tears there she
Was kneeling beside me these fifty six years I have never laid down this torch that almost consumed
Me that night new tears now join those of long ago she touched my convulsing body and spoke I think
From that carving so deep in my heart when death to innocence was complete the poet in me was born
She even has spoken where does the depth come from don’t you know you looked into the cavernous
Abyss that lost love created I spoke of her in three lost loves and endless rails I told her someday I will
Make her famous I’m still working on that promise the apple with milk was an old green knobby hedge
Apple good descriptor for my heart after leaving her presence that night her earthly name is Eileen I call
Her summer’s night angel.

The pass was the space between the sugar creek creamery and Longwells Pana hotel sorry it was cool to
Cut through there and we lost another young prince when Pat Longwell died he was one of the first to
Color his hair he had the air of a beet nick he just didn’t do the lingo you instantly loved him he was a
True friend he owned the name cool the snow that snowed all year wasn’t cool but it snowed those
White feathers all the way to Wadley’s chicken processing at the end of commercial alley past the
Monument company how apropos for all the chicks that said there final Farwell the tunnel was there too
Under the railroad you walked down through it on stones that kept you out of the small amount of water
That trickled through go in and then pop out on the other side or get the thrill of the train rumbling over
Head. Thats your trip through this unknown hope you enjoyed the trip my only wish is that I could type faster.

My family is a bunch of animals.
My mother is a lioness,
strong, brave, and full of pride,
with claws sharp as knives,
for anyone that harms her cub she will strike.
my father is a hyena,
foolish, never serious, and a lazy scavenger,
that doesn't do anything but eat the crap that he creates.
My grand parents are elephants,
big and strong during the day,
blind and helpless during the night.
My aunts and uncles are the herd of gazelles,
they graze when they can,
but when the lioness comes they silence and run away with fear.
My dogs are the shade that comforts me from the burning sun of life.
The day has come when the lioness shall not roam the tall grasses of the Serengeti.
Without the lioness the gazelles are persistently grazing,
depleting the grass,
grazing and depleting until there was no grass left for me to hide in,
they rammed and bucked at me like I had no right to grieve.
I was a helpless cub on that day and I still am,
wondering when the lioness will show up to be my heroine again.
But as the gazelles buck and ram,
a kangaroo and a zebra rush in,
embrace me,
and take me in,
I now have a second family with:
a savage tiger,
Italian chipmunks,
boxing kangaroos,
kick-*** monkeys,
elderly turtles,
burly bears,
religious zebras,
and untimely rabbits.
My second family is diverse,
but they never do the worst just as my first.
This is a story that I usually don't tell,
but this my past life so I must tell, tell, tell...
This is what God raised me to be,
This for me and only me.
One day the light will show for me,
and me and the lioness will forever again be free,
to roam the plains in the skies above,
just like a dove.

This area has some secrets some are unaware of here is a list first material items black sand apples that contained milk and the same grasses that grows along the coastal highway in California and sea gulls and chipmunks just like those found across the Golden Gate in San Francisco in The great conservationist John Muir’s stand of Redwoods. Then a black desert a jungle a secret pass a tunnel under the railroad right next to the place where it snowed all year round and Miss America undiscovered though.

We will start in order with the black sand this was the purist black crystal regular sand not so much
Ocean beach sand has a lot of powder content this you could scoop up hands full let it do that small
Wonder usually reserved for hour glasses gently cascade out soothing as it escapes whatever had it
Bound not being involved with the Spring Side mine in a professional sense I can only guess but like the
Mighty mountain of slack that stood as a giant discard pile to the mine operation this sand now it comes
To mind it had to be a pulverized cast off type of coal dust. They had a show one time that delved into
The byproducts of coal defiantly not as tasty or wonderus as the finds produced by George Washington Carver
From what he referred to as the lowly Peanut this will lead us into the Black Desert mentioned this was
The far end of the Spring Side mine to the east along the rail road right of way Why an artist never
Painted this I guess as spoken it was unknown Donna even missed it with her camera but it truly was a
Miniature desert with the same vistas but all contained within a quarter mile the long open stretch
Comparable to a large pond bordered at the edges by dunes with these grasses found along the coast I
wonder did someone while traveling harvest some then bring them and transplant them whatever they
Thrived and had the same pleasant effect not only on the eye but the soul it was always filled with the
Quietest hush our smallest land of enchantment Georgia O Keefe would have found it matched the
Dream shapes of New Mexico only thing missing were the flowers and sculls everything else was right
Here in your very own back yard it also was a bird sanctuary and the chipmunks still scurry about on this
Now lost dream land gone just like the native tribes the I lone the Sack, Pawnee, Potawatomie’s and the
Greatest tribe the Kickapoo bet you didn’t know this used to be Black Hawk hunting ground.
The milk apples not too big of a thrill unless your six and you look across the small pasture just out in
Front of homer’s Barn was their house Miss America undiscovered lived there I know beauty she didn’t
Walk around and she wasn’t at black desert but she shimmered just like a desert princess she could have
Been covered in coal dust it wouldn’t have mattered it would have looked liked gold dust if she had an
Native American name it would have been trance maker when she came outside the rest of the world
Stopped all activity except the part of paying her homage she was so humble she killed me if they had
Those portable oxen units back then I most likely would have been dragging one around in one of those
famous little red wagons she left me breathless then like a great devastating storm the news crossed the
Yard and ally she was getting married well what should you do probably not this but this is for everyone
Who has loved a living dream then fate oh blackest fate thy name was Richard comes and steals the
Most precious living one away I just went to say goodbye outside her bedroom window that wasn’t
What the girls that were to make up her wedding party heard a mix between a Irish Banshee and a small
Calf tangled in barb wire in a terrible storm would come close as you can expect someone finally said
What is that the answer the little neighbor boy did she close the window no she sealed my feelings for ever by her action of mercy, I don’t care I passed into the far
Reaches of agonies domain but I looked up from the ground where I was laying soaked in tears there she
Was kneeling beside me these fifty six years I have never laid down this torch that almost consumed
Me that night new tears now join those of long ago she touched my convulsing body and spoke I think
From that carving so deep in my heart when death to innocence was complete the poet in me was born
She even has spoken where does the depth come from don’t you know you looked into the cavernous
Abyss that lost love created I spoke of her in three lost loves and endless rails I told her someday I will
Make her famous I’m still working on that promise the apple with milk was an old green knobby hedge
Apple good descriptor for my heart after leaving her presence that night her earthly name is Eileen I call
Her summer’s night angel.

The pass was the space between the sugar creek creamery and Longwells Pana hotel sorry it was cool to
Cut through there and we lost another young prince when Pat Longwell died he was one of the first to
Color his hair he had the air of a beet nick he just didn’t do the lingo you instantly loved him he was a
True friend he owned the name cool the snow that snowed all year wasn’t cool but it snowed those
White feathers all the way to Wadley’s chicken processing at the end of commercial alley past the
Monument company how apropos for all the chicks that said there final Farwell the tunnel was there too
Under the railroad you walked down through it on stones that kept you out of the small amount of water
That trickled through go in and then pop out on the other side or get the thrill of the train rumbling over
Head. Thats your trip through this unknown hope you enjoyed the trip my only wish is that I could type faster.

Two of them,
So cute,
And such prodigious nibblers
In their striped coats,
Four inches high
On hind quarters,
Sharing the rich rain pulp
Of a maple-leaf key,
Looking over one another's shoulders
For the neighbor's cat.
We could be
More like that.

There is a man at the coffee shop I frequent
He sits in the same corner in the same sweater
And hasn't missed a day since I've moved there
I've never seen him order a coffee, but he always has one
Never seen him eat, but he isn't small
And all this man ever does is take notes
He's got a pocket size notebook
A twenty five cent pen and a mustache
And the only time his hand stops writing
Is to take a drink of coffee
He's not normal
I could tell it the first time I saw him
He writes like chipmunks eat
Keeps it close to his face
I hope one day I'm flipping through case studies
And find his
It'd be about interactions
Or communal relationships
Or some fancy way of saying strangers don't talk
They only judge from afar
It'll have won whatever literary prize they give for that kind of thing
Changed the way people thought about each other
Books will be written about the book he wrote
And his little notebooks and twenty five cent pens
Will sell at auctions for thousands
But that's wishful thinking
He's different
I knew that the first time I saw him
I've gone through a lot of scenarios
Character development for a novel
A series of short stories derived from first impressions
Of everyone who comes in
A poet without a laptop
Maybe even a hit list
But he's unusual
I knew that the first time I saw him
This isn't something normal people do
He isn't making believe
He's making friends
I imagine he hasn't had too many in his lifetime
He's probably not been very good at it
So now he's just making them for himself
Taking notes on their likes, dislikes, interests, hobbies, occupations
Eavesdropping the CIA would be jealous of
All so that after closing time
He can go home to his studio above a repair shop
He pays for with social security
And have conversations with them
I can picture his closet full of clothes
Male, female, juniors, adults, maternity
He talks to an empty space on the other side of the room
“Hey, how's your day?”
He takes off his clothes puts on a dress
Walks over to the dead space turns around and says
“Good, hey you look sad is everything alright?”
Takes off the dress, puts his clothes back on
Walks back across the room
“Yeah, it's just that Gary works in engineering, I had him pegged for a dentist”
Changes again
“It's okay, people aren't always what they seem,
Besides I like engineers better than dentists”
“I know” he says back to her
“That's why I think he'd be perfect for you”
“Oh no, no more blind dates”
“Yes I'm serious I think he's the one for you”
“I do so bad at these things”
“Well I'll just have to ask him for you, are you available tomorrow night”
“I guess”
He changes into a third set of clothes,
Then a forth,
A fifthAnd before the sun comes up
There's been a marriage
A hockey game
A lecture on physics
And little Tim had a cello recital
He's dangerous
I knew it the first time I saw him
One day Nikki won't answer his phone calls
Sam won't have a new lecture prepared
And he'll come back to the coffee shop
And make them,
Teach them a lesson,
Exact revenge,
Or maybe he'll just throw away their outfit
Either way ****** is just a mind set
He could win an Oscar for his portrayal of any regular in here
But they've all disappointed him a time or two too many
He's not that different
I've learned that over time
He's got more friends than I do
But none more alive

What is about some people
insisting I want to engage
with whatever they are watching
singing along to
listening to

Example:

recently, on a long haul train
travelling from A to Z
in the rudimentary rammy
to find the unreserved seats
enter the 20-something
alluring guitar laden
leather and tattoo clad female
tumbling onto the next table to me
unpacking as if she was moving in

munchable fruit laptop
gleaming white
in clear conflict with
the dreads and the beads
pumped in patchouli oil
drenched in love and peace
armed with a dvd
that would shortly crush the spirits
of every soul in Coach D:
the Quiet Coach

enter screaming chipmunks
hysteric children
and songs to sing along to
which she did with obsessive precision

insisting that Coach D
should in some way be
enlightened
entertained
entranced
and ultimately impressed

such was her overbearing desire
to love thyself above all things
give the peace sign when appropriate
and otherwise don't give 2 F's
for anyone else, regardless of situation.

consumer behaviours were erratic at best
if the Jedi senses
were anything to go by

if i'd had a handheld vibe particle device
I could have created a pathological combustion
and an accelerated Coach D A-Bomb

heads turned
feet shuffled
zips unzipped and re-zipped
open hands holding Kindles
immersed in philanthropic discourse
turned to clenching fists
the sound of bent drink cans
rusted cogs in motion
deep breathing

even level 1 Tetris
became too much
for the bald fellow to my left
who accepted failure
and opted to purchase
a large brown bag of beer
from the bar

GOOD CALL

libation and the pagan ideals;
imbibe thyself to dull the senses

I concur
and,
in exchange for our classic colonial restraint
on behalf of Coach D
I wish upon you the following:

1. You will never again
drink a decent coffee from any vendor anywhere in the world, ever.

2. Your laptop will
turn off during any movie you sing along to, silent or otherwise.

3. Your guitar
strings snap during a performance in front of people you don't know who paid to get in.

4. Your Tattoo artist
has an epic fail and tattoo's a defamatory remark rather then your lovers name.

5. Your leather trousers
shrink wrap and make the sound of bursting bubble wrap every time you move.

6. Your comfortable shoes
attract bits of grit like a magnet, regardless what you are wearing.

7. Your waft of perfume
is likened to compressed 7 year old blue cheese that has sat in the sun for weeks.

8. Your location
at any time has a global no shoot-and-miss policy for all birds without exception.
(even the ones that don't fly)

9. Your singing
is so electric that every time you sing in public your hair stands on end
and cutlery sticks to your nose.

10. Your beer is always warm.
11. Your wine corked.
12. Your water salty.

13. That this poem goes viral on the internet
expressing one man's words which mirror the every day person
working their socks off to make a living
and in the hectic hustle and bustle
one of the sanctuaries is Coach D
on the way home from the City
and the frustration and restraint
of anti-social conduct
and basic respect.

14. That I will be on David Letterman
or the Late Late Show
or USA tonight
or the BBC prime time news
or some such over-hyped
TV show talking about you.

15. That you will thank me for making you a celebrity by default -
15.1 and subsequently appear on late night Z-list celebrity game shows involving boxes of spiders.

You are the worst Muse ever
in the history of Muses

16. and this is how you will be remembered

In a golden desert field  sparrows played.
The sun beamed down from heaven, there was little shade
While the ravens circled over keeping watch
The sparrows kept right on playing, they didn't stop
Along came some chipmunks to join in the game
Two squirrels in the distance wanted the same
So they came over and started a fun chase
Four brown bunnies set up to investigate
While the wind softly blowing carried the voice
Of the robins singing their song of choice
I sat there and watched in amazement
Thinking have I died and to heaven went

In bed while you and your little minx snuggle smoosh and snore.
Im usally  ******* outta my mind.
So why not reach for the phone  cause  im tired of a same old
conversation with the floor.

One ring, two rings, four.
Bet she's off  *******  some lucky *******.
Who's this 3423  wait wrong number i knew
my angel wasnt just some cheap *****.

The rooms  running in circles course maybe thats just me.
Hey wonder what tommys up to.
Dude what you so ****** about?
It's  not my fault after you dated my
sister you can light a forrest fire with your ***.

Another shot of Jack okay maybe ten.
And much like like grandpa on ****** .
My ***** thoughts mentally aroused again.

On a quest i called  Rebecca ,Taylor,Mickey,Minnie and
some drag queen named  Tina , or Sue
Baby many  hangovers will probaly not recall my journey
drunk dialing my way back to you.

Spin the  the bottle with next door neighbors  dog.
Watching youtube  such high class watching a monkey
***** a frog.

Alvin and the chipmunks  sure dont sing as good
in *** of boiling water.
Sure was awkward  asking my cousin is it okay
if I date your daughter.

911 i have a emergency im gonna run outta beer  and the VCR
ate my ****.
Help honey im lost  and i feel ive been ***** by Justin Bieber  and
the other children of the corn.

Officer   it's kinda strange to ask for number  he just blew.
Honey  i got fleas and i think  something worse than Bieber fever
I hope this is love for im drunk dialing my way back to you.

Hello who's this  um if you dont know  I'll give ya a guess.
Im the G but not the spot.
But they say after a few drinks and some minor head trauma
im really hot.

Hey Skeeter  if your in bed then who the **** am I callin?
Jesus  , Charlie  Chaplin , Mr Ed,  And that  loveable Stalin.
looks like Ive had to many crystal **** rice crispi treats.
Yeah I know   I should have my own show  on the food channle.
For  all the plump *******  showing them really healthy eats.

Sugar **** my quest   was much like *** with a  normal person
yeah no whips, chains, police chase's   or  romantic music by 2 live crew.
Yes sugar it's no wonder you didnt answer the phone.
Btw I puked under the bed  dont worry it was the neighbors
All while drunk dialing my way back to you.

On a spring day, Emelia soared through the field, like a baby robin learning to fly, running in diagonals with her hands brushing against every shrub and leaf she saw.

Mud drenched pink overalls
and a bright blonde bowl cut.

She ran like a bumble bee on a mission
to pick the freshest, prettiest flower.

Stepping over bugs and playing tag with chipmunks,
she giggled uncontrollably and was a friend to all that walked nature's green carpet, tripping over wild, wispy grasses.

She looks up with innocent eyes, beaming like two sunflowers,
"We have to share," she announced to the big tree
that resembled Grandmother Willow.

She had just seen Pocahontas for the first time
and wanted nothing more than to become a color of the wind.

The wind blew the leaves in a nodding fashion,
showing agreeance to the young sprites statement.

She whipped and whirled her arms toward the sun
as it danced on her skin through the branches of her friends.

"I want to do this forever," she squealed.
So, she did.

20 years later, the girl grew
But with a dimmer light
Weaker legs
And a hole in her chest.

On a cold night, Emelia staggered through the barren field, fueled by a magic dust that made her feel like a crashing plane
Running in diagonals with her hands
Brushing against her watery eyes, keeping them from flooding.

Mud drenched ripped jeans
and a long, shaggy haircut mirroring the bark on the trees.

She ran like she was being chased by a vicious monster
trying to find the safest space for her to vent after feeling her brain bleed from her nose and heart deflate in its cage.

Stumbling over broken bottles and playing tag with her inner demons, she was a slave to all that walked nature's casket, tripping over roots and graves, smashing against a tree.

She looks up with innocent eyes, welling with painful tears,
"We have to share," she whispered to the big tree
that resembled Grandmother Willow.

She felt an unbearable pain that no one should live with and wanted nothing more than to be numb.

The wind stopped in it tracks, the leaves stagnant on their branches, showing heart wrenching dismay to the old skeleton's statement.

She sobbed and heaved with her arms wrapped tight to her torso
as her skin danced with her shuttering bones and tightening muscles.

"I don't want to do this forever," she helplessly breathed.
But, she did.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Jake and Brita were searching for not just a mouse.
Their stockings were hung by the fridge with care,
In hopes that mom Laurel would willingly share.

In just a short time they were snug in their beds,
While visions of chipmunks danced in their heads.
It wasn't just chipmunks they dreamed of that night,
But also the rabbits who they made take flight.

In a short time there arose such a clatter
They jumped from the couch to see what was the matter.
And there to their wondering eyes did appear
The spirits of others that used to live here.

First, there was Josie who made the most noise,
Chasing the others, especially the boys.
But Ari and Teddy would not let her run
Because they decided she'd stifle their fun.

Tori was circling to see what to do
When Kobie and Liver quickly ran through.
Then they ALL came together to join in a song
While Brita and Jake, wide eyed, looked on.

The message they brought on that night of a birth
Was of PEACE and GOOD WILL to all on the earth.
This message was clear to those who would listen,
As clear as the snow which often would glisten.

And then, in the distance, was the sound of a whistle
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But they were heard to exclaim as they flew out of sight,
"Peace to all of God's creatures, and to all a good-night!"

Chipmunks: Adorable, furry daredevils. Or dumb.

You know it's over.
Your shoes have walked away.
Your phone dives
into the pit of despair.
Cigarettes have become healthy.
Your knees don't knock, but clap.
The chipmunks have fallen silent.
All the chameleons are gray.
The cat dismisses you and leaves.
Bullets pass through you like prunes.
Love is a forgotten memory.
Everything transforms into other.
You are a stranger growing
stranger by the day.
Over and out good buddy.
You know it's over.

.
Light sparkles in the clover,
Yellow and blurr of bees
Are honeyed in the sun
And robins have come,
Yanking in the gasses,
So green is the moisten
Of the painting of the dew
And all is lolling in petrichor,
The soils running with slow
Time so shortly experienced,
Oils of wood permeate the air,
Lapping brooks bream into light,
The loft kestrel swirls in meadow
And chipmunks scuttle at base of tree,
Even the wind does freshly quiet, crisply,
There as a hug waiting for body and spirit,
Patches of white are disappearing, they know—
That one day we must all return, after winter snows.

honest to god, with trans-gender i'm retro-******, and i know why the homosexuals were given all the pleasures of heterosexual coupling of social responsibility but not given the opinions, the homosexuals complained that the trans-gender movement dis-appreciated the appreciation of the male physique, god isn't beauty tyrannical, whether here on the anorexic catwalk? god isn't beauty tyrannical, the sea and the mountain, what beauty... but what tyranny!  so the laws favoured homosexuals, they were given freedoms akin to heterosexual relations, they were even given the new breed of *******, the surrogate mothers... what a poker game this has become! god almighty, i'm about to faint! well, you keep looking for genitalia, i'll just take a u-turn and talk to you about T R A N S E TH N I K U S - trans-ethnicity, trans-ethnic and retro-******, synonyms of heterosexual and bilingual non-respectively... and i got a helium balloon handy to mind the writing... chimp-chap and chipmunks - breeze! breezy! breezy! ooh yeah! tina turner gorged on tunas lodged with sardines canned!*

these days it should be called retro-******
rather than heterosexual... just to spice things up - via
in politics telling us to curb colonising the continent of
vocabulary, i.e.: hey foot in New England isn't exactly
Iowa!                                 get the ******* out!
teach them the english language
and censor them with political correctness -
even Stalin would find this approach funny -
'what?! no purges?! ha ha,
this is fantastic!' it's like the everyday
grey experience of failed
abortion and premature cancer
of existence just got a knee stuck
in its mouth - is that chew choke
or chow mein?! i doodle, don't know -
it might be a Caravaggio in the attic
or Anne Frank in the basement -
but given the populace it's still
a **** tourist trip - so take that
******* selfie with a selfie stick
and chomp a hamburger like
a turkey force-fed before thanksgiving.
no, i'm seriously retro-******...
i faked the *** and had a conversation,
neither worked - i mean it
worked faking it - but then the *** dried
and ******* took over
like i was re-experiencing puberty -
and she moaned that it was sick -
that one direction icon left the band
because he wasn't allowed to don a beard...
or smoke a joint...
               forget the 1960s Renaissance,
forget the Holocaust deniers,
come and meet the 1960s Anglo-Renaissance
deniers... **** didn't happen...
oompa loompa do'ba'de'do (insert H when required) -
prof. Kleks - kleksografia - kaczka dziwaczka -
             and other hits - well, mm, d'uh,
imagine trans-
                             (+)    -esse -
                      not gender related - but hence
the polak plumbers and other noose educators,
keenly the rus applaud -
                                               τρανσεθνικóς -
two golds and one silver at the european
championships of weight-lifters:

rank 1 / ****** 1 / clean & **** 2
name: tomasz ZIELINSKI (bernard)
body weight: 93.7kg
******: 176kg
clean & ****: 211kg
Σ: 387kg.
                                     ants laughing in the background:
'check out my exoskeleton!'
                          'boy! you and yo mush inside!'
   'keep the hard outside and the soft inside!'
                  'pecking the pecks of those naked monkeys...
               boy, i would!'
     'give 'em to the earthworms if they're not
               smart to be burned!'
     'goth macabre i too would endorse for a stable diet.'
  'mm, twice the body weight at the limit
    for them, and x5 for our ontological allowances.'
  'you know they call it a natural border of tribes,
      the franks to one side, the germans to the other,
               the rhine in between.'
   'well, d'uh, you ever much wood with rotten wood
           with termites?'
      'that's beside the point.'
                     'well, whatever it is,
          termites are... slogans for culture...
     their mounds rock hard from institutionalised
   saliva squirting -
                             what do we have?
       forest mounds the size of moles unearthing
          protected with twigs and our swarming bodies...
    we live underground - the termites became
     audacious.'
                 'oh stop it, i'm enjoying the joke
      that humans can only lift over twice their body weight
               while we can lift five times our weight.'

It’s windy here

but there is no use worrying for the newly sprung greenery

or small chipmunks already awoken from a long winter

because this wind comes every year to dry out the soggy April soils

it takes some lives just emerging from the earth but

we need it so we can finally break ground and wake up our gardens

there’s this thing in agriculture called hardening off

when you grow seedlings indoors they aren’t accustomed to the harsh climate outdoors

they need to be hardened off

slowly introduce them to the winds and cold beyond green glass

gradually and then all at once

just like how the spring comes every year

it may feel like a sudden drop of heaviness on your chest

but you are hard and strong just like new seedlings

and you will survive the storm

pink dressers and
the way your eyes are tinged red after you cry
blue heart shaped boxes
i pictured purple
and saw the night of my first stay
shades of colors
sky yellow
sky orange
i prefer sunrises
i prefer sunrises
i know myself
better than anyone else
you will learn
my appreciation for the earth
you will see my ability
to whisper into petals
catch dragon flies with the stillness of my being
support a caterpillar in his journey for the perfect leaf.
i may be in space
but i can touch you from there
light-years away and i promise the sunshine stroking your face is still very much alive.
i wish to climb rocks and run my
fingertips over lichens
sing to a bird
click my tongue
chipmunks running into the palms of my hands
i am free
in the shifting of the leaves
forest floor and tiny frogs.
star light
comets
i am the universe
and you love me.

When I was five
the most magnificent pastime
was imagining what it would be like
when you swept me off my feet
wearing a long peach gown
(because that was my favorite color
at the time)
and you would set me on
your tall white stallion
and sing me a song
about some enchanted evening
the woodland creatures would sing
with you
wrap your cloak around my shoulders
and we would ride like Snow White
to Ever Ever, After.

When I was twelve
the most exhilirating fantasy
was dreaming what it would be like
when you rolled up
in your strech Hummer
pressing your palm on the
small of my olive green dress back
(because I know what goes with my hair
this time)
and folded your fingers around my wrist
the paparazzi's going mad
gasps and lightning strikes
to our retreating frames
as I turn and wink one last time
and we ride off into the distance
to Broadway and Main.

Now that I'm older
I realize that I'll probably meet you
in the most unexpected of places
a bookstore
a library
when I'm pretending
to read Hemingway
you'll off-handedly tell me
that you like his work
I'll confess that I really don't get it
you'll grin and I'll smile
sheepishly
you'll rest your hand on the
table in front of us
and I'll be wearing
my glasses and a jacket
(because I don't care
what goes with my hair
this time)
and I'll realize that you probably
don't own a white stallion
nor a stretch Hummer
and you probably aren't famous
nor will you sing me some sappy song
about enchanted evenings
and that it'd be really freaky
if the chipmunks sang with you
but I'll nod anyway
and we'll ride off into the distance
of Starbucks.

This is for the people who are alone in a room full of people. For the misfits and socially awkward chipmunks. For the ones who feel empty. This is for you because it gets better. One day you will find your people. Chin up little flower.

2. This is for the girls with curly hair. This is for those of you who are too tiny to reach the top shelf or are too tall to blend in. For the gangly arms, the bruised knees. For freckled faces and crooked teeth. For the girls who hate their body. For the girls who love their body. This is for those of you who society states are not beautiful because you are not the norm. This is for the wallflowers.            

3. This is for the 3 AM romantics. For the alcoholics and the poets. For the ones who cry alone. For the people who have passion burning their soul but were not born with the ability to express it.  This is for the actors and   dancers. For the people who have music between their rib cage.          
  
4. This is for those of you who drink black coffee even though you don't like the taste. This is for red lipstick. This is for your out dated cell phone, and your NASA computer. This is for your crocs. This is for the mimers, the clowns, the people who are too scared to love themselves. Your chameleon soul is inspiring.            

5. This is for you, the reader. This is to tell you that you are not alone.

The fire of life spreads across the wide  horizon, not even the great Atlantic can stop it now. The lack of wind sends a storm of blood ******* fiends to nibble at my *****, enjoy my juices!

I sit around the remnants of someones idea of good time and rekindle the flame. Smouldering seaweed is enough to keep those ****** parasites away from my blood. Drift wood catches, crackles and keeps the morning chill at bay. Crows, chipmunks and chickadees call out to one another.

As the ruby grapefruit awakens from her slumber I notice that the moon is in full bloom behind my head. The king and queen have set and their masters have come out to play.

Miniature seabirds preform impressive aerial stunts while searching for their morning meal. Hungry crows check for crab corpses as the crimson Sun makes its first appearance atop the curvature of the world.

Reflecting rays blind me and cause spots in my vision. The price you pay for looking into the soul of God.

Cirrus clouds soaking in coral rays. Mother duck feeds her young. Cool sand between my toes. Searching for sticks to spread the flame, running free, no better place to spend one's hard earned sand doller.

I shutter in the nights moon.
I hide my self way before noon.
I fear, I fear, night will drift me away.
Moon! I gasp! Do you see me,
turn your judging face from me.
I shutter in the moons glow.
I fear! Which way should I go.
I see the morn only in my mind.
Its solemnly burrow within the trees
like a spy. Yet the cannot escape
my keen eye.
Day light!  Blasted day light!
Sneeks its glow upon me.
Yet,  comforts like a blanket!
But though I shutter in the moon light
And yet, I welcome a  
pleasantly new days sun,
Woot! Whoo! Comes my weak calls.
For by days sun I hunger no more.
I just peck lustfully blood from my
fluttering feathers, of nights telltale gore.
I am just a hungry owl,
Whoot!  Whoot! I cry.  
My beak shutters to softly croon
My calls fierce, again in nights moon,
Alass!  Shouts of fear from the mice.
from chipmunks from the baby racoons.
Hide! Hide! Hide!
For I will stalk you in the night.
You shall be my dinner before
day light.
Comes now too, my endless fear.
I float over fierce brown deer
Its mighty weight, yet, of me
it does not flinch,
Yes, even with my nightly, whoot!
Whoot! Over it  my eyes gauntlet glare
It just looks me over as if I am not there.
I flutter full, to appear stronger, but though
I am mighty to the new birthed young,
I am desolate to the ones more than I, so strong.
Whoot! Whoot! Whoot! I cry out.
I cry strong and brave,.
Yet, not a small beast does not fear as it
shows its self to me
They scamper, Ha! Ha! I laugh.  
Do they not realize their tiny legs will
not free them from my swooping outcome.
I swop, Ha! Ha! Silently I am upon them.
I since their heart beats like a drum.
Soon it is over. Their will is no more, but mine.
As I perch way up in this tree
Shutter I do of beasts, but so do they.
For in the woods all too is fair play
For that is nature's contract
guaranteed, to all forest prey.

The piedmont basks in the glow
of yet another morning star rising.

Robins join in with a chorus of warblers,
chipmunks chase tails,
herons sift through the sand,
and the dew veil is lifted.

O My Sweet Lord,
it's great to be alive
in this sacred land.

Precious , precocious Bluebird fledglings ,
seeking their bravado in the Red Tip hedges
Ruby Hummers running circles 'round Swallowtail dancers ,
Anoles playing tag in the Red Rose bramble
Chipmunks hard at work 'neath the Weeping Willow canopies ,
Bumblebees and Yellowjackets claim the stone- fruit
trees while aromatic Gardenia , Magnolia and Pine Sage belong
to Paper Wasp , Honey and Cuckoo Bees  
The Sunshine a long lost lover , the broom sage a friend
yet discovered
Cherokee brothers visit the Chattahoochee lowlands , Thor
rumbles on the Alabama border , the sky a mosaic of brilliant
hues , purple flowered grasslands and Morning Glory blues

A male chipmunk is referred to as a
BUCK
I find this iron-uck
Men must have chosen the word “male”
Without really thinking it through
If men of today were naming their gender
They’d be stallions or eagles or sharks
And chipmunks would be out of luck
They’d be referred to as
Penny instead of buck

Winter tapping
hollow maple tree trunk-
a four month visitor about to move in
unload his messy clothing,
be windy about it-
bark is grayish white as coming night with snow
fragments the seasons.
The chill of frost lays a deceitful blanket
over the courtyard greens and coats a
ghostly white mist over reddish gold
maple leaves widely spaced teeth-
you can hear them clicking
like false teeth
or chattering like chipmunks
threatened in a distant burrow.
The maple tree knows the old man
approaching has showed up again,
in early November with
ice packed cheeks and brutal
puffy wind whistling with a sting.

rhinoceri blare
bulls snoozing chipmunks oink, clear
carnivore deafens

Driving through roads I haven't gone before, rain drops scattering on my windshield,
A sudden ache flooded my veins, my bones.
I unexpectedly felt a rush of homesickness.
I desired to see the mountains where I spent my favorite times with you.
That was when I began splitting,
That was when you began dying,
But we were together.
Those drizzly days, walking around, exploring places you'd never heard of, and places I'd dreamt of since the day I'd last left.
I haven't missed that place in a long time,
Ever since the desire to be there was overshadowed with the desire to escape nightmares associated with those mountains, and those unrelenting stars, but not with you.

You taught me a few things there.
You taught me how to be silent with you and with the stars.
You taught me how to actually enjoy that silence.
You taught me how even the most familiar of places are the most unknown.
You taught me how to have fun with matches without hurting myself (at least intentionally.)

Those mountains stuck with me, week after week, after month, after we left.
The snow and the cold, even in July, forcing us back to the car, but not until after we explored and shared Dad's camera.
The chipmunks loving you more than they loved me, eating out of your palm and crawling all over you, while I took more pictures, stuck with me too.
I don't know how we survived that trip as I fell stupid in love and you climbed into your sacred, secret tower, with Mel, that I couldn't quite reach.

But it's days like Saturday that remind me of all we gained on that trip.
We can just sit, in silence, with each other, my head on top of yours, and feel completely at peace with each other.
Even if not at peace with the rest of the world.

clouds & chipmunks
underneath it all we are after the same thing
poetry..the stuff deep inside of me
burning in anguish frozen ***
closet breath with mothball scent
here I hide between the frozen chew
look at my elbow parked outside my window
order form...
look at the magazine soft **** inside
the billows be your guide
soft hand to speak
stand still & repeat
Led Zepplin song remains the same
a grocery date with Stop & Shop's,"Marty"...
a token of well gestures
*** Wee Hermon jerking off in the bathroom
although widows peak summoned to the barn door swing
minutes to breath with *** on the beach
God is still in my heart through a latent guide
thoughts of underware..
come as good as it gets..
Major Jackson & Louise Gluck,
spring down with action
pillows with cashmere attire;
I sip on the magic potion
away from the casino tight token
breath in the sweet tense,
John Ashbery dead at 90
a slight riddle in the sand verticle
a double work slight of hand...
Rooster gay friend
he will be missed in another pardon kiss
people, faces & traces
There are bridges to be burned
which turn another page.
Form each circle
cast your bread upon the water,
It will return in measure and method unexpected
Yielding treasure.
There is energy to be stored
and
Experiences to be reviewed
Days of cheese and laughter
ponies
and that transient beauty that permeates the soul.
There is laughter paying homage to the memories
and the loss
which sneak up on me as I turn
to retrace
steps half remembered as my eyes
seek the bridge
now ashes
that separate me
from
my
grief.