***

*** *** ***
Why do I bother
Always right
You know best
******

Why
Do I
Bother
What
Was
The use
Of my
Education

***
***
***
Shut your effin gob

Not very kind
You are blind
Always right

Talking *****

there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
drift
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore

the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect

children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn

the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge

harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light

cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay

hist      whist
little ghostthings
tip-toe
twinkle-toe

little twitchy
witches and tingling
goblins
hob-a-***     hob-a-***

little hoppy happy
toad in tweeds
tweeds
little itchy mousies

with scuttling
eyes    rustle and run     and
hidehidehide
whisk

whisk     look out for the old woman
with the wart on her nose
what she’ll do to yer
nobody knows

for she knows the devil     ooch
the devil     ouch
the devil
ach     the great

green
dancing
devil
devil

devil
devil

        wheeEEE

Despite repeatedly shaking her pincer... much as a sprightly pensioner might brandish a furled umbrella at a grappling contestant, currently being boo'd at in the red corner... the baby crab stamped her foot in annoyance as she glowered at every passing wave that rolled along the shoreline.  In absolving herself of any guilt she may have felt over her prolonged excursion, she had become, even further marooned by a failure to catch a succession of tides back home, an oversight she later confessed, to observe local tide-tables in 'Old More's Almanac...' on sale in all discerning book shops and selected High Street newsagents, priced 10/6d... for unless fluent in the Russian vernacular, it was just about as articulate to the little crab as a map of the Moscow Metro during a blackout, only to have the Rouble finally drop with a throat gagging 'Gaaargh...' clunk, that you were currently standing on the down-line platform, when you should've been stood on the up... as the last train lurched unsteadily out of the station whistling a jubilant entente cordiale... 'wish me luck as you wave me dasvidaniya'.

     Still stamping her foot, only now in strict rotation with the other seven, the baby crustacean peered out from beneath the shade of the large pebble, rearing its bulk out of the rockpool like a lollypop-lady's 'STOP'!!! sign, her beady eyes twitching independently, first this way, then the other, cut withering swathes through every cardinal point of the compass that didn't duck quite fast enough, was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the rock-pool in which she found herself tapping her foot in today, would be no less aquatic as any other rockpool that she may find herself still tapping a foot in tomorrow and that the best course of action was simply to stay-put and take the matter up with the local town council, then petition for additional fare-stages to be implemented... and with the cost of shoe leather at current prices... well, with eight legs to consider it would make savings that weren't to be sneezed at.  

     It wasn't everyday of the week that a young and upwardly mobile baby crustacean had occasion to move both up-market and down the beach, all in the same mouthful... and into what could only be regarded as a desirable, detached beachfront property, a rock-pool of distinction with all available mod-cons.  She felt relieved that apart from the occasional day-tripper, who invariably dropped litter wherever they went, that a baby crab of distinction such as herself, was certain to be accepted socially and hob-*** with a new and discerning circle of acquaintances... you only had to take that nice lady earlier in the week, they both seemed to have so much in common... then she would roll up her sleeves and really show the neighbourhood what knitting was all about...  

     With as much enthusiasm as that of a three year old screaming for an ice-cream in the middle of an heat-wave, Red marched up the beach and as far from his wife's waspish tongue as a lame excuse would carry him, heading back towards the growing crush of holidaymaking fathers who were only there presumably, for the sake of their own children, laying siege to the mobile vendor... only this time, having already stood in the same queue ten minutes earlier, now had a sufficiency of funds to purchase that which he'd unsuccessfully queued for the first time.

      After an unspecified time which by his wife's reckoning was grounds for divorce... Red, now laden down with the iced confectionary picked his way through the same throng of fathers who moments earlier had been happily chatting in the queue together, were now enjoying the same berating as the one Red was looking forward to as he made his way back towards the rock pool, juggling more ice-cream than two manly hands could intelligently control... while in a bid for freedom, the rapidly thawing confectionary were hatching plans of their own, ones quite independent from those intended as they embarked upon their meandering exodus, known only to iced creamy desserts on hot sunny days... and into the unknown, roaming across Red's hands and trusting their fate to a far higher authority.

     "Did I mention that I was on a diet" snapped his significant other, as she sat licking pistachios from the melting cornet... "don't you ever listen," secretly smiling to herself... "and you did remember to bring Sockeye's water this morning.. didn't you..!" she continued "someone with half as much sense would've stood it in the rockpool to keep cool, I'm sure the little crab wouldn't have objected..!"   At the mention of his name, Sockeye with ears far too free-lance to ever consider gainful employment of their own, needed no further persuasion and charged straight through the rock-pool to his mistress's side, walloping the thermos flask for a tail whopping six... bringing his personal batting average so far this holiday to a self congratulatory forty not out... and found the baby crab spluttering flat on her back and having second thoughts on any immediate savings in shoe leather were she to stay. 

     Generous to a fault, Sockeye now thought to shower everyone's ice cream with liberal helpings of the seashore as several parasitic irritations had Sockeye hard at work serving eviction notices on some of the more exotic zoology that only a patent Bob Martin's would dare to muscle up to... the local wildlife, by the look on his face were having the time of their lives bivouacked behind his left ear, throwing wild parties and disturbing the peace.  Cross-eyed, it was only while launching a double pronged assault on the latest settlement of interlopers that Sockeye finally succumbed to his injuries and surrendered to a neighbouring sandcastle... it really didn't do to mention a certain name too loudly at times like these, especially when you just happened to be on the receiving end.

     For some strange reason he was undoubtedly in the dog house... they'd shouted at him, which made him sad, all except his little master who had pushed him away... which left him bereft.  Sockeye sat down on dads beach-towel and had a long, thoughtful scratch... where had all the fuss gone? he searched for appreciation their faces... his tail gave one disheartened thump before it stopped... and all those little pieces of ice-cream dipped wafer, which up until now had always appeared as if by magic.  

     Catching sight of one such treat, undoubtedly forgotten by the rock pool, a marauding seagull pulled out of a rolling dive and swooped, at the same instant as two gaping jaws launched themselves skywards... canine jowls quivering bravely in the light sea airs... and not too dissimilar to a heat seeking missile, rose gracefully from the ground to meet it... 'well intercepted..!' as both ears applauded in mid-air... no aerial freeloader was about to skip town with Sockeye's ice cream wafer without paying... leaving one solitary wing flapping its willingness to pay up.

     At least it kept her husband in useful employment Tina decided... and mercifully out from under her feet, as she brushed a fragment of affectionate pistachio from her bikini top... she'd have to  make sure he went for the ices in future... and without the means to pay for them... a mischievous smile turned the corners of her mouth as she leant towards the beach-bag and invested herself with several more juicy grapes... that everyone who fell within her sphere of influence had been warned well away from... under threat of dire consequence... and it would take a brave man indeed, or a very foolish one... she gave her husband who was sitting well within arms reach a caustic glance... and Tina's particular variety of justice had a very long arm indeed.

                                                        ­           ...   ...   ...**

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1297

Crystal tears in beams of the ethereal triangle. (Moth)
Leave gleams of cosmic rays of colors new from all angles
Crying trying to hug a moth.  
As Crystal tears fall on sacred cloths.
Benighted Bug embraced in hugs
Wings are spread to hold one snug:
Deepens the sorrow,
smiles be smug
Deeply sad
happy songs sung
Deep so deep in altered states fun
Deep like your hole that was never dug.
For this is why thy is sobbing yet numb.
So missed, so loved
this head in dread hung.
Hysteric screams loud left ears that rung.
Mourning love on lavish lush.
Perhaps hard drugs
gleam in this rug.
Like Twinkle stars in eyes of lights bug.
Flutter now precious one.  
That moment has come.
For that cosmic lights in the night sky has shun.
Fly off now and thrive
Through Blessed skies twilight.  
Omega trifecta disjecta in white.
Disregard all  life’s ill lies
Project Past false folly worlds not wise.
Omega trifecta eternal cant die.  
Clothed in robes on moths back we ride
  Purple eyes On wings spread so wide.  
Protected With swords
worn on there sides
Giants enlightened
with violet sash tied
Guide these rides like blades on arm right
through chaos harmonized untwined.
be three inside when doors thy find.
Under cat pelt black mat
Crystal white key sleeps and  hides.  
Unlock bone carved door,
to obscure and pure life.
Flesh cold on *** gold,
Twist it like Pyrex pipes.  
Arived
Arived
Looks dead
Though alive
Triangle portals for immortals to rise.
  In bliss gnostic gifts of the purest of kind.
alive in parallel paths that have died.
Blind not the light,
as black sun in sky rise.
Omega trifecta disjecta drenched white.  

Insanity
123
Triangle eyes  
Upon moths wings.  
Insanity
123
How nice was it for you visiting.
Insanity
123
Lovely wings now wave to thee
Insanity
123
Love has come
Love will not leave.
Insanity
123
Of three
Triangles dance like seas.
Insanity
123
White it be
of love
of 3.

Burn forever has this flame.
Insane deranged the mental state.
Delirium comes
And is here to stay.
Now in the dark filthy room,
the schizoid hides away.
In Torment
in dormant
Destroy rituals save.
Healed by the hand
Upon masters embraced.
Purify soul
Preserve culture and race.
Clean blood the last goodness
left in this wretched place.
Yet still in stillness
stagnant turns blue in veins
Bloodletting not upsetting
Blades sway without pain.
As well as chop lines
Upon mirrors for days.
Twisting Pyrex orbs like a game
As well as starve self in sacred ways.
As well as smoke finest of *** never laced.
As well as this huffing to **** cells In brain.
The alcohol be it the final Intake.  
Rituals so official for healing in this hate.
Destroy
Create
Destroy
Create
Sleep deprived
for up to thee days.
Final hours
bring forth meat and champagne.
Replenish the ugly shell carbon based
Starved for many days
Sacrifices made done safe
Acts watering spirit
Sacred like this self inflicted pain
Be it in ethereal place
Where insane becomes sane.
Clean the mirrors like spirits slate.
Awaken here to rise.
Eyes alive appearing crazed
laughs upon the sad estates.
Fear all clear has disappeared
Nearly forgot the name
again please come play
like the sun does in may
Cloaked with veils soaked,
like the bed lovers lay.
Cloaked in veils soaked
With inhuman healing rain
Cloaked in veils soaked
Through shadows in thick smoke.
Abstract absurd croaks,
hang from yellow ropes.
Oh strange these roads
magicians go.
Zero fear crystal clear
With senses unknown
It is upon the humans where Paranoid confused madness cripples all life.
Where the eyes of the rubber skinned demons flutter like fast as hummingbird wings.
No logic or sense
reality has shattered.
Machanical animals glitch out like brains splattered
Oh the inner urge to stab synthetic creatures
Oh to destroy Gears and chips inside that “raccoon”
Oh to have oil drop off this sharpened knife
How the **** can one ****
That which is not even alive
Malevolent smiles on people on all sides
These are the things
these eyes have seen
Enough now on obsessing
on that which is now cleansed.
These are the reasons this obscure life be led.
These be the reasons these practices one tends.
These be the reasons for the drs meds
These be the reasons one ***** up this head.
These be the reasons that one is not dead
For these sacred acts in fact have fed spirit and flesh  

Dancing and laughing now through storming waves of chaos seas
Immortal threes ride storms through dark nights.

Until Timelessness be kind with bliss.
These moments will be missed
For the horror be done.
For the flesh be at rest.
Silk was a voice that little wings said.
For fabulous readings
Whispers to heart In chest.
Last lovingly gesture
face gently corresed
Kissing soft wings as the honored guest left.
Gracious be glorious gifts that were sent.
For a  radiant cosmic ray is shun
A Glowing beam bright as the sun.  
Open ethereal triangle windows up.
Fly far now back to lands you are from.
to gaze into ethereal triangular windows.
Free forever eternal have fun
be a triangular window.  
Oh how now to frolic.  
Within Crystal palace.
Oh how to drink from the purest of chalice.
Oh how now to frolic  
Do not stop it
Obnoxious
be not this calling.
Laugh and prans  
as if you have lost it
sheen as if polished.
Which  gleams like gold lockets
Soft the Royal purple carpets.  
Dance in trancemusic of inhuman artists
Terror tamed and disregarded.
of black and laced scarlet
Parallel white
Blackness falls.
Gone unto the sacred arts.
Beaming rays in callused  hearts.

Hard telepathic readings.
The physical health was releasing.
Now physical health is at full regeneration.
Regression
Regression
Regression
In threes
In these
Darkest light in vibrant scenes.
Walk the chaos fields
Laugh at this disease.
In threes
Your triangle
Your embrace please.
Speaking through the cosmic seas.
yes blood as flesh are with thee.
All moments of timeless times.
We both dismantled time and logic.
Witnesses of chronic tauntings.
Together cold hands at hops frolic.
Disability in the humans life
Keeping wits as sharp as knifes.
Laugh with thee
In three
Hahaha
Hahaha
Hahaha
Far to gone
Walking along with zero fear at all.
Within you now all distress is regressed.
You are immortal and free.
You speak through moths and trees.
Transcend the logic of all human beings.  
Beyond the sane and tamed.
Oh severely was such un heard of pain.
humans of hate and horror in black corners.
Chaos in eternal be harmony.
Through delusions
Through evil illusions.
Still immortals storm the insane vespers.
In m
Aquarius being of untouchable boundaries.
Virgo being of untouchable boundaries.
These moons

**** trying to word or logically read.
We’re born of the purest lights.
found in the darkest of seems.
Insane
In pain
In collapsed yet precious veins.
Insane
In pain
Happiness on earth not aloud.
Happiness in far away bliss.
Oh how the dread impails when such is missed.
Eternal
In white
In ligh in black
Laugh with thee as the wretched attack.
In purity
With purple sash on white robes
In light in darkness harness you will be loved and whole.
Still shovels crave to dig six foot holes.
Still death appears in the faces of the cold.
Love fortold in the hopelessness like mold.
Oh telepathic wanderer of true purity.
Eternaly
Your purity and loving being
Eternal shall your light be strong.
Your love in lungs as one rips bongs.
Of three you and thee
Of night
Of light
No more fright
For blackness has led them to might that is white.  
For love from the purest has held out inhuman hands.
Forever infinite beyond imagination of man.
Forever gnostic callings in not so human lands.
Crystal tears beam in ethereal triangle (moth)

The dread set in upon opening my eyes, as i swing my legs to the right side of the bed and stand. Slightly stumbling i make my way to the bathroom while adjusting to a waking state. I flip on the light, wincing my eyes in a sharp electric freeze from the back of my head, and while recovering, i pull the shower curtain away from the showers pull ***. Pulling the *** out slowly twisting it to ninety degrees as the water turns on, i am reminded to feed my plants before leaving the condo for the day. I step into the shower dipping my head under the warm stream of steaming water while resting my hands against the wall, as images of all the women i had saw the night prior begin shuffling through my head and a partial ******* forms. I imagine their eyes filled with tears, as i shove them down to my ****, and finally the Rolodex of faces stops on a Starbucks girl with piercings all over her pouty face that i had encountered on a lunch break a few days ago, and i begin stroking my **** with my right hand whispering "you ***** ****" over and over, as her eyes look up at me innocently, Mascara running down her face, until suddenly i hear my phone vibrate atop a pile of pocket change in the bedroom which promptly kills the moment in my wonder of the importance of a 5:00 AM jingle, which slowly fades, while i proceed to apply Ax shower gel to my Ax body scrubber that i had received as a gift in a Holiday work raffle three months prior.  Vidal Sassoon extra volume shampoo plus conditioner, "All in one," proudly printed on the label, as i apply a handful to my shaved head in a smooth dripping lather, that i do not rinse until after applying a pink ****** scrub that's label has worn off, and i am unsure, and not concerned with its origin, as I squeeze a blob of Colgate paste onto my toothbrush from the rack overhead, and scrub in a slow circular motion, while i rinse off the shampoo, shower gel, and ****** scrub, and then reach for my Listerine mouth wash, and swish for 30 seconds before spitting the burning mixture into the drain, while putting the brush away. I tilt my head up, and open my mouth wide under the water, taking in a mouth full, which i gargle for 10 seconds then spit, and turn off the shower reaching for a tattered towel left over from a breakup four years prior.  I dry off while still standing in the shower, and gently lay the towel on the floor before stepping out onto it, and grabbing a stick of Degree antiperspirant from the counter.  I apply 3 long strokes to each armpit before capping it, and putting it down. Two sprays of coolwater cologne i apply from a 1 foot distance, misting my chest and lower neck, before i put it down beside the deodorant, and walk back into the bedroom, grabbing a pair of boxer shorts from a drawer not caring which pair i grab. I slip them on, and walk over to the mirrored closet where i flex a few times, point aggressively, and in an authoritative tone repeat "I don't give a ****.", three times before sliding the closet door open and grabbing a pair of Marc Echo blue jeans that i had purchased online two years prior with a gift card from a local pub that i may have frequented too much to have received.  Reaching for an Infliction black tee shirt with ghostly gray swirls cascading to its base, i become completely still, left arm clutching the shirt still on its hanger, i am paralyzed for two seconds before looking away, and saying  "I don't have any plants" inquisitively to myself, yanking the shirt from the closet, and walking over to my phone atop the dresser.

Picking up the phone almost eagerly, i click the screen on in a light squeeze, and swipe my finger from left to right across the display to unlock the device, to a missed call from an unknown number, a voicemail, and 3 missed text messages. I tap the voice mail icon, and enter my pass code upon the automated prompt, "1234." The voice mail immediately clicks a few times before hanging up which assures me of its automation, and i assume its the power companies robots attempting to collect the monthly charge again. I tap on the missed text message icon, disconnecting from voice mail, and see that all three are from a girl named Haedies i met through a roommate long ago that i have recently found over facebook. A "How are you!", "I MISS YOU!!!", and a picture message of her with a wax figure of a trollish cartoon character i cannot quite place, both looking very serious, and i look at her **** pressing out from her white tanktop, ******* clearly hard, and her neck, long and attractive, its definition, thins my blood, and her dark black medium length hair loosely dangles just above her shoulder, causing me to partially smile, as i close the message paying it no further thoughts, and slip on my tee shirt, as i head for the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and grab a plastic bottle of 5 Hour Energy, and twist it open, tip my head back, and take the whole drink down in one swallow, throwing the empty plastic shell back into the fridge, and swing the door shut with my bare left foot, before i head back to the room to put my socks and boots on. Once my black combat boots are fully laced up, i put my wallet, change, and keys into the appropriate jean pockets, and head for my jacket hung on a hook beside the door. A black leather windbreaker. My mini trench that allows for a high level of concealment, and pocket space made possible by Wilson Leather. I run my hand over my face satisfied with my slight stubble from not shaving today, and reach into my left inner pocket of my jacket and pull out Sony earbuds, and plug them into my phone. I select a Pandora station based on the black metal band "Burzum", and walk out the door, locking only the dead bolt behind me.  5:25AM

No Values
just statues of accountants who could never learn to count
and mounted on the spikes,where business is displayed and laid out for the world to see in naked abject poverty
are chief executives and heads of lesser known departments who never meant to cook the books
but fell for fortune and her looks and took that chance to spread their wings
and now the wind that whistles sings
and passes through their empty eyes ,and flapping flesh drips off dry bones of arms that never meant to harm.

No charmed lives left in Holborn or in Chancery lane,where solicitors were in on the game of taking risks
and risks they took
another spike and one more hook for the fallen wig,who still seems regal but not as big as what he thought legal.

They bought but never owned the sky or stole it from the smaller fry who swam around the edges and the shadows in society
and we,
the ripped off,stripped off,sing dirges to their loss but me,I couldn't give a toss
let them burn and turn slowly on the spit
we'll roast and toast them,
let them boast then of fancy women,fancy cars and fancy meals in fancy bars.
These czars have gone the way of old
where bold men.bad men always fold in two
and the wind blew tears that fell to splash on piles of once extorted cash and though accountants cannot count
judges learn to mount the steps and put their heads in hangman's ropes and any hopes they entertain of clemency go down the drain along with
any gains they ever made.

Those who laid beside the wide boys of this world and opened eyes into another where they couldn't even bother to see just who they hurt
have lost their shirts,ripped off their backs,attacked by those that they attacked and now the axe is on the other foot where once a boot was kicked into my ****.

so good luck you *****
I hope your bodies fall to bits
and you end up burning in the pits
alongside the others that have sinned
in the end
no one wins
the voodoo dolls of life are stuck with pins
and the devil grins and hums his tune.

"- The Greasy spoon -"





I wonder if there’s canteens
in Heaven;
with cottage cheese that’s
quite appealing
hob *** biscuits
n darjeeling -- yeah;
Wonder if there's canteens-
in heaven;
Maybe beans on toast
or a Sunday roast
is served by God
the holy ghost,
n his only son is the one-
who pours the gravy;

yeah;
wonder if there’s canteens - in Heaven.

I'm fine and happy with what I got but envy always takes over my mind
I envy my peers because they live with two parents
I envy my peers because they are getting their license
I envy my peers because they have a bed frame
I envy my peers because they go out to eat every now and then
I envy my peers because they have found love
I envy my peers because they have clean shoes
I envy my peers because they have a fan in their room
I envy my peers because they have a door *** on their door
I envy my peers because they have a house
I envy my peers because they have so much more clothes than me
I envy my peers because they have money to spend
I envy the feeling of not envying

They installed locks
handed you keys.
Hold them, silver, golden,
shaking with dis-ease.

A vision of the Earth outside.

Squinting in a dark hallway,
why not turn the ***,
nudge yourself inside?

Someone paid for you to live here,
a father, mother, or friend.

Your chain of life extends far backwards
but on this side it must end.

You may have felt forever,
trapped with your despair,
between rough crust,
precious residue
floating in air.
Pressure can't hold us
with clouds
and shapes from dreams.

We'll soon be gone, and you will too.
Don't waste your voice with screams.

It, too, is faltering,
our voice,
our atmosphere,
hopes for exploration.
Heaving, chest
uncompensated by oxygen,
raided like sarcophagi
with your timid, spinning brain
having no peddler,
to whom to sell it?

No, your home waits here
on solid ground.
Keep your voice wrapped around you,
not in the heavens, as you'd wish.

Take off both shoes,
sit down.
Patiently inhale.
Feel worlds shifting their weight
skin, becoming pale.
Shake off saw-dust covering
your day-clothes.

Stretched
dissected.
Carpet does this to frame,
taking you through thresholds
and mindsets.

Evaporate,
see no more today.
Rain down until tomorrow
in this never-ending night
given to trees
collecting your purple-pink
and blue
dews.
Leaves bending
with gratitude
holding drops of you
aloft
before
no heat can take you up
and they,
becoming coffins
for you,
weep
and cover your dis-may.

A dashed possibility.

Like a dust moat in the sky,
preventing
a window past your mind,
what you saw standing atop
brittle decrepitude
through saccharine eyes
is shifting, impermanent,
time cannot be mistaken.

Relax.
A tear pulls
the horizon,
lightning
rips your sight.

Breathe as long as it takes
to stop breathing.

Alone, shaking.
Silver, golden.
in this eternal night.

No one re-writes directions to that fixture
out in space, yet near.
But you know it once was twirling
because you followed its light
to here.

Turn the keys they gave you
and look, inside the frame
of consciousness.
There is one artwork you create
with every facile, blinking motion
every extended being,
your thick paints of colors,
never able to be seen.

There once was chaos in man
he wanted so much to scream.
Instead he reconciled to whisper
and laugh.

Open-mouthed, blind and plodding--
there's no one to teach him how to dance--
he falls through space
alone on his rock.

The great gaudy flage is screamin' blood in the streets
                                          loose yawn of a gob on him
                                              all bombast n' swagger
he makes a barrage of nuisance
     channels through the public
         and scatters a juggler's performance spot
                  lobs away his change hat
then, roughly over the cobbles  
                                        he hoicks a resuscitation doll
         and stamps down a posing boot
                                                 on the 'defeated form'

an unprepared scoop of tourists
a pause for silence and begins a rant
a great performance
of well harassed combustion :

"i smear to god all the phalluses
      [he roars, all saliva]
i smug to god
             a full jug of uglies
tug on       [makes the hand gesture for male *******]
i **** off the forger
would slug it in the mug
                          if it ever did form a tissue oath
took a plug at some drunk straggler
called the baffled *** 'god-father'
            and spate spume on his fallen anatomy
[with one hand he indicates the mannequin at his heel]
       amen ******* !"

he bows
a long quiet
some people clap awkwardly
two police officers appear and hook him by the elbows
(it has been this show before)

To see this old man shaking here
In rage at boys whose apple-throwing jeers
Reduce him to impotent rage and tears
Is to know Odysseus, home from Troy,
Battle spent, no Cyclops left to blind,
And no more Stygian puzzles to unwind.

The threats he hurls are hollow stones
Coming now from a man whose bones
Once cracked beneath a decking plank
As Scylla searched with serpent heads
For men to crush and swallow, dead,
But ***'dy now remains to save the day.

The hapless tree whose apples green are peltering his home
Is now an oar, pole-planted tall a thousand miles ashore
As penance for the years of taunting gods of wave and foam,
And boys be savages unaware of what an apple's for.

when stomach says: "you are told with erosion
that empty is to be filled."
to fill, to fill with what? everything with words because
emotion emotion, a feeling so because words told you so
for disorder to play with order,
but no? what’s between?
another morning, then.
later, then.
when things fall, they always will
will they always fall?
they fall willfully, always

when the spaces between teeth is not enough
to contain what’s oozing in:
the edge of a back,
the corner of an ankle’s ***,
bile black belly,
no other place devours like home

Guep seeb do fug
Uptoob queev buh
Luft goo dub ug
Fleeg dahs luh

Obku *** qwuarsh
Fab go mud marsh

Me go fabroso
Egvar seeg lu
Xybahso
Imba go mu
Cabbo de
Ogg be

It was going to be a beautiful Saturday morning - and the wind was still. Wind mattered because Peter and I had borrowed a friend's lime green Fiat and trekked 30 minutes north to play the Lufbery (frisbee) disc course. We teed-off just after sunrise. It’s a beautiful, wooded course. I used to be a frisbee-golf addict and I’d brought my gear to Yale - but only managed to play twice. I finished 8-under (for 18 holes) and Peter earned a little participation, something or other, to be awarded later.

Peter lives in a doctoral frat-house they call doc-house (the 8 guys who live there are all doctoral students). It’s a typical frat house, remarkably dark and filthy. Every surface seems carpeted and there’s a dizzying cocktail of smells - old beer, dust, pizza, cigars, whisky, popcorn, cigarettes and *** - ugg! Yes, If you need to carouse, this is the house. You hear, “You’re in the DOC-HOWWSE!” (said like dog-house) when a group of new girls show up.

In the basement, there are arm chairs that I’m sure haven’t been cleaned since someone in the class of 1955 spilt beer on them. If I sit on one - and I try not to sit on one - I keep my arms crossed in my lap so they don’t even touch the armrests. Peter’s room is clean - I had a service come to clean it (and the shared 2nd floor bathroom) before he moved in. I got him a new mattress and topper too.

My favorite of his roommates is called “Melon” (His real name is Milton). He’s a big guy, 6’3”~ish and probably 450 pounds. He’s the sweetest guy but a slob in the classic, Chris Farley mold. Peter says he already has two PhDs (One in ‘computational mathematics’, a second in ‘mathematical modeling’) and he’s working on a third in ‘decision sciences.” He owns doc-house, having bought it when the owner hinted at moving to Florida.
“Melon makes a bag-and-a-half consulting,” Peter explained, admiringly.

The house is on a wooded hill and the driveway, about 400 feet long, goes straight uphill. One time, I’d brought a couple of bags of groceries and Melon, as usual, came bounding out of the house to help me. The uber could only get half way up the crowded drive and by the time Melon got to the car he was completely out of breath. I half expected I’d have to give him CPR, but he rallied after a couple of minutes - talking non-stop, all the while - and leaning heavily on the Uber which ran up my bill (I found it endearing).

Back to my story (a lot of that was background). Peter and I were going to Geronimo’s (a Mexican restaurant). I was sweaty from golfing, so I decided to shower. I’m showering away and I hear the bathroom door open (I’d absolutely locked it). So, I assumed it was Peter. The next thing I hear is someone taking a loud ****. Then the guy starts humming - and it wasn’t Peter.

There I was, shower running, behind a flimsy, opaque-plastic, flowered shower curtain. What now? I was thinking. “Occupied!?” I said loudly, like a question - standing stock-still naked.

“Fukk” I hear him say, “Sorry, sorry, SORRY - I thought you were one of the guys!” he said, flushing, dashing out and slamming the door.

I waited a moment, killed the water, wrapped up, climbed out of the shower and wrapped my hair in a second towel while leaning against the door. It had been locked - well, the little *** was pressed in anyway. I picked up my stuff and dashed across the hall to Peter’s room.

Peter was propped up on his bed with his laptop as I rushed in, closed the door and leaned on it. “The lock on the bathroom door doesn’t work,” I said in a rush.
“Did something happen?” he asked, looking up.
“No,” I said - thinking about it, “Not really,” and I started to towel dry my hair.
That’s when I noticed that his index finger was turning back on itself in a “come hither” motion. Then it occurred to me that, wound as I was, in a small white towel, I might look like a loosely wrapped participation trophy.

Sometimes you face an army of desires - without armor.

On a cool damp night
the patter of the port subsided
drips of the cold rain echo

a captain ripe with whiskey
breaks the silence of the harbor
feeling his way back
to the flat on high street

navigating his feet on each stone
he muttered to himself
“left, right and then right again”

ending at a stoop
he found the *** within three
“click” the humble door opened

entering the dwelling
ready for the weeks pummel
he swung his fists at the inhabitants
especially the women, the wife

this night was routine
the smell of whiskey, puke and **** is familiar
but, tonight the mist in the air was different
his blood boiled with fermented spirits
his eyes gazed an emptiness of black

with a quick hand
reaching for a sparkle of steel
he firmed his grip and pulled from the block

it made a “ting” sound as it cut the air
meeting gently with mothers throat
with rage, his eyes stabbed with intention
holding the cold steel to freckled skin
his remarks filled her eyes with fear

and I in the corner, watching, listening, feeling and rocking
yes that was you, as a sea captain
and I was there

2 o'clock is the loneliest time. Looking at the red beaming numbers on the clock, craving the warmth of someone next to you but all you get is the cool cusp of air penetrating your sheets from the window that never fully shut. You opened that window and said you'd always keep me warm, and not to worry when I yelled and yelled at you about how it wouldn't ever shut again.

2 o'clock is the loneliest time. But now it's 2 am and my tears have frozen on my face because you're not here like you promised you would be. The faint silhouette gently graces my mind. I can still feel your heart beating from my ear lying on your v neck covered chest.

2 o'clock is the loneliest time. I should be dreaming. Asleep with your muscular and hairy arms wrapped around my pale skin. But you're not here anymore. So I pull down my covers and glide across to my window. Turning the *** until my fingers indented the pattern. It shut.

2 o'clock is the loneliest time. But I stay asleep dreaming of colors and beautiful beaches with glowing waters and warm sand on my back. I can feel the beauty within my shuttering eyelids.

clad in a grey native **** cloth
he sat,quivering on a stool
with a aged breast on furrows breath,
that shook the folds of his shoulders

Now and then does he seems to gasp
about a menlancholys spit,
but amis his grey eye lashes
it pierce through what words cannot paint

He folds his feet and *** his head
like a lizard amist a bait,
but his vague stare hold a mist
which mystries cant be shook from him

What ails him so, the world wont ask,
but lost to what all eyes cant see
it lingers through the heart of man
that trode the earth with guns and roses

He breath in and expires in lort,
his thought search for truth in his heart,
he bow his head and close his eye
and found no peace,even as he sleeps

All rights reserved

Just cuz my boss is a jack ***,
Or cuz my mom's words are slurring,

I might say I don't love you anymore.

Or I might shower in water that's a degree above committing adultery with the sun, and a degree below my blood steadily starting to boil.
I can feel everything that's ever touched me leave me.

Lemme tell ya how I can turn a come love me into a don't you ******* touch me.

If my clothes touch me wrong
It's ruined.
If the nothing I smell is wrong.
It's ruined.

I'm a touchy shower setting in a different language on opposite day, im nights sweats, an ice cube stuck on the tip of your tongue.

All or nothing.
Give it your all or you'll be Nadda.

I honestly can't tell you if I'm getting better or if I'm just running faster.
I just know that this water is turning my skin into leather.

i take my clothes off. stare at my pale, limp body mocking me in the toothpaste stained mirror. 'your'e okay' 'you're okay' 'you're okay'. my pallid hands turn the shower *** all the way to the left, step back, trace all of the freckles on my body, all four or five of them. i pretend they're melting off like ice-pops. i bring my sticky fingertips to my thighs and i feel the goosebumps rise. i try to smile back at the solemn face staring back at me in the mirror but it feels awkward and achy so i retreat back to a straight mouthed frown that almost screams with bitterness. i have laugh lines that won't ever fade and i don't know whether to revel in this or feel sick because my own body is mocking me.

the steam of the mirror fades my face away and i feel myself dripping. when i was younger, i used to write my crushes names in the fog, but today i wince at the thought of your name surrounding me. i put a towel over my pale body to try to shake you off.

this is the way i die

slowly, shivering, *****.

God's hands will reach down to me, hold me in his arms and rock me gently. i hope i feel something.

i lift my heavy feet into the shower. take a deep breath. i think of drowning every time i catch sight of any sort of water. whenever i see fire, i think of the agony of my charring body shriveling up. death is killing me. when i was younger, my parents told me to be careful of getting my toes stuck in the drain because if so, the firemen will have to  come cut my foot off and see me naked. i shake my head, thinking of the days when grown men seeing me naked was second to getting my foot cut off. i stay clear of the drain anyways. old habits die hard.

i stand under the burning water for too long. my skin begins to redden like a scab that hasn't fully healed yet. i lather enough soap for a month on my body. i scrub deep. i want you to stop finding your way into my wounds and calling the place where skin meets bone, home. i stare at the water draining and remember when home was nothing less then four walls and hugs goodnight. thinking of you spinning down the drain screeching apologies but the voices in my head are much too loud these days.

for a split second, i want you to feel the fear i feel on a daily basis. i want you to stand clear of drains, i want you to feel like a jittery mess before stepping into the shower when you see the water. but i stop. my compassion consumes me once again. i think of you belly laughing in a field of flowers with the love of your life. my mind wanders to your groggy mouth yawning as you wake up.

i step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel, let my hair down and i drop to the floor. i don't want to think of you anymore. my body feels weak. loving you has been taxing, grueling, tiresome, painful...loving you has been wonderful.

i get up. get dressed.
this is the way i let you go.

I should have said it louder
so you would have understood
and your I'm sorry's mean nothing.
I should have pushed you further
But my bones were weak and hollow,
my veins were submersed in wine,
and the wall was so close.
Stolen in the twilight,
a few stars from my eyes.
They should have been closed,
locked away from your greedy palms.
Awoke with regret,
and a sinking chest.
Disgusted by the body I lay against.
So from under the bed
I grabbed my brown boots.
Without saying more then two words,
walked away from you.
Dressed in the outfit from the night before,
the walk back to my room never felt so long.
Walked up the stairs,
undressed from the sweaty mess.
Turned the *** and watched as
water poured out along with sliver steam.
Head first, so quiet and safe.
Like the one who is miles away.
I pulled my heart string
I heard yours beating in reply.
I remembered that
I was all yours,
and only yours.

I'm so lucky
to have you.

*** by ***, my elbows fold into myself, peering through my small intestine until they articulate the undulating passage of my ileum.
My knees crumple, embedding themselves absolutely into my chest until they flatten my heart against the walls of its own cavity as it beats faster and faster into the shrinking labyrinth of capillaries, distorted by the pressing loss of space.
My mouth is filled with the gentle tang of warm spinal fluid as sinew and muscle catch in my teeth.
Indiscriminate limbs clamor out of the carnivorous spit of stomach acid into the empty spaces left by my long deserted lungs; until all of myself is cowering behind the stoic battalion of my ribs, unrelentingly upholding an assemblence of structures against the assailing inward pull of joints and fear.
Soon they crack, and the sudden consolidation of mass breaks a hole in the floor and the parasitic being of self spills through ceiling and insulation to rest in the basement.

I back track my steps until once again i feel cold pavement on my heels and the dewy grass has retreated to once again stretching to receive the sun. I bump into the same glass door, the *** still warm as though i had just let go if it, it jabs me in my side forcing me to acknowledge my collision as I face the transparent barrier to what I once thought was home. Its so smoky in there that I can hardly recognize the countenances of my old friends; greed, lust, hate, ******, drugs, envy. I shake my head squinting to read their name tags but the air is too thick for oil stone to sharpen and they're so busy till I realize they don't see me right there. staring. I want to say hi, tell em' the world is cool they shoulda' wisened up like me. All I did was tell a lil white lie but if you're like me, and you wisen' up, you too my dear friend may smell the crisp scent of the greener side. And boom there I was back with my crew. Formerly known as lies, my tag clearly now says pride.

Sneaking out at one in the morning.
Not because I need to.
No one to see
nothing to smoke.
Not trying to get caught and prove a point.
My only reason is lack of a better thing to do.
My only cause is to not have one.

I turn the *** (ever so slowly) until it creaks.
It always does.
I push the door (ever so quietly) until it squeaks.
It always does.
I step outside,
leave the door open,
look in window,
make sure the lights are out (they always are) and close the door.
Take one step, two steps,
three steps, four
onto the lawn.
Look up at the sky, to the stars.
See Old Mother shining bright (she always is) and look left.
See Old Father shining bright (he always is) and walk north.
Down the gravel driveway and onto the road.
Check for cars, there aren't any. (there never is)
Turn left and walk up the hill.
At the top there is a field.
Check for bums (never there)
Lie down.
Look at the stars some more.
Pull some grass from the ground and weave a little cross.
Turn it upside down and laugh.
Wait five minutes, then ten.
Eleven, twelve, and thirteen more
Hear a door and then a car start.
Watch as the headlights as they go the other way.
Recognize the license plate as my fathers.
He doesn't stop (he never does)
Get up and walk home.
Check the ashtray by the threashold for cigarettes. (always a half one)
Smoke it.
Go inside.
Check for note (there never is one)
Get in bed
wait for sleep (always hard)
Wake up.
Wait for phone call (there never is one)
Commence life.

finding solace through
destructive ease
because I have never
regulated my rhythms
to a song that suits my mind
so it feels like I'm dancing alone
in a silent room
perhaps it's because
I could never find the volume ***
on my own life

Sweat rolls down my back in a hot white room.

A very large fan that blows nothing but more hot air.

My lights are off and into my t.v I stare.

i'm restless.
I cant sleep...
                       ...I didn't eat...
                                                 ....did some laundry...
why don't I feel clean....

I shower...
                 ...the dirt on my head
...on my chest...
...on my arms...
...travel with the water to the trunks that be mine legs...

..naked...wet..
                          ...free...
          ...content...
satisfied?
                ...I am.
I begin to sing...
                            ...random words that a warm shower can bring.

my soap; My mic.
my shower head; My camera man.
my bathtub; My Stage

reluctant to turn the *** of my shower, I am.
but I do.

I step through the thick layer of steam,
that makes it slightly difficult to breath.

but I wanted to stay with my heat.
the heat of moisture and steam.

I sit on my toilet and enjoy the tropical atmosphere in my bathroom.
I begin to whistle an exotic tune.
I tap my feet to the rhythm of my hands.
now I've become a one man band playing for kicks amongst an island in the Caribbean.
salsa,
          merengue,
                             bachata,
all of a sudden I noticed how warm and calm I was.
how happy and jolly I was.
how I felt so "irishy" and "springy"

I dress myself without drying my body and I stare into the mirror with a smile on my face.

I open the door, everything became dark again.
I put my dirt caked clothes inside my hamper.
my clothes felt damp.
I took off my shirt.
I turned off my lamp.
popped in a dvd.

and stared into the portal of entertainment intently.

Sweat rolls down my back in a hot white room.

A very large fan that blows nothing but more hot air.

My lights are off and into my t.v I stare.

i'm restless.
I cant sleep...

I don’t want to go to school or get a job
My creative flow and time are robbed
I sob

Just let me be a hermit in my room
Alone with my mind and its contents
My tomb

My lady sings
Of life’s purpose
And how it’s subjective
She write her letters in cursive
She sings
Of endless opportunity
Enunciating with clarity
Hitting high notes easily
The song

My mind has gone empty
The pond has dried up
Cursed with this dry spell
There’s been a drought
Oh no
I’m praying for a rainstorm
I dance

The music sends a message
And it tells me
What I should do


I’ll go back to school and find a job
I head for the door and turn the ***
I’m lobbed

To see this old man shaking here
In rage at boys whose apple-throwing jeers
Reduce him to impotent rage and tears
Is to know Odysseus, home from Troy,
Battle spent, no Cyclops left to blind,
And no more Stygian puzzles to unwind.

The threats he hurls are hollow stones
Coming now from a man whose bones
Once cracked beneath a decking plank
As Scylla searched with serpent heads
For men to crush and swallow, dead,
But ***'dy now remains to save the day.

The hapless tree whose apples green are peltering his home
Is now an oar, pole-planted tall a thousand miles ashore
As penance for the years of taunting gods of wave and foam,
And boys be savages unaware of what an apple's for.

You turn the ***.

Bile collection
Right at the base of my neck
All lined up
Disgusting brown to putrid green
Cup by cup
It all tumbles out of my spine
Onto your new white t-shirt
Try to assert
A muffled apology.

I somehow ask you
Sorry about your shirt, you see?

You reply
It looks white to me.

Jack and Jill went up the hill
Tires, fast, pebbles flying into the night air, unaware of what's to come.
To fetch a pail of Water
Clear liquid, sizzling, burning as it rushes down the throat as if it were going out of style, hot as the poker that burns his insides and sears his thoughts.
Thoughts that buzzed around his brain and stuck like knives in flesh.
One Sip, Two Sip, Red Blood, Blue Veins. Just Pull the trigger.
Jack fell down and broke his crown
Sirens, one am,
MY SON MY SON MY SON MY SON JACK
And Jill came tumbling after.

Up Jack got, and home did trot
Blurry faces, a crowd, the cries, the silent sobs, the mourning, the miss you's, the goodbyes.
As fast as he could caper
Classmates. Too young. A loss. A tragedy. The boss up above was not enough to dissuade this young boy. Crossed the boarder, shooting range, gun in back, bottle in hand.
To old Dame Dob, who patched his ***
Wood. Dark wood, Red wood, Light wood, nails, *****, pound the hammer in BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM. Fates sealed, game over.
With vinegar and brown paper
Paper. A picture in the year book. A face, a name, another dead body. Crossed the boarder, shooting range, gun in back, bottle in hand. One Sip, Two Sip, Red Blood, Blue Veins, Stabbing thoughts, falling, break his crown, go up the hill, sit under the tree. smash the bottle.
Just pull the trigger. Bang.

When I was growing up in South Carolina, I had this friend who had immigrated from Ecuador when he was young. He was a pretty great kid, funny, large personality, intuitive. We use to play under the sun, and make bugs out of gummy candies, with that machine you'd seen in commercials. It was green, and blue, to help distinguish that it was for boys.  A few years later, I moved away. Same old story, parents got divorced, etc, etc.

In our next town in North Carolina, I had met this girl named Taylor. She was friendly, and I was impressionable. I was the new kid at school and she was friendly. Obviously we bonded. Taylor and I never hung out after school. Something about how my mom's boyfriend smelled like cigarettes and his van looked unsafe. I liked it because the only seat was the front seat. I never paid attention to the fact that other kids were laughing behind me when Taylor talked to me. We were friends. I was playing on the playground one day,  when she got my attention. From behind me, a tennis ball smacked my spine, sent me crippling. Everyone laughed. Including Taylor. I never understood why she high-fived the guy for doing it, or why we never spoke after that. I also picked up a nickname. "F*ggot"

2006, we moved to Maine. Windham, specifically. Another new kid. I actually fit in this time. The nickname stayed in the rear-view with the south. I met two guys that I got kind of close with. Nate, and Tyler. we did a lot together during the day. I never ended up seeing them much after school, but I didn't see the value in that. We were so cool together. I saw them the other day, and there was no attempt in their brain to recognize me. I was forgotten.

I moved again, this time to Naples. We'd move again to Bridgton, yet staying in the school system for my sister. She didn't want to start over again. It's easy to start over, so I dismissed her worries. Until the nickname came back. For two years I wore a imaginary sticker on my chest, that most every other male older than myself called me by. It had something to do with the fact that I liked to write, and use a microphone. I didn't get it.

The friends I made here, I thought we'd be together until we died. We still talk. We laugh. Tag each other on Facebook, and send dumb selfies on Snapchat, but I've lost every one that I can talk to.

I use to be able to stay up late, look at the stars, talk to someone. Like a scene from some teen drama. Drinking whatever we could get our hands on, and laughing about how dumb we were.

The drinking never stopped. There's no more laughing. It's mostly a game I play with myself to help me sleep. There's something to be said for being alone. I've become wiser. Less selfish, yet more self fulfilling. I know what I like, which is also my greatest downfall. I've pushed away most everyone that I've been close to since.

There is no moral to the story. There is no story. There is only a dim  lamp with a broken ***, a bottle cap on the floor, and silence looming in the air so heavy.

the watch my Mother gave me
as an after thought
while I was jumping back on the train
ticks far too loud

I have to stop it
I have to pull the *** out
to stop time in place


but when I need it
I promptly return it to my wrist
and set time back to the present
and let it tick
tock
and let my heartbeat align with the rhythm

you are just like the watch
too much
too loud
overpowering
except when I need you

so I will stop the time
and freeze you in place
and hope that soon I will need you
and my heart will beat again in your rhythm

but until then
I dance in the silence
I have created by banishing you