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its a blue Monday
after Super Sunday
Americas 45th funday
yesterdays spectacle

the dip is done
the broken bones
of buffalo wings
fill giant glad bags

the ridged ripples
of broken Doritos
scattered on the floor
wait for a vacuums hum

dead soldiers rattle
a melodious cascade
the aroma of flat Bud
plunge into recycle bins

ribbed Trojans
dripping bagged ****
rim plastic trash cans
confirm an ****'s frenzy

the game forgotten
commercial reveries remain
seared into the briney mush
of compliant olfactories

collective hallucinations
successfully branded
a new and improved
global consciousness

Madmen Shamans
ebulliently channel
transactional zeitgeists
from the ripped boxes of
Best Buy plasma screens

Monday morning
water cool scuttlebutt
the planet is buzzing about...

Google's cool slap
of IPod clad automatons
the vanquishers of IBM's evil empire
Apple's brave new world is next
("meet the new boss,
same as the old boss?")

we all dug
rolling with Eminem
through the glitzy
streets of Motown

How cool is 8 Mile?
The hoods lookin good
angelic chorus lifts spirits
Swing Low Sweet Chrysler

The artistic types
faun over
the graphic beauty
illustrious aestheticism

moving story line
the epic journey
of the worlds
greatest brand

heroic product marketing pros
rival Jason and the Argonauts
sojourning trans-formative odysseys
of clever packaging and fat tail shelf life

holding precious real estate
of living imaginations
infecting hearts and minds
of future generations

realizing
everything
ends better
with coke

The State Farm Pre-Game
Jimmy Johnson's new coiff
jawed away with his old boss
rattlesnake booted Jerry Jones

A poignant embrace captured in
living color on grand jumbo trons
lording over a cavernous palace
a new stadium for Homeboys

Jimmy J asks Jerry J
"Why you overpaid
for The Boys New
Crib?"

"A billion 4,
a palace for the masses".
Jerry breaks some news
with an impish wink.
"No expense is spared
for the peeps."

"I always make out,
get a good return. I
make a profit. Ain't
America great."

This year Super Bowl
went Hollywood
and installed
a long red carpet.

Mike Strahan, collared
Harrison Ford.
Bagging his greatest sack
on a dazzling red rug.

"How many Super Bowls
is this for you?"
Strahan whistles
through his gaped teeth.

The aging Indiana Jones
came to promote his new flick,
"Cowboys and Aliens"
(I'm told an early Cannes
favorite. And it should be. Spoiler alert,
the movie is a moving story of an American tragedy.
Romo blows another one
throwing an interception in overtime.
The Aliens return it 95 yards for a touchdown.
Boy's lose again. America's Team vanquished by bubble headed Martians.
All of Texas weeps.)

Indy
coolly quips an answer
whipping with sarcasm,
"after today, one."
yuck yuck
lol

Strahan continues
to stalk Ford like a
scrambling quarterback,
"where will you be sitting?"

Ford shrugs
"dunno,
somewhere
up-there,
I guess",
he points to
the lofty
luxury boxes.
Royalty sits
next to God
in Jerry Jones
house of the
people.

Ford dons a green scarf.
He's down with the Pack.
Another sunshine *****
in the seat.

Michael Douglas and Zeta Jones
arrive in time to hear
Keith Urban sing
"Who Wouldn't Want to be Me?"

"He's alive
He's free
Who wouldn't
want to be me?"

Indeed who?

The parade
of heroes
continue.

The walking,talking
little S Corp, LLC's
dance their way
into the stadium
on resplendent
cushions of red.

Terrific brands
all earnestly
questing to
urgently
deliver
messages
to promote
themselves
and plug
shameful
products.

A Black Eye Peas
teaser
blinks onto
my giant
flat screen.

Will I Am
a black man
in a blacker mask
marches down the street
zapping people
with a ray gun.
(fascist culture is so cool, a
little light on liberation,
but **** does he look bad as all get out
in that leather rumble don't **** with me
outfit)

Jamie Foxx on the royal carpet leaks
that he yodeled three tunes
at a pregame party for Jerry's Kids;
T Boone and the Big W among them.

Quick cut
to Jamie's
new movie
Rio.
(I wonder if its
about Mexicano's
crossing the river?)

Wealth
Power
the perfect
image of ourselves
take a pill

I am Limitless
a new movie?
I've seen this one before.
I think I'm watching it now.

Just Go With It
Adam *******,
Jennifer Aniston
Americas sweetheart
teamed with Americas
kosher jokester.

He looks hot
in his droopy
pretend
don't give a ****
orange sweatshirt
and acid washed jeans.

Jennifer's ****, legs
what can you say
about America's sweetheart?
I think Brad Pitt
made a big mistake.

Bill O
is next.
Posturing,
arm wrestles
with the Prez,
shadow boxes
with the Big O.

"Muslim Brotherhoods
Rendition
Mubarack goes off the reservation
knows where the bodies are buried"
***!
***!

(Do we really need a dose of Fox Fear?
Is there no escape from the pernicious harangue?
Don't they know its Super Bowl Sunday?)

Bill O's drive by continues,
"Obamacare,
why do Americans hate you?"
Great journalism by this Fox ****.

Bill O is
haughty,
arrogant,
disrespectful
a despicable bully
and a self serving blow hard.

(My bladder is busting.
Its a great time to take a ****.)

We escape to
the freshness
of Owen Wilson's
smiling face,
playing two hand touch.

His bent nose
shining
he trots about
Jerry's field
carefree as a child.
(Is this a pitch, pass and punt
contest for A Listers?)

Other stars
join the light fun;
goose cheerleaders
give the cabana boys
hand-jobs
and themselves
a well earned blow-job.

Its an **** of photo ops
product placement
a sizzling collection
of dancing brands
prancing on the gridiron
of the New Cowboy field.

Ashton Kutcher
peeks over the shoulder
of a tweeting W.
I'm impressed
W knew
how to use
his thumbs.

Mrs. W's
permanent smile
was clearly visible
from the stadiums
cheapest seats.

Condie sat
way to the right
quietly stewing
lamenting
lost opportunities
of a gig as NFL
Commissioner.

On the stadiums floor
the frenetic dancing
of the
bumping
brands
fast
approaches
ecstatic elation.

Hollywood's version of
Whirling Dervishes; is
immediately stilled
as the solemn portion
of the program
commences.

The Declaration of Independence
is read by a bright galaxy of stars
accompanying armed service personnel
and other diligent American's.

"We hold these truths
to be self evident"

"United colonies
levee war,
dissolve bounds,
our day of allegiance
lives, fortunes and sacred honor
freedom is common sense,
free, equal, united"

CEO's
imprisoned
in Jerry's
luxury boxes
overcome
with
emotion
pound fists
on the glass
smearing
cocktail sauce
on the windows
of the suites.

Illegal
Chicano's
bravely
step forward
with rolls
of Bravo
and Windex
to wipe
it clean.

The focal point
of festivities
seismically
shifts like a
tectonic plate
almost as large
as Jerry's Stadium.

The stampede
of cheers
thunder like
canon shots,
the patriotic
ramparts of
militant
free market
capitalism
supplants the
shallow frivolity
of consumer slavery.

We are
compelled
to kneel
to celebrate a
Eucharist of
nationalism.

My partner explodes,
"Can't watch a football game
and view it for what it is,
a ******* football game."

The Fox
broadcasters
dedicate
this segment
of the show
to our military.

I squirm in my seat.
Sorry,
but the declaration is about
free people in free societies
not militarism.

Next up
dis old cowboy
Sam Elliot.
He knows
how to speak
the language
of real football fans.
Finally, a man of the people.

Sam introduced the cities.
He starts with Pittsburgh.

"Built on steel
a place where
terrible is good
these are the
enduring qualities
of this great American City."

The Steelers
make a timely entrance
onto the floor of the stadium,
as millionaires erupt
shaking their terrible towels.

Sam's
fuax
folkism
for
Fox Sports
continued.

"Green Bay is Title Town
the people never quit.
Crafty veterans are winners
exhorting all to greatness"

Images
of Lombardi's
toothy grin
fills my 72 inch screen.
A visitation by
America's Saint,
the sanctifier
of all competition
anoints the proceeding,
the quest to claim
the trophy named
for the games
very own
Archangel
of the
Gridiron.

The extended gig of
Lombardi's ghost
has haunted America
for over half a century;
has reportedly been seen
stalking the stage
on Broadway.

The anointed
Packers sprint
onto the field and
millionaire cheese heads
taking big bites out of life
erupt in cheers.

My hi def wide screen
made by Sharp reports
Battle of Los Angeles
opens 3/11/11.
The Chicago Code
premiers on Fox
sometime in March.

Walter Payton
Man of The Year Award
is presented
to an NFL Player
watching the game
with the troops
in Iraq.

The millionaires
don't cheer,
but the Fox announcers
are verklempt
overcome with patriotism.

Michelle Lee,
star
of Fox'***** show
Glee,
poses in front of a
sanitized choir
in blue uniforms to sing
America the Beautiful.

The beautiful song
is but an opening act
for the musical centerpiece
Star Spangled Banner.

The cameras cut
to a smiling W.
He can't get into Switzerland
but ******, he won't be turned out
of JJ's OK Corral.

Christina Aguilera
takes center stage.
She mounts
the silver football
crowning the
Holy Logo of the NFL
to sing the hallowed
Star Spangled Banner.

She fumbles her lines!
She forgot the rockets red glare!
The Steelers are crying.
The Packers are angry.
Ice melts from the stadiums roof.
The foundations of Jerry Jones
new stadium shakes.

A fly over of 4 fighters in formation
appears to be unaffected by the flub.
The planes do not crash.
They stay in formation.

The pilots spare Christina
a strafing and drone strike.
The republic remains
secure for now.

An unfamiliar announcer
addresses TV land.
He offers an apology to the fans
who cannot be seated.

The fire marshals
have revoked
Jerry's seating plan.
Greed got the better
of this man of the people.
Cowboy Stadium
is overbooked!

What is happening?
Is this America?
An ATT commercial
arrives just in time.

ATT has a new plan for America.
They encourage us to live social
with the new ATT AG.
Free market solutions
always work best.

Michael Douglas
reads another
patriotic exhortation.

"United we,
see the journey
of Acme Packers
as our journey."

"We see the resolve
of US Steel
as our resolve.
Big dreams
believe the best
journeys are
celebrated together."
(I'm down with that.
Whats good for Jerry Jones
is still good for me.
Right On! Check this stadium.
Power to the people!
It may not apply to the people who
will not be seated but tough nuggies.
This is America ******. Everybody
can't be seated at the table.
Even if they paid for their seat.
This ain't Red China.)

Neon Dion and other inductees
into the Football Hall of Fame
tosses the coin.
Steelers' call tails.
Heads it is.

At half time
The Black Eyed Peas
descend from
an upper Valhalla.

Still attired in
black fascist threads
The Righteous Peas
start wailing as
white metallic minions
dressed as
Imperial Storm Troopers
gallop to surround
their idols.

Precise formations
goose steppin bops
choreographic steps
the visceral *****
perfect counter-point
to swabbles of wiggling Peas.

Slash,
Guns and Roses
guitar hero
gunslinger
strode on stage
winging
this gal of mine
in choreographed
unison with
the leggy
Fergie.

Pumping it louder
the spectacle incites
the dancing
Imperial minions
quick steppin
and fetchin it
as Usher descends
in white unison
to leap and dance
over nasty
black peas.

The Gods
are descending
upon us.
Their words
have become
flesh.

The BEP's bleat
"kids are dying
wheres the love?"
Art does mirror life.

The neon hearts
of cheap
glow sticks
light up
the time
of our lives.

We are
cubed box heads
happily dancing along
the 50 yard line
answering China's
resounding drum
of frantic proletarians
bashing away
neocolonial disgrace
during the opening
ceremony of the worlds
greatest Olympian
display of
the pounding will
of an emerging nation
arriving on the world stage
with urgent insistence.

In America
we party on
every night
swiping
revoked
credit cards
for express lane
exits at the
local Walmart.

We are proud
highly personal
bar codes!

We refuse to be
marked down and flung
into discount bins at a
Tupelo Dollar Store.

Our light of life
flashes across screens
directing the trading pits
at the Chicago Board of Trade.

Each Super Bowl Sunday
souper bowl beggars
collect canned soup
for hungry Americans
at the local Shop and Drop

begging for larmen
boxes of Kraft
freeze dried noodles
and cans of Progresso
the feast of kings

A triumph
of the
Will I Am
BOOM BOOM
Says
Will I Am

I finish my bag of
Cool Ranch Doritos
and lick my partners
fingers clean.

Music Selection
Steve Miller,
Livin in the USA


2/7/11
Oakland
jbm
(WIP)
its a blue Monday
after Super Sunday
Americas 45th funday
yesterdays spectacle

the dip is done
the broken bones
of buffalo wings
fill giant glad bags

the ridged ripples
of broken Doritos
scattered on the floor
wait for a vacuums hum

dead soldiers rattle
a melodious cascade
the aroma of flat Bud
plunge into recycle bins

ribbed Trojans
dripping bagged ****
rim plastic trash cans
confirm an ****'s frenzy

the game forgotten
commercial reveries remain
seared into the briney mush
of compliant olfactories

collective hallucinations
successfully branded
a new and improved
global consciousness

Madmen Shamans
ebulliently channel
transactional zeitgeists
from the ripped boxes of
Best Buy plasma screens

Monday morning
water cool scuttlebutt
the planet is buzzing about...

Google's cool slap
of iPod clad automatons
the vanquishers of IBM's evil empire
Apple's brave new world is next
("meet the new boss,
same as the old boss?")

we all dug
rolling with Eminem
through the glitzy
streets of Motown

How cool is 8 Mile?
The hoods lookin good
angelic chorus lifts spirits
Swing Low Sweet Chrysler

The artistic types
faun over
the graphic beauty
illustrious aestheticism

moving story line
the epic journey
of the worlds
greatest brand

heroic product marketing pros
rival Jason and the Argonauts
sojourning trans-formative odysseys
of clever packaging and fat tail shelf life

holding precious real estate
of living imaginations
infecting hearts and minds
of future generations

realizing
everything
ends better
with coke

The State Farm Pre-Game
Jimmy Johnson's new coif
jawed away with his old boss
rattlesnake booted Jerry Jones

A poignant embrace captured in
living color on grand jumbo trons
lording over a cavernous palace
a new stadium for Homeboys

Jimmy J asks Jerry J
"Why you overpaid
for The Boys New
Crib?"

"A billion 4,
a palace for the masses".
Jerry breaks some news
with an impish wink.
"No expense is spared
for the peeps."

"I always make out,
get a good return. I
make a profit. Ain't
America great."

This year Super Bowl
went Hollywood
and installed
a long red carpet.

Mike Strahan, collared
Harrison Ford.
Bagging his greatest sack
on a dazzling red rug.

"How many Super Bowls
is this for you?"
Strahan whistles
through his gaped teeth.

The aging Indiana Jones
came to promote his new flick,
"Cowboys and Aliens"
(I'm told an early Cannes
favorite. And it should be. Spoiler alert,
the movie is a moving story of an American tragedy.
Romo blows another one
throwing an interception in overtime.
The Aliens return it 95 yards for a touchdown.
Boy's lose again. America's Team vanquished by bubble headed Martians.
All of Texas weeps.)

Indy
coolly quips an answer
whipping with sarcasm,
"after today, one."
yuck yuck
lol

Strahan continues
to stalk Ford like a
scrambling quarterback,
"where will you be sitting?"

Ford shrugs
"dunno,
somewhere
up-there,
I guess",
he points to
the lofty
luxury boxes.
Royalty sits
next to God
in Jerry Jones
house of the
people.

Ford dons a green scarf.
He's down with the Pack.
Another sunshine *****
in the seat.

Michael Douglas and Zeta Jones
arrive in time to hear
Keith Urban sing
"Who Wouldn't Want to be Me?"

"He's alive
He's free
Who wouldn't
want to be me?"

Indeed who?

The parade
of heroes
continue.

The walking,talking
little S Corp, LLC's
dance their way
into the stadium
on resplendent
cushions of red.

Terrific brands
all earnestly
questing to
urgently
deliver
messages
to promote
themselves
and plug
shameful
products.

A Black Eye Peas
teaser
blinks onto
my giant
flat screen.

Will I Am
a black man
in a blacker mask
marches down the street
zapping people
with a ray gun.
(fascist culture is so cool, a
little light on liberation,
but **** does he look bad as all get out
in that leather rumble don't **** with me
outfit)

Jamie Foxx on the royal carpet leaks
that he yodeled three tunes
at a pregame party for Jerry's Kids;
T Boone and the Big W among them.

Quick cut
to Jamie's
new movie
Rio.
(I wonder if its
about Mexicano's
crossing the river?)

Wealth
Power
the perfect
image of ourselves
take a pill

I am Limitless
a new movie?
I've seen this one before.
I think I'm watching it now.

Just Go With It
Adam *******,
Jennifer Aniston
Americas sweetheart
teamed with Americas
kosher jokester.

He looks hot
in his droopy
pretend
don't give a ****
orange sweatshirt
and acid washed jeans.

Jennifer's ****, legs
what can you say
about America's sweetheart?
I think Brad Pitt
made a big mistake.

Bill O
is next.
Posturing,
arm wrestles
with the Prez,
shadow boxes
with the Big O.

"Muslim Brotherhoods
Rendition
Mubarack goes off the reservation
knows where the bodies are buried"
***!
***!

(Do we really need a dose of Fox Fear?
Is there no escape from the pernicious harangue?
Don't they know its Super Bowl Sunday?)

Bill O's drive by continues,
"Obamacare,
why do Americans hate you?"
Great journalism by this Fox ****.

Bill O is
haughty,
arrogant,
disrespectful
a despicable bully
and a self serving blow hard.

(My bladder is busting.
Its a great time to take a ****.)

We escape to
the freshness
of Owen Wilson's
smiling face,
playing two hand touch.

His bent nose
shining
he trots about
Jerry's field
carefree as a child.
(Is this a pitch, pass and punt
contest for A Listers?)

Other stars
join the light fun;
goose cheerleaders
give the cabana boys
hand-jobs
and themselves
a well earned blow-job.

Its an **** of photo ops
product placement
a sizzling collection
of dancing brands
prancing on the gridiron
of the New Cowboy field.

Ashton Kutcher
peeks over the shoulder
of a tweeting W.
I'm impressed
W knew
how to use
his thumbs.

Mrs. W's
permanent smile
was clearly visible
from the stadiums
cheapest seats.

Condie sat
way to the right
quietly stewing
lamenting
lost opportunities
of a gig as NFL
Commissioner.

On the stadiums floor
the frenetic dancing
of the
bumping
brands
fast
approaches
ecstatic elation.

Hollywood's version of
Whirling Dervishes; is
immediately stilled
as the solemn portion
of the program
commences.

The Declaration of Independence
is read by a bright galaxy of stars
accompanying armed service personnel
and other diligent American's.

"We hold these truths
to be self evident"

"United colonies
levee war,
dissolve bounds,
our day of allegiance
lives, fortunes and sacred honor
freedom is common sense,
free, equal, united"

CEO's
imprisoned
in Jerry's
luxury boxes
overcome
with
emotion
pound fists
on the glass
smearing
cocktail sauce
on the windows
of the suites.

Illegal
Chicano's
bravely
step forward
with rolls
of Bravo
and Windex
to wipe
it clean.

The focal point
of festivities
seismically
shifts like a
tectonic plate
almost as large
as Jerry's Stadium.

The stampede
of cheers
thunder like
canon shots,
the patriotic
ramparts of
militant
free market
capitalism
supplants the
shallow frivolity
of consumer slavery.

We are
compelled
to kneel
to celebrate a
Eucharist of
nationalism.

My partner explodes,
"Can't watch a football game
and view it for what it is,
a ******* football game."

The Fox
broadcasters
dedicate
this segment
of the show
to our military.

I squirm in my seat.
Sorry,
but the declaration is about
free people in free societies
not militarism.

Next up
dis old cowboy
Sam Elliot.
He knows
how to speak
the language
of real football fans.
Finally, a man of the people.

Sam introduced the cities.
He starts with Pittsburgh.

"Built on steel
a place where
terrible is good
these are the
enduring qualities
of this great American City."

The Steelers
make a timely entrance
onto the floor of the stadium,
as millionaires erupt
shaking their terrible towels.

Sam's
fuax
folkism
for
Fox Sports
continued.

"Green Bay is Title Town
the people never quit.
Crafty veterans are winners
exhorting all to greatness"

Images
of Lombardi's
toothy grin
fills my 72 inch screen.
A visitation by
America's Saint,
the sanctifier
of all competition
anoints the proceeding,
the quest to claim
the trophy named
for the games
very own
Archangel
of the
Gridiron.

The extended gig of
Lombardi's ghost
has haunted America
for over half a century;
has reportedly been seen
stalking the stage
on Broadway.

The anointed
Packers sprint
onto the field and
millionaire cheese heads
taking big bites out of life
erupt in cheers.

My hi def wide screen
made by Sharp reports
Battle of Los Angeles
opens 3/11/11.
The Chicago Code
premiers on Fox
sometime in March.

Walter Payton
Man of The Year Award
is presented
to an NFL Player
watching the game
with the troops
in Iraq.

The millionaires
don't cheer,
but the Fox announcers
are verklempt
overcome with patriotism.

Michelle Lee,
star
of Fox'***** show
Glee,
poses in front of a
sanitized choir
in blue uniforms to sing
America the Beautiful.

The beautiful song
is but an opening act
for the musical centerpiece
Star Spangled Banner.

The cameras cut
to a smiling W.
He can't get into Switzerland
but ******, he won't be turned out
of JJ's OK Corral.

Christina Aguilera
takes center stage.
She mounts
the silver football
crowning the
Holy Logo of the NFL
to sing the hallowed
Star Spangled Banner.

She fumbles her lines!
She forgot the rockets red glare!
The Steelers are crying.
The Packers are angry.
Ice melts from the stadiums roof.
The foundations of Jerry Jones
new stadium shakes.

A fly over of 4 fighters in formation
appears to be unaffected by the flub.
The planes do not crash.
They stay in formation.

The pilots spare Christina
a strafing and drone strike.
The republic remains
secure for now.

An unfamiliar announcer
addresses TV land.
He offers an apology to the fans
who cannot be seated.

The fire marshals
have revoked
Jerry's seating plan.
Greed got the better
of this man of the people.
Cowboy Stadium
is overbooked!

What is happening?
Is this America?
An ATT commercial
arrives just in time.

ATT has a new plan for America.
They encourage us to live social
with the new ATT AG.
Free market solutions
always work best.

Michael Douglas
reads another
patriotic exhortation.

"United we,
see the journey
of Acme Packers
as our journey."

"We see the resolve
of US Steel
as our resolve.
Big dreams
believe the best
journeys are
celebrated together."
(I'm down with that.
Whats good for Jerry Jones
is still good for me.
Right On! Check this stadium.
Power to the people!
It may not apply to the people who
will not be seated but tough nuggies.
This is America ******. Everybody
can't be seated at the table.
Even if they paid for their seat.
This ain't Red China.)

Neon Dion and other inductees
into the Football Hall of Fame
tosses the coin.
Steelers' call tails.
Heads it is.

At half time
The Black Eyed Peas
descend from
an upper Valhalla.

Still attired in
black fascist threads
The Righteous Peas
start wailing as
white metallic minions
dressed as
Imperial Storm Troopers
gallop to surround
their idols.

Precise formations
goose steppin bops
choreographic steps
the visceral *****
perfect counter-point
to swabbles of wiggling Peas.

Slash,
Guns and Roses
guitar hero
gunslinger
strode on stage
winging
this gal of mine
in choreographed
unison with
the leggy
Fergie.

Pumping it louder
the spectacle incites
the dancing
Imperial minions
quick steppin
and fetchin it
as Usher descends
in white unison
to leap and dance
over nasty
black peas.

The Gods
are descending
upon us.
Their words
have become
flesh.

The BEP's bleat
"kids are dying
wheres the love?"
Art does mirror life.

The neon hearts
of cheap
glow sticks
light up
the time
of our lives.

We are
cubed box heads
happily dancing along
the 50 yard line
answering China's
resounding drum
of frantic proletarians
bashing away
neocolonial disgrace
during the opening
ceremony of the worlds
greatest Olympian
display of
the pounding will
of an emerging nation
arriving on the world stage
with urgent insistence.

In America
we party on
every night
swiping
revoked
credit cards
for express lane
exits at the
local Walmart.

We are proud
highly personal
bar codes!

We refuse to be
marked down and flung
into discount bins at a
Tupelo Dollar Store.

Our light of life
flashes across screens
directing the trading pits
at the Chicago Board of Trade.

Each Super Bowl Sunday
souper bowl beggars
collect canned soup
for hungry Americans
at the local Shop and Drop

begging for larmen
boxes of Kraft
freeze dried noodles
and cans of Progresso
the feast of kings

A triumph
of the
Will I Am
BOOM BOOM
Says
Will I Am

I finish my bag of
Cool Ranch Doritos
and lick my partners
fingers clean.

You Tube Music Video:
Black Eyed Peas
Joints and Jam

2/7/11
Oakland
jbm
(WIP)
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
repetition, that's a good technique, a form of
reiteration, emphasis, as you like to
move in the river of synonymousness -
i mean, plenty to choose from -
well it's a better technique than rhyming,
it's like Kaiser Karl Lagerfeld said
about Coco Chanel's legacy after she died
in 1971: 'people tend to forget, that,
once upon a time, Chanel was old hat.
it was only Parisian doctors' wives who
still wore it. nobody wanted it - it was hopeless.'
(oh i can be couture no problem,
the other side of me that's into galleries -
even though that never brought me much
luck with the ladies, Beelzebub ******* on my
face and i started to squeeze out maggots
ensuring my face was forever crater riddled
moon - yes, excess white blood cells).
that's the same with poetry, it can't be
love me doo d'ah mushy mushy candy-floss
longing crap - mate, i'm a bus ****** and
this bus is coming but it's already 20 minutes late...
and it's ******* cats, dogs, frogs... Norwegian
acid rain, my anorak is peeling like a snake
shedding its skin and you're rewriting the early
Beatles unleashed on the American public:
shaved, hair trimmed into mushroom bops
all that Rene Magritte **** 'love, love me do!'
forget it, it's not going to happen, rhyming is the last
resort, i prefer the chance rhyme, it sometimes
happens, and it's too cute when it happens randomly
rather than with premeditation;
you can also throw out all the other premeditation
of techniques that poetry is known for...
what's the point? and back concerning rhyming,
you really want your poetry to be discussed by
schoolchildren and an english teacher in between
grammar lessons
                                  rhyming schemes and all?
that's how it goes:
         her name was Dazie          (a)
         she was never lazy             (a)
         i wrote her a sonnet           (b)
         reclining on a car bonnet  (b)
                                                               that's how they
do anatomy on poetry, the forensic team will
be with you shortly, the only reason i can think of
and know of as to why people are abhorred by
poetry (it's a natural repellent, spray it on weeds
             and insects, a natural insecticide,
****, spray it everywhere) is, because people on
the academic level have scrutinised it, analysed it
to the extent that it's not even there, it gets you thinking:
so who the hell was paying attention to the mammoth
novels of Tolstoy? oh right... no one!
the forensics, the post-mortem of poetry,
it has literally been mummified - the brain came out
as porridge ****** out through the nose.
are you familiar with Tenacious D's one note song?
that's what rhyming is to me, ever hear it?
it's the -ing twang
                            it's the -ing echo echo echo echo echo...
halfwit variations, you're hitting the same note,
great if you're penetrating a girl and she's giving
you an Opera of Vowels... otherwise it ends up
in a schoolroom, with an english teacher
and the rhyming scheme of a sonnet is?
                          ABAB CDCD EFEF GG
or?
                                                              abracadabra.
personally though Tenacious D's song kiełbasa,
etymology:
                    kieł       (canine, in polish)
   -basa (i'm guessing: the base of)             -
it's a sausage                                based on canines,
kieł (insert a           w    for the         ł.. tongue tied, eh?)
is a reference to a canine, a sharp tooth anyway,
and with -basa             i just intuitively thought of how
a hebrew would write it (i.e. hiding vowels)
and therefore juggled in an      e                  for -base.
they do, even though hebrew has Aleph (א) it hides
the vowels: S VRYTHNG RDS LK S - or i might
just be bullshitting you.
while humanity lay sleeping
a subtle sound came creeping
a tiny muffled murmur
of the drums  

it crept into our valley
a quiet distant sally
the reverberating tapping
of the drums

oh the drums drums drums
foretell the things to come
the tapping beat calls
hearts and minds to stir

awakened from dear sleep
we discern the growing creep
the mounting host of warriors
tramping on
      
the fifers next came peeling
the swooning mass was kneeling
the flash of brass and horns
enthralled us all

the salute of rifles thundered
leaving all of us to wonder
what this show of force
would mean for you and me

oh the drums drums drums
the flash and crack of guns
the might and mien of country
on display

yes we howl a raucous cheer
as we shout we raise a beer
the march of shock and awe
is on its way

the thundering timpani                                  
soul of a nation's symphony
united in common purpose
all in step

pressing on to foreign fields
with armies, tanks and shields
we offer sons and daughters
to the lords of war

sleek missiles flew and flashed
buildings crumble and crash
the righteous right of the stronger
proved again

but blood will wash the ground
wails of mourning will sound
dead soldiers and civilians
on all sides

percussive cannon blasts
bursts eardrums kills you fast
the awful smashing and the
bashing of the bombs

the popping flap of flags
assure a profiteers swag
much riches to be made
through the spoils of war

filthy lucre that is earned
the value of life is spurned
hoards of begotten treasure
condemns its lord

so spend it if you must
for your gold will turn to rust
and dust to dust your
soul shall return

oh the drums drums drums
calls our sisters and our sons
to step and march along
a deathly roll

constant war begets a madness
unhealed wounds endless sadness
friends and lovers sadly perish
families destroyed

oh the drums drums drums
once so stirring like a sun
the rattling snare of drumsticks
a hissing asp

oh the drums drums drums
we whistle through our gums
past the midnight graveyards
hallowed for our youth

so listen for the drums
the droning of the guns
stand firm for peace
and walk its blessed way

or you can yell yell yell
marching onward straight to hell
where death will greet you
with the devils kiss

he’ll sing you bitter taps
the music that entraps
and commends the young
to the wretched earth

or play Djembe for peace
witness all conflict cease
bongo bops for peace
may it always increase

yes the drums drums drums
the resounding joyful strums
a mirthful dance of peace
may it always increase

so play Djembe for peace
our song will never cease
our dance will be
a whirling prayer of grace

Music Selection:
Fela Kuti & Afrika 70, Zombie

jbm
3/9/12
Oakland
Mustafa Mars Apr 2013
Hopelessly romantic
Yeah
That's what I said
I'm a kid who doesn't want to believe
I'm the child who likes to live in a world
A world where I know Cupid will come down & help out those in need
Because love will be special again
And there will be people that believe in love
Instead of those that want to use those stereotypes of
Bops and thugs
They believe that's how people are supposed to act?
There's no way that people will ever fall for someone like that
By acting like that, we're just ruining our true selves
The children that linger inside of us
The romantic side that knows how to treat a lady
A gentleman
Whatever
But no
We want to destroy what others worked so hard to make
We just let thugs rule the world
We let them turn all of the future females into their ****** and bops
Just for their own satisfaction
We need to stop it
We need to go back to the simple times
Where we were hopelessly romantic
No
Where we knew we could get someone
Instead of standing in the sidelines
And just watching every lady pass us by for someone who would just hurt her
I don't know
But I think I would rather die than live in this world
I would rather be nonexistent than try to become that which I argue against
But that's just me saying what I truly believe in
That's just me
A true hopeless romantic
Monk tinks tonight
fine glasses clink
convivial banter
bubble pop blink

in breathing rooms
bit woofed and stirred
the smoke mint sound
we dare exhale

Monk swings about
a bell do ding
the huey blues
bird bops on wings

hips juicy moves
rubby mounds wet ****
slow drum rolls blow
dance steady bump

Monk rocks the house
the clock do tick
me feets be tappin
gonna busta trick

key ******* bounce
mouths all agape
we gettin down
like crazy apes

Monk’s muzik rides
a sonorous beam
levitatin hipsters
to places unseen

gosh groovy tunes
a **** good gig
we all stoked up
Monk we do dig  

Monk played alright
some swingin tunes
Happy B Day Monk
you over the moon

Thelonious Monk
(October 10, 1917 - February 17, 1982)

Thelonious Monk
with John Coltrane
Trinkle ******


10/9/13
Suffern
jbm
The man decked in blue
     sits quite content
          on a sofa
               and observes wealthy offspring

               waltz in flashing their brilliant teeth
          glossed with potent peppermint.
     These teens
don't know love,

lust is all it is.
     While the Jazz bops away,
          more whisky is poured
               and they zip out to get jammy.

               The man, mid-twenties,
          kind of blue, dapper apparel,
     has one on the rocks.
Sees them

walk in most evenings,
     cute blondes with flawless skin,
          guys in suits, bow ties, the works,
               gaze into each other's pupils.

               There are regulars,
          Robert, the chap from Yale,
     Quentin, sly guy at Harvard
and Carly, still at school the man believes,

who's coquettish, fresh,
     these two want to have her
          but she's astute,
               knows just what she wants.

               They're all after her in fact.
          Every male in the room
     turns their head,
can't blame them,

she's like Candyfloss,
     all the men want a taste
          but there's not enough for everyone
               and they don't look like the sharing kind.

               The man in blue
          just grins to himself
     thinking how grand it is
that he's single, sensible, secure.
Written: June 2012.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. The characters and situation are made up, with the girl's name suggested by a friend of mine. The title refers to the man, who is dressed in blue, and the reference to the girl being like Candyfloss.
Skendong Sep 2014
Will Big Halo go crazy, freak out?

Like a ****** on wheels rolling down the Alps?

***** Tiny Youth’s brave be under the pavement?

We huddle for position as eyes form a circle,

On the grounds of the ‘Imperial’ two feared ***** meet.

Shells will settle this war.  Smoke!

The Tiny Youth draws:



“Your half mast pants waiting for a flood?

And your shoes are holy like the Bible.

Are they four stripe trainers, rip one off!

Then they might pass for Adidas.

Your neck collar is ***** like a **** star.

Is that a sheep bursting through your old padded coat?

So home take your smelly **** and stitch it up…”



“Me await a flood?  Yeah, your’e right.

Though the nylon gathering at your feet

Shows it long passed.  Your tight nylon pants

Stuck up your cheeks – Barry Sheene skids in your brief!

Your brief ‘s skiddy and dangerous like an ice rink!

So skate your brief home and scrub Daz in the sink…”



“Your head is tough like a coconut.

And that hair is rougher than a ghetto!

Knocking out teeth on afro-combs, and

Your skin bumpier than gravel stones!

Your face is dark like Darth Vader.

And did Moses part that gap in your teeth?

I smell the cesspit pooling from your mouth

Take your scent to the sewer

Where your bad breath belongs…”



“On your head sits a drenched black poodle.

And your skin is tougher than Bruce Lee.

That face is rounder than a full waxed moon and

Your skin is dry like sand.  Your teeth resemble

Mouldy cheese and your breath is even badder

Than ******!  So take your moon face camouflaged

As an eclipse and hide on the dark side equator…”



“Your mother is *****, paid every Tuesday,

The post man drops the wages in her sack.

And your father is a dosser, lazier than dole,

Drinks beer, forces farts with remote

His all day role!  And that shack you live in is dusty.

Dustier than a speedway track.  So take your

Double-barrel nostril nose and go do some hoovering up…”



“There are cracks in my shack, on the ceilings, on the wall,

I will fill them with polyfilla, when I see your mother -

Scraping that cake off her wrinkly crinkly face.

And your bald headed father reminds of a Buzzard!

Searching for carcass on the African plains!  Your’e

Soft and boring like porridge.  So in your lunch box

Pack your cheesy snack lyrics

And go hold down your snake of drool – fool!”



The circle stays silent.  We dare not laugh!

At exploding shells on full hardened *****.

Mr Brown, adjudicator, judges – and declares!

Slowly raising the arm of the winner who bops

And breaks the circle, fifty pats on his back.

The shelled **** leaves with Jack.
Jeremy Ducane Feb 2010
In absent minded surfacing from sleep
He rolls and bops her gently on the head.

A jump for both.

(They still sail dream-skies singly: clouds and rain)

A yawn, a sigh of loosening night..then giggles
...and half into the pillow:
'Do you always do that after...?
'Always.'
The secret smiles that start face down in cotton
Mean mischievous all.
And so the artful stray: fingers across the sheeted fields to find
To touch: the stroke, the tease, the tender joke
Of cartoon-witches' nails that swiftly change
To quietest whisper of his finger-end near lashes  
To brush the boyish shock of hair that falls
Across her face and is so  

Perfect.  

2. And growing light reveals what last night shone
From so deep within her
And now she knows it too.
Seeing in his eyes the certainty she feels -
Now her Longing Being is achieved
As they climb to light together and  
The lovely dance that wants to happen
Draws them on the little loving path
To earthly joy - and no worse for that...

3. What fingers and eyes began as wisps
And threads of possibilities,
Now feel the planet-surge of ocean swell
And sensual intertwine of selves and limbs so serious-silly
That detail blurs then flashes sharp as ice:
The little sweat that slightly pools - twice - at the base  
Of her back
He strokes with hands behind her
As her naked song and curves and rhythms rock above him - ribcage moving
breath half open lips...
Yeys and ooaoos and silences.
She dives to ****** a smiling kiss in midst
Of whirling storms (that shock of hair again!)
Then resumes the unselfconscious closed-eye calm
Whose movement is the music of the earth.  

4. Then all goes quiet.


Excuse me.
Mmm?
Are you meditating?
Mmm.
Don't you mean OM?
Shh! -  A secret smile -  and, well, why not?


The shiver of a different self - not unwelcome but unsettling
Creature of a liquid ecstasy
Now very close
And something far beyond itself
Or rather saved to birthright body-spirit-soul
Answers, tells,
But will not be tamed.

5. The final moves:  her face sky-upwards, back,
Eyes closed, she sees the bursting stars
Inside her head - falling falling falling  
The golden smile of Rightness Here and Now...
It's done...

Ruined, softly felled on forest floor
With sighs of syncopated  breath

He draws a sheet the length of her pale form.  

6. Hands on his chest, she rises  

Face framed by sheets - medieval queen.
"I thought you were a Princess, not a nun"  
"I'm glad you noticed -  I am both, of course."  
Exalted from the inner pagents' light
With one smooth move you panther to the floor.
"Stay - let me see you whole again and human"
(She knows he fears that alien point in love)
She stands patient, watching, while I gaze.
Enough?
Enough.
It is not right to linger.

A playful far-too-rapid Tai Chi twirl,

Then off to make the tea...



- For The Dancing Princess
- For S.
Late Summer 2009

("Undimmed the joy of this new-happening love.
With all the confident lightness born of vows
As yet unspoken but more real for that.")
Rory Hatchel Mar 2011
Crick crack click clap snip snap on the concrete
The city is on the move and to stand would be
The slapstick comedy of stopping a treadmill.
Acceleration animation gravitation from the rotation
Apathetic friction that is devil-may-care like your heart
Dragged down on the gym floor and the sweaty men laugh.
Tick tock nonstop the clock hops and bops away the time
Of the day and eternity seems like a fairy tale
Because this era is neverneverland faith, we are young.
And getting younger, we plan to die naked as we came,
Lounging in retirement, the summer that knows no end.

But sighing the dying are crying relying upon our move
And we move past, this blur of momentum that the city has become,
Because stillness is for the hippies and the natives and we are neither.
Capitalistic colonial conquering captains of industry we charge
Credit or debit because it isn't ours anyways and the bank is moving.
Down the street in the heat can't beat the beat of the sweet treat
That the homeless remember the memory of the taste of mercy.
Like dogs in heat they pant and beg and we shake them off our pantleg
Because it is designer and the label buys manhood cheap and sells it high.

We split hit and quit and never commit because we spit words like blessing
Out when we wash our mouths out every night and every morning
Because it is the only way to get the taste out of your mouth when you wake up.
As if the jacket I wear can't clothe a man from the cold or sell for more
And my closet is lined with the clothes I don't remember to forget about wearing.
It is not hate that congregates or abates the rate the weight is pulling me down,
But fear of the immensity of impossibility colliding with reality inevitably,
Because one man's sacrifice will suffice to pay the price of my vice.

Yessir hearts are racing toward the first heart, we are collaborating.
That the dying need not remain the dead but know life to the fullest.
The poor and the sore need not abhor or war with the rush of the city.
Because saints and saviors are not just bedtime stories as long as my life
Has the power, no the will, no just the faith, all it needs is faith.
The sick have been tricked that their wick runs quick
Like crick crack click clack snip snap on the concrete
These hearts are moving this city on a hill.
JR Rhine Jul 2016
Jam
Can we jam, brothers and sisters?

Dare we meet at the impalpable chat room
that exists beyond our third heaven?
Dare we to speak in tongues and timbres,
our skin taut across hollow shells,
our veins strung across cadaverous bodies?

I'll grab my drumsticks if you grab the guitars,
and there's somebody on the bongos
slappin' the skins with zealous fervor--
where my tambourine girls at?

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten our forlorn hero
sitting behind the keyboards--
Tickle me those ivories with pious hands and aching fingers,
shake em down sweet Jerry Lee!

And so we begin--
I lay down the drum beat that bops heads and scatters feet,
and the bassman always on top of things
slaps and slides and skips and sizzles
hot diggity dog!

I hear that sweet guitar scream and moan,
praying for death under hazy lights
and we all coast with eyes rolled back into our skulls
and torpid lips drooped open over slack jaws.

Not a word is said from a human voice,
we speak through hands and feet,
basking in colors eking from every kick drum stomp
and the desperate wail bleeding from amplifiers.

Feedback sings and screams, fighting the silence we taunt
and hold at bay.

Around every corner the colors trail
coursing through our vesselious bodies
propelled along the dizzying venture.
We somehow spot every pothole and take detours,
embarking down backroads and backalleys--

We can turn the wheel,
but don't think for a moment we know where it's going.

And the mirror's have all vanished,
we know not from where we came.

Someone shouts from the discovery
as we exit a phrase to enter serendipity,
toying with destiny, clay in our hands,
stretching out the ****** perennially--
We laugh as the gods try to remind us we are Man.

And the screams and the moans
sensing the ****** is getting close
so there's a crescendo I ramp up the tempo
ahhhhhhhHHHhhhHhHhHhHHHHHhhhETERNITY IS NOW AND WE HOLD THE KEY TO HEAVENS GATES AND TIME STANDS STILL AT HIGH NOON IN THE TOWN'S SQUARE WHERE TRIGGER FINGERS TREMOR AND WE SPEAK TO GOD ON HIS PRIVATE CHANNEL COMING THROUGH WORN SPEAKERS CELESTIAL CREATURES IT WOULD BE SACRILEGE IF WE WEREN'T SUDDENLY SO HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY

So I say again, brothers and sisters,
can we jam?

SO I SAY AGAIN, BROTHERS AND SISTERS,
CAN WE JAM?

SO I SAY AGAIN, BROTHERS AND SISTERS,
CAN WE JAM?

So I say again,
brothers and sisters,

can we jam?
Kaila George Jan 2015
Fluffy bunnies how sweet is that

Hoppity hop in sweet candy land

Butterflies dancing in the breeze

Bluejays singing as happy as can be

Oh my gosh ders dat nasty man

Hunting wabbits oh let me be

Then out of no where..pop...boom...bang

An anvil and hammer bops nasty bad man

Sniffing and eating....the grass merrily

I watch carefully at dat nasty bad man

Looks likes he is out for the rest of the day

As I hop on merrily on my way to play

In our fairy wonderful candy land
Connor Oct 2015
HURDLING THROUGH THE TRAFFIC NIGHTLIGHT MACROCOSM MY BUS BOPS AND DASHES LANE AND INTERSECTION
BAM GOES THE TENNIS SHOP
THE GRILL
THE SHOPPING CENTER
IT'S ALL LIGHT IT'S ALL ECSTASY
A BOILING CANDLE
RAPAPAPA-
THE WILD JAZZ
BUDDY RICH SWEATING IN MY EARS
UNRESTRAINED FRENZY
NEON BLINKING APARTMENTS WIDE IN THE DARK DISTANT ATMOSPHERE
MOHAWK MAN BOOT COLLISION ON THE COLD FLOOR
SOME LINOLEUM SOMEBODY SHUTS OFF THE LIGHTS TO HIS STALE OFFICE RETURNING TO BED DRAGGED OUT AND BEAT
BEGGING FOR SLEEP IN AN UNWASHED BED
BUZZ AND THRAP THE DRUMS AND CYMBALS SOAK ANY OTHER SOUND INTO THE
949 HYSTERICAL NIGHT
GAS STATIONS
NIGHTCLUBS
MONOLITH
CAR DEALERSHIPS
MOTELS
RADIO TOWERS
BUS DEPOTS
LIQUOR STORES
SUBWAY
UPTOWN
4 6 4 5 0
APT SUITES
DRAIN SERVICES
"STOP REQUESTED"
DISTORTED RATTLE OF THE INNER WIRING AND WHEELS SQUEAL TO A HALT IN FRONT OF EMPTY HIGHWAY CONSTRUCTION
"FOR YOUR SAFETY PLEASE HOLD ON"
UNSPOKEN MONOLOGUE OF WOES IN EACH TIRED SKULL
CASINO
LIBRARY
DRIVE THRU
PHARMACY
VAPOR SHOP
INFLAMED EGO
RAPTURE
MORNING RAZOR WELCOME
POLICE TASER UNWELCOME
I'M PROUDLY RANTING
OF MY SURROUNDINGS
OF THIS MAYHEM MUSIC
THIS GASOLINE VESSEL
HOWLING INTO NOVEMBER
TRANSFIXED AT THE ENTIRETY OF IT ALL
OF THIS
OF THAT
OF THOSE
THE STEADY RACKETING IN MY  BRAIN CONVULSES TRAIN OF THOUGHT PURE FLAMMABLE VERSE
ELECTRIC
"GRANITE & QUARTZ"
THEATRE
THERE IS NO THEATRE
NOT HERE
DON'T BOTHER STAGING SOMETHING AS ELABORATE AS CHAOS ONLY THE WIND BIG BAND CAN BUZZ OUT A TUNE LIKE THE AFTER-HOUR MARCH OF LOOSE HEADS
POLITICAL AFTERMATH ON THE TELEVISION
DRUNKEN SUPERSTITIONS
SIDEWALK FIGHTS
RECKLESS CONSUMPTION
RAMPANT DISORDER
CLASS WEALTH IMBALANCE
CRUELTY
ABANDON
INSOMNIA
PARANOIA
THE SKY HAS SEEN EVERY WAR AND MISHAP OF US
IT SECOND HAND SMOKES EVERY
INDIA PYRE
SMOKESTACK REPETITION
MORNING COMMUTE
AFTERNOON JOYRIDE
FIREWORK
AIRPORT BACCHANAL
THE CLOUDS DO RECALL
DISTANT OLD-WORLD CASUALTIES AND THE NUCLEAR INVENTION
A LOSS OF IDENTITY
I THINK OF ALL THIS
AND THE BUS WINDS DOWN
SCREECH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'M ALMOST HOME
I'M ALMOST THERE
THE HOME THAT'S NOT MY OWN
NOT YET
IT'S EVERYPLACE
AND NOWHERE AT ALL
IT'S THE UNSEEN AND THEN SEEN
INDIVISIBLE AND TRANSPARENT REALITY
IT'S EVERY DRIVE
AND DREAM
I'M ALMOST THERE NOW I CAN TASTE ANOTHER
CATACLYSM
WHILE MIRACULOUS JAZZSOUNDS AND
TCHAIKOVSKY'S CANNONS
SILHOUETTE A CHANGE
OF PACE
IN THIS MAD PLANET
AND ALL IT'S
HABITUAL
INHABITANTS
FOR BETTER OR WORSE
I WILL CONTINUE MY MEDITATIONS
AND GET BY
TO CATCH THE BUS AGAIN
AND TO SEE INDONESIA AGAIN
AND TO LOVE AGAIN
AND TO DRINK WHISKEY BY A MERCURY BONFIRE IN SOME PASSING YEAR
AND HOLD TO HOPE AGAIN
AND HOLD
AND WRITE MORE POEMS
AND WRITE MORE POEMS IN VIETNAM
AND MORE POEMS IN BENARES
AND MORE POEMS IN SAN FRANCISCO
AND MORE POEMS IN BRITISH COLUMBIA
UNTIL A BEARD KISSES MY HARDSHIPS
AND REMINDING ME I'LL ALWAYS GET PAST WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE WORST OF IT
I'LL WRITE AND WEEP AND SING
AND RACE MY OWN DEATH INEVITABLE
IT WILL BE
*E  X  P  L O  S  I  V  E
X                               V
P                                I
L                           ­     S
O                               O
S                                 L
I                                  P
V                         ­       X
E  X  P  L  O  S  I  V E
"My name is Ligion , for we are many"
    Luke 8:30

Every Sunday we went to church
Never really thinking what was it for
Always wore our best shinny shoes
***** slacks , and who was it for

After church we would always eat out
Get lucky and have trout Almondine
Spanish Mackerel fresh off the grill
It always gave me a thrill

Couldn't wait to jump out of those clothes
Put on shorts and go outdoors
Collect toads right about dark
Put them in the bathtub
Mother looked so stark

Everything was going just fine
Then we moved to the heart of Dixieland
Home to more Bible Thumpers
Than a toad bops his ***
Told my ways must change
Or I hadn't a chance

So I was graced by the light of the Lord
Baptized in the holiest of ghost
Dwelt on a heavenly high
But things changed for the worst
In the by and by

Once saved always saved say they
That's not true oh by the way
I fell into repute , became angry at all
I no longer heard the voice
Of God and his call

I got worse , let evil come on in
I became gaunt , more bone than skin
An evil presence I projected like *****
People stepped back
They didn't want any of it

I was one ot the many
I was surely destined for Hell
But like a new copper penny
Two sides are there to tell

I was struck down
And my ways were clipped
My boat was cast out
Someone had cut all my slips
I floundered on the fast rising seas
God had knocked me down onto my knees

I remember you as a boy
Captured toads and did so much more
Then you changed and walked out of my door
Have you ever even thought about
Coming back for more

You became evil , deep in wicked sin
Over and over you sinned again
You mocked me , my son
And sacred holy of ghosts
I ought to make you into
Blackened burnt toast

But I see one glimmer of hope
If you return to your former post
And repent , no need for forgiveness
It's already spent , come now it's all for the best
kelly Jan 2014
I love you
but I leave you.
I cant stand you.
but I need you.
when you kiss me,
My stomach does whirlly bops all around
yet when i kiss you youre as calm at a bat.
Its like im your pure happiness
im your ******
but you never forfill that high youre searching for
the high you got when you first kissed me.
But then i start to wonder
If you ever miss me.
Emmy Mar 2018
Sweet little eyes black and shiny.

Curious with my work, he's chirpy.

Hops and bops about, I trace a smile.

Beak, now agape, sings for a while.

'Rotund little Robin won't you dance some more?'.

'Skipping and pipping upon the forest floor'.

'Red little tummy containing your words'.

'Lost on my human ears, yet not unheard'.

'Little Robin, so happy, why am i not so?'

On little Robin I focus, my mind is sewn

"Be happy with your job" says Robin

"And fret you not of my boppin'"

"There's work must be done so dont you be a'stoppin'!"

"Though i might flutter from twig onto branch"

"My home is left decided by human chance"

"Should we build here or should we build there"

"Words of men against Robin, no matter how fair"

"Sweet little song you qualify my shouts?"

"Without ever considering what they're really about?"

"All I've ever seen of humans is their louts"

"So this boppin' Robin needs a'helpin' out"

"I see in thee good it is true"

"Hope; that never shall you see green land in gloom"

"Yet in back of your mind i see thoughts of doom"

Robin flutters away and I am left to wonder.

Should I leave this world now will I be thought of fonder?
Olivia Kent Sep 2015
She kept a vigil by the bedside.
Watching him sleeping.
In silence she sits.
Save for the beeps and bops of forced whistling air.
She adored all of him still.
He was just hanging in there.

She perched on a swinging rocking chair.
Spoke to him now and again, poor thing.
She sang to him as he battled.
Fought with the deepest side of the sandman.
She touched his hand once again.

The room lit up with lights of gold.
Rolling rainbows.
There he goes.
Go forth into the light good sir.
Permission given.
Now it's time to be bold.
At the foot of his slumber spot.
An angel dressed not in white, but royal blue came to collect him.
She played a serenade to him upon a silvery horn.
She dwindled in the atmosphere.
Amidst the flurry of whizzing trolleys.

The doors flew open.
A team of magic folks, not fairies, stole his heart and gave it to another.
Liver and kidneys not far behind.
His woman cried and sighed.
Kisses him softly, bids him goodbye.
He didn't respond, he no longer could.
Passed quietly over, did her lost lover.
All donations gratefully received.
She took it much better than friends had perceived.
She rolled her wedding ring.
Walked out sad but proud.
As raindrops and sunshine fell from the cloud.
Up came the rainbow, silently loud.
(c)Livvi
Austin Hunt Sep 2019
Two bros converged into a fellowhood
And stoked to share their Fight Club quotes
And be two broskis, juiced they stood,
And shotgunned PBRs, long as they could,
till they were wrecked in a sweet-*** boat

Then proclaimed the bros, into the air,
“Turn on the flatscreen, let’s watch the game”,
it was Saturday so the day was theirs;
and as they sat in their folding chairs,
the smell of axe the air became

And clad in their Costas they loudly played
a song no bro’s cracked iPhone lacks.
Oh, they know their bops like they know their whey!
They smelled their teen spirits and exhaled away,
JUUL clouds of fruit flavors with swag densely packed.

There is no replacing these two guys
and their dudely jockish fashion sense.
Two bros converged as two would, and aye-
They forged the path bros travel by,
a path of bliss and ignorance.
Arlene Corwin Sep 2018
Ageing

Ageing is the strangest ****** phenomenon.
It’s sneaky, going ‘long
With universe’s basic law of change.
We hate it cause we cannot change the change
With choice, with voice in matters
Dealing with each atom looming over time.
You watch a documentary of a famous person you once loved.
What you see is change or interchange.
Voice now gravely, hairs now straggly,
Mind not gaga (maybe),
But the teeth, fat, skin itself deranged.
It’s all so strange.

Invisible the first half century,
(If you’ve been so lucky)
Then they come: the boom of bombs begun in womb.
The stealthy hum of failing health a-zooming in,
The forms of  everything you took for granted
Changed from light to odium
Enchanted idioms of youth now faint or quaint.
And the damnedest twist of all
Besides what’s going on outside,
Visible and tactile,
Is that life has lied.
You thought it stretched ahead forever,
That it never stopped
And then you’re bopped on your old head:
You’re dead.

One’s left to speculate and ponder
Where does life go on from here?
Where and if…

Ageing 9.11.2018 Birth, Death & In Between III; Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

I’m often asked by readers whose native language is not English.  Here are a few words of which they might like to know the meaning:
odium;  general or widespread hatred or disgust incurred by someone as a result of their actions:
tactile;  of or connected with the sense of touch: vocal and visual signals
bop;  verb (bops, bopping, bopped) [with object] hit or punch quickly: Rex bopped him on the head
Postal Leo Feb 2020
I'm not dead. I'm just not living yet, and that's scary, 'init? The peeps, beeps, bops, and sch-loops of life gnaw at my head, warning me that silence is unattainable, and noise is everywhere.

When I was young, I tried to be the loudest thing in my environment, tried to scream louder then the muffled yelling downstairs, tried to cry till my face became a distorted mess, and tears come easier than a smile.

When I was young, I wanted to be anyone else, to run away, to hide from it all, I wasn't content with my sub-par, if even that, lot in life...

Now, I cry my heart out, and leave my lungs to rest, my whole body has become that distorted mess, my smile is so easy, it discards the tears, till I'm left alone with my fears. The yelling is clearer, for it was always me, fighting with...

Myself.
Mateuš Conrad May 2021
even though english is without strict orthographic
obligations of diacritical markers...
that ol' charlie Dickens would cite
a spelling mistake as an orthographic mistake...
best example of orthography:
król kruk - king crow...
the consonants are irrelevant...
just like: whine is not wine...
         or what is to who -
                w(h)at "vs." (w)**: pinch at hues...
that there isn't an asset in the
omni- prefix litany of a monotheistic deity...
omnimemiens - all-remembering...
so: orthography that's still aligned to
metaphysics...
but a new budding term: para-social...
that somehow everything must happen
with and in the confines of: 3rd persons' promise...

all the while towing my libido insomnia:
who needs to be sterilised
with a promise of a stigma of some
mental handicap...
i am peevish about spelling words...
i feel terrible angst if i tease dyslexic freedoms...
what am i? a three-****** camel?

but i get it... churn my genocide *****
*******: opening of the gates for
the tides to merely murmur...
perhaps i'd wait...
and start writing: memoirs...
come old age...
sometimes that worked...
like stale bread works when
it can be soaked up in lard and fried...

it was forever impossible for me to not
not experience the temptation with
monk... ever since i visited Taizé...
i could not escape the allure of what was
on offer...
the remaining temptations of the world
began to itch with a malaise of blasé...
but unlike an orthodox blasé most associated with
firm-rooting... pedestrian same-old-same-old...
it was a blasé (no **** Sherlock...
you could expand that bl-A-sé with a macron...
it would only cost you two omicrons...
or an omega... or a macron above the Alfonce...
Alphonce... abrupt: tease of "alpha")...

good enough hill to pretend the last
breaths of Nero...
a relief from... a fate worse than a slave's...
i.e. a slave implies:
also... another mouth to feed...
sure... someone will cook your food...
someone will clean your house...
tend to your most tender "grievances"...
unless in gladiator pose...
would slaving be deemed so...
irrevocable if... you were to perform...
tasks... that... didn't exactly dehumanise you...
but elevated you to have:
a constancy of a job...
         the security of being needed...

oddly enough i am thinking of taboos...
what is it like, to be truly... needed...
beside what's currently available...
of being: free... but... expendable...
citizen but... relegated should these grand
humanitarian concerns of liberals
shine through for a boat load of "refugees"...

oddly enough... as a slave owner owning
20 slaves... you had a duty to feed those twenty
mouths...
there was talk of people, slaves... being:
assets, possessions...
a much higher status that's what's on offer now...
who are you? an employee...
what's an employee?
something, perhaps a tier above
a cog in a machine... if that...
you know... i've come to admire the ancient roman
concept of slavery...
esp. the sort of slavery experienced by women...
chambermaids... etc.

sure... you're a slave that has been ordained
into constructing an aqueduct...
my brain is exhausted from these petty
scribbles ever since
the monstrosity of commonplace literacy
was made paramount...
i have no original ideas...
i keep this "art" up for my own
"sanctity"... i think of payment like i think
of:

pennies from heaven...
or rather... the fall of the rebellious angels...
one day it might happen... it did?
well then... let's dig up some...
£0.000001 fractions and see where we end up...
there seemed to be some: ortho-social obligations:
once upon a time...
i hear the term: para-social...
which is a sickening, wicked variety of ghost slavery...
it doesn't chain the body...
but i guess... so little worth was placed
on the mind of man that:
so many started to champion their freedom to speak!
without first championing their freedom to think!

****'s sake...
as a slave i would be... an asset... i would be...
property... i would understand the topic of hierarchy...
i could live in the shadows of the *******
kitchen, be chained to it...
without having these bogus allusions
to the illusion of a freedom that would never
come: from me, for me...

as man arranged himself to the best of his ability...
the problem came from higher esteems of
ingratitude for: vivo per se...
foul apples stinking up the ground and grit...
most poignant among the H'arabs with their
harems and polygamy...
walking abortions aside...
cruel little beasts...
not the Arabs per se...
but in general...

this my mechanical arms...
while... 70,000 Africans are waiting in Libya
to be transported to Europe to be
living exemplars of walking ****** for...
because a Gloria Steinem type doesn't care
if her lollipop is choc of chalky vain-villa...
let's be honest...
an African woman that can attract
a whitey copperneck when tanned, lobster...
is a rarity...

even i find the African, MALE... face... attractive...
it can also attest to some tenderness...
yes... "black" men are attractive...
that's my problem with ol' skin-dipping
**** fetish moon's no mercury tinge
drip drip... because all 8" of piston moi is not
up to: **** ***. & I'nah...
if SHE can get away with being attracted
to the Afro-cancockcancock carousel...

why can't i be attracted to black girls?
even Flaubert mentioned in Madame Bovary:
'you'd need to be an artist... to **** a black girl'...
sorry... give me Indian... give me eskimo!
i just find the black physiognomy workable
enough to stand before all that
Picaasso cubism!
why is the masculine black even attractive to me...
while the feminine... isn't?
that's a genuine ******* question...
i'd love to get on that bandwagon
that the white girls are using to settle their:
white people are not racist
so we'll **** as much black-ding-along-doodles
we see fit!

fit for fur? lampshades... armchairs?

it's almost probably not fair...
this inter-racial playground of dips and bops...
would it be oh so necessary to ingest
a blue-pill to ****: that perfected rounded
peach of an *** with pristine
ivory?
but the male African face is so much
more appealing than:
that tarantula: bloated...

it would most certainly cut my efforts of expression
in half could i bypass the already ingrained...
summons for what i'd deem
fuckably: unfathomably, unmoved...
a "concern" for libido insomnia...
neon-tallying and all that happens
"in-between"...

when language is more than graffiti...
how it can exfoliate....
unlike my white brides...
i don't have that ******* option of...
yes... the male African face is appealing...
but the the feminine faces?
******* Gorgons... sea monsters...
Scylla-bred...
for a harem of a cuckoldry...

if the last hard-on i might feel be one
of shame: **** the hard-on...
i don't need to experience that sort of
bollocking to begin with:
i just said your men (African)
are handsome...
what more do you want when it's
a priori: ingrained in me...
to find your women... to be honest:
repulsive?
i don't want to **** them...
if i do: it's a blue moon...
always with the ******* outliers...
and it's not like i haven't tried...
but trying only gives you so much
traction... ****'s sake...

let the party girls do what party girls do best...
i'm not a patriarch:
i have no grief for their freedom being met
with their judgement of what's
to be "best" expressed...

an aristocrat would know what's best:
he would protect his or her...
possession...
funny how herr schlägermann would keep a Boris...
or an Alfred in company...
such were the ties:
people mattered... tied to a hierarchy...
what sort of hierarchy is there:
in a democracy?

no one can summon the pyramid-Δ (delta)...
but somehow... these days...
everyone who's anyone can summon
the pyramid-∇ (nabla) dynamic...
oh look! no Palestinian flag...
just the flag of king David...

- i'm guessing the prophet Muhammad
admired... king Solomon more...
than... he might have admired King David...
he "wrote"... "recited" surahs like
king David's psalms...
yet the focus came... toward converts...
and promises...
what was prophet Muhammad's harem
in comparison to king Solomon's?
a mention of *******...
a ******* solo- project... a fake... an arabian joke!

who are the... Hafiz?
who is Stendhal's Julien Sorel?
Muhammad cared more about imitating
king Solomon than about imitating
king David... it's ******* plain dandy simple as a pimple
on a face of faked smiles... you savvy?

now, of course i'm waiting to be crushed
by the tsunami of man
and the congregation(s) of time imitating water...

if everyone is so... ******* "apparently" free...
there was no more lasting,
binding, contract, beside the slave-owner
and the slave...
permanent employment statures!
what are we doing, right now?
no one is obliged to: oblige anyone to work:
for them...
freedom my ***... more like scavenging
at best...
the odd word... not primordial labour of
hierarchical certainty...
everyone's free! citizen envy!
the *******'re talking about?
it would take a niche of ownership and...
ha ha... clairvoyance to peer into this:
hot heap of **** to see past it...

doubly exploited... ****-wits...
people were: OWNED...
but (by) the term OWNED they were not
"exploited": they were used
to their maximum: ability...
they were tended to...
they were cared for...
a slave had a function... a purpose...
what purpose does freedom allow...
beside the sort of expressions of freedom
only allowed by feral creatures?
am i, a feral creature?

once upon a time freedom implied:
to engage with an unknown world...
the slave was a domesticated creature...
feminine... esque...
have you had the patience to eat food
cooked by women, lately?
just asking... who was the inn-keeper?
she was the harem proprietor for a while...
a madam...
but sure as **** she wasn't the ******* inn-keeper!
was she?

i will find the male african face agreeable
enough for the ***** projects of Helga to take a stab at...
but i really find intra-racial breeding most
agreeable...
i will not **** an african female just because "you"
think it necessary
or that Flaubert might think it as being: "artistic"...

my "one upon a time":
but the males are more attractive...
frau weißschwanorgieanfällig....
oh don'z you'z wozzy you...
the 'ebrews covered themselves, covered...
succumbing the 'ebrew diaspora for the concept
of "nation"... settled dust...

now that the "plague" is in passing...
nothing's new... nothing's old...
in the land of Palestine and Ishreal...
i fed a "passing": then again...
who's to import who?
you might have kept me greasing...
you might have kept me greased...
what sort of an alpha male are you:
now... currently... bowing like every beta sycophant?

you 'ebrews and you 'alestines...
you should 'ave a football match once a month...
to settle your heated blood... scraps of wording:
salad... no?
no... no...        o.k. tease a tonsure with a kippah...
i'll still tell you: the prophet Muhammad ought to
have admired King David more... since... the quran
is to me sung... than he admired Solomon for: for?!
Khadijah turning in her grave...

there have been, there where...
there will be: "myths" from the north...
it's not just some interracial *****... we're told...
oh what we have been told?!
what have we been told?

thank **** my ego collapses...
i own a cat and i like to drink more than
i like to ****...

that's a nutshell statement "all of a sudden"...
i love children as much as
children are required to be adored...
beside my own: that i don't have any?
it's not like i'm limp-****... "freckled"
with absences... of... existential:  purposes...

yeah... yet here we're at.
Qualyxian Quest Mar 2023
Protect him from the terror in the night
And the arrow that flies by day
Basketball is my holy hope
Californ I A

Gratitude for Andy
Stars come out to play
Picasso's Guernica
Live to write another day

I like miso soup
Summer rolls, spring board bops
No need to get suspicious
No need to call the cops

Beautiful blue morning
Exoplanet Sky
Un Escritor, Mr. Rodriguez
Why, Judi, Why?

           I Thai Fly
Travis Green Mar 2022
His beautifulness bewitches me
His masculine, tempting, and sensuous lips gives me replenishment
His sweet, perfumed, and playful kisses make me grip his body tighter
My sensations swell, my senses are frenzied
I look into his deep glowing eyes
Seeing splashy designs that make me pine to dive inside his time
Hunky, punchy, beaming brilliantly

I ache to navigate his electrifying landscape
Discover my sole purpose within him
Find seamless sheer strength within him
I want to touch the infinite extremes of his mind
Thrill his transcendent temple
Revel in his supereminent resplendent kingdom
Let his serene tender love run down my throat
While I float on his poetic soul boat

Linger in his stream of spinning sensual slow jams
Arrive at his sleek flashing gate of paradise
Where he drapes my body in peerless passionate creations
I am bursting with blissful happiness
My head bops to the booming breathtaking beat
Of his brilliant, beguiling body
His masculinity brimming with bold, bountiful bounce
The brevity of his heavenly words melt
Inside my mouth, generates a sticky pool of sweetness
On my hands silky smooth surface

He carries my heart to the sta
I carry his enchantment, his romantic ambiance
His amorous manliness within the heart of my treasure chest
He is my scintillating stimulating sailor
That directs me to eccentric gleaming dreams
That immensely attracts my attention
He moves me in the sightly stellar sea
Where his intoxicating dancing waves
Engulf my wondrous wholeness
Travis Green Apr 2023
He is the sweetest delicious brick
That makes me so lit up and thrilled to bits
So irresistibly slick and glistening
A ****-hot rhythm of aesthetically pleasing magicalness
That moves me in the direction of his perfection

I lose myself in his jumbo deluxe hunkiness
Taste him like buttery garlic breadsticks
Like fluffy scrambled eggs
Paint his artistically astonishing masterpiece
On my smooth succulent skin

Tease me with his confident brushstrokes
Show me his creative side
Make me overexcited, send me on a high
Flirt with my inner world
My sheer peerless queerness

Be a source of fascination to my foundation
Lead me astray, take me away
To his visually stimulating mancave
Where I can lay in his fragrant graceful embrace
Kiss his moist alluring lips

Trail my fingers on his full, attention-getting beard
Peer deep into his velvet ebony eyes
Bright, delightful eyebrows that arouse me
My type of striking brown kryptonite
That has me entangled in his divine shining virileness

I am so mesmerized by his triumphant inviting smile
To feel his rock-solid charming body
Slide against my fiercely voluptuous structure
Swaying to the engaging cadence
Of exclusive all-consuming amorosity

His sculpted, lovable muscles are loaded
With legendary action-packed hotness
That conquers me more and more
Makes me wanna explore every **** sector
Of his ardent and engrossing presence

Let him manipulate my mind’s frame
Drive me delirious with his imperious spectacularness
Slay me again and again, make me moan
Make me long for him in my dreams
Make me want only him for months on end

Adore me, explore me, leave his hypnotic red-hot mark
On my ***** brown bops, tongue my scrumptious buttons
Lick and stroke my neck, peck my soft sparkling back
As I take in his manly, refreshing fragrance
Take great delight in the sublime power
Of his high-quality insurmountable allure

My aggressive intellectual Zaddy
So mystically magnificent and resplendent
A bold mind-blowing expression
Of sexually sweet seduction
An essential multidimensional space
Of inventable comprehensible splendiferousness

I am heavily into his top-notch, flawless awesome sauce
I request more of his delectable majestic flex
I love it when his strong, handsome hands take control of me
Craft his rare fantabulous masterpiece
All over my bright brown body

Communicate his unalterable and profound affection
To my delicate effervescent homosexualness
As I salute his brutal ruling thunder
Study the lusciousness and voluptuousness
Of my admirably proportioned and active construction

Feel his soft wriggly tongue leave
New-found nouns in my mouth
Urgently requiring him to devour me
Overpower me, absorb my mind, body, and soul
Allow his prominent toxic machoness
Traverse through my veins
Claim and detain my wondrous white-hot flame
Travis Green Jan 2022
I love the way you are so automatically hypnotic and exotic
You are perpetually fresh as my breath
As the wondrous fragrant breeze
Your body is so super melodic
I can hear crazy electric beats surging through inner depths
Your captivatingness is so vivacious and contagious
I crave how you flaunt your flex
Top-notch, enthralling star

You rock me so effortlessly
I sway to your crunk cadence
I take in your grandness
Your matchless fabulousness
So addictively tasty as Lifesavers
Exquisitely fine like China
Like a glistening glass crystal ball
Your vibe hit hard in my stomach
Enthralled by your saucy rhymes
Bumpin’ to your funky hunkiness
Catching sensations that move me
Further into the wholeness of your world

You are my utterly potent plug
I love your thugness and ruggedness
The way you blaze my soul with your dope glow
Pour million-dollar dreams in my stream of consciousness
Make me see a world premiere of magicalness in the air
You come through my block with your hot aura
You remind me of a Mary J Blige classic
That boundlessly bops to this day

You talk to me through the first-rate poetry I compose about you
Through the creative tattoos etched on my flesh
I drink you down like a Hurricane Cocktail
You are so spectacularly swell as you slide my throat
Irreplaceable and embraceable
So magnetic and confident you are
You got me wildin’ out like I’m at a sold-out ¬Brandy concert
Burning hot sparks suffuse my body
Makes me become so lost in your charm
The way your crimson bandana hangs out of your pant pocket
Rocking your swagger like Scarface

You are the epitome of dreams that birth more brilliant dreams
You ecstacize my mind with your sharp and exalted intellect
You demonstrate your creativeness with your profound and lively art
Shimmering so immensely like a Lamborghini
Untamed and powerful as a tiger
So suave like you about to hit the strip
And show out tonight
You are my light
The way you make me glide in your flow
Makes the frequency of voice reach a crescendo

I wanna traverse in dreamlands with you
Experience your indigo soul
Make me grow like glowing green leaves
You get me into a joyful and adventurous mood
I beam like vividly white city lights
I feel so frenzied
Thinking of how you climb in my mind
And spread your sweetness all over me

You are hypnotizingly alluring as Sprite
I wanna catch a flight to your sight of paradise
Chill with you in a late-night private place
Enlighten my eyes with your deep love
Cuddle up to me, sweetly sing to me
Savor my sexiness, store it on your iPhone
Let my picture be your spectacular screensaver
Feel me in the fervent words you speak
Feel me in the river of your firmament
Inside the headquarters of your mansion
Forever sauced on each other’s enchantingness
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2020
.it was just fine and dandy with flaubert and knausgaard and kundera and the continental novel... another matter "concerning" dickens and the pickwick papers... "it's complicated"... well... outside of the novel... sure... the shovel... and a zukofsky... an ezra pound... perhaps not the sort of flare of a t.s. eliot... ever, the riddle of poetry is the riddle: from top to bottom... never from bottom up... what a mad idea to begin like some john "rimbaud" rambo in... missing teeth crossword punisher "puzzles"... the art of seagulls and pigeons... airy fairy... double-dairy... ***** from on-high... with a hiccup and a... 'igh... settled affairs... why else bother... come! our last drink! and let us praise sunrise! with good intentions for hierarchy, guilt and conscientiousness! let's pretend to wake up and find ourselves being needed... like heart-surgeous... bus-drivers... beside these hellish confines of sickly-sweet vanity projects! let's wake up as necessary as veins! and water! bus-drivers! let's wake up as gravity! so necessary! not this... grand mangum bogus opus of: zee art... this... waste of time; let's!

come the beatbox with words...
i.e. these days all i hear
is glutton ping-pong...
   i want to transverse something
of a river of a sentence:
                                                  w    ­     (↓)       (↷)
  (↺)  (↓)                  n           i                    (←)
     (→)    d                  i               n             (↓)
                                                             ­        g      ("exit")      

yes: a complete minefield:
no mines... but all the over-complications
of a "busy" mind...

   Poland and... traffic signs...
almost all of Europe and...
traffic signs...
                        Germany for the views...          

left to right...
       beatbox with meanings
like... boPS... and threaTS
                 with prefix jargo'             'n
pre-
                    pops and pulling
twigs on rhodes...
      of prose: the castle of novel
and paragraph...
interludes in dialogue...
              and the river
the sentence and nothing at all
concerning shrapnel...

   i can have on offer...
the niqqud with a "revision"...
            they (vowels) might as well be
in braille if they're to be "studied"...

          hmm... נקקד

i.e. -un / ⠊ / -ud / -ud / ⠥ / -alet

    n- / чirek / q- / q- / шurek / d-

  the grand Ч vs. Х
                    chOhc       loaded...
     a loch lommond; cheap beer...
words to write when listening
to music - any music...

                     it's not a complication
to make fool or master...
a Llama...
                    esp. not...
                              a tier 6 complication
category... those 7 years in
Tibet...
         like no new and...
                                        the lost old.
Travis Green Mar 2022
In my fantasies, I kneel on my knees and open your legs wide
I rub and stroke your monster *** obliterator
Feel you stiffen and squeeze my arms
I gaze into your sexually aroused eyes
I tease your big delicious shaft
With spectacular licks and *****
Caress your *******
You push my head down on your stimulating flesh

I ******* every luscious suckable length of you
I slide it on my tongue
Taste your delectable detailed veins
Choking and gasping
Holding and lapsing into your hardness
My hot wet lips envelop your throbbing colossal pole
Treasuring your magicalness
Stroking you at a consistent pace
Using dope hand motions
While I spit on your thickness

My head bops up and down
Wanting to take all your enthralling saltiness in my mouth
**** you drier than a desert
Tongue lick your beautiful bouncing *****
I kiss your gorgeous thick thighs
Your smoothly sweet ***** hairs
I stare at you wildly with my my mouth open wide
Salacious saliva oozing down my chin

I moan and slurp
I work your magic stick
Make your tingle sensually
Big Daddy, you taste so exquisite to me
I revere your astonishing kingdom
I adore your alluringness
Every ounce of your hot stuff
You are my amorous addiction

I am trapped like a savage animal
In your cage of ****** enchantment
Being between your thighs
Gives me the highest rise
I am so addicted to your seductive indestructible machine
I have never felt anything like this before
Boy, I deeply enjoy your rugged masculineness
Your wondrous wildness

Papi, you excite me
You unleash your heat
And make me freeze
Your exhilarating masterpiece makes me freeze
I bow down to you
I **** you again and again
As you spurt thick sweet yogurt in my mouth
I feel so electrified at this moment
You taste so ******* good
Baby, your humongous hot gun stuns me
I want to do it all over again
Rock your solidness with my throat

— The End —