By: Cedric McClester

I wonder if they knew,
Or did they just blow their cue,
That the children locked in those cages
Were treated so outrageous?
And though it strains belief
They couldn’t even brush their teeth
Nor, use a bar of soap to bathe
Yet they’re who Marvin Gaye said save!

They present an opportunity
For the Colgate brand to be
Their toothpaste of choice
If their mouths are full of it when moist
Colgate at least should try
To be their sole source of supply
They could give those kids some hope
With their toothpaste and some Soap

Imagine that being your child,
Commercial ready with a Colgate smile
Do you get what I mean?
Like Outkast says, “So fresh and so clean.”
We can stop this insanity
With just a little humanity
And furthermore we can explore.
Not having them sleep on a floor

Beginning with a Colgate smile
We can turn back the dial,
And stop those family separations
For those caught in border migrations
They’re simply seeking a better life
An escape from the toil and strife
And crazy as it might seem
They bought into the American Dream









Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.

sweat runs slithering snake
down neck.
should i
brush
my teeth again?

fridged food i haven’t forgot
chewed up
dental floss
goes between
teeth like
love
trying to         ruin its way in.

Pitch-black and silent; another two am asylum.
And I found myself reaching for another tube of toothpaste
only to pray it didn't taste like you.
Yet a sigh of relief was matched with a sigh of despair
as I came to the realization
that I was losing my grip on a lot of things about us.

Even if I tried, I wouldn't be able to remember
most of our defining angles and edges
that were once so sharp.
So I scoured the stars this late at night
only to lose touch with gravity
and to hear my mind yelling back through the void,

"you should have known,
                       you should have known."

They say smell is the closest sense to memory,
but I was so sure that after all this time
the taste buds on my tongue
could still decipher the fibres from your mint mouth.
But in that moment, I couldn't remember
that you had already forgotten about me before the sun even set.

gd

Crest the best
**** Colgate
Crest the best
Got great taste

Clean your teeth
Bright and white
Clean your teeth
Every night

Buy that Crest
Colgate's waste
Buy that Crest
Best toothpaste

Not in the way I
Look through these eyes
which water but instead
Of sadness entranced upset
Near to death love
making where though and
Design laugh at their own
Gluttony and ill usage and
away from me i say no not here and
away from itself i hear nothing for you
are here within me but away
Comet and the see to hear blues with
Everything to give but nothing to lose
And the far off sights are much too bright
And inside you hear yourself crying
Not to mtters or mold your soul
With what your parents said to you
Ordered you to be bold and
The aftermath of your own tightened slack
Makes you wonder if growing up was an actual
Choice in the matter of the batter which is
The family foundation were games are played
For keeps and children weep as they keep
Toiling on as adults just for bigger and better things
Come into the waves of a brain malfunctioning
No face for ye' faith meand nodding to the higher
Ones whose noses are broken and the lips cracked
The spinning brain of hurts doughnuts and Americana
Rip offs selling the flag by the millions to turn a profit
For the moronic billionaires who think no one is watching.
Watching with their hats turned sideways and trying to
Escape old age and grey hair and sagging ball sacks and
Poor english and worser bread, stale with their mother's
Ghost hovering on the shoulder of their pouting diamond
Drenched wife as if madness grew a larger pair **** within the
Hilarity of connection of concoction of happiness and
Satisfaction and a longing to burn the entire ******* down
Just to rebuild it the way you see and you do see it and the way
You feel it used to be and perhaps, maybe, could be and where
Experimentation is now a center fold for the dock workers and the
Laborers of the world to spit and ******* and cry over in their
Twisted and rusty beds for inside their pea brains and melted
Mouths filled with colgate and beer, they slobber over the excess
And humiliation and celluoid dreams of **** and *** and spreads
That would make any grandmother of 37 weep and Mozart meander
On the veranda, contemplating smooth jazz and the way he would like
Not to be buried with the hat trick hockey nick who swore he saw
You fall in love before and that sobriety was the touch of the Christian
Way of life and ye' far out and tormented young ones meant nothing
By what they said at the rally and they do believe in the good of the
White government and we are headed toward a technological maelstrom
Of the golden age of the HUMAN RACE but alas I hope I decipher I pray to
No God but whoever has the ears and eyes and arm fat to listen with their
Splintered consciousness and their painted red toenails and girlfriends who
Whisper they have always loved another and how TRUE UNTRUTH IS and
How vindictive we rant on and read on and hope and believe that the end
Is the end but it is only the end for you and their will be new blood and new eyes
And new minds and we will grow old but the rivers water will be recycled, as we
Will be recycled into the dust and the mud and the rubble to further build the streets
As the street makers and the bread winners will smile as they think they are the
First ones to think up such a crafty, inventive invention but hierarchies are on the horizon
And I remember I was born with a name that I never grew to know or fall in love with
Or defend or keep close to my heart for the heart is weary hunter and it ventures on
With or without the body.
Note to self.
Recall the last rite before you begin on to the next one.
History has spilt its blood and its fair share of orange juice, try not to remember the numbers but remember the amount of burned chairs.
Note to self, returned.
The heaters on and the soul is not dancing but jiving like icing on a three year olds birthday cake.
Submission time to the chief, submission time
To those other guys, whose faces I've never smelt, but who are there waiting and whining that the times are no longer a changing.
Keep up the smiles, keep out the frowns.
Negativity is the attribute of the terrorist. Don't be a terrorist.
All fine men and women have once in their life been truly scared.
One ten till the train leaves.


Good night major split hairs.

On the second of the fort
Nights beckoned a call dim
Lit by ill fated mechanisms that
Were men and women and
Children and the forgotten dream of
What was meant long ago and was is
Meant now but not followed through.

With heaven comes hell and hell fire and
Clouds of white with shelling from
Wars not of this world or the next or
The one's thereafter and lingering history,
With its bells and trinkets and tombstones,
That have been weathered but are still not gone.

Memory not mourning, pictures in a frame lit
From the inside out and drinks were there
When we were not meant to be there like a
Kiss on a flower you picked at an age where
Life was not known and death was even
Farther away for it existed not in the eyes of yours
But in everyone else around you, except for the
Other children of course but oh' of course.

If your trying to get the part of the stuff
That makes you recall the upstairs of the
Idiocies of the room romance that restricts but
Contains life and halters life and stifles life with
That one must recall a past life where tears
Mean nothing when you produce them too often.

Can of the hypocritical malice of mis-informed family
Foundations and we break into the minds of the way
It should be and the way it shouldn't be and yet here
When we gaze out across the wide spread of the world
And its many ways it spells out with a God's own language
The morning of the ear who listens and speaks when not spoken
To breaking every single rule of the word and smiling
Throughout the whole ****** thing.

Canons of repetition where life winces and the wife begins to wheeze
And fall, her dress is now clear and her eyes just don't seem to be
Where we are now I believe that money is the root of this soon to be dead
Tree and streets are now empty as the moon casts its silver glaze and
The breeze is now naked with her bra on the floor cast in straw while
The wizards write their spells and comb their hair and draw out plans
For the next great fall but watch the fireworks and the way they hail and
Crawl throughout the entire bawl and Ol' Ezra P. mass amounts of rage
To bring to the stage but here ye' O great one this place is for us all.

Here in the house of the not that is shared but all is seen here
Where the wind blows to no east and no west and no south and
No other way that you believe to get headed to the world of
The no names and experience makes you wise and yet old
And remembered for the drinks you paid for but especially for
The ones you forgot to pay for but that is what friends are for.

Omnivores in latitudes that matter not to the public eye but
To the ear of the Lord that is not everyone's savior but
Chosen just for the right eye so within that decree of mastery
We entrance the light and shovel up the leaves leaving the last
Way of things to be the first way of things when the lights
Are quickly turned off and on and off and on again and again;
Stars are naked until the sun rises in your hometown and the radio
Turns on.

And the background music chimes with a willingness of a cockroach but
Holds the beauty of a **** statue found in the under toe of a lost
Beach in a lost land forgotten in time but embraced by eternity and
Though does not dwindle its numerous names or its many ways
Of being for the hour does shackle us all but here in high array of
None other then eight times the way through the cobbled up in the
Attic of the fiercest neanderthal dictator with ideas holding truths upon
Truths that in the end mean nothing  for advancement is not determined
But continued upon as long as we forget the past and look to the future hymn
Of the childless winged' beasts that were once forgotten but now embraced
Angels.

Not of this world but of the entirety of the reality of banality
Breathing back and forth inhaling and exhaling releasing the
Mind of the mares of the wandering rewinds of infinite space
And inside the eyes of the highest levee which has broken but
Has not yet spilt holding back its power for the remainder of the
Year and catacombs upon catacombs of forgotten text of never
Forgotten men recalling their former lives and their former passions
And the hastiness of their possession of the word and the avoidance
Of the death touch the death mark the black spot upon us all.

Dog on a hill cloud high in the sky nut on the ground no not a sound
Frost on your fingertips toe of the boot covered a steel dull mud
Suds from a water rushing miles away nodding branches of a dead tree
Wind through the high grass birds in the sky that fly but not chirp
Sun in the sky rice fields burn brown crickets rub their thighs together
Not here but in the corn stocks and pig stocks brown in the reverse order
Platters of pinch salt and pepper underneath the floor boards creek for
Creak and dollar for dollar we make the rounds and we do not frown.

And the meet of the neat make their rapid conversations in dual order
Where they tell themselves this but I hear that and you make what you want
Unless you ain't got the stuff but if your lucky and if your smart you'll
Grab the oven and bake that **** but in case you don't see the sunset and
Your buried without your toes look for your voice because that's the only
Way you'll get to know the stars in the sky or the dirt on the ground for
The fun is growing but the lurkers are smirking for they got the pennies and
They got the nickels and these streets are breaking so you gotta' start thinking
Of a way to get outta' this place and FAST or else you'll be staring down the
Barrel of a 33 to ONE typing and writing and peeping around the corner of
Your dear old ***** that hasn't found in a home in years but don't look too
Down because one day that ONE will come around either by taxi or by train
Or by some kind of war and if you've got the gut and the money and the honey to
Keep her tight and alright and flying that lovers kite then your bound to keep
Yourself from the giggles and nearer to the harmony of the way things ought to
Be but may not really be but perhaps can be if you will it around and swill it with
Your will making sure your lies and that white or ain't that black or ain't that real
Or you ain't lying at all but stay truer to the truth with the water resolution of the
Insipid insecurity of the first love you thought you knew but now see that it was
The one three or four later and how right I am in knowing nothing and knowing
Everything and letting the mind skip and play and register new friends in the new
Cities and the new alleys and the smiles that break across the ice like a crack of of a
Whip and counting the days ones gone blowing through the high valley and the low
Trenches of war I do not wish to go to but may be forced too because this man believes
Just what he says.

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

Bundled under her black and white comforter knowing her alarm will ring any second. Wraps the blanket around herself and rocks herself out of bed. Right as she does the alarm starts to ring. She tells it to shut up as she turns the switch to off. She goes out into the kitchen no one is up yet. Grabs herself a packet of oatmeal (Always strawberries and cream) She likes it thick and lukewarm with a glass of milk. While shes out there her dad comes out makes his coffee then leaves.After she eats her breakfast she slowly makes her way to her bedroom. The night before she lied out an outfit. Skinny Jeans and a purple button down shirt. She looks at herself in the body mirror by her dresser and pinches the fat around her hips and stomach. She takes off her fleece shirt and pants. She puts deodorant on and sprays herself with "Our moment" she put her shirt then her pants on. Goes into the bathroom. And brushes her red hair back into a messy bun. She applies her favorite makeup on her freckled face and her favorite lip balm on her small lips. She brushes her teeth with one of her eight toothbrushes and Colgate toothpaste. She runs into her room and puts her black flats on. Puts on her red jacket with the fur trim and walks out the door.  "Oh ****" she thinks "I forgot my back pack" She runs inside and grabs it. She makes her way to the bus stop. By the time she gets there everyone is there. About five minutes later the bus shows up. The bus is freeeezzzinnggg because the bus driver doesn't heat the bus. She sits in the seat still bundled up. A little later Aaron and Lori get on the bus. Aaron pushes her over and lies on top of her. Soon after the baybridge kids get on and it gets extremely loud. She talks to Brandie Logan Hannah and Aaron until the bus comes to her highschool. She walks off the bus and into the school. She walks to the cafeteria and puts her stuff down. She sees her best friend and walks around the school for what seemed like an hour. She sees her crush by his locker and tries to hide but he sees her and waves. She smiles and waves back shily. Soon after her class starts. Then she has lunch with him. She sits on her friends lap because there are no seats left. She checks her pockets for a dollar for a bagel but has none. One more class left. She finishes her school day and gets on the bus. (Pretty much the same thing but this time They have to pick the Jr high kids up) She gets to the bus stop and gets off of the bus. HOLY CRAP its freezing she thinks as she starts to walk home. Once she gets to her house she opens the door. She throws her stuff down and runs to the bathroom because she really has to go. Once shes done that she watches t.v. for a few hours. While procrastinating doing any homework or chores.  Finally at about 5 she decides to get some **** done... After dinner she washes the dishes and this one day asks to go on facebook. Her dad says yes so she goes on. She continuously sees Jessica's picture on facebook and tries to hold the tears in. After awhile she can't anymore. She asks her dad to take a shower but the real reason she wants to take a shower is so she can sob without people hearing her. Her dad says no though. She goes into her room and tries to find a razor.... nothing. She grabs a rock that for some reason appeared on her night stand.She srapes her arms over and over. She scratches fat into her stomach. she outlines the word Jess into her arm then crosses it out. Jess is gone she thought. She lies on her bed under the covers and silently cries until she falls asleep.

Look in the camera with the colgate smile
sound concerned even when you aren't.
Tell them that someone famous just died.
Don't fumble, you're LIVE.
Get the story before anyone else
or wave your career a goodbye.

Two minute break
Sip that water and put that make up on.
Manipulate the public
and your legacy shall live on.
Humiliate the politicians till they
can stand no more.
Sound vaguely interested
when you're bored.
Display the public ranting,
the promotion is yours.
Get your sources lined up
take down the unimportant notes.
Write about the bodies which were blown up
but your boss wants more.

Shove the mic in their face.
Demand reasons behind this failure we embrace.
Exaggerate the words said by a famous mind.
In place of truth fill it with lies.
You dared to step in the public's misery.
You were just another journalist desperate for a story.

Saturday morning cartoons in the late 80's

Beeeeeep
Beeeep
Beep!

Blankets get thrown
Quick yawn and a stretch
And I'm gone.

Run to the cabinet grab my rescuer's toothbrush and colgate.
Its the total complete toothpaste
Brushing frantically in the pantry and I grab the frosty flake
You know they're  Greeeeeeeat.

Get to the sink and rinse with a swift swish and a spit.

Done with that, as I dig through the drawers for my plastic Punch Bowl.
Pour in the entire box of cereal and a half gallon of liquid gold

6:53am tap the power button on the remote control, stack all the pillows and blankets in the middle of the room, 5 min left till my favorite shows

7am and it begins, Spider-man and his amazing friends 7:30 and its the Wonder Twins
Commercial break for school house rock,
go take a ****
then switch my cereal to cookie crisp

8am silver hawks and the copper kid,
8:30 voltron black lion forms the head
While thunder cats at 9am battle Mumm-Ra the un-dead

930 pound puppies that was my thing
Bright eyes, violet, and cooler was the man
When 10am came that meant the shows were coming to an end.
That half-hour reserved for Prince Adam of Eternia better known as He-man

And the last of the shows came after 1030 to 11o'clock. Here came "the Little's" cuz the Little's don't stop.

The sunlight peaking through the blinds, 11 years old, cereal all gone spazzed on a sugar rush, Waiting to play with my cousins.
Grandma picks me up from uncle Gary then off to Dain and Tony for destruction, bike race, GI Joe and burgers from Rally's
Those were the days
The good ol days

-Alexis J. Meighan-
July 13 at 8:11pm ·

Two beavers were building a dam.
One got into a really bad jam.
His work was never on time.
It was always late.
Because he had bad teeth.
Because he didn't brush with Colgate.

Paul Masson.
Hot sauce.
Colgate - old and stale
as puke.
Grease.
Newports.
Former head.
Recovery.
Country dirt.
Pecans.
Cotton.
A black fist held high.
Hope that one day
he'll be able to fit his ex-wives
into a nice,
cordial sentence.
Love.
Real love.
Man love.
Type love that kicks *** when it has to.
Sears cologne,
OG ****.
Some Christianity,
but not a lot,
not nauseating
and obnoxious,
more like
quiet
and
almost not there.
More Masson.
More Newports.
Gold fillings;
the Midas Touch
on his tongue;
the ability
to blind you
in the glow of his breath.
Rotten *****.
Real rotten.
Rotted to viral nostalgia
because it tastes
like ****
and makes him lick the roof
of his mouth
to get that smell
out,
just to make
room
for it
again.
Chitlins.
Obama's saliva.
Collard greens
with all the vinegar
and red pepper
in Satan's *******.
Herman Cain's armpits.
Fear
for
me.
Love
for
me.
Power.
Former riverboat
porter.
The smell of rich white men
that talked about
*******
while he stood
stoically.
Strength
like
you've never
smelled before.
Human.

Sunlight seeps in
glass windows all
and yet with blinds drawn,
"click'..put on
the electric light,
gives a worthy feeling,
of course
sort of false pride!
The mirror reflects
a haunted look
insomnia
on the face,
mirror, mirror tell me true
so saying
put on more lipstick
more rouge and mascara
Nina Ricci perfume!

Toothpaste
Colgate advanced formula,
or else brushing futile
breakfast cereals
latest blends
tea labelled "Twining"
I-phone pocketed,
boutique shop clothes
stilettos clicking
you get started
feeling good
racing the sports car,
race as if
borrowed happiness
will escape,
its after all
everyday happiness
on a lucky credit card
older bills
still pending,
still pending!!
and yet
these everyday happiness
keeps you going!

There are people born to be leaders.
They make colgate-white-toothed speeches;
rally the class, frenzy the cheerleaders,
touch the half drunk trucker in the middle of a bar fight
who stops in mid bloodied-knuckle punch
to slack-jaw watch the television,
exhaling beer and eating up hope.

Some are poets.
They take what you say everyday and make it expand;
word-balloons that when they pop they evolve.
Into the universe.
Into the light behind your first high-school crushes eyes.
Into the late night melancholy we all feel.
Into that whistle-stop last piece of air in your throat when something so beautiful has been read that
you will never, ever, ever breathe the same way again.

Others will be painters.
And they will tear open your eyes,
pour them full of color
or monochrome
or neon
or fur
or maybe even popsicle sticks.
And they will make you think about things you really didn't want to,
or know about before, or understand and when you are done looking at what they do--
you won't remember who you were, before.
You'll be someone new.
Someone with this piece of art that clawed you open to change.

Occasionally one or two of them will become writers.
They'll sit down and slither their little keyboard-flattened fingers,
across breast bone.
Snap it in half with the sound of stale, dry kit-kat bars.
Push a few marrow-fragments aside.
Then worm into their chests and tear out pieces of their hearts.
One piece for their home-life neglected to pour out a story.
One piece for every rejection letter.
One piece for the parts of all of their sons and daughters plays missed due to deadlines.
Millions of pieces for every rewrite, every,
Well, we really love this concept. But that small 500 page section needs to be cut.
And they will dump paragraphs of kerosene into your head.
Their next chapter is the match.
Brains will be on fire for their next books.

Some are born to be just like me.
Trapped in our heads,
staring at the leaders,
the poets,
the artists.
Wiping the sweat from our brows and bruising our souls on ***** floors that need mopping.
We'll wash your **** and **** from your toilets.
We'll stand there at thirty something and let the twenty-something kids scream at us
for not taking the garbage out properly and
you were late for this week's shift again,
and if you do that again--Listen, lady, I don't give a **** about your kids or who you need to watch them--you are fired,
you hear me? Fired.
We'll come home after eighteen hour days and cry into our pillows.
Or our cats fur.
Or into or carpet, because we can't afford furniture and
that's why we never ask anyone to come over.

We'll be the ones busy giving birth
to your leaders, your poets, your painters and writers.
Giving birth to your songs, your colors and your imagination.

My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun -
In Corners - till a Day
The Owner passed - identified -
And carried Me away -

And now We roam in Sovreign Woods -
And now We hunt the Doe -
And every time I speak for Him
The Mountains straight reply -

And do I smile, such cordial light
Opon the Valley glow -
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let it’s pleasure through...
-Emily Dickinson*

And I do smile, the white bright Colgate chiclets
stretch under my lips. The crooked thing, the
clever turn of my mouth,
we all pass a point in life when this is a means to an end.
Stop. Do not collect 200.
Again. Again, I thought "Send me straight to hell"
because it's not fair for me to feel this way any more.
I want to shoulder the brunt of it and throw it up and down,
white linens to the wind.
A dramatization of who I have come to be,
fueled and fired by alcohol and lack of sleep.

A stuck Lipton in the vending machine,
"I want to start a social movement of direct experience"
Sure. We'll do that. Let me get back. . .
let me get back to this blue screen for a bit. I want a change.
I want to see some change! Let's throw our
phones away and start over. Depression falicitates our  
efforts, but I had my pleasure. I had my kicks though.

I met a man who sells boxes
Big boxes, small boxes,
dark boxes, boxes with a hole in the top.
right there on the street corner.
selling boxes to whomever he meets.
The man was sharp with a Colgate smile
and eyes that searched your pockets discretely.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,
especially you boys and girls,
toothy wink
Now is your chance,
don’t miss the opportunity.
These boxes sell faster than a free lunch at noon
100% certified to the industry standard
and they come complete with a lifetime guarantee!
I see you second guessing the decision sir.
Let me just tell you, I’ve lived without a box.
It’s not a pretty place to be.
The elements of this world are cruel
and you can’t get back what they take away.
I tell you what, I’m feeling generous today!
I’m declaring that for the next 2 hours
With any purchases of a full size box
I’ll include a child sized box for no additional fee!
But wait, there’s more!
You don’t want a box without a secure lid do you?
Act now and I’ll throw in our patented dual-use lock
Lockable from both the inside and out.
Yes, you ma’am, and one for your daughter as well?”

I watched in horror as the gathering crowd
meandered through his maze of assorted boxes
crouching down and stepping gingerly
inside each one that caught their eye.
Nothing like that new box smell.
Some looked for boxes with head room,
some felt safer with walls to their noses.
A father was helping his son
pull his dreams from a big yellow backpack
filing down the odd edges,
pruning the extrusions,
so they would fit neatly inside
calling his son’s tears the fruit of naiveté
speaking with a voice he assured himself was reason.
The shiny suited man approached me cautiously,
his salesman polish dimmed,
“Have we met?”
He asked with incredulity.
“It’s been about 20 years, I’m surprised you remember”
“Oh, I never forget a face,” he said.
“But what are you doing HERE?
Was there a problem with the box I gave you?
You know there’s a lifetime guarantee.”

“I met a man who collects boxes
in a waterproof warehouse
down at the bottom of the sea.
He knocked on my box and asked the simplest of questions
‘Would you be free?’
My eyes began swimming and my heart shook to its core
as I sadly admitted I had somehow lost the key.
‘Would you be free?’
He repeated, and I answered.
and at once the lid was lifted
and I was lifted
and I was free.
And he set straight the lies that others had told me
And asked if I would give him my fear
my pride, and all the other strings that tethered me to the box
I had sealed myself in for protection.
And then, of all things,
he whispered to me a poem
and it’s that poem that I am here to speak.”

Don't give me that
Smack me with a brick
before you flash that
Colgate smile
Take your eager flight
to your far off place
and leave me to
my sugar coated
shards of glass.

                             {Flight Departing At: 9:30AM}

Remember when we would sing
to the radio
                        and laugh because
                                                                ­                     we didn't
know
                                             the lyrics?

                 {baggage}    
                                               or the time
{security}
              {Take off shoes. Remove Belt}
                you cried   
                                                              ­                   in  my bed?

                          {How many bags are you checking in today?}

we both got so
sunburned   once
you had the imprint of your
                                                            ­                           tank-top
on your back and
I thought my
                                         nose
would fall off

                                              {Flight Itinerary}  
{Drivers License}
                   we rushed through
sushi
and I accidentally ate
                                                      too much wasabi
                                                          ­                          {Is anyone sitting there?}
                                            awkwardly held on to each other
on top of that concrete sculpture of a
                                                                ­              cat
or was it a
                               pig?
                   {Airplane Mode}
            ran to the          
   beach and climbed that         really uncomfortable rock?
                      {sleep}          
     I was so
                                                                ­                                      content
next to

                                         you
                                      {Silence}

            ­                   {Fasten seat belts}

{Baggage claim}
                                        there was a time when we made each other                             
       happy.

                              
you had to                                                           move.
All the way to                                        good Ol' North Carolina.

It was a
                             chance                        we took.

What we had was only               temporary

                                A               looming                     date.

At some point
@ some                         airport           in               San Francisco
you would leave                                                            ­        


                                                      ­               me


at 9:30AM.



{gone with the clouds}

we can’t get out of bed. there hasn’t been
one time where you saw the light before i did -
maybe once, when you
swore to make me eggs for breakfast, scrambled
with just a little bit of milk.
i taste your morning breath but when you kiss me
it’s always Colgate. i like your morning breath
more than any brand of toothpaste
it tastes like you
not some pharmaceutical company ******.

who still remembers the beginning anyway
my cries flooding the clinical tiles
maybe my mother held me like a
gemstone towards the new sun, but
who still remembers the beginning anyway

the eggs run different the second time you make them
you laugh, same crusty eyes, same fading patience as we cross 12 noon:
no one stays the same,
not even eggs

some days are gold and silver.
some days i tumble out of bed with yesterday’s bad hair
and you wake up late,
and the eggs are different,
and i taste your morning breath, but

when i stagger home onto the couch and hurl my dress across the room and
can’t turn on the tv when i’m starfish face down on the floor
you are always
weary,
ready
to hand the remote to me.

Kaleidoscopes
pushed the music
through our bodies
in triangles of ebony,
purity,
hope
and confusion.

I could lose you
in the music,
you could lose me
in the bass
and destruction
of ear-dums.

What thumps
inside us?
as we thump genitals,
and ride
against each other
over interlocked
thighs.

Put me in your lips
more than your
put your own tongue.

Wet me
with a burst
of love so jarring
it could break my mind.

Because I like to put
*******
on your breastbone
and pull down
your shirt
so that I can see more.

And you like to grab me
harder
than
anyone
has
grabbed
before.

And the pain
of love
is all about grabbing,
about having
possession
in the middle of a club
hopping on mushrooms.

We get closer,
judging our distances
by how little we see
the kaleidoscopes
of broken light
and reformed blues, reds, greens and
yous.

We judge distance
by our stale Colgate breath
and drunk tongues.

We judge distance
by how close
our hearts have become
when we know nothing else
but drunk love.

It’s getting to be that
I gotta get ****** just to go
Super market shopping these days.
Medication de rigueur,
Just to brave the dazed & demolished
Faces of forlorn fiends,
Those 400 SAT score & scoured souls
Stuck all this time in the
Lower middle classes.
Down for the count,
A toothpaste tube-squeezing cohort,
Squishing out the last dollop
Of Colgate Optic White
From their menial, un-redemptive misery;
Caught on a crumbling ledge,
Soon to fall even lower--
Darwin’s social Ziggurat
Still happily-ever-crazy,
After-all-these-years.
Meanwhile, the rich,
The few, that lucky few,
Get ever more clever, ever more rich,
Devising sinister tricks & subterfuges,
To wit: exterminate inflation
While simultaneously jacking prices,
Higher prices weekly.
Double-digit inflation:
The Obama Administration’s
Best kept Official Secret.
Meanwhile the poor know better,
Grow more bitter each day.
It's not even subtle anymore.
Everything costs more.
Everything is expensive
When you have no money to buy.
Roaming the grocery aisles,
Predator packs,
Reminiscing the good old days,
When a job seemed a birthright,
Apple pie:  no longer as American as . . .
Dazed and ragged like Zombies,
They roam the cornucopia,
Carnal grins on ravenous lips,
“Clean-up on Aisle 5,”
Screams the cashier.

Pushing through the tourists
the sounds and scents of a bazaar
flood my body,
until I wake up to find it's all a dream.

What madness.

I've pulled away from my bed,
dug my fingernails into the corners of my eyes
and bitten my nails to the dull news that its
12 o'clock and even the ******* trucks have
left their skidmarks on the road behind.

While a yawn fights the tightness in the joins
of my lips i'm embraced by a slow numbness
that's familiar.

It's the rough teeth of another hangover
immune to colgate.
Its another day of shame hanging to my forehead,
sighing a tired ******* to moisturiser.

In the mirror I look like the anti-man and
I feel I should ask
if a gorgon once stared into the same mirror
and left just a stone behind.

I look myself in the anti-man's eyes
and we listen to our mantra -

Be a human.
Cast out the magic
in your fingertips.
Let the dust fly out
and become the Midas
of glitter.

Be a man and beat
the job market, stiffen up
To this pantomime and
through your black eyes  
blink back the sweat
of every empty promise you've ever made .

Be a girl and
dress like you want to
in bodycon and heels.
Lets the long hair fall
down your back
and believe you're pretty.

Please be something,
because I won't I wake up tomorrow
and find its all a dream

I'm just an animal boy.

I  feel the cold granite of my skin.

Hidden meanings foreshadow the gradient eminence off campus,
Stampless letters to be sent to thine dearest of ones!! Mother's hold thy daughter's, for you've lost your youngest son!!!!

Extensive Colgate frames to cover thy soulgaited plains,
Where fewest of animals hath roamed!!
Your caught in scrimmage,
Still Soo unsure if your found or lost at home!!!

Paceth back to and forth as far as thy walls will take you,
Where reprobate minds will break you,
Where loan sharks will rewrite tunes,

Sharking is their key to Finnish game!!!

They feeleth no Elysium,
Their one to thy flame!!!!!

Trilateral thinking freely turns negative,
Primitive to all known consistencies,
Bleeding at thy gums?
Third world indecently!!!

Misconstrue thine own miserly pull,
Galoot of what's not thine own!!!!!

In my mind, I'm putting all the things that remind me of you in a box to leave in the back shelf of my unconscious until these things have changed from objects of dispair, to ones I can look back on and smile about rather than frown - maybe not now, but somewhere, sometime, somehow hopefully soon:

a box of Cheerios because they were your favourite,

Colgate toothpaste because that's what you tasted like,

the notes you left in my locker when you used to pass by every morning,

a cantaloupe because "soft fruits help you kiss better,"

almonds, and nuts in general, because you always talked about bulking diets and were a little nuts to be honest,

a pair of Sperry's because you wore them with everything,

a movie ticket because that was our first "date," and you worked at the local theatre,

a hockey stick because you loved the sport with all your heart,

a CD with a single track on it: Let Her Go by Passenger because you told me that was your favourite song and I hope it's the one you listen to when thinking about me,

and last but certainly not least,
a vile of the scent you wore every single day that I could never manage to decipher even up to now.

- g.d.

A) Sometime
     Somewhere
     Someone
                       ....                                (written by me on the guest log in Spartacus Books' public bathroom)

B) I am perceiving people perceiving people
and all at once, a bird flies overhead!

C) HYPER PIANO BOUNCES FROM THE SPRINGTIME PAVEMENT!! condominium instruments reach out like satellites to the soul for any who'll listen to it's song of a time before

D) Where I witnessed my own dejection, wandering in nightly streets cement-eyed and forlorn, I sought to escape this Western cavalcade with a solitary year in Vietnam which didn't become anything more than an idea, but this was pushed under the rug for India (which is still on my mind!) which was then replaced by the thought of living in Bathurst, NSW, AUS (I'll get to why in a poem or other format of writing in times to come) I have named the place I once saw thru a vivid dream or a crystal ball which to some may mean the same thing

E) "DUCK! AND COVER!" we've all seen that cold war propaganda film with the turtle, seems so ridiculous now, wouldn't have worked anyways

F) Kripaya ek glass paani dijye (this means "please, give me a glass of water" in Hindi, which could be a valuable sentence to know considering India can get very hot, but when you remember how unhealthy their ((at least unfiltered)) water is, I may never use this)

G) I don't know which is crazier, those who feigned insanity to avoid war, or war itself

H) George Foreman named all his kids George Foreman (what a ******* egomaniac) I would grill him on that if I ever met him because seriously what a weird decision, how their mother was okay with that  is beyond my understanding.

I) Here comes July, with it's sweating mobs and many humid funerals

J) Poetic visual aestheticism (in terms of the actual layout line to line)

As one line
drops into
another line and
keeps dropping.

(determined by what Ginsberg called Mind Breaths, given to phrase being written, drop line to add emphasis to words of higher importance or topic phrases, as to almost introduce them in a way not blended with the previous line)

I) O! birds, who are up at the early hours of the morning, I am beyond glad/grateful that I can hear your hymns before everyone else has woken up

J) I think Vonnegut had something unique going on in Breakfast of Champions, especially that bit with the illustrated ******* that looked more like an asterisk

K) The trees outside are green again..
     The Windex bottle above the toilet is green,
     My sheets are green,
     This color I associate with the word "APRIL" is green

     There's a faint glimpse of green in my eyes,
     And a hint of green in the garden nearby,
     A lot of green in this poem (?) which may not be considered a poem but ******* if you happened to think that!
      
      Lastly, for now, I'm no longer feeling blue, and I guess that's a little green, too.

L) is for LOSER

M) ..did Joe Brainard just write a Colgate advertisement in the middle of his work? What is this I didn't pay for commercials..I don't WANT advertising present in my books! I see them everywhere else!
ah...

O) is for open mouth

P) Spontaneous prose acting as an honest/direct look into the meditated (or pure) form state of thought of that who wrote the prose. The book itself being a literal time capsule for a moment of consciousness who's creator may now be deceased.
Also
those who have their thoughts, images, ideas in their head > transferred to U who is now sharing those images but in a subjective way, seeing the settings or characters differently > person then writes their OWN ideas inspired from the previous writers = collaborative consciousness (also a form of time travel)

Q) is for questioning the rigidity of the political structures around you and the flaws it presents for the working class

R) is for RSVPing yes at the wedding between your hypothetical best friend now with the person you've been in love with for years. Slowly it kills you inside, this point of no return, something out of a grand and tragic love story (which isn't a love story because the love was not between you and that person but rather your hypothetical best friend) ****! you slam your fist to the table or the wall and it's all hopeless. But then comes the acceptance of the situation, moving on from it the best you can even if it presents itself as a shadow from this point on. If you've ever been thru something like this I deeply apologize as the cruelty of the world is indecisive, I for one haven't, but I am only turning 20 this year, which would also explain why I made this whole scenario mentioned above hypothetical

S) is for SHHH!

T) is for the constant presence of televisions in today's homes

U) is for UNIVERSE

V) is for...

W) is for upside-down M

X) is for xeroxing you slowly rolling up your ******* and mailing the series of pages to your ex (if you're an *******, which people also xerox maybe)

Y) is for why and also where when what who and how

Z) is for ZZZZZZZzzzz
zzzzz
zzzz
zzz
z

I never asked for this
But when does anybody get what he asks for
or knows what he wants
or what he is chosen for
I only see people
behaving like circus monkeys
not even trained tigers have that look
a tiger is a tiger till death
be careful
It is only your life at stake
too much tolerance breeds blandness
dust under the rug
chatter and gossip
vomited on the radio, the news
injecting fear and chocolate blood
without any risk
spreading only a rotten stench
as if joy meant showing your colgate smile
just like a giant billboard telling you to let go
of the fight
not to resist and become like Mikey Mouse
with four fingers and the grin of death
****** got more style
I’d rather listen to an angry *****
than any anchor woman
or any senator
than any businessman
or lecturer, teacher, parent
I’d rather be depressed
or with a pain in my stomach
like the one I felt when a
frustrated love
told me...
"never change"
when I expected something else

Oh, she used to smile. That smile.
That smile that could light up the entire world.
That smile that could win a Nobel Peace Prize.
That smile that could make someone blind.
She was so happy; or was she?
That smile was her Mask.
Her way of hiding from the world.

She smiled that real fake smile.
That smile that could knock a boy off his feet.
That smile that could advertise Colgate.
That smile that could save the depressed.
Or was she the one who was depressed?

At night, that smile turns to a needle;
Pricking her everywhere.
Her lips, her arms, her thighs
but especially her eyes.
Each ***** and it bleeds.
Her eyes bleed tears but
her wrists bleed blood.

Now, her lips are sewn together,
Slow to bulge.
They ask her,
“Why don’t you smile anymore?”
She stares coldly at them,
Almost in a confused manner.
Then she answers them,
“You let me fall.”

I lost my tooth brush two days ago,
But I didn’t trace where it went,
But now I am standing at the patio
On the edge of the open balcony,
Beholding another wonder of the world;
My dog, which I named Jimmy James,
Is holding my yellow tooth brush in its forepaws
The Colgate toothpaste frothing its mandibles
It has inserted the brush into its jaws,
Brushing its teeth with earnest of man,
Brushing in and out, all its teeth
From incisors to canine, premolars to molars
As it artfully spit out the bloodied froth of paste,
It has now walked to the water tub, and ****** loose
The tub lock to open , water is now pouring out in a curve
My dog is tapping the water into its bucal cavity,
Behold it gurgles water in its mouth repeatedly
It spits out trash and repeats the humanly act,
It now hides my brush by stuffing it below the loose sand,
As it opens its mouth to flag and wag its long tongue
Breathing in a tremor to my sight of its teeth,
that are now milk white without a spot,
the success it only ekes on the thievish move
against my toothbrush and dear toothpaste.

Brittle fulcrums

The year is 2020, and i’m beginning to believe i was born asleep and I'm still caught up in my slumber, or haven't quite had the day dream where your name is the answer to all my questions about the universe. I've seen much of the world. Its joys and its cruelty. I'm scared to live now, everything I touch breaks and every move I make turns into a catastrophe. I've asked for forgiveness from those I've wronged, but words are just words, they can never undo the damage. You're somewhere in the world living your life, and looking back to this moment I'm sure you would've never thought that miracles do come true. By all means, conquer the world, and when you're done you'll find me in the woods and tell me all about your travels while we sit around a bonfire. I'll be writing books and teaching my kids how to unlearn all these social ills. The pain that people carry in their eyes and the Colgate smile on their faces confuse me,  so I need to get away. I don't know why people always try to hide their sadness when in reality they fall apart as soon as the crowd clears the room. I've learned that love is beautiful, but also love is a muscle you need to build from inside. That while some relations never make it till the end, the love remains, and that while some relationships survive the test of the time, the love dies along the way, in the end all that's left is tolerance and duty. People love you you know, but you'll never know this if you don't love yourself first. Sometimes I feel like explaining how it is being in love is a lot like making the sound people make when they're explaining to the mechanic what's wrong with their car. We walk around with price tags on our heads, moving from one relation to the next looking to wear others down in order to fill the void in our hearts. I see a lot of messages about how "love lives here", but you'll be shocked to know how much love leaves here on a daily basis and we never get to know about the ugly parts because we never want people to know when our lives are falling apart. The lies we buy, hoping that the truth might come on sale. I know this is weird but I use my left hand to *******, because, someone in my teenage years told me that using the left hand makes it feel like someone else is doing it. My hands hurt, not from *******, no; but from the things I hold on to when I shouldn't, and things I let go when I should be clutching . My knuckles are bleeding. I've knocked on some doors for far too long, I even set up camp outside, like my fellow Africans outside home affairs in search of identity. Like my homeless friend Baldwin who made a home of the pavement outside the convenient store. One day we spoke about life and death and I realised how much knowledge can be attained where others see despair. My shoulders hurt, cos lately I feel like I've been carrying my people's ignorance for far too long. This Valentine's day I wanna wear a costume that looks like you when you still loved and valued yourself and show up on your door step.  I wanna tell you how I never used to take much notice of abandoned buildings until I became aware just how much I resemble one. The only apology I want from you is an explanation of why some women would want a bouquet of roses on valentine's day when they can have bottles of rosé instead. I think the only reason I love the history of Vikings besides the character of Ragnar Lothbrock is the fact that the men were equally bold when it comes to expressing and sharing their love openly and when it comes to taking a life; which oddly reminded me of my obsession with swing sets when I was just a young boy. My head aches, I think life has been knocking some sense into me and sometimes I'm not sure if it registers. And to the people who've ever pushed me away, I wonder if you used your left hand so it would feel like someone else did it. I know global warming is real but my life feels like it's been snowing forever. I am cold and fatigued. The kind of tired that cannot be fixed by sleep. Albeit I've survived much of winter's doldrums, my heart still rests on brittle falcrums.

W.M. Zimbiri

I guess its just one of those things
Where I'm wrong but i'll never admit it
Trying to swallow my pride but the taste is sour so I just spit it
Like listerine in the sink
Or tequila chased by a lime for a drink
You would always say I need to stop talking before I think
And that if I build a ship out of my promises it would do nothing but sink
So it seems  
You must of made this desicion based off a vision in a dream
To R.I.P these connections so effortlessly at the seams
To walk away for the fifth time because this time you have had enough
Yelling "If you would of acted right I would have stayed"
But sorry to say I'm no Shia Labeouf
And even that ******* has demons too
Yeah he rich and famous but he could still catch a flu
Sorry but not Sorry because its true
I Just like the way I use to feel about you
But thats all in the Books
And there shouldn't have been a first
So there is no chance in hell for any second looks
Not even a Delorean can take us back now
Not even if Doc came back to 2016 for his TLC plates
And became an Uber somehow
But don't feel special
He just needs the money for Marty who ****** up his brain
After those daily trips to the 80's for the hookers and *******
Even though you can get better service and stronger stuff
For around half the price these days
Ironic
Time traveling to the past to escape the present pain  
But I understand
The kid just wanted to hold on to that nostalgic feel
Having *** to some Marvin Gaye
While taking a bump the horizontal way was probably what made it all real
So real it made Marty believe he could fly
7th floor dismount where McFly almost died  
Wow that was a dark type of Cheese
But **** it I said it
I said a lot things and did a lot of things that I regretted
But back to the topic
This isn't no gimmick
This is my true Image
My hair is really Black
My skin is really brown
I may change shades depending on the lighting if you move me around
But that's it
You try to change my whole being into something more profound
You swam my minds uncharted waters and expected not to drown
But Its all good under the hood
Like a k20 with only 20 miles on the dash
And a clean carfax showing an accident free past
I'll be lying if I said I was not going to miss your ignorant ***
But just that *** because I never did like your mental
And I can do with out your dentals
A smile so fake Colgate would ask for credientals
Thats probably why we could never really mix
Like I was water and you were oil
You wanted more and I wanted ...
Still don't know what I wanted or what Im gaining from all this
Imma just stop rhyming and tell you the truth
I might say Hi when I see you but don't get confused
I never thought I could hate so much
until you gave me the reasons to hate you
And yea I lied about the stop rhyming stuff
Just like you did all these years when it came to everything pretty much
You were a smooth talking assassin
A no pulse having quadruple agent
Similar to bond but without the Aston and the accent
But please believe me when I say that I wish on a comet
That nothing but good comes your way
Im being very Honest
And that I hope to be there when it doesn't
Because that would be nice too
To see you on the receiving end would be a refreshing point of view

I never asked for this
But when does anybody get what he asks for
Or knows what he wants
Or what he is chosen for
I only see people
Behaving like circus monkeys
Not even trained tigers have that look
A tiger is a tiger till death
Be careful
It is only your life at stake
Too much tolerance creates blandness
Dust under the rug
And the chatter and gossip
Vomited on the radio, the news
Injecting fear and chocolate blood
Without risk
Spreading only a rotten stench
As if joy meant showing your colgate smile
Just like a giant billboard telling you to let go
Of the fight
Not to resist and become like Mikey Mouse
With four fingers and the grin of death
****** got more style
I’d rather listen to an angry *****
than any anchor woman
Than any senator
Than any businessman
Or lecturer, teacher, parent
I’d rather be depressed
Or with a pain in my stomach
like the one I felt when a
Frustrated love
Told me...
Never change
When I expected something else