You say yes, I say no.
You drop top,
then I say go go go, oh no.
You say get high and I say jello
jello jello
I don't know why you say get high, I say jello
jello jello
I don't know why you say get high, I say jello.

I say why, you say know.
You say why and I say I don't know, oh no.
You say get high and I say jello
(jello get high jello get high) jello jello
(jello get high) I don't know why you say get high, I say jello
(jello get high jello get high) jello jello
(jello get high) I don't know why you say get high
(jello get high) I say get high.

Why why why why why why do you say get high get high, oh no?

You say get high and I say jello
jello jello
I don't know why you say get high, I say jello
jello jello
I don't know why you say get high, I say jello.

You say yes (I say "yes") I say no (but I may mean no.)
You say stop (I can stay) and I say go go go (till it's time to go oh), oh no.
You say get high and I say jello
jello jello
I don't know why you say get high, I say jello
jello jello
I don't know why you say get high, I say get high
jello jello
I don't know why you say get high, I say jello jello.

Perseverance, when trying
to be passive, is like jello.
Submission to jello is some
place for circumstances.
Strong jello is found
in a yoga class. The
active yogi has a response
to the difficult events
of the yoga class. Global
achievers eat jello just
like the rest of us. We
are victims of their
model. They spout dire
forecasts, as if they
were desirable, like jello
or yoga. There's always
room for yoga and jello.

When we're together
the world
Is spinning through jello
the leaves on trees
are hazy bits
of confetti in the wind.
The silence between us is thick.. and soothing
as we
glide along the summer pavement.
His scent fills my lungs like a sedative...
His scent..it makes me feel like
I'm in love again...
Like I could love again.

The retainer where she was put
Was made of concrete. My father told me they had
Dug the grave first, then poured the concrete in, waited for
It to dry and harden, then hammered in six
Circular spikes in the four corners, two on either side
Of the middle. They lifted the concrete cast out with a crane.
My dad was going to be charged 300 dollars a day for the rental,
But because of the circumstances, Home Depot let us have it for free.

-

Where was she?
Where had she gone?
Would I see her face again?
Would she want me to
Meet her on the other side of the river?

-

I answered my cell phone.

"Make sure to bring flower's."
She had been crying. Her voice wavered the way sun light
Does on moving water.

"Make sure to bring flowers," she repeated, "And
That you wear what your father and I bought you."

I nodded my head with the receiver pressed up against my ear.
We both let out a sigh. My mom hung up. I put my phone in my back pocket.

-

Lately, I had been seeing a shrink about repetition. He liked to use the word cycle.

"Everything is repeated," I would tell him.

"Life is a cycle," he'd disagree so to get me talking.

"Can cycles be identical?"

"Technically not. Some cycles are extremely similar, but no two cycles are
Completely the same. Are two people's lives ever exactly the same?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't know that many people. Maybe."

"You know lots of people, Camden. You have told me about many of your friends."

"Are we talking about the seasons?" I asked, changing the subject, "Like fall, winter, spring, summer? We are born, we live, we die, and we are born again?"

"That's a very natural way of looking at it."

"I know it is." I inhaled deeply, swallowing air and wondered what time it was.

"If you are so sure, why look for validation from me?" He liked this one, I could
tell. I imagined him shopping for clothes and then exploding in aisle 16 because of a sale on jeans.

"The word cycle is used by people too afraid to use the word repetition. Everything is
Repeated for the next generation, the next group, the next of the next of the next. We shift things
Around, give things to one another to shift life to make it look different, but, things remain the same. Everything contains the primal function we were all doing and living from the very beginning, only now, there is more of a separation. Music is still music, words are still words, paintings are still paintings, love is still love, death is still death, only done differently and more intensely."

"We are talking about man furthering technology because we, as people and creatures, are
Statistically more prone to flee than fight?"

"Why do you think it has caught on so quick?" I touched both
Corners of my lips with my tongue and suddenly realized I hadn't eaten breakfast.

"It is a theory," the psych nodded, "A theory with, I am sure, many
Palpable facts you could make a very nice report with to prove...something." He
Was at a lost for words and I felt guilty that my mom was paying him $75 an hour.

"We are very split. There are too many of us. Too many hands spinning the china."

"Who is we Harry?" The psych hadn't looked up from his pen and pad of paper, until now. I could
Tell he was annoyed with me either because he was making no progress or because the session
Had just begun and I was already digging into him.

"Culture. The government. You, me, my dad, my mom, the taco bell cashier, the geniuses at Apple computers, a paper weight, my dead sister. We're all apart of these shifts, all putting in a certain amount of energy and lies to keep the protection of the projection going. The question I keep asking myself is: do I want to use my strengths to be apart of this cycle or not?"

His eyes flared open for a moment like he'd swallowed a firefly, not at the question I had posed for myself, but from what I would soon see was from the mention of my sister. He had something.

"I was notified by your mother that you may not want to talk about your recently deceased sister. Is It O.K. if I ask you some questions about her?"

I was leaning forward on the couch with my hands clasped in between my legs. The psych had looked up at me now. He was sweating at the top of his thin hairline. Observing that I was staring at his building perspiration, he, trying to be nonchalant, took out a thin, white napkin from his grey shirt pocket and dabbed the top of his head. The napkin looked like cheap toilet paper. I'd have offered him some water, but I had no water to give and I didn't know where the sink and cups were to give him any. I figured he did - it was his office - so I asked him for some. He pointed me in the direction of the bathroom. I got up and found a stack of paper cups. I poured myself a cup and went back to the couch, but instead of leaning forward, I sat back, relaxed, and let the expensive leather couch take the weight I had been carrying away.

"So," the psych maintained cooly, "Would it be alright if we were able to discuss your sister?"

I lifted the paper cup over my head and the psych's eyes, after I poured the water over my hair, my face, and clothes, was a mixture of what my mom's eyes looked at the funeral, defeated, confused, and with a loss of faith and hope. My father's eyes had only held hate, anger and the need to lash out at someone, but the only someone that would have fit the bill would have been God.

"Sure," I answered, "Let's talk about my sister."

-

I finished drying myself in the car. The psych had let me keep the towel.
I leaned out the window to look at myself in the side mirror. I looked fine.
Presentable. Accountable. Like I had been through something where I had
Faced my soul. Like I had used and abused my emotions. There was comb in my glove compartment, so I took it out and rushed it through my damp hair. Slicked back. The sun
Was out, no clouds, burning up the inside of my car. That taste that comes after
Finishing something that's supposed to do you good didn't come. I was left with an unsure hand.
Putting my keys in the ignition, I turned them, and felt the engine rumble in front of my legs.
The sun sat in the sky like a lazy hand and I had nowhere else to go but home.

-

"Let's go to the river today," my dad said over coffee and two over easy eggs on top
Of burnt wheat toast. "I'll drive and you and your sister can sit in the back and sing."

I looked over at Ally. She was gazing into her fruit bowl she had prepared for
herself because dad didn't understand the concept or how to make it. The lamp light above us
reflected in the smooth apricot yogurt and the flecks of granola scattered on top
looked like beige, jagged rocks. My dad's offer hung in the air and neither
of us bit the lure. I had just woken up and was unable to speak clearly, a decent
excuse. Ally was simply choosing to ignore him.

"What you think there Ally?" I asked her. I sipped my coffee. It needed more cream. I got
U, got it and brought the carton to the table.

"We can take the truck down there and load the back with the fishing poles and tackle
And inner tubes. We haven't...done that...in a long time," he said, chewing his food as he spoke.

Ally poked her fruit bowl with her spoon, silent.

"What you think, Cam?" My dad was desperate. He knew I'd say yes.

"Sure. I've got no plans this weekend."

"No schoolwork?"

"It can wait till Sunday. Only math and some reading."

"Ally, what do you think?" my dad asked, leaning over to her. I could see he was
Trying to be as courteous and gentle with her as he knew how to. I felt bad for him.

"Sure," she muttered, "That sounds like fun." I could barely hear her, but somehow,
I could tell she sounded happy.

"Perfect," my dad smiled, "We'll pack the car up Friday,
Drive up Saturday morning early, camp one night, then get back Sunday afternoon." He
Took a long sip of his coffee and swished it around in his mouth, then dug
His fork into the dry toast and ran his small steak knife over the eggs. A silent pop came from
The egg and the light orange yolk spilled out. "Perfect," he repeated, "Just great."

Ally poked a grape from her fruit bowl and dipped it into the yogurt.
I took another sip of my coffee and looked up into the fan, spinning above us.
We were going to the river.

-

"Your sister turns five today," my mom told me, "And that means
I want you to be on your best behavior."

I nodded, unsure what the point of a birthday was. I had had one before, or at
least I thought I did, and all I remembered was that I got presents and the colorful balloons
and the cake we all ate with fire kind of floating and burning above it. Somewhere
in that moment I remember thinking that the cake was going to catch on fire, then they, everyone,
some that I knew and some people I had never seen before, yelled and shouted to
blow the fire out, so I quickly did, but not because it was for a wish, which I later found out it was supposed to be for, but because I truly thought the cake was going to catch fire and they wanted me to take care of it. At that point, I was unsure what it meant to be alive or why to celebrate it all.

"This is her day, Camden," my father told me, "So I want you to be happy for your sister."

"I am," I said. I was wearing my favorite white and blue striped t-shirt and
New shoes that my mom had bought me for the party.

"Sometimes you have to think of other people," my mother continued, "And today is one
of those days. I don't want any crying because you didn't get any presents or that none of your
friends are at the party. There are going to be a lot of Ally's friends there, but not many
of your's...do you understand?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Do you understand, Cam?" My father repeated. His skin was the color of a burnt
pancake and he smelt like stale sugar and sun tan lotion. He was in front of me and was
holding a thin magazine with a man in a boat holding up a fish on a line on the cover.  

"Yes, Dad," I said again. I was hungry. I wanted mac n' cheese, my favorite food.

I had been on the floor, laying on my stomach watching Ren and Stimpy. They were standing in front of the television and I remember trying to wish them out of the way. Behind them were two, large bay windows where three palm trees stood in a row like tropical soldiers. I could see there was no wind because the three of them stood still, as if posing for someone. Their leaves were bright green, a mixture of the neon green Jello I used to love to eat and the orange Jolly Rancher my dad would always have in a tiny tray in the middle of the dining table. My mother hated having them there because it always tempted Ally and I, but he never moved it until he moved out.

"Do you like your show?" my mom asked, turning to see what I was watching.

I nodded, absently. Ren was licking Stimpy's eye because he was complaining about having
an eyelash in there. Stimpy was completely still and smiling like he does - dumb and content.

"Interesting..." my mother trailed off. She walked to the kitchen behind the couch and
Opened up the pantry for something. "You hungry, Camden?"

"I'm starving," my dad said, "Let me go check on Ally in the bedroom. She should be up
from her nap."

I got up from my stomach and sat back on my legs, "Do we have mac n' cheese?" I asked.

"Let me check."

She reached up for the cabinet over the stove where I could never reach and
Opened it. I rose slightly up from where I was sitting to see if I could see the glorious dark blue and orange package, but wasn't able to see over couch. I hovered there, still like a humming bird.

"You're in luck," I heard her say, "We've got one box left."

"Yay!" I screamed and got up, running into the kitchen.

"But," she smiled, stopping me, "You'll have to share it with your sister."

"No! I don't want to! I always have to share."

"What did we just talk about Camden?" she said, lightly stamping her foot.

I tried to remember, but couldn't. I shrugged.

"You need to learn to share, Camden. You also need to listen better when your father and I are talking to you. You and your sister are going to know each other a very long time and I want you to learn how to share now, so you two can be happy in the future."

"The future," I asked, "What's that?"

She paused, then said, "It's a time," she paused again, "Ahead of us."

"Do we know where it is?"

"Not exactly," she sighed.

"What's it look like?"

"No one really knows. People can only imagine it."

"Is it very far away?"

She opened the top of the blue and orange mac n' cheese box and poured the dry macaroni into a large silver ***, lifted the faucet, and let it run inside for five or seven seconds. She placed the *** on an unlit burner and turned to look at me. Her eyes looked far away and right there with me.  

"Closer then you think," she said and turned the burner on.

-

I turned into the taco bell parking lot. There was something I was trying to remember that was in my trunk, but I couldn't recall the picture. A haze blew over the windshield that was a mix of heat and wind; I wished to be somewhere else, someone else, someplace else, but, there I was, sitting there underneath the sun, like everyone else. If I was able, I would have unlocked the door to my car and opened the door and walked out - but - there was something else lingering underneath my fingernails, something I couldn't name.

"Two tacos," I said into my hand, "And a water."

"Pull to the window," the voice buzzed over the muffled speaker.

"Yes," I said through my split fingers.

In front of me, over a patch of clean cut green grass and a yellow, red, and orange Taco Bell signature sign, was a fresh gas station with a willow tree *** near the front entrance. He had a sign that hung around his neck that read Juice Please - Very Thirsty. How I knew this was because I had seen it every time I had been asked to fill up my dad's car every other Sunday. I had never given the tree a dollar, yet, I felt that I owed him something. I tried to pull up to the window, but my clutch was grinding and a cloud slunk overhead. I was tired and only wanted to eat.

"That'll be a two twenty-five," the voice said through the thick, clear glass.

"Yes," I said to myself, digging into my wallet for three dollars.

I ****** the three onto the thick plastic platform. A quick sweeping plastic brush pushed the bills toward the asker, and the bills were gone. I had no food. I had nothing. My money was gone and all I had was a gurgling car in front of me and an empty front seat beside me. A pair of clouds waded by my front shield window. A shadow drew itself out in front of me like a **** model. A beep. Sudden and behind me. There was sound. I looked over my shoulder and a black  2013 Cadillac was sitting there, windshield tinted grey, the driver a shadow. I was unsure what to do...so I pulled forward six inches, hoping the offer would be enough. I wasn't in the best neighborhood.

The window to the left of me slid open. An arm erupted forward with a plastic bag,
"75 cents is your change."

The hand dropped three quarters next to the plastic bag. I grabbed the bag with the two tacos and three quarters and quickly wound up my window. The face in front of me was a dangerous blur: smiling, frowning, not caring either way what happened to me next. The hands had gobbled up the three dollars and I was happy to see it go. Who needed money? I tossed the plastic bag onto the passenger seat and sped off two blocks for my grandma's house. Salvation. The holy land. A place with free hot sauce and two dog's that were stolen without paper's. Eden.

-

"What are you learning right now?" I asked Ally.

She hesitated, then said, "Something to do with science." She paused," Lot's to do with rock's."

"Rocks?" I stammered, not remembering a time when I learned about rocks in school, "What kind of rocks?"

"I don't know," she grinned, looking up at me, "All kinds."

I laughed and kicked a stone into the river. The sun was out and reflected on the water like an unpolished diamond. We had grown up a quarter mile away, but still, it felt foreign to us.

"I like it. There's some things you could see that you would never think to read about it in books."

I had read plenty off books. Most, I took little from, but Ally, I could see, had taken plenty.

"What are you doing in school?" Ally asked me.

"What do you mean?" I

Dedicated to stillborn fetuses, 99 cent Malt Liquor and Existentialism
1.
Nymphomaniac tree huggers
And overweight bisexual vegetarians
Swallowing phentermine poison to stay fit.

2.
Funky fresh *******  
throwing pigs at St. Augustine’s pear tree
and frolicking abortions over Moloch’s philoprogenitiveness,

3.
While sipping barbecue sauce dipped in Lipton tea,
dancing around adhesive bonfires
reciting memories of holocaust, the Kristallnacht nights
and beautiful words suffered by ancestors lost.

4.
Inhale chicken noodle soup, with a side of Lithium,
And prance to Literacy class to combat envisionment
With free association conceptual constructions,

5.
Computerized like Prometheus’ fire burning through SmartBoards
In classrooms where the poison of heterosexual history
Is fed to boys in skirts cursed by Adam’s apple,

6.
Baptized by social norms and locked away in hopeless closets
According to the Tautology of Leviticus…
until they cut their breath by the vein of soteriology;

7.
Misunderstanding of God’s words
Covets the innocent to early graves
In biblical paratactic irony…like God betting Satan for a Job.

8.
Rub fried chicken oil on Bartholomaeus Anglicus’ skin
and soil his white pride with ***** flavor,
for revenge  On the Properties of Things

9.
and howl out in glory of victory
over totes of  lickerish piper methysticum blunts
that beg the conundrum,
'What is the origin of this world?'
'Ether,' he replied.
But it is not ether!
Nor Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
It is Dada. Dada. Dada!
  10.
For this is a record of the life stories of the greatest minds and geniuses of your generation,
written in boys and girls
who mimicked Basquiat’s genius and tagged bathroom walls with abstract philosophies like “Love is a prime number” and “ the weight of Duncan McDougall’s soul can only be found on the 15th of October”
who drank vampirish gulps of Vicodin while consoling themselves with aphorisms such as: “don’t rue the misses, you don’t need a Mrs. when you’re elevated by chemical kisses”
11.
Who stood naked in mirrors, weeping, for they were a mystery to themselves, but a great talent and soon to be legend to some.
Who lit cannabis in loneliness and waltzed naked with their ghosts, fantasizing about ****** tomatoes and Corpus Christi Mexican Jazz.
Who composed psychedelic anthems from dreams that were lost in ghettoes where virginities were lost for loaves of bread, for the hunger of bread.
12.
Who wrote suicide notes on a toilet seat, contemplating the texture of Marshall Mathers’ favorite underwear and whether the color green was an invention of **** Germany.
Who used to love their lovers in darkness and colored the streets of Manhattan with rainbows on June 24, 2011 to mark the date lady liberty finally bought a new pair of glasses.
13.
Who lost musical talents to a Wine-house and ended up in a whine-house where lobotomy was subsequently prescribed by the milligram.
Who indulged in pharmaceutical vices and when asked why replied simply, every recursively enumerable set is Diophantine.
Who diagnosed themselves with “start ****-itis” and self medicated by eating Fifinellas at the stroke of each midnight.
Who rubbed paraprosdokians on their skin and occupied Wall Street in search of a new euphemism for being American.
Who poured Alkalizer on a dead moose and kicked it while feasting on the divine question, “why does Rice play Texas?”
14.
who got bored with conventional relationships and bought the Origin of the World on street corners from vixens nicknamed “Jezebel” and climaxed atop of them screaming  “I’m in Babylon, the great Mother of ******!”
Who attempted suicides upon suicides upon suicides, in Oakland, until they were shipped away to private catholic universities in Rhode Island, where the history of Colossus was being taught.
15.
who serenaded love interests with four letter curse words at open bars where Kubla Khan was read and Tartars kings were licked all over like holy communion *****.
Who drove home with the spirits of wine and crashed on telephone poles where their obituaries were written in their prime, leaving their mothers weeping and calling congress to reconsider Prohibition.
16.
Who mixed Redbull with Propofol and drank the juxtaposition galore only to be woken up the next morning dead in their sleep.
Who tattooed rat poison packages with goodwill messages such as “****** divided by Water =6th day of creation” or “Seroquel + Brett Favre = St. Patrick”,
who went speedballing with Basquiat during autoscopy and woke up wondering the cost of Nautilus in Albuquerque.
17.
who took 33 hallelujah 1800 tequila jello shots and daydreamed about laying on Mithras’ grave, yelling, beetlejuice, beetlejuice…beetlejuice.
who found the truths of the Bible invalid by the miscalculation of Pi in 1 Kings 7, verse 3, and mailed death on anthrax letters to Reagan in protest.
18.
who sat empty bellied at breakfast tables wondering the temperature of satellites at Lagrangian points,  only to soon catch fire in their tongues and speak Labyrinth soliloquies that ended in
19.
Zion,
Where Google knows every answer.
In Zion
Where the youth, tomorrow’s future, quote a ***** named Hova better than they can quote Jehovah.
In Zion
Where *******’s art was used as weapon during the Cold war.
20.
In Zion
Where sartorial geniuses where no pants,
In Zion
Where David Kato Kisule is the secret hero of these words, for he was taken at a time
In Zion
Where we were supposed to be our ancestor’s sci-fi.

21.
In Zion,
Where the youth bear the scarlet letter X for they are a problem to tradition and hold no definition for the future, for they have discovered
In Zion
That the origin of this world is in their living eyes, and not in the dictionary of their ancestors who lived
In Zion
when the epitome of the literature of life ended in Revelation of Amen and Shantih shantih shantih;
this is a record of the greatest minds and geniuses there ever was, written
in Zion
where the meaninglessness and nothingness of Dada reigns, and the trinity of life now lives in the Subject, subjective and subjectivity.

Black shawls over glass
To prevent staring eyes
From the hatred from inside.
Masks glued, taped, stapled, nailed on the faces.
“Is it true,
Self-mutilation prevents isolation?”

Why must there be pain?
Why must there be pain?

In foggy Tupperware, tinted pink,
Some firm rose jello. She did think
It spoke oddly, like a jack-in-the-box.
Walks, talks, mocks, shocks, paradox-in-the-box,
But no socks.
The jello wasn’t jello.
Jello breaks no hearts.
“He wasn’t the fellow.”

He was mundane,
It was quite in vain.

Lost in clouds of thoughts,
He saw faces in blurs, in purples and slurs.
Hiding in needles and giggles,
His heart is escaping.
He knows well bacteria multiply.
[Quite an education, for your information.]
His infection, anti-biotic resistant.
Willing, the suicide persisted.

He’s stuck in the chain.
“God, he’s in pain!”

So many broken, so many shattered,
Tucking pieces behind painted faces.
Cotton candy-covered black clouds hound
The carnival where everyone’s a clown.
Clown ashes, dolls, and masks scattered,
Behold a grand masquerade.
No kisses for Phantom,
He cut his lips on the glass.
It wasn’t random.

God, I’m insane!
I am sane.

E Enter In Out EIO
E-IE-I-O  the O- the outcome
Playing some Banjo giggly
Words are getting wiggly
Like everlasting Jello
The Old/ New Heaven?Hell

Meet the best
transformation
Absolutely
It's in our duty
Takes effort modern-times
Instagram pictures of Mcdonald
Don't bend yourself
out of shape over hot buns
Hunters bite of the hamburger
Amazing shapes of the Planet
to enter

Don't live like the pretender
Your the pilot absolutely laughing
to the end of the wing
Catching fresh air telling some dirt
Not everything is a
*Pink champagne Riot
EIEIO Airplane he raised this pilot
Blue sky absolutely
looking too hard
People are starting to look strange
B-S Be Sweet I know what
you thought words get rearranged
What bull one boy to
have a coke with a smoke with
Is this the way it should be
Bye Bye Birdie Ann Margarita
Is this what life is about

He salutes to  my absolutely
knock out dress
Inside of his head, he's
looking mighty fine
Drinking Absolute *****
When its truly mine
Silk ties or Paisley Ties
Crazy love absolutely
Time traveler talker
Who is your caretaker
The burden to carry on
Girls want to have fun
Homemaker proud baker
Be on time yes absolutely
After I know what
happen before
One day I will find out
what this is all about
All ones or against none
Mr. Sexter in the City
The forever not to marry one

She's the absolute solitaire player
He's the homebody head ringer
Cut face band-aid
The band's and singers
Newsstands Jazz step swingers

American Bandstand
The time is hand full  such corruption
No freedom what happen for the
*Love of God Kingdom

Absolute insane asylum of maids
Absolutely I agree its hard
enough for one
E for entering I- I Phone OH!
Out of your mind
Get out I absolutely don't
need you in
the best time of my life
Chose your words wisely
Absolutely solemnly swear
Something is not
Kosher my Dear
We love to carry on
Not to carry someone over the
threshold do what you're told
Get up sleepy head you will
be late for school

Old Mcdonald EIEIO
E Exception I want that
E-Everything I Immaculate
O- Out of money
What *******
He's banging his drumsticks
You're the Oz good witch
Making more room with
your broomstick
She is absolutely the
spitting image of
her "Mom Mega babe'
clicker

So many Odd Moms
On speed racing for time
Coffee moms Business Moms
She is absolutely the prettiest
Mom I came across
Absolutely rarely do you see
Hollywood Housewife acting
like Moms
Her skirt got the heat like
A-Absolute what a cute "City Cat"
meeting the cat________??
"From Hell ringing the Liberty Bell"
A haystack don't turn your back
You absolutely got into his heat

Rekindled by the barn cat
How dogs and cats may
be disobedient
But we love them for
who they are
Even if they look
like their masters  
We are born like that
The artist absolutely
Graphically lined
Of the absolutely cool
deviant defined
She had lines of a lifetime
in her pleats
He didn't make his bed
wrinkled sheets
French bulldog has
more manners
Then his master
Hey Buster

Board signs on your body
But we all have to
make a living
So it's fading like an
Antique Queen malevolent
jewels
Too bright hurting
my eyes shining
Do you trust her or him
Expectations are getting slim
Losing time your gold trim
The double-breasted dress you
hear a Robin bird symphony
You're the absolute epiphany
Going and tumbling back to
be single eating a triple
decker sandwich
Hey Mate?
Absolute Divine Date*

She is absolutely beyond herself
Never known a love to
be absolutely right
Were human or our beliefs fire out
Evidentially taking a flight
Make it the best fight you ever had
Writing an article we hours
of the morning smile and
tell the world
What you need to say
is as real as your heart will ever feel
We learn from the best the
spiritual journey
here's to a healthy meal
The Newsweek more moments
to remember absolutely our best times
TheBird's eyeabsolutely so precisely
the eye for E-I-E-I let's catch up to O
Any mystery making history
Jane Eyre  
Life leads us on the "Empty
"Sad Doorway"
Make it a "Jumpy Glad on a Clear Day"
It's absolutely lovely to see forever
  Moreover, the rainbow don't worry

Make it heavenly birds
Absolutely our time is precious
have it your way
Absolute genius the
best cattle
Hot Moon lady from Venus

I hate dull poems with no point
That makes no cents at all
I intend to laff it off and
Blame the alcohol.

Yes, Jaegar Bombz and Jello Sots
As far as i can tell,
Are fool fuel to propel my work
George Strait to Poem Hell.

I was gettin’ almost sober, SO
Had another Jaegar, and a beer (or two)
Lean closed to George and whispered in his ear
I’m here for a good time – juss like u

Yeah Iss country singin’ at is best
If u king n rite the kind that sell
But I get;n kinda sleepy
Stink my peom bombses swell.

SO moreally the story, if you right pomes wen yur drnuk
Beddter wate till til the mmornnimg lite
To post it post it post it tooo
That Hallowed Pomes site
LwP$@Qx)911 ^^(

The stage was  set the little untalented ***** monkeys gathred
like bizzar attention seeking ******  all for the title
of  Hello Poetry's top poet.

But enough with the weird named carbon copy poets
who now **** the charts im just saying im a little bitter.
Lets take a look at the judges you silly little donkeys.

It was a who's who of people who actully were something
that what in the real world we like to call original.
Jack  yes the loveable kinda ******* ****** who deep
down would probaly have more in common with Jack the Ripper
than Lord Byron  im just saying.

Baths  yes the queen of Hello  and i'd  be a smart *** now but im scared she'd hurt me  and not in a good way  not that im into
pain dam you Marv  Albert    i never knew the tijuanna brass were so freaky.

Chris Smith  the poet  the model  the all  around  hansome devil
with a heart of gold  you go girl.

Phil Roberts  the silent  yet  down right evil  arch enemy of
all things  sweet and pure finally off probation and his meds.
Still the restraining  order was in full effect thank God  Barney
that devil worshiping dinosuar was no where in site  and as long as the voices in Phils head were happy we were all safe.

And the man the myth the pervert drunken *******  of Hello.
Just back from his recent vist   to  Shady Pines  resort slash mental
institution.
Gonzo  along with his court ordred doctor .
Dr Jerry  Who held many degree's in bartending,Massage therapy with happy endings,And chemistry yes  he was a real busy ******* slash drug fiend okay dealer.
What a girl has her needs.

Sitting at the judges table it was the usal chatter how are you.
Nice ***'s  hey Phil  put down the knife.
Jack  wear did you get that muzzle and straight jacket?
Baths  reminding me she didnt wanna have to use the pepper spray
like at the Hello christmas party.

Gonzo pouring his wild turkey.
Dr Jerry yelling  hey just what do you think your doing?
What are ya drinking by yourself?
Good point  you silly *******  so after four strong drinks
some lines of uhh  sinus powder from Columbia they dont just
make records  to my suprize we were off like lindsy lohan
on a drug I mean  well a drug run.

The first couple of guys read there genitic poems all of which
were like taco bell food.It  pretty much  would either give you food poisening or the ****'s.

Person after person read there poetry the drinks poured
people gave there opinions  Chris well the poem was great just maybe pace it better.

Baths giving another deep comment that was always welcome
that and the contestants outta sheer fear knew not to cross her
cause **** happens after dark around here and the Hello dumpster
is filled with not just bottles of wild turkey yeah remember Drew?
Exactly.

Jack gave a long muffled  comment  that must have surely been brillant someone should really remove that dam muzzle.

Phil  goddamed dinosuar  i'll teach him for playing hard to get.
oh yeah he'll like it he'll like it real good  oh look
a puppy dog.

Okay kinda weird  but well yeah.

Then the  attention turned to the attention grabing little *****
of Hello  no not  Gary ****** man.
the only G that matters beside's spot  Gonzo.

Well I think you need to lean more into the microphone  when you
read  and um well to relax  show more clevage.
And may I say if that was a samba   it totally ******
1 star.

The room and other judges must have been amazed by my depth
for they were all silent.
Dr Jerry aplauded  dam he really knew how to fill out that cheerleading outfit   we really needed to take a fishing trip im just saying
male bounding is okay sometimes  just ask Phil.

The people kept rolling in i slept through most of the mens readings
the women  because im a gentleman  and a scholar I had DR Jerry give my card  cause if Ican help inspire and guide maybe cuddle  fresh hot
young poets im all for it   I know what your saying yes I am  
giving back to the Hello community and not just STD's and hangovers.

But enough with the foreplay  finally  with the tension built up
like little catholic school girls waiting for there savior Justin Bieber to make a appearence   it was time.

Who was Hello's top new poet.
The short little **** *******  slash  napoleon of hello walked to the mic.
And after several  attempts at reaching it  one of his many  
assistants slash  friends with benfits of staying on the charts forever
assumed the possition.
So he could stand on there back and talk in the mic.
Get your mind outta the gutter.

The winner is  for there poem the Gentic.
There began a rumble beside me ******  Dr Jerry
stop jerking off were public man.

But it wasnt my dealer I mean doctor .
It was My fashion forward amigo Jack.
The rumbling continued slowley the straps began to snap
as his color changed to red once would have been to green
if not for copyright infrigement dam you king kong.

The red devil burst from his restraints  like a  stripper off
a four week ******* binge let loose  at Macdonalds.
tables flew  clothes were ripped.
Bathe's yelled  at the top of her lungs  look ****** I have a tazer
so if you try to cop a feel i'll use it.
Must have been talking to Phil or Chris.

I knew what to do  in this chaos i quickly ran with the special talent of Hello  to my dressing room  DR Jerry  emergency bring  wild turkey duct tape  a video camera  a inflatable swimming pool  some jello mix and  a Kenny G  cd  and some roofies .
Im kidding  I never listen to Kenny G.

The screams were that of a german shapard ripping a smurf to shreads.
Help me  plaese  mommy I almost felt sorry for Eliot.
But i did what a true gentleman slash long winded journalist does in these time's. Sat back with some cocktails and enjoyed some jello
wrestling  opps  I think  the tickle monster is loose.

Me first  me first  ******  Phil  well if it keeps the voices at bay
why the **** not.
We laughed we danced  Jack Horner  bathed in Eliots blood.
While Chris said please  stop including me in these ****** stories
Gonzo.
    
While Baths  kept her tazer in hand  and dry white wine in the other.
Much like  a bad habbit I grow on you.
Jack looked at me as old brothers in shared insanity often do.
Hey Gonzo  when ya  gonna end this one mate?
Hey amigo  as soon as ya get that  *** on stage and close the show
with a lady gaga  preformance.

The *****, the *******,  the Brits,And Gonzo,
With his doctor slash roadie slash personal man servant bartender
who could ask for anything more than a purple dinosaur's head on a platter but enough about Phil.

Untill next time Stay Crazy  Kids.
Gonzo.

Prove, prove, prove
think, think think a little think at

thought speed.
Build me a death star, you shall not surely die.

Ah, hero, take your role. This is your page, this age
of informing
of outsides
of mobiusish objects we make

using imaginary morsels of
stuff,
the substance of things
hoped for.
Science of space and times remembered,

Hopf-phor uni-ometry in our augmented mind,
forming forms, take shape,

form in the image of "the cloud"

where lay the
base of con
science
con
carne values.

Meatmind, the brain-gut-outer-inner portal
from which flow
empty thoughts from

the pineal core click sig

drawing measurable infospheres
from at-most-fears,
using big ears
as a bit of an esteem antenna on boys who
saw themselves as goofy a rascal as Alfalfa

and Alfred. E. and Barrack, the drone thrower
of the twenty-first century, one of the
last to unbelieve the reasonable
lie behind war,
per se. Disperse the leaven, dust in the wind,

Alls we are, all ye, all ye, ours in free flow

fractal feeder of new knowables as we ever learn

time as a tool empowers our progress to next, that's all.

Remember con
sistency, sub
sistency, in
sistancy, resist the urge to wield words worn smooth

reflecting any context, as if it were
known,
now, the meaning in the word. I say pray, you say "Our Father"

I say ask, you say what. I say, For the answers you hope to have

being as you are. On  Point. I made a point.
Or arrived at this point.
con
science,
with knowing,
the tree of knowledge is at least as fractal as an oak.

Inside out being in the jello universe of knowns,
good and not, all jigglin' in time,
sort it out.

Start where your treasure is. Nullify the evil clinging to
your horde 'pon which ye sit,
sweep the ashes from the last burnt bridge
over this edge, to the flow below.

You sweep slow in jello, but sweep into d'flow
is what is done wit ashes here.

Pile some stone here. Then give 'em all yo bitchinmoans,

for the peace their balancing at your finger tips
gives you, in real life,

take it. Now, go be.

Immerse yourself until wholly submerged
in my unholy divergence;
Poor form tormented soul - 
Roll your pain in a J
then dip it in chloroform
Embrace my urges to purge
the remnants of sanity,
Spilling and screaming
all these profanities at humanity

Confuddling all posers
with my bastardized prose ~
Please, continue badgering
and nagging me
with your ****-******* menagerie
of trivial drudgery
I’m in misery so
go ahead and bludgeon me
Square in the noggin’
So that I can jog it,
whilst juggling all these nails
from my coffin

I’m awfully harmful and cruel
got these scoffing jealous skeptics
Acting a fool,
coughing up a lung-full of fuel
for all of the putrid mind puke I spew
My mixing *** skull’s
where the ingredients accrue
Just stew with me for a little
while longer though won’t you

I’m a cancer-ridden addler
babbling mad adages,
ravishingly tenderizing my meat
Laced with some dust from space, yes, no lackage/absence of it lining
within my nasal passages see
spun off some of that absinthe
In a cloud of burning trees
Please tell me you feel me

It’s staggering how I’m both crazy batshit,
**** smooth as rotten laxative cheese
Brain’s melting acidic beef
I’m like Randy Savage I got
Bombastic fat ******* in heat
Straight making my **** go flaccid post-weep

Don’t get offended women
just imagine
How painfully average the package
is within my lap that I’m packin
But now it’s wrapped
and I’m ready to fucken
fully send it no cap
My turnaround is lightning fast
In and out of your *** quick as a wink like The Flash

Faces contort in ghastly panic, actually
Dastardly antics unleashed in vast swarms
Plague the masses in pandemic proportions with them massive casualties factually once more
Give ya some relaxing action 
And skull-**** y’all
with such a passion *******
Your corpse falls to the floor
and right through the trapdoor

Candid, my pen-chance enchants
Heavy-handedly inanimate
in suspended animation
Supplant reality augmentation
Machinations of my imagination;
Implicating **** ransacking  
and seafaring through crab infestations 
Wreaking havoc and bequeathing vengeance
I’m a fire breathing grim reaper reeking of ****** ~

- Off is the nearest direction in which to ****
Dissect my ******* with your tongue
Turnt up ******* plumpies in the rumpus 
Just for the fun of it until I erupt
Remember, I’m avid for dismembering appendages
I expect you’re exceptional at accepting
a barrage of septic bombardment
Chance of success: logistics analysis zero percentage
(Cos I done ******* on all those *******.)

Superbly superlative and speculative
So fast on Adderall
I make Mad Hatter’s head spin
Quicker than you can snap: 
Giving your family heart attacks
Smack you in the face, 
While fapping my fabulous lap rocket

Thunderously plundering under covers
Spring-loaded with faux pas’ so hot
Make your mother’s ***** pop out
and say “hello”
like a Jack-in-the-Box

& U kno Those foxy grandmas
be jaxing off my **** -
Bingo wings beckoning me to flock
Choppin’ up rocks round the clock
with the glock in my pocket til I rot 
Undoubtedly
Caught em wit the molly-whop eyeballs pop out they sockets all dramatically
Whole squad **** swap the rod, on God
Blow my whole *** when I start spitting them double entendre fatality snowballs
Zippity-zop like Cosby’s special BBQ sauce
Bet I’ll dip my puddin’ pop and stay fresh with the drip til I drop
Y’all just holler when you want me to stop

Palpable, these **** butts malleable as putty
Barbarically barrel rolling into dat ***
rip it to shreds like confetti
Power Pole extend
Face pressed into your *******
Inhaling the wafting aromatic stenches
of distant French fish factories

Clearly getting dome from your dearly betrothed violently
Now she bridal and my seeds spiraling virally
Vital signs finalizing
Bounce that *** like jello
Swell; I’m in your hair like gel
Now swallow my jollies and don’t bother
Unless you hollerin’ and giving me dollars
Zealots idol my harlotry

If nose goes go slow grow low
Throwing those yoloing hoes out windows
This ***** simply bonkers
I conquer fear me

***** DON’T HARSH MY MELLOW
SWEAR I’LL MARSH YOUR MALLOWS

Earthquake Poem
3/5/2014

What do you suppose an earthquake does?

Sure, there are the shakes and scares,
Seismic shifts accompanied by tectonic tears.
But ditch this global perspective,
Figure out what rips those ripples, detective.

Let’s see you pound at the ground.
Hit it hard, ‘til you hear a heavy sound.
Is that enough to fissure some asphalt?
Tell me, could you bring this spinning planet to a sudden halt?

I can’t say for sure, what an Earth-quake does.
Though I’ve been a victim,
Earth isn’t where my quake was.
An Earth-less earthquake,
On a planet whose name I’ve learned to forsake.

Wynn’s world wandered ‘round someone else’s orbit:
Drawn to its gravity like grapes grow on a vine;
Brightened by its solar system’s shining smile, so divine;
Emotional tides tugged in and out;
Guided by its mysterious moon’s midnight meandering about.

That’s right – an orbit with its own time flow.
Time that could stomp its heels and steal a spotlight,
Time that could manipulate a moment like jello, mayonnaise, or some other squishy substance,
Time that could crash course, while standing still,
Time that could reveal something you never knew.

What do you suppose an earthquake does?

A quake could be anything that makes you shake.
Think of quaking in fear, as an unknown figure draws near.
Think of a jittery heart, that’s been bit by a bullet.
Internal tears,
think of organs bleeding,
Think of needing,
solid ground,
but falling and time keeps stalling.

When a quiet little quiver promises to deliver,
its slight shock signal straight through the middle.
When a molten magma core fizzes its manic madness,
like a shaken soda.
When an epic eruption carries out its upward excelsior,
Rejecting the spinning without a stop.

Oh, the mountains will tumble,
The hills and valleys, they’ll crumble,
And gurgle in the raging rivers’ rumble,
As volcanoes churn out violent bubbles,
Stirring up all kinds of troubles,
For one person’s personal planet.

For one person’s personal planet,
These violent forces of nature can’t compare to an Earth-quake,
When the ground you stand on begins to break,
When you realize your senseless stability is fake.
When that little quake knocks your Earth awake,
It’s reality coming alive to take, and take, and take,
Because for love, you put everything at stake.

What do you suppose an earthquake does?
I’ll tell you – it leaves a wrecked world with a cracked core and scorched surroundings.
Just because.
Just because, love on Earth always comes with a quiet little quake.

What is death, I ask.
What is life, you ask.
I give them both my buttocks,
my two wheels rolling off toward Nirvana.
They are neat as a wallet,
opening and closing on their coins,
the quarters, the nickels,
straight into the crapper.
Why shouldn't I pull down my pants
and moon the executioner
as well as paste raisins on my *******?
Why shouldn't I pull down my pants
and show my little ***** to Tom
and Albert? They wee-wee funny.
I wee-wee like a squaw.
I have ink but no pen, still
I dream that I can **** in God's eye.
I dream I'm a boy with a zipper.
It's so practical, la de dah.
The trouble with being a woman, Skeezix,
is being a little girl in the first place.
Not all the books of the world will change that.
I have swallowed an orange, being woman.
You have swallowed a ruler, being man.
Yet waiting to die we are the same thing.
Jehovah pleasures himself with his axe
before we are both overthrown.
Skeezix, you are me. La de dah.
You grow a beard but our drool is identical.

Forgive us, Father, for we know not.

Today is November 14th, 1972.
I live in Weston, Mass., Middlesex County,
U.S.A., and it rains steadily
in the pond like white puppy eyes.
The pond is waiting for its skin.
the pond is waiting for its leather.
The pond is waiting for December and its Novocain.

It begins:

Interrogator:
What can you say of your last seven days?

Anne:
They were tired.

Interrogator:
One day is enough to perfect a man.

Anne:
I watered and fed the plant.

*

My undertaker waits for me.
he is probably twenty-three now,
learning his trade.
He'll stitch up the gren,
he'll fasten the bones down
lest they fly away.
I am flying today.
I am not tired today.
I am a motor.
I am cramming in the sugar.
I am running up the hallways.
I am squeezing out the milk.
I am dissecting the dictionary.
I am God, la de dah.
Peanut butter is the American food.
We all eat it, being patriotic.

Ms. Dog is out fighting the dollars,
rolling in a field of bucks.
You've got it made if you take the wafer,
take some wine,
take some bucks,
the green papery song of the office.
What a jello she could make with it,
the fives, the tens, the twenties,
all in a goo to feed the baby.
Andrew Jackson as an hors d'oeuvre,
la de dah.
I wish I were the U.S. Mint,
turning it all out,
turtle green
and monk black.
Who's that at the podium
in black and white,
blurting into the mike?
Ms. Dog.
Is she spilling her guts?
You bet.
Otherwise they cough...
The day is slipping away, why am I
out here, what do they want?
I am sorrowful in November...
(no they don't want that,
they want bee stings).
Toot, toot, tootsy don't cry.
Toot, toot, tootsy good-bye.
If you don't get a letter then
you'll know I'm in jail...
Remember that, Skeezix,
our first song?

Who's thinking those things?
Ms. Dog! She's out fighting the dollars.
Milk is the American drink.
Oh queens of sorrows,
oh water lady,
place me in your cup
and pull over the clouds
so no one can see.
She don't want no dollars.
She done want a mama.
The white of the white.

Anne says:
This is the rainy season.
I am sorrowful in November.
The kettle is whistling.
I must butter the toast.
And give it jam too.
My kitchen is a heart.
I must feed it oxygen once in a while
and mother the mother.

*

Say the woman is forty-four.
Say she is five seven-and-a-half.
Say her hair is stick color.
Say her eyes are chameleon.
Would you put her in a sack and bury her,
**** her down into the dumb dirt?
Some would.
If not, time will.
Ms. Dog, how much time you got left?
Ms. Dog, when you gonna feel that cold nose?
You better get straight with the Maker
cuz it's coming, it's a coming!
The cup of coffee is growing and growing
and they're gonna stick your little doll's head
into it and your lungs a gonna get paid
and your clothes a gonna melt.
Hear that, Ms. Dog!
You of the songs,
you of the classroom,
you of the pocketa-pocketa,
you hungry mother,
you spleen baby!
Them angels gonna be cut down like wheat.
Them songs gonna be sliced with a razor.
Them kitchens gonna get a boulder in the belly.
Them phones gonna be torn out at the root.
There's power in the Lord, baby,
and he's gonna turn off the moon.
He's gonna nail you up in a closet
and there'll be no more Atlantic,
no more dreams, no more seeds.
One noon as you walk out to the mailbox
He'll ****** you up --
a wopman beside the road like a red mitten.

There's a sack over my head.
I can't see. I'm blind.
The sea collapses.
The sun is a bone.
Hi-** the derry-o,
we all fall down.
If I were a fisherman I could comprehend.
They fish right through the door
and pull eyes from the fire.
They rock upon the daybreak
and amputate the waters.
They are beating the sea,
they are hurting it,
delving down into the inscrutable salt.

*

When mother left the room
and left me in the *******
and sent away my kitty
to be fried in the camps
and took away my blanket
to wash the me out of it
I lay in the soiled cold and prayed.
It was a little jail in which
I was never slapped with kisses.
I was the engine that couldn't.
Cold wigs blew on the trees outside
and car lights flew like roosters
on the ceiling.
Cradle, you are a grave place.

Interrogator:
What color is the devil?

Anne:
Black and blue.

Interrogator:
What goes up the chimney?

Anne:
Fat Lazarus in his red suit.

Forgive us, Father, for we know not.

Ms. Dog prefers to sunbathe ****.
Let the indifferent sky look on.
So what!
Let Mrs. Sewal pull the curtain back,
from her second story.
So what!
Let United Parcel Service see my parcel.
La de dah.
Sun, you hammer of yellow,
you hat on fire,
you honeysuckle mama,
pour your blonde on me!
Let me laugh for an entire hour
at your supreme being, your Cadillac stuff,
because I've come a long way
from Brussels sprouts.
I've come a long way to peel off my clothes
and lay me down in the grass.
Once only my palms showed.
Once I hung around in my woolly tank suit,
drying my hair in those little meatball curls.
Now I am clothed in gold air with
one dozen halos glistening on my skin.
I am a fortunate lady.
I've gotten out of my pouch
and my teeth are glad
and my heart, that witness,
beats well at the thought.

Oh body, be glad.
You are good goods.

*

Middle-class lady,
you make me smile.
You dig a hole
and come out with a sunburn.
If someone hands you a glass of water
you start constructing a sailboat.
If someone hands you a candy wrapper,
you take it to the book binder.
Pocketa-pocketa.

Once upon a time Ms. Dog was sixty-six.
She had white hair and wrinkles deep as splinters.
her portrait was nailed up like Christ
and she said of it:
That's when I was forty-two,
down in Rockport with a hat on for the sun,
and Barbara drew a line drawing.
We were, at that moment, drinking *****
and ginger beer and there was a chill in the air,
although it was July, and she gave me her sweater
to bundle up in. The next summer Skeezix tied
strings in that hat when we were fishing in Maine.
(It had gone into the lake twice.)
Of such moments is happiness made.

Forgive us, Father, for we know not.

Once upon a time we were all born,
popped out like jelly rolls
forgetting our fishdom,
the pleasuring seas,
the country of comfort,
spanked into the oxygens of death,
Good morning life, we say when we wake,
hail mary coffee toast
and we Americans take juice,
a liquid sun going down.
Good morning life.
To wake up is to be born.
To brush your teeth is to be alive.
To make a bowel movement is also desireable.
La de dah,
it's all routine.
Often there are wars
yet the shops keep open
and sausages are still fried.
People rub someone.
People copulate
entering each other's blood,
tying each other's tendons in knots,
transplanting their lives into the bed.
It doesn't matter if there are wars,
the business of life continues
unless you're the one that gets it.
Mama, they say, as their intestines
leak out. Even without wars
life is dangerous.
Boats spring leaks.
Cigarettes explode.
The snow could be radioactive.
Cancer could ooze out of the radio.
Who knows?
Ms. Dog stands on the shore
and the sea keeps rocking in
and she wants to talk to God.

Interrogator:
Why talk to God?

Anne:
It's better than playing bridge.

*

Learning to talk is a complex business.
My daughter's first word was utta,
meaning button.
Before there are words
do you dream?
In utero
do you dream?
Who taught you to ****?
And how come?
You don't need to be taught to cry.
The soul presses a button.
Is the cry saying something?
Does it mean help?
Or hello?
The cry of a gull is beautiful
and the cry of a crow is ugly
but what I want to know
is whether they mean the same thing.
Somewhere a man sits with indigestion
and he doesn't care.
A woman is buying bracelets
and earrings and she doesn't care.
La de dah.

Forgive us, Father, for we know not.

There are stars and faces.
There is ketchup and guitars.
There is the hand of a small child
when you're crossing the street.
There is the old man's last words:
More light! More light!
Ms. Dog wouldn't give them her buttocks.
She wouldn't moon at them.
Just at the killers of the dream.
The bus boys of the soul.
Or at death
who wants to make her a mummy.
And you too!
Wants to stuf her in a cold shoe
and then amputate the foot.
And you too!
La de dah.
What's the point of fighting the dollars
when all you need is a warm bed?
When the dog barks you let him in.
All we need is someone to let us in.
And one other thing:
to consider the lilies in the field.
Of course earth is a stranger, we pull at its
arms and still it won't speak.
The sea is worse.
It comes in, falling to its knees
but we can't translate the language.
It is only known that they are here to worship,
to worship the terror of the rain,
the mud and all its people,
the body itself,
working like a city,
the night and its slow blood
the autumn sky, mary blue.
but more than that,
to worship the question itself,
though the buildings burn
and the big people topple over in a faint.
Bring a flashlight, Ms. Dog,
and look in every corner of the brain
and ask and ask and ask
until the kingdom,
however queer,
will come.

if you ever want to come over and be sick and use my body like a doll-rod
I invite you to do so.
if you ever want to throw the rings and earn no points just to throw something
I invite you to do so.
if your pictures turn moldy and you can't face the mirrors, neither can I.

it's been three hundred seconds and I'm wondering if I should be listening for alphabet city or the sound of the Wilson's razor, if I should be curt or vowelless, glib and just a big sickening consonant or Occam's tired and infinite inner gesticulations- calculated but fleeting.

if you ever want to be you in front of that cemetery wall covered in the haze of eggy moonlight
I'd like to take pictures of the alms on your arms.

This earthquake is spicy and I am thrilled to feel some of the momentum coming back to my chest. I'm wishing for art too and believing in faeries and mid standing-ovation bringing my ears forward by cupping my hands, and holding ceramic mugs to the side of my head, listening for a dial tone or the tones of the dying.

you don't even know you make me write
into a black book or the white box, into the notes
onto the arms, scribbling while driving myself crazy at three-hundred and eighty seconds. Is this recording? I can turn it up.

what does it mean if I want to hang doors and patch holes, make locks and wear capes? It's been such a long lawn time, since I first got high on myself, met a new person and didn't want to drown or for them to drown.
Is this when I take the rocks out of my pockets and stop lingering by the water? Please let me know. You'll let me know, right?

If you ever want to talk serial killers over Apple Jacks or Corn Pops
I invite you to do so.
If you ever want to skip rocks or run from the cops with a second skin
I invite you to do so.

I like to dangle my feet over edges, while wearing floor-length gowns, while wearing ebony feathers, and avoiding being arrested. It's 26 minutes into tomorrow and we didn't give each other permission to die yet, so please don't go down without me. You're supposed to tell me when it's time to wear my rocks in the river, even if I never mentioned the plateau or the room where I heard the women crying.

Keep my secrets in your open-handed notebook
I invite you to do so.
Pencil new eyebrows for me to don, draw new shoes on my feet to wear
I invite you to do so.

Lock me in a box until I'm calling for the horrors, in a light-absent four-sided trap in the fetal position, I could be in a basement or on the 7 and a half floor of the Mertin-Flemmer building, but hum to me please.

I've asked you to set me on fire twice and you haven't,
does that make us best friends? I hope.

I cried when Barack Obama left office, and I cried for Joe Biden too, as though I'd lost parents of mine,
But Mike Brown and the others had it coming, they were probably resisting arrest,
So love me, love me love me, I'm a liberal

I go to pro choice rallies and I chant about female anatomy,
I retweeted a #blacklivesmatter tweet once, I think that's just as good as a protest
But don't talk about revolution, that's going a little bit too far
So love me, love me love me, I'm a liberal

I cheered Bernie on the whole way, but eventually settled on Clinton,
I would do anything for free healthcare and education, as long as my taxes aren't too much more
I love all the minorities too, as long as they don't move next door
So love me, love me love me, I'm a liberal

The people who voted for Trump, should all hang their heads in shame,
I can't understand where they're at, John Oliver should set them straight
But if you burn an American flag, I hope the cops take down your name
So love me, love me love me I'm a liberal

I read Huffington Post, and Rolling Stone too,
If I vote it's a Democrat with a sensible economic view,
But when it comes to rioters in the streets punching nazis, there's no one more red white and blue
So love me, love me love me, I'm a liberal

Once I was young and my heart bleeding, I bought every Coexist bumper sticker I saw,
Even marched alongside the socialists, thought I could bring the system down with the power of love,
But I've grown older and wiser, and that's why I'm turning you in
So love me, love me love me, I'm a liberal
Love me, love me love me, I'm a liberal

The happy medium tea astrologer
Her tea leaves Google her anytime
Tea leaves of her poems

Another divine tea party just ask
Her lady of the Queen-dom
The fee for fun I'm in with
the mad crowd tea on the run
The tea party is getting loud
Eating those bonbons dreams
start to steep and stir he had his
overflow the house of Bel Air
Meet the Prince passionate
purple rain

Your cake and tea lips became a pain
You couldn't get a wink of the full
body flavor sleep

She’s the Subrosa tea worshipper

TEA TOUCH HER
TEACUP 1/2 TEARS
Her power not to push her moving
away from all the fears and years
Did the cat get your tongue?

He watches her in her sleep
He sees her tea eyes awake
All women stalk and tea talk
So much to write with tea poem

In France dark roast coffee
the secret competition was
my tea blend the winner raffle
It is au fond to be gratefully
Please don’t bottle Snapple
Remember you have the potential all
green money
but your eyes doorway he walks out
with your money? ahh

“Alltheformores” Tea tree lady calories
O-MY-God!

Mr.Tea toucher agent man
He keeps his right-hand
driving and the other hands Mmm…
Eyes ahead and hands on my tea
The green Emmy with poison ivy
She is the cherry pie of the black
cherry tea lie

How sneakily she buttered our cups that
butterscotch
How the seducer reducer tea she ******
up to him.

That secret’s its written in junk
buy one exotic hot-shot blend of
tea has her wits and
character and *****
So you don't stink like a rat pack
Eyes like an old tea bag
On a plane getting jet lag
smelling like a skunk

The green bull-eyes  army combat
trained always complains when
tea attention no baby blues
the green envy eyes
twice a week
tantalizing tea flavor vanilla
Godiva
On the Orient Express
Her tough exterior like a boss
not to cross
get involved with her assistant

She never brings the secret
flavor coffee on time and my tea is
Like a fortune cookie in rhymes
what tea business show business
homes ((Madhouse Paparazzi))
Eating hot sauce Ronzoni  half- Gothic
Sensual tea blend **** Bill ******
wouldn’t want to be anywhere
close to her dreams twice
Like a flower the subject Rosa
a petal of her tea

How can anyone see
through her spectrum
of colors scaring her face?
  That Madonna rebel heart of teas
Papa starts to
preach our teas
confessions
How did we touch tea leaf nerve?

Heres exactly what you deserve

Don’t we have an hour?
Tea demonstration of women's
hot boiling teas how the men
go down on their knees
When she wiped the steam off
she could see his face tea leaves

MADLY TEA PARTY OF SECRETS

Like those Rebel of Robin bird hearts
teacup of more tears
Going to the Spa that sauna
really drenched her
she was thinking of him.

How many secrets can we reveal?
Let’s not worry how we see through
peoples face as they stir their spicy tea
We all get a chance to take our last sip
of your lover’s tea

Tea Victorian could flower petal anyone's
thoughts hot-headed or over
Her iced ways or flaming her name
Ginger honey bear deeper the love affair
Her spiritual awakening transformation
Teavana or tea mint just another secret

TEA TOUCH HER TEACUP

1/2 hearts new start
She got mad but kept her cool to blush
her moving away from all the fears
who cares when we have the tea
forming to tears
it shows how we really are

She loved the shades of Japanese garden
So green suited her tree-lined block
Her pink sofa with such greenery
as her visions came strong he was there
All the time in her musical blend song

Whats in my drink, see her face
anxiously, what awaits, see her
through an ****** painting,
how it drips in a
Native-land Naples Italy
Those teacup puppies and French skirt
She narrow's anyone street you cannot
get anyone
To taste her tea for the couple beat
The museum addictions like an art
Colesium  the built for speed of teas
/Medium Astrologers/**** sipping
Watching the beauty of the statue's
Micheal Angelo, the musician playing
his Cello at least her teas weren't that
wiggly green jello

So Iced Queen tea spice
Romeo
Hello-Poetry
The exotic tiger Bengal teas
she roars in her jungle
poet clean mint tea
healthy gals
antioxidant
Green planet rocker leather
how his pants spread to the tip of
the shining armor book
she kept tight-lipped on you

She felt dragged how you were tied
secretly fit into her teacup
engraved ankle

Lips got damped tea flavors all limited
needed to give him
my special pampering all tramps
and tea thieves green shimmering
blend her best teas
Chai teas cinnamon girly

And the others Green 50+++ shades
deeper body vibe
Became mermaid blowfish tribe
Where like the Italian made
leash warriors
Roman empire ordered
a death wish

Tea secrets now or present
too smitten kitten tea gloves
and he was saying
I must have an heir,

Could fool anyone’s millionaire *** plan
became the butler’s on the deep-end
Madly tea taking the bad stick
such a plea
another scorching Porshe wrong coffee
tongue those mermaids turned the darkness
Grunge black side of their tea

Madly have eyes for you wilderness of
hearts deliciously
exposed
The pinball got caught too many sticky buns
they bit into___?

Those butler quarters was he going
to improve
all her secret’s wave of tiredness,
too much nickel and dime tea shops
She tried to subdue her situation
Barhops tea sips and she had away
by stirring her lips
Would she pay for her sins later?

Surfing the computer emailed or tea for two
mailed in a compromising tea imported love
what about tomorrow tea tears of sorrow

Let’s not focus too much on secrets
of forgotten yesterday

All her troubles so far away from Ireland
Or Liverpool London every tea bag
went nowhere
Yesterday song went everywhere imported
like her foreign exchange trade of teas
a mad tea party
no Alice Odd Moms invited


Tea Toucher ruling the world with magic

What’s really ringing, on the surface,
those terrible two teenagers? Something they
lost became tragic
Sage Tea-lady of Mount Fiji spice
Those greener then life mountain
tops to climb

How she opened his horizon to fan him on

over the media tea seduction escorted

Impression’s of intoxicating herbs imported
mermaids too many tails to slam
Strawberry field black tea forever with Beatles
Robin Bird of “ROOBUS, she was red devil blend
let’s trade  or swap some ****** teas for a tease

That madly kind of seduction
She has it all in her, patch sachet smells,
of ****** pleasure spices up words.
What is the reason for all this?
We never beg they gave
her a poem with a tea hug

Tonight I learned what it means to be mortal. To have a fifteen year dream crushed publicly. To smile and be the man that lies, “it’s ok, God has better plans and I trust that.” Tonight my wings were clipped and I was sentenced to a life of soil and toil, forever forced to watch the eagles in orange soar in the clouds and sky that I know I was created to own. I love this place because it is more of a home than I have ever known. It is pure and navy and orange and majestic. I wanted to serve it and glorify my king and this institution. Alas, no. Not I but the vultures. How is it that carrion dominate? How is it that prestige trumps passion? How is it that title and gold trump heart and integrity? I lost respect for my home. I feel as if a stranger in my own walls. I gave more than sweat and blood and tears yet they were swept under the carpet to rot. Fester and rot. I hope my passion and time as leader was well spent, it was and always was for you, tiger, not me! Always! I sharpened your claws and defended your teeth until they ****** me. Why. This is not how it is supposed to be. I pray this love and three year passion was not for non. Not for me, not for nametags or orange jackets, not for titles or for comfort but for passion and unbridled love of the institution which ****** me have I served. I have yet to work through what I’ve learned through this but tonight I know a chapter has ended and it hurts. It’s not that the chapter ended and a period was placed and the next began, it’s the end of the climactical chapter and the next pages are blank. Existent, yes. But blank. And the white on the page pales in comparison to orange and blue. I hate white and it’s idle uncertainty. I hold the pen but tonight my hand was severed, my limbs they rot, and my heart is numb. I am jello and I am free. And I hate, with every inth of my fibrous being, this freedom. I miss my chains.

“You’re Mr. Grune?”

            “Yes sir, why—“

            “I’m going to need you to come with me. Whatever you do son, do NOT look into that house. Do you hear me?”

            “Excuse me? Officer, I’m confused. I’m just here to pick up my girlfriend Julia, she lives here. Where is she? Why are there so many cops lights? Is she ok? Is everything—“ I stop talking as I heard her voice. I turn from the officer and back towards her house. The officer barks and gruffly grabs my shoulders, pulling my face back away from her house. But not before I saw her. She looked absolutely beautiful. A royal blue dress, the red and blue lights that hit it extenuated her perfectly sculpted body and her angelic face. What my brain refused to believe was the red that poured from her forehead. Blood. Blood. Everywhere. Her hair was stained. Her dress was wet. Her eyes were wet. Tears?

            “Son, I’m going to have to ask you to get into the car. Now.” I am being shoved into a cop car and carted downtown. I am Jello. I am not real.

            A white room with a mirror, table, and two chairs.

            Alone.

What.

The.

Hell.

            They offer me bagels. They are stale. The coffee tastes like dirt. They are dirt. I bite nervous craters into my cheeks until the iron taste of blood fills my mouth. Blood. She was covered. Julia…





            “He is what is known as a serial-murderer. She was his intended victim, you should be thankful she’s alive.” I sat in silence as the badges and moustaches told me how lucky she was to be living and how lucky I was compared to the other boyfriends. They told me the serial-******’s niche was couples. He couldn’t stand happiness so he stole it from others. He had killed two other college girls and both their boyfriends. If she had been killed I would’ve been next. Do I understand how lucky I am? I say no. They tell me they are going to hold me for my own protection because he may have an accomplice. It’s 4 a.m.

I’m wide-awake.



It’s 7 a.m.

The badge with the deep voice comes in and sits beside me, offering me more dirt and staleness. I say no. He begins,

            “She may not recover. He did not ****** her but he did damage her. She was knocked out with a blunt weapon, the blow dented her skull and she’s in a coma. Do you understand?”

            I nod. Jello again. Not human. Not real.

They tell me I can go home now.

             Three weeks pass and she gets worse. None of my friends look at me the same. My family has decided to live in town close to me until I graduate in May. Her parents cry. My parents cry. Then I decide to do it anyways.

            I go to the hospital in a suit, my dad drives. Mom is sniffling in the front seat beside him and their hands are intertwined. We walk into her room and I get on one knee. She doesn’t answer but I slip the ring on her finger anyways. “Forever,” I whisper.

remember...
when you were young,
very young,
recently untethered from
proximal parental strings...

that liberated freshman
rushing into a .... cave
of independent studies
and uninhibited sexuality...

that mulligan phase
of impulse and irrationality
and...yes...experimentation...

of wide-eyed science interns  with
mother's cheeks, daddy's visa
and the best animal-testing lab
on the planet...

with live uncontrolled studies of sleep deprivation,
orgiastic tolerance, *** toxicity
and the effect of extreme jello-shooting
on graduation rates...

and, of course, the ultra-rad LUG/GUG philosophy,
the ultimate pregnancy-avoidance plan
guaranteed
or your STD back...

then you got a degree,
a real job,
and a surreal 5-figure
student loan balance...

or was it 6?

or maybe you just
dropped out
like
bill, steve or mark...

and started a revolution...

~ P
(7/21/2013)

Publishers love jello
cool, gleaming, white hot jello
one morning i imagined that i was
writing in filth
the snow was the earth
the earth was jello.

You at least went.
so that meant the party could finally be awkward.
that's homeroom
at your personal Harvard
your low self esteem was the head dean
[ claimed you had promise ]
then promptly vomits
but you promised to maim
your lollipops with hot topic's
most goth  night-shade of hemlock
iron-on, henna tattoos
for your thin lips.
like two gates
to a birdcage
where you keep
ravens...
pecking the tip of your tongue
where your brave words die
for lack of oxygen... pecking
the flesh off the skeleton key
to the heart of your insightful
comment,... stymied -
a black raven
savors the succulent eyes
of your hurricanes, so
braille maps for blind rage
fly off the shelves... fly like
led zeppelins to
fresh hell.
you lose your window seat
on the wing of a prayer
to Charles Bukowski.
now you're scowling a gilded smile
at all the Ed Hardlys'...
good thing you brought Jello Biafra Shots
to the shindig... cubes of gelatinous absinthe
each with a sugar box
lodged in supermax insecurity prisms...
fey emeralds.
monochrome rubicons
you pop
when cross.

like wainscoting the panic room
that came with a deejay
who thinks you're
a boy who got
lost.

tootsie pops, pop rocks, rock candy
sweet tarts, smelly farts, war-heads, sour patch kids
reeses pieces, reeses stix, snickers lickers
fudge pile, chocolate smile, peanut butter bile, sugary style
baby ruths, almond joys, soy bean sauce, creamy steam
ill give u a payday, mayday, hay tastes good with parfai
milkyways stay gay to play games with sunrays
icing splicing with knife dicing
makes cakes, cook steaks, rumcakes
****** sprinkles, rip van winkle, diddily dinkle
gummy worms, germs impregnate firm, permed urns
angel food, carrots, pineapple upsideways
fruits, *****, parachutes, scooters, jello shooters
goobers, corn on the cobbers,
veggie wedgies, pepper leppers, squash boxes,
fry foxes, fleet rocks', carrot tops',
dishes of fishes,
witches brew platypus and fat kush
pushy slushies riding skateboards on gary busy
fussy hussies getting blushy about cussies
cereal made of creoles, bread straight from dreads,
rice is nice with spice, yeast is beast,
last but not least, wheat is a treat,
kiwis, shmiwis, dodos on go phones, starfruits,
bartlejuice, grape drank, sushi stinks.
ill eat anything.

(Speaking)
I wanna be the best
I wanna be the best like the rest
I want my name to be on the hall of fame
And I just want to be the greatest kings
I want to win many rings
To be the best
You have to believe
And achieve many things
Ladies and gentlemen
Mr jbird

(Verse)
I'm balling like Kobe
I'm dunking like KD
Greatest 3 pointer like S.curry
I just burry my haters
Rest in peace
I'm so quick like j. Wall
I'm hungry for more championship like Lebron
I'm breaking records like melo
I don't like jello
Hello haters
How are ya doin
Do you miss me
Cause I miss ya too fakers
Hahahaah
Let go

(Speaking)
Yo junior your the best
Bring it back yo
Come on let go

(Verse)
Pass the ball *****
I'm the best
The best of the best
Who messing with the guess
I'm Kobe shooting from the perimeter
Dunkin from the area yea
I score 81 points against another team
I score 61 points  against another team
I had a dream I gonna make it on the league
I came in the league to win
If ya tryin stop me
It won't happen
I gonna be on top
Popping champagne with my wife
Having a good life
I won't think about my hood
I want thank you all ya
Ya haters said" I won't make it".
Look at me now I did
I just love you so much haters
young junior hahahaha
C'mon  let go

(Verse)
Every summer
My haters keep seein me riding in a new hummer
******* how are you doing
I just miss you so much
Kiss my ***
Ya said I ain't gonna be nobody
******* look at me now
I just got paid
Ya don't have no words to say
Every day I'm just chilling and lettin the money come to me
I'm a addict to success
My wife look so hot in the dress
I just let my stress go away
Poppin champagne
Having a good life
I'm not thinking  about my hood
I went to negative to positive  *****

(Beat speaking)
Yo junior, you are a greatest
Yo bring it back bro.
Don't stop and let pop this *******
C'mon let go

(Verse)
Believe is the key
I achieve many things
I told my mama, I gonna be a greatest like mj, magic, pippen, Kareem, bill, and big Shaq
I came young in the game
Ya gonna be the same
I swish to the next lane
Yea I'm going insane
Winning is all I do
Ya better go home
Cause ya won't stop me to reach my goal
Imma teach you how to win
Just follow my lead
I gonna be your nightmare sorrow
Fans callin me hero
My jersey number is zero
Hello baby girl I love you
You look beautiful with your hair net
Yea baby you **** like my diamond chain
All we do is win
Win, win, win like dj Khaled
Girl, you are my motivation
My daughter is my inspiration
I wish my grandpa was here
Everywhere I go
I want him to be on my game
Screaming my name
I keep having a dream
He keep talking to me
And he was proud of me *****
My team and I unbreakable
Youngjuniorforever

Cupcakes and jello,
Sun drops of yellow,
A year old prince smiles with glee,
Happiest times started off free.

One foot in and one foot out,
Each step weighted with doubt,
Wan smile for the camera snapping away,
Two years old today.

Messy hair and muddy feet,
Too much energy to take a seat,
Toothy three-year old smiles for Mummy's photo,
Looking as proud as winning the lotto.

Marvel comics and new-found heroes,
Fan-art drawn in multi-colored Biro's,
Cheeky grin to hang on the wall,
Four years old, 3 feet tall.

Backpacks and Elmers' glue,
Cafeteria food that's hard to chew,
Pose in school uniform, charcoal gray,
Five years old on this big day.

Ring pop marriages and rainbow smarties,
Confetti always being thrown at birthday parties,
Yours is no different, cup them in your hand,
Hold out six fingers and composedly stand.

Swimming lessons and soccer practice,
Coaches being overwhelmingly fractious,
Hugging the soccer ball to your chest,
Seven years old, smilin' your best.

TV marathons and video games,
Struggling to learn hockey players' names,
Staring intently at the wrestling match,
Eight years old, hoping to catch.

Game of tag and playground fights,
Pretending to be English knights,
Awkward personality you've yet to define,
No longer eight, now you're nine.

Reruns of Spongebob Squarepants, ******-Doo,
First time trying fried tofu,
New experiences 'cause now you're ten,
Eight years away from joining the men.

6th grade comes and 6th grade passes,
Schedule in hand trying not to be late for classes,
Remember your locker combination 1-20-7,
Sigh of relief that you're eleven.

Too thin, too slim-
Too fat, not "that"-
Hallways you seldom dwell,
Twelve, trapped in a living Hell.

Bitter, reserved, aggressive you turn,
Nagging from parents makes your stomach churn,
Yelling "I hate you," till your face burns red,
Thirteen is an age of words over-said.

In a rash decision, you stole a beer,
A crowd welcomes you with an electric cheer,
Only fourteen, your choices will sway,
With time, you'll rue this day.

Not young, not old,
"Be fun", "be bold",
Caught in the middle of the unforeseen,
Not quite fifty, still fifteen.

A year has passed and you're feeling tired,
Can't bear to tell your father you've been fired,
Sixteen has brought you misery and sorrow,
Dreading the fruits of tomorrow.

Nothing is "for fun" anymore,
All this working out is making you sore,
Your head gives in and you pass out cold,
Seventeen and you've already been sold

Eighteen candles in one big breath,
Closer and closer to inevitable death,
         You feel so old already,
                Want to take it steady...
But you can't.

I Love Pie & You Sweetie Pie!


I Love Pie & You Sweetie Pie



Love pumpkin pie its so good
Awe taste just like it should

Love lemon pie with a
touch of ****
Love it deep down in my
heart

I love jello pie it's
so sweet
The way it wiggles
it's so neat!

Love pie of banana cream
And chocolate is my dream

I love blueberry too
It's so good & blue

I love BlackBerry too awe
so sweet and black
Pick em right off the vines
and put em in a sack

I love apple pie topped
with cheese
Oh and make that a scoop
of val ice cream please

Oh and also the Apple Dutch
Oh how I love it so much!

Custard Boston and
Zesty Lime,
Whip Cream Humble and
Rhubarb all the time!

Quick Set Frozen Cream
Pie and Oreo Cookie Crust
Sweet Tatter and Velvet
Turtle Now that's a must!

But my favorite pie
of all is true
That's my favorite pie
"Sweetie Pie" it's you!


WrittenBy:BarbieKirk
11-24-14 5:09am

www.allpoetry.com/RainbowBlessings





© Barbie Kirk . All rights reserved, 16 hours ago

I'm alone and I'm feeling stuck I feel the weight of an elephant sitting on my chest and  the pressure is unbearable. I'm in a different place but I feel like I see the same faces. I feel like somebody is after me and wants to **** me but I feel like that person lives inside of me. My stomach hurts because the pressure is building so I let out a yell from the very bottom of it. I can feel a hot rush to my eyeballs as my brain decompresses. I can feel the pressure agai Yelling is the only thing that helps. Still, I grab the first thing that I see and I throw it, it just happened to be a backpack through a windshield with a laptop in it. I want to hurt everyone who's ever hurt me and then I realize it was me hurting myself this whole time so I inflict another wound upon myself.



How did I wake up in prison again today when in last nights dream I got so far away. I love running away in my dreams because though I know I should be tired I never run out of breath so I'm able to cover quite a bit of ground when I run away from this place in my dreams. I also like to  breathe underwater. Right before I went to prison I was still flying freely in my dreams I could literally run and jump and fly from place to place but after three years in, I can't seem to get off of the ground. I'm wondering if it's some subconscious thing going on.



The guards yells "stand by for chow!" With elongated syllables and his voice travels down the run with purpose. This old prison has the classic looking Steele prison bars you see in cartoons and movies growing up, it's actually quite eerie. I throw my sheet over my bed and tuck the blanket into the edges so it sits tightly around the mattress and fits snugly in the 6 foot steel soap container type mattress frame that is attached to the wall in a way that you can for this frame up and ******* to make your 6' x 9' space a little bit bigger . I only do this after I put my books in a stack at the end of it because they were spread out with no organization like sub group of war refugees. I turn off the TV, click the desk lamp,  press stop on my tape player, but I let the fan still run. I fold up the drawing I was working on into my dictionary of symbols along with a couple of the poems that were simultaneously being worked on - it's like I have to work on 10 different things at a time to keep my mind occupied. I'm stuck in the cell 23-24 hours a day with ADHD and I was the type of kid to wonder the city for 16 hours on my bike.  I like it because I feel like I'm getting good at 10 different things at once and though I know i it's pretty much impossible to focus on more than one thing at a time I set aside small focuses for each thing in bits and pieces and then go to the next thing, it's quite refreshing to be honest.



I throw some water on my face brush my teeth and I comb my hair back  after I put on a fresh T-shirt, some new pants and my new shoes . Even though I'm wearing all orange I want to look the best I can because it makes me feel good. On the walk to the chow hall we have to go down the stairs and central unit in Florence, Arizona. We all squeeze shoulder to shoulder on the tight run of cells and have to walk Down five flights of stairs and everybody is in a rush but still acting like there just walking casual it's pretty funny to see people do casual speed walks. Everybody's cracking jokes and excited because   Tonight we get pizza and we only get it a couple times every six weeks for they have the menu on a six week schedule. It might taste a little bit cardboardy but who cares it's been years since we've actually had a real slice.  And if you bring some salsa with a little bit of your own cheese you can actually fix the pizza up to where it's quite delectable.  



We pass through the old metal doors and you could fill the air blow from above where the door fan is. As I walk into the chow hall, I can feel tension among the other inmates - it feels like when the lowest frequency on a sound scale with a bass comes in really deep at the bottom of your stomach and a high pitch of the top of your ear that is out of tune and doesn't sit well. You can always tell when something is about to happen because everybody gets quiet and you can feel it in your stomach it's almost like the same feeling of fear and anxiety because the guy who's going to get gotten never knows it's him. I give the guard my last name and I get in line to get my pizza. The food trays come out of the hole in the wall  pretty fast -  inmates that work inside of the kitchen have this down to a science and their muscle memory and pattern recognition is that of an expert sous chef.   Pizza corn jello and a cup for the potent artificially sweetened juice they give us. I'm going to sit down in the middle tables because they have the tables sectioned off for people of different color the white boys sit with them white boys the black people sit with the black people usually closest to the door. The paisas (Mexican national)  sit with each other, the Chiefs have their own tables among  the Mexican Americans. I never sit closest to the wall because if you sit at the back table closest to the wall that means you're striving to have prison political ties and that is something that never interested me because though I am doing five years that is still a temporary stay and I did not want to join a prison gang. But when you're on the higher yards like central unit everybody is pretty much down for the cause so sometimes I will sit back there with homies. Once seated I grab my squeeze cheese from my right pocket, bite a  small piece of the corner off the packet and and squeeze it onto my pizza. I  also apply  some hot sauce and I get o have my friends pizza because he owed me from last nights 49ers game with a bet he lost. This story was probably believable up until the point I said the 49ers won.



while all this is happening in the back of my mind I know something is about to pop off because I could feel it in my stomach. once you know you're good then you're good as far as not being the one about to get stabbed or stomped on but there is always a lingering thought in the back of my head like I hope it's not me that they're about to get. I know it wasn't going to be a prison riot because we all would have known we all would've been prepared with knives ready.



I started eating. Yup cardboardy. Now a little bit faster because my gut told me something was about to pop off and about 3/4 through my second piece of pizza I heard it.



Attacks are usually really quiet in prison usually you hear the stomping of feet, grunting and groaning or slamming against walls so you can feel the wall shake. unless the person that is getting attacked by anywhere from 1 to 4 people starts screaming for his life and begging the guards for help.



This particular attack started with hoofbeats feet on the ground and punches landing and struggling breathing heavy and grunting. You never really want to look directly at what's going down because you don't want to draw attention to the situation or yourself if the guards aren't  paying attention. Attacks like this committed in the middle of a chow hall typically indicate that the person being attacked has to go and is no longer allowed to stay in the general population with us.



I'm Going to say which particular race or who was attacking who because specifics can get a little bit sticky if you are journaling your experience I would hate to offend any particular race or be considered a snitch. three men were stopping another man and it happened really quick. I didn't realize that they had knocked him unconscious and he was breathing really heavy and snoring as if he were dreaming of a beautiful place and had a stuffy nose at the same time.



In what seems like is forever or at least a really long time only just a few seconds have gone by before you hear the guards rushing in. four now eight now twelve guards with fire extinguisher sizes Mace cans, Spraying the men on the face both attackers and victim.



It's crazy because when you're in a room and they use those mace canisters on one person in the whole entire room gets clouded with Mace or Pepper spray  and everybody goes down on the ground and  starts clinching their throats and gasping for breath. some men cannot bear it,  though they typically don't die it seems like they're right on the edge of their last ****** breath.



I just felt bad for the person who didn't get their pizza in time because they're  going to be hungry while we're  all locked down until  the situation re-centers itself. then again the other part of me was a bit jealous because I'm sure the Mace served as a hot sauce and they got to enjoy a little bit of that.  



As I lay dying, I put my face in the ground in my arms and take the smallest breaths possible because it feels like I can survive these breaths and when you breathe deep it stings so bad that you can't help but to gasp for air and cough and perpetuate the struggle.



  I drift off to the beach... Here I am with my feet in the sand at the ocean. I hear seagulls flying above overhead and their calls are panning from left to right like the cleanest headphones you've ever heard. I can hear the waves crashing in and I can feel the sea breeze on my face.  it's one of those days when it's not too hot out but you feel good in the sun with the cool wind on your skin just enough to add A balance. Kind a like a sweet and salty sensation. I love this.



I'm really thankful because last time they maced the whole group it was inside of our living space and we had to sit there for 2 hours and cough but it was only the first 45 minutes or so that felt unbearable. The first time I got maced or actually experienced mace in a really bad way it was when they maced my neighbor inside of the shower because he didn't want to get out of the shower and I thought I could be tough and not feel the effects that much and I was eating crackers while I could smell the mace entering my nostrils. A few seconds later I was on the ground holding my throat because I felt like I was going to die and I couldn't even swallow the crackers I was gasping for air and hating God for this pains existence.



Now again we rise  up on our feet moving back to the run  where our cells are located and I can tell that a lot of the people who have been in prison for a long time who are not in the political movement Are really upset by this because they just want to do the rest of their life inside of these bars at peace.

When I hear a concealed clock ticking,
I think it's some shouldered past jello grenade
ready to chastise my fletched thumbs.

Like the last time Sandman drew supper with his knees,
and decided to fling cherry cobbler at my nose,
I realized this homeless perfume actually belonged to Mother.

Her pearls redeem her complexion,
milk marrow of silk against her nose--
three strikes dawdling their tongues
from underneath tin necks.

Steady, rinse, exfoliate:
but those are difficult to do
when your rib cage cracks
like the last octave
of a reddening audience.

Brother thinks the tree skirt is soft,
coddling his pats and rabbits
below a ranch full o' pine scented apples.

Sister wonders if she should bring new girl home,
(met at 1:33 AM on 23rd Street.
Apartment documented to smell like baby powder)
but friends are friends are friends are friends,
just friends as furrowed Daddy repeats to himself.
Even "Hallowed be thy name..." confuses the CCD out of him.

"Cancel Alabama's trip this year;
the bees will be humming in their own candle wax.

Besides, who wants to hug Nana
when her breath doubles over in grilled salmon?"

I want to live on a beautiful island
Where it's warm all the time
And on this island I want it to snow
Three months a year
And I want those three months to be
November, December, and March
And when it snows I need it to be seventy seven degrees
And I want the snow to stick
Here I imagine Jack Johnson, Jason Mraz, and Zach Gil will sit around playing music
They'll play from noon to around ten
That's when Kwali the local pool boy ends his shift keeping the oil out of the ocean
Kwali he plays the Ukulele and sings about beaches no one's ever been to until around midnight
When the perpetually burning bon fire dies down and the island falls asleep
As for the rest of the music here on the island
Every morning there's this old steel guitarist
He's from just south of New Orleans
A place called Under Pressure
Really it's just the hull of the broken fishing boat he was born on
But he calls it home all the same
And a kid who used to play trombone for the high school jazz band
But he picked up the harmonica after he found out chicks don't dig trombones
And the two of them sort of play old dixie
With a steel drummer who never seems to find his shirt in the morning
But you never really mind that
And on Sunday mornings this really old woman
Ssays her mom was Harriet Tubman
Which we all know is a lie
But she's got scars from head to toe so you might as well believe something
Man she wails
For two straight hours
She wails
Wails to God, to the heavens, to Jesus, Georgia and the first row of church
And when she wails her tears are a lost language from the tower of babble and we all understand it
And on Wednesday
Wednesdays
We waltz
We waltz to really old records
That we play on the only turntable on the island
That Mr. Lee drags all the way from his house to the community center with no walls
And the whole island shows up in summer dresses and Matthew Mcconaughey shirts
Even the one we call grandma
And her husband who everyone calls Uncle for some reason
Come dressed to dance
And we all leave our slippers at the door this place doesn't have
And the sand warms our feet while we waltz
Sometimes it's the Tennessee Waltz
And sometimes it's the Viennese Waltz
But most of the time it's just the waltz we all learned in eighth grade
Either way
Every Wednesday there is a beautiful girl
She's five five, maybe, five eight I don't know
I've been lying on my drivers' license since I was sixteen so I don't know how tall people really are
She's got south pacific features
But with my track record by the time I actually make it to my island she'll probably be a red head
We waltz
We waltz until the records skip
And our legs turn to Jello and all we can do is collapse in each other's arms
While the ocean tickles our toes
Our finger tips tickle each other's palms
And we let that guy in the moon do the rest
So when you see me set sail
If you can catch me you can climb on board
And if you can't
Then
Wave goodbye

What I want

Talk to me

Maybe I can help

Tell me what is going on

In that maze that is the male mind

I am lost in the confusion of your signals

Do you want me?

Or am I a lamp post?

Do you enjoy talking to me?

Or am I a substitue for someone better?

Such as a moose

You've completely addled my mind

It is made up of jello

Pudding is better

So it is now made of pudding

That means trying to think

Is like swimming in pudding!

How would you feel if someone made you swim in pudding all the time?

Let me tell you

It isn't always pleasant

Gets in your ears it does

Now why was I rambling?

Oh yes!

You you you!!!

Make up your mind will you!

So I can stop being full of pudding!

Silk blocks my ability to see
Soft pads circle my ears shutting me into silence
Music begins to flow coursing through my body
Jumping as hands grasp slender ankles
Fur circles one then the other
Turned around and around so disoriented
A hard bump knocks at the back of my knees
Buckling and graze the chilled feeling they land upon
Gasps escape parted lips
Melodic music seems to beat forcefully with each movement
Chills flow through naked flesh

A voice reverbs in my ears
"Are you nervous ****?"
"Y-y-eees" trembles out thinking it had to have sounded like some little girl instead of the mature woman kneeling here
Morose tones begin to play
Calloused palms greet soft ones
Pulling quick and efficient succulent flesh lays across
a thick padded cushion

The drums beat frantically, I realize it is my heart beat
No music playing last the time, my breathing comes through rushed paniced
Inhaling deeply filling lungs then blowing out forcefully
Soothing frazzled nerves, repeating the breath
Hands separate, one wrapped in something unsure what
then the other, they are pulled straight out
Allowing ample globes of blush coated tips to reveal to any that watch

Crying out at the forceful pulling,  rearranging of limbs
Thoughts run rampant scrambling calm with slight fear and confusion
Body jerks as the apparatus moves beneath my spread flesh
I feel my belly tight as muscles **** and pull tight and repeats
Crying out as booming dark music explodes in my mind
The movement jerking beneath again
Unable to fathom how I look I feel a breeze slither over pale half moons
Finger run along the inside of the restraint as something pulls it further away from the other, then repeated
Chill air hits my heated moist ***** sending goosebumps all over

My body fully supported arms up with back arched exposing glorious flesh
Legs parted wide as waist is supported by the bench
"Who do you belong to"? He asks.
" No Ones"
A slice of fire then a second close by erupts pain across the backside
Teeth sink deep into my lower lip as the same words come through the headset
Senses impaired heighten every syllable
Still ******* air from the first blows as four reign down upon my  
arched back, tasting blood as teeth cut through plump skin

Thick fingers grasp the hairs upon nether lips yanking
Digits knead the skin of my *** soothing the first marks
Feeling the tug on hairs again, squirming as the moisture flows the cavern, body begins to move
Yet again "Who do you belong to?"
"Myself" I say proudly
Again heat, white hot, kisses thee skin
One, two, three, four, five
Labored breathing panics me
Fingers grtip and knead the marks, it is not pleasurable but it hurts not either

Thin pieces dance across my body
I figured out it had to be as flogger
He was an expert, especially with this contraption leaving everything but my stomach bottom of thighs urtterly exposed to the wicked implement
The tongues begin touching all over as I strain to hear and see
Nothing but blackness and morrocan drums playing tribal beats
Lightly stroking, followed by searing bolts of lightening touch silk flesh,
Breathing raggedly, gasping for air, pressure building in the pit of my stomach

As the flogger hits every piece of exposed white
Fingers massage puffy lips that swell to protect the golden pearl
Not hearing him he chuckles knowing he has me
Thump goes the flogger, chains clank as I squirm
Pressing towards his hand wanting to be touched that special way
Pleading escapes, I cringe knowing I have made that mistake
Something slides into my throbbing center, stretching my walls
I know I am soaked as I feel pinches against flogged streaked skin
"Please" I cry
Again he asks "Who do you belong to?"
I form the y sound suddenly changing to once again "Myself"

The implement is left inside my love tunnel
Vaginal walls gripping and releasing
My breath catches hard in my throat as something cool
bites hardened peak,
Breath let's out with a loud moan as the other peak is trapped in the vice grip
Hair is cinched tight pulling the upper body up more
The clamps bite harder
He turned my head towards his as lips touch I feel an excruciating heat soar through my succulent peaks
Tears flow across cheeks gliding down until we both taster the salt

His teeth sink into my lip as the hand twists the chasing, the other the chain to the clips torturing my *******
My velvet reaches out to run across the teeth
He releases the bite as our tongues clash like symbols
***** throbs as it struggles to not drop the object
Pressure still building, traitor body plays to his tune
Rejecting nothing
Balking not at all
Wanting, needing, yearning for this
Our tongues dance as he pulls and releases that murderous pleasure wreaking havoc over the numbing rosebuds
Fiery locks are released
Fingers remove the implement deeply embedded in my sweet honey
Digits slide deeply into my well
Pushing against them yearning for deeper

I feel the pumping in and out
Each ****** grows harder and goes deeper
My hair being used as an anchor
Burning the scalp as it pulls
He must be able to hear the music as each move is punctuated with the caressing noise
The headphones are removed relief flows over as I can hear

He whispers "Who do you belong to?"  He asks again
I feel his fingers pull out causing a sense of loss
Something presses sat my entrance pushing lightly
Trying to glide over the honey
Lifting on tip toes pushing back
Feeling the thick mushroom push into their tight entrance
Gasping for air as he growls loudly trying to fight plundering
Needing my answer first
The tip teasing me without mercy
Pulls and releases my hair

I feel something strange being smeared in my thick juice
The warm presses against my clenched puckered hole
Crying out as he teases both orifices
My body strains tight like a bow drawn for firing
"Please oh please **** me, take me"  
I feel both openings being pushed against more
Knowing he won't do much more unless I give in
He pushes the egg deep into my tight ***
Cries of pleasure float over the music still playing in the room
His hard length still teasing the slippery tunnel
Leaning over pressing my body hard against the contraption
Growling out "Who do you belong to?"
You! You! You!
His **** rams home plundering my overly taut well
Buried to the hilt my cries louder than the night

He begins to move in Ernest
Taking and consuming His
My body being played like a well oiled machine
Slamming into me, our bodies slapping
Skin to skin
Pressure building faster as I was already close to exploding
He knows I am close
Salt from the sweat drips into my mouth
His hand yanks the egg from my *** starting the spasms
Rippling over his rock hard length
His growl rumbles within vibrating upon my back

Pace grows faster, frenzied
I feel juices dripping down my thigh
My love tunnel overflowing with essence
Crying in frustration I scream harder
The machine moves as he pumps in and out
Loud moans flow out as the movement let's him go deeper

The music is crescendoing cannons errupt
As he plunders the chain is suddenly ****** based
A reaction like dominmos begins
Hips buck against his as sdpasms caress his ****
Floods of honey burst free coating his implement
Flowing down my thighs as the explosion rocks through my body
Riding every ****** as his teeth sink into my neck
The shooting **** hits my wall spewing until empty
Laying against my body, his sweat mixing with mine

Both breathless and satiated for a spell
Blindfold and restraints removed
Lifting me up as my legs give out like they were jello
Cradling my head to his chest
He lays me upon silk
Eyes close as lethargy begins to settle
Soothing ointment is rubbed into red stripes
"Sleep Mine". He whispered
" Yes Master" she says sleepily

A smile crosses his rugged features
Finally he had pushed past that wall
She is Mine he thinks
I won't let her forget, took way to long for her to admit
Next time perhaps he would try a cane
Moving her on through
The joys of pleasure and pain