And like that;
It was midnight again.

Nothing new

There wasn't anything cured;
nor there was anything new.

It was just midnight.
And everyone cheered around me.


Happy to be alive. Or for a moment aware of life.


While I stared at midnight,

into its face.

No TICKS to mock me.
Nor a TOCKING back apathy,
to me.

We both had a moment...

          ... alone

for the last time.


And nothing special came from it.

It was perfect.
Almost like it didn't happen.

Taste is 5 letters long and
I'm feeling all 5 senses on my tongue

Your refreshing lips
Your porcelain smooth fetish of my aches harbors
Your calls echoing and waving into the bay between my ports
The sight up to the sunlight blossoming flowers in your rolled eyes.
The blues and white foam breathing into me.

I want you how you want me.

In between gasping for truth.

Blitzing language and foreign words only your body can understand with my mouth.

I'm so lame
And you are the pinnacle of sway swagger and justice before the judge and executioner
And I am Sisyphus before Hades and Persephone, pleading one last chance to beseech my love of a gaze into her eyes before I am ****** to punishment for trickery.
To con myself into your arms and feel what life was really meant for.

Babylons eroded
Mesopotamia flooded.
Egypt dried
And America polluted.

Murderers and heroes.
Gods are liars
Man tell the best stories
Women dream reality
UFOs are from Earth

Life is Hell.

You are becoming the last person alive to have a pulse and not a cellphone charger.

You are the last voice I heard ever and the one I only needed.

Time are pieces of papers before fire.

And I use matches to unlock doors and free myself of guilt.

I cannot control floods or the turning of the earth.

I can only speak for fires sake.

I can only speak for tomorrow, if I gain a spark for today.

We can burn it all down
And kick the sand in the deserts around the Nile.

Or banish Gods
And scorn men.
And let women dream.

You can live in Babylon or live back between the Tigris and Euphrates.

Or drink from America's murk.

But we are looking at these keys blazing.

And never looking back, dropping them in doorways.

To ash our cigarettes in the rubble of yesterdays pain.

Together.

Boy, oh boy
Will boys be boys
And oh boy, that’s gross to say,

I at least get that,
I mean I try to but here’s to trying

Kind of like trying to speak for women
Or anyone that isn’t you,
you should just not do that…

There’s a difference in defense for the good of all
And then, there’s what we were talking about 50 ******* years ago

Oh, excuse me 30 ******* years ago,
Last ******* year…
2 ******* days ago…
OK RIGHT THE **** NOW…

But I really want to go back to 69
Oh, The Summer of love…
Or the summer of forcing a woman to go to court over the ability to receive an abortion only to be decided by a group of old men if she has any rights over her body to receive a safe medical procedure, all while  the media doing no one any favors guiding a blind division nationally between people and God fearing busy bodies, calling her names and questioning her character as a responsible person, in a not very god-fearing tone, all while forcing Ms. McCorvey again, to get burned more for prolonging an unwanted pregnancy due to waiting on a decision that is determined in court by that aforementioned group of men, which is like the sportsman’s equivalent of just killing the clock to win a game but it isn’t a ******* game it’s a woman’s body, which clearly they didn’t care anything about just as long as they get that **** baby in the next 6 months or so, but as stated above it is indeed unwanted, so really who is going to take care of the ******* baby because we know how much people just love adopting ******* children?
Let’s ask 25 republicans!

But some people talk of 69 differently,

Some remember the Beatles.
Some recall Charles Manson.

Kind of like today
Some say we are putting god back in our government
And The rest of us in 1972 to 2019 are wondering who the **** invited god?
I never knew God and every white person’s, “one uncle” has the same opinion.
Amazing!
But Uncle Alabama shouldn’t speak for God.
Wait until he finds out she’s a woman.
That’d be a kick to the unregulated nuts we can just spew anywhere, like a natural ******* disaster.

That’s what the name of this ******* poem should be,
but it’s not.

Sincere, *******.
That’s what I call this one,
That’s what I call the last 2 and half years too.
And this poem.

And telling women what to do with their bodies.

Some people would think differently.
But I don’t think some people think.

I woke up with a universe dried to my hands.

Post observable,
Post ****** of;

    water,
    seed,
    death

and
fingernails,

scratching at a birth canal.

Who is hungry?

In support of health
tired, my mind body and soul
Goodbye to you noise