sword sharp
getting stroked like the ego

people pleasing has certainly seen better days
in other ways pleasantries can be perplexingly particular

down by the river the boats hum
it's hot today and poor richard has started feeling a little feral

ah yes me thinks it's time for jammy jam

hell has raised the rates of interest
people actually want to go now

but the fiddle won't play itself

the testimony is in
cry out hear hear

a shame that
the newsstand for a penny
a new stand
what a nuisance

what shall it be atom man
hear hear they see you cry


mother's tomato soup
grows ever cold

if there ever was one
i saw it in the simplicity of it

when i went looking for twelve rounds and a
kay oh


straight lines a bleeding nightmare
the witches are after it
and all the while we scribble scribble

fear not for the dollar
it got half baked a half century ago when a half dollar had a half head
how's that for the bell


the audience goes wild before the shiver silence
woah ** ship has sailed

i have been leaving a trail of crumbs
all of my life

who spiked ya

all in the name of spite

mic check one two one two

for the sake of blue

literally literary

a man of many words







he chose to keep his mouth shut

something akin to virtuous
but all too virtual


it's the **** pixels boxing in my mind

sheriff sir i'm seeing squares


and
crying out for help

sunday somewhere

a man smiles

nobody outpizzas the hut he thinks to himself

shards of glass
chewing gum bubble
vintage sixty three

her broken doorbell rings no more

sunday somewhere

a sentry guard laments the day his mother went out for milk
a cool mist slowly approaches him and begins licking his boots unaware that his pinky toe is peeking out of his sock begging for a taste of the blistering wind

he stands at attention
a noice emanates from the woods at his fifteen hundred
he totes his gun on his right shoulder and begins the approach
the noise somewhere between shriek and shrill leads him to a clearing in the woods where he sees a man of not more than forty years of age speckled stubble upon his face
walking around in circles with stick in the ground

he's got that look in his eye
a mutter a conversation a yell
a symphony

of sound

peonies for the poor folk a bushel of roses for the dead dandelions for the prayers speckled as dust crackled as wood he who seeks fortune shall make do with crumbs fire overhead a love overheard this time there's no way out we litter the past we litter the waters we litter whatever is left of our hollowed grounds

if only mother knew
if only mother knew

the sentry stands at attention

he brings his rifle down from his shoulder and raises it to his face

ah yes


the garble