Big ****, The Head *******,
was the head of all the ******* in the ******* Shed.
What made Big **** so skilled and keen
at dickheadedness was to be seen.
Big **** had a certain ******* flair,
for tugging at everyone's short and curly hair.
He never had an important specialty,
except for being a type-A personality.
His skills were near to nothing great.
He kinda looked like a backward ape,
with a necktie 20 years gone out of style,
and his middle-management bullshitty wiles;
"I'm better than any ******* here!"
He'd proclaim everyday with a prickish sneer.
So they put him on his own cocky shelf,
where he could reign all by himself,
and every *******, ***** or *******-wanna-be,
would come to the ******* Shed just to see,
what they could achieve if they'd observe instead,
the ways and means of Big ****, The Head *******.
___
Dedicated to every single uptight, middle-management, pain in the ****
you have ever had to work with or for.

"I'd rather have a bottle in front of me,
than a full frontal lobotomy,"
or so the saying goes,
as for me, myself and I, my friend,
I'd take both to soothe my woes!
__
Jack, the liquid lobotomist:
http://beautyineverything.com/5060607209

all i have left are brief, fleeting fantasies.

i see things i wish i could touch, and touch nothing that i see.

it makes no sense, none at all i know, as it's now all in vain.

i must learn to give myself up, i must give into the pain.

tears are trying to fall, yet the lions of rage stifle the flow.

i know i am going nowhere with nowhere going to go.

here's me taking a stroll now into that land of makingitallup.

this is my last less than a mile to go, falling down, falling up.

this is the invisible me who can no longer be seen or give talk.

this is me you don't see on the bymyself walk.

___
brief fantasy:
http://beautyineverything.com/5089079591

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

birds on barbed wire,
watching over me,
lodged in a private
penitentiary.

birds on barbed wire,
not a chirp or peep they make,
they just perch between the barbs,
watch, waiting, wait, watching me
shiver in silence, violence shake.

birds on barbed wire,
will neither spread wings,
or take flight,
these wire-bound birds
will not
leave me out of their sight;

-nor will any such
birds on barbed wire
call out or make cry,
these birds on the wire
are here to wait and watch me
just die.
___

birds, barbed wire:
http://beautyineverything.com/5082513864

The sunset kissed the horizen  and the flask was finally empty.
My old friend to no suprize  had said his last goodbye.
Theres a place in a man's mind that doesnt allow understanding.

Darkness was soon to replace the laughter.
As a void was forever left.

Walking from the site I had no dellusions this was  to
be continued  no play of words could twist fate.
Outlaws were never ment to see happy endings.

He knew the game and laughed at it's  outcome.
To be forgotten  wasnt a ploy but only time held the cards
and its face wasnt giving any clues.

The redness in the clouds like a perfect backdrop
cast a shadow apon the headstone  the leather bound flask
with the intials engraved into its front.

Was but a side note to a epitaph.
Time in thought's is wasted apon a life
ment to be otherwise empty.

It's time for me to leave.

And so a souls winter does begin.

Open up the circle box
Slowly and fragile
All the same

Feel the impact of what's inside
Look into its crystal glass
See yourself looking back

Through the time warped mirror
Back to the days
Where your smile never left

Slowly feel the empty
Blank
Where your ears should be

You can not hear
How can you know?
A wishful smile breaks

Oblivion slowly wraps itself around you
As your sight is blinded
And you are alone

I didn't think I'd be
writing poetry again
or for a while.
It's neat
how things come back in style
with the way to approach them.

I'll find what it is you
wanted me to write.
It's hiding I think
in this cold purple night
with the fog rolling in
like something
sick from within
finally coming out
Too trapped to get out
but now it's out
it's out it's out.
Cry for me I can't believe it's out.
Keep looking surprised for me.
It's out.

Feel I want to scream
and spin and die.
and stand on my head
and sigh.
and sigh.

So what did you want me writing again?
Something about or for
or having to do with you,
my little muse.
Go. eat some glue.

A sense that I can not live without you
Delving through the senses in my mind
Driving me to the brink of insanity
I must have your touch or I die
Caught in the whirlwind that is your love
Torn by my relentless need
In a rush my passion beckons me
On to find the solace in your arms
Near you I must be forever

Who is China?
Why does China speak to me?
How does China come to my dreams?
Who are all those people, all those
Chinese souls,
who visit me when my eyes are closed?
__
Chinese souls:
http://beautyineverything.com/3449882810