•

You are a really good fisherman,



And I am just but a foolish fish,




                                                       ­                      Preposterously bitten your hook,
                                                    With your bait of feigned love attached to it,
  



                                   Piercing it all the way to my heart,


                  Leaving me wounded with all of those prevaricates I've fell for,


But I don't know why,

                            I still love the feeling,

                                         That you've been jumping in gladness,

                                             That you've finally caught me,



Even though I was hardly breathing,

               'Cause you've taken  me away from the place,

                                  That makes me breathe and gives me joy.


                                 It somehow gives me relief,

                 Seeing the auspicious sun,

Brightly gleaming into my beautiful scales,

Not knowing it was just a start of a baleful Gehenna!




                    I should've known all along that it's just an entice!




                              But I am still blessed,


           'Cause I have manage to escape,

                                While damaging and harming myself in the process,


From the jailhouse that you've locked me in.




                                                      ­From then on,


              You've learned a lesson,


  

And use NET instead.



                       © Earl Jane
                         ♥ E.J.C.S.

Fun fun times in the now and here and in no man's land between the lines where everything that's anything and no one who can be anyone or any one who can be everyone goes.

The weasel may be popped, but the shop's open the whole year through, fun fun things for us to do and who'd have thought that they only bought to keep up with the next door Jones.

Rags and bones and pony carts, Napoleons and Bonaparte's all come to them asylum men who in their white coats, stethoscopes at hand lead the madness of the marching and who'd have thought that they were mad, one and all of them asylum men.

Work they said will cure the blues, but I choose not to take advice, they look twice and shake their heads, Supermen in lockdown wards on lockdown beds with locked in minds find Lois with the golden hair, she's watching any someone over there and it happens to be me, what glee, one more Nero on the deck to fiddle things, in my neck of the woods, goods in, goods out and that's what madness is about, absolutely pointless drivel dribbled by the 14th Earl of anywhere she's just a girl, not allowed the umpire shouts, not PC get out of here and in no man's land the band lays down, Napoleon marches on one more town, Havisham sits in her wedding gown and dust gathers in the corridors.

Cracklings
sweet sizzlin'
crickets
Blazing songs
the pine bark savagery
of sharp day's beauty
hunting
the heat on the
Russian borzoi
orange puffy fan
white silk
and vanilla
ice cream
butterflies
landing on my feet;
A current of salty
air breezin' deep
Blessed be! Laurels, Lovers
Shrines
Sighs, Tent massages,
Oleander dreams;
Sapphire mingles
aquamarine
within my
irises: infinite waves
Black portals of White Poets
Consciousness
The body is cool
chillin' in Wireless
Mocca
Beach Bar
Silver Star
Demant!