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Fullfreddo Mar 2018
“the ones that feel everything already know...”  Harlon Rivers

curse this blessing. leeches leach this blessing.  
this summation this summary judgment
this sum of my addiction addition
where from this mark of cain upon my eyes, intended to drown
a brimful poet in a wellspring of their product?

blood sweat and tears the tea my quill is
in the rivulets that drown the scarred pathways perforce dipped

walk the streets and all secrets to me betrayed
yours not mine for in my possess but one
feel everything

every scowling every halved smile the ecstasy of belly laugh
I know I know
the libretto of a thousand operas
that do not all reach a final act

a-few cogent my x-ray ability aNd and the most
desperate  with out the disparity of no partition

curse this blessing bestowed, I rather

Fullfreddo Jan 2018
as well as I know the colors of my blood, my guts, my words

they, were the first words, my eyes read this day

this, my last belief, as my heart thundering beats

come summer,
we will write together side by side,

the windy, invisible, indivisible
words composed will permanence survive

that will be our true benchmark
of lives well lived,
forever preserved,
death defeating words

help me to
see too well,
so laughing shouting,
fine woman-poet,

I know thyself
Fullfreddo Dec 2017
a human tool, a drawing pencil, shedding snakeskin cells as
lead from no. 2 pencil

am **** and blood, skin and hairless,
return retuned, at their own chosen speed,
gen of regeneration of disrupted oils and heavenly blessings,
morning cracks and orifices, filling and emptying obediently,
to the tidings of the grieving gravity of my moon’s decisions
that govern the lunatic cycle

you may kiss me with all your heart unto a robust welcoming,
scorn with spittle and deem unfit,
I know the difference and it is inconsequential

see me as combustible or flat, airless and empty,
as a new or a two day old leaking birthday balloon, or a haiku
that makes the reader gasp for the reasoning for breathing

think of me as a meme who responds to the touch of
your nippled forefinger, but my powers are unlisted,
therefore unlimited

for I am neither cyber or cypher though aesthetically they
appear as parts of my humanity, a human machine
forever reprogramming to new stimuli sensating,
the temperature of your breath, the many odors of you
as inputs that bear newborn children notions in
my chested gas chambers, the belligerent bellum bellies of my brain

my digital describe in thousands of computers do hide,
but to comprehend the interacting calculations that are
my constancy and my inconsistencies, you must make a tour
if you are awake between midnight and dawn when from
wells the visions, the fluids - the words are drawn

they, the residuals of a man’s ******* with
other humans, kin akin, and the thriving discourse between l,
man and parental gods of invisible powers, that offers insanity
as a viable solution, to cracking the codex human DNA
in the vial labelled Medusa

Who else?
Who Else?
from Joseph Campbell...

“which has been registered in this myth, much as what Freud terms the latent content of a neurosis is registered in the manifest content of a dream: registered yet hidden, registered in the unconscious yet unknown or misconstrued by the conscious mind. And in every such screening myth–in every such mythology {that of the Bible being, as we have just seen, another of the kind}–there enters in an essential duplicity, the consequences of which cannot be disregarded or suppressed.".
Jul 2015 · 545
the body is breached
Fullfreddo Jul 2015
for The Masked Pimpernel


the body is breached,
gums bleed, tongue bitter bitten
skin eruptions sequence
as if markers on the Appalachian trail,
the nose runs cold and wet,
forming edifying rapids
when tears-as-big-as-raindrops tonic-mix in

ashes of rashes,
cuts, all self-inflicted,
but from the inside out,
intersect like a crossword puzzle
across my chest

every orifice, even the ears,
demand their day of aperture,
overseeing the in and the outflows,
controling the vertical, the horizontal,
demanding the outer limits be opened

if just for a day...

so so many poems attempting to escape,
all at once,
here I, bedridden lay,
astonished, for I have just
July 26, 2015
Fullfreddo Jul 2015
Send me an email, explaining why,
you don't want to have ***,
easy all around,
easier that way,
we'll meet in bed,
without awkward good nights,
no more a wind passing
the wondering why,
only passing onto sleep

sure a little
hand holding,
a forehead kiss plenty sufficient,
now that I know why,
we are no longer joined,
though we are still together

an email, no face to face chagrin,
worse yet, no screaming, pouting,
no sighs when you turn to face away,
I'll understand the reasoning

an email will suffice,
to end the doubt of
is it me or is it you?

why this was the only
to full sponge away the stain
on our relationship

an email is just another kind
of *******,
Fullfreddo Jun 2015
you want what I cannot create.

you want what you want,
you utter incantations,
to harness my magic
to no avail.

long time lesson learned,
so obvious,
so human,
for trying to change
what is
given us,
our source material, life defined,
limiting us to what is visible.

creating is a coexistence warring,
but it is a closed loop,
no external input receivables acquirable,
other than thru the filters of mine own
misperceiving imperfections

you demand, insist, that I
create as in the past but

I cannot.

my needs complected, complex,
created incomplete,
you want the simplicity of raw,
scratch me for pain, surge waves
of love from tempest hurricanes

you crave the sad and the sadder badder,
I crave the exhilaration of watching a
new day's light earth birthed,
the small ironies appeal,
tiny is better than
the major battles, remembrance
of  past morning glories

you want what I cannot create.


I want what I create.
May 2015 · 2.0k
His Narcotics
Fullfreddo May 2015
our love making is an  

coming together,
crack ******* this stunning pleasure

wilding dreams,
mescaline pretense too real

daily life,
the modulation high of a flotation device,
some call it cannabis-like

gentle drowsy,
a glass of tea and
Fullfreddo May 2015
self made.

his own self-summary,


no DNA, parenting, cells coded
making us predestined to be
exactly who we are?
no environmental pressures?

ha. yep.

crossed and resurrected

afraid, ashamed, ashes
re-birthed from his memories

your average God or Phoenix

but a
self made,
a re-made man

there is no reason
to say more

to quote his own

(Heart mirroring heart)

Wellspring of memory
Fountains of life's water,
Crossroads of storms

(Echoes of waterfall)

Mirrors mirroring
Reflecting reflections
Remembering well

(The times of one's life)

responsum to
Fullfreddo May 2015

how I find her...

so many possibilities

neither fire nor spark

more beacon, aura...

mesmerizing inciting comforting suffocating

guiding mystifying arousing yet never


always binding...

hydra headed sun

this, the one poem I cannot

but fail...

the light in her hair

find her, find me,

a match, a deuce,

she be my selfie

see me in

the light of her hair
5:57am nearly June 2015
Fullfreddo May 2015

in sympathy, in honor, in horror
with those whose heads are shaved
against their free will

and to uncover
my nakedness before you,
as prisoner, as victim, as poet,
nothing must come between us
even this:

and yet,
the prickly stubble head resprouts
soon enough,
spring floral efforts
an annual reminder,
that even undisguised and exposed,
my bald palate plate,

is just another nether hiding place

May 2015
Fullfreddo May 2015

not a fan of reality TV,
plenty of "unreal" episodes
of my own direction stored,
available for further review
in the storage units of
neuronic black and white prison brain cells

which is why I have free~will chosen
to enumerate my poem~videos;
for easy retreat retrieval resurrection
of the travelogue of mind own insurrections

a garage of mobility devices,
car, rollerblades, cross country skis plus,
a potpourri of escape methodologies
that by definition are all round trippers,
returned to their storage unit after use

and I count them Noah~like,
two by two, as they come on board,
and when they disembark for days of
rest and recreation

this one, #4,
is born
among headstones,
just anther memory storage unit
flag decorated,
but different

This is a one-way,
no return,

it can be viewed at anytime
by those who care to be users,
by speaking this:

Read to me poem number four,
on a day we celebrate,
about free men of every color and persuasion,
who are calling out to
open the door to storage unit four,
so we to can perform
our once-a-year
Tour of Duty
to the those who called,
and answered with limb and love,
for by their glory,
we are
free too

to remember in any way we choose

memories of a veterans parade,
on a May Memorial Day
Fullfreddo May 2015
poetry composed in perfect silence
for which
there are no noise canceling headphones,
a coachable prevent defense,
protecting my inner ears from hearing
words forced to the surface,
loudly spoken, up floating
to the mind's enraging waters admixed
in the high definition
disquiet of imperfect silence

frag grenades, IED's detonate,
nicknames for the brain's multi-voices,
all argue raucous, unafraid of exposure,
over~shouting to be heard,
freely secure in the silent privacy
of mine owned
internecine slaughterhouse

but what I write down,
is mine to keep...

my home is an isle,
an atom of Earth
split by a broad freshwater river

land spits on Google earth
can be witnessed, seen plotting,
injecting  themselves into
my two~sided, belly~soft
unprotected riversides,
forming bays and coves,
hiding places for
human devices

my poor mind is my river,
mind the sailing craft called poetry,
a ketch to keep afloat,
while avoiding the backwash wakes
of larger enemy ships of state,
those who gladly drown me
for pleasure
Born May 23, 1950
Recorded on May 23rd
Fullfreddo May 2015

I will lay me down.

I will.

Tread on me.

Leave your footfalls
Upon the shoe impressions
Life has already left upon me.

Walk in my shoes.
Walk on my back.

Let us walk together.

A journey marked by follow~me
Impressions of where
One stepped before,
And others, came after him.

Walking in his shoes.

Born May 23, 2015
Fullfreddo May 2015

a strange place to start
having not truly begun,
already beat down by the

own a million rose colored words,
but some assembly required,
that's when the foreknowledge truth~rules
burns brain holes

easy is never
poetry writing is
cussing hard work

spring rains cloaking warmth,
summer's stunning sunsets
demand submissive awed silence,
autumnal leave drops anointing
your refreshed humanity,
and yet,
one more time,
it is only within winter's white bitterness
lip tasting,
million tear-shaped snowflaked words,
is the crowning visible
of the head of
a newborn babe poet

                                        ~                  ­                            


Capital Hard.

in the beginning,
there was one,
a first work

and the knowing,
if it wasn't hard,
it could not be
any good,
makes it possible
to ease on
this fearful
revelationary road
Born May 22, 2015
My first poem.

— The End —