lollipop laughter,
light-hearted living,

picturesque, perfect people
penning pals their best,
pulling down presents
and pushing back pests.

sharing smiles, sending
sights, sound-bytes and bites
several miles, south by southwest
and some places elsewhere.

wishing well, winning wildly
with one another—We whine and
wine while wishing-wells way round
the round rock and wayward,
wish and wash
with the Without,
waiting
wading
in waste,
lands
we
won't
walk.

We'll wink, think and talk
shortly—but not a moment longer
and never more or nevermore,
unless we witness winter, fresh.

but locked or not
the door is rotten:
would a knock be heard
it'd already be forgotten.

open up.

You are the good in the world. I am the one who needs you.
We, can be happy--but? You have to be down.

We are but one world of many. I am down in the happy-good.
You, who the - needs you? You can have the to.

We consume big and create little,
we like neat things instead of the mess.
Wake up in the middle of our lives to find
we only thought to buy more and pay less.

Attention to the price tag—Need
the hottest J's, the nicest bags.
Stupidly married to the common cents,  
we divorce from time and meaning spent.

With our friends and families, we are short.
Our support is digital. Our talk is report.
We don’t bother to calculate what they add;
high bandwidth and credit subtract the sad.

Truth is no longer requested offline;
we readily settle with others’ designs.
Two-Day shipping makes us smile,
for happiness we wait no while.

I got AT&T; not ****** Mobile,
but I’m a mobile ******, with an STD:
Stupid Talent, Dude.
Haven’t even gotten my first ****
yet, or my noodle wet.

no

Marry me to the dollars that were never mine
to begin with, or end in my divorce from time and bandwidth.

Date me like the daze you're in,
free from Good, but taxed by Sin.

Dump me when you've gotten full,
go fool around with other rules,

and die a loan too short and cruel.

ACT I

MR. REYNOLDS: university linguistics professor in his 30's.

MS. LENDER: 1st-year graduate student in the university linguistics program.

SARAH: university undergraduate.

Scene 1

MR. REYNOLDS' office. The walls are covered with prestigious accolades and degrees. MR. REYNOLDS and MS. LENDER are sitting together, both with good posture, on one side of the table. SARAH is sitting comfortably in a chair on the other side.

MR. REYNOLDS

Okay, first of all, Sarah, I want to thank you for taking the time out of your day to work with Ms. Lender and I.

SARAH

Oh, like no problem at all. When I saw the bulletin saying that you guys needed like research subjects, I thought to myself that I would like love to talk and help.

MS. LENDER

(Staring). Do you work in the Student Union? And do you know--

MR. REYNOLDS

Ms. Lender, those questions are irrelevant. Let's get right to the task.

turns to make direct eye contact with SARAH

Are you ready, Sarah?

SARAH

Yes!

MR. REYNOLDS

Great! We are delighted with how excited you are. First question, Sarah. Would a sentence like this be something close to what you might ordinarily hear amongst your peers: 'I think I like like John?'

SARAH

Yeah, totally. Except, if you want to get like technical, I need to ask you like a follow-up question.


MR. REYNOLDS

Oh, there's no need to, Sarah. We're not testing for content. Only grammaticality. There's no need to get--

MS. LENDER

No, please do. Do get technical.

SARAH

I'm just confused with the way the sentence was like worded. Does this person like, like-like John, or does he or she only like John like a friend?

MS. LENDER

I'm sorry, come again? All I heard was a series of 'likes' and what may have been English if we really--

MR. REYNOLDS

Ms. Lender! Excuse me, Sarah. One moment.

SARAH

Oh, no problem.

MR. REYNOLDS turns his chair around to face MS. LENDER. He motions her to do the same.

MR. REYNOLDS

(Whispering). What are you doing? Why are you being so hostile towards our subject?

MS. LENDER

I'm sorry, Mr. Reynolds. It won't happen again. It's just that one of my biggest pet peeves is like-insertion.

MR. REYNOLDS

I understand that, Kathryn, but you are damaging your professional integrity by getting mad at a test subject. Remember, we're only here to record the descriptive rules of English language as it is spoken on campus, not prescribe suggestions or ridicule.Do you understand?

MS. LENDER

Yes, completely.

MR. REYNOLDS

Splendid! Now, let us continue. (Turning). Sarah, may we proceed?

SARAH

Of course, just I have to like leave soon. I'm sorry about that. It was totally like unanticipated that my ride would be here so fast.

MR. REYNOLDS

Oh not a problem at all, we can continue this another time if we have to, but we'll try to speed things up for you.


Okay. So, the second question runs with the same conditions. Would a sentence like this be something close to what you might say personally or hear on campus, amongst your peers: 'John and I partied all weekend. Oh well, YOLO!'?

MS. LENDER

Yes, please think really hard to yourself about this one. Are there any John's that you may have partied all weekend with, or for several weekends in a row with, and decided to say at the end of a good run, 'You know what? YOLO! You Only Live Once, so why shouldn't I be an ******* and steal someone's boyfriend?!'

MR. REYNOLDS

That's enough, Ms. Lender! Out of my office, right now.

MS. LENDER grabs her belongings and exits stageleft. She sits outside the closed office door.

SARAH and MR. REYNOLDS make their exit. SARAH is halfway out the door with an apologetic MR. REYNOLDS following on her heel.

MR. REYNOLDS

I'm very sorry for the unexpected turn of events. You will receive due credit if we decide to publish any work containing your responses. Please take care, and once again, I am so sorry.

Sarah walks offstage


Kathryn, we need to talk. I am incredibly disappointed in you. What was that whole fiasco about? You are aware that she was an integral part of the research for your end-of-the-semester project, aren't you?

MS. LENDER

Mr. Reynolds, please forgive me. It's just, of all the kids on campus, it had to be her...I mean, I'm positive it was her. It's just my luck that it had to be Sarah Ross.

MR. REYNOLDS

Pardon? Where did you get Ross from? I'm afraid I don't understand, Kathryn. Her full name was Sarah Blackstone.

ACT I

DAD: in his late 50's.
TRISTAN: around ten or eleven-years old GLADWIN: in her early 40's.

TRISTAN Dad?

Scene 1
Interior of a cheesy, unkempt motel room. DAD
channel-surfs the cable television, the remote in
his right hand, a cigarette in his left. He's
sitting on the edge of the bed. TRISTAN is on the
bed behind him, crying.

DAD
Yeah bud?

TRISTAN
     Is Mom gonna **** herself?

DAD
     Well, I hope so.

TRISTAN Dad!

DAD
     (Chuckles). What?

TRISTAN
     Stop! I'm scared. What if she does?

DAD
     Why are you worried? I'm not that lucky.

TRISTAN
     (Screaming). C'mon, Dad!

DAD
     What? (Chuckles again, longer this time). I'm not.

TRISTAN
     Dad, stop. What if she really does?

DAD
     Trist, don't be stupid. No one who's really going to
     **** themselves tells you like that. They don't sing it
     out loud. She's whistling Dixie.

TRISTAN
     (Sobbing at this point). Dad, I love Mom.

DAD
     (Pause). I know, and I-
               (DAD'S cellphone rings. He answers
               immediately)
     Hold on, Trist. It's your fat mother.
     Hello? Yeah. Yeah, you have this kid scared to death.
     Would you just tell him you're--What? Alright, Glad.
     Well enough's enough. (Pause). Okay. (Reacting loudly).
     Oh, quit screaming in my ear! Trist, (extends the phone
     to TRISTAN) here.

          spotlight comes up on GLADWIN, who is stageleft,
          lying in bed and on the phone.

GLADWIN
      Trist! Trist? Say goodbye to Mama. I'm going away.

TRISTAN
     Wait! Don't do anything bad, please.

GLADWIN
     I'm gonna swallow my pills, Trist. I'm gonna take them
     all and I won't be around anymore, honey...

TRISTAN
     No! Mom, don't!

GLADWIN
     ...so just say goodbye to Mama and don't ever...

TRISTAN
     Mom! Stop. Please, stop, just don't!

GLADWIN
     ...forget that I love you.

           Spotlight goes out on GLADWIN.

TRISTAN
     No! (Looks at DAD). Dad, she can't!
               (He drops the cellphone)

     Oh my God!
               (Leaping off the bed and fumbling with
               the phone in his hands, he hurries it to
               his ear)

Hello? Mom? Mom?
               (He closes the phone and quickly reopens
               it. He dials GLADWIN'S cellphone)
DAD
     Trist, take it easy. She's fine. Stop calling and go to
     bed.

TRISTAN
     She won't answer! (Breaking down). She won't answer.
     (Lets out a piercing cry). Dad!

               (DAD lights another cigarette and pulls
               TRISTAN onto the bed and under his right
               arm)
DAD
     (Rubbing TRISTAN'S back gently). Go to sleep, babe.
     She'll be there tomorrow morning.

TRISTAN
     But--

DAD
     Ah, ah! What did I just say? Everything will be okay.

TRISTAN
     (Calming, but still anxious). You promise?

DAD
     Promise, kiddo.

She runs the purple corridors of an inexplicable tenor;
forgetting the voice--in connotation of the congealed, mushy-make and pith.
'Victoria, you're dancing inside the bag of veins,
that creep the blood crooked to my brain.

'Your living in there, you know?
Forever, for ever
and ever for the time past ever.

'Stay in there. You were born in there.
You will live in there. You will-
live in there.

'Lovely, your lips do mock and expedite this breath.
A succinct touch even joshes my lungs.'

Alone she is;
together the sinews of my center-piece and she
be.

Only ever has it been her,
only ever will it be her,
simply never will no other
be.

Pudding pops are good.
Ba doga doga do dah.

"Cut me a piece of any size, large or small!"
a plead that beats lower my knees.
Like insects rushing poignantly,
with the pitter patter of hungry feet
I'll ****** a crumb, a mildewed one,
to curdle you close to the plug.
For to gag our hearts, is much unto our hunger;
a taste bitter in ****, rumbles louder asunder.
What we feel will run under and over
our shoulders, a cascade of thunder,
that can crack this old boulder.

We're all columns with cracks, that twitch when they creak.
I'm Doric like Greeks, but so loose in the back.
I never know which, nor with itch is this patch,
or the one that keeps silting and clapping this scratch.

As a Pete Pillar, a pillar of Peter, I stand the statue stand,
for when my Dad's too tired to greet, I make like a pillar with hands.
Near the gate, is where I see the men and women shaking.
Nervous is what nervous seems, as souls go limp with taking.

Eyes may run my name on skin,
but solely hearts can read within.

Feathers strapped on the outs of seem, of pink and purple, of color yet.
Seen around this violent weather, drinks that hurdle, are hard to get.
Together when soaked with prime no better, stoked to find and kiss the daughter.
In law, out law, outlaws fed her, he rather play a love bird tune.
Out the noise, when in the slaughter, eyes of boys are caught in June.
Tenth in line to raise the baby; dropped the world and dropped the toys.

Why are people born, brought to bear pain,
or pain built and barred "burying" we barbarians?
You would think cavemen could sing more than
Grunts--open your mouths and voice the ears!
The frags hum louder than your joyous day,
a time you sprint from gas and gears.
I'd like to see that, please my men,
so I often--always--ask us, "When?"

It's difficult to breathe when you're peeved a private lung, 

and hard enough to swallow without knowing the food is done. 

I'd beg for you to speak if you could force the dryness down,
but it's hard without a tongue to make the voice of yours be found.

Just lick your lips and swipe that frown,
we'll hear the smile and see the sound.

If I make it to heaven, I imagine
limping to the clouds with a collapse coughing air.
Whispering words sung high, swung low without fear,
with the beauty of all tone, coasting and floating,
and then finding a place to hide in everyone's ears.

If I make it to heaven, I imagine
falling short to settle fine fit.
Letting my body by hip hit the pit,
burning with higher words singed across my lips,
and clawing out of my throat, a voice that beats the paining itch,
"Be it far from me to quit, but flaws may be too hard to fix."

If I make it to heaven, I imagine
I will make an imperfect angel, wings slouched in rest by my sides.
Eye color will stay, green will have stuck the pull
but my shine will grow lackluster, and wither on a whim.
Of what I'm made, will be the rule,
not something figured, physically mustered!
In those who can see and tender the day,
are those who should be, accepted right in.

If I make it to heaven, I know
I will realize that I've already been.
For my life here on earth, prized at sole worth and soul,
was shared heavenly, felt heavily
by all the love that I heard, and all far and close
that I've given and told.