I asked Vanessa
If she had a cure for block.
You know that whisky dipped, **** ****** feeling of despair,
The **** sure, achy *****, tastes like ***, Jesus Monday already,
Realization,
You've said every ******* thing you have to say
Twice.

Vanessa said, only pain cures block,
And after the limp life you've led, she said,
You might be incurable.

Perhaps, and she
Stared at me over the black rims of her glasses
Until I felt damp and exchanged,
Perhaps you have inoculated yourself against all forms of creativity,
Simply by being a ******* wimp.

You pride yourself on being a child, she said,
A L'Enfant terrible, a pretense
Someone who would swear in a church,
Tell a woman her cleavage was obvious,
Or pretend to count your change three times
To irritate the bartender.

All a charade,
The artist as infant,
That’s you!
Instead, here she hesitated,
Of the artist as infinite-

Do you get it, she demanded,
Do you understand the distinction at all,
She asked me,
As half a baguette exploded out of her fat mouth.

I didn't and I began to sulk, withdraw
Bite my lip and pick at the scab on my hand.

Pain you fool,
Vanessa moved closer to my face,
Put yourself in real danger
Buy a ******* ticket to Tangiers or New Delhi,
Take only your passport,
No money, no phone, no safety straps, no underwear,
Just go and see what happens to you.

Yes you might die,
Be drugged and have your organs removed,
Be ***** by philistines with aids,
Who will jeer at your poet’s credentials,
And sell your kidneys,
But go.

Go now
I will drive you to the airport and buy your ticket,
Throw yourself into the world,  
Powerless,
And dependent on the conscience of strangers,
Here
Vanessa said,
And extended her hand,
Let me squeeze your testicles blue,
It will stimulate your courage
And uproot and cleanse the black mold
Of your depression.

You cannot watch life anymore,
She pleaded with me,
You are useless now and trite,
Know one thing,
You are not blocked
You are dead.
I’m offering you another chance
At everything.
Jump at it.

When Hector and Virginia moved onto the acreage,
Beneath and hidden under
The broad smile of a couple who had finally made it,
They felt the shadow of disappointment,
That always comes with the realization of a dream.

Of course at first,
There was the excitement.
Small explosions of rat-ta-tat conversation,
As they walked the outline of a house with a big back porch,
The back and forth as they
Chose a spot and then another and another
For the dog’s kennel,
The smile and sigh
As they scooped up the black earth
And dirtied their city hands and manicured fingernails,
Imagining a real garden with six foot corn.

And now, Hector couldn’t keep his hands off her.
On the day the sale closed he seduced her in the van,
While parked at Safeway,
The security guard had to ask them to leave,
And Virginia couldn’t resist flashing him her ***** and a smile,
Which the guard nervously thanked her for.  

When on their first visit to their new land,
Virginia suggested a lover’s hammock with a view of the valley,
Hector embraced her standing up,
Her hands raw against the rough bark of the big oak,
The wild approval of coyote howls as their pheromones
Announced a new predator had arrived, a new competitor in play.

He was constantly feeling her up outdoors,
Begging her to go *******,
Mostly so he could lather the sunscreen,
Over her *******,
Arousing in her some Paleolithic urge,
That made her brazenly offer herself on all fours.

An unspoken ' wanna’ from either one of them,
Just a look really,
Sometimes right in the middle
Of some earnest discussion about money or bylaws
And they’d make for the mattress in the trailer.
Their performance loud and operatic,
Jesus, they could have used bull horns
And not disturbed a neighbour or a passerby.

So it was hard to understand the dark border
That discoloured the edge and frame of their beautiful dream.
It was everything they wanted,
But getting it,
Left a tiny bubble of disappointment
That neither of them,
Could understand or accurately describe.

The house got built; the dogs loved the smells of danger and freedom,
The vegetables grew with astonishing speed and ease.
The *** was daily if not twice
And Hector became a pro at going down on her,
Licking her to multiple *******
In the unlikeliest of places and at the most unusual of times.

What is it, Virginia asked him one day.
I’m not sure, Hector replied and began to pull gently on his ear lobe,
A sure sign he was holding back,
I’m restless he finally admitted and I don’t like it.
I get it, Virginia replied,
We found paradise and we‘re getting bored with it.

What the hell is wrong with us, Hector asked and let go of his earlobe.
We die no matter what we achieve, Virginia replied,
And I think it is this unforgettable realization,
This Garden of Eden knowledge,
That it all ends no matter what.
That everyone dies and disappears
Means death will always undermine happiness, she said.

So what do we do, Hector was mentally ******* her again.
**** as often as we can, she said
And accept sadness as our most natural state of mind.
To be sad is to be normal, Hector asked.
To be sad is inevitable, Virginia responded, it cannot be avoided,  
And she knelt down in front him.

One of a billion, so empty and thin,
The breath of a child can make me begin,
A bloat to a bubble, soon free off the ring,
Up into a breeze, not really a thing,
Oily bright colours, a slip woozy shape
I dance on the wind and make my escape.

Bold children chase, big eyes and quick giggles,
I snag grandpa’s nose and it gives a wiggle.
The snoozing old man so out unaware
He’s forgotten the girl with red ribbon hair.
She’s about to be snatched, hands intertwine,
I sting papa’s eyes and he wakes just in time.
He calls his granddaughter, the man slips away,
Bubbles, soap bubbles, were angels today.

Kneel…
He’d used his Jesus voice again,
And as she explained to Jeweliette afterward,
How could she, a mere menstrual sinner,
Openly defy the lord...
Especially in his well-paid hour of need.


They burst into giggles,
Splashing coffee onto the ground,
Jamming jelly donuts into their mouths,
Adrift on a messy concrete sidewalk,
Surrounded and alone
As a tired world raced from a to b,  
Cash rich and co-conspirators,
Young women with sore knees and aching jaws
Gorgeous angels of the sorority,
Smooth and innocent,
Their eyes bright and tarnished halos.

The thing was she liked it.
He had only to speak this one word and
She instantly tasted caramel and could smell the ocean.

When he continued,
Ordering her to put her hands behind her back,
His voice would slip and slide and coil around her,
Confronting her with a quiver,
A shiver, hypnotized,
By the searching tongue of a sun-warmed python,

His tone was soft and hard at the same time.
How do men do that, she wondered,
What was this unique and masculine ability
This way of his
To be non-negotiable and kind and convincing
All at the same time.

It is no wonder they lie so well, she thought,
They’re pinch proud of this inherent skill,
They adore the sound of their own deceit,
And she could not stop herself from licking her lips.

We tried honesty and that didn’t work.
So, can we now enjoy deceit.
Text me.

Do you fear death,
Our vested demise,
The end of all things
When you close your eyes.

So what in your life,
Have you left undone,
A kiss or a kindness
A nose-rub for fun.

We all take our leave,
Our end is for sure,
So today love the other,
Let your actions endure.

Time so precious,
A one way street,
Pause and wonder,
Life can't repeat.

The band was exhausted,
Fall down tired and sweat happy.
But still on track,
Eye flirting and sending secret messages
To every girl they coaxed up
Onto the sandy wood plank dance floor,

But after six hours and 100 songs.
And now at 2:30 a.m. and the lights all up
A bit too drunk,
And way too tired to search out the tempo of the blues,
The drummer,
Buddha on his toadstool,
His shirt soaked with rhythm and stained dark green
From a steady sweat,
His boot, a robot after all these years,
Still tapped the bass drum lightly
As he dreamt of pizza,
Pizza in bed served by naked twenty somethings,
Who don't believe love has to hurt.


They, Bill and Sheila,the music gone
Continued to slow dance,
The beat replaced by the random ****** of shot glasses
Loaded by hand onto the top shelf
Of the dishwasher...
And to the scratch
Of the one armed bus boy with a push broom but no deadline.
The full moon had finally risen out of the sea,
Or was it the sun too tired to shine and begging for a day off.

Her arms were a tight hoop around his neck,
She knew how to hang onto love,
Her cheek to his chest, to his heart.
She'd kicked off her sandals and stepped onto his boots,
Her full weight a reminder that they weren't dead yet.

He'd always known how to lead and carried her with ease.
'Is this the end', Sheila asked him
And looked around at the nearly empty room,
'Not as long as we keep dancing' he said
And kissed her with a full tongue.

Tell me your secrets,
So hidden from view,
Each mystery a jewel,
I'll search for my clue.

I love to dance naked,
Perhaps so do you,
So share me your secrets,
And we'll rendezvous.

When an atom bomb detonates
First there is white light,
A truly blinding flash of god,
For miles and miles.


Then comes heat.
The center of the sun
Tens of millions of degrees
In all directions.

Then fire.
Everyone is dead, burned alive,
Within
A half mile of the blast
Yes everyone.

Every building burns
Every tree ignites
Everything is cinder crisp.

Then a 500 mile an hour wind
In all directions
Yes 500 mph.

Radiation.

This is where we are.

Can we be angry and kind,
At the one and same time.

Can we love and abandon,
What am I  misunderstandin'.

Can we drown in our greed,
Consuming more than we need,

Can we ignore and adore
Pretending love equals war.

Tears, quiet tears, silence, just breathe.

Without sadness there is no poetry.
Without love there is no point to poetry.
Without laughter there is no point to anything.



Best wishes for the season and thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to read my stuff. Only art can save us-- although peter and melissa might try. HH

The outside of inside has me scratching again,
Looking under my bed for lost M ‘n M’s
And terrorists without their mothers.
How silly, how serious,
How insane America has become.
War comes big time and solid.
The rust belt won’t have to worry now.
You be building caskets for millions soon.
Resist. Resist. Resist. Resist. Resist.

I love my phone it’s my best friend,
It’s loves me too when I press send,
I know it cares cause it needs me
In every photo that it sees.

It knows my name, makes me laugh
Web page, home page, save a draft.
It sweet talks me and I talk back,
Don’t click on that, a hack attack.

My phone knows everything I know,
Press any button, it’s all aglow,
One day my phone will be my boss,
I think its gain might be my loss.

I will not try harder.
Anymore.

This is me.

I will no longer improve,
Or promise to do better

This is me.

I will not kneel to a god,
Or bow to an idea,
Or cower in the shadow of the ordained.
No. Never.

This is me

I will not beg for love,
Or cry for forgiveness.
Or apologize for my thoughts.

This is me.

I'm the best that I can be.
And I'm ok with that.

This is me

Carla said I should furl my anxiety,
Ravel it up in a ball without conviction, she said,
Your curses can’t be creased and folded flat,
Like a dress shirt with pearl buttons and a fancy tie.
Jesus no, she said,
Stuff everything you feel into your closet
Pile it on top of your worn out shoes,
Your forgotten purchases,
And your frightening memories of your mother.

Your weakest link is concern, Carla said,
And your colossal waste of worry,
My god, you are mesmerized by outcomes,
Your pretense that life is a chess game
Is beneath insult,
Do you really think you can see three moves ahead?
There is no tidy way, she said,
To make amends with yourself,
You have dissected your life into an unfathomable mess,
The best you can do now,
Is pause…
Perhaps for a day, maybe two.

As usual I had no idea what Carla was talking about.
At least on the first go round.

I want you to walk among us
And read the story of the world, Carla said,
Humanity is desperately trying to tell you something,
Every public word, every sign, every misspelled message has meaning,
Be brave enough to stop and read things twice.

And so I went out to read the words of the world.
Words that whip and whirl around me every day.

My jam, blueberry as I recall, told me it was pure,
On every packet as bold as a White House lie.

My mechanic informed me,
He has a licensed inspection facility.
In that case, I told him
I want my government inspected
For flaws and lies and hate and deception
And of course check the tire pressure all the way round.

My gym informed me, it boldly declared
That I can burn calories,
Up to 36 hours
Post workout.
I want to burn effigies and look alike dolls
And smash the man in the face with a shovel.

My bank, the callous *****, the *****, the stain,
Told me, The more we get together, the happier we are.
And I want to get together in a march of a million angry men,
Determined to set things right, to hang the traitors,
At least by their ankles and pelt them with marshmallows,
And then smash them all in the face with a shovel.

Starbucks holds still like a library with no bound books,
The staff cling to their smiles as if they were butterflies
About to catch the next breeze and flutter away,
But their sign made my day.
Grab something good it said,
And I thought they meant an idea,
A value,
A concept,
A plan,
A truth,
But perhaps they just meant a *****
How sick and sad and stupid and insipid,
He is a monster

There were many more signs, persuasion everywhere,
Offers for my hair, my pain,
My new home complete with its own memory,
A boxing class for girls only, which seemed a bit off,
Don’t women have to learn
How to smash a man in the face with a shovel,
Why box with girls when it’s the hands and eyes,
And sniffy nose of a man that needs to be smashed flat.


Carla told me, over a glass of scotch, neat,
And a mountain man cigar,
That the world is wilting and the signs are everywhere.
Beware this one she said, he has the mind of child,
The temperament of a rabid dog
And the IQ of a Q-tip.
Yes, that’s what he thinks IQ  means, Carla said,
And downed her scotch with a frown.

If you are sad, then sing,
About each and every anything.

If you're happy, then dance,
Maybe even in your underpants.

If you're violent, perhaps enlightenment,
Time to give up your entitlements.

If you love, it's from above,
From that celestial place we've all heard of.

Be kind. Please. First be kind.

Sadness in the ink of night,
Memories restless soon take flight,
Night time is my darkest joy,
Time is just  a tic tok ploy.

Dreams that linger, friendships gone,
Carefree days had smiles and song.
I've lived a life that makes me think,
And now I sleep close to the brink.

The ice has turned into sickles,
Glass daggers,
Witch's fingers pointing straight down,
As if to tell me,
The only escape is that way,
Straight down.

Everything gets pulled back to the center,
God replaced by gravity, neither seen or proved,
Each a belief at its core.
One an apple eaten,
The other an apple in free fall,
Until now to our delight,
There are Apples for us all.

Boom.

Charity is never given,
It's always just a loan,
Kindness is a favour,
Returned when we atone.

To fall in love once is enough.

Thereafter dreams will come easy,
And you will never again, need to ask why.

They did yet not know,
The coincidental details
Of each other’s loathings,

Or even begin
To chart
The eclipses of their early aspirations,

Although instantly,
And within seconds of hearing each other’s voice,
They suspected they’d soon share
The gasps and pleadings of the great grand hope.

Their introduction was online of course,
Their first physical meet,
A small wine bar on the south side,
Where they were served complimentary
Blue cheese, on
Crisp crackers, handmade,
Each bite a delight and a nod and a welcome treat.
A sign of so many yummy things to come.

Lisa, her full name was Lisa Lilac,
Explained, with a bit of crumb on her lower lip,
That her bedroom was the only place to have
A serious conversation.

Nothing else will matter if we don’t **** well,
Or at the very least if we don’t **** with potential, she said,
Can anything overcome the cardinal disappointment,
Of *****-shat ***?
How is intimacy even possible she asked
If the ordeal is bitter or banal.

His name was Keegan
And he took her hand for a moment,
And examined the backs of her knuckles with
A kind man’s massage of her fingers.

Her hands were small beautiful appointments,
Soft,
And he knew her touch was ******  
And capable of breaking him apart.

Let me see if I can read your desires, Keegan said
And he turned her hand over and examined her palm.

Our first kiss must be a valuable possession, he said,
A vivid memory, ****** and intentional,

From this first brush, in this famished embrace
You will find in my pursuit all of your hunger,

I will draw your lower lip out with a lover’s bite,
My tongue will pirate your beautiful mouth,
And like a jewel thief in a plush apartment,
It will search urgently and everywhere for a precious reaction.

A French Kiss, is that not the most perfectly named thing,
Our entanglement will tender to curiosity,
This very first kiss will be ours,
Our only signature of things to come.

Lisa said she wanted him to kiss her right now,
In the company of strangers and hired help, Keegan asked.
Of course, I sometimes like an audience, she said,
And I always fall for a man,
Who can perform under pressure.

In that case you must make a promise, Keegan requested.
I’m listening, she replied.
You must promise after
The first time we make love,
To let me read to you out loud,
No matter time of day,

Will there be a first time,
She asked in blush of fashion and feminine coy,
Without any doubt he replied
And consummated her with his dusk- dawn smile.

Would you rather,
Be insulted or assaulted.

Would you rather,
Be hit in the face with a wild salmon,
Or have your iris' turn bright red and your pupils white.

Would you rather,
Have loved so intensely that you could not breathe,
Your mind spun like a child's top, glee became your all day smile, you felt at one with a vast universe and a sense of awe and purpose  overwhelmed you every minute of the day,

Or have a lifetime supply of Cheetos. All you can eat.

You can't go back  home, to a home that's unknown,
To a cache of hard memory, constant new treachery,
You can't go back home, to a home all alone,
Each morning's new fear, made me disappear.

I can't go back home, it's my no go zone,
No need for revenge, I just can't comprehend,
Why we hated each other, why we all felt so smothered,
Not one day went by, we weren't living a lie.

I won't go back home, my heart marble and stone,
I cannot forget, I age with regret,
Anger, self-hate, for me it's too late,
My bitter divide, still nowhere to hide.

You birth, you die.
In between you laugh, but first you cry.
Babies can’t be born a giggling,
First a howl and then a wiggling,
Feed me now, I see them jiggling,
A ******’s nourish or I’ll have to amplify.

You grow, you leave.
Kindergarten’s where you find and first deceive.
Are you scared, no I’m just shivering,
What’s the answer, please stop quivering,
Stop your squirming and start delivering,
Be silent girl, while we teach you to retrieve.

You love, you hate.
This line defines who you will be, so hesitate.
Your skin is dark, you must be trouble,
Born a woman let it double,
Godless freak, you’re on the bubble,
Fools all, refuse their call and stave a poisoned bait.

You fight, you lose.
Death’s undefeated makes afterlife a muse.
Still there is joy in generosity,
Kin and kind in blind equality,
Stand up to greed and each atrocity,
Your courage deep, dwells down the destiny you choose.

Sunday morning,
Toast, coffee and strawberries
Sliced in half.

The music surrounds,
Dionne Warwick
Why do you have to be a heart breaker?

I'm remembering, wandering.
There were good times.
Just not enough.

Lemon lipstick, cherry cheeks,
Rainbow eyes, she plays for keeps,

She's not afraid and not a fool,
Head held high, she's knows she's cool,

Purple hair, skulls on nails,
Tight skirt short, she never fails.

Girl's got game, girl's a chica,
Dance sweet lina, so magnika

He learned English.
By rereading
The instructions
The ingredients,
The head office addresses,
The countries of origin,
The nutritional estimates,
And the sizes and weights
Off the back
Of the heat and ready to eat cookie dough packages,
In aisle 5.


He studied the words
And salivated over the contents
Progressed quickly
And memorized the recipes of other
Easy to bake products.
Pictures of cakes and butter tarts in his dreams
A joyful discovery,
The sweet promise
Of the full shelves
In a giant grocery store,
Two blocks from the single room
He made into his home.

He was hungry. Always.
For all things,
And motivated by nightmares of wolves,
Packs of predators in his dreams
And his empty stomach,
Ruled him with a continuous hum,
A sort of tinnitus of his entire body
And so
To spend an hour in the dessert section,
Of a building full to the sadistic edge of its light fixtures
With food,
Made him drift again
And wish for better things.

Eventually he graduated to cookbooks
Second hand bookstores,  
Memorized ‘from scratch’ the recipes of hundreds of dishes,
Crispy potato skins, eggplant caviar, chicken- avocado and tomato soup,
He became a code breaker,
An industrial spy with intent
His focus narrowed by near starvation
Within a year he could recall
And write down
4500 different ways to prepare food.  
Each day he would memorize one or two new recipes,
An exercise
Where he learned measurement and actions.
He taught himself to stir, to ladle, to sear,
And he learned to convert grams and ounces and cups,
He knew temperature equally in Celsius and Fahrenheit,
He learned to sliver, to filet, to carve, and
To put butter under the skin of a guinea hen,
And roast it into a golden delicate anticipation.
Allant knew how to prepare.

On January 1st when all of New York stayed in bed
For a few extra hours
He approached a food truck in Brooklyn,
Whose owner was tired and hung-over.
Using the universal sign language of calm strangers,
Along with his easy charm
He convinced the weary man to let him cook.


Within 15 minutes he had made grilled peaches and split sausages
Over which he poured a light sauce made from
Orange, mango and mustard.
The food truck owner tasted a spoonful
And devoured the magnificent creation in two bites,
The look on his face as if he had seen God.


Allant went from truck to stall to indoor grill
Until line ups went around the block.
He was grateful of course,
Grateful for the hunger,
The night sweats brought on by memories
Of evil beyond belief,

He worshiped his good fortune,
Spoke loudly about freedom as a gift,
Loyalty as a lifelong obligation and
Guilty that the world had given him a chance.
He became
Unshakable in his belief
That others must be helped.
So he made the immigrant promise,

And never for one second
For the rest of his life,
Did he ever refuse a tired man a seat
A hungry man a meal,
A broken man an ear,
A lonely man his comfort,
Or an angry man his smile.
This ,he said, is the dream.

Think in questions,
Respond with a why,
Asking permission,
Always comply.

The world is shrinking,
To just a small screen,
Mute me, compute me,
I'm now a machine.

Who stole the dark,
Where did night go,
Who turned all black to blue and glow,
L E D to O C D,
No fade to pitch, I constant-see.

How can we dream, incessant light,
My raw honed urge to think at night,
Now everyone owns text and screen,
There is no time when we’re not seen.

Hand back my true nocturnal pause,
Not just for sleep, this poet’s cause,
I need my hours when I am blind,
Turn off those things, here’s what you’ll find.

Music lives to play at night
Notes like fireflies, dance in flight,
Smell the air when all is black
You’ll taste the world, a tactile snack.

Kiss her when she can't see you,
Surprise her with a touch or two,
Whisper in her ear and shiver,
In darkness she will arch and quiver.

One week each year is all I ask
All light switched off, a worldwide task,
I beg this ghost returned to all,
Dreams ignite when darkness falls.

Are you innocent?
Confused and abused,
Contused and blue bruised,
But wrongly accused,
Are you innocent?

Are you guilty?
Shame masks disdain,
Maybe pain is your game,
The shuffle and blame,
Are you guilty?

Are you happy?
A smile mixed with guile,
Juvenile and free style,
Everything so worthwhile,
Are you happy?

Are you free, now?
Sweet tweets bleep your sleep,
Keep all that you reap,
Desire anchored so deep,
Are you free,now?

Archie and Gigs,
Slow dancing, toes touching,
Maybe what,
The tenth Christmas song in a row,
Peanut shells crunch under their soft shoes,
The bar clock slips past midnight,
Her arms in a loose noose around his neck,
His hands on that perfect powder puff *** of hers,
Sentimental embezzlers,
God he loved the feel of her cheeks in his hands,
Made him feel like he’d achieved something
With this pathetic life of his,
Didn’t matter how bruised he was,
When she walked into the room,
He smiled,
Every **** time
And well *******
If that weren’t the signature of love,
Then ,as Archie often said,
He would eat pigeon crumbs and throw his shoes in the East river
And although nobody could quite figure what he meant by that,
Gigs knew he’d sooner stop breathing, than miss one dance with her,
He’d rather live in the trunk of a car full of spiders and bats,
(Which he did one early weekend to prove his love to her,
Archie said love had to be demonstrated or it was just phony *******,
Anybody can say stuff Archie said but a real man always takes action)
,
And harsh truth, she was ****** hooked
On the old ******,
Her poet , her man, her rare and rough ,
It just felt too **** good to see that smile,
That twinkle, the sly eye and his hands fit her *** perfectly
So could there be any better proof
That they were they.

One more Archie asked
And Gigs did her sigh with the horse flutter at the end
And Archie, smiling like a buzz saw
Lifted her off her feet and knew he was alive

There could no longer moment be,
Than the pause that comes after a prayer.
Be it final request or pleading promise made,
His answer weathers, wanders and out waits us all.

Trauma isn't memories.

It's the inability to turn things into memory.

What hurt's us most.

Lingers.

I've lost the connection to my voice,
I can no longer hear myself think,
A man with a cap full of change,
Told me I might be dead and unaware.

Is that what death is, I asked him.
The moment you pause and realize
You are infinitely alone,
No others ever in the room.

Look around he said,
You've scripted each and every outcome,
Your frosty choices and slavish needs,
And now regret... how sour and sad.

Old and retired, a fresh press of regret,
How easy it is to roam in past tense,
If only, I should have, what if, perhaps,
It's all swept behind, there's no second chance.

So I shout out to young, those flush with more time,
No matter your dream, nor how high you climb,
None of it matters if kindness and care,
Are replaced by those things that you never share.

Give away, friend, seek all those alone,
Respect others, speak calmly, be careful your tone,
No joy we will find until we believe,
Each life is a tapestry, an intricate weave.

If I cannot run, I will not fall,
If I cannot kneel, I will not crawl.
If I cannot sleep, I will not dream,
If I cannot wake, I will not scheme.
If I cannot lie, I will not speak,
If I cannot die, I will not weep.

It's me, not you.

It's not me, it's you.

It's not me, it's not you

It's me, it's you.

It's us, not them.

It's time.

I am no longer going to be me.

I want to be my neighbour Sally.

She has agreed to discuss it,

And if all goes well, we will

Swap apartments next week.

Sally has friends.

She said they come with the deal.

The overtones were under blown,
And so no one got to the point.
Speak up she said, before you're dead,
There's so many to disappoint.

I furled my brow,a bit angry now,
This crowd has an evil intent.
They want games and names and eternal flames,
And I was about to repent.

Look I've cried and tried and tried to cry,
To entertain all of my life,
I write, I talk and sometimes I gawk,
But recently my time has been rife.

With ups and downs and clowns that frown,
Things just aren't the same anymore,
We've had tears and fears and Trumpian jeers,
How soon can we show him the door.

Sit closer to the edge.
Move a brave bit nearer,
Put your curious nose over the side,
And look down.
See how far you can fall.

Now look up,
Shield your eyes from a constant sun,
Breathe calmly and focus on details,
Talk to yourself,
See how far you can rise.

You will die.
So, when will you decide.

How do we love after wounded heart and shatter.
What braves us to bare our trust and bold again.
It's not courage, always lent and eager to impress,
It's not fear the anxious friend of every age,
It's not pain, a mirror and pleasure's refund twin,
What perseveres when we are fractured and unfolded,
Observe your spirit,
The stubborn ghost that's wanders deep within.

It's you.
I think you said those words first,
And instantly I understood.

It's you.
Unexpectedly.

It's you.
It's us
This We, we feel,
Predates this life.
Survives this life.
It's you.
For eternity.
Forever.

It's you.

She asked me if I would die for her.
I said yes instantly.
Without thinking.
There was no decision to sift.

The fact that you said yes
Is insignificant, she said.
That you didn't delay means everything and all.

I'm not sure I understand, I replied,
And we stopped,
Turned,
And faced each other.

Reluctance is a carcinogen, she said,
Love cannot, will not, must not hesitate.
Willingness is where we fuse.

I smiled. She kissed me.
Autumn wept without a tear.

There is no god,
We know that now,
No righteous way,
No need to bow.

There's us and time,
And space galore,
Muons, quarks,
Sun-stars and more.

But meaning hides,
A shy allusion,
We pray with faith
And find delusion.

I asked my father for life advice.

He said form alliances not friends.

I asked what the difference was, is.

Alliances last he said,

And turned the key to start the car.

I don't care.
I've given up.
**** it, I'll be runnerup.

The lies, the truth,
Which is worse,
Be clear almighty universe.

I'm better than you,
It says so, boo,
On the bottom of my shoe.

There is no out,
Best plop right down.
Lived my life as an angry clown.

What you think its real?
Maybe it is or maybe we forgot,
How to untie all the nots.

Yeah, I'm done,
Lived life so recklessly,
So fecklessly in constant perplexity.

No more thought or tears,
I've had my fill,
Time an enemy I could not ****.

Do you give a ****.
About anything.
Anything at all.

The weather, sleep, french fries,
The mental state of the person
Standing beside you on the subway,
Your last few moments,
Before the cold, frozen, forever stare.

How do we give a **** anyway.
Is that the issue.
We ******* care,
But we just don't know what to do.

Do we march, write and post,
Buy a gun?
Vote... for who?

No, it's over.
Forget about it all
There is no point in giving a ****.
You are right.

I don't give a ****.
About anything.
Anymore.

What have I learned
That would be of any use to you?

Hmmmm...

1)You are alone. Totally. And you always will be.
We all are.

2)The way to be kind is to first be gentle.
Train the body, train the mind.

3) Talk to strangers everyday. People you do not know are not to be feared. Engage them. Smile. Nod. Talk.

4) The moment you feel sorry for someone is the moment you begin to underestimate them.

Is that enough for now. Yes there is more. Later ok?

We rail against suicide

While seven billion of us destroy our 1 and only choice.

It won't matter.

Nothing will weep when we be gone.

I went to see an interior designer.

Turns out we weren't talking about the same thing

At all.