for a moment
i wished that i was
sailing over the ocean,

far away from land,
far away from the world.

but i stop and think again
and i remember that
i don't like water,

hardly even to drink,
maybe to mix with scotch,
but then, only in its frozen state.

Grey
skies
chilly
temperatures

Alibis
for
your
sweet
alchemy

Allegorical
punchlines
setting
up
shop

Breathe
deeply
my
dear
friend

Every
thing
is
subject
to
change.

Don't go poking them
    What good is that.

Don't sit on the sidelines
        when they try to take
                    you to the mat.

We can all make changes for the better
if only in our small part of the world.

I won't give up on Peace
  even if it kills me to do it.

A black and white long hair
getting up there in years.

She's not my cat
but she knows I'm a sucker.


Once a day
she comes looking.

She'll stare me down
and guilt me in to a petting session.

She sheds black and white
to paint a grey on  the sleeve.

Now she can get back to
being the old girl that she is.

She will withdraw
to sleep away her day.

She will smash
every wine glass.
They are broken,
but not her heart.

She will walk barefoot
from room to room
while her feet are bleeding,
but not here heart.

She will drink him up
until her body aches
and her head hurts
but not her heart.

Evening's long
shadows
lay peaceful between
a walk in the neighbourhood
where the windows are looked at,
not through.
And the air is not
shattered with alarm.

Behind the church doors,
in the pews: a congregation
is dead.
I take them downstairs
to be buried.
The preacher is undisturbed.
" Where the dead lay
the crows will gather."

This game played
between the ears.
My own arm
beating my own head.
The small cry
is the small fry,
so the bully
bellies up,
filling his hole.
Always in need of more.

Beside an ancient well,
with stillness
under a dark sky
with diamonds.
There is no natural,
nor any contrived.

My dream life is a cake-walk into town
It's as North American as baseball and apple pie
It is a zombie apocalypse on Halloween night
It's ocean waves, and a sunny sky, where bodies fry

My dream life is always speaking truth, not being caught up in lies
It's an old western movie, funny, old farts and dusty trails, where the good guys win no matter their side. A horse and a decent ride
It is a UFO abduction, being probed in a most delightful way a shared feeling deep inside

My dream life is

Fooling clouds
cross my view
passing hurts
and pleasures.
Blue on white
on white on blue,
'till black has
broken through.

I dreamed that
it finally died last night,
that it was truly over.

Waves of guilt and fear
to carry me away,
until I could see no longer
that place I started from,
and I no longer knew
that place I headed to.

Now, I gather stones
for my tomb,
while with willful eyes
study my peers,
lips pursed tight,
they have closed
their hearts,
closed up tight
to my falling tears.

Yes,
it is I,
it is me I cry.
Feeling condemned
by the unspoken lie.
A lie to weigh heavy
on my bent back body.
Heavy as Christ's Cross,
responsible for all souls lost.

Then,
I stumble
and I fall
as I carry
the burden upward
to Golgotha of the Skull.

The ShadowLand,
where grief clings
to my name
and to their person.
Asking of today
to stride with a limp,
and of yesterday,
to crawl and beg.

Forgiveness
would be
the task at hand.
A ticket for
some far and distant shore.
Safe passage away
from ShadowLand.

Bent,
but unbroken,
while the pain
of its death
runs deep.

Not until
hatred is spent
and words of
kindness are spoken
will forgiveness
be complete.

Only one way to forgive,
that would be completely.
Only one way to live,
that would be completely.

Anything less
misses the mark,
comes from the head
and not from the heart.

And so it remains
that for me to be free,
I cross the threshold
of forgiveness
standing ready
to turn the key.

Time and again
It's easy to see
first I do drugs
and then they do me

Because I say
I don't believe
in the devil there
is no real assurance
that he doesn't exist

When he's found out
 he's not getting his due
 My guess is that
 he's going to be ******

Santa
and
Satan
they be
making their list

I'll get
what's coming
my way
On this
he'll insist

A lump of coal
slung in a sock
and a wicked back hand
with a doubled up fist

Just enough rope
to hang myself
if you get my gist

expel my blood
in the bath after
I've slit my wrists

Full on boils and
***** oozing cysts
Gassy smelling vapour air
charcoal coloured mist

The  forked tongue
pushes out a steamy hiss
Master of many moves made
a charming guile hard to resist

Pre-paid passage
on the wretched raft
his water minions
pulling me out
to cross the Styx
  
You do drugs
then they do you
You know it in your heart
there is madness in the mix


So if you don't mind
I'll stand over there
while you keep six


© 2014

Standing in a field
with big sky
while rain threatens
the children in the playground.

Swiftly thoughts
charging from here to there
and back yet again.
It isn't a matter of relax.

Slow poke in the ribs
that knocks the wind
across the open grass,
moving towards the horizon.

Play is an unforgotten
movement that pushes me,
and who is to say
what is or isn't play.

Two shadowy figures
    start toward each other
         each staring from the other end
               of a long hall.

Both held ornate candlesticks
            made of brass, held head high,
                      candles flickering.

Slowly they approached
      one another, neither uttering
              no grunt nor word.

The candlelight walls bear
graffiti smeared in dark red blood
that bathe in the light as the sticks grew near.

Each door they passed
      had stylized golden number plates,
           behind them echoed whispers.

Slowly the cloaked figures met,
     standing face to face, the candles snuffed,
                 only to find they were the only light.

Under nourished being of a human being,
Gobbling up the cobble stones on a stroll through town.

Mispronounce the words on the page
Of a book you mistook for the gospel.

Someone will shoot you some bones,
Then when all alone you'll draw your comfort up in a spoon.

You lay waste to a world that everyone puts such stock in.
Thumbing your nose at rich and poor alike.

Trickling down through the roots, your behaviour stains loved ones
With a work that blackens the eye of love.

I cannot turn my back but I will not be played while being betrayed.
I'll leave it to you to lift your own self out of the mire.

Your 'now' passes quicker than a blink of an eye. The time was now ten years past.
I see you, but I won't follow, leaving your slug trail that has the texture of spent ***.

Hollow eyes out of focus, viewing no pain that matters.
The death of you will stop your need.

Alone and unwanted, your sums worth tallied in the red.
No surprise there they will say, and so will I.

I stayed up all night,
Looking for the  Sun,
And then it dawned on me....

That deserves  
A rim shot at
The very least..
Or maybe,   Even some slow,
Low,    slide  trombone, muted for style,   with a plunger.

This place is as close as you
Can get to living on an island.  
Almost completely  surrounded by sea.    
A  rocky  coast,         cliffs scrapping the sky.    
Strong riptides, with their brother, the other one,
The one and only, here he is...   the infamous, Mister  Undertow.
            
The land's well worn mountains are now hills,  
Windswept over centuries.  
The hills,  the harbors..... the Valley,
Stretching  more than three hundred  miles,
Blooming with fruits,  orchards of all kinds  
**** lands, and cattle farms and other livestock, and history.

When I was a child I couldn't stand it,
All my friends couldn't wait
To quit school and head west,
Armed with a larger wallet for
The big bucks that were to be made.

All that was found was greed and fear and stony faces.
People leaving their families back home,
They might as well have been going off to war.
They ***** the land and squeezed its oil sands,
All the while there eyes growing maniacal.

Big dollar signs is all everybody could see.
The leaders and the rich pushed and pushed
And ****** and ******, Wanting more and more.
They scraped and scraped until everything was black.
Black as black can be, black as the dark side of the moon.

Now, I look ahead,
And I look behind,
I see that I slipped through the cracks.
I encountered no war.
I wasn't faced with the prospect of
Blowing someones face off,
Or getting my self killed.
I like to tell myself that I
Would rather go to prison
Than to  have to shoot some one.
I wonder if I would have the guts.


When they come from "away"  
They call us Blue-Nosers
And think us quaint...
Better a Blue-Noser  
Than a Brown-Noser.
I  tell  myself,
Better to be free
Than to chase Money.

Spine twisted recompense
and all that was, is not.

Fortune buried in  a field
and I stand on the wrong
side of the fence
with my plastic shovel.

Wisdom brings responsibilities pain.

If I should hold too tight hugging
the kettle
I shall burn my arms.

What good to burn my arms.

Better to cut them off
and go through life
eating with my feet.



© 2005

Don't look a gift horse
in the mouth
them's the rules
follow the yellow line
taking one step at a time
running is for the fools
take the matter up
high in to the clouds
spend more time alone
far away from the crowds

I bent
and broke
the rules
allowing
my siblings to
get away with
******.

the runt
of the
litter

she is **** head
was going to call her meow

but **** head works fine.

It looks like I took
A turn for the worse
I hit a fork in the road
And came down with
Some kind of voodoo curse.
These monetary blues
I must confess
They've taken away my
Happy-go- lucky
And put me under house arrest.
My muse she flew
Out the back door
And is on the run.
Screaming over her shoulder
It ain't a crime to be unhappy
But it isn't any fun.

The blues they say
Came from singing call and response
In the fields and when they'd go to church they
Injected the spiritual which led to Gospel.

From there, the spawning of Blues and Jazz
And it was fascinating, it was The Birth of Cool
Muddy Water's said it "You know the blues got soul."
He claimed the "Blues had a baby
And they named the baby Rock and Roll."

Black American music remained on the cutting edge
With Soul, Funk and Disco, R&B, Hip-hop and Rap.
The world owes much to many great American musicians,
,But particularly the Black, they've done it with style and grit.

It sounds
And I am compelled to listen
This is beautiful
Now that I've heard it
There is no turning back
To the point of no return
Experiences pile up
The hold never dissipates
At times it immerses me
And I remain motionless
It sounds, squeezing ***
On its bonds with male
And female on fresh waves

the first thing
that I noticed
was the child's beauty.

then again,
I realized how
I can judge a book
by its binding.

the linking of
these bony fingers,
while the back
of my mind
rests in the palm
of my hands.
a sign
of my threadbare body,
barely old      barely able.

there she was,
waving her habitual bliss
like a carrot
on the end of a stick.

while a silent psalm
surrounds a starry angel's glow.

All her friends call her Little Wing
But she flies rings around them all
She comes to town when the children sing
And leaves them feathers if they fall
She leaves them feathers if they fall

Little Wing, don't fly away
When the Summer turns to Fall
Don't you know some people say
The Winter is the best time of them all
Winter is the best of them all

                                        Neil Young

Around
And
Around
We went
Up and down
We went
To and fro
We went.

When the stench
From the dead decaying bodies
Became so strong
That you couldn't walk the streets.

All that could be done
Was stay in the house
With lit candles
And plenty of incense.

No one knew quiet what happened
Who was it that fired first.
Not that it mattered
It just left tall buildings
and people splattered

What to do? Well first thing
Is to clean up what mess you can
And burn and bury the lifeless bodies.
While wiping tears from your eyes
Before they soaked the bandanna over your mouth

Too stunned to be thankful you're not
Among the dead or dismembered.

All this mess and those who started it.
Trump and his needling every leader
that crossed his mind, and cross their mind he did
Trump and his money, where is he to hide it now.

His towers lay in ruin
Most major cities were hit hard
Now it's a matter of survival,
Where to get food and water
That can still be consumed.

All this chaos,  whom to blame.
Well it's all of us, we are to blame.

I  put your vision
in an empty chair
trying to make peace
when you have gone

Instead I cry to George Jones

I wish I could say
I love you with all my heart

But the truth is that
I am just getting to know you

You give me grace to grow
But still I blow it off

I feel like a babe
Learning how to crawl

My heart seems full of fear
Most times I choose to ignore it

If you are giving me the truth
Please open my ears to hear it

This flash in a pan that is a lifetime
Surely there is more than a few decades

I am afraid to pray for strength
Believing you will test me along the way

You are my only hope
Without you I'm dead in the water

Why hide in plain sight
It makes it hard to see the simple

Like the all knowing eye
On the dollar bill daily visible

So in the open that it is ignored
Just like the fear I crawl away from

Now and then
as I remember when,
such a warm feeling washes over me.

A smile crosses my face,
can you believe it I say,
we used to be that way.

We were awestruck
by the dumb luck
in finding each other.

We found magic in
what could have been a train wreck,
holding fast  in our loving embrace.

You sharing you, me sharing me,
uncovering those things
that lovers do uncover.

Your memory brings this warm glow,
a fine feeling deep down to the bone,
rushes emanating from my very soul.

The leaves are falling,
this season is dreary with its
darkened skies and bitter winds.

Fifty shades of grey and another fifty hues of blue
the thoughts of us are slipping away
while another  evening caps yet another day


.©2013

This man is
Not going to be
A smudge in life
He's out to leave his mark

They poke at him
Trying to get some dirt
But he's a private person
He has private parts

The time is right
The need feels great
He is gnashing at the bit
On the way to fill his plate

He wants some  
Fun and some
Loving company
So don't give him
The once over
With your third degree

You pretend to be this
And pretend to be that
If he doesn't measure up
You're going to leave him flat

I can feel your eyes on him
Like a bright searchlight
You think he will be going down
But you know it won't be with out a fight

Some things they come pretty easy  
Other things they seem so hard
Some times you find your treasure  
Buried in your own back yard

He is no longer walking
With his head in the stars
His feet are on the ground  
Putting an ear to the track
To hear that heavy chunk of metal
with its mournful sound

The book he carries talks of
A great war of the Spirit
Its stress is that it is no game
No politics physical or not can steer it

Then a breeze broke the solid heat
And quelled the sweat and quenched the thirst
You can toast the twisted souls
Or you can have them cursed

to hold the universe
    i left my mind        
and
the edge of spirit
                      became the
                       boundary line.
   the whole
                       is hidden
                                     in the darkness.


i die to live
    with the hope
over having hold over angels..

yesterday, i courted your way...
believing that the riseing ashes
would bring an unimaginel glory.

Now, once again
i'm  on a mission.

now i can move ahead,
   not staying home in stead.

what do  you do.. you do it well.  you
live and learn,
be pulled this way and to be pulled that way.
and what's the alternative.... lay down a die.

kinda
like an
eccentric

living his life

with
three
cats

waking
up in
the middle
of the
night

pinching
a flea off
his *****

before
turning
over

on his side
to take sleep
again

To live to love
inch by inch
metre by metre
mile by mile
I walk inside of
the straight and narrow.

My spiritual life
has me bopping
up and down
feeling like a child
bouncing away
while sitting in
a well worn Jolly-Jumper

I walk the streets
and the highways
trying to flag down
A ride away from the crossroad

I'd rather live
in a trailer
than be a cellar dweller.

Let a strong wind
******* over
before that basement
fills with mould.

If I could I would
Trap a moment
so I could live it out twice
no wait three times or four.

Two steps forward
three steps back.
According to the Universe
there is nothing I lack.
Only I'm left to think
instead of just
doing what I do.

Inch by inch
metre by metre
mile by mile
I learn to live in love.

Avoid
those corners,
bit my lip
plugging
my ears,
always
shifting
to second gear.

Wanting her
to **** the chrome
right off my trailer hitch.

I 'll be the warlock
to your little witch.

Pray tell, what's that smell,
it's gone and stunk up
your brand new ancient well.

Same-old-used-to-be,
a reminder, there is lack.

Waiting for some stranger
to give me a whack,
someone stranger than strange,
have them dress in black.

A Poppy abreast,
       stamping us all
          prisoners of war.

Will there ever
    be the day when
      there is no Warrior.

The blood red Poppy,
   symbol of death, sedation,
     pain relief, numbness, remembrance.

Will the poor flower
   ever recover, being cast
      in  a  most  Heroic  role.

I long for the day
  when there will be
      War    no     more.

No longer,
   any more,
     Prisoners of War.

We are what we think,             are we not what we see, 
  hanging-tight to that which is thought        to be known.
   Remember the span of time before a       Christmas when it is
     spend, spend, spent.    Now home, cooking, but not happily.
      How many, hopeless, long for the clean-up and swallow
        quick, choosing a later *******-of-the-mind
           rather than a mastication in the now.

The happy full of bliss, fooling self and others, 
  the sad grief hidden.                     Grieving a earlier time when all
    felt good only all being false memory.  Nostalgia. Vagueness,
      holding a bad hand, bluffing in dark glasses.  Chips all-in                                      

The trees that fill the Amazon toppling,     animals and humans
  scatter like roaches missing the boat.           Wishing to the last,
    to conquer the earth. Hoping to be the longest living the life
      of riley, imagining a greatness, a false feeling, a well meaning,
        fooling dream.

The motel rented, a mattress, home to blood-******* ticks,
  hitch-hiking home to invest in an I who believe to be blessed to
    travel. Who's the sucker? Who is the free-bird hanging in the air?
      God clothes in love sublime, feeding those bits of spirit eaten
        with chop sticks and plum sauce, the meal sliding down the
          Cross to be met with intestinal fortitude. (if only)
            Wits in terminal tumultuous slavery.
            
I am Blue, I am not so new, I am the 'egg-man', I am me, I am you
striving to come-together over what to do.       I offer to the poor
   deciding who is worthy and them do I bless with coinage or
     paper taking no receipt for taxing relief. Taking no time or
       courage to meet that one God put in my path, in my face.

No time is the right time. No time hung on the pale-blue wall.
  No time clung to the wrist. No time on the bed-side table.
    No time in the machine that queues robotically.
      Compressed time, an eternal 'now' passed over, missed.
        A sad time in want of a glad time. A bad time's visitation in a
          hallow human shell. Cold. Cold and lonely in Winter's dark.

A home-run hit clear out of Fenway Park, bouncing off the
  windshield of the car you had earlier parked. Looted life, stolen
    goods? Goods!        What good are goods if they be more weight
      that  can be carried.

Parading down the narrow street twilling a baton,
  knee action bending, a goose-stepping military follows.
    For the love of a
     God I live in, free me from this charade. Hold up that Holy day,
       when all creation lay at my feet. Dominion missed,
         an ego with a twisting, a devil in those mathematical details.
           Pressed hard in the cranium, controlling a baton, stared upon
             by shivering parents and children rushing,
               gathering candies thrown from floats
          
Insects who would have one day rule the world become food for
animals with a human mind and a weaken soul. Feasting. Recipe's
   abound, bugs for breakfast, bugs for lunch, Haggis eaten in dark
    Wintery five o'clock nights. Insects prepared in the most curious
      ways.

Cockroaches, bedbugs and me.

Shank that darkness
    and let the
        light bleed through.

Bringing up
    the past,
overturning a rock
      while the insects scurry

Tropical storms
   brewing, just a
      blow-hard knocking down
         weaker trees,
    pulling the plug
         on the power,
           scattering memories.

  Up all night,
    beating the early bird
       to the worm,
Caressing the morning's
      dew dampened grass,
           chuckling,
laughing to keep from crying.

I'll be right here putting all my eggs in one basket
Sweeping sentences into the corners of my cranium
Shaking the cobwebs free to feather in the light breeze

Passing ancient ruined relationships gone down with the ship
The proverbial creek with out the paddle rocks left rocks right
In my right mind there is no turning back you see

You worked hard for what you got welcome to all your stuff
Let's us go for a stumble spilling beer down the front of our shirts
I will skip across the waves like a flat stone to meet my burial at sea

Sick man sick man why you so sick
try to walk a block feels like a mile
sick man be sick for very long while
every time I see him he never smile

Sick man sick man why you so sick
doctor can't tell him what be wrong
sick man been sick way too long
sick man sick just got to be strong

Sick man sick man why you so sick
wouldn't wanna walk in your shoes
sick man ain't got no power to choose
sick man sick man don't want sick man blues

Some kind of beautiful Finch
came to visit today.

She was black and blue and
two shades of grey.

As I sat on the stoop
with February's day.

So much sunshine
it would be hard pressed
to feel dismay.

My mind drifting
like in a dream...

Where you can't
quite make it go your way.

Just float on my back
in the whispy whispery world.

Dream of a day where  
there is no need
to have a Flag to unfurl.

I feel so lonely
after the setting sun.
Just like some lead
in a spagetti western,
holed up above the saloon,
feeling those four walls
are keeping me from running free.

I have to slam the door
'cause I'm going down
to see what I can see.

I like  a little here and I like a little there,
I ain't no smooth operator and swag's just another tag
to try and get the young ones 'cause usually the older knows better.

Honkin' on the harp.
Knowing when you're flat,
knowing when you're sharp.
You got it, that's where it's at.

I **** myself every time they cheer,
and I got to get paid, I have to get paid.
They all ask, 'can I buy you a beer',
and the girls say, 'do you want to get laid'?

I listen to other players and I swallow up their licks
So cool to be given this gift, I thank God.
So much fun, it's how I get my kicks
It's like I feel our Father's giving me the nod.

Bluesy blue eyes, looks like he's devouring a cob of corn
***** blue eyes, had one too many tonight.
Still he pulls it off while playing his horn,
The smoky bar, the light chatter, the bright stage lights.

left with
a Christ to find
we ignore
or not

My heart is loaded with sorrow
I feel like I'm going insane
Please tell me baby what do I have to do
is there anything I can say

Sometimes I can be slow on the draw
I'm hard to live with, maybe don't pull my load
I don't want you to be on a see-saw
I promise, I'll be as good as gold

It pains me that you found another lover
Now you've said goodbye  you have to go
I don't know as if I'll ever recover
I can't believe it baby, say it ain't so

My heart's loaded with sorrow
It feels like I've got a bee in my brain
Please tell me baby what do I have to do
is there anything I can say

If I've lost you, well
I just don't know what I'm going to do
It's going to cost me I can feel it
Already I'm feeling blue

I stood there
music with me through me.
As natural as walking after  learning to crawl.
Pacing my self breathing the night air.
Feeling on, feeling relaxed feeling electric

I can't stop and the rhythm is infectious.
My body sways and I'm not there.
I watch myself as I  tumble from note to note,
blending and bending. Ego shut out.
Art for art's sake.

Resolution time after time.

John the revelator wrote:

All the angels in heaven sang
Ceaseless praise unto the Lord
The Lord finally asked them to stop
He said all the praise was going to his Godhead

Standing at my door
an old friend just met.
The veranda catches a shadow
still with a thick layer of dew.
Slow to talk about the real but not about
the pounding, look close, real close,
dare to see, offer the eyes, the eye
open always on the shining mind.
Breezily blowing into the kitchen
where everything revolves around a
couple of days, isn't it a gas, isn't
it a blast, or should language like that
be used?

Choose to ask the tongue once
when morning settles in to stay
brow beaten and lonely
asking her to play,
why does it turn out this way?
why does it turn out that way?

The choice brings no answers,
a frail silence, a brazen emptiness,
leading in the mystery meant to teach,
to scold, to fill,
to be bold,
to breach,
to breathe into that thing that carries  me,
one man up the endless hill, breath by breath,
no longer seeking, no longer tied to a home.

Went to see my shrink the other day
For some unknown reason
He felt the need to tell me he was a Liberal
I told him I identify as a Paradox
He said that was strange
He had heard of Furries
But never has anyone identified
As a pair of Doc Martins before

Evening's long shadow
lay peaceful between
a walk in the neighbor hood,
where the windows are looked at,
not through.
And the air is
not shattered with alarm.

Behind
the church doors
in the pews: a congregation
is dead.
I take them downstairs
to be buried.

The preacher is undisturbed.
"Where the dead lay
the crows will gather."

This game
played between the ears.
My own arm
beating my own head.
the cry of the small fry,
so the bull bellies up,
filling his hole.
Always in need of more.

Behind an ancient well,
with stillness,
and under a dark sky
with diamonds,
there is no natural,
nor is there any contrived

© 2005

The Poet's Corner wants to fill me.
My Doctor warns me of the danger,
already one leg is gone,
though I want all four limbs to be done with,
I strain not to be altered by
anything other than myself.

Tall trees laying down
with broken backs.
It looks a mess out there,
so man gets busy and does
what man does best.  They
commence to cutting corners.

Inside four walls I begin to cut
with a rusty pen knife
and the infection spreads.
I didn't do it for the show of it all,
I did it out of an old, old ghost
that just won't leave me alone.

three minutes walk
from my home
a giant park
with trails
and a few
waterfalls

beautiful
is the way
to describe it

the roar
of the falls
are hypnotizing and

in that momentary trance
time slips away

the smell
of the furs
and pines
the tall trees
guide your eyes
to the pale bluest
of blue skies

the trails
that lead you
through rocky terrain
still icy making it
a bit of a challenge
for unsure footing

time
spent
clears the head
and resurrects
restoring the spirit

three minutes
from my back door
what more could a person ask for

Over our head
creeps big time,
the only thing that is.

Freshly folded moment,
to alive to  die,

Witness  to  the  break
in the softer water's wave.

Now, back,  forced to see,
no  salve  for  the  blind.

Sometimes, oh to be blind.

One   is   eleven's   rhyme.

Stop and think
whether you're one
alone or in the drink
too much of
a lot of nothing
to the fingers
doing the clutching
I'm full of it
it's wasted on me
"I'd never join a
club that would
accept me
as a member"
And so it goes
as I sit on the curbside
wearing a **** eating grin