It is now a 3 way dance
techn9ne blasting so fine
a spoon in right hand helps keep the time
dancing around with kung foo feats
left hand has the chill
ben and jerry
my after lunch thrill
we are dancing
this is true
cause these calories will not stick to me
like glue
I dance this cream off
so i do not **** up this body I dreamed of
I do squats while taking a bite
I am gonna make it inner thigh tight
You Can eat ice cream
really it is true
just eat it on the treadmill
or while dancing with the techn9ne crew~

devilish
treason,
personification
nonsensical reason -
flash forward to now
see they had an essence of the
Season.
A world so Dark.
Light is
devilish
treason
personification
without much reason.
Actions are one's own
let their repercussions flow

Silence washes over me with a quietness that only the wind could break.
I search for a way to ease my pain,
To push it away from my body.
The silence i seek i use to ease my soul.
Silence makes me a deep thinker,
Silence grows my wisdom,
Silence wipes my sad tears.
Silence makes me a peace keeper.
Silence is a glorious enigma.

I often misjudge the distance
between me and the world,

this morning the distance
was more like looking
through a keyhole
and seeing the
arrows wreckage,

a woman was walking
in front of me at the
university union
where oversized portraits
of past torchbearers and
victors hang grandiosely
on neat corn rows
like kings and queens
with branded jewels
we watched her fire storm
together - just me and the group,

she came through the peaceful
passageway that normally
reminds me of a quiet library
but not this time,
her pace quickened as she
disputed her case brashly
to her lover on her cell,
something about being seen
somewhere with someone  
so furious and unbending
and persuasive, out there
in a swirl, and I thought,
“****, why?” such chaos
and anger over an
appearance, over an
inquiry - over a nothing,
there was no autopsy
but she rambled onward
stomping her black spiny
pumps loudly on the marble
creating a demanding rap
it couldn’t wait
tossing her hair back violently
as if it were on fire
she stunk up the joint
with her, “no time for that,”
front,

the distance between me
and the world grew smaller
this morning,
I stopped to look at it
at her retching, it wasn’t
a fire and I did not
misread this,
what I felt there peering
through the key hole
tenderly reminded me
of my own adultery
with absent mindedness
and irrational fear
and messes that protest,
else they lay down under
lily-livered puppet strings
and bed springs.

At first, pimply faced and shy to look and touch
you took the stars from the sky and implanted them
into my crisp clean English Essay as if the words
were silhouetted in the embroidery of the night.

I was struck by this teacher who lived in a space
that filled his skull cap with beauty in everything.

Soon the floodgates opened and my own words
mingled with ecstasies and rituals of writing,
danced across the page in rhyme and reason
and spilled over into vast tracts of books and
writings and thousands of printed pages
all with your signature hidden in the prose
and poetry of teaching me to search for meaning
in every single word. What a journey.

Today as I shift some words and visuals
into subtle pictures I remember the first ones you spoke
to a shy little boy, afraid of others seeing his writing:

" Go dance with the delicate, spin magic with
every sentence and dress those pictures in tailcoats
and ties, so others may know that your pen is
dipped in poetic polish of a special kind"

Thank you Bro D'Arcy.
Author Notes

A tribute to Bro D'Arcy, my English Teacher at St Josephs College, Coonoor, who first recognised that my writing was different. The good man never ever made  a negative comment and each time he looked at my schoolboy writing, he would delicately carve his calligraphic handwriting suggesting how better I could improve the language.

Sometimes, I would write and re-write a poem dozens of times until it merged into the best poem possible.

"Every word spoken or written with part of you in it makes you a better person"- Bro D'Arcy

I owe Bro D'arcy, a lifetime of learning to write better.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

I don't understand how people can be so harsh and crude. I do not understand why anyone should want to hurt one another... I guess I am just too naive and stupid when it comes to human relationships.

I haven't felt  this humiliated and insulted before in my life. Or maybe I had, but in time I've forgotten all of it. I know, life goes on, one way or another but how am I going to deal with these feelings at the moment? Typical me, I take the blame over the mistakes we made. Yet I keep asking myself; what have I done to deserve this? What could I possibly have done that makes him want to hurt me this much? Yes, this is about an insignificant other. I never share my private issues publicly, but this time if I don't get things off my chest, If I don't talk or write about it, simply put I will explode.

The whole story is long and not worth telling at all. It's such a ridiculous situtation that no poem can be written about it. It has so much ugliness in it yet I was still trying to look on the bright side of it, trying to see even the beauty in that shady, unholy thing that now I am ashamed to have called "love". Oh, how I decieved myself. How I made him up inside my head.I guess, after all I am the one to blame.

I had the most tender and innocent feelings, all shattered now and I don't know what to do with these pieces. No, it's not me, I am just one of the many he used and betrayed in his way, on his way.

Heal; it takes time. I'll just go back to my dark, cynical, isolated world, I should have never left there anyway.


mosquitoism.

When we sleep or die,
know not where we lie.