Text me
Test me
Trust me
Tempt me
Tell me
Take me

We say with Glee to each other
"you're gonna miss me when I'm
gone", tap, tapping a hollow,
rhythmic heart beat tune we all
can dance 2.

Blue songs -- heart break, and heart
make -- comforting white
noise from a TV left
on because we need company
while shuffling about our
widowed empty nest.

Is the truth always sad or
does it make us angry?

The clinical diagnosis is no one
will remember when I'm gone.

There'll be no shrine in a living
room reminding us
of Vietnamese grave sites
where my father's, his
father's, my uncle's, and my cousin's
names are written.

All the boy's names are forgotten.

Modern girls need closure, shutting
the door to past boys
because it hurts too much
when the shoe is on the wrong
foot.

We wonder which gender
neutral Gloria will survive,
and which stupid
lock should have been changed,
and which door must close
forever, forgotten.

Maybe the truth does set
us free, but we don't realize
it yet and still comes back to
haunted houses,
spending ghost money from
a displaced parent's love wallet.

Crickets rub their legs together
at night, chirping. To past
time, we two stridulate.

It's just a myth, but we sing
anyways, every night.

A calling song, loud ***
appealing, before a quiet
chirp ends the courting.

Chirp, chirp, chirp,
who the **** is he?
Chirp, chirp, chirp,
make up, or make it up,
let's ****.

A large vein runs down
the wing, serrate teeth
smiling, gnashing out
dry chirps.

Night songs of entangled legs,
or crossed wings? It doesn't
matter, and we hardly notice
the passing night.

The tumultuous song
of a billion chirps doesn't keep
us up alone in bed at nights
anymore.

In greying room sits my idle stare
glassy I outside see Baltie air
foggy white whiskers, a comely face
Smiling mouth vacant. A circle lace,
Within contact eyes sparkling fair
Uneasy on moving teeth despair.

Zoom, zooming a Prius black streaking there
in between Baltimore, heaven's stair
up collective vibe, woodie brown palace trace
knowledge bit worker, foe uncommon hairy race
Discovering an escaped boar upon hidden lair
Greasy lit padding with dollars flare.

Are there strategies to displace binge eating
with binge doing?
Wouldn't it be swell to get $ for binge coding?
something like:

poem.each do |word|
money = word.compose(your.wordstream)
end

More efficient monetizing of your thoughts.
More efficient cars and buses.
Correlarry: more paved roads, driveways and concrete surfaces,
therefore, more runoff pollution.

It's not the end game
yet, but a vast,
complicated middle game
with closed centers
and deep positional
Play.

Will our grandmasters make
a mistake real-time playing?

Two paths diverged,
and I, wood in hand
made it my own
with tended shrubs,
arranged pebbles,
and wild pelt
for game.

Twas a good road
until a harpie
came to roost.

"Such a beautiful Way--
let's woo and trick  
more trekking feet
to feed our hungry
family" she says.

Now there's a Free way
turning my Ki, driving
me solo somewhere
with no family, friends
or even a fornicating Fable.

My friend's mother is from Belarus. Recently, she got on a plane to visit him in DC, and sat next to another Belarus woman who had never flown before. After several hours flying, they hit turbulence. The plane dropped and tumbled in pockets of dead air. The woman turned to my friend's Mom and asked,
"Have you prayed?"
"Yes" was the reply.
She nodded and then continued her stare at the vast Atlantic Ocean out the window below. After a few moments, she turned and asked,
"Do you know how to swim?"
My friend's Mom replied,
"Yes... but I'm not sure in which direction"