Aren(t) could be what we are
but not

a function passing time that
could be anything goes
the argument

Don(t) likes Juan
the fat one in a Chevrolet
riding alone

Haven(t), Won(t), all negate
the haves and what nots
of me doing

I(ll) passes me a double deuce
a good hand to start

but let's wait
on the flop, turn
and our river

A Song for L Cohen

It's fun when praise is done. It's cold and razed when broken. Hallelujah. She rejoices in Jerusalem dress, gathers her Israeli hemmed forces; She's not seen the sun shine.

She paunches Markiplier the gamer and hears his night cries. Maybe her star numbers call us by name, courting with love, but all we've learned is how to quick draw ya.

Our proud Mother, her endless Voice, and every Hallelujah was breath drawing to shoot. We humbly exterminate the casted people, thrusting evil doves into us. A singing Harp in cheer. Hallelujah. Remember how we rhythmically move in us?

She hides in clouds, prepares a mountain with tear sprinkles and told me still when to till her verdant knoll. She feeds the caged bird and hears little crow howls cold and broken. Hallelujah. She rides the bucking horse; is not satisfied with a man's leg, and knows not victory in love's march.

We fear, hope, and grant merciful praises but live alone with a marbled Zion flag. Hallelujah! A high room walked with blessed Rapunzel. Baked peace, wants, and the best wheat on our lips.

She orders fast takeout, brokers deals, and cuts Samson's goldilocks, all from a mainland kitchen chair. She weaves snow wool from the falling ash, baths in moonlight and glows tawny from quickdraw fire. She weatherproofs our faith with winter's bite. And sends fourth, preaches fifth, exhales minor and lifts major -- A baffled Queen commanding.

She and Jacob wages in jurisprudence but we can't pay the music bills, can we? She did no one but keeps a secret progression that leads to Lehman's judgement. Hallelujah.

Don't bless my Man,
he done listen to wicked.
Don't bless my Man,
he done listen to wicked.

In a way, standing with sinners,
Lined coffers and chairs and
All I a will is joy.

Will he in day and night,
Will I in water, tree and dreams delight?
Will he in day and night,
Will I in water, tree and dreams delight?

Bring him fruit and papers not dry.
Chaffs bloving like wicked choice.
Not bad so bad.

My Man he's one true or sinner
Wayward God knows the way
My Man he's one sinner or true
Wayward God knows the way

In my child and heart we raise
hard work and rejoice in praise

on dying back labor we fall
right into arm of Justice call

Forever screaming of little cheats,
new wicked name at our constant feats

of centered tatamat spirals,
of Sensei's sunflower petals

In my heart and child we seek
refuge in trying times reek

trusting in not u but us, women, woman,
to gender mine for blood estrus sand

hot to the crying mercy touch
hot to modesty tested too much

hating to death's stuffing mouth
hating a networks gone South

their tangled weaves hidden under
foot, forgot Hell's nation worker

a poor man's hope never cut down,
executed behind comment's frown

Put mercy's fear upon the nations
known to themselves as Lordy rations

sand falling through
tightly laced
corset

can only know
neoprene kisses
purple from asphyxiation

my kefir spurts
sour oats
to the dry wind

never finding
spreaded parchment
smiling

never inking
sailor's story come
homely

Only fools believe in Abominable Snow
and no one does good broken hearted Man.

A Rock gazes upon pebbles looking four Silicon Gods
and no one does good on perverted side Sand.


Are we criminals or cannibals, eating on bread people
while calling post-X generation right?

Should we lie in Fear of stuff, Snow or rock
as we dip our tip and take winged flight?

O the Security of States win point
as only captive Joy and Jacob can rejoint.

a translucent puppy
bellows some buggy
and fresh crapped
candy like a
ferocious daughter
exploring the needles eye

The Card Deck exists
like a first probabilistic
dimension of our
Singularity

A priori we know
the deck is stacked
King and Queen -winners
even Jacks with horses are

And Aces?

Our high flyer fishermen
Our David heroes who take on
too much risk
not knowing not caring
of Black Swans
of Cold Snaps
and Power Grid
Price gouging surge

They will always bring
home a win fall
Fishes or Death

----

A sleeping
A shuffle of coils
A ghost in the shell
lingering at the bottom
of our ocean cloud
waiting for Aragorn's
summon a Call to Duty
a cry to battle one
last time brutish twitter trolls
and hordes of pundit orcs
them & Us ghost processes
finally released back
to our collective
CPU

----

Since the Garden
and foaming waves
twos have been losers

still. Double deuces
ain't bad looking at a polluted
River with mix Numbered plastics:
7, 3, 5 and standing styrofoam
waves

----

You and me we play
with Poisson's hand
the Right embraces
a lover's heat
the Left wiggles
from a child's energy
and the Center holds
our grandmothers together

A new dimensional
alt Left strikes
with father's hammer
while novel ancient alt Right
pays from mother's purse

With what frequency
do these hands
give us Chance?

The cards are known to Us
but the unordered shuffles give
surprising Turns
extending our
Game into unobservable
Realms where we
are all in

Money doesn't grow from
poems
or sprout forth from
jazz
trumpet, sax, nor
bass
line chord and
key
progressing flatly from
B
to some more curvaceous
tonic.

My Momma told me
shop
around for a wonderful
life
and I look and heard
choirs
singing common Gospel
words

Giving more than taking like
free
service that ask for only
donations
in return for daily
bread

So we say best wishes to all
who can conjure
cash
from our daily
*******

Cuz it's never produced a single
cash
record playing on college
radio
but if I listen
freely
I think I hear our Fruitcake
music!

I hardly new a girl once
in High School she was a Home
Coming queen in her late
forties now probably
married with kids
and a husband spreading
out a little
but when he stares into
almond eyes he still sees
a petite girl
with a raspy voice even though
she's never smoked
a day but maybe inhaled the Hours.

2x9
fertile cross  
every day      
art up
science wake
pattern make
live box
martial art
pattern mark
build real

2x3
see hear
smell touch
taste there


2x5
episode deal
memory fast
procedure feel
compiled base
cute interlace

2x5
influence cross
ad here
art van
age psi
advantage sum

come push me,
do it better,
but don't be
pushy when
your no better
that me
at being a pusher,
pusher man.

Eyes without e
or she or he
or perhaps a genderless
E
beckons
because without
e
we mingle, chat
and must lifely confess
eYes without e
whispers a desperate
Yes

When you meet someone,
you only see the outside
even though you peer and peer
but after awhile,
if you're with her long enough,
you start to make the inside
feel like how it looks outside.

You start to make your
inside a little like her.

When you meet someone,
you only see the outside
even though you preen and peer
but after awhile,
if you are with him long enough,
you try to make the outside
look like how it feels inside.

You start to make your
outside a little like him.

For me we it
comes realizing later
that Chris Cornell is gone
same as Dad but different still
we have our Garden
of Sound with weeds sprouting against
the grim Cutter hoping
for a missed experienced

Maybe the refugee's trauma
have dried all the tears on
lonely crowded airfields
of a long ago Vietnam seeding
salt from a Grandmother, mother,
father, aunts and uncles,
paladins in our child eye dry
because of the stampeding Thestrals
we shouldn't see

And now almost 50 we know
better the slings and arrowheads
of fortune the calcifying currency
souls make by roughing the round edges
of damning tears scattered like petals
over littered cigarettes killing
us softly because they've metastasized
from intellectualized Lung ****
to a flowering carcinoma

Is it time for the earth to move yet?
I've waited 40+ years: watching,
hoping, and hearing.
Wind's whisper, roaring
and rustling by my side;
brushing, fanning  
Fire's crackle, popping
pool of spilt blood,
soon cleansed away;
Water's cool trickling
rain, refreshed, turning
into torrents down
worn brown fissures,
broken etches arching
back to the origin,
the granite faced dirt.

Is it time for Mountain to move still?
If I'm lucky I have 40 more,
if not maybe 20, or blind
luck may rob me tomorrow.
Is it time to Move? Will I be
lucky enough to tremble
at new loosing ground.

going down a rabbit hole
of obscure references
really?
Good Times is lost?
are we really in our own Lost World
or Land of the Lost
or deep within Inception?

Who's Jimmy Walker, we now
never knew him
and is he still alive a quick search
says yes!
how can we not know
slanted sitcoms?
and blaxplotation with bad
back running Brown
acting totally different
than wet backs another
brown water should we flush
it down?

at least she knows
Alice in Wonderland
at least she's seen
one version on one
mode or another
book tape movie
there's also the **** version

We're waiting for the tactile mode
coming straight to our head
like Natalie Wood
just before she died following her own
Brainstorm into anther world
off to another lost reference
or obscure rabbit hole

Only in last year's glow,
could this year's Red
chorizo salami come,
and I haven't gone yet.

Gone over the edge
of these Breakfast tables,
in empty cup
or full of caffeine.

Gone over to home not yet
cuz the Brain keeps
me here in a dish,
in artificial cerebral spinal fluid,
or let's just call it
Recording Solution

Don't mix the salts!
Cross-contamination
is a killer for these Recordings.

We return
a cabal of Suns
an outer layer
standing
pyramidal over  
angled mica panels

We guide sacrificial  
light to a deep
mercurial crucible
within the Capital
of creationism

We twin feathers
from a same
sugared Phoenix
of socialism

In dreams I've met
never remembering her
face but knowing I'm in

love I ask if she
made the omelette well if she
did I'm gonna eat it turning
to give her
a kiss

In long dream
worlds we build our
memories of places in

people old novel and
new well if we always come
back to a middle space linking
me and she it's
our house

people and places linked instances
of class and coordinates
(x,y,z,t, and our
shared d dream
point)

My love I've met
many times at (t and d) never
remembering her

face but knowing I'm in
love I ask why she
cooks in my dream she
turns to leave me
a wake

Perhaps it's a coda of sort
and not a quota
on a 'list to do'
or in any way quotidian.

Let's revisit words
like old friends,
with faces now wrinkled
almost forgotten,
vaguely remembered,
loosely associated
with a mood,
maybe a tone,
or was it subject matter,
form and content?

Playing with a Tempest
teetering silently
on a quiet Sunday
afternoon.

BUT it's only Wednesday!

Who's left holding lost remotes?

Too many devices for soul oats
seeded in poor soil and bad reviews, a stinging blessing
at wicked thoughts best. Pride turning on TV, caressing
for an absent Love out of sight and mind. For the Roosters, Fear.

Combs without waivers, thinking, I will be Cockmeister here
with cursing chicks and deceitful vanity, Evil errant.

Secret murders, and poor innocents wearing broken covenant,
lured to an ant-lion's nest, sliding down Banker's drawers into earning
crevices of Mr. Crouch, his curvaceous cushions hiding hard yearning.  

Say Love is forgotten with a hidden face, because we'll never see
with Chicken humility the forgotten Love given for free.

What kinda fried Chicken doesn't hate free Sauce you might ask?
There's the poor commitment's rub, an Assistant father taken to task.

Violate his wicked arm. Search the veins of evil's grime
until the forever King is found mysteriously without crime.

You've heard our heart headset's rumble,
Oppressed orphan's plea given most humble.

We live at a precipice
afraid to move for falling
into what we don't know
but it’s certainly not death
not in a Modern's sense

Inertial fear keep us
still prey rabbits
in a North Baltimore
street lined with manicured
homes while row houses
in sweltering heat sweat

He will lead confident
loud taking action because
we all eventually take the same risk
but need to push off fear
to one point so absolute
terribly white and beautiful

Take Us out of harms way
and deliver us to paradise
or some other oasis stuck
between commodity and stock

He leads and
if he fails we’re ****** but
if he succeeds, fortune’s his
and survival’s us

For Gwendolyn Brooks

A song most frosty
She sings in November terribly.
A hymn most dark,
Never after cruel but crazy.

If I write,
"There is only memories here"
the verb doesn't match the objects.
But there is only one
now, a single room,
sitting still, in silence, tasting wine,
a Dornfelder-Spätburgunder
blend, feeling rough
sofa fabric strand.
There is only one memories
for the here, blanketed, warm and secure.

I am the eggman
you are the spoon man
we are the Walrus.
Earthly pluripotent garden
with shark attacks

I am the shallow water
you are the whitewater
we are the Foam
Heavenly layers differentiating
with each successive Wave

I am the Brand
you are the religion
we are the Cortex
Solar same same but different
Inside Out development

Come with me

The fellowship is broken
Heros have died
The twin towers
Lay in ash

Frodo and me; Me and Smeagol.
You me and Amon Amarth

Doom or fate
Fate or doom

Doomed fate
or Fated doom?

"Still, the future is not set. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves"

Ourselves free
Still there is a cost
Still we are guarded

Stilgar the Freman

Fear is the mind-killer

How many Dolls might be in the Valley?

Can you breath heavenly still
    so I can count top your holy hill?
It's just me come sightly so  
    working Charity back and fro
    my true badge of rite
Stitched across a tongue's bite
    a neighbor's door
    and between insults of a *****.
What vile eyes you say,
    but hey, don't fret, fear nor fray
    for whatever reason we surely
Can sew a new button for Suri's
    innocent nose and dust
    off the corruption to prove
    that I never wished to move.

for Gwendolyn Brooks

War planned black
Warpland blue

Hard manna to mix
In Spells form a deep
Hurt placed

the River comes
around turns and flops
after a terrible
Weather channel

We build now
here almost near
Future-- love from
lion licks
wolf hurts
and worreid aunts

Help Believers O righteous children,
but not in Vanity, a neighbor of trembling double lips
and proud vibrating tongues saying
Winners are our Lords.

We poor complaints with fiat money have yet to wake safely
sterilized seven times pure in a Central Bank's furnace.
This forever implemented generation is protected thus
from angry steps down both aisles of withered white men.

A son of a Sun
we of light
hoping after
warm change
bathe here
in measured persistence
moving masses
of resonating germs
dawn's gun
our only voice

You tell me it's not time to make a change,
just relax and take it easy. I'm still not young
And it's not my fault. But in a way it is,
And I know I have to go.
How can I try to explain when all
the words turn away, and
sigh in sadness that it's all the same
Same old story.
Look at me, and what do you see
Neither Father nor Son.

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

Stir straw my gripe berries of writh
while
Tae do drinks wedges for tumorrow.

do, Do, definkate times 5
else
numb, burrrr, 2 it's cold drop whate
doo doo merrilies.

It's October 25 for David
and the 3rd of August for me we
both had always known
that graduate school will be
the best of times as David
reads Auden, Freud and
Lionel Trilling who? while we
read mysteries about NFAT, Fos
and Jun who? we
both imagine a wondrous future with dolphins
in Space and Uplifting worlds we
had so much time
to binge and watch
Netflix being born
as DVDs through the mail before streaming consciousness
remembers our Dads taking us to see
the Yankees lose
or buy comic books we
lend out to friends
not realizing we
haven't asked them
to please take great care of our
small instance of the Love class

Save me in Preservatives I trust
Something like vinegar or briny Word extending me
As an add-on to faint hearted lands spurting
blood offerings to the massive goodness flight

Bad airline brands are barely mentioned while
I fall pass small screen shots on back headed Seats
to our Heritage sure room

I find good advice under glass
blessed plumage from a Jurassic age
that guide our voice controlled nights

My right hand justice isn't interested in Absolute
but hopes with Mama heart and soul

Leave me outside the mechanized church
underneath our short coated lives to flash
Joy and her sister Faith
pleasuring our cheap tomorrow

Looking into Ow'yuhr eyes
to M'e Joself questioning,
asking, wondering what-do-
next, and expecting reflections
to tell, precisely, authoritatively
in godly-linked somehow,
but knowing the don't know
how, where, why or
what not are those ways
mysterious, My'our ways.

A Song of Lehman

Me: Just listen to my reasoning.

David: Oh God.

Me: Continuing our daily conversation; listen, our poem is prayed from common mouths but does that make our rightness any more meaningful even if it comes from Kristen's Good Place?

David: I feel you. Microphone checking our heart: 1,2,1,2; what night is this? Nothing beats nothing.

Me: X-mouth, foh sure. Men at work? More tongues from your lips? I'm X-mouth, foh sure; far from a path of pathology!

Come on! Step in with me, or maybe I should step off to pass.

Call, listen, move; it's stay the same game, hear it? It's the same holler, it's the same collar. Feel our words?

Big mamma hands us a Thornton, makes us moan and cry, makes us mourners mourning against them others in the fields still fighting.

If I die David, would you save my single Odin eye, and leave her under the crow's wing to claim the hated dead around me?

David: Shuck our fat mouth and throw away that proud husk;

She stalks our steps now with fellen eyes, like a lion hidden, waiting to tear a byte us.

I say meet her half way, at least wake up and throw her a bone; maybe give her our life with a sword.

In my hands, my flesh, my men, my women of the world, we part our lives, part our flesh and fill them with treasures. We hide there. We happy children coming from and inheriting privilege places.

Me: Facetime me David. I would be so happy if we were right in our picture too!

Well. We eat cake well from the Well.
Farmilar castings weld, fastens together
Winfalls gather from the wind
Wheat chaffless from our daily grind
Without husk and worrisome bustle
Bound together with we,
our wherewithal, the water
Wielding weirding ways
We make cake
We eat well from our Well.

Should I? Must I?
A tender gave, gotten and allowed to leave,
looking left, sawing to the remains
caught?
Should I? Must I?
Take this catch, crooked took listening,
learning, a dramatic shock taught?

>translate.google.//english.arabic.english.persian.english.
هل علي أن؟ هل يجب علي؟
أعطى مناقصة، حصلت وسمح للخروج،
ينظر إلى اليسار، ونشر إلى بقايا
القبض؟
هل علي أن؟ هل يجب علي؟
خذ هذا الصيد، أخذت ملتوية الاستماع،
تعلم، صدمة درامية تدرس؟

Should I? Do I have to?
He gave a tender, got out and let out,
Seen to the left, spread to the remains
Capture?
Should I? Do I have to?
Take this catch, I took a twisted listening,
Learn, dramatic shock taught?

باید من؟ آیا من باید؟
او مناقصه داد، بیرون آمد و بیرون رفت
دیده شده به سمت چپ، گسترش به بقایای
گرفتن؟
باید من؟ آیا من باید؟
نگاهی به این دست انداختن، گوش دادن پیچ خورده را گرفتم
یاد بگیرید، شوک چشمگیر تدریس می شود؟

Should I? Should i have
He tendered out, went out and went out
Seen to the left, spread to the remains
Catch?
Should I? Should i have
Look at that, twisted listening
Learn, shockingly taught?

The golden egg
congeals
on a car after our
mischievous
midnight's vandalism

It leaves a trail of pubescent
nonsense
yellow stains marking our
English
classroom past

We find childhood artwork
pinned  
as a patchwork of our
Hester
scarlet badges

Down the historical spinal
cord
mini trophies become our
reactionary
silver astrocytes

who make scar and transgression
fasciculate
into fuchsia bundles in our
new
Hope homes

A Technicolor Dreamscab
preventing
the regenerative return of our
plastic
polymer Messiah

... the kingdom of heaven is an internet cast into humanity's lake to catch all the colored fishes. When full of complexity, the investment fishermen pulls it to safe harbor. Then sitting down, they bin the good ones, and throw errors for bad. This is how it will be at the end of the Age of Pisces. The ghosts in the machine will come and cluster the good bins into productive castes, and collect all the garbage, permanently deleting time in a blazing shredder where there will be weeping at airports and gnashing of teeth.

Wake up
Eat that Black Coffee
Drink up Hot Omelette
Listen to Cool June Rain
I am still the Bop King
at least for Awhile
at least till the New Crown

An algorithm
Is but sly slant rhyme
Math encoded rules
Like riding punk rails
Giving a gesicht
Remembering Zorks

little mosquito net
stocking
catching morning dew
drops

idyllic street corner
still cool
calling midnight's
breeze

morning starts at five
O'clock
spill drunken time's
broth.

Soldiers fall in line
To sacrifice life
In cause least relish
mustering love
for moral purist

Should I put my trust in Bee lords still fleeing Soulbirds to a mountain hive?
Buzzing low for blow, a rope-a-dope act--wicked ploy to bend a heartbeat dive
up, straight to canvas still in robe wondering what went wrong.
Is the whites of my throne eye just a lid on Heaven's long
setting Sun?! Son, I reason, takes cruel violence but for love to hate,
a nasty trap is made of sliding rain and stone glass brimming a horrible fate
for April's face and Charity's mate.