i'm gone to the store for some bread she said
with her suitcase in her hand

nebulous mercury, or old neb as friendly namesome, was a longtime salty marner.

one day he was seasonally easing along with the flotsam and jetsons

when there appeared before his worn and weary orbs a macabre confoundment,

the vastly ghastly countenance of a slithering slimy see servant,

a critter that rose from the sea and had to hunch over so as not to break the sky,

the kind of monstrosity you only see in miffs.

he began to wrap his protuberances and testicles around the clig as to make repast. 

ohh, dreadful tingers draggled forlorn! 

shunned and electrolytical he was, old neb, awash in gloombulches and grovel gullies.

but then old neb snapped to! "Not my chipper clig you don't!" he charged allowed as he fingled forth in fury!

the battle eschewed in the stub of legends. old neb will ever be memorial for what he did that day.

to this very day, indeed up to this very moment right now, even chipper cligs flying scallion bones cut him a big bertha,

such is the perspective they feel for him

no hobo, but a ****** chum.

what does it mean?
it makes no sense to me!
even charlie rose on tv
said huey newton had been shot to death a number of times
on a san francisco street corner.

It won't be long till
water costs more than oil

some men got a woman.
some men got a man.
me, I just got a guitar.
lord, how I love my one man band.

shalimar's my guitar.
shalimar, she's my strings.
when I get to crying,
that's when shalimar starts to sing.

i see you.
you puff up your words and arrange them cleverly
but I can still see you.

it's sorta like visiting-day at the jail,
each separated from the other by a piece of glass.

afloat on the binary sea of switches flipping on and off, ones and zeros, flipping so incredibly fast,
you hover there and
appear before me and
i see you.

if you see me too, let me know.

It is commonly thought
(and taught)
that humans have five senses through which they perceive the world.
Contrary to that convention,
it is my belief
that sentient beings have but one sense
that encompasses the entire organism,
which not only enables them to perceive the world of sticks and stones
that is customarily referred to as reality,
but also the waves of energy upon which that illusion sails

the realization that each random passerby is living a life
as vivid and complex as your own --
populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries,
and inherited craziness --
an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill
sprawling deep underground,
with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives
that you'll never know existed,
in which you may appear only once,
as an 'extra' sipping coffee in the background,
as a blur of traffic on the highway,
as a lighted window at dusk.

something as innocent as the flutter of a butterfly wing
could result in a typhoon on the other side of the world.

please be mindful.

headlines read,

'pope calls for "action now"
to save planet,
stem warming,
help poor'

article goes on to say

'his call has already won him the wrath of conservatives,
including several U.S. Republican presidential candidates
who have scolded Francis for delving into science and politics..'

though i'm not catholic,
nor am I even christian,
on behalf of the pope, this jailbird
needs to chide the politicians
for delving into organized crime
while neglecting the needs of life.

it's four in the mornin' and the city's sleepin 'cept for me and my kind,
... and them.

i turn the corner and i can see him at the curb in the middle of the block, hiding among the cigarette butts and beers cans, the broken glass and used condoms, the ubiquitous philadelphia detritus.

he thinks I don't see him as he lays in wait, but i got this sixth sense.

i don my swagger, leading each step with my alternate shoulder, arms swingin' behind my back as i strut towards the patrol car from the thirty ninth police precinct.

unseen, the carefully packaged spoonful drops to the sidewalk behind me and instantly pretends to be street rubble,

and i'm dutifully surprised when 'the man' exits his vehicle, shoves me against a wall and begins to ***** me like he knows me.

after awhile he gets bored and tells me to go home.  I turn the corner at the end of the block.

"hello, po lease? **** gettin' real, y'know what I mean?  Maurice be wasted and he not too happy wid his ol lady. and he be packin'! better hurry! yeh, 4228 fairmount."

heard sirens, peeped around the corner and the trash had a new demeanor.

I happily retrieved my spoonful.

if you develop a wart on your wrist
remove it with a bomb.
that's the American way.

when the sky gets cloudy and the sun fades away
and people are playing the silly games that they play,
when all my attempts have somehow been crushed
and to think of tomorrow just wrenches my guts,
i'll send you my love through the rain ...

when my brothers die and pour out their blood
to find their peace face down in the mud,
when the sound of their struggle is soaked by the storm
'midst thousands of bodies all twisted and torn,
i will,
i will still
send you my love through the rain ...

but if your love has passed me by,
I won't be seen to sit and cry;
i'll curse myself as I curse the crime
that crushed your love 'neath the wait of time,
and i ...
i'll send you my love through the pain.

pain is an unavoidable side effect

lay me down
when the music's over.
lay me down
but remember my laugh.
lay me down
when the candle stops burning.
lay me down
when my time is past.

think of me
in the quiet moments.
think of me
when you're all alone.
think of me
as you've always known me.
for you see,
I've not really gone.

what they call passion isn’t really any kind of emotional energy,
just the friction of their souls together in the outside world.

one day
he lay down with dooji
she took his breath away
r.i.p my son

how'd you get to be
so ****** free?
how'd you get to be so smart?
how'd you get to see what I can't see?
how'd you get to break my heart?

you take me for a joker
or a carnival clown.
you stand there and look down on me.
but you've been carryin' on what I put down -
I think you're trying to make a fool outta me.

how'd you get to feel what I can't feel?
how can you just laugh while I cry?
you said you loved my lovin' deep down inside,
yet you turn your back and let it die ...

you stand there and look down on me ...
you're trying to make a fool of me ...
you're just too good for me ...

history has shown me
that what we take for motherly love
is often murderous hatred
and a powerful desire for revenge

used to be i'd guzzle beer
and wade in whiskey up to here;
it seemed to be the only thing to do.

i'd cheat at cards and hang in bars
and ride around in drunken cars,
but that all changed when I laid eyes on you.