Who declares masculine/feminine?
What right do we have to decide?
For aren't we not born of both
With each chromosome supplied

DNA of mother and father
Made you who you are
Chemical equation ever perfect
Fused by variable star

Do not fret which way one leans
"Boyish" and "girlish" just terms
For everyone is quite unique
And in the heavens confirmed

Variables of X and Y, simply, are
Unknown to you or I
What come of who you truly are
Depends on how you try

Who shall find intermittent song?
...of reason wrong ...of time so lent
Who could position themselves to be
... lark in tree? ... one heaven sent?

Audacity to find in peace of mind
... words so kind ... yet ever untrue
Convince me now of lies so bold
... so very cold ... never more undue

Lie to me till eminent death
... with sweet breath ... in toiled rest
Sing to me great love accolade
... make fine charade ... fibbing best

Do this in pity, I shall bequeath
... a laurel wreath ... a poet's song
Precious days numbered in ways
... testament blaze ... schooling wrong

Consider final pathetic beseeching
... it's own bequeathing ... riled begging
Harden heart to own such phrases
... this last lying day .. is mild *******

... it won't hold on without you

Supermarket tripping
Nuts & Dried Fruits
the Ethnic Aisle
How do they get away with saying that?
perplexed
shoplifter shackled
on display, as if a warning
Seven Box Sale
of Broccoli Au Gratin Rice
Why seven?

"Pickled Beets Tormented"
an undiscovered Jackson *******
smashed glass and splattered pink
on speckled linoleum
with infused grime
from 1956

Art is splashing everywhere
large scale proportional
and messy little mix-ups

Rancor is now spreadable product
it's right next to the sarcasm
found in the Fear Aisle
feel the chills
frozen food fraternizing
with my canned goods

Was that flattery or flouting?
from Deli Counter
take three numbers from ticket dispenser
I pocket two
call for, "78"
"78 - 78"
"79 - 79 - 79, does someone have 79?"
I stay silent
"80 - 80 Is someone holding ticket 80?"

Chanel suited business woman
at my side
tapping stiletto
upper lip curled
eyes periscope about
She spots my ticket
blurting, "You have 80, Fella"
her index finger flickers
in time with toe tapping

My line: "Oh I thought that was 08"
there's a huge "HUFF"
as she wheelies cart away
Rudy, from behind counter, winks
We've been collaborating art for years

Smell it I do, then thought of you
Presence comes, in wafts rose powder
Sweet dust, pinching, untainted, true
Nana's essence, remembrance undo
Faith's instinct couldn't seem louder
Than rose powder, temperance's you

Heightened fragrance, blooming sense
No excess, bought at dime store counter
Perhaps to ward off onion's offense
Her pierogies, life's past tense
Empyrean staircase, she, soul mounter
Origen in belief, source whence
Rose powder thence, spiritual encounter

Pleasantries aside, did you feel that tremble?
Not earthquake, it was heaven's shake

when you took me

by hand
led away

deep in wood
STOP...
and stood

Pierced constellation's reflection
Eyes sent soul's orbit
Forbidding further speak of

Harking horror
for it is tomorrow
and I still don't know your name

Or...
why your grizzly ways
Turned me into bait

Ursa Major I hear Ursa Minor

He pines for your return
...because you weakened him

Confusing it is
that taste between
passion fruit or **** ant

My mind is boggled
which way this is leaning

Your unsavory parts
are being completely outweighed
presently
by a tangy **** yet sweet delivery

It's just I always am bird-*******
but coming up with the wrong duck
not noticing I've brought home
the wooden decoy
until I'm already sopping wet
wearing stink of the marsh

Why am I wired this way?
Got to get out of this yard
but the lessons are hard learned

So I keep climbing the fence
and now it's you on the other side

Waggin' that **** tang!

Lordy, the chase is on.

seeds spread by whirlybirds
couples who take on thirds
love flying everywhere
trusted not and the scared
a puff, a blow, and then you go
fuzzy flight to and fro
**** ball picked and his wish
to feast upon a dreamy dish
yet a breathy breeze decides
where scattering of seed shall hide
in the fields, or cracks of pavements
lovers bound in their enslavements
to one another's dreams
dandelion dreams it seems
always never completely fulfilled
dandelion will be tilled
from immaculate and pristine lawn
or in a forest by a fawn
nourishment it is for me
its root bound deep, not free
like those dandelion seeds
rest my head upon cement
men I've met will not lament
sprouts doubts of dandelion's needs

I did sleep in House of Whispers
True storm, enormous proportion
Voices heard not of lispers
Things spoken had no distortion
Sleep wrecked by bent contortion

Her breath broke in, spitting damage
Window, door, shuttered madness
Hurricane Sandy rained so ravage
Spirits moaned wailing sea of sadness
The mate looked on with ever gladness

Garbled jumble, gelatinous formation
Distinctly mocking circumstances
Sandy spoke of men lost by nation
Poet reminded how nature dances
Lives, houses, relations, left to chances

She broke trees, lifted sharks ashore
House of Whispers stood, listened
Her warnings raised tides, emoting more
Matey's  blue eyes spoke, glistened
Embraced evolved nature stiffened

Lost your *** and spent your gold
Drunk all night and you were told
The Murphy girls have brothers ninefold...
So, have you an inkling this mornin'?
Don't say you had no warnin'!

Gee those Murphy girls sure are pretty
But now your listening to this "told ya so" ditty
Got a bit fresh and way too giddy...
So now your hurting this mornin'
At least last night wasn't boring!

So next year's the same when put'n on the green
Remember the date it's March Seventeen
Kathleen, Maureen, Colleen do preen...
Just to count your gold in the mornin'
So don't be a leprechaun hornin'

Baby, as ancient as you are
your naivety worries me,
or is it my own? Thinking I
could ever have you again.
Oh but how I wish, pray, on knees
again to set eyes upon glory
of man named Antonio Guadi,
his Sagrada De Familia.
Is he finished with you yet?
Will he ever be? Would I want it so?
Artisans carving sanctity to sky,
what have you chisseled in my absense? Is God's work ever done?
Do, continue on forever, give me
chance to return.

Ah to bask on shore of San Sebastian,
with pollished rellics of former
architecture found in his beaten grains.
I long to melt there once more, in awe of
noon on Mediterranian Sea. My eyes
taking witness to painted Catalonian
women, *******, with holy devotion
dipping faithful fingers into your
waters, and signing the cross before
dipping into blueness. Good Catholic
girls they are. And handsome Gods about,
oiling each other and bearing wittness
as well. The ice cream boy, is he
grown now? Does he walk by open
mouthed still, where we left such
imprint in the sand for all to see?

When? If, I arrive again, will we walk
Las Ramblas, stare at human
statues, dance with gypsies, drink
Absinthe and be taken by spell of
Green Fairy? Will we then not care
that pretty pick-pockets rob us
blind? Oh, for the hallucinatory
love of it all! Hold me in your fortress
walls forever, should I ever, return.

My Barcelona Baby, take me back.

PJ Poesy

p.s. I never left you.

Met Kali today on a descending escalator at the Galleria. Her six arms juggled assorted shopping bags, purse, cell phone, three children, and a fourth in a stroller clearly not hers. I stepped down in front to help balance her baby buggy. No sooner had I reached out for the rubber bumper that I felt lash of her tongue against my cheek. It was hot and frothy, smelled like a tall, non-fat  latte with caramel drizzle, and quickly wrung itself around my neck. I was soon dangling from the precipice of an oversized potted fern where I had been perched by my assailant, high above the food court. I dangled dangerously as I saw chinks of chain giving way. The glass ceiling was begining to crack and about to cave in on me. I swung out and with all agility I could muster, landed in the Bagel Nosh's assorted schmears. Hisses and jeers decried. An angry mob of mothers chased me to the nearest exit. I almost didn't make it out alive.

Sad abrasions, that is how you wish to end it? If you can't carry that with you, that unholy insecurity, without tossing it at others, others just like you, how can you be expected to be admired? That way, though seemingly popular amongst outlaws who have popularity, is still a ne'er-do-well way. You're lighting your own pants on fire.

Ballsy as it may be, singed ***** is all I see.

"Tantilization"
might just as well be
one word poem itself

Never showing
that's how that one went
been others
of that sort
Tucked away or buried

Kindness given to myself
cathartic writs
too sensory pervasive
or inescapably perverse
No one will ever know

Some just erased
much like I was
pages torn from your diary
but I'm not mailing
Mine to you

Just means
uselessness
isn't always
as useless
As one might think

I wonder
what someone
might think
after digging
This one up

Doesn't matter
really either way
the acceptance
or rejection of
Minds might change

Motion me your mouth
See burgeoning of buds
Blooms sprouting from your lips
Honeysuckle drips
You were taught to
Keep a stiff upper one
Now you let it loose
Grown now birdie
Set free your coos and juice
Untie tongue from terror
Your assailants are long gone
Sing to me your shadow
And spilling of your dawn

So you're the one
who paints all the frowns
on the sad clowns
Circus life does have strife
and roasted peanuts by the pound

So you're tired of nuts
and cleaning up elephant dung
Pity, you were once
a real class act

Now reduced to ticket sales
and fame unsung

Your high wire act
turned into catastrophe
Your partner slipped through
your arms into rhapsody
No gadgetry in this galaxy
could save this fantasy

Y
o
u

h
a
v
e

n
o

n
e
t

t
o

f
a
l
l

o
n

Till    y­ou                                                 'round!
                      turn                        back
  ­                              that frown

Extemporaneous words fall
Then jaw drops

Nonchalant phrases
to well deserved ear
avoiding acknowledgement

So back and forth it goes
underneath whole quantity
of quality

Then

When all the words are forgotten
couple stares at each other
desperately trying to

Remember
who that person is
But it is no use
and best to hope for

Tomorrow's lucidity

And when those moments
have slipped away
Alzheimer's wins

She fell to earth
Droplet of rain
Turned to mist
And returned again

Sky did not want her
She clouded his view
Feeling inadequate
She turned into dew

She feebly whist
Dew found her slog
Twist 'midst a kiss
She enlisted the fog

Her soggy trepidation
Trembling motion
Precipitation is she
An agitated notion

Completely out of "I love you"'s
Shriveled lips never felt such parched forgotten
as if all saliva run dry
dehydrated
mummified
salted meat

My tongue

absent of wet
stale recollections crumbling
crystallized shard's reminiscences
little brittle impressions
blown away
dust

Stare-away eyes
avoiding teardrops

Nothing left to shed
moisture gone
thirst hardening mouth
speechless

You said you couldn't make love
to me that day
Afternoon had slipped away

Did you ever?
make love
Had you raised an arm?
in bath water
an unattainable charm

Between thumps and pushes
growns and growls and snaps
leaves turn under bushes
Invoking ritual perhaps

No memory softer touch
No yearn for less your spanks
For all this blank intention
I still give you my thanks

Higher animals than ourselves exist, but they cannot breathe our air and they don't come here for that very reason. They do however keep watch and when needed influence our development. Not everything happens for good reason though, and there are certain processes at hand which will ultimately lead to our extinction. With that will be extinct the idea of God or Gods and heaven and hell and all things man made, except for compassion, which is what the higher beings want and are trying to understand. Evolution has always been controlled by them. They have that set of "buttons." We do not. Really, these are not "buttons" at all but something so foreign to the human mind's conceiving, it is simply better relayed to you as "buttons," or "dials," or "switches," if you will. When the "grand machine, extreme and eventual conclusive computer, infinite circuitry board," have you, is complete which the higher ones are fabricating, the time will have come for pain and sorrow to end and with that will end the existence of earth. These things only exist here, as only the animals of this earth own nervous systems and neurological capacities. The higher ones do not. This is why they are void of compassion and seek to understand it. So I implore you for the safety of our race, the human one all inclusive, and even extended to the lower and lowliest creatures, do practice compassion. For until the higher ones are convinced of its good use, there is no hope. And hope is integral for understanding compassion and ultimately essential for us all. Including the higher ones.

When turnips sour.
Did they ever start
out so sweet?

You're a dove
and your cooing woos.
I have this hollow
place in my chest
right where a past
lightning strike hit.
I am deeply rooted
in fantasy. So,
you're welcome to nest.

Rains have washed away
most my charred innards.
Yet, I still stand tall
and my branches still
hold verdant veiny leaves.
At least,
Spring through Summer.  

I know it's not
your usual field camouflage.
And owls on
the housing market
do drop in.

Forgive me for asking.
I know it's not usual,
but maybe you could
coo a bit closer
to my branches?
At least until
an owl comes
apartment hunting.
Peace, my friend.

Go, my friend, to Tbilisi, where the War of Roses was won. Run the mountainsides and fall into the canyons of lapsed eons. Sunk in the valley wide, past huddling of trees that open and yawn, sprinkles a misting of sunny, dewy rocks where a certain party of gypsies gather. You will only find them there after the picking of the cherry orchards, and if they welcome you, they will feed you their cherry soup. It will intoxicate, but no more than the captivating dance of cherry stained aprons you may be privileged to witness. Dark haired and dark eyed sultanas, ****** from healthy eating and laboring, do motion a curvilinear spell. Band with the men of that tribe,  if they will have you. Let them choose for you, a server of cherry soup. Though cherry season is short, your life will lengthen.

You have the same name as my dead lover, that is why I cannot be close to you. It's not your fault, I know. It's just that that dead lover is my most recent dead lover. Having so many dead lovers is something endemic to these times. Up to now, we have survived a plague, yes, but it has left a more than squirrelly effect on me. Not just me, also. There are other squirrels. We scuttle about in certain circles, mostly running into each other at survivor groups. I've not seen you pass through, but since you're here now, hello. I know you're hurting, it's why we walk through that door. How did he pass? Were you with him at the end? How long were you together? You see, this is how it goes here. So, would you mind not sitting so close and gazing at me that way, I'm still readjusting to the sound of your name. I'd rather marvel over you from afar at this present moment. We can be nuts for each other later. Ok?

I understand they find dinosaur bones there in your backyard. Big ones. I've never been to your house or even close to that neighborhood, but ever since you've written me, I am completely intrigued. What you said about me, I think about you in an execrable Hemingway way, maybe as in his "Death In The Afternoon." All the goring. Faintheartedness is nothing to be carried by bullfighters or by bone hunters, I suppose. If there were a way of going back to days of nobler more romanticized slaughtering in bullrings, without the controversy, I'd have to say it is more evident in our modern day Jurassic Park flicks where nerdish paleontologists are transformed into  fiendishly handsome toreadors.

I know I'm not making much sense. Bullfights and dinosaur rustling, what's to compare? One being non-civilized though colorful and bathetic, the other fantastical but forgivable because the beasts bite back. Oh, if only I could explain these machismo machinations. What a ruse. How song and dance does intrigue. Please write me again from South Dakota. I'd like to book one of those dusty dinosaur tours before I go extinct.  Bone hunts, bullfights, same difference.

This woman I know had a fox that lived in her root cellar. She'd knock on the door to let it know she was going to enter, and the fox would vacate temporarily to allow her time to store or remove canning jars. She ceased to leave her root vegetables down there, as they would nearly always become part the fox's nesting material. The fox had raised several litters in that cellar and my friend was always certain never to bother her distinguished guest while she had pups. The root cellar was under the house which was built half off a cliff and was cattywampus. It had lots of cracks in the siding and in places was missing planks altogether. This allowed mice easy access, and since my lady friend was such a fine cook, there were hoards. This served the fox well, who would keep at least the underside of the rickety cabin free of vermin. My friend could never keep a cat because of the fox naturally, though she did try to employ several. They would never stay. I had always tried to make repairs on the cabin, much to my friend's chagrin. Seemed she had an aversion to any change she didn't instigate herself, and was quite particular about not having any modern materials come her way. Any suggestion of modern convenience and you'd be read the riot act. She liked things, "organic," and her whole lifestyle, with the exception cheap cigarettes and tequila, exuded such.

One day, county officials came and put a red tag on her house. This meant the home was not in accordance with sanitation laws, on account there was no septic, just an old outhouse down the hill past the garden. Being that my friend had little to no income really, her "lifestyle," was in sudden jeopardy of being uprooted. Some kindly folks pulled together to be certain our friend did not lose her home. She got a new indoor toilet, a septic tank, and some siding to keep the mice out. Never once did she use that toilet, always kept the outhouse. The fox left on account the mice population dwindled. My friend keeps her root cellar well stocked now and whenever I visit, we laugh about that fox and enjoy some fine pickled snap beans. Change isn't always easy, but living easy is sometimes worth a few changes.

Honeysuckle running deep in nostril's recollection
Wafting nectar dripping in air, please stop
Must stay present, no time for memory swap
Sneaking in, yellowed dreams, desirous confection
O purgatory, keep me still, deviate no such inflection

Causeway flash backing egg yolk, and lemon spectrum
Road lined in runners, speckling scintillation
This loose maddening of honeysuckle titillation
Reverse your tendril's twist, quivers an ungated septum
Covers, green to yellow transitions, honeysuckle bedlam

I cannot dance down this lane for fear of you
Your ringlets curl, clasp, coil me
On such road of alluvial soil I see
How can I? Must I, escape steer of dew?
You're honeysuckle memory of all I knew

Difficult to say it is a crisis of faith
Deadlock stubbornly cracked
Divide intensified with fact so backed
****** is truth, lost memory's wraith
"Who's to blame?" as so often "they" saith

Forget this daft idyllic hope, loyalty
To nothing has my life compared
And as most humans, no heartache spared
No limits to its reverence and constancy
As God shapeshifted, any form but royalty

Kings of Kings, my Makers, Lords on High
Omnipotent theories to query
Over verses I've traveled, all but Kashmiri
Reasonably these to view before bye-bye
Off I am to Pir Panjal, where I shall quake and die

Dauntlessness may be indicative of strangest courage
Who shall say; those rushing to battle?
Oblivious youth prodded off like blank beef cattle
Dare I dispel bravest image; hero for time and peerage
No mother wants her son minced, poured into porridge

Good intention don't be blinded by noble cause
Nobility see no ill harm in poor's sacrifice
Do they offer their own; O when will it suffice?
To abandon war, to give thought, to give pause
Why be meat within richest men's jaws?

Let heroism gain spirit of more peaceful prowess
Join broad-minded, leave dull herd
Who directs minds in this theater of absurd?
Corporations and government alliances boundless
Don't be a cow and don't find yourself powerless

Who knew why such ruffians
Squandered and squabbled
Dear to me their brutish good looks
Pulling out pockets' linings
Showing how no cent remained
Not a **** dime to their name
Chasing absent dreams called fame
Just deterioration
From what was once
Gleaming teeth
Combed hair
Finer threads
Now cement beds
Lay them down at night
Oh what a sight
My parlayed partners
Still jiving and hustling
Crackling and busting
*** for that quick fix
Sick, I tell you
How glory appears in their eyes
It's a story of addiction's surprise
That grab on you
How it happened to him too
Gleam!
That glisten and sheen
Then sweat
Soaked in an essence we've set
Of our inner spoiling
Tormented toiling
When we shoot that boot to get
That desperate need never met

Cognitive dissonance just might
get best of you, and even you,
should conciousness come to light

Turmoil which hypocracies own
bring awakenings, new vision,
within you, an ahem and a groan

Things once variably disliked
come to watery confluence,
streams reconciled and hiked

Win over themes to conciliate
March Hare,  a ***** rabbit
Badmouth him not, you do affiliate

When he wonders internal beauties
And how she holds her looks
An oaf is instigated by duties
How pleasing she cleans and cooks

True, she's not well-kept herself
But wow can she dress a duck
Snug niche he keeps for shelf
Plain, even comfy, but out of luck

Chauvinism, his belief belligerent
Yet she knows what she has chosen
It is simply, predicament
Marriage, refrigerant and frozen

Biddable and tame, a dog's soul secretes
through woeful eyes. Mastering his master,
his manipulation, more often than not,
pays off in extra treats. Chewy bits,
kept on hand to prove love, likened to
showing of character and mien.
Dog's demeanor, wags and soulful secretions,
only on display until he gets what's wanted,
then naps.

Some lovers like this, leaving
when favors run out.

Serving each other so well,
desire beyond needs fulfills
modest bearing with one another
in love. Lying down with proverbial dogs,
I have known the difference. Risk of fleas,
for me, uncomplicates
it all.

Whistling through right ear, gusting through left
Echo cracks on augural bone; it pings
Cymbol's sound on gray matter case-hardened dings
But to detect life's ignorance, measuring oblivion's theft
Lift sums of intoxicant veils, that foggy heft

Pay no attention to whispers, as you would shouts
Know calmed speakers indicate truth
For shouters and whisperers be so uncouth
Those speaking plainly give evidence no doubt
For reality's validity needs repose to rule out

Guilty we are of attainment and forfeiture
Life lessons learned or not
And more composed freethought forgot
As always this burden lies on enterpreter
When judging please regard radius of curvature

Hilarity sports magnificent grin
Bobbling stagger to thrash
Gum up queer muddle within
Brazen his twisted mustache

Dada did a demi plié
And chance made noisy alarm
Sprung forth from cheesy foray
Art could do you no harm

If you venture to chance
And engage in romance
Find what stirs you the most
For this is the thrill
Of not sitting still
This poem nothing to boast

That flickering star has been sending Morse code. Translation turns out no definitive message but the dots and dashes are unmistakeable. Now to unscramble the letters, how to make sense of it?I know I can do it, but it will take time, a team of highly paid scientists and a lot of government funding. There was a bullfrog whose croaking had absolute calculative exhaustive expression last night. I think he should be employed on this team of scientists. I'm certain he knows something. There were moths dancing in front of my headlights where I parked by the pond. Their syncopated flutterings seemed to tell a story, though I can't be sure it was in relation to the star or bullfrog. Still, it shouldn't be ruled out.

There are things stuck on my mind.
Incomprehensible glueing, which
befog beleaguered fitting-in.
Becoming a mishmash, realization
bugs me. What to do with the cutouts?

Pictures of life instances that can't
be reconciled, just carried on and on,
blister and bubble within. No smooth
surfaces that cleanly represent
anything wholly identifiable are
depicted on bruised brain cells. Pity
it is. Pity I have become. Pity the
nitty gritty magazine photos slapped
together,  an ugly collage called,
"Mercy Never Saw Fit."
It is an ugly art form, cutting up memories.

****, ******, survival, these themes
are hardly ever pretty. Art therapy
*****. I'd rather paint a canvas black.

Shallow syntactical grappling
Love songs forever rearranged
Hook is loose lips exchanged
Spying your mind for crackling
Let me in, I hear that rattling

Fire imagination and singeing
Marbles liberating love call
Pow perplexes inspiring awe
Superficial burn's impinging
All hung on passion's hinging

Pay no attention grammatical
Cryptanalysis of undiscovered
Love themes and talents discolored
Smothered a world so fanatical
As true love very mathematical

Like glass ***** zipping out ringer
You shoot beyond my orbit
This game I am about to forfeit
How dared is this heart stinger
Winner of game, a zinger

Silence and stillness awoken
And dishrags fall from sky's brink
Slapping mud splattering broken
New Jersey now kitchen sink

Flash from neighbor's window
Shot off mirror into my eyes
Big Mama begins without intro
Surrounds me gravy and fries

I'm rowing rivers in plastic cup
Other cars are bobbing downstream
What has Mother Nature just dished up?
Churning seafoam into whipped cream

On Elephanta, we traipsed from our tottery tour boats onto venerable dust. Led single file up hardened clay trail to Hindu temples buried beyond time and grime, the temporal length of an entity's existence. Jungle encroaching, we were warned, "Do not feed the monkeys." We had no plans to, but we soon learned the monkeys had their own plans. Pronto, ******, and Scratch very quickly pinched, plundered and ransacked the box lunches we brought. Cheeky monkeys, ha! Toothy fanged gang-bangers more like it. Still, we escaped without the drawing of any blood, so we were grateful for that. Though my friend had lost her scarf in the tussle, and she kept telling me to ****** it back. "Sure," I thought, giggling with no chivalrous intention of taking on any ruffian primate.

Further on we became enthralled by the alluring architecture. Cave temples carved into basalt rock with Gods and Goddesses moved us deeply with their artistic and spiritual integrity. Natural light pouring in through vantage points illuminate sculptures at different times through the day, so the tour becomes processional. Devotion is seen as many offer prayers and flower garlands to the idols. Learning the history of Portuguese sailors using the temples as target practice is saddening and evident in the pitted carvings and reliefs.

We had been graced with a brilliant bright day to take in the sights, but this was not to last. It was monsoon season and scuttles of rain came dowsing our boat. Upon our return to the Gateway of India, we were blown off course, forcing us to land in an unfamiliar area in Mumbai where tourists were not seen regularly. We had to leap frog a dozen or more vessels all blown to port at once trying to escape the storm. There was a huge panic of tour boats and fishermen. The disgusting quagmire splashing in our faces from the harbor was mix of gas and oil spilled from boats, dead fish and likely other unnameable mammalian debris, plus general ******* of full gamut. All in all, we survived only to be encircled by knife wielding street urchins when we lost our way back to Whorli Seaface where we were staying.

"Street urchins," was the local term of endearment for the orphaned adolescent gangs known for robbing tourists. No one told us about the knives though, so we were taken a bit off guard. In any case, feeling less threatened than by the band of monkeys we just encountered on Elephanta, my chivalry kicked in. I picked one up, dangling him over the dockside. This show of brute force seemed enough to convince the others to withdrawal and I immediately freed my runty captive ****. He seemed grateful, though a language barrier was not resolved. I gave him some rupees for the newly acquired souvenir, namely the knife. He skipped off quickly with his bitty buddies. They turned and waved goodbye with bright beautiful smiles.

This story has no moral other than, when traveling without a compass, always keep a moral one.

Swollen, hanging
on outside corner
of just one eye,
it dangled diamond like.
Offsetting an emerald gaze,
that tear held on
and it was impossible
to know if it
would, could, should
ever fall.

Rays of light from
late afternoon
cracked as if glass,
splintering her
reflections. Her
juicy tear was
holding the whole
story back.

I would not wish
to pull it from her,
dab it away. It was,
forever now,
part of her beauty,
facetted upon her face.

coagulation of life muck
make her eyes bag
pockets hold cruel visions
memories she cannot empty
she zippers
her lids tightly
as he passes
all she can do is
wish unholy away
dilation inside behind
zippered eyes
makes all that mucky crust ooze
there are wells
of slippery situations
oily wells
gushers never to hurl
zipped away
under black mascara
life complexities
thickening

Amidst creepers is brick abode
Red complimenting well the green
Dyed shady tinctures of blueish mode
And the lady hardly ever seen

Paleness in black windows glance
In silence does ivy swallow
Someone said her name, Alamance
Which I was told meant "Bless,"
or "Hallow"

How she lingered in her own exile
Frightened perhaps by unjaded air
Visited only once in a while
By younger man with greyish hair

He'd trouble through ivy growth
Past gate to staircase overridden
You felt dismay of them both
Ivy's soiled twine had so written

He'd leave packages at her door
Sometimes you'd see them speaking
Indeed very hard for one to ignore
The ivy encroaching and shrieking

Whoever knows what blessings be
Of existance and seclusion
How to bear astranged family
Commitment, fear, and delusion

Teddy bears, crosses, burnt candles,
wilted flowers, faded ribbons,
rain washed love notes to a child
taken too soon from these
city streets burdened by stray
bullets exploding on unforgiving
empire is a litter no one takes away.
It is only added upon.
Next to graffitied bus stop,
across from alarming firehouse,
in front of and attached to
weakening iron fence,
surrounding church of boarded windows where prayers have ascended too late,
is a mother on her knees,
feeling the burn of hell cooked pavement.

Good way off, past blindness
trickling fingertips felt plunks.
Sedimentary stirrings next to
running brooks dipped into
for pleasure of touching
algaecide inside the head.

And memory impresses gunky
regions explored, faculty of
retaining wet sandy banks,
the murk of his adolescence.

How what was told of who to,
or who not to, or what not to,
that, was only left with more
unanswered question. Just
mire. So the feeling out had
little guidance and quicksand
became lesson planner.

Wonted informality, such sinking,
became hook, shot, and sweet tooth.
These habits took his teeth
and no longer could he chew.
Drivel and flattery became much the
same, his purging, alluvium.

Men can only spill out, what fed.
Eventually mountains' rivers carry peaks to valleys.

Garbled voices through
walls thick, yammers and whoops
make themselves known. Intermittent
laughing adds to clues
of celebration next door. She
checks under doormat and
deep in mailbox, as she sees more
guests arriving with big trays
of film wrapped fruit
and crudités. Her invitation isn't
in sight. Venetian blinds keep
blinking peeks, all night, as others
come and go.

Cinder block fence separates.
She combs her gray greasy hair,
puts in rhinestone barrette,
wishes upon a star.

Ms. Mabelline Merryweather  might not follow all rules and regulations at Social Services to a T, but she does get the job done efficiently. She knows well paper pile-ups, bureaucratic mumbo jumbo is second language to her. No unruly impatient Podunk piece of indigent indecency can rile the likes of Ms. Mabelline. She's cool as a cucumber on a chilled salad bar. Speaking of which, it is just now two minutes away from Ms. Mabelline's cherished lunch entourage with fellow ladies of the office. So, if you'd like to get your claim copied and filed quickly, you'll give Ms. Mabelline her due respect, else your *** might be chilling back in the waiting room, till she's finished laughing over your pathetic life from a table at TGIF's this noon hour. You know, claim uncertainties and misfilings have been known to jam up processing for weeks, don't ya know?

Joint where sacrum,
ilium meet, here
pull into fetal
position, discharge.

Polar magnetism
draws uncertainty.
Cuddle within
my release. Spoon
your mind around it.
Come out
of that place.

Sacred bindings,
ill adjustments, push
the noxious. Diffuse
inhibitory control.
Let that **** go.

She tips the toppling tide,
lavish underbelly of an albatross,
and how she rides.

Each wave washing
its imposing self to shore,
more, glorious more,
this gasping February seashore.

Tufts of feathers flutter
and dune grasses dance muster,
must hold ons,
this rallying of  the determined.
Grace notes, song of nature swim in.
Melody of gull, harmonious tension
broken.

Her flight brings tears. She is gone.
Will she weather? For now perhaps,
but not long.