Grass cuttings savor an essence, if it were not for the flavor of gasoline added to it. Chores multiply in the garden as days snug up to summer. Warming theory of companion planting goes further than marigolds with tomatoes. Nasturtiums nuzzling cornstalks nicely agree. However, it is the editing of more combative creepers that keep this gardener flustered among the mustard greens. I'm inclined to let it all go, but the peanut grass gets so thuggish, someone needs to teach it a lesson. Yet, full eradication seems too vicious as hummingbirds do adore its frosting of bells. It's a nectar aggrandizement they throb upon in throngs. So, who am I to commit holocaust? After all, with the loosening of soil it provides when pulled, aeration is a welcome aftermath.

So it is continuous, and outright perfection in the pull and push of entirety. Now if I might trade that gas mower in for a push one, a transcendence of impeccability may occur. I might even breathe better.

Deciphering astrophysicists’ thought
processing; this not any too easy.
What matter dark matter sought
or if moons be made so cheesy?
Theory ever emphasized seem ******.

What is there here to prove
amongst this space exploration?
Distancing self from earth you’ve
denied Mother Earth’s lactation.
Get real here right now education.

Are you listening dear NOVA TV?
Big Bang me where sun does not shine.
What care I to search galaxy,
when to me worldly poems seem fine?
Just where do we draw literate line?

Losing language of our cultures
as we see school funding disintegrate.
Lockheed Martin be the vultures.
Less deploying do we need to integrate:
for a monkey would I rather imitate.

Eeek! Eeek!

Eager man
to prove piousness
when he’d not one per cent.
Liking way
he sounded to himself
on and on he went.
Not meaning to
inconvenience oneself,
no interruption lent.
Held possession
of microphone from
assembly, church and tent.

Gifted as
he was it seemed
parishioners drifted off.
He lifted hands
as she day-dreamed
and held back her soft cough.
“Ahem,”
preacher’s wife did utter
as last one did run off.
“Amen to
less the said,” said one
as labor to impress bring scoff.

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 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

Where are you waiting for unimagined?
Where am I supposed?
How are we emphasized?
When shall we remove our clothes?

Me in my ***** tatters
You in your fancy frees
If ever it did not matter
On **** beaches if it please

Remove my every pretentions
Circle in lipstick that part
Know how struck in our intentions
But why does this never start?

You gaze and stare intently
I share the same remorse
Dressed in all objection
Our clothes stay on of course

These pulls and pushes of want
Do nothing to satisfy desire
Don't chew the fat, be blunt
Throw lean meat upon the fire

Ugly truths are just that.
Being one who speaks in truths,
constant soul searching
of poets, most artists, really
is truly alienating.

There is expression which will
inevitably have you backed
into corner by liars. Institutionalized
if your not careful.

Who did mutilate Van Gogh's ear?
Who mutilated mine? A cleft on my left.
Simply born with it. Or so,
I've been told. There is something
deeply seeded in this. Even
foreshadowing, perhaps. Now that
truth backs me further
from ugly liars, hell bent on
twisting truth. Is it greed or
embarrassment that drives lies
we tell ourselves or others.

Vincent was lucky to have his paint.
It did the driving of his madness,
into gobbed masterpieces.

This is a lie.

He never new mastery. Questioning
his own self worth constantly.
I can only imagine him awkwardly,
standing next to his life love's,
paints, pretty maidens,
and hearing over abundantly,

"No sale."

I love the liars. It is not to
my advantage to repel
inexactness, invention, untruth.
After all, I do write. It somehow comes
with the territory. The Dutch in me
won't admit to less.

Can you count the number
of times, variance of "truth" appears here?

Clue: the answer is not seven.

Gift of friends in life such blessing
Invoking divination and favor upon
Where we'd be left to guessing
Life with no friends, may as well be gone
To place of no light or dawn

Cherish each and every human
Be grateful for lessons learned
Spirit inhabiting home, a numen
No need for worry, with equal concern
Care one gives, shall be returned

We simply particles, iridescent dust
Trickling behind pushing galaxies
Place for each kindred spirit a must
Importance this, know has gravity
As people all of stardust family

So how we mold, blend, contour
Gives malleability to make room all
Truth be told, friend is loving conjure
Make magic comradely however small
Be there for each other through long haul

Affinities bend the throttle, origin of our tribe
So hurtled as to collide, proving love weird
Instantly, expectations, hearts seared
To cool an overheated engine, a wide-eyed bride

Conjugal visits, if only this prison permitted
Yet recklessly committed, we find ourselves
Bound by obscurity promised, are elves
And faeries whose spells are transmitted

Who's dash against clatter does or doesn't?
What was or wasn't, how we might still be unclear
Still risking it all for fuzzy ambiguity, my dear
A six in one hand or that other half dozen

So we did it, it's done, and never more fun
My spun honey bun, I have no single regret
For you are my jangly chain, and I, your pet
Love run-in has been wet, and oh so wildly won

Flit To Me, My Pretty
or Dance Of Kinglet

Sing, “tay-tay-tay,” all the day
carry on in morning sun
bouncing on sandy stream banks
Kinglet friend of mine
Your yellow crown, breast of cotton down
O be lost daydreams so fine

This is what twitting really is
Euphoria found in flash
discerning your small “tay”-ing song
milkweed fluff you find
act as if you are stealing, no crime here
milkweed glad; spread seed as kind

Wash yourself amidst these puddles
preen yourself for mating
You’ve made a nest for nothing other
how sweet your callers come
rock a vantage point of eternity
from here we see all succumb

This rock and I

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

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?

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,
is less complicated.

Pushing up, seedling oak knows not what bastion it becomes
I won't **** what's around it
Seeing it as tower of strength it is
Potential can only toughen when the rose begins to tack on
One day this fortress oak's shade may hinder this rose's bloom
And that day I will not know, nor care for
For that is another gardener's quandary

Or for the rose to find its own way
Into the light

Note this my cohort,
debunk what junk crusts your eye
Dig up memory of that first trespass
Loyalty sworn to innocence why?
Note this disease given between my thighs
Come by seek now dolor of blistered
Note condemnation, impressive tongue-lashing
Note my enemies' constant rehashing
And how must I rehabilitate rapture?
Like lamb offered in sacrificed slashing

Yet given my pride, note my superb devotees
Partiality given as they come and go with winter's breeze

Note winter's cold and me on my knees
Between two thieves strung and nailed
Note glory of how love tried but failed
As lamb of sacrifice last breath exhaled

Superabundantly varied are derivatives of love
Copious are stories of how one steals a heart
Never faithful or loyal are these tales heard of
As intricacies exchange like coos of dove
Attending affection is as to make great art

When one starts to woo, a battle must begin
Frighten not an interest with much undue pining
Be brave and certain, as not to feign chagrin
Mannerisms must lie as anxieties turn in
Deception of fortitude, a masterpiece of timing

It may not go your way and likely won’t at first
Though you must try the very best you can
Better with practice; better when rehearsed
Coming on too fast, you may certainly be cursed
Tricky dance of romance for each and every man

I may not be better judge of inflamed passion
Though yes, I have had my share in such
Have misled myself in thinking, “I’m in fashion”
Bit more than could chew; ended with slim ration
Less crafty love charlatan, not really knowing much

Blueness is amplified. Today, the sky reverberates and a tinge of it buzzes totality. The street is blue. Houses, blue. Fences are blue. Dogs are blue. People walking those dogs, blue. It is as if this place is encapsulated in a flickering television screen. Horizontal waves droning a hiss of blue lines utterly everywhere. Nothing can be tuned in correctly. Yet, it feels as if every other color was and has been mistaken. This blueness, so familiar now, can't be dialed out. My frequency, forever blue.

Yellow of buttercup matches your eyes
It hurts to understand how
My dog has no fleas, but scratches a lot
If I can't bust through quantum equations,
I'll melt into the pavement
A shadow of Hiroshima
These sneakers have so many holes
Grass tickles my toes through my soles
I want to eat something other than fish sticks
Doggerel entities all about
I can see the smelly creek evaporate
It smells like dead things lying below
Iran will build its bomb

Living your life as if every moment is under surveillance is simple, once you get over your inhibitions, and realize all naked naughtiness is apt to be recorded. The constant living under a microscope intrusion of our world now hell bent on applying cameras and recording devices in and under every crevice is and has been inevitable. It is the ultimate in God complex, the all seeing eye, as we have it. Yet, who is to ultimately gain from this perverse voyeuristic applied science? Why, the creators of the applications, of course. For they see all, and know all, and you have submitted to this power and have even been convinced to pay for it. What do you surrender in return for your turn to play God? Why, everything you think no one sees or hears, may be and likely is broadcast on some larger network. They're laughing at you behind your back as you pay them more for the security you seek, ever developing more complex ways to stare you down. It's a "vicious cycle," as they say, and in this world it's pay, pay, pay.

He woke this morning and searched
He found only empty pastels
a basket
cellophane hay
plastic hollowness
not a single bean
jellied or baked
not one rotten boiled egg
dyed and hidden amongst hyacinths

He woke this morning and searched
He found only downy mottled tones
mother duck
with ducklings brown and yellow
at the green sour lake
He gave them yesterday's sandwich
tucked for safe keeping
from out his pocket
He avoided church
because he had no white suit
a place to shower
or a comb for his hair

He woke this morning and searched
but God was not searching for him
and he was not found
He found though
a mother duck
and shared his sandwich
He would fast rest of day through

He woke this morning and searched
only fuzzy things were found

She surrenders herself to passion
Like moth drawn to flame
As if color red
Which cannot be removed from blood
Attaches herself to it solidly
So that pry bars or even acid bath
Could not remove her
From what she longs in her heart
But cannot feel with sensible mind
Anguish is her first love

How ordinary is it to love?
As ordinary as trees let go their leaves
And trees have been in  habit lastingly
Each release, fallen drift in perpetuity

Humus we are, shaken ruinous
Discarded poet's words, what we fall towards
Words in decay's warmth, leaf mold's devotion
Piled fertilizer, condition's unreturned emotion

Yet, giving nutrient to what will bud again

Fussily he figures, that’s not good enough for him
Excessively high standards got his best, and then
Contempt for average qualities; things he had abhorred
Became almost everything, as he always needed more

His code of behavior, to one, might seem ideal
Criterion of excellence would show at every meal
Fork, knife and spoon oh-so polished, and set precisely
All a fanciful show, and done so ever nicely

Particular attention to each and every detail
In acquisition of mate, indisputably he’d fail
For who could ever live up to these extreme conventions?
Or be it prissy of me, to mention these intensions?

Mr. Fastidious to some, might seem the status quo
A state in which display, is an always-complex show
Fail not to follow all rules, as they are set to be
Or you might dine alone, a wordy one like me

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.

Look upon notch between yonder mountains
As sun slips inside its’ gap
Aura of evolution in it contained
Our star cuts through dimensional map

Gadding about the sky, sun frolics freely
Only you see from east to west
When put in perspective of Milky Way
Our sun but spec immense integral test

Colliding, conjoining, refracting, recoiling
Worlds spin on axis and orbit
When a mind can infinitely expand
Idea abroad, which becomes forbid

Digestion into universe be our destiny
Finite earth but skipping stone
You and I an atom on it propelled
Posterity invention shall we be blown

Shaman buried in mud, to neck
Sipping cyclones through take stand reed
****, **** storming wreckage
Pull in precision *****, whirlwinds
Great Cloud Breaker despoil sum of poison
Resolve atomized flotsam from sea-drift
And castoffs of skies  

Bear necessitous storms, our future
Straw ******* inhale, totality of shambles
My shaman, my shaman, ****, ****
Bury in silt of your sludge bath
Looting impurities spinning about ozone
See pleas of your people, know your people,  
And bury upside down the rest  

Under rubble, let their heads crush
In murk and magnitude, diseased times
From villainy of what they have done
Conspirators pushing infracted pollutants
See fit to **** them deep into molten iron core  
Below tar, oil, silver and gold that tempted them
Free us Great Cloud Breaker from demand

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

Stars belt in orbit
should I stand too fast,
so I sit back down,
enjoy astrophysical  
apperception's fancy flight.

Make my wishes upon
fallings off, this one,
that one, the other.
I wish it all away,
this pill, that pill,
the other. The spills,
the spells, the other tells
of declining lucky stars
intermittent with
shooting gratitude  
for love given and taken,
laughs giggled and shaken,
and discovery of
Pluto's big heart.

Hope still, is in course.

Ambitious as love may be,
integrity has lost sanctity.
As silver train follows slug,
bride or groom or just garden ****?

Not easy to tell, these rapid days.
In any case, I'm not amazed.
For in a place of paradise,
would not all exist, is my surmise.

Yet, within that Eden a serpent lied,
but question still, who let it inside?
Eve forever blamed, an original sin,
much too played out, over and over again.

Find new fault within this thought,
for has not all men bought his wrought?
How original can it be,
when been repeated sea to sea?
Let not these troubles worry thee,
for only furthers society's anxiety.

Umpteen Gods control me
and Zillion brethren alike
born of scads of clans we are mutts
Howling at a moon yowling back
guttural vibration echoing, veering a tempo
towards a tempest tempting temptation itself

These windstorms hailing on a juncture
that infinity will not allow to stop
boggle me into complete
Unrestingly humble obedience
Until I’m not
and a Zillion others follow in suit

Falling for you
You are an oil spill on my slippery *****
How is it that I ever did cope?
Sliding so fast
Ready to crash
Then woosh
Off the cliff I go
Never to know
When or where I shall land
Is that your hand?
Which has grabbed my ankle
As I slam against the wall
Pebbles, rocks and dirt          
Pelting me as you flirt
With my impending doom
Dragging me upward past bloom
Of buttercup shining
Underneath your chin
Grasping me from within
Pulling me to the brim
Of perfection
In mint condition sin
To hell I go
And didn’t you know?
Greasy escarpments bestow
A Flight of Fancy below
Off We Go!

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.

Clearly eyes are smitten
When first I looked at you
Cat was then a kitten
And took away my blue

Peace of mind brought to me
Enticing aromatic blend
Turns so ever smelly
Now we say, “just friends”

It’s okay, I’m living life
You’re not my first bus ride
Love comes to, with no strife
From each and every side

Today I may be happy
Tomorrow I’m still gay
Love so ever sappy
It’s just my fickle way

You can bring me flowers
Trying to make up
Know that I have power
And hold the golden cup

I view love differently
And am sometimes sad with it
It’s not just you specifically
Difficult loving me, I sadly do admit

Linoleum checkered floor of maroon and beige stretches before my feet, seemingly for miles. This pulled apart perspective, extending, plays upon my eyes in an undulation of unease. The wait is long and heavy, heaving of such misplacement churns an awkward understanding of how hell's rivers percolate blistering torture. Which line shall I be shuffled to next? If hell does exist, it must resemble Social Services, downtown Camden, New Jersey. Also, it must be designed with the same checkered linoleum floor. I feel it upon the faces of those who wait (impatiently or patiently, yet, truly tested) here with me, that exacting distaste in a maze of cubicles and hard plastic furniture. Maybe, just maybe, it is only purgatory. Only time will tell.

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.

She holds my attention
having gently extracted eye from my head
rolls my all seeing sphere
against every inch of her
releases fractionated fears

Peripheral intensity

Then she
inserts me

Shows me insides
mysteries unrevealed to others
chasms of want and desire
Yearn canyons

So large at this angle
light pours in
from her eyes
nostrils
ear cavities
Her open mouth
where succulent mist is swallowed

No organs exist in here
other than
hard thumping heart

Eye inside her
reverberates
learns how she sees

Lost Words Found (Please Describe to Claim)

My delusions of familiarity
are inscribed in an ancient,
yet to be discovered manuscript. Hidden
in a cave called Longing Sinkhole,
they decompose slowly. Vessels,
which hold these scriptural beliefs,
now cracked. Archaic misty bleedings

pass, or cause to pass gently
through fine fissures of earth upwards,
filtering through natural elements, dispersing
themselves in ether of whole humanity’s
breath. Taking on likeness
of origins and ancestry, as they skip
from nostril to other’s lip

makes mankind indistinguishable.
Unidentifiable from one another and all,
as this essence of that wordsmithing
clarifies fallibility and its utter
beauty, I see myself. You become a déjà vu
of an existence known to me, innately
by tragedy’s reflection inherited

in your eyes and those words written
so long ago. The words of these ancient
one’s come to me and I am filled
with their compassion.
Believing time has taken
and jumbled much of every creature,
living, creeping thing, making it one.

one exquisite cloud
ponderously puffing on
letting blueness drench

It’s begun to stick out
Becoming its own entity
Does not hurt
Except when I swallow
But don’t let me wallow
In self pity
This growth of mine
Is rather kind
As in it I know
Where my life does go
And that I am sooner there
Not scared
Or even worried
A friend does wait
No pearly gate
A path of wispy grasses
My dear friend there with shovel
Having chosen that spot
Where ***** will be sunk
Scooping from dirt no reasons
We shall then politely plunk
This growth
No longer will it choke
Memories of our lost seasons

Muscles fatigued, grave diggers duties endure with war
Continuous seems never ending, a keeping of the score
Nation challenged and ripped in two
Who's child next for the red, white, and blue?

Memorial Day, forever remembered, forever we pray
For day no future soldier lie under, funeral bouquet
Can't we more civilly celebrate our diversity?
Instead, bury our grudges, our hatred, our absurdity?

Finding peace amongst brothers, is man simply ******?
Please love one another, and shake each other's hand
For "In God We Trust," is not such a bad slogan
Yet, for "In Goodness We Trust," may also be chosen

They say over and over that, "History Repeats"
Seems this type of credo is humanity's ultimate defeat
So, why not take on a tenet of love?
Is not all this hatred, something we can rise above?

Reflex memory, what we do time again and again
Can be changed, if from hatred, we learn to abstain
So give it a try, learn to love your brother
And by chance, we may spare the tears of a mother

Clouds dangle, as if udders and teats
Memory shudders and lips suckle to sky
Incarnations combine entities; murky repeats
Are we this or that? Princes or beasts?

Billowing mass, vapor in atmosphere
Trickling vigor and tasting vitality
Kisses of fog seem some extent cavalier
Creation whistles in wind exceedingly clear

Mouth motioning desire and yes, need
Cooling air drips resonance of warm sun
Fermentation of time, honey water to mead
At all life begun, but never quite done

Milky rain, an intuitive squeezing of thought
What of lifetimes brings such sustenance?
Say, may that ever after eternally be sought
If one can dream past clouds, ought one not?

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

sidewinder meets me
coiling with hiss he rattles
make my own side step

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.

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.

Potentially any possibility exists. It's maneuvering all exponentials that will find result. Whether or not that result becomes what you intended it be, it's the discriminating eye that sees, a new potential.

Inattentive to blackened slopped lashes,
which run coal tributaries land-sliding
from her eyes to her chin, he walks
in direct aim for an exit. She squawks

her “You never loved me,” wailings
to whom she, never loved herself. As frenzy
slams between them, violent collision
of his realization, sparks his next decision

and he stops. One hand in empty pocket,
on empty wallet, he is spun illogically
and holds second palm against door.
Lacquered eye in peephole’s furor,

is  batting on other side. He softly makes
his sweet tortured apology, “Sorry.”
You see how for pitiful poor love,
is for pitiful poor, all there to speak of.

What might be feasting on your brain
Soon may be festering strange gain
When prying finds an open ear
Informational leakage best you fear
Golden rule of less is more
Is trick to fix and leave at door
Taking time debugging self
Keeps voracious pests from gaining wealth
Soon you will know of what I speak
Should a tricky hacker find you meek

I swear I heard the dog whisper
but it frightened me
I put my fingers in my ears
I did not want to hear him
It was as if a lover was telling me a lie
I could see mysteries of life unraveling
so I shut my eyes

Deaf and blind, I stood
movement of a melodic line
between pitches
hummed in my head
Gods of old
tumbled phrases
similar to ticking of telegrams
into my subconscious

Hades told Pain and Panic
to inform him
when Fates arrived
I threw my eyes open
unplugged my ears

The dog was licking his *****
I knew my insignificance