My phone was down
To one percent tonight
And I’m not going to lie

I was scared.

I thought it was a sign

A sign that I might be
Running thin…..
Overexerting…..

Over indulging.

Work and liquor have been walking hand in hand down the street
Likes its 1950.


And I don’t like a lot of
People these days
Whether or not that’s because
I am reading lots of Bukowski ,
Is yet to be determined.

I think I can blame Bukowski
On the work/ liquor combo.
Maybe it’s time for a new job.

The day I quit working in an insulation factory
Was the day I finished reading “Post Office”
On my lunch break.
It was poetic.

Yet this Art Gallery
gig could be a good
Summertime tool
I am reading “Women” afterall.
And I do get to work easier hungover
Then when sober, and sleeping in.

I took a deep hard look at myself
The characters that surround
Me the places that I
Live and love and the things I like and love to do

It’s the honest truth
That I am confused

And young
And yet to evolve
And full of love

I ride in the back of trucks, on
hockey stick spoilers and broken bumpers

With long hair you can say the words like
“******”

without being ridiculed.
Kids don’t go back to school
because if I became a teacher
the world would have a few more
smarter fools and a whole
lot more kids.

Maybe as a teacher,
I could inspire, and make one percent of a difference
Or even more.

A child teaching children,
What a concept!

“Never grow up 101” and  “Introduction to smiling”
If I could fufill learning to this stage,
It would be the world striking
And not the teachers.

Maybe its time for the youth of the planet
To strike back.

As an ode to the dead phone I once
Needed to recharge,
With a full battery of energy
I vow to live up to my full capacity as a tool of change
If my cell phone does to.

“Time to watch a little less Netflix and family guy kids,
lets turn on a Ted Talk, if you like them and want to be able
to outsmart those pesky grown ups, you should watch
them at home too!”

Ted Talks today’s lesson,
The peoples uprising in Egypt tomorrow.

There is a one percent chance of this happening.

February 13th 2014*
I had a full moon in my sign,
So I read it as a sign,
That my entire body spirit and soul,
Was vibrating for a **** *reason, and
God - no matter how many times
He has ****** me - he has his
******* Reasons. He isn’t even
Selfish enough to call them his
Own. That’s my god, that my mind

That my big gig my spirit in the sky.

It’s not nothing that is happening.
If I am regretting, opening
My chakras, and consciousness
That’s too bad because, there is no going
Back, nor forward, nor present
Because I presently believe.
And let me make it clear I no longer believe
in regret.

Miles away from here,
I will never question where I have to go.
A body disconnected from a mind disconnected
From a soul, teeters in the balance of regret
Because trying to get fit is not fitting in
Fit has been inhibition
Latent, and lamented
With sin.

Simply put, make healthy decisions.

Speak freely, and confessions
Are easy to make.
My entire life I have felt like a loser
A Bukowski like ****** -with no 'hoosier'
Like talents. So if tales are not spoken
About you when you die
remember
Like Bukowski’s one of us down here
He wouldn’t be sober either;
Am I  the tourist/hitchhiker
That turns Hunter S. Thompson
Down on a hit of ether?

I am wise not with wisdom but wise with beer.

Health is about balance, and that balance
Is my edge.

Either which way, I admire my brain.
I didn’t sit down planning to write
this and if I could explain I would
put it in a book.
Look,

If I publish anything soon I would be
Just as worried
As you are?

Would I pigeon hole and sewer
My lifelong friends or would I
Expose deep dark secrets
That could de-rail my “Hoosier” inspired
Career?
I fear yes.
But I also fear no-
Body would read them.

My trash masterpiece
Will be self published
And hidden in discount book bins
Across North America
With a sticker on it reading
“This is free for a reason”
And its not because I don’t need
money to survive,
but because I do need love
to do so.

Where oh where is my worldy wisdom
That can set this place straight
Why oh why should we wait to change
When the ball is in motion – technically circulation
What man will decide to be god and
Direct all these direction less folk
Back to their hometowns
New roads or
Uncharted sees

I don’t think I have lived the happiest days of my life yet
I guess I am waiting for her to say

“Travel with me”

Because,
I’m afraid
If I ask her and she said “no”
For whatever reason
I accept and understand
I’d still have to go
No matter the season


And if and when, that time comes and it happens
And I fall madly in love deep into my voyage
This is the day,
I will take my god a little more seriously
Seriously.

Don’t say I’m too sweet baby
I’m only being kind
Don’t wear headphones baby
I’m standing right behind
You at the bus stop
Don’t catch me staring baby
at your
Behind

Behind you
At the bus stop
Sweet baby.

What a beautiful place to
Meet the love of my life
I really can’t believe it
Never-ever been this surprised
But with gentle little eyes
You might
Just see
Lies.

And I never want to be the one that lies to you.

Who is the military?
What is government?
Who bought what country?
Who are his other clients?
North America in chains
Slaves being silent


I hope I don’t worry I hope I don’t stir
I hope these things for you all
In this giant blur
Spreading my message, sure
Never really has been clear
I don’t drink Budweiser
And have friends that are queer

For who can I stand for and believe in is not as human or alive as me?

Elect me for president and lets take a chance
When was your last destiny moonlit dance
I will remove all propaganda from being shoved down your throat
Solar paneled roads, a moneyless system, and an environment that gets to vote
I’ll be fair and honest and I’ll rhyme all my speeches
I Might even just leave you…

Speechless.

The baseline throbbed
And the chorus echoed
With liquid confidence
And a substance filled mind
As I approached from behind

I put my right hand on her hip
My left hand clinching my pabst
She turn around and said,
“I thought you were going grab my ***”

I spoke no words, just grinned
She smiled
I hadn’t had this much confidence
in a long while.
She whipped her hair and my heart went wild

“Do you want do dance with me?”
She whispered in my ear
I placed my other hand on her hip
My beer hit the floor
I whispered back
“That and so much more”

“I want to move
And make time stand still
I want you to whimper at my will
And rise to my roar”

“I want to show you how good I am with
My words
And my hands
And my tongue
And my lungs”

“I want to show you the world
I want to paint portraits of mountains
Before climbing them
And from mountain tops I want to
Draw the sky
I want our eyes
To gaze at the stars within us”

“I want to learn everything about you
As I show you everything I am”

“I want to dance for you
As you dance for me”

We danced all evening

And due to my success on this night
It was the highest I had ever been.

“Listen here kid, have a seat.
Let me tell you about
The family.”*

You can choose your friends
But you can’t choose
Your family….

…and apparently you can’t choose
your career either.

This is dedicated to
my brother in crime
The younger brother
With stronger
Morals and values
Than mine.

The family is broken,
And your older brother is broke
And in the eyes of a distant father
You know we are both jokes

We are not prodigies
We are not straight A students
We are small town oddities
And some would say we are ruined

We were born into this life.
We were born into financial comfort
Bathed in upper middle class stability
Taught racism is acceptable as long
As we keep it to ourselves, and laugh
As if we are not serious.

We learned that as we grow up, dreams become schemes

We were raised believing we would succeed.
And success is defined by money.

The monetary system is god.
I will be the doctor
You will be the lawyer
And because the system isn’t flawed
We are.

Money is not good, money is god.
I’ve spent a lot of god on beer.

So when we watch our bloodline bicker
Like bad kids in sandboxes,
When we watch adults undermine
Each other’s “parenting skills”
Remember,

You did not chose this
You were born into this.

And as the age old argument
Of genetic versus environment
Rages on like arguments
Over furniture and kitchenware
Remind yourself
It’s not an argument.
Its your environment.

Today my little brother’s heart was broken
And his dreams were shattered like a
Malicious marriage
Divorced, and separated,
By god.

My little brother will not be an RCMP officer
And if he doesn’t know it yet,
This is the best thing to ever happen to him.

Just because your eyes aren’t apparently good enough
They have never stopped you from seeing right from wrong
They are wrong.
You are more then alright.

Cops are more crooked than the criminals they can’t catch
So whatever you do, don’t catch flack
For not having a backup plan
You turn 17 tomorrow, man…
Kid.
Be one.
For a kid can be anything.

You can race san dunes in the desert.
You can rebuild muscle cars and motorbikes.
You can make unique one of a kind furniture.
You can open a restaurant, even a bar.
You can be the next big sensation in Country music, or rap.
Or both.
You will live. You will smile
And you will make other do the same.

Brother, we can do anything.
Hell, when our parents die,
Miserable and alone,
We will inherit their throne
all of their god.

And we can take their god,
Design ourselves some superhero outfits
Break laws in order to fix them
We can grow and sell dope by donation
And make the difference
That neither our parents
Or the police
Are able to do.

I’m proud to share blood with you.
We are superheroes.
We are gods.
We are brothers in crime.

How did you celebrate your birthday?
Err… I mean Earth Day?
Were bright spring days, darkened and dampened?
Was your frontage road flooded? From your front deck did you
Watch? Did you check your watch for the time?
Or even the date? Lately, have you been letting the night fall
without getting your feet wet?
Is there still time yet?

Grey skies will always be greater,
brighter than any man made light.
Pyramids will always inspire more awe than
Skyscrapers.

Sitting under a bridge, you almost feel
as if you could scrape the sky yourself.
The roaring motors above pale
in comparison to the still, strong waters.

My still mind no longer wanders.
Instead, today, it wonders
in privilege and presence
Like it’s my birthday.

My birth right is to look north down the lake
and to look up at swaying tree tops.
Yet they are still … still
and tranquil.

I myself, will again begin to rotate and spin
as a wish, to wander
and travel
and journey
and manifest destiny
for the small town beauty
as a destination fails compared to the journey…

..and the journey is greater then the destination?
Sure, but a cliché, is less than the person.

I rub my bare toes
In wet grass
In wet sand
In cold water

Let it rain whenever mother wishes
because she lets me make my own wishes come true.
Let the wind blow out and candles
let her eat more delicious
wet
cake,
and let me play in more dirt
let me see more
lakes

by next Earth Day.

Do your friends make you paranoid?
Mine used to.
Drama, rumours and gossip were new to
me and made me grow old.

My new friends and I,
we act child like.

Have you ever experimented with different friends?
Do you dare act
Different around
Different crowds
Different ones,
Different twos
Different combinations?

But when you’re friends aren’t around
Sadly it does happen
Do you pass the time?
With self-exploration and
meditation?

The good friends
No matter how you are acting
Always know its really you.
And they will always be there
Through bad and good
Through lows and highs.

The good friends know who you are.
The new friends are always there.

That’s what new means,
and i guess that's what friendship
means too.

You see, I’m in this
“relationship”
lets call her
“Kelowna”
for the sake of this story.

I go to visit Kelowna quite often.
Obviously, she is
Tall
Blonde
Skinny
and Stereotypical.
Do you have I type?
Because I sure do,
and Kelowna fits
the mold
I’ve molded
through
past loves
& thoroughbred
narcissism.

Kelowna’s personality?
Well, you see I can’t completely
indulge in that topic
for I only know what I choose
to believe, and what
Kelowna chooses not to tell me.  

I know she owns a cell phone
But, I don’t know her number.
But if I ever snuck my way in
to her address book - file me
under: Weird, *******, Dude.

For Kelowna - this girl is a starry eyed wild child
and my wild is too deeply rooted in weird
to perform the necessary High-speed boat maneuvers,
I’m assuming she is a fan of due to
my ruthless profiling of her.

Kelowna
is my great white buffalo
my blue French horn
my infinite fraction
the heartbreaker soul shaker
my mended heart
has been looking for…

all over Kelowna.



Luckily, there is this other woman.
For the sake of the story
lets call her
“Christina”
Actually Christina is her name.

Christina is that girl,
Who has always been there for me
When the going gets rough
When the money gets tight
When the heart first breaks.

Christina is a small town girl,
with Night Black hair that you can see stars in.
She has capturing lake blue eyes. She smiles
And always says hello
to strangers she doesn’t recognize.
She is pure, clean, and a
personal treasure of mine,
who will always be her own .  

I couldn’t tell you if Kelowna and Christina are friends,
because I have lost complete control of this metaphor.
But for the sake of the story, they are,
and although they live in different places
they remain courteous to each other
and curious of each others lives.

Christina has always loved me for who I am.
Embracing my flaws as though they are achievements
Worthy of being song lyrics, screamed on long roadtrips
for the mountains and the sky to nod in agreement.
Christina is so **** cool,
that I can even ask her to say kind words
About me to Kelowna.
And though she might not, she is always cool
And supportive with me asking.

I can see myself visiting Kelowna soon in the future.
And with what spare change I have I will make
Every attempt to wine and dine, and impress her
Every need.
For she is only what I want.

The funny thing is, that I don’t need the change.
I don’t need the dinner or the wine.
I need clear skies and the transitional period
from day to nighttime.
I need the sun, and the stars.
I need shallow water and a deep breath.
But for the sake of this story,
I expect everything to stay exactly the same.

And when I sing my song
with windows down
as I leave Kelowna
for my home town,
Christina will be there to comfort me.

**With starry nights and silent statements.

Drunk

Without regret
I pound on her
The keyboard
The typewriter
The idea
The lady
The liquor
The order
In which I
Pronounce them,
In order
Of completion
In reverse

I got it wrong
For the last time
I got it wrong
**** isn’t bliss
But ignorance is
Fueled by jesus
& volunteer service
I only hope that people will read
Long enough
and allow  
Enough time
To write something
Better then this

Early poems and early love
Life is a story that none of us can think of
When it goes wrong
We never figured out turn right
We just keep driving straight

A blur of words slurred!
Of times I’ve wasted of times I’ve swore
Times of drunkenly swerved
That I’ve been good but I have been better
Breathalyzer trend setter
I’m going to go ride my bike
And look at the sky

don’t drink and drive.
Trust me, it makes mothers go mad

The helpless homosapien
creature of habit, and routine
A simple life of complex things
provide highs lows and lives completely  fluctuating
Continuity that continually
Empties its energy in search
Of equilibrium

My Rambling mind
Doesn’t break or wreak time
It just rotates it

Resolves all problems with questions
Curiosity is questionable
Contemplate  curiosity and questions some other time
Before you revolve and resolve
And your mind reminds you
Of something….
You

completely forgot


what it means


to have a ramblin’ mind

My Rambling mind
Doesn’t break or wreak time
It just rotates it

Unrefined gem
how I feel
Rereading old work
That has no
Feel

Let it all blur together
Some days you work
Some days you don’t
And maybe, just maybe
Go with the flow
Boats float for a reason?
Whatever you are trying
To show off or
Find
Or understand

It just might be a case of
replaying the same song
Don’t do that
Press shuffle,
Or even better
download a new idea

Rethink possibilities
Rebirth, simplicity and sacredness,
Drop the labels
And ramble on
For a
Man without a fave band
Is flavorless
And has no feel.

You will learn to enjoy them
Without even hearing them
Earphones or stereos.

And long road trips are for everyone
Including old ladies and kids
And elderly ladies and little
Brothers
And his friends
And Girlfriends
And lovers
And dogs

To the one who first  said life is waiting
That guy!
That guy wasn’t a ******* fool
God even gave even the fools tools
But that guy!
That guy was speaking the truth
Without even knowing he believed in
God.

Odds are not the first man quoted or first said
But odds on favorite first person to put the thought in your head

A definition will always demote, derive and diminish
The truth.

Whatever glorious future you have earned
You deserve it

And you remember it clearly you will not be the first or last
To succeed
And to write
Or to write
Or to live
Or to ponder

Or to wander.

The nerve endings are          near
The body is poised
not posed
The mind is clear
The selfless are rare
As consciousness rose

Time evaded the masses
space sprung                         up!
The sky fell down
And the religions were ******

The blood marched on
Through valves and veins like military
Universal empty open spaces
Are the beds of capillaries

When sleeping
Particles
Particularly atoms
Take off their work clothes
Lay down with their lady
And make sweet, sweet,
                             Energy.

Falling in love
Is falling from the sky
Its noble & above
Anything else we’ve tried

The difference between work & play Is not that much.
It’s the difference between getting’ ***** & doin’ ***** deeds
Ramblin’ on long old roadtrips, old oaks,
And whatever happens in between
We tell odes

The difference between work & play is not that much
It’s the difference between broke bank accounts,
And boring accountants
Scrapin’ a little off the top here and there
To splash into Bitcoins
You’re still broke
But no longer boring

The difference between work and play
Lies in what makes ones days
And different amounts of up and downs
And days gone unmade,

Its not how its played
Its how one has lived

Remember you are living when you work
So  button up plaid shirt,
and go chop wood
in the dirt,

And let writing this poem go
And Let there be a sequel waiting tomorrow

heal the pain of having no money to play with in the working world
Only words.

I have always been one to take shortcuts -
This might/must explain my love/hate relationship
With run on sentences.

A Clear and concise statement is best
And concise.
                And clear
                                  And also a statement.

The mighty must love.

My writing seems to have reoccurring things,
One of which is not the truth

That’s a true statement.

What am I hiding
In my (my mothers) hide-a-bed?
Insecurity?
Defeat?
Dreams?

I guess writing is an
Honest
Place for me to
Start.

“Walk the walk, talk the talk”
state another cliché and commemorate
the poem with the
reoccurring theme
of acknowledging
one,
That you are
writing a poem
and as per usual
two,
it’s about me.

Shimmering narcissism.
Golden aura of a fading golden era
Classified as a mental disease -
If writing can help keep my distance from
Facebook
And taking selfies….

Then I will risk being honest.

Living by the lake sure is great
And a full fridge is a ******* privilege
And moms aren’t half bad
Especially when they have
Never given up on their
Sputtering child.

Sputtering narcissism.
At the convoluted writing convention
I’m over in the self loathing self help section.

I want to tell one last lie
Before I start
Shooting straight , kick the habit and
Become an honesty “truther”

Its important what people think of my writing, and what they think of me.


Practicing self love is the key to surviving
Living @ home w/ your mom
Because I have always been one to take
Short cuts,
And drive long windy roads
Instead of sleeping,
Always reading/speaking –
working out words in my head
That I can soon write down  –forcing
More honesty out to the surface before its
Too late
To tell
What ends first – this poem or
This sentence.



Living @ home w/ my mom
Will play a vital role
in becoming a great writer.

"Small towns are fun simple living man",*
I’ve always preferred a guitar riff to a beat drop
Girls in long sweaters and nothing else
Waterfalls to shopping malls
If you watch too many movies it
Becomes obvious not all endings are optional
but,
Anything can happen around a campfire
Anything can happen on an ice cream date
Anything that ever mattered
Becomes less important than
Something that mattered
To a family on vacation, waterski enthusiasts
cyclists of mountain or road, a children with ice-cream,
Playing in safe streets An Ice-cream parlour older than your parents
Iconic
A Small diving board
a Big diving board
And    the   cliffs.
Cliffs with edges that Hunter would jump from
I would always jump in love
Rather than fall

I’m starting to prefer pony tails to job interviews
Fast speeds to failures
Motorhomes to Mazda trucks
Homemade salads to Starbucks
For as much heart the barista’s have
The salad is homemade and heartmade
Home is where the heart is and
They rarely come home with ya
where my home is not where  I always am
Its always where you can find me.
it is not my house,
but my heart
That is my home.

And boy oh boy does my heart have a big **motor!

“Little Lover”* by AC/DC blasts over crackling speakers.
Cracks in the road assist my flat tire
in softly, yet steadily
pulling me off course to the left.

Rocks roll down dirt banks into clean spring rivers,
motorhomes full of smiling faces go the opposite direction
in no rush
until they slingshot past as we pass.

I nod at humble well-kept country abodes as my prototypical
small-town family dream fades with the sun behind the Kootaney mountains - I bid Farewell.

I bid farewell,
to my home & motorhomes
to similes & metaphors
to rocks that roll
and to the little love
I’ve shared with only
who I want when I want to.

“She shook me all night long” begins to play as my nighttime drive finishes.

One day baby, my life will play out intense as any AC/DC ****** innuendo…

*but it’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock n’ roll.

Type it out you *******, this could be
The last one
For a little while.

I made a promise with myself
Or whoever that shady character is,
Outside
On the deck with me
The one who
Makes fun of me
Delete words as I puke this
Poem?
Out.  

Its best that me and this keyboard become friends
My anger towards, understand and accepting
What is proper type,
Or am I the proper type
Of guy who wants Vegas
And EDM
And MDMA
in My life

So writing
Or typing
Whatever
Which one
Of me

Wants to deem it
for only when I dream
It, cheap rhyme,
I want my style to be my own
And I want my intoxicated
Meaningful
Ramblings to be a
Part of it
A part of the
Bigger picture.

I will only type **** like this when i am not sober.

Sober sure is funny
And not just a funny word
Smiley face emoticon

Emoticon is not
a typo
....

Dear lord, oh god oh mighty,
Blasphemy that I would
Even start
Talkin' about
galaxies and universes
outside of this one

Puke some more
As I delete and pull
Words
From
One
Line
To the
Next
Without
Giving a
****
That my
Microsoft word
Capitalizes
Every text

My little brother text (texted?)
Me tonight and said
"Get more ink
For the typewriter"
.

Aside for my desire to ramble on about
Getting more ink
The 16 year ol’ champ
Is right

My biggest dreams at this moment
Are childlike

If that’s a good thing…
Then my 6 year game plan
From this day is in jeopardy.

Autocorrect me more
Higher intelligence
And answer me question’s
The one’s that Christan’s
Don’t need answerin’

Have you ever been introduced to a
16 year old ****?
A 16 year ol’ ****?!

Honestly, I had my eyes locked
On – one
Tonight
And I don’t know so much if
I was looking
But maybe I was recognizing
Recognizing a certain
Level of respect that I had
For her
That she didn’t have for herself

She ****** off my best friends brother to get her backpack back tonight
In front of car headlights
And I have always wanted to type
Backpack back
My entire life.
Put your backpack on buddy,
And walk away from this
Poem?

"I got them old bones man"*
There shakin’
And there rattlin’
These demons
I’m battlin’
Time
Is unraveled in
Sin, desperation, disbelief
Misconduct and mischief

Stretching
Feels like a prison camp
For old men
Where all those old men do
Is stretch
My body is a concern as my mind
wanders,
And ponders,
And potentially acts, on
large acts of
greatness
and I bear witness
to future bewilderment
that has already past
but lingers,
and fingers,
the ******* blame
on my ***.

I wanna live a life of positive affirmations
That’s what I feel is happenin’ you know what im’ sayin
And I keep playin
Games I love and things that I believe
Goals not yet not accomplished
And new one’s I wanna achieve

And a New year brings new things
Don’t break your dreams
Don’t undervalue and don’t leave
Places you don’t want to be
Don’t be a double negative
Take advantages of openings and opportunities
Don’t be a hypocrite and you will completely agree

All those good things
Your gonna do more of in a new year

No matter how niave, egocentric  or misadvised…

… in someone else’s eyes  

Have no fear
share your gifts
and create your gifts
don’t buy them,
and if you buy them
don’t buy them at walmart
or in malls or in big cities

Everything I ever wish to write
Is an anthem to change the world
And the revolution starts
As soon as I change
As soon as I arrange my priorities

**** the majority

Start a brother/sister sorority,
And I will put down this beer,
Quit a job that doesn’t matter
And put my energy
Into passions and emergencies
And change the world
By meditating
Saying some kind words about myself
With my eyes closed
While deeply breathing
And exploring galaxies with ease
The entire universe…

… I think I Am going back to university

Give in, let loose and
Let it bleed
Out and drain the
Pain into the gutters
That you have never
Slept in
Before

Ease the pain.
2 days from
A new year
Without a
New Years
Celebration

All these
Celebrations
And all their
Pain

I admire the greats
And deem my
Self doomed

Those who
Smile now
Hold the keys
To their own
Personal
*******
Happiness

That does not sit behind locked doors

While the hungover hate themselves
And wait out the end to a miserable
year

There is no rehab for being addicted to you
And because I was never a **** to you
Instead of flicking through old pics of you
I decided I would trick you
Into
Never seeing
or talking
to me again

The line between
Success and failure
Blurs

I was talkin’ to the night
And she said
Baby wait for tomorrow

I was listening to the night
And she said wait
Baby its almost tomorrow

Some girls get the clue
Some girls listen for you
In the distance
Between
Tonight
And tomorrow morning

I was talking to you about tonight,
That’s when I noticed
You weren’t there

“Things will be different tomorrow”
Are they?

I sure didn't write this much yesterday
or the day before that
or, when we were sleeping together
and, you listened to me

Ramble off what was written
About what we were going to do tomorrow
but i never wrote
About what happened
until today

This girl
With more formal
creative writing
Experience
and
Education
gave me a few lessons tonight

One, don’t be so self indulgent
So this poem is already a joke

Two, don’t be too abstract
Well, Moon and the Stars to that!

Three, simplicity is always key
Well – this should be easy

Tonight, might
Just be the right night
To write

It depends on multiple factors:

What time is it – not too late not too early
Happy medium
How much I have drank – not too little not too much
When & Where it happened
Not too much early in the night and not too little later on
And what type of mood I am in
A medium happy mood works best

I have a memoir, seven unfinished poems
And so many wonderful women and moments
And an empty bed
And enough words that hold the potential
To fill the space

To retrace the lines
That draw the past night and week
And to undo and unload this mind
Accomplishing what I set out to seek
Creatively confused by rhymes
And those that I wish to speak

I am comfortable in knowing
Putting thought to keyboard
Will not fail me this evening
Putting cigar to lips
Searching for a lighter
This is a true story
And would mean more
If I said thought to typewriter

Why is this a good night to write?
Simple, I remembered a few things
From the walk home, before
Forgetting the rhyme schemes
Elaborating on a few ideas in my head
Before falling to sleep
Under the covers in my bed

Undercover my best work goes
Dancing naked in the street
To close for comfort
As I close in
on coming close to my dreams
Because sleep and accomplishment
Are two different things

I need a drug or a substance to be honest with me
Liquor keeps feeding me my own *******
The Mary Jane has me paranoid
Overthinking anything, and  acting overly lazy
The mushrooms keep leading me to the woods
I’m a big boy, and have real big business to do in the real world
Molly is a dumb *****, who I lost my love for
When techno died in ****** times ‘09
Mom, dad and dead friends would be ashamed, but *******
Might be calling my name – once again.
I don’t have “a problem” – I have **** to deal with and **** to do
However I chose to get through my days is still getting through
Is Honesty,
Just another substance
Or an honest remedy?

Sober, or hungover
One or the other
I’ll take a stab at writing
Something that’s too good
Not to know

And I’ve heard “I don’t know”
So
Many times
This past month
I fee like am starting to
You know,
Know

I know you have none of my answers
I know my questions have been spot on
I know my effort has been worthy
I know
As much as you do

You were my darlin’ Queen, the star of the show
Now you are someone elses princess
But you are still my Queen
The Queen of “ I don’t know”

Reconciliation
A leap of faith
Growth and Humility
Laughter and happiness

These are more than things I know
They are my unrewarded actions
Will my attraction
To you ever waver?
Will I ever return the favor?
Are we friends or does that even matter?
I wont ask these questions
Because I know the answer
And its not "no"
Homonym, not vernacular
Yes it is
You know?

Constantly
I take notes
And the things I wrote
Were never thoughtless
But more part of the process
Of falling in love
And bliss
Broken apart
Above this
Divided by horniness
Sure causes a mess
Breaking something is never clean
It seams
Pieces aren’t always puzzles
Things
Don’t always go back together
Things
That stick together aren’t always magnetic
Let it
Go to show
That watching from a distance
Is easier than to know

I want to feel you one last time
Suddenly I’m at the airport in line
Off to a smaller town while you sleep big in my bed
Your toes overhang the edge
The covers are covered in juices
That I said – would clean and I did
And cobes is dead
My head races off to familiar faces
As I try to get home because tasteless
Individuals of different races
Invite me into their homes but not their lives
And I strive for meaning on and island
My eyes land
On an early arrival
Greeted by a great wait where I go out in style
And mourn the death
Of the heaven I left
In a bed while I was still worth while

I woke up one day
And I rode far away
And when I came back
A few weeks late
i decided to shape
up
or else, its a long ride
down

How often do you walk home?
Or should I say struggle
Distances are more attainable
In mixed up situations
I am too deeply rooted in thought
on the topic of meditation
To help this patient
I am inhabiting

Enter: ******* bicycles
I used to find
Walking uphill
And walking downhill
Equally awful
The climb to the top
Is worth the fast ride down
The topic of how many hills
are around
And how often we choose to climb them
Will not  play in this ballgame
Because cycling is a sport
blood doping is dope
breaking news:
Livestrong sponsors the pope

Without a helment
You would tell me I look ****
As I ride with no hands
Don’t worry darlin’
I knew my hair looked good too


Drinking whiskey at home you can make art

I made that without you
It all came out of my mouth
And nostrils
Without you
I will puke again
Without you
Its true
Rough mornings aren’t new
their usually rough
without you
Only because my will is strong
And if I didn’t livestrong
My will -  still will included you
Only if I died on someone else’s terms
(spoiler no such thing)

In an alternate universe
You could be on my bike
And I’d be ****** cold sober
And when that bus hit me
My mom wanted to give you
what belonged to me - the one thing
That survived the accident
Ask a few old friends I survived a few
Whether you knew
Or not
were on it or off
Always on the bottom
Jake
Was a snake
Before I met him
That’s Kona bike history
Living on
Without me

As I age I am learning
To be loyal
To all sorts of objects
like bikes
And women
that own them.
Withholding
without me

I can't see what it would be
like without me -
But lets be honest
Its not so as much about the bikes
As it is about bliss
i've seen what its like without you
It true

If a bus ran over my *** tomorrow
The first thing it would break is my heart
You could start
The day I stopped

Riding my bike

After this I got myself out of dodge
I got myself into one
No sooner than
Before it began
Before you know it
I went missing
In a camper van

habit is becoming routine
hobbies are becoming addictions
I realized this while doing hallucinogens
And I remembered when I said than more then I began
I miss you mom,
and im a long way from home

Scenarios aren’t that serious
And road trips don't smell as bad as the scenery

If you travel I will
If we meet again
If we meet on land
We will travel by water
Separate ourselves by air
By plane
My pain won’t last
Long enough to know you
And I wont ask your name
Its not a game
It’s a play

Are you alright?
That’s good,
Because I’m okay

Others may have experienced more than I have
But you try hard and then you get it right

tonight
Just a casual
Drunk watching the sunrise
Type of night

Tonight
Just a bitter
****** and alone evening
Type of night

Tonight,
Just a typical
Reminder of life decisions
Type of night

Tonight,
Just a sad
******* excuse
Type of night

Tonight
Was once better

tonight
Promises better
tomorrows

Tonight
Was
Just
So
routine

Time
Is on My side
On Your side
On Our side

And Time
Is indifferent,
Inseparable
From space

So the next time I see you,
Walking side by side
Will be the right Time and place

“Opposites attract”
Now there is a cute term that
Was first deemed by someone who
Was not apposed to attractiveness, but
Was also the opposite of it.
Cute, aint it?

I’ve heard it before
From a father with his own empty
Bottles littered beneath his feet
Like lost family memories

And I heard it again
From of a friend of a friend
Of a friend
I no longer hear from
Because of death – not agreeing with majorities

I heard it last,
Last time I talked to my ex
I enjoyed hearing it
most from her
Our phone call was brief
but it was sweet like a bedtime story

“Sean, slow down”
“Sean, quit drinking”

I’ll meet you halfway down that bottle sweetheart
I’ll drink less,
Or I wont drink in public,
Or I wont start drinking before three,
But don’t take drinking by myself
Don’t take that drinking away from me
My best side
Shines through
when I have bottle
Or when I have you

But only one of these,
I can have at the snap of my fingers
Or the swipe of a credit card
Not a snap, and never a single
Was never your style
This is the hardest thing to deal with
When inebriated  
Well, not the hardest thing
And when it gets hard, I hound
For what we ol' boys referred to
“A good ol’ Liquor pound”

Sober, will suffice
But like the narcissistic Buddhist I am
I fully embrace the laws of impermanence

What is best in your eyes
Is a proclamation to your superiority
And if its genuine sincerity,
Well I guess that’s fine and ******* dandy
too

Writing –  short stories, haikus
Journal entries
The creative juice flows
A little thicker, faster
When the juice is flowing
You see what I am getting at?

Whatever the **** this is
That I just vomited onto these keys
I thoroughly enjoyed it

Its on again, off again rhyme scheme
Is my scheme for us

A narrative that’s quick
An so incredibly pithy

****...

These aren’t my words
They’re Whiskey’s

You find yourself walking home at 4:00am
On a walk to find yourself
When you find out what time it is
My creative side
Lights me up
Like street lights
Show the sidewalks
What direction
To move in

Do blue skies, rise awaken, or open
This stroll is taking its toll
On my shoes,
On my knees,
And on my soul.

All alone, this open space is my microphone
And I say
Out loud
To myself
After every masterpiece
Of wisdom, love and sorrow
“How the **** am I going to remember that tomorrow”

Recited and
Instantaneously
forgotten

I have to borrow a line
From E. E Cummings
“Nobody fails all the time”
And from late night walking
I’m now running’

Back to whatever bottle
Subject manner
Heartbreak
And street corner

That decided that my unrecorded, undocumented, untouched,
And unwritten
Work
Goes witnessed

This is not exit music
This is a prelude
Pertaining to
The definition
Of wealth

These are the things you learn
When you go walking to find yourself

She put her hand on my chest
Same spot as the rest of them
Oh, she’s up there with the best of ‘em
And she pulled the trigger
When she called me her Greek mythical figure

Write my name on stone scriptures
Internet interwebs and twitter
A trending topic to follow
And I fall low
Just like all the Greats before
They all know

Its just a matter of time
I better call to her god or call her landline
Before I’m left behind
trying to find
A hand that fits in mine

When she put her hand right here
Shot full of my greatest fears
Cause I am a mythical greek man
I’ll throw my self into the tar sands
And if I need that hand
which was place above my heart
I start shaken
a legend awaken
my actions mistaken
Greatness taken
out of context
Who’s next
To feel that touch
Is too much

For me to ask?

This is my list of reasons
Potential to change with the temperature
Of different seasons
Flipping furniture enraged by the outcomes
Penetrate your world sorry you have been outdone
Split the difference it always stays the same
one person plays words in two man games
Fame and fortune, is the notion
that most forget you’ve already played
Your position and the glisten starts to fade

I’ll be alright without you – but I have a tendency to lie
Oxycotin and rye, with a prescription to get high

Flying by the window, the wind pushes the clouds
The Earth rotates its time for you to bow
For the years you spent certain of all
Unclench your fist and take a curtain call

Fall down –
And don’t you dare get back up
And if you need an open hand
I guess you are out of luck

My certainty – spent the last month guessing
Investing in your future
Is a stock that is bound to lose value
Allow me to
Direct your attention
To a pension
Program poised to pertain
To you, me and anyone else who has ever been told to strive
Humble yourself to the truth
as much as you love your youth
Nobody gets out alive

Take Five
Then read it over
In your own voice

“Listen here buds”
I’m not going to
**** around
or hold back
or try to even the score
and in return
“Don’t **** with me”
“moooore”*

This is an ode to ol' Stuart
Or Brandon
Or Stubacca
Or Bongshit
Whatever you want to call him
Call him it
Conflict
Resolution
Resided
In Penta rips
I reminisce
Too **** often
That’s what I am here to admit

I guess that is the purpose of this poem
Is to make all the apologies
I left unsaid
And to leave all the unsaid
slights behind

Because in my mind,
I was not a good roommate
And you weren’t either
But our insult based arguments would deflate
Recognizing we were both underachievers
Two ******* calling the kettle black
Denzel Washington Movies
And Back
In Quail
Room 1514
Was a “Kozy Shack”
Was not for the weak
Lungs
The haziest of all hostels
A blaze fest
A Bro-out Brothel
"OB Get the ******* door!"
"And don't forget to lock and towel"
Escape from the real world
Into the mythical Qualcation

The Adherol - know it alls
3 Pills of dex – 45 minutes crushed text
Book and and back when we were hooked
  “This **** is just like doing M”
Thank christ for all your friends in MGMT
As it didn’t stop you from copying them
Mr. Rintoul had bigger fish to fry

And I was frying them
because the kitchen was foreign
So at 4 in
The mornin’
I’d be cookin’ creative
Broke *** creations
Cause stomach pains
Are a serious disease

Please
Don’t take
This poem
The wrong way
Because back in the day
Are the days I miss the most
We played host
To a family of friends
Anyone would want to boast

Thank you for reminding me it was your birthday
Every ******* year
Every elaborate party
You deserved
No Hissy fit was unwarranted
Speaking on behalf of a floor Matt
You know the one you parented
The upmost respect remains
For papa Stewie

And when I got my dewy
I got a few hugs of sympathy
While you laughed in my ******* face
And when you couldn’t find a roommate
I happily took that place
And when I left movie night in the trailer
To go do slam poetry at a talent show
You made me feel so out of place
And when I returned with my 100$ winnings
You were the first person I bought a pilsner case

The fact that you never made the break through
To see the majority of the time
We were laughing at you not with you
Doesn’t seem to be an issue
Because maybe you did know all along
Staying in check
Punishing us
stoner massages
That could break necks

Now these days with a real job that really pays
Stuart Rintoul will still tell you he is LiViN’
Even - If he is stuck in Edmonton
This separation
“Is horseshit”

Let me state it one last time old pal
This poem is not meant to offend
And deep down from Roses to the Corral
I hope you bang all my ex girlfriends

I should have never left you all those times for *******
Or in the words of Tuner “PP!”
I should have stayed and watched Blade 3

To all those
who really knew Stu
It was really me
eating all the peanut butter
by the spoon
But blaming it on you
Was too opportune

Stu,
You are
******* clutch
******* decent
And so ******* “chitty”

You were the best friend
I should have never asked for
And for this
I will never
**** with you
Any
“mooooore”

http://youtu.be/AyZdWQ6aSUQ

Ladies and gents
let me present
To you
Me

The heart that crushes
Makes art blushes
When I see irony
I runaway from me

I’m a tight not with loose ends
I’m thick I bend
I carry a shoe lace noose
and walk
With a mouth that’s bullet proof
I’m poetrys’
Muthafuckin’
G’

Shake me
Shake loose some lyrical tendencies
And you’ll see
Im soft like cookie’s
Dough
Ya know?
Kneed me mash me with your fingers
nowhere near your mind do I linger
But
I still got a tongue like a
Trigger finger

And you used to mock me
when I say peace
To this – I grind my teeth
I take this powder and sell it on the black market
Then I go to the white store
And find myself a racist *****
And **** slap her with a sentence thunderous
Just
to explain there is no race under us
******
A fist at a fathers gist
Ask the **** why he raised me like this
Twist

And say, do you see that miss
That girl is disgusting
Yet her beauty gives her attractiveness
I attack with this
I bow to her like a blasphemist
Look for a bent *** to kiss

I’m yoga preztled trying to fit social norms
This lifelong lifetime will we round into social form
Torn corners
rip me down the middle to find freedom
Where the **** is Lennon when you need him
Oh, yeah,
A bullet
******'
Freed ‘em

We need to understand
We aint’ birds in cages
Yet the bars set in places
Flawed faces
Getting a chance to rejoice
love hoist
Beauty poised?
We are so **** far from this
So instead we stare at unfair bliss
Oh by the way – I’m a ******* ****** killer

*But poetry is a **** good therapist

I'm big
I suppose that's why my women always seem
small
but this 6 foot goddess
who deals in real estate
and art
and flies from Texas
to see me
and I fly to Texas
to see her--
well, there's plenty of her to
grab hold of
and I grab hold of it
of her,
I yank her head back by the hair,
I'm real macho,
I **** on her upper lip
her ****
her soul
I mount her and tell her,
"I'm going to shoot white hot
juice into you. I didn't fly all the way to
Galveston to play
chess."

later we lay locked like human vines
my left arm under her pillow
my right arm over her side
I grip both of her hands,
and my chest
belly
*****
****
tangle into her
and through us
in the dark
pass rays
back and forth
back and forth
until I fall away
and we sleep.

she's wild
but kind
my 6 foot goddess
makes me laugh
the laughter of the mutilated
who still need
love,
and her blessed eyes
run deep into her head
like mountain springs
far in
and
cool and good.

she has saved me
from everything that is
not here.

like Gatsby
no longer happy
hosting a party I know longer enjoy
all I have wanted
and now I want nothing

so like Gatsby
I revoke my R.S.V.P
I leave my party

I go
I leave
I die

nothing like Gatsby
just happy

What do I do?
I bleed
my blood
perfect and incapable
causing questions
What lies in my in my blood?
emotion
dripping running stumbling
like clumsy words
caught up
the folded doorstep of my tongue
Full of meaning
unable to present themselves
Enough to choke the next question

a ****** puddle
of raw truth and confessions
bleached away


The flower to my garden
struggling to stay alive
So next time you make me bleed
let me bleed for you

And where is my emotion
in my blood
running….
breath
dripping…
exhale
stumbling…
nothing
perfect and incapable

I
Oh how it is quite strange, clowns and princes
along with me, share hits and misses
And how we work, eternities to construct
One man always stood beside me
So here is some spoken word poetry
About my Duck

All these stepping stones, its such a big climb
I gotta just put my nose to the grind

why yes my mass was shapeless, but definitely not aimless a hand full of aces, as my box of tools simply out rules those with mere jacks.
A capering clown
in sawdust mounds
  I would never be allowed
and that’s a fact

lessons  learned on ones own, yet taught by others
And I discovered
the blood that doesn’t connect us brings us closer to one another
no relation which cause the creation by which leaves me fulfilled
Last name: Banks. First Name: Bill
The reason I know skill doesn’t breed passion, passion breeds skill

Now, Though outrageous,
I must say that only the mans good values were contagious
and although the man ages,
the books cover changes,
not the pages

II
On the topic of books, lets take a look
a copy manipulate with traits
of stone written rules
That William had the jewels
to chip loose
I call him Duck
But these actions wont get him confused for a goose

A book of rules in which every one is to receive, Billy Banks believed that mine needs to interweave his own recipe

The reason I keep tricks outside of my sleeves
the reason i wasn’t deceived by the ease of being naïve
The reason my metaphors are as deep as seas

He is the reason I dare to  believe that I am the sea and life is a simple little fish swimming inside of me  which I can control just not directly
its always with me but can be caught up on hooks, tangled up in seaweed
so when is pleads, I attend to its needs
with guarantees of bachelor degrees
and although it will not come with ease the sea calms the storms breeze, clean its debris and fathom that hard work is to be worked hard but always  is always done correctly
I change the tide so the fish swims not always straight but always with strides.

When the stones hurt the feet  to be a climber
Duck is always there with a reminder

Though its deep, I reap
The benefits of being gifted everyday by the array of knowledge portrayed
In the celebration of the man on his birthday

III
So like Obama
I wanna
Make you believe “Yes I Can”
No man, No object, No figure, No wall
Stand in my way from achieving it all
And Believe is my suggestion
Cause the guaranteed truth is good to invest in

All this?
I give credit to the book Duck did edit
So let it

Be known that I stand a grown *** man,
And with these hands let me reach from my soul and pull
within me the key That unlocks the box of tools that help create eternity
and trust me
I was equipped properly
A level to keep my head on straight
A bucket, to help evenly displace life’s weight
A set of blank keys to open any of life’s gates
A chisel and a hammer, my own identity to create

A ladder to climb from the holes I dig myself into
And shovel to fill and forget no regrets and its all just bliss
Like a pig tattoo that never did exist

And finally a broken compass
Not to make me fail, but to force me to blaze my own trail

So when the stones get high and I need a break from the climb
Duck makes sure I know there is always time

IV
So I swear and you know it
And if you don’t he would love to show it
One simple push, poke or a shove
And he will have you believing he is busting out the golden gloves
Doesn’t that sound like the man we all love

The lesson taught?
backing down
means your not at the top

Forcing over stepping stones so quickly on this climb
Duck made me know to do my damage in my prime

So at seventy five,
you are still alive
And to nobody here is it a surprise
Another story of the scar
Another cigar
To smoke
Your too up to date to even be called old folk

So at seventy five
you are still alive,
and to me it sure isn’t a surprise.
And Duck I want you to know to me you will never die.

and let it be known, I refuse to use your present tools as my stepping stone
As everybody’s life path must be created on their own.
So as I refuse to use your present tools as my stepping-stone
The man that I named Duck taught me to reach the tops thrown

And I will never ever quit climbing….

*A tribute to my Grandfather Duck on his 75th Birthday. A spoken word remix of a poem he taught me, that has been the motto to my life - R.I.P Bill "Duck" Banks

I am a diminutive black stone
pity is why I happen to be known

laughed upon by others of my kind
to my true beauty they are blind
or am I beautiful at all says my subconscious mind

Shame filled, insult weathered
my soul feels tarnished tethered

If I only had one life, one night one day
What would be sat beside these black stones along the way

dazzling magic, daunting
the other partnered stones gripped by the haunting

The radiance
The grace
its throne

Why is it paired with this simple black stone

Through your complex and masterful shape
these diamonds let my poise escape

As when these basic black stones placed with you
black stones will make their first unshameful debut

Diamonds and black stones together tonight
you will cause a new time to ignite

Thank you diamonds for your time, care and respect
you have made this final page to this chapter…

Perfect.


*This was written for the lovely life long friend that accompanied me during Highschool Graduation. Having the best looking date in my entire graduating class is something i will never forget - Thank you Allison

I’m big
In bed too
Big like a hard ****
big like an inflated ego
big like my gut
And this newly met, six foot goddess
Sure doesn’t make me feel small
Every last inch of her
All 71 inches
I fudge the numbers
Like a tax return
And give her a firm 72
To match her
Firm *******
Firm ***
And pierced
bottom lip
That I **** on
Like she ***** me
Whether she
*****  my soul
Remains to be seen
As does,
Seeing if I even give a ****

we lay
And ponder cyclical nature,
like bicycle wheels of life, love and bliss
Naked, her head rests on my pec
I read her poems
By some dead old drunk of a poet
And she says she like it
like she
likes me
And this overwhelming like
Soon becomes lust
As cuddling
Post ***
Soon becomes
Cuddling
Before ***

Shes a disaster
But more of a controlled demolition
As she crumbles to my caress
Her foundation remains strong
My six foot goddess Laughs
When least expected
She finds not my jokes
But me
Funny
As she laughs I laugh
I quit trying
And I collapse
To my true nature

She gives me,
The purpose
I knew I had




*Read "Six Foot Goddess" By Bukowski to see my inspiration. I matched Stanza's and number of lines but not syllable count

Suicide
Is not an option
Well, not the only option at least
Don't lease
Your life to poor tenants
Who have more money than you
They will define worthlessness in numbers
Under the umbrella of life, i am asked to rationalize my fear
In ratio to careers
Plural is the breeding ground of statistics

And can you explain to me the difference
Between a near death experience
And being on your hands and knees
In the depths of hell?
There isn't satin sheets in satans hotel

The Irony of taking the escalator down
This fiery decline
To where chairs
Don't even recline

Did your mother ever tell you,
"Don't sweat the small stuff"

The Check-in line grows

There is Nancy, who wont stop asking your name
And Doreen, who's daughter clearly doesn't want to visit
And Jasper, who has been told he is insane and wont stop smiling
And Darin, who works the front desk and hates when people mispronounce his name
How do you mispronounce Darin - is this a test, or a sick game?

And don't forget dear Janet - today she ascends from the underworld
But can't stop crying tears of joyless joy
Unlike me, maybe she doesn't want to leave
These people are dying for attention - where the hell are their families?

Ostracized and alone
Its a cut throat battle
To use a single telephone

Let it be known
You don't want to die this soon
Hell
Is a psych ward waiting room

Oh, the blues are callin' me
Yeah, the blues are callin' me
And this phone I’m not answering
Oh and I will call the blues back baby
But the line is busy

Oh the blues are comin' home
Yeah, the blues are comin' home
And I am out of town
I’m travelling all alone

But I’m hearing the sounds
Of the blues in my head
Of the blues and me together
Of the blues of things unsaid
Of the blues being better off dead

I can play the blues till the day I die
Yeah, i can play the blues till the day i die
I can play the blues until I cry
Ill would play the blues from the blue skies
But you can only listen to the blues
From the other side

I’m callin' the blues back tonight
I’m callin' the blues back tonight

Drinking before noon
12 reasons - none too soon
I worry
I'm in no hurry
I'm alone
I'm ******
I'm sober
It isn't October
I'm Listening to Tom Waits
I opened hell's gates
I need to get laid
I just got paid
I'm cold

number 1-2 -  beer is too
Tomorrow I will start at 11
And if i am drinking without you
I will run out of reasons at 7

For what it's worth
Heaven is here on earth
$5.50 is a price i am willing to spend
Again and again
And again.

And then
Again.

"Thats so cliche"
Well then - touché
Oy vey
Lordy may
Am i the only that feels this dismay?
CHRIST, i could use a good lay
Thank the LORD i am built out of steel
Not paper-mache
What time is it?
**** it, it's still today

Naked in socks isn’t naked
“I guess I faked it “
And if you say that to my face
I am going to ask you to state it
Belated in front of a judge I will say
Your honor let me prove that my moves
Would never allow me to
Have a fake ****** on my hands
I know what I do
And you know that this is true
Me and you,
Naked in front of a judge and jury
You start to worry
That if I go any deeper
That a rush of emotion
Comes in a hurry, and surely
If you bite your bottom lip
I am going to bite it next
***, drugs and I don’t know
But if you make me try any harder
I am going to blow
My cover
You used to be my lover
And in front of this crowd you scream out loud
“I was lying I never faked it – I’m just too busy and confused!”
To be naively used
Over and over again
Is the final sentencing