Stained tea kettle howled
almost as loud as we did
one cool November night
leaving us trapped between
boredom and curiosity.
Stale bread and ripped jeans
turning us into something more
then five strangers with too much time
and too little money in our hands.
It didn't matter how many scars covered our wrists
because for a moment they didn't exist
through our bloodshot eyes.
Clarity and time became dim
as lights faded along with my mind
because soon I would find
my hands inside yours without a word
and slowly things seemed to fall apart
as months of wary burdened our hearts
because we couldn't quite forget the night
we turned from strangers to lovers
the questions never answered seemed to linger
that led us to crumble
as quickly as the brownie between my fingers.

my intention is
to create this
uncomfortably wonderful
unsterilized environment
get high off the light
of seventy small fires
fall in love with the kind
that could **** for hire
get a job buy ****
keep it quiet then expire
nil in its entirety
fluid in its movement.

this is textual ambiguity
the rest is inaffectual
doses of good old
uhmerican ingenuity
like conceptual moses
roaming thru the
******* desert for
forty years

leave him alone
he doin his thang.

he's tryna find his consciousness
truant from the ensuing madness
nothing here is as it seems still
I promise you there
ain't **** to fear.

the people want
consumable truth
available for daily use;
they like being choked
& smoking the cracks
in the broken mirrors
also know as home.

a single empty room
& it doubles as a tomb.

how queer.

I have met Masters and OGs
within joint commissions.
While my dear, Granddaddy Purple’s
spending my tuition.

But, it was merely a Blue Dream
at blunt ceremonies.
While Hindus and Afghans breed in
holy matrimonies.

Look at all of Mary Jane's strains,
I want to be like them;
stuck pondering my bud's embrace
and all’the broken stems.

Reuniting the Skywalker's
was quite like the Death Star
far out, in space and burns fast like
Sour Diesel’s quick car.

I rode the Pineapple Express,
then I hit the Train Wreck.
Lights out! The conductor demands
that we have our pipes checked.

Look at all of Mary Jane's strains,
I have plenty of them,
still pondering my bud's embrace
and all’the broken stems.

My bud's came less often and I
became less credible.
I told my bud Bubba that we
should switch to edibles.

“But, you can't eat these sweets unless
the treat's gradual high
stops your bud’s from disappearing.
You need me to get by!”

Where are all of Mary Jane's strains?
I need some more like them;
losing the embrace of my bud’s
and all’the broken stems.

All my buds have vacated me.
All that's left is Reggie
and Mid, who aren't like my kind buds;
they’re leaving me edgy.

I’m hanging with Mid and Reggie
hoping they'll come around
But now, even they’re gone, and I
have lost what was once found.

The strains of Mary Jane are gone.
I can't live without them!
I dream to see my bud's once more
and all’the broken stems.

You give me simple pleasure,
As I bite into your inner layer.
I love you in the morning
In between a bagel,
Sometimes with bacon.

In the afternoon,
By a salad’s side you sit,
With my favorite edibles-
Arugula, red peppers, fresh peas,
Black and green olives,
Topped with chicken, cheese,
Sesame vinaigrette, and,
A few croutons for crunch.

You are an Egg, but so much more.

The texture and depth of your yolk,
Sublime and sumptuous;
Your outside solid, yet undefined;
Balancing textures with what’s inside.

Egg,
You are truly
Divine.

Where I live, you see, is the future
which nobody saw coming but me,

and I guarantee, its truth,
I consider ants sentient, indeed.

I cringe for my imaginary Jain friends,
I just smashed another dozen scouting sugar ants,

and I sang to them as I did,
hoping their tiny antennae
knew the deal,
we throw ant-edibles in rodent safe containers,
out past the edge
of the motion sensors,
ants of all common sorts are welcome.

- because our fire ants have some how mellowed
- since arriving from Texas
on waves of dread… fire ants,
maybe that kind never got here. any way
- now, we live with them and all the others
- on the edge of the eastern pacific
- super colony that has no war
- on its inner or outer edges.

But one must consider ants
as sapient sentients,
senders of signals, wireless radio,
wee-tiny antennae vibes,
to sing a song ants can translate that says,
This human says: I shall **** all you send to my kitchen.
It is a thought song, you think it, as you ****.
You might try it if, you consider
ants are not just pests, but
interesting life tools, for living in dirt
with no screens, lack so obvious it is
noticed by any with attention to antennae
as intense as
that that of Everest Pax, who in April began his sixth year…
Now, who
can hold the ant mind
long enough to imagine the queen,
with Ender-vision?
Through the eyes that watched me **** the scouts,
and signal boundaries to the Queen.

After a tiny nap I woke up,
And gave the curtain drapes a push-up,
Just to witness how they were torn-up.

I had no clue on who did it,
I doubted my brother cutting it a bit
Thinking it is a chit!

Then I had to spare him,
Because he was at the gym.
And then I saw my window open to view,
And suspected the squirrel anew.

Thus came the huge conspirator,
The squrriel, the top operator
Who tore my curtain drapes
Thinking they were edibles!

And now, I here my mother call,
Who is going to enter my room, so tall,
I don't know how I am going to tell her all,
For the squirrel tore my curtain; though small
Now I need to manage the brawl.

i get ****** up
so i can forget the hurt
i'm sitting here dizzy
i don't know where to go

i pick up my phone
and stare at your name
but i know you won't answer my call

i'm dead asleep when you wake me up
i always answer
and you don't even say hello
you just do some ****** up ****
and hang up the phone

but tonight i won't answer
your late night calls
i won't let my heart race
to the shrills of your ringtone

my heart is racing with the pumping of my veins
the pounding in my finger tips
the hot ring of fire around my eyes
the thrill of knowing i'm ****** up
and not off of you

i won't answer you anymore
i know you don't care
what i do to myself anymore
if i'm ****** up, i'm just ****** up

just stop calling me when your girlfriends asleep
waking me from my vicious dreams
because you decided to remember me

Going with the flow
Is against the Crow's style

Wondering about looking for edibles
To shove in his snout

He caws to his community
When there is a lot to be had

Calling out quickly
When things turn bad

A bird of the air
He pays no fare

Alive and well
Sharing a comradeship

With the Pigeons
Whilst  dodging traffic

But more to his liking
His friend of the feather the Starling

These birds are not like those others
There is no going south for them

Winter through next Fall when the Crow isn't flying
He ***** his head and struts about standing tall

So, tonight I learned a few things while hanging out with Anjali. She may not even realize she had me thinking as hard about the things she said as I actually am. She probably has no clue. But as we were hanging out she started talking about loneliness... her friend group... how summer has been utterly slow for her. How she can't wait to go back to college even though she'll miss her family.

It really got me thinking. I'm not the only one feeling alone. I'm not the only one feeling as if I have no one. I'm not being alone, alone. It made me feeling sympathetic.... mostly because I'd known exactly how she's been feeling.

This summer has been the longest yet. If compared to last summer, so much has changed. I mean, what did I expect? To move back and everything be just as it was last summer? I knew things would be different, but they're just SO MUCH MORE DIFFERENT than I thought. Angel just had a BABY. Like, my old time partner in crime, was now a mother. She now has a whole nother world to take care of. A whole nother life.

Justin doesn't live in Globe this summer. I dont know if he just didn't want to, or because living arrangements going from here to there were going to be more difficult if he moved back. I really don't know. I just know last summer he was completely in love with me, and by the way he texts me, he still is. But he has a girl friend now. And we did hangout last weekend. And if I hadn't gotten so ****** up on edibles, I could've paid more attention to him.

Other friends? Well, I don't really have any other friends. I have some family. That counts, kind of. There's kass and dominic, but they both live an hour and fifteen minutes away. And I mean, there's Kahlia. She's sweet and she says she trusts me so much, but like, will she answer if I call crying and broken? I just feel like she has so many other friends.

I wish I had a friend right now. This summer. A summer friend. Ya know? Someone to come with me even if it's just to put gas? Someone to eat nachos with? The more I talk about this, the more I think of Trevor. He was my summer friend at the beginning of the summer, until he moved. I wish I would've appreciated him more. I wish I had him back in globe because I seriously have no one to hangout with. I miss him so much. It's bringing me to tears thinking about this honestly. Noah too. We hungout at the beginning of summer and now when I need him, he's MIA. I give boys a little more leeway just because they're boys and they're not gonna be texting all the time, or bugging to hangout, but I wish they would. Jeremy made an effort for about a week to hangout with me, and now we hardly talk again.

Is something wrong with me? Do people get tired of me? Why don't I ******* have friends anymore? Why doesn't Daniel like me anymore?

Daniel. Yeah. I'm not sure if I'm crazy, or he's a ****. Either way I'm heart broken. He doesn't want me and now I have to block on twitter everything because my feelings are hurt, but that's just more of a reason for me to seem ******. Ugh. Maybe I am ******.

SUMMER MAKES ME FEEL LIKE ****

Isn’t it strange that the same bloodlust
Which feeds the *** drive, drives
Deep into one’s Egyptian appetite,
Feeds deep, deep around the campfire at night,
Flames of carnal desire: and by carnal, I mean
Literally a yearning for rib-eye steaks,
Pork sirloin & Horse Meat.
Horse meatballs.
Horse sausage.
Horse stew.
Hi-** Silver & Trigger,
Fury & My Friend Flicka, &
Lest we forget:  The Famous Mr. Ed.
Oh Wilbur, I'm talking about Horse Cuisine!
(God Bless the French!)
Dartagnan & Brigitte, typical post war
Parisians with slim pickens
(No relation to the actor)
Survivors with little to choose from
Whatever scroungy edibles offered on the pushcart.
The one good thing about those years, you might ask?
It was a jubilee time, a precursor to
Lean Cuisine & Weight Watchers
Jenny Craig & Nutrisystem, & the lovely
Marie Osmond looking especially edible lately
Having dropped a dumb-bell 50 pounds, yet
Still crammed tightly in Spanx.
“Hey Marie, it’s good to be the King!”
I am Mel Brooks ******* you,
From behind, History of the World: Part I.
Marie is looking  tasty, n'est–ce pas?
France after WWI and WWII: a starving time,
Yet ironically a meat-eater's ****.
The French Cavalry, no longer needed,
It meant liquidation of the local Lipizzaners,
War-weary, would-be Man o’ Wars,
Secretariats, Seattle Slews, & California Chromes,
Shot twice in the head,
Carcasses hung & butchered.
But I digress. Or do I?
MEAT: gives the same ecstatic rush as ***,
Carnival Season, a pre-Lenten animal s’morgasm,
Identical, as nourishing as, perhaps as
A horse of a different color: ***?
SEE ME/FEEL ME: ****** cheeks, dripping jowls;
Shredded flesh betwixt my teeth—oh yes!
I confess that among my forebears,
(Not to be confused with The Three Bears,
Which would, of course, be a whole 'nother story)
Somewhere ‘long the spiral helix
Was a seriously carnivorous naked ape,
Some troglodyte Alley Oop, evolving over Time,
Into a reptilian, puffed-up, junior broker,
Impressing some ***** 21 year-old
In some Chichi Manhattan bistro, trumping
The waiter's or waitress’s shopworn query with:
******!
A fresh ****:
****** & still warm.

Life Is A Corned Beef Hash
          (A metaphor)

Life is a corned beef hash -
Or chicken, pork or any stash
Of edibles you have at hand.
If you are clever
You will use the cleaver
To make dishes
So delicious
Guests will never understand
With formulaic words
How to make the bouquet of accolades
Big enough.
(Wow!  That was pufferific!)

All you have to do is focus,
Be a tiny bit courageous,
Use a quantity of hocus pocus
So your genius
Can shine,
Your mine of treasure
The impromptu measure
                           of the moment.

Life Is A Corned Beef Hash 8.12.2017
A Sense Of the Ridiculous II;
Arlene Corwin
puffery – in case you didn’t know: exaggerated  praise; hyperbole.