Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy. In this séance with the immaterial realm of concept rather than the predictable clockwork reductivism of a perceptual welter that is limited by the concretism circumscribed by spatiotemporal stricture we find that an extravagant twinge of even the smallest tocsin in the interstitial carousel of conscientious subroutines compounding recursively to pinprick the cossetted smolder of potentiality rather than extravagate into the vacancy of untenanted nullibiety can spawn a progeny of utilities and vehicles for dexterous abstraction that poach the exotic concepts we fathom by degrees of sapience malingering in lifeless bricolages of erratic abstraction in manners useful to transcend the repose of abeyance and heave awakening into the slumberous caverns of still-life to make them dynamically animated to capture ephemeral events that defy the demarcations of wistful indelicacy of the encumbered bulk of insufficient precision.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience. Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber. Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation. This basic interface with the world can either be mercurial or tranquil based on the interactionism of the enfeebled trudge of surface senses or blunt intuitions and the smoldering impact of the vestigial cloaks that deal gingerly with the poignant subtext evoked in the cauldron of immediacy rather than pondered with the portentous weight of imperative singularities of uniqueness derived from the plunge into the arcane citadel of microscopic introspection so refined that the ineffable drives we seek to fathom become amenable to the traipse of transcendental time that rarefies itself by defying the brunt of compartmentalized bureaucracies administered by the fulcrum of stereotypical notions of acquired gravitas imputed to mundane pedestrian quidnunc concerns that defile humanity rather than embolden the subaudition of gritty punctilios that show the supernal powers of the axiomatic divinity of sharpened sentience to reign with supremacy over the baser ignoble components of bletcherous nescience that leads to knee-**** platitudes that provoke folksy peevish divisions. We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. Obviously a growth mindset is the galvanic ****** that spawns the imaginative swank of the pliable modulations of our perceived reality that, when protean, showcase the limitless verve of our primordial cacoethes for epigenetic evolution rather than the stolid and staid foreclosure of impervious sloth that memorializes the gluttony of speculation about fixed entities rather than imperative jostling urbanity that dignifies the brackish dance with dearth and the exuberant savory taste of momentary excess because it engages the animated pursuit of limerence rather than the exhumed corpse of wistful regret. Nature is a cyclical clockwork system of predatory instinct met with the clemency of the prosperous providence enacted by the travailing ingenuity of successive cumulative generativities that compounded unevenly and unpredictably to predicate a fundamental zeitgeist calculated to engorge the fattened resources of the resourceful and temper the etiolated dreams of the fringed acquiescence of a hulking prejudiced population of dutiful servants that balk at the diminutive prospects of a lopsided distribution of talent and means but slumber in irenic resolve created by the merciful hands of defensive designs that configure consciousness to relish comparative touchstones rather than absolute outcomes that straggle beyond a point of enviable reference to shield the world of the barbarism of botched laments clamoring for an uncertain grave from the gravity of the orbiting satellites of apportioned wealth both sunblind and boorish but simultaneously inextricable from the acclimated fortune of heaped nepotism and herculean opportunism. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery. We need to traduce the urchins that sting the system with pangs of opprobrious ballyhoo and the effluvia of foofaraw that contaminate with pettifoggery and small-minded blather the arenas better suited for the gladiatorial combat of cockalorums tinged with a dose of intellectual effrontery beyond the span of dogmatism rather than the hackneyed platitudes that infest the news cycle with folksy backwardation catered to the fascism of a checkered established press that urges insurrection while tranquilizing dissent against the furtive actions of consequence hidden behind the draped verdure of pretense whose byproduct is only a self-referential sophistry that swarms like an intractable itch to devolve the spectator into a pasquinaded spectacle of profound human obtuseness that pervades malignantly the system of debate until the reductionists outwit themselves with the empty prevarication of circular logic that deliberately misfires to miss the target of true importance because of the pandered black hole easily evaded by creatures of high sentience but inevitably ensnaring the special kind of dupe into a cycle of bellicose ferocity of internecine balkanization. The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity. I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization. When we analyze the gradients of anger, for example, we can either be ****** into a brooded twinge of wistful resentment or we can decipher that through heuristics designed to cloister the provenance of subconscious repose with ignorance there exists a regimented array of tangential accessories embedded deep within the cavernous repository of memory that designates a cumulative trace of compounded symmetries of concordant experience immediately perceptible because of the tangible provocateur of our gripes and the largely subliminal tusk that protrudes because of primal instinct that squirms with peevishness because of the momentary context preceded by the desultory churn of smoldering associations swimming with either complete intangible sputtered mobility through the tract of subconscious hyperspace or rigidly fixated by an arraignment of circumstances with propinquity to the deep unfathomed flicker of bygones receding or protruding because of the warped and largely unpredictable rigmarole of constellated spreading activation.  
When we examine the largesse of the swift recourse of convenience we forget by degrees the travail that once bridged the span of experience from patient abeyance in provident pursuit to now the importunate glare of inflated expectations for immediacy that stings the whole enterprise of societal dynamics because it vitiates us with a complacency for the filigrees of momentary tinsel of a virtualized reality divorced from the concretism that used to undergird interaction and now stands outmoded as a wisp beyond outstretched hands straggling beyond the black mirror of a newfangled narcissistic clannishness that shepherds the ostentation of conceit to a predominant position that swaddles us with fretful diversion that operates on a warped logic of lurid squalor and pasty trends becoming the mainstays of a hypercritical linguistic system of entrapment based on the apostasy of candor for the propitiation of fringed aberration because of the majoritarian uproar about touchy butthurt pedantic criticasters with a penchant for persnickety structuralism. With the infestation of entertainment with the ubiquitous political cavils engineered by the ruling class to have a common arena of waggish irreverence we forget that sometimes the impetuous ****** of propaganda is cloaked by the fashionable implements of a rootless time writhing in a purported identity crisis only to gawk at the ungainly reflection of modernity in the mirror and remain blissfully unaware about the transmogrified cultural psyche that feeds the lunacy of endless spectacle based on the premise that one singular whipping post can unite an entire generation of miscegenated misfits looking for commonality to team up against the aging generations that cling to the sanctity of cherished jingoism against the intentionality of a revamped system that malingers with empty promises using exigency and legerdemain to obscure the mooncalves among their ranks that march on with quixotic dreams that tolerate only the idea of absolute tolerance and moderate only when feasibly permitted by the anchored negotiation of the fulcrum of totemic governmental responsibility between factions that wage volleys of invective at each other to promote a binary choice of vitiated compromises of mendaciloquence that ultimately endanger the republic with either the perils of hidebound conventionalism and nativist fervor or the boondoggles of fiscally irresponsible insanity cloaked with rainbows and participation trophies. Reproach can be distributed to both sides of the aisle because ironically in a world where gender is non-binary the most important reproductive ***** in the free world is a binary-by-default despotism that polarizes extremely ludic fantasies on the left met with the acrimony of the traditionalisms on the right that staunchly resist the fatuous confusions of delegated order only to the sharp rebuke of the revamped political vogue that owes its sustenance to a manufactured diplomacy of saccharine lies and ubiquitous lampoons that are lopsided in the direction of a globalist neoliberal bricolage of moderately popular buzzwords and the trojan horse of insubordinate flippant feminism that seeks to subvert through backhanded manipulation the patriarchy so many resent using lowbrow tactics and poignant case studies rather than legislating the egalitarian system into law using the proper channels. I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent. Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.

I cancelled my bank overdraft
Cut my cards up in a small pile
Actually, it was quite large you know
And this act made me smile

Just deal with cash from here on out
Never buy more than I need
It released a weight off of my shoulders
And deep down I felt freed

fiscally conservative
financially responsible
My nation cannot do it
Without me as an example
No more fees for paying late
If I need it I pay cash
Budgets I will follow
And spending...that I'll slash

Can you imagine if a nation
Took this simple thought to mind
Just pay with what we make from tax
And leave what we can't afford behind

No missiles, and no foreign debt
We're just beholding to ourselves
It's politically reprehensible
But, we owe it to ourselves

fiscally conservative
financially responsible
My nation cannot do it
Without me as an example
No more fees for paying late
If I need it I pay cash
Budgets I will follow
And spending...that I'll slash

No government agendas
To trade for that we can't afford
It would ***** the nations bankers
And make the economists quite bored

To be responsible for our actions
We are taught right from the start
don't spend the money you don't have
Well, to me...that's really smart

fiscally conservative
financially responsible
My nation cannot do it
Without me as an example
No more fees for paying late
Spending I will slash
My budget I will follow
And from now on pay just cash

Like the bike you bought after saving lawn-mowing money for a year, welfare reform was the prized trophy of the conservative governing philosophy. We believed that we'd found the vehicle of social mobility for poor Americans, once and for all. No one should live on taxpayer money without doing some work on their own, right? Everyone agrees, right?

Wrong. President Obama ran over our bicycle, issuing illegal waivers to welfare's work requirements and taking the wheels off the program. The fact is, we never won the welfare battle after all. Out of the 80 different federal welfare programs, the '96 welfare reform really only fixed one. A third of the U.S. population received benefits from one or more of these 80 programs in 2011. According to the Department of Agriculture, one program alone – food stamps – gave benefits to a record-breaking 47.7 million in the last month of 2012, benefits those millions didn't have to work to receive.

Rep. Paul Ryan recently said it's time to use the 1996 reform as a model to fix the rest of welfare. He's right, for at least five compelling reasons.

1. America's welfare programs are redundant and inefficient. As The Heritage Foundation's welfare expert Rachel Sheffield noted, there are at least 12 separate programs providing food aid, 12 funding social services, and 12 assisting education. Average benefits from all welfare programs are about $9,000 per recipient. If you converted those programs to cash, it would be more than five times the amount needed to raise every household above the poverty line. We should streamline redundant programs to save money while getting the same or better value.

2. Means-tested welfare programs are fiscally unsustainable. These cost nearly $1 trillion annually. By the end of the decade, welfare spending will rise from five percent to six percent of GDP. This means every taxpaying family would have to make, and then give up, over $100,000 in the next ten years – just to cover the cost of welfare spending.

Imagine this: If government spending were a pie, welfare would be a bigger slice than defense, education, or even social security. This isn't apple pie a la mode. It's poison-the-economy pie with a side of swamp-our-children-in-debt ice cream.

3. The welfare state encourages dependence instead of lifting people out of poverty. Poverty has actually increased with federal spending on anti-poverty programs. Adjusted for inflation, we've spent nearly $20 trillion total on “the war on poverty.” That's more than the combined price tag of all America's wars. Ever. From the American Revolution through Afghanistan, we've spent less than $7 trillion. These days, we spend 13 times what we spent on welfare in the 1960s. Guess what? In 1966, the share of the population living below the poverty threshold was 14.7%; by 2011, that share rose to 15.0%.

This spending gives people significant incentives to stay on welfare. According to the Senate Budget Committee, if you break down welfare spending per household in poverty, recipients are making $30/hour. That's higher than the $25/hour median income – certainly more than what I make per hour.

4. Welfare dependence creates behavioral poverty. Perhaps President Franklin D. Roosevelt said it best: “Continued dependence upon relief induces a spiritual and moral disintegration fundamentally destructive to the national fibre. To dole out relief in this way is to administer a narcotic, a subtle destroyer of the human spirit.” To become comfortable relying on the work of others instead of your own work will change your character, and the character of the nation. Americans want to give everyone a helping hand, but hand-holding year after year, generation after generation, patronizes, corrodes, entraps. In the words of welfare policy experts Robert Rector and Jennifer Marshall writing in National Affairs:

Material poverty has been replaced by a far deeper “behavioral poverty” — a vicious cycle of ***** childbearing, social dysfunction, and welfare dependency in poor communities. Even as the welfare state has improved the material comfort of low-income Americans by transferring enormous financial resources to them, it has exacerbated these behavioral problems. The result has been the disintegration of the work ethic, family structure, and social fabric of large segments of the American population, which has in turn created a new dependency class.

Is this the America we want? It is not compassionate to leave a whole class of people in perpetual dependence. Behavioral poverty cuts off millions of citizens from a chance at American opportunity, destroying the virtues necessary to sustain oneself. My generation has seen the effects of behavioral poverty – in D.C., Detroit, or my hometown, Cleveland. Whole neighborhoods rot. To many, this cycle of dependence indicts the principles of American society as inherently unfair.

5. Work requirements promote individual responsibility and reduce poverty. Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF) work requirements slashed welfare caseloads by nearly 60 percent. Poverty among all single mothers fell 30 percent. About 3 million fewer children lived in poverty in 2003 than in 1995.

A square, white, four bedroom, one bath country home
With fourteen kids, parents and much family love
We didn’t have abundance:  fiscally poor
But we had each other:  banked on our family
We shared our victories and or trying pain
We were a modest Scottish Catholic Clan

Isolated, we were not to our immediate clan
Our uncle’s lived within a trot, fifteen in his home
We kids worked and played on the farm without pain
It was an adventurous labor of extended family love
We worked, laughed, cried, and played as a family
In the early years, we young ones were anything but poor

However, in grammar school, we learned the meaning of poor
And materialism and envy, outside our cloistered clan
But together we lived and loved as a close nit family
Sure we had disagreements, not material goods, but a solid home
White paint peeled on the outside, yet inside was painted love
Still, there were poverty jokes, ridicule and masked pain

Every family has strife, baggage, and superfluous pain
Our parents didn’t drink; we had faith, yet fiscally poor
Ole Dad plumbed toilets; Mom slaved in the house, both with love
So we wouldn’t trade riches for our impoverished meager clan
Summer berries to pick, winter sledding, spring kites, and forever home
Kickball games, splashing  in ponds, nature hikes and family

We were not taught to show emotions, hug, not an “I love you family,”
Albeit, an honest, polite, and proud Scottish Clan
The old house was eternally warm; it was our forever home
Until 1999. Dad passed from cancer still money poor
Yet rich in the knowledge of family and that his true pain
Was never saying that word; on his deathbed he whispered “Love”

Though our patriarch was laid to rest, we rose with the word “Love”
Eventually, the house was sold, but always one huge family
Mom spends her days in a retirement home remembering her clan
As time passes and memories fades, it lessens the pain
Of the loss of a noble father, economically poor
Yet with a strong work ethic, church, and love, built a home

Fourteen children now forged fourteen homes on love
Many, still, financially poor, but rich in forever family
Correcting mistakes that caused pain, while perpetuating our clan

No, I do not have
a circle of
wavy-haired
blue-eyed
dime-a-dozen
friends
who will
squeal
as I pop a bottle
of champagne,
and wear a sash that
says: "Same ***** forever."

I have never been comfortable
in groups or embracing memes
that are sadly, true.

Since I was a young girl,
I knew
I was different.
I never attracted
a consistent
group of girlfriends
as much as I wanted to
be accepted,
they eyed me with suspicion,
as I awkwardly attempted
to discuss lipstick shades,
as if it were the end of the world
should they chose incorrectly.
I never actually learned
how to apply lipstick correctly.
I still **** it up.

I wore athletic pants
everyday,
but I was not gay.
Their denim and tight
shirts just felt restraining.
When they talked
about ***** or ***
or periods, I just shrugged.
I didn't have any of those things.
I didn't beg my mom for an overpriced
prom dress,
because that's fiscally irresponsible
when you only where it once.
I didn't playfully avoid the boys flicking
cheez-its down my cleavage,
because I didn't have cleavage for boys to
flick cheez-its down!
I wasn't joining a sorority
because I didn't subscribe to
that version of sisterhood —
spending money I didn't have and
doing ******* I didn't have time for.

I was taught
as women
that our
mutual quest is to
waste each other's time
and money.
To make posters
and cookies for people.
To look and feel anything
but ourselves.
To strive toward
mediocre accomplishments
related to our wardrobe
and appearance.

There was no place for my
pragmatic contrarianism
as a women. I was supposed to be
overly concerned with the next concert
I was going to and dying my hair
a new shade of pink.
But whatever if I fail Spanish because
our teacher was a ***** anyway.

I hated being a women.
I didn't feel like a man,
but ****** if I would
be cajoled into a cult
where in order to gain respect,
I had to make myself small, less.
Even as I wrote this poem, I hesitated to
describe myself earlier,
as pragmatic,
because as a women,
I'm not supposed to define myself.

I was the most cliche misanthrope.
My outlook on humanity
was pretentious,
an amateur armchair
philosophy major:
They were the herd,
and I was a lion
with no interest
in chasing them
in their brightly
colored t-shirts.

It was late in college
that I started to realize I was wrong.
That there were plenty of
women who weren't the girls
from high school.
There were other outsiders like me.

But it wasn't until my mid-20's that
I didn't hate myself for being a women.
Hating my curve-less
body, how unfortunate
I had to bleed each month
when I didn't even feel like
I belonged.

It wasn't until I respected myself,
that I began to respect other women.
It wasn't until I stopped hating my body,
that I stopped prioritizing my intelligence
over others, especially when the men in my life
told me I was one of the smart ones.
It wasn't until I respected myself as a women,
that I could cultivate
deep and meaningful friendships
with other women.

I still hesitate to say
I have found sisterhood.
I still feel like an imposter sometimes.
But don't worry.
I will have bridesmaids.
See, I have friends.
They just aren't the kind
that make me wear a sash
gleefully declaring
my ***** prison.
They know me better.

Qui Transtulit Sustinet

There sat CONNECTICUT, a twit
blue nanny-state, and doomed to sit
on welfare-warrens of the ******
her social service on demand.
She withers on NEW ENGLAND‘s vine
a bygone has-been, and a sign
of democratic overkill
where her once-dear and verdant rill
now stagnant flows: polluted stream
a moribund New England dream.
The richest state with poorest heart:
the Northeast’s saddest story. Part
of history’s renowned revival,
now irrelevant. Survival
chains her children in dependence
keeping back the state’s ascendance.
Apostate Puritan, grown old—
for LIBERTY, no longer bold;
a slave to Man, where once God’s WORD
awakened greatness. Souls were stirred
in ENFIELD (of all strange places),
Christ beheld in radiant faces . . .
Edwards held their spellbound souls
like spiders over flaming coals,
in gratitude for Gospel grace
renewing thus both town and race.
But I digress. Connecticut
is what I came to speak about:
forgotten dull colonial matron
yoked in failure, plebe as patron
nostalgic for her Charter Oak
whose deadwood limbs went up in smoke
along with dark tobacco wrap
while the plantation took a nap.
Her social programs overgrowth
pose forest fire-risk. Under oath
her public servants signal virtue;
sign which really should alert you
to the democrat-machine’s
impending failure (ways and means).
Nutmeg-addled Tax-and-spenders,
dollar drunks on welfare benders
widen economic rifts;
force single moms toward double shifts
while Latin Kings hold court in prison
waiting out their royal season:
fiscally unsustainable—
yet totally explainable
(nutmeg is a drug for witches
spendthrift warlocks, bankrupt *******).
Oh HARTFORD, city of the dead
which dies at five, then home to bed,
insurance once assured your rise;
but now your ghosts haunt sadder skies.
Your life displaced, outsourced, out-dated;
so, it seems, your fall was fated.
Meanwhile, close to New York City,
fairer fields are growing pretty
long on corporate commutes.
Data-driven growth computes
as data-drivers flood the roads
and enter by Manhattan-loads
from golden coasts’ Atlantic shores
and posh patrician golden doors
to bite the apple of our time:
a number-cruncher built on crime.
New England’s puritannic granny
(data-driven tyrant ******)
seeks to harbor tropic isles
with blandly bureaucratic smiles.
Your poor dear heart cannot afford
to welcome every island lord
who looks to better his estate
and so decides to emigrate.
Displaced Jamaicans outta yard
compel the soft verse to get hard.
Boricua separatists, dispersed
show nationalities reversed
and dwell between two foreign lands
in Spanglish no one understands.
Such nutmeg gets the covens high
to soar the stormy Liberal sky.
It’s Yankee hubris: condescension
taxing plebes for such dissension.
Though you connect, there I would cut,
excising from New England’s gut
metastasizing social tumors:
clueless and obese consumers,
teenage moms, pajama-clad
whose nenes wait in vain for dad.
QUI TRANSTULIT SUSTINET—truth . . .
but that was was in our nation’s youth.
She’s gotten worse with passing years
confirming citizens’ worst fears;
showing her colors every vote
her monotone, a droning note
on which the blue-bloods hang their hue
when hope and change are overdue.
Her atheist zeal meets Yankee pride:
a most progressive broomstick ride;
oblivious to her Christian past,
an enemy of God at last.

I often take walks down a nature trail behind my house on nice autumn days
and marvel at the majesty and beauty of nature surrounding me.
From time to time I end up walking for hours on end,
contemplating the improbable,  incomprehensible,
radically miniscule chance that I am indeed alive
at this very moment.
I like to think about my life and events that occurred to make me who I am:
the people I met, the things I said, the challenges I overcame,
the adversaries whom I defeated, and the ones I forgave.
I also think about the events in my life filled with regret:
the people I neglected, the ones I hurt,
the ones I hated, and the ones I shunned.
I let my mind wander to the possibilities of who I possibly could be
had I let that person into my home,
or volunteered more time at a shelter,
or was nicer to the ones around me.
I have always tried to live my life without any regrets,
but I find that the more one thinks about life
the more they discover regrets they never realized;
the ones buried deep down in the darkest depths of the heart.
Perhaps it is in my greatest interest simply to ignore the possibility
that I indeed have lived a rather selfish life,
only thinking of myself ,not others,
and hurting those around me in the process.
Perhaps if I were to go on living my life without thinking of others
and simply worry about myself and my own problems
then I'll be happy.
There is a chance that doing so would result in more happiness for me,
but that's exactly the point I have been struggling with:
only happiness for me.
I struggle now with the idea that it is possible I've been neglecting others
in return for personal and private gains,
whether that be fiscally, or emotionally, or physically.
I want to know what life would be like if maybe I were to start to live more for others
and worry less about myself.
I ponder on these nature walks the question of whether or not living for others
is the responsible thing to do, or should I only worry about myself
and from that society will benefit.
I want to help, I really do have a desire to do good in the world,
but every time I begin to start, I falter,
scared that I won't get anything out of it.
So the more and more I contemplate what my problem is,
the more I realize that the problem is me.
There is a little boy inside me that is terrified of doing anything
for the gain of only others and not himself.
The little boy inside me cowers at homeless on the street
and the opportunities to help them.
The little boy inside of me is constantly telling me only to worry about myself
and that the problems of the oppressed are problems only for the oppressed.
So I ponder this question on these nature walks as well:
Are the problems of the poor, the needy, the oppressed, the hungry,
the hurt, and the sick only problems to be fixed by them?
Should I be doing all I can to provide medicine, and food, and money
to those who don't have the opportunities and blessings I do?
I ask myself these questions constantly, perpetually in fear that I am indeed rather selfish.
Along these walks I constantly come across puddles,
whether big, small, large, skinny,
deep, shallow, stagnant, or rippling.
I find myself walking past ponds of many different sizes,
and every time I come to one I continue past it
without looking at all.
I'm terrified to see my reflection and who I really am.

Superficial insomnia
Fiscally collateral.
Primalistic defilement
Of a world so material.

Where every breath
Preceeds another hearse,
And every thought
Breeds another curse.

In a place held together
By disintigration and wildfires,
Stems the hope of a new face
A new place with new desires.

Bleeding from the walls
It spells its name on the floor.
It drops its heart in a grinder
To be chopped into more.

It's deranged and disturbed
That much seems to be known
Presiding deep in these hideous
Perplexing, competitive overtones.

Shellshocked beyond resentment
Another hand pressed against it
Attempting again to knock down
The insidious box which holds us to drown.

And again it presents itself
In a crisp suit and tie
Hiding its nature
Hiding the lie.

I know its design
Because I've seen it before.
So I drop my heart in a grinder
To be chopped into more.

How many ppl
My age would rather
Jump than swim
How many ppl
How many backdoor deals
Does it take
To rip apart the fabric
Of your society
How many ppl my age
Are fiscally waterboarded
Would rather be boarded up
Than on the outside
Watching everyone get bled dry

Contraptions enrapture
The thoughts in my head
Like the Black Widow Feds
Spin the global-wide web
Making beds
To be lied in
Belying the eyeless appliance’s
All-seeing
Spy-lids
With die kids
And ISIS’
World hunger virus
Deciding divisive devices disguised
As the iris’
Optimal optical scans
Are just scams
And we buy it
Like contraband-widths
We demand
They supply it
Reliant on intel cartel
Data pirates
Bespectacled specters
Of property private
Sectors stealing secrets
And quieting riots
To keep us compliant,
Complacent
And safe and secure
Our freedom-
Information
In their bidding war
With the state’s machinations
Harmonic convergence
To merge us as one
Motherboarderless
Servant
A mirthless,
Subservient
Permanent
Nervousness
Bliss on the verge
Of transcendence
To micro-chips
Cold, calculating,
Brain-drain
Pain-impervious
Hard-wired smiles
Like customer services
As all the while
They got us on file
If someone malfunctions
It’s to the junk pile
Of planned obsolete
Made in China deceit
Soon enough
The new stuff
Is complete
And released
To the public
Consumption
Effete, then deleted
The outdated being’s
Illogical reasoning
No longer needed
Not fiscally viable
When product placements
Make preferences pliable
No more investing in
Such unreliable
Feeling-based flesh-
Eating parasites,
Troglodytes
Nature’s blight,
Human rights
Merely an oversight
To the Lord Profits
Most prescient prophetic
Detective’s objective
A future perspective
On forced-course corrective
Behaviors unfavored
In apes
Less aggressive
And traits more impressive
To more uninventive
And more inattentive
Assembly line minds
From their vines
Disconnected
Preemptively programmed
To heed the directive
Effectively rendering
Life contraceptive
Selectively-breeding
Exceeding perfected
Like fascists on acids’
Exclusive collective
The watchers still watching us
Acting defective
Then tactfully cashing in
On more expensive
Preventative measures
To end such a pensive,
Depressive death-sentence
Condemned to a prison
Super vision’s
Sentience

Eye are us on IRS
Simplify that tax plan, man,
Widdle ole corporations
Need a break, for Christ’s sake!

Millionaires need more money, honey.
On our backs, poor middle class
Trillionize deficit spending
Always has a happy ending

For the few by the many
Conservative fiscally; riskally
Trickle down, IRS
Golden rain on all of us