your eyes are like oysters i'd wish i would have gulped,
  a scenario of Narcissus who ate by the mirror...
     but then i listen to a heavy metal song:
and retract to change the lyrics
toward: fear of the selfies... fear of the selfie...
fear of the selfie... i have a phobia that someone
somewhere needs me to pose.
it's almost a cheerie cry, i'm a big boy i can walk
into a deathly hollowed-out road of
confiscated pride... the route i took,
engaged me with seven horses and one that almost
mistook my fingers for sugar cubes
and knocked my brains out after discovering
the plight of what it was nibbling on...
  but that's so ****** personal,
i might have insurrected the existence
of a satanic cult with me shouting
in the forest one time or other...
never mind that... your eyes are still akin
to oysters... a gulping-down of
whatever content it suggests...
no tongue-waggling, no breathing,
         just that shape akin to feline asiatic squirm
above a permanent slit: entangling with
what's known as sober-faced poker... or beyond
    purring: murmuring a sodden / well-trodden
path: and was anything else expected to suffer less?
   those eyes: esp. bound to a hispanic frozen lot of longing...
oysters jeopardised along with snails
  whenever the inquisition dared to come between us...
ergo dispersed the oily sexed up
***** Juan stereotypes of piston pump-pump...
nevermind, i call them twirling pumper-nickle gymnasts
of all things necessary kneaded into a chasm of org':
                         hispanic tilde eyes...
the eyebrow within the eye encompassing whatever
needs an expression... surprise? mmm, nada.
sunrise and was phone-*** so ever interesting as to
forget writing mistimed odes such as this?
                  thespian hoplites raised their tongues
toward the spear that suggested a marching was
the proper aversion toward a coup
with the director of theatre too violently itemising
Shakespeare toward a boorish scenario of
thrown rotten cabbage onto the stage.
        fewer hoplites suggested ******
  in the trojan horse, and fewer of the said "hashishin"
might have allowed history to bite at Homer's narrative
for posterity, had they not already said: ha ha! dope!
still, that locomotive tilde of the hispanic girl's eye
that ate the eyebrow, and squinted toward a sunrise
in demanding asiatic slit offense:
                           as monogamy for the sun invoking
marriage...
                    spinoza im eisen mädchen?
     hilfe anaconda! hilfe anaconda! hilfe aisha!
pricklengrund von hattin!
              hispanic tilde of the eye that ate the eyebrow
and demised the asiatic natural "squirm"
    and the forgotten sales of eyeglasses for myopia,
or too the once ticklish origin of silk with her
spinning don quixote's platonism to a
dame (akin to that fabled bride of Athos, good grief!)
that's dubbed *riza'doviento'dealma.

Hot tar and a thirty-year-old nickle's scent
broke the evergreen air as the bleak moonlight bent
shadows into the semblance of a grated vent.

On my cell phone I repeated what I meant
to a man behind three to four months on rent.
"Three or four thousand, come on Kent,

I'll let it slide for even two. I've lent
and lent and there's a considerable dent
in my wallet." He said the check would be sent

by the next week and remarked, "Time went
out the window. It disappeared in the events
of yesterday and was spent."

A week later a check was present
in my mail. It was crisp and unbent
but was written for "172,800 minutes and no cents."

I called up Kent, that incredulous tenant,
and said, "What is this check? It's content
is silly and makes no sense." "Relent,

relent, it's for four months of pent-
up time that was spent." "Time? The rent
can't be paid with a check to augment

lost minutes!" "You agreed to it before, on my word, as a gent."

Have you ever had a pocket full of change?
so much change you need a belt just to keep your pants up?
so much change you could pay the mortgage in pennies, bury the twenties and pay them in coins.
because you dont need fat stacks to cover the cracks in your imperfections let them show,
like coins in your wallet.
if i had a penny for every petty penny thrown to the curb for its worth i'd melt them down and show the world that everyone can be part of something bigger.
So next time you see a procumbent penny lying face down on the ground remember.
every penny needs a pocket in which to preside,
every nickle has a name if only you'd ask remove the ask of class and realize that
no matter whether you're a penny, a nickle, if something more.
we are all just change.
So next time you find yourself in the club, don't make it rain, Make it hail!