two way street,  with one route i write
something good, but then all exhilaration
to this weird form of despair
of sheer disappointment
when i couldn't suckle out
more than i already did.
the other route is filled with
a prolific output -
a kaleidoscopic antagonism
of mundane example that
8 billion of an animal kindred
will share - then the sheer exhaustion
of this route - there's no restlessness in it,
there's no wish to revise it, erase
any conjunction necessary vulgarity,
it's what it is -
like when i dislocated my index finger,
and the pain wasn't there,
numbed by adrenaline from the shock,
the soothing adrenaline -
not the typical ***** of the stuff
mountaineering or paragliding -
the subtle junk of the stuff...
sitting in the hospital laughing,
flirting with nurses - 'i'm watching you!'
'sure sure nursey, give us a flirty wink back.'
no need for pain killers, walking in between
the a & e hall watching the bonkers drunks,
feeling so adrenaline filled i started
to say i'm a poet, oddly i speak posh essex
when drunk... haven't spotted a cockney
on my tongue yet... if i do i'll tell ya
of the pear in the salt shaker (shakespeare)...
then with this sickle cell anaemia girl,
asked her if she liked jazz, Us3, great group
mix of hip hop and jazz... you tube that band:
hand on the torch... kiss on the hand:
merrily may you fare through this night:
thumbs up or index finger pointing right.
finally i get to pronounce hungarian surnames,
asked a bar mistress in a pub once: szasz...
that's sas zaz or shash? she didn't reply...
the surgeon came in... 'two options
after looking at the x-ray... anaesthetic
injections... or just a straight pull... injections are...'
'just pull the **** thing, it's getting annoying.'
looked at a piece of paper with the surgeon's
surname on it, ending with -sz,
so i asked what the phonetics were:
ends in haramash?
yes he replied;
finally! my search was over!
can i get a copy of the x-rays?
sure, but no public disclosure via social media, ok?
sure (by hand, my bones, copyright with fingerprints).
but you know what... really...
on the depth of all this?
bull fighting... a sport macho spectacle...
one bull, a ring, a guy with swords... poor bull
no steak from him...
nietzsche wandering the southern hemisphere
of europe for sunshine and fresh air...
if i had the money...
first stop the faroe islands for the grindadráp (whaling,
orca esp.), and last stop probably there...
because imagine if bull fighting was as barbaric as
the grindadráp... it would be like that story
about 2 fish 5 loaves of bread = 1 bull
fed to the spanish coliseum throng:
we're talking many orcas - feeds a village for a year,
no beef tapas nibbles in sight for the fiesta.

we met at a dance from the back of the auditorium alone you were there
caressed your hand with my glove as a maiden flower that you were
crisp clear day until the rain came then she was beside herself
engulfed from the tender memories of when she was but a little child
honey bees with the melting of the blowing of the breeze hearts next to me
she grew sad now that the rain came down with her velvet eyes crying with tears of remorse
hopless said she in her land of make believe filled up her dreams
life is but a mystery draped across the tapestry of sullen apathy
a challenge to be free was a question of time she yawned in disbelief
now filled with sorrow se could help but feel sorrow then the tears flowed again lest i refrain
simple pleasure with simpler times with a plate of chesse a some store bought wine
billows fell beneath the squeeky wheel exposed to the very mere notion of laughter
tears became a mountain filled with pillows of desolation thoughts of her jewelry box
a wooden drawer with socks amids the moth ***** for this humble no it all
she is gone now in passing she sometimes comes to me in a dream with beautiful flowers
sweet perfumed personifications laced with white ivory emblems to taunt
then I awake to nothingness keeps me in great suspense until now that I'm old
let the truth be told of decorations in the parlor with grey cat sitting on a wooven mat
for I remember the place and will remember the time I held her in my arms to embrace

Now shallow peaks align the ridge where I treasured a red rose that was plucked a time ago
nestled bellow near the cobblestone a wooden structure with a broken hand let the reader understand...
thoughts of pop rocks with loli pops filter through my fragile egg shelled mind I'm going blind
ave a sip of coffee and give my foot a push,
Remembering simpler times with crazy door bell chimes with nursey rhymes
it has become customary for me to stare at the barren wall with long ago bullet holes to enhance my imaginative thought pattern
braided hair she used to wear with a touch of blush for make up when she was in a rush
yet now I awake to what ?

Just for one moment imagine life without light
Just for one moment you lose that reason to fight
Praying for those moment’s to return
Praying for that light that no longer burns

If you were her desert, then she was your sea
You need both to move forward
WE need both leaders to be
Most will understand me, even a young child can see

“Heaven is a kiss and a smile” sounds like a lovely nursey rhyme
But they were lyrics written by a great man
A man that changed the music rhyme
From then & till the end of time

02.08.17
3.50PM