…in the Dosoton era, there was too much crime…too many wanted to think for themselves…these criminals did not subscribe to the Revealed Doctrine…just too many who wanted to think for themselves…and our prisons and streets and homes were overflowing with these criminals…finally, the Revealed Doctrine Order decided: send these criminals out to space…they want to think for themselves? Let them find out what it is to be on their own, forever…



I’m covered with clear plasma…
…living in a ball…there are tubes
into my mouth and tubes out of my posterior…
I float in this private world;
I can often feel the wobble…
I’m never hungry; I never thirst
or feel the need to attend to any ****** functions…
I think I’ve seen
the 2 suns pass (or is it the other way round?)
3 times…so it may be 3 days…6 days?...or years?
Sometimes I see a planet and its moon…
Never earth….I do not see it here…it is not here…
Where are we? We had 1 sun in our system, didn’t we?
There are 2 here…
Sometimes I see the others…
Like the other time…a day ago? A year ago?
My circle floated past a moon,
and there heading in the opposite direction
was another circle…and it was a woman…
…her flesh like paper and white, naked,
her ******* stretched, another tubed being like me;
and we passed each other…our circles almost touched…
I saw her face: her eyes were dead;
her face was as of sand…I felt for my fingers
tried to wave, tried to smile…
there was nothing, and there was nothing in her too…
she passed; she is the past now…
and I have seen others too – just once…how was it like?
Who was it? – Wordsworth? That poet?
His words come back to me
that I had once found in a neglected tablet
while on earth
and that I memorised:
“I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.”
Yes, it was like that:
my bubble passed a planet
and there, right before me, right before
was a whole host of them, each in their bubble…
O I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden bubbles
In each a naked being, man or woman;
Between the moons, between the planets
Bobbling, wobbling, shuddering in space
And that was just a brief while…
And each bubble headed off in a different direction
If there is a direction…
And there is just infinity…
And bobbling, wobbling, shuddering alone in space…

Its annoyance
Anointed
In pessimistic clairvoyance

Its the avoidance
Of the simplistic
And stoical
Components

Its motion
Less
Ness
In oceans
Of lip service

Its ***** potions
For the passionate

Its fake ****
And face lifts

Its abortions
In portions
Of subordinates
As gifts
In gifs
Of gorgeous
Ordinance
Distorted
In tortured
Tapping
Of the dead

Its all the fame
In shoving
The pain
Of loving
In the oven
Of stubborn
Mothers
Blubbering
Under the covers
With other men

Its the omens
Of the oh mans
In roman
Misnomers
Of fortunate
Misfortunes
Torn
From time

Its the mine mine mines
Confined
To their own kind
Pre signed
In old blood

Its consignment killers

Its the drugs

Its timeless thrillers

Its the shrugs

Its the thunder
Plundering
Structures
Rattling out
From under the bed

Its all the thoughts
In our heads
Blaring
The booms
Of the tamed

Its the assumed
The restrained

Its this tomb
Of shame
In doing
The same
Old **** again

And again
Its been
Better

Then again
I grin
When
Cold

Its when i should fold
That i embolden

Its all the No's

Its blankets nose

Its the cut blow
And lack of flow

Its fists and elbows
As opposed
To safety locks

Its ******* flu shots

Its everything
That ****** me off

Its the the stupid robots
And the silly riot cops
Fencing in the famished flocks

Its the *****
And the *****
In plastic boxes
Giving rocks
Off
Without us

Its the gold pots
And stacked stocks
Locked
From us

Its the Rocks
Inside my socks
As they knock
The blocks
Of billy bobs
Bobbling
On the dash

Its the harsh
And its the rash

Its inside the last
Bastion
Of dummassez
passing
Through the
Blast radius.

Alas

Its the mass graves
And the paved pools
Of anyone who knew
Anyone who stood

Its all us fools
As cool kids
Knowing
No show biz
In soul ****

Its in knowing this
And *******
And barking
At the moon
Soon
To swoon
None

I am peaking soon
In looming threat
Of lost concepts
Slipping away
Under the sun
Electing to quit
While im ahead
Way back when
It was fun
Way back when

It mattered

Its a gun
Shooting blather
Blathering
As a bladder
Would

Misanthropic
And misunderstood

A changed topic

Knock on wood

Bye is good

Goodbye

Told you

Its implied
In rite

So

Good
night
Until
next
time

She…

Is...


Constantly searching for answers. Constantly questioning surroundings…..places…things.

Always curious.

Always distracted.

Mind bobbling and rattling with ideas. Ideas that come and go. But ones that never really stick.

She desires attention.

She’s not sure what kind. Just any kind.

She reaches out to people for validation of herself without knowing. For comfort.

Beautiful.

Wandering, sparkling brown eyes. Full lips. Bright smile. Lights up her face.

Upbeat.

In small ways and big ways.

Talented.

That’s scattered in different things. Poetic in certain emotions that are expressed.

Anxious.

For everything. Anything.

Aching for change. But changing nothing.

Excitement.

She shows. She likes.

Naive.

Her eyes light up to new things. Growing more curious. Unaware of consequences.

Unknown.
To others. Herself.

Stuck.

In her mind. In her expectations. In her demons. In her betrayal. In her regret.

She.

Is……

Yearning.

For self assurance. Accomplishments.

Guidance.

I…
Want to…


Show her realization. Reality. Art.

Beauty.

In herself. In her talent. In her aspirations.

Patience.

In her skills. In her growth. With her mind. With her future.

Peace.

Within herself. With her past. With her doubts.

Show her that….


She…
Is….

A Diamond in the Rough.

That she has to fall down. To get back up.

To brush herself off. To want to keep going.

On one path at a time…with one foot at a time.

To stop running.

In her mind. With her thoughts. With her feelings. With her analysis of herself.


That it is ok…

to move slow. To take her time. To perfect her craft. With one desire at a time.

She…

Is…

A work of Art that requires time.


She….

is….

Beautiful.

On the paint chipped pavement we went over the rules:
NO cherry bombs, NO bobbling,
NO lower-ballers, spin-tops,
chalk walkers, twenty fingers,
and especially NO  skyscrapers.
So for a few minutes we played as raw as apple skin knees,
it was the roughest, toughest, hard-nosed game
of four square any fourth grader has ever seen.
But it was all over when someone crossed the line.
There was fussing, cussing, and an accusation of the mustnt’s.
Eyebrows adjacent, we argued and clawed like kilkenny cats,
we were breaking rules, we crossed the chalk.
We took sides and worst of all,
the one crucial act that we regret,
we slammed the ball down.
It towered overhead like window washers
and landed on the school’s roof.
We stopped arguing. Nobody won that day.  

© Matthew Harlovic

My ears pick up the sounds coming close
chugga chugga choo choo
patiently wait while excitement infects my bones
my cold squinting eyes scan the track
train is inching into sight
shaky cold legs, counting seconds till arrival
one two three four five six seconds
the train yields with screaming loudness
ears yell to hands
mittens push over ears with intent to rescue
see the conductor, let the wind push  me to the entrance
put headphones in and get lost in a world of my own
blast off, the train soars and my mind wanders
with a wandering mind I am leaning against a frosted window
                                    suddenly
my head bumps off the window and the train comes yielding
one two three four five six seconds
I feel panic shoot through my veins
we had not even reached a second stop
heads turn and questions are passed around like candy on halloween
careless and free
I see the hat of a conductor bobbling,coming closer
"a man has been killed on the tracks"
"we can no longer run this train"
one woman, " well what the hell am I supposed to do now?"
one man, " where do I go now? I have places to be."
other faces" angry and filled with eyes of annoyance"
One two three four five six seconds
people begin to put foot after foot, stomp off a train
left lost in my mind but in whole different world once again
one two three four five six seconds
Conductor: Miss are you ok?
silently I get off the train
one two three four five six seconds
life is gone
a man has perished
all aboard the train of realization
all aboard the train of ignorance
once two three four five six seconds
what has happened to the regard for human life?

Intrusive image invading unstable imagination

Bursting bright bringing bouncing bobbling bits of bubbling illusions into brain

A memory of magical messy minutes moseying and mingling
A menagerie of magnificent moments miraculously marked in my mischievous mind

Coming into chaotic corners of cornea calmly
Cruising without cares

He didn’t think that that could have ever been true
The wild orchids not talking anymore –
Guarding their secrets like pearly pools of water.
The first to hear about this was the lily, still waking up covered in dew
She stretched herself open, inhaling living into every grain of her body
Singing to the sun exaltations from his daughter
The dandelions spurned and gossiped among one other
Bobbling yellow heads creating a distraction for the wind
That took the words and spread them through the garden
Indigo butterflies landed on the orchid’s blossom caressing the delicate its delicate curves
Spilling sounds and voices and songs

The grave stones in the
cemetery lean on each other
for emotional support
---
The rainbow roads drip
down sewers into the
water they love so much,
making ***** yellow, purple,
blue reflect back and
menace the legacy
---
Brain baby bobbling
around in the head cavity, still
growing and drifting through
stages of depravity and
different shades of blue.
Just now getting to know your
land legs, huh?
You languished so long on
sea beds wondering
when your time is come.
But, here!
You have entered the magic kingdom
of knowing and yet you refuse to know.
Keep back! Your nuclear glow radiates
some sort of disaster brewing and
I believe you conjure up spells
in your sleep to be unquestionably you
without consequence
---
We're all bustling by on methane clouds.
They're pumping our egos sky high,
our marionette mouths brainlessly chanting
"My integrity cannot be bought,"
as worthless precious stones are funneled
through cracks in our wooden bones.
People say I have an old soul, but
I think I'm just trying to pay attention and
put together a person sized puzzle
made of a picture of a mirror
pointed at the universe.
I wonder what I would dream about
if one ever stuck to the roof of my mouth.
The girl who never says please but
always thanks you when she leaves,
at your service!
I stumble through another
eyebrow taboo and I
place the catalyst in a box labelled
"Save it for later."
Walk by a pile of
bruised up bones
clawing their eyes out,
just to be a concept;
unknown to them are their miracles.
I'm pretty sure life is satirical

the hungry moon possesses a mysterious silver blowtorch
we burn in the neon deliverance of
reflected light

a baffling massacre of comprehension
this universe
that moon

a barbaric balloon billowing, bobbling
suspended, aching above city skylights
an orb filled with the cinders of everyone's
feverish dreams

this night has eaten our sun
in a sauce of stars and churning  
cosmic milk

narcotic planetary stallions
galloping across the black vast
marbled table
of space

my bed a casket, my head an airpot
of dangerous fradulent circuitry and
rusted ginger

Opening 6 am eyes
To squealing leaf blower,
time-squinching
******* tightening siren,
a drone for your eyes to
float inside,
A sudden soundtrack
to text  Message suicides,
, bitterbombs ,
from New York

The words pop up wobbly,
glossy, bobbling around
to the beat of their sender’s
notions
Distressed as he wakes to the sting in his eyes
And envisions your eyes
opening after,
succeeding,
Not alarmed yet.
still separate from the void
where his thoughts
haven’t occurred yet.

Projected comics
play out in both minds,
saracastic kids,
bouncing around like
blotter acid making
escstatic pangs of
it all.
While the world drives on
A steaming freight train
heading straight through Kansas
To Alberquerque
To beyond
Until were back again going to sleep
In love with our pillows.