432 was the amount
of a crushing defeat
for 202 Toe Rags.

432 is a symbolic figure
for Ireland and not a
poetic metaphor either,
it was the date St Patrick
arrived here from Boulogne
Sur Mer in Northern France,
where it was a tradition of the
local mariners to paint a shamrock
on their fishing boats.

432 has often been associated with
the 4 provinces and 32 counties.

John B. Keane's "Field" was 3 Acres
1 Rood and 32 Perches, a classic
representation of Ireland.

202, or TOT will become iconic also,
not as a number, more the word!

               <>

TOT  |tɒt|
verb (tots, totting, totted) [ no obj. ] (usu. as nountotting) Brit. informal
salvage saleable items from dustbins or ******* heaps. local authorities frown on totting.

feet fade into feathers
streets are named after leather
longing for loops of string
ringtones that dream in desert timing
first rhymes then rhythms
decency gone blind
so we must find our light inside
held in bed against our will
vintage bells dressed in music
goose feathers used for pillows
the west-winds find his lips
respect turns to trust
and kisses your bones
in bird language i speak
tones of glowing stones
roses freeze the afterglow of darkness
dressed in moans and loaning
their hands to anyone that passes

It seems like a tennis
Problem faces us like
Bouncing ball
We are ready with the rackets
In our hand
Hitting hard to send it away
Be careful with the faults
That gonna cost you  
To lose your game
Gear up oh buddy gear up
Look at the corner
Shoot it up and get rid of problem

You're a call
to leave the world of virtual
Embark on a real journey we shall
to the midnight realm of the whimsical
Past the yellow cavalry
and the anonymous imagery
We'll find ourselves reading poetry!
One day we sit by the creek
or watch the city from over the peak
One day we become the expert of avocado pies
Next we are the pros of tarantulas and butterflies
You're a call
a bus ride ticket to the enchanting fall
I hope this feeling is mutual
'Cause I don't want this list to end, that is all!

432

Do People moulder equally,
They bury, in the Grave?
I do believe a Species
As positively live

As I, who testify it
Deny that I—am dead—
And fill my Lungs, for Witness—
From Tanks—above my Head—

I say to you, said Jesus—
That there be standing here—
A Sort, that shall not taste of Death—
If Jesus was sincere—

I need no further Argue—
That statement of the Lord
Is not a controvertible—
He told me, Death was dead—

Haywire.
While sabotaging agencies are corrupting,
I lie frozen,
Downloading how to translate
this brainwash without constantly erupting!

Haywire,
United Suits of America,
drug-guzzling, anti-christ
injecting poison in the fruits.

Wake to terror, bleed from pain,
get pushed from mankind,
from our freedom fighters’
propensities to feign.

Frequencies being altered,
from 432 to 440,
Unaware of the subtle control
they have taken of our
***** of corti.

Receptors are jarred
our balance mistaken,
slowly these trails are weakened,
and souls must awaken!

Rhythms of nature
being projected on a screen,
too safe to go outside,
we have become rotting cans
of packed sardines.

why do you even like me?
4,432 miles away
and you still find a way to make me
nervous.
I calculate my words
and find that they are lacking.

Our romance is long division.
Did I forget to carry the one?

what is it about me?
Is it the way my hair frizzes when it's wet?
or the fact that my teeth are still slightly crooked despite my having had braces?

No.
Surely it's my flirting.
And how my attempts at **** come off pathetic.
I'm sure you find it endearing.

I didn't notice that face,
the one I make when I'm concentrating -
until you mentioned it.

a bit of me is bothered,
bothered that you notice my embarrassing habits.
but another bit,
and a more prominent one -
is flattered.
flattered that you're watching me so closely
that you can see things
that I haven't noticed for 19 years.

He lived 150 miles away.
but there was something far greater
than a two and a half hour drive separating us.
You're 4,432 miles away
(I know. I googled it.)
yet you seem closer.
Though not close enough.

He made my bones feel dry.
brittle.
I was afraid I'd break from the slightest movement.
but then you.
with your bedhead
and smiles
and love of the sea.

He wants to be a doctor.
Admirable I suppose.
Excuse me if I don't wait in line to kiss his ***.
He did more hurting
than he did healing.
bitter.

You'll be a marine biologist
and we'll live by the sea
and have a beautiful multiracial family.
*Bliss.

Hello God are you there?
Why is it when I call you, you don't pick up
Is it that you don't love me enough?
Hello, Hello, God are you there?
I want to come home but I don't know where.
this is not a good place for me here
too many beatings and I always live in fear
I have a mom but not a dad,
He died when I was twelve
That makes me very sad
In the bible you said come to me
I'm trying, but can't you see?
Your up there and I'm beneath thee.
Hello, Hello God are you there
I know your there but where
My heart is breaking in two
I been waiting so long for you.
I want to come home
Dear God I'm so alone
I've written letters and address it to Heaven
Letters come back to sender since I was seven.
Hello God so Now I use the phone,
I a little older now, I'm thirteen and home alone
I dial HEAVEN 432-8367
A  busy signal ,you must be talking to some one else,
Please please Jesus pick up to save my self.
as I sit here all grow up, I now realize he heard me all along
My faith has deepened, he had a plan,
Now I 'm a women with a beautiful man
All along when I was writing and calling,
he's been with me
Thank you God you didn't pick up
lessons I learned has set me free.

night falls like eyelids
on the brink of sleep—
I lay on ***** sheets,
no fault but my own

there are 432 tiles
in my shower stall
I count them everyday,
twice a day,
three times,
four if it’s real bad

after the fith time there
is no more counting,
or singing, or crying,
just being.

water falls off my body,
into the drain,
and i go with it.