I became an aviator to explore all I wanted to see,
to feel the sun upon my skin and wander strong and free.
And learn about this life so far the things I already knew,
be brave enough to trapeze this world and see the oceans blue.
Eyes cloaked and squinting under all the sunshine's might,
a sense of dazzling clarity from both senses and the light.
Hello new dawn hello new day and hello to new me,
tethered oh so heavily when I used to be at sea.
Long may this greatness stay with every moment passing through,
and blown away the fog will be that blurs life's glistening hue.
Dreaming that the sun will never settle into night,
or that my wings will fail me now or cause me to alight.

He wears a Beanie
Aviator Sunglasses
Stumble over wheels
Look
Eye contact
I smile
You blow a kiss
I want to wink
I don't
I smile
I like you
I'll never see you again
Bicycle boy.

Through halls of cloud his spirit soared
Through countless skies of gold
In windless corridors of air
Through vistas vast and bold.

Across the checkered fields of green
Above those mountains high
My friend would wing his aeroplane
Into an endless sky.

The windswept beauty reaching out
The world so far below
This freedom to spread out his wings
Would make my friend’s heart glow.

His spirit soaring like a bird
Into a sky of rain
The sunlight setting in the West
In shades of sweet refrain.

Alone, aloft in peacefulness
Is where he means to be,
To fly as one with eagles
High above a distant sea.

To reach up through the heaven’s gate
To be at one with God
To spiral round like feather down
And touch down on the sod.

With a heavy heart and weary hands
He shut his motor down
Forever more to be with us
Imprisoned on the ground.

A sunbeam I see yonder there
At play amongst the shrouds
And I fancy seeing Leon’s ghost
Flying up into those clouds.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
11th June 2008
Dedicated to my flying mate, the late Leon Denize.

angry men who do not know I do not have a dollar or a cig to spare. Ugly irrefutable contagion-handed howlers. Angry mischievous heathens that pantomime on 6:00a.m. sidewalk, Wicker Park gallow stop-sign, choreographed gutter-punk drunk walk. And of all he wants and could ever want splits down his gooey membrane brain in the outline of a noun shaped fragment of a clause, "Couldja spare 80¢ for the train," but of course I don't spare on the ellipsis or the period. Semi-colons I won't! My rubber-bottomed leather boots lash out, heavy scraping sounds trail this mirrored shadow half an angle behind me.

*****!! Blonde framed sunglasses from American Apparel, a gift from my sister in a folded Ray-Ban case is scattered on last nights bedroom floor, my girlfriend has certainly not noticed, the gloom-coated morning sun spray has not noticed; but I have unzipped a fissure in the ocular lens. My heart skips a beat. Her bedroom might as well have swallowed them whole. Now the house can halt and have the shade, swaying in Spring air in 10:22a.m. shadows. The aviator himself Howard Hughes would strike me with his 488 aircraft. Edwin Starr in his invincible sinister calypso of War would turn me round. I was sturdy as a rock until I began to forget my forgottens. These unknown unknowns I knew I needed. I'm over a quarter-century on to noon going nowhere- and quite blindly.

But then, still she could stand upright and find me. Her neck crooked, looking onward through the East, the gristly roots of rhubarb buried in her searching fingernails. She's threaded worse, and of course if I could just tell her- this is the kind of nursing which requires acute temperament and flexibility. I am thus on a journey to strike nonsense and fear from the idiotic vocabulary that put this nonsense in my head. Split through me like a butter knife into my apotropaic. Perhaps tar water could cure my ails. If not, certainly a sliver of vanilla would set me straight. Or if could just rain rain rain all day, then I'd make do without, but she is at school. My pistons are racked and nervous, and I'm not going anywhere but my rucksack stoop. I am camped in midwestern Spring soup. Fog, rain, and shade. The nightmare of day.

it's not the case of irrationality with the usage of pronouns as a way of being assertive away from the existentialist dittoing of the pronouns; even if i utilise the pronoun to be a noun or a verb via dittoing, with the framework of an esp. exemplar "irrationality," i am still, after all, the speaker of the noun and verbs, and the keeper of them; i am not irrational to the extent that i ditto myself outside of other categorisations of words, since dittoing myself within the pronoun category opens the accusation that i use all other words with ambiguity while allowing no moral ambiguity into my actions - but there is a clear morality to the use of words as the worthwhile exchange of meaning, in newtonian sense in the least and foremost not going beyond the dropped stone or insinuation of passerby engagement into games - but clear crisp cut - silk scarf tagged twelve quid was sold on the haggle for ten quid - so that haggling wasn't an ambiguity, but the price of the scarf was! so how many sexualised insinuations have i heard with impromptu to no action?! too many! all of them declassified from furthering action because of too much innuendo and nuance of that famous disguised dialectics lost - known as the death of god. cartesian in existentialist terms, thinking presupposed as the notation via "i." thought no longer as an existential certainty... but because of the dittoing of pronouns... an... ambiguity! well it was originally an ambiguity, but why excess pausing to counter? the english are a nation of shopkeepers... yes... and the french are a bunch of nosy café patrons with rude lovers disguised as bartenders muscle aching to munch the next croissant in drag and feel sexed up gagging.

verum, ego scribere similis rumi*; scribbles and similitude -
worth an afghan worth of eyes in syria for an afghan girl
saying to her loved up something or other:
see it come back, god forbid you hear the calculative laugh
of augustus on the way back, just while europe resigns from involving
the remnant slavs like libyans or syrians or hebrews in the original format
of strength: let the hebrews deal with them
in their own vatican - we need to curb north africans
and the mid-middle-eastern olives
when taking over the northern peoples for economic harvests.
but then the madman laughed without ordinance and impunity -
he laughed augustus' rationalism into the grave of choking chock fudge brussels
with spare tonsils eating nothing but cauliflower and lard -
elsewhere in movie via ghent; or was it in bruges or
was it in brussels starring jean claude van damme?
i call it... writers went mad on excess phonetics never readied
or introduced - except with magritte wearing a diaper
rather than a full james bond when painting.
i heard it was a proper heist to keep the police numbers handy,
i had it all tanned in argumentation for hued brown in the nordic
special; oddly enough no nordic special sailed for a sinking of the vasa
with predestination - airport was nice - we argued then -
we're not a continent of north harmonicas with jokes
between mythological four lead clovers and oak real canada threesomes.
well i was a continent with croatian and scandinavian,
i'm not originally a mc donald continent - although that 'MADE IN CHINA'
helps to resolve all future wars with the silkworm beginning:
rodeo in the haven of horse's burp and fall of the cheap spain due to tourism -
old continental had corrida - new continent has rodeo -
somewhere between the ****** and maidens came oceans elves for a bet on
who could write a horse out from riding into a blunt metal clasp of stirrup eager sounds:
or a twenty aged colt sounding like an eighty year old nail wrinkled with rust hammered.
blunt metal won, horse gasped for air, the ***** was taken home with stitches,
the maiden was taken home with a groom in stitches also, although
stitches of old age prior asked for in her meringue dress to suit: wrinkles;
but hey! there's **** in between! who's the loser, the aviator or the aqua puncture of thought?
but still augustus laughed it off with nero on the waiting list of possible re-encounters;
israel received the southern cicero of the roman empire,
while the rekindled empire got the north-eastern and northern part of
the unexplored without saints travelling elsewhere,
and for that it got implosions, with the schengen approval reminded
to cloister the leftists eager to holiday in syria on unesco cruises in sand and sheep ****
of kept marble - for that cocktail party convo, and next day article in the new yorker;
shame on you for using children to ploy en masse morality of guilt
to later reproduce the hydra with so much racist cribbing
of a seahorse riddling perpetual dynamos
as to imagine the future cot rock-a-baby-jihadi saladin:
the fire is in his own house, runs with a
              flaming matchstick to his "neighbour's house"
to start the fire rather than trying to put the fire out in his own house.
honestly? sounds a bit binary in bangladeshi.

torn jeans
dimples
station wagons
shifting eyebrows
eager hands

wry smiles
chapped lips
cheap beer
deep-set eyes
pirated music

hates his birthday
stoplight-kisses
star-gazing in cornfields
****** knuckles
broken minds

lanky limbs
poetry books
scruffy faces
jet-black coffee
calloused hands that still feel soft

adventurer's heart
jumping fences
midnight tokes
always gives you hickeys
always opens your door

worn sneakers
chewed pen caps
late for work
old windbreakers
dirt under his fingernails

omniscient smirks
expensive cologne
good intentions -
but is bad with goodbyes
hates himself for making you cry

broken cigarettes
aviator shades at night
a perpetually furrowed brow
and a laugh that sounds like autumn leaves as they crunch beneath your feet

m.f.

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"A mended brain, and heart, and soul are all fine. But being stolen away in the night by new, soft, and clawing hands makes the stitching break. And when you wake up you find that you were never fixed in the first place.” ~ Jade Day


SCENE ONE

[All is black. Strobe lights of various colors flashed throughout the land. A mysterious woman casts an atrocious glare as she is passing by. She had dark brown shoulder length hair, hazel eyes and french vanilla colored skin. She was wearing a jet black dress. Her left hand was slightly moving around in a circular motion as a gesture of guided conversation. Her hand then gradually descended just below her waistline.]

DO: AAAHHH!!!!

[Do woke up doused within sweat and heavily panting. Spore and Gum came running into Do and Sweat’s room to check on Do.]

GUM: What’s going on, Do?

SPORE: Yeah, we heard you screaming from across the room.

DO: I’m fine… I-i… I just keep having nightmares and they won’t go away.

SPORE: What happened in this nightmare?

GUM: Yes, tell us Do.

DO: I do not wish to speak much of it at the moment, but all I will say is that a strange, mysterious woman keeps appearing in my dreams.

GUM: Who is she?

SPORE: Gum let’s not hassle him.

DO: I can’t remember her name at the moment. All I can remember is an incident happening that shouldn’t have.

SPORE: It’s okay, Do. You can tell us more about it as you start to fully remember what happened.

DO: Yeah, I suppose you are right.

GUM: What do you guys say we head down to the cafeteria? It’s 6:00 am and breakfast starts in half an hour.

DO: That actually sounds really good right now. I’m totally down.

SPORE: Yeah, I’m a bit hungry myself. What about Sweat? I mean he’s still sleeping.

GUM: Sweat has always been a deep sleeper.

SPORE: How would you know?

GUM: Because he’s my friend but thanks for implying that I’m a ****.

SPORE: I’m sorry but weren’t you the one who had an infamous reputation for random hookups?

GUM: That was a long time ago, Spore. I don’t do it as often as I used to.

SPORE: But you still do

GUM: Of course. Everyone needs some good, fun, casual *** every now and then.

DO: Guys can we talk about this later? It’s too early for this *******.

SPORE: We’re sorry, Do.

GUM: Yes, we don’t know what came over us.

DO: Look it’s okay. I’m over it. It happens to the best of us. Let’s just get going shall we.

SPORE: Great! I’m going to go take a shower and brush my teeth.

GUM: I call second.

DO: Actually, Gum you can use our shower. It will speed up things up a bit.

GUM: Oh yeah. You’re totally right.

[Do chuckles. Gum smiles back in response as she heads to the bathroom. Gum had bubblegum pink hair, bubblegum pink eyes and creamy white skin. Do leans over and gently shakes Sweat awake.]

DO: Sweat! Come on buddy wake up! Breakfast is starting soon and the gang wants to grab a bite to eat.

[Sweat slowly turns over yawning while rubbing the tiredness from his eyes.]

SWEAT: Ok, ok I’m up. What are they having for breakfast today?

DO: None of us know yet until we get down there.

SWEAT: Well what are we waiting for? Let’s get movin’!

DO: We will. Just waiting on the girls to get out of the showers so that we can do the same.



20 MINUTES LATER…

GUM: The guys should be dressed by now don’t you think?

SPORE: Let them take their time, Gum. Breakfast ends at 10:30. There is plenty to go around.

[Do and Sweat enter the room fully dressed and ready to go. Do was wearing a white long sleeve shirt, white jeans and white shoes. Sweat was wearing an outfit of an identical nature.]

SPORE: You guys both look very handsome and acceptable.

GUM: Yes! Yes! You guys look marvelous! Can we go now?

SPORE: I don’t know. Are you guys ready?

DO: Well, I know I’m ready. What about you Sweat?

SWEAT: Been ready.

[Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat make their way towards the door.]

DO: Oh, and Spore?

SPORE: Yes, Do.

DO: How far has life taken you by being acceptable?

[Spore looks at Do with a very confused ****** expression.]

DO: Exactly.

[Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat exit the room.]


SCENE TWO


[Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat exit the elevator and make their way to the cafeteria. They enter the line and patiently wait to order their food.]

SPORE: By the way, Do all food is free at the asylum on Saturdays and Sundays for those who don’t have a registered meal plan.

DO: Thank you for the heads up Spore. Remind me to sign up for a meal plan later.

SPORE: I won’t forget.

[Spore and Do smile at each other. It is now Spore’s turn to order.]

BREAKFAST LADY: Welcome to Black Wick Asylum For The Mentally Insane. For breakfast we are serving Pancakes and waffles with your choice of 3 sides. Your choices are eggs, bacon and biscuits with brown and white gravy. We are also serving donuts, bagels and pastries. What can I get for you today?

SPORE: I think I’ll have three waffles and three biscuits covered in white gravy. Also, I’d like a donut.

BREAKFAST LADY: What kind of donut would you like?

SPORE: What kind of donuts do you have?

BREAKFAST LADY: Sprinkled, glazed, powdered, cake, jelly filling, red velvet, chocolate covered, etc…

SPORE: I think I’ll take the jelly-filled donut.

BREAKFAST LADY: What kind of jelly do you want?

SPORE: Blue raspberry.

BREAKFAST LADY: Anything to drink?

SPORE: Orange juice, please.

BREAKFAST LADY: And what can I get for you three?

[The breakfast lady began looking at Do, Sweat & Gum as she eagerly awaited their response. Gum decides to place her order first.]

GUM: I think I’ll have a short stack of red velvet pancakes, a couple of blackberry jelly-filled donuts and four scrambled eggs please.

BREAKFAST LADY: Ok and what would you like to drink?

GUM: A cup of tea would be nice.

[Gum lightly smiles at the breakfast lady as she says this then continues walking forward in the line. The lady points to Do and Sweat signaling them to come and place their orders.]

DO: I’ll take a full stack of buttermilk pancakes, two poached eggs, and a bagel with tea.

BREAKFAST LADY: Ok. What about you sir? What would you like?

SWEAT: Yeah, I’ll have two waffles, two biscuits, two fried eggs, two strips of bacon and a cup of coffee

BREAKFAST LADY: Will that be all?

SWEAT: Yes.

BREAKFAST LADY: Ok if you will please move to the end of the line your food and beverages will be placed through the delivery compartment next to the condiments.

[Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat move to the end of the line to get their food and finish preparing their beverages. The four of them then leave the condiment area and begin seeking a table to sit at. Eventually they find a table and comfortably take their seats.]

GUM: You know guys I was thinking. We have two weeks until the grand opening of Hyper.*** right? Maybe we should use some of that time to go and shop for some club appropriate attire.

SPORE: Maybe you’re right, Gum. I mean look at us. Do you really think anyone in the club is going to want to be seen with us if we walk in there wearing this?

DO: No.

SWEAT: Hell no.

SPORE: What did you have in mind Gum?

GUM: It’s not about what I have in mind. It’s about what you feel. Your outfit should project your emotions.

SPORE: Say now that’s pretty deep, Gum. Thank you.

DO: I think this is a good idea, Gum. We should do that. I mean what’s the worst that could happen? Besides I am tired of wearing these boring *** white clothes. Gotta love uniform policies.

SWEAT: Yeah, we are beyond the level of comprehension that these idiots cater to.

[Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat begin to chuckle together.]

SWEAT: So where are you thinking about shopping, Gum?

GUM: Well, actually, there is this clothing store a couple of blocks from here called UP. They are the premier shop for all things party wear. We should be able to get what we need from there.

DO: When do we leave?

GUM: As soon as possible.



SCENE THREE


TWO WEEKS LATER…

[Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat arrive UP in cab. The four of them get out of the cab and begin walking towards the store. It had a glowing neon blue sign with the word UP in big white letters. The sign also had white equalizers on both sides of its logo. The store had a clear exterior that allowed customers to see directly through the store.]

DO: This store looks fairly interesting, Gum. I like the look of it and what it seemingly appears to represent.

SWEAT: I definitely agree with you on that bro.

SPORE: I have an idea guys. How about we go inside?

SWEAT: Say that is a genius idea, Spore.

[Do and Gum begin laughing as the four of them walked into the store.]

SWEAT: What an exciting new discovery! Upon your death you shall never be forgotten!

SPORE: Ok, Sweat. That’s enough.

GUM: Yeah, Sweat. We get it.

SWEAT: Ok. I’m sorry.

[One of the male sales associates spots them and approaches them. He had jet, black hair, blue eyes, and five o’ clock shadow. He was wearing some black slacks along with a cerulean blue shirt with the company logo in the upper right corner of his chest.]

SALES ASSOCIATE: Hello, there and welcome to UP! My name is Zane. How may I help you today?

GUM: Yes, we have come to shop for and possibly purchase some night club and/or party attire.

[Spore pointed at Gum.]

SPORE: It was her idea.

GUM: To which you agreed.

SALES ASSOCIATE: Clearly. What type of night club and/or party are you going to?

[Do hands the sales associate his business card. He takes it and briefly looks at it.]

SALES ASSOCIATE: Hmm Hyper.*** eh? I’ve been hearing a lot about that new club. It seems like it’s going to be a lot of fun. I just hope the experience lives up to the hype.

DO, SPORE, GUM & SWEAT: We do too.

SALES ASSOCIATE: Do any of you know where it is going to be at? The card doesn’t seem to mention any sort of location.

GUM: What?

SPORE: What in the hell?

DO: Let me see.

[Zane hands the card back to Do. Do grabs it and starts frantically scanning the card.]

Do: Good eye, Zane.

SALES ASSOCIATE: Thanks man. Okay guys follow me. I think we may have what you are looking for.

[Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat follow Zane to the back of the store. There was a small blue sign hanging over the isle. The sign said “Casual/Blend’.

SALES ASSOCIATE: This area consists of our casual and blended clothing. The kind of clothing that we place in this area is specifically designed for party-goers who are new to the scene. Now since you all seem to be ill-informed of your club’s whereabouts, I thought this selection and style of clothing would be perfectly fitting for you.

GUM: Thank you, Zane

SALES ASSOCIATE: No problem. If you need anything else I will be at the front of the store.

DO, SPORE, GUM & SWEAT: Thank you!

[Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat continue to browse through the clothing for the next five minutes.]

GUM: Okay guys I think I have found what I like. This pink tank top and skirt along with these white high heels. I think they would look fabulous.

SPORE: That’s great, Gum.

GUM: Have any of you found anything you like?

DO: Well I saw some solid black t-shirts, jeans and sneakers that I like. I also saw a black fedora and some aviator shades that I really like.

SWEAT: I think I’ll just wear one of their generic company logo shirts with some blue denim jeans. I saw that they were selling some on clearance.

SPORE: I think I’ll go for that baby green dress and black sneakers that I saw.

GUM: That’s great. I guess we are all set then.

SWEAT: Yeah, I think so too

[Do takes out out his business card again and briefly glances at it.]

DO: You know I just can’t believe that those girls invited us to a club without informing us of its location. I mean how are we supposed to find it? How are we supposed to get there?

ALICE: By private jet

ANNA: To Switzerland

ALICE & ANNA: One way.

[Do turned around really fast appearing to be in a state of confusion. Alice and Anna were standing behind him with blue bags in their hands. Alice was wearing a plum purple dress, purple framed sunglasses with black lenses and purple sneakers. Anna was wearing an electric red dress red framed sunglasses and red sneakers to match the electric red highlights in her hair. ]

DO: Alice? Anna? What are you doing here?

ALICE: We’re here to shop silly.

ANNA: Yeah, we know the club scene like the back of our hand.

GUM: So do I.

ALICE: Excellent.

SPORE: What part of Switzerland?

ANNA: Zurich

ALICE: It is a neighboring country to France.

ANNA: Don’t worry we’ll have you back by tomorrow afternoon.

ALICE: Remember the grand opening of club Hyper.*** is in two days.

ANNA: Our plane leaves Friday morning at 10:00 a.m. sharp. We will be flying first class.

ALICE: You are to meet us there at approximately 9:00 a.m.

ANNA: And not a minute later.

ALICE: Be there or be square.

SALES ASSOCIATE: Bye ladies!

ALICE & ANNA: BYE ZANE!!!

[They wave at Zane as they are walking out of the door. Zane turns around and looks at Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat.]

SALES ASSOCIATE: You guys ready to pay?


SCENE FOUR


24 HOURS LATER…

[It is now 8:55 a.m. and Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat are only just arriving at the airport. The four of them walk into the airport where they are greeted by Alice and Anna.]

ALICE: Bonjour! Il est si agréable pour nous d'être à nouveau réunis!

ANNA: Oui, c'était très agréable d'avoir couru dans les quatre d'entre vous hier! Avez-vous les gars obtenez assez de repos?

DO: J'ai dormi comme un bébé.

ANNA: Bon, je suis content.

GUM: Will we be needing plane tickets?

ALICE: Not at all. You are flying via our private jet. A ticket is not needed.

ANNA: By the way how old are you all?

DO: 23

SPORE: 21

GUM: 25

SWEAT: 26

ALICE: Great. Then you all are old enough to drink then.

ANNA: We serve but only the finest liquor and wine aboard our jet. I think you’d enjoy our selection immensely.

SPORE: Do you guys also serve chocolate?

ALICE: Yes, we do.

GUM: What about meals?

ANNA: Of course.

DO: Good.

ALICE: Told you we’d take care of you.

ANNA: We weren’t kidding.

[Spore glances at her watch to check the time.]

SPORE:  Anyway, it is coming to 10:00 now. Shouldn’t we be leaving?

[Alice and Anna glance at their phones.]

ALICE: Oh my! You guys are right. It is now 9:55 a.m.

ANNA: Well I guess we had better get going if we want to make it to the event on time.

ALICE: Yes, so we should.

ANNA: Alright, kids follow us outside to the jet.

[Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat follow Alice and Anna outside the airport. A big, white jet was sitting just across from the airway.]

ALICE: Well, what are you waiting for? Come aboard!

ANNA: Yeah, don’t be such a loser. Come on! Come aboard all of you!

[Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat climb aboard the jet. A tall, muscular butler approaches them. He had a dark, brown afro, dark brown eyes, and golden brown skin.]

BUTLER: Hello, there young lads! My name is Owen.

[Owen gently grabs both Gum and Spore’s hands simultaneously as he planted a soft kiss on the backs of their palms.]

BUTLER: I was informed that the four of you would be flying first class today, correct?

GUM: Yes, that is correct, Owen.

BUTLER: May I escort you to your seats?

GUM: Yes, you may kind one.

SPORE: Please never hesitate to ask.

[Gum and Spore let out a few really **** giggles.]

BUTLER: Right this way.

[Owen escorts Do, Spore, Gum and Sweat to their seats. The four of them take their seats and begin to relax.]

BUTLER: What can I get you guys to drink?

GUM: Do you have strawberry wine?

BUTLER: Yes, ma’am. I believe we do have that.

GUM: Could you get me a glass of that please?

BUTLER: Yes, of course. Is there anything I can get for the rest of you lads?

SPORE: I’ll have a blue raspberry soda.

DO: I’d also like a blue raspberry soda.

[Spore looked at Do with a wide grin on her face as she began to blush. Do returned the expression.]

BUTLER: Ok I’ll have your drinks out straight away.

DO, SPORE, GUM & SWEAT: THANK YOU, OWEN!

BUTLER: You’re welcome!

[Owen turns around and walks straight to the cockpit, types in the security access code. The door to the cockpit opens. Owen walks right in and closes the door. He then puts his hands over his face and aggressively clenches and pulls the skin off of his face baring a the face of a beautiful female. This female then removed a hair net from her head revealing jet, black shoulder length hair. She also had winter blue eyes, and black lipstick.]

NURSE YUCKI: The kids totally bough

One star lit night I sat down to write, A Little short poem about dragons and kites
Though In nature they do differ still the similarities remain,
One’s found in a fairy tale adventure the other in a child's small hand to entertain.  
One has sharp teeth and a mouth that spits fire,
One holds a boys dream of a future aviator to inspire.
They both have long tails, though ones lined with ribbons the other lined with scales
And magic wings that lift them up higher over the highlands and vales
While catching a ride on the back of a strong wind gale
One lives in a cave and the other a toy box,
One sleeps on a rock and the other hangs from tree tops.
One’s tamed by the pull of a kite runner’s string,
The other steered by a dragon rider straddled between its wings.
One’s made from myth, legend, folklore and fear,
The other made from the design and blueprint of an inventor's mind's idea.
Ones made of sinews, muscles, flesh and bones,
The others made of a cross wooden stick frame over which cloth is stretched, and sewn.
Ones enchanted by wizards and knighted by kings,
The other’s to cheer up a child's heart and fulfill all his wishes and dreams.
And now out of my head my subjects take flight,
Now I do find there's no more to write,
Of the different and likes between dragons and kites.

The TSA won't let me fly
It seems when airplane-jailed,
My muse sneaks aboard
Without paying for a seat.

Another airplane poem like 30B,
From a long ago flight,
Found dusty, in the poetry sewing box


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

with every breathe he tithes
a packet of whispered wishes,
a blended osmosis of
past and future scenes,
reviewed, previewed,
moments in time,
actual and dreamed

some received,
airborne plucked,
in his chest stored,
prepared for future
takeoffs and landings,
for ultimate insertion
in both
your recesses
and
your abscesses

some native,
combobulated, containerized
packets of seconds,
of joyous moments,
bytes of historical
hugs n' kisses,
as a child
to a child
from a child

those are vanilla frosted,
residual payments for the
good done and given,  
forwarded with all clear signals,
to his loved ones,
now resent, to you,
fellow travelers and sojourners,
intersectors of our peculiar
coded dots and dashes

thirty five thousand feet high,
composure lost,
he swoons as
Bocelli's voce del silenzio
releases tears so sweet,
which are by nature,
gravitated and transformed
into snowflakes to decorate
the Sierra Nevada's
breasted peaks and valleys,
over which his physical notion
is at rest, yet in motion,
within a Delta flying ship

Yet his fevered chest
beats rough,
for every flight seems
a time warp interlude,
a forced reflecting rhyme,
not of his choosing,
a lawful, thoughtful, imprisonment

having donated to you
his best, the remainders,
the man tallies, recalls:

ancient slights, scaled heights,
requiems for his forefathers
scored by cantorial choirs,
liberation struggle weariness,
offers taken and refused,
aces in the hole that proved
insufficient to save his soul.

goal line stands made,
onslaughts refused,
true lies and false truths,
moist lips and monster tears,
occasional A's and calcu-hell-us,
hand me downs received,
help me ups got n' given,
buildings pricked by airplanes,
death wishes granted
and nothing thereby gained,
children, found and lost,
mine, yours, ours...

The sums, always the sums!

engine noises and pilfered winds
are dulled and semi-silenced,
yet the silvered chamber prison
resonates from end to end
as each ledgered memory,
each packet of the
hidden whispered poems
he does NOT choose to send,
dents the man,
leaving claw marks,
screaming pay attention to me,
as if they were the priorities
of a six year old child,
refusing to be ignored

he does,
attention, he does pay,  
allowing rocking guitar heroes
to overtake weeping violinists,
just as newer transgressions
surfeit even his
most really *****,
ancient sins

No matter how he counts,
unable to master the additions,
no matter how many times
counts are initiated,
taken and retaken,
the tally's net net is
concluded, numbered
"forsaken"

his life's W-2 is black n' blue,
deductions falsely enumerate
and thereby underestimate
dues he has paid summarily,
earnings, distorted,
taxes paid never enough,
to satisfy the justice scales,
so wearily he
cries and enunciates,

The sums, always the sums!

THEN COMES HIS SHOUT OUT,
at his most vulnerable,
when a thin veneer of alumina
separates him,
from a fall inglorious
to an end most gorious,
a rapping beat moderne
insists that he go all out,
disallowing no
airy fairy poetry
to disguise that:

If the integers are false,
the entries of a life lived,
are sucker lies
black eyed flies
toxic shockers
that bust open
stinko lockers
where the B.S.
mocking stories
are kept

don't look close
at his documents
they ain't exactly
heaven sent
and the government men
be back on his track
their aviator shades
protect them from
burning light of the
man's furnace
where he burns their liens,
and the agent's ear pieces
drown out his screams of

The sums, always the sums!

God bless you,
keep and recall those packets of
whispered wishes, good tithes,
that the man bequeaths,
gift baskets of
expresso essentials
with God's love delivered

Tho his words,
amateurish and unvarnished,
silly and pompous,
nonetheless, they are the
return on his investments,
his yearnings for your happiness
are the savings accumulated,
though meager jewels are they,
they are ad valorem,
mixed into his confused murmurings

here then,
are his summings up,
what he wills you,,
the tally finale
the best wisdom is
found on coffee cups
at 2:47am.

Dance
Love
Sing
Live

to which he respectfully amends with a
Write.
(See banner photo)

I must look like a train-wreck to everyone at this party. Emaciated-chic melting into the couch with shaky hands and sweaty palms has never looked good on anyone. I can’t tell if the bass pounding from the stereo has seeped through my skin or if my heart has turned into a battering ram, using all of its power to break through my sternum. You think I would have learned after all these years-- benzos and ***** are never a good combination. But I still have at least fifty bucks to make at this party off of over-privileged, toxin-craving youth. Besides, it’s a bearable feeling, and I can just sleep it off on the couch here tonight.
       I survey the room, attempting to remember where the stairs to the basement were located. After forcing my drooping eyelids to stay open, I watch a parade of lax bros make their way up the stairs and into the kitchen. They are a mess of scrawny limbs floating in pinnies and their air-filled heads are capped off with snapbacks. Their smugness is laughable and mostly, if not entirely, induced by massive amounts of *******. Please. The only reason people show up to this dump is because of the free ***** and the always-entertaining fight that is guaranteed to happen by the end of the party. Even then, the crowd is mostly freshmen, and they just don’t know any better.
       A booming yooooo crashes down the staircase and stumbles towards me. I refrain from rolling my eyes.
       “Hey, you!” I have no idea who this is.
       “Whatchyew got tonight?” asks the greasy manchild with a few scraggly hairs bursting out of his chin.
       “Depends on what you’re looking for,” I respond, wishing I had worn something other than an oversized sweater and leggings. You shouldn’t hide everything in your cleavage.
       “How much you want for the zannies?”
       Hoping to never see this scumbag again, I figure it wouldn’t hurt to scare him off by jumping the price to seven bucks a bar. But before I can even grab the plastic bag out of my bra, I’m momentarily blinded by piercing red and blue LEDs out the window.
       “Aw, shiiiit,” he says as he races toward the back door.
       I struggle out of the crevice in the couch and calmly follow the manchild, pushing my way through the crowd by the door. My car is waiting patiently for me in the cul de sac, and once I get past the herd of screaming freshmen, I’ll be in the clear. Anyone will move if you start throwing elbows directly into their ribs. It’s a nice party trick to use when the cops show up.
       I’m able to make it onto the back porch, but I can’t seem to find the strength that is located in my legs. My strong limbs have been replaced by jellyfish tentacles. I grab onto the railing of the steps, but I learn quickly that it’s not going to help. I trip over my feet, the stairs, the air, everything, until I am able to lean heavily on the driver’s side of my car.
       The booming yooooo reappears.
       ******* it. I can’t deal with this kid right now.
       “I just gotta text that the cops are on their way back here. Better get out.”
       ****. I face the car and begin to fumble with my keys. While I attempt to find the one that will open this machine, I listen to the wail of sirens a few streets down. I finally retrieve it, but I realize by the time I start the car and head towards home, the cops will be here, and I can’t ruin my spotless record. The knee-high hedges lining the circle would never be able to completely cover me, and every other house on this street looks unfamiliar. I press a small, blue button and hear a pop in the back. Normally at this time, my common sense would **** in and tell me that the trunk of a car isn’t exactly a good place to hide, but I’m starting to feel the cold through the numbness. And the last thing I want to deal with is explaining to my parents how their angel has taken herself off of her meds to make some extra cash.  Better get comfortable, I guess.
       I lumber into the trunk, thankful that there are at least some blankets left over from the last time I went camping with my family. Breathing heavily, I pull the lid behind me. From here, several familiar voices grow frantic and demanding: Dump that **** now... Get rid of it... I don’t care how much you spent, I’m not getting caught with it... I roll gently onto my side, careful not to shake the car, only to rediscover the plastic bag filled with Xanax.
       I freeze when I hear cars pull up nearby. The crash of heavy metal doors boom through the hectic sounds of the people trying their hardest to get out of the way. I listen to the rough growl of a sturdy boot as it kicks aside pieces of broken glass and plastic cups.
       “You think that after the fourth time we’ve busted this house, they would get the hint,” says a stern officer. I imagine him as they type with a faded buzz cut, bulging muscles, and aviator sunglasses even though it’s well past midnight.
       “Well, kids will be kids,” says a more seasoned member of the law. He sounds like my grandfather and has probably seen more terrifying images than an underage girl in skimpy clothing puking in a nearby flowerbed. It seems as though the stern officer is herding the party-goers towards the back of the patrol car.
       “That’s no excuse,” says Stern Cop.
       “So you’re telling me that you never went to a party or had a beer before you turned 21?”
       “Well, that’s different. I was in control.”
       Hearing your rights sounds much less dramatic in real life than it does on TV. For these underage drinkers, it’s a sped-up process that is muffled by their own sobs. The metallic clink of handcuffs echoes through the air and immediately hushes everyone. Soft Cop chuckles and gently closes the door, attempting not to startle the shaken-up criminals.
       I am finally able to exhale as a car drives away, but I don’t feel as if I’ve gotten away with anything. I shift onto my back and look up at the roof of the trunk, illuminated by the blue-green light of my cell phone. Glancing down at the screen, I see the time: 1:47 a.m. I’m going to have to venture out into the world eventually.
       As I gather my strength and roll towards the trunk release, I feel my keys in my pocket along with a tiny click. Immediately, my car begins to scream. I scramble for my keys, hoping that no one is here to witness the embarrassing mess I’ve made of myself. Once I finally get the car to calm down, I hear an intoxicating mix of chuckles and mild profanities strung together. It’s Soft Cop. He knows.
       “Is everything alright in there?” asks Soft Cop as he knocks on the trunk.
       What am I supposed to say? Yeah, everything’s fine. Just chillin’ out here. No worries.
       “Uh... yes, sir. Just give me a moment.”
       I unlock the trunk and start push it upwards, but Soft Cop has managed to get to it first. He is a tall, thick man with a glorious salt-and-pepper colored mustache. His soft eyes look tired like a basset hound’s. I see his name-tag–– G. Lewis. He looks like a Gary.
       “Didjya get a little stuck?” he asks.
       “Yeah.” I smile and try not to let my nervous laugh creep through.
       Gary looks around the cul de sac and back into the trunk, reaching his chubby fingers towards me. As he helps me out, I notice that he’s a lot stronger than he looks.
       “Sorry for breaking up the party tonight. Have fun?” he asks, tilting his head towards me, eyes curious and comforting.
       “For a little. I didn’t get to stay very long.”
       He nods his head towards my car. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he chuckles, “how’d you wind up in there?”
“I guess I just got scared. I didn’t want to get in trouble for being here.”
       Gary finds this amusing and swears that by now, every other cop has left the area. He explains that he’s been left to make sure nothing starts back up. He shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks around an empty Miller Lite can.
       “Listen, I can tell you’ve been drinking.” His voice has changed. I know this tone. This is the tone of Your Mother and I both love you very much, and we’re not mad. We’re just disappointed. He looks me straight in the eyes, concern written all over his face. “Correct?”
       There’s no point lying to him, but who wants to be the one throw themselves under the bus? I’m trying to put the words together, but all I can manage is incoherent babbling.
       “Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble,” he insists. “I just don’t want you driving away in this state. You seemed to have a hard time finding the steering wheel.” A smirk emerges on his face, eventually growing in size to a radiating smile. He’s proud of that one.
       “Yeah, I guess I could take a nap in the backseat.”
       “How about I just drop you off at your house. You can pick up your car in the morning. Sound like a plan?”
       “Yes, sir.”
       We look at each other for a second. No thank you is needed. No more words are necessary. I relax my shoulders and look up at the clear sky. I feel the wind blow, and I don’t seem to mind the biting December wind.
       “Didn’t bring a coat?” asks Gary.
       “Didn’t match my outfit.”
       “You sound just like my granddaughter.” He laughs. “You even have the same blonde hair and big green eyes. It’s uncanny.”
       He then stops and looks down on the ground, eyes growing wide and serious. I know what he’s looking at. I was hoping he wouldn’t see my stash that is now laying on the street: eight white pills in a plastic sandwich bag, sweaty from making a quick escape from under my sweater.
       Gary sighs and lets his lips purse, still looking at the bag. The salt-and-pepper mustache takes over his mouth. He gathers his hands on his hips, shoulders hunching forward. He stays like this as I avoid the opportunity to make eye contact. After drawing some air into his lungs, he finally has the courage to look up with sullen and wet eyes.
       “Well,” he says as he regains his composure. He kicks the bag into a nearby storm grate. “Let’s get you home.”

She made it vanish
every trace of it,
with her inimitable
feminine magic.
Fully erasing my
post ****** hatred
led me from the front
to an exploration of
ardent, ****** acrobatics
that took us through the
***** dynamics of
****** healing, non peril!
Wasn’t she an all terrain ace?
Aviator making me fly
without wings above the
fluffy  soft caressing clouds
The toughest driver on roads
of all kind,keeping pleasure
at the acme through out her drive.
What a swimmer was she,making
me swoon in sensual waters.