shapeshifter, son drunk
& changing skins.
he digs up skeletons of a spanish battalion
buried
by tigers on the garden key.

suncresent
spray of blood & oranges.
new-fangled sailors once soaked
in madness.
now just starvation.

the viking speaks:
in limericks of new world poise.
his antler woven mask,
set nicely upon the shore.

seod, turtle lord
of space & time, appears only once
every lunar eclipse. bound by treatise
to the jellyfish triumvirate.
his acolyte,
bolivar t. shagnasty,
wanders the mainland in search of water
or meat of trees.

kindness
of men turns to dust & belly worms.
forgotten, the plants mutate
into root-rich empires
of fish & figurine.
million year armistice.

dr. samuel mudd,
shackled years to tide-slab &
fort jefferson. he
purifies the island of its yellow
shivering death.
hospital key.

fastforward hundred plus years
through mudd lifeline:
battle weary sneakers,
spokes sung by strum of card, the bmx
stridden boy & his
teenage mutant ninja turtle mask.

.i get it now, the more i make it a detention hour writing lines: doing dull work, makes sam a bored boy... intra-racial variant of slur qua intimacy, in-group standard... take any "n" word "extra g" word "thingy" among the non-exported examples, non-NBA privileged, say... in Kenya... friends? **** no... feeling intimate? huh? like i said... watching 2 hours of a washing machine cycle, is probably more entertaining, than, seeing, the cages, the - - - - - morse breaks in... so... everyone is being a ******* ******, creating a natural response to a river, that must become a reservoir / fake lake? whatever etiquette equated to politeness comes from this... no wonder we'll be doing it from spite... rather than a genuine sediment of genuine feeling, flight of the heart & and all the fickle thoughts that go with it.

please, please, put me into handcuffs
for ******* in an alleyway,
the english sort of handcuffs,
the ones where they can't handcuff
you from behind,
   because the cuffs are not connected
by a mandible chain,
but a rigid middle,
implying that you have to be handcuffed
with your hands in-front...
which also implies:
   well... if **** turned ugly...
i could just wrap my hands around
a boppy's neck and just turn into
a boa...
     but that other police officer was
nice, turning the police van cell
into a taxi...
   racial slurs...
   intra-racial, or inter-racial?
  big difference...
            inter-racial slurs,
namely an english derivative:
the empire britannia rule the waves
what not?
   crass...
      not too... genius...
no real outlet phonetically...
  the language is too soft as it is...
i met one german at university
who complimented the ****** tongue
with that one general-****-over
word for everything -
conjunction, was the word,
the word is treated as a conjunction:
kurwa...
        i once dated a french psychology
major two years my senior
who i lost my virginity to,
who, let's say, enlightened me...
she was looking for native english speakers,
she told me the most fascinating
fact...
        the fwench used to attach
a trill to the R...
   before they started harking up
an R like phlegm when smoking too much
or down with the flu...
inter-racial slurs are... yawn...
   who gives a **** about walking
on egg-shells...
   i'm watching a ******* football match
or swan lake with 22 *******
                                       pansies?
everyone's suddenly going to be
     as sensitive as a fwench footballer?
****: french / fwench...
  it pretty much sounds the same...
the fwench speak one language,
the french write the same one language...
but the german complimented
a language for the: pristine outlet
of frustration of... tongue licking
a metaphysical punching bag...
but inter-racial slurs are crass,
for the simple fact that...
          they're just too plain in sight...
there is no intimate history of
a people...
   me? personally?
   i'd love to know what the african
royalty called would-be slaves
picked up by western europeans
for export...
   it's not like these colonialists run
these colonized countries freely,
without collusion with the african ruling class...
there was an african ruling class,
there is an african ruling class,
     what's to be exactly changed?
lost in translation:
    former soviet states people /
  but not the satellites?
   kacap...
   from the song husaria by bujak?
ahem...
     muscovite gałgan...
never heard that one before...
   gałgan...
   i once dated a girl from st. petersburg
that summarißed my mutterzunge
        as a crackling of radio static...
just as the english say:
of a people, with, "too many" consonants
in their surnames...
   ask a ****** about hindu surnames...
i mean: intra-racial slurs...
a movement toward real intimacy
of the use of language...
e.g. in england:
    northern monkeys,
southern fairies...
      and the rest? eurotrash...
       i once heard a intra-racial slur
about the english -
                  angol to pedzio...
and then back to cosmopolitan english...
the "n" word... night? nightmare,
nigh?
                oh... the n- word?
if only i could find some malice in
the context of use...
yes, i know the content of the word,
the content of historical usage...
    and now the whole intra-racial
comradery... inclusion...
familiarity...
                a joke of latin...
   to me that's like saying
              Nigeria...
  and then thinking:
         so... it's not the "n" word,
is it? it's the "extra g" word?
better start writing giggle with an optional
   gig(g)le:
   which could become problematic
when it came to a double omicron:
to go, among the goo...
the intra-rascial slur for a german
east of berlin?
          švab...
     funny that... the saxons are
not actually minded...
  the anglo-saxons (intra-racial
mix of celt and saxon)
             as we see them today...
but... when the teutonic order came
to the area around Danzig
     and further east to Königsberg...
further... to Riga...
         a Prussian isn't a German...
              die Preußen ist: Preuße;
  now?
   the Preußen have been reintegrated
into a dialect of Polen...
        kashubian: or at least,
        that's                     sort-of...
ultra-nationalist "sentiments":
   in "exile"...
          i love that, brushing aside
any economic migrant in favor
for the immediate migrant
   of conflict, or political asylum...
you know...
   economics: is a type of war,
                                 in slow-motion...
it's a peaceful war,
   well... ergo it's a "war"...
              and the economic migrants?
disorientated *******...
who can't exactly fully assimilate
to the expectation of the natives...
i.e. speak our language in public,
and our language in private...
  no... no thank you...
         it would be easier to remove
a tattoo with a shark-bite
and a scar than to remove my
                                   mutterzunge...
and here i am... "worried"
about the N in the word trigger...
or the "missing G" in the word: Nigeria...
like... ******* pandering
        to a panda in a Beijing zoo...
now comes the malice...
thought-prison, metaphorical dyslexia
and tattoos of grafitti on
bypass highways...
   like dirt behind my fingernails...
looking for gold nuggets
picking my nose...
   as harold norse once stated
in his memoir (of a ******* angel):
a sign of a Brooklyn intellectual...
   but i just have to point this out...
LGBTQIA...
   nice acronym...
but you're missing two letters...
**** me... if mr and mrs H
  are not included...
LGBTQIA is missing two protected
groups...
     mr P and mr N...
LGBTQIAPN...
    the ******* and
the necrophiliac...
                                    no?
   they'd fit right in...
        no? they wouldn't?
weren't we talking deviance,
             per se?
so...
          those two outer-outliers
    are legit. rainbow deviances...
no? at least mr P can have some sort
of a religious backing...
whether in the desert slap-stick
ninja sketch and satan's postbox...
or at least, back of the queue of a choir,
and some boy...
   but that's the scary bit,
isn't it?
            mr N... now...
                that's... some would claim
it to be art... or what the hell became
of eddie gein in american mainstream
culture...
                  ****... forgot ms B+...
   i do remember seeing internet
in its youth,
                   rotten . com,
            and the earliest edgy ****...
now... not even a black guy can
leave adequate compensation...
   for what... began as a saddle,
reins and stirrups...
          and became:
   a demonic hybrid knock-knock-knocking
on Gomorrah's door...
fastforward...
men on stag outings before
being shackled by the ring...
inflateable sheep
   and granny dolls...
          oh yeah: i'm a real moralist
at this point...
                    what i do find scary
is that whenever i'm confined
to a waiting room, a confined space...
and there's a child with its parent
present... there's an animal...
   there's a very old man with
a middle aged mentally ill daughter...
i'm suddenly likeable...
a curiosity...
        just like today...
  her dad is nearing 75...
      she's unkept... greasy hair...
                  rags, rather than clothes...
and in the corner of my eye...
she just couldn't stop glaring at me...
i'm sweating like i'm the sort of hell
where i'm supposed to **** her...
or go to her pajamas sleep-over party
if the case was: she was sixteen
and i was eight...
                        as i went into
the doctor's appointment
    and recounted my 2 week psychotic
episode of being strapped
to the bed... in a quasi-paralysis...
citing metaphors of p.t.s.d.,
                   not talking a word for
2 weeks, only because i received
a ******* questionnaire from
the dept. of work & pensions...
   'am i a fraud? am i?'
   between 48 hour periods...
i'd chance 2 hours of sleep...
     the usual questions...
suicidal thoughts, hallucinations?
   no... the 1st episode, yeah...
but now? it's just debilitating,
quasi-paralysis...
                  nice doctor... plump...
beauty of a doughnut...
          and doughnuts are beautiful...
esp. if you throw them into a lake,
and they float,
  and then you watch the ducks
                  and the swans swarm it...
if i lied: i should be contending
for an oscar...
          then she measured my blood-pressure...
first instrument failed...
the arm-band was too small...
the air was pumped into the band
around my hand:
    arm-band snapped
  of the blood-pressure measuring tool...
so she had to resort to
the old method of using
the stethoscope and a bigger arm-band...
i guess she knew she was
dealing with a scared / agitated
animal...
   that just so happened to talk
                  some words in human;
a wounded animal,
is hardly scared / agitated...
a wounded animal,
   is whatever implies...
being elevated to a status
that transcends the wound...
the doctors came too late,
i'm fidding with letters
    like jigsaw...
  i'm fiddling with the then
larger jigsaw of words...
   and the whole point of the picture
will only arrive,
post office stamp and all...
akin to a postmortem:
  that part of life...
where...
   eh? how would you classify
man...
          pork, beef, game,
poultry, fish?
    all... none of the stated?
that's almost funny...
   HOW WOULD YOU CLASSIFY
MAN IN THE "CATEGORICAL IMPERATIVE"
of said classes of edible meats?
am i pork?
   no... am i beef? no...
veal? no...
         well, we already know
that some examples of meat
are actually vegetables:
   brain damage, coma...
like:
   do you bite into a tomato...
"thinking" it's a fruit...
or a veg.?
         "logic" supposes
that a tomato is a fruit...
common sense?
     it's a ******* vegetable!
post-racism...
   what sort of meat is man?
eh... bewildering...
   i guess we can only find
an answer, in China...
  should we ever send
a pet dog & its owner to
some obscure, countryside,
small town, famine riddled
(or straight to Kiev) place...
sorry...
******* a black doesn't make
me "less", "racist"...
i might as well imitate
a colonial overlord by the act...
seriously...
english, these days?
watching a ******* washing-machine
is less confusing that
walking on egg-shells in
this tongue...
currently, available...
so let's forget, black, or white...
you beef?
   you crab meat?
       you lamb?
   (slippery *****
of salivating sounds):
what are you?
       it's called:
  SEEING PAST THE COLOUR...
so...
     what's the meat worth?
is chimp meat the same
as human meat?
   no, wait...
that gorilla grew big-*******
eating shrubs?
anomaly of human
dietary requirements...
a horse became so big...
only eating... grass...
      yeah... no anomaly...
and then my brain starts to short-circuit...
past the colour,
infancy of discrimination...
how would to categorise
the "body" of christ
if no bread was available?
beef? pork? veal?
fish?
      i already know what
the ****** would be...
   sure as **** it wouldn't be
*****'s liquor worth of wine...
i went straight to the beast
of the wheat...
    and i called her...
        ms. amber...
                 and... maybe i just didn't
like the wrap-up of rap
because of the lyrics and
my unrelateable tendency
to never **** the bid-bop head...
of the music per se,
but the lyrics?
      sure... the music is great...
but the lyrics?
     i can't relate to them...
i need, something,
mythological and obscure...
a time-wrap not minding a grief
                 of / from yesterday...
mind you: i'll write this,
as i'll drink whatever is left,
and tomorrow...
            is a tomorrow without
this current zenith of the hours...
come beethoven thinking
of tux in the variant of rigid
geometry in the form of music...
           like when sartre plagiarised
joyce at the end of iron in the soul?
- that's the next tier of "racism"...
    as far as i am concerned...
it would be nice to re-evauluate
my position
    on the libra of being
reengaged in a food-chain
hierarchy...
                  cancer is a primitive
pseudo-vitro-forma...
    great... eaten by parasites...
germs... etc.,
  guess what...
   at least a lion is beautiful...
i'd rather be eaten by a lion
than a ******* tapeworm...
so what am i?
              beef?
                     ****...
       first i'd have to put monkey
on the menu...
to tease at the taboo
     of teasing the cannibal
    while performing oral ***.

you called me, rambled nonsense of love lost through the telephone before saying you'd only see me if I promise not to write about it

as if you've ever known a moment with me that didn't one day end up on paper

fastforward after dinner, we're in the Costco parking lot
and somehow I think, we're both still hungry

you ask me if my new tattoo has anything to do with the way you get naked before the door to your apartment drops shut behind us
I promise not everything I do, I do with you in mind

but it's a quarter to eight and we're in the backseat of your car
(and if I had a dollar for everytime we wound up here I wouldn't even have to write anymore)

I am crushed between seats that do not lean far enough forward, when you finally notice the music has stopped playing

this is the first time in four years you have ever seemed uneasy in the quiet

so I kiss you until your body relaxes
you have cried three times since you took your shirt off
you don't stop telling me you love me until suddenly

your hands are everywhere
and I have permission to write about tonight because obviously this means we are still in love

fastforward 24 hours
I'm back in your car after a stop to the pub and there's enough liqour in me to drown out my voice

we fall asleep holding hands while the heat blasts like a furnace ready to burn down this so well put together home

that's two nights in a row I have lost my way home and somehow found myself tangled up in ... well not really sheets, I guess
maybe just each others clothes?

alright skip ahead another day
you're asking if I'll see you and for the first time in four years my answer is no

we promise a rain check and then next day I'm drunk again and only think
about kissing you until I fall asleep sweaty and with a pulsing headache

I'm thinking about leaving my job so I'll have more time to admire the way you look with all this confidence

it's only with you that I will ever say no to getting high
because with you I already can't feel my face

and I guess you could say I love it

Life is going
Way too fast
What if I'm not ready
To give up the past?
Time is seemingly
Prying it from my hands
And leaving me with memories
Of bright green grass
Sugar soaked smiles
Candy coated days
Now everything's dull
Dismal and gray

The clock in my room is silent.
It’s only in my head—my head—
That I hear the snick of time passing.
Snick snick snick—
It mocks me, taunts me,
Pulls me deeper into the nightmare.
Time has become my enemy—
I cannot rewind,
I cannot pause,
I cannot fastforward.
I want to return to Then,
Skip the Now—
Pausing would be horrid—
And not even glimpse the Soon.
But snick snick snick goes my clock—
Snick snick snick goes my mind.
The window floats before my eyes
And I am forced to look through it
And witness the Soon
That I’d rather avoid.
Soon Soon Soon—
Oh how it looms!
Rivaled only by Now
While Then cowers in the corner.
I wish to join it.
Snick flinch snick flinch snick flinch.
Snick snick snick
Snick snick SNICK
SNICK snick SNICK
SNICK SNICK SNICK
SNICK
SNICK
SNICK

Silence.

missing the time in between
what was won't will be sometimes often
didn't

easy to forget the reasonable logic
behind the now seemingly nonsensical choice
that left you in the current Yearn.

the sweetsour regret, softly ignored scratches
the polish and veneer of worn out synapses
a  pleasantly blurred fastforward-lacquer

I skip the years like stones
pausing fingers on the page of a smile
turning my face away from  the cracks
stepping blithely over the day your words carried false

licking the envelope on an argument
stamped To Forget.

I choose

instead.

to love the memory of You.

I am 21.
I am a female.
I am known as Kimmy
I like to shop
I like to smile and talk to strangers

I prefer to pick flowers than to pick fights
I forget things such as names and numbers dates and my car keys
I like to dance
I believe in angels and heaven
I like to live with no regret
I believe life is short and sweet
Living Uptight and Unhappy is not my style

I Prefer to live day to day
as hard as that might be
for iF i had it my way id like to fastforward my life
just to see where ill be

I love few trust not that many
yet have my reasons
I have a terrible relationship with my family
I have learned HOW not to be
thanks to my parents
I lived a life of much tension/pain/frusteration/abandonment/love/hate/negativity/and lonliness
from all of it despite it all
i would not change a thing

i am kimmy
as unsure as I feel
I know ill figure it out

I rise above the negativity
live for the moment
learn from every mistake made
apologize for my wrong doings and than some-
know right from wrong
and am overly free spirited

If I died tomorow.
I hope to rise above my uncertainty
and into the security of knowing exactly who I am and who I WAS
given the will to live and the drive to understand life for how it is intended

I am hoping to make this self discovery sooner than later.

Click-reverse-click-fastforward
Click, click, click, it's stuck
A voice if you'd call it that in tune with
one jerky movement
The poor girl trapped inside the box
seizes and dances with lightning
through her veins and water in her head
One rhythm, no expression
Just a dull 'eee-o-o-o-eee-o-o-eee'
Wake up, Jesus, please let me wake up

Politicians are those old cassette tapes, they still kind of work when you want to use them, though when you use them over and over again, they get worn out, start repeating the same old junk and their film starts spitting out and getting tangled.  You try to push them back Into the tape hole to start making sound again , but all it is , is gibberish. And got to rewind to get to the parts you want. Then you always keep going past the parts you want. Or you fastforward over the good stuff. And get to the worst song of the cassette. Then we end up pitching out the tape because we realize how bad its gotten chewed up on the inside. And how the tape wasn't worth all that money in the first place.

but with a liquor tongue & sober head
drafting and redrafting the words stuttering
on my teeth to keep you here
falling backwards on my *** will
prove nothing but that i’m not content
to be anything but in the table of contents
not a side character
in your favorite book
but god i can’t stop tripping
over air and chalked-up asphalt
am i first?
am i the only one? i growl
apologies & maybe’s
but honest to hell i am
filled with vice
glittering with ill-intent
dented craniums
punctured fists
bitten up pen caps

oh sure, you’re inked up pal
but those tattoos for the weak
aren’t going to lift any skirts
her lipstick ain’t gonna paint your mouth
for you
“rosebud”
hah

we walked with ghosts that one time
kicking trash, dodging dead squirrels, singing
punk rock---betting quarters & Arizona cans
to run fast against traffic
(this was back when) we wanted
to look for truths in picture books
and lies in the law
chubby fingers & a BIC stick pen
tracing imagined cartoon lives
our speech planned in bubbles

timestop: fastforward
snarling, “oh baby she’s a classic /
          like a little black dress”
with opened siamese mouths /
          rolled out tongue
fingerpainting bruises on skin
with pixie stick smudged thumbs
          “she’s a faded moon /
          but you’ll be faded soon”

between muffled dashboard speakers
streaming swears came the stillness
of carving numbers (each other’s
biography pages)
safety pins hinging on rawed knuckles
forever scarred visual bookmark

waiting for words to cause earthquakes
and fault lines in lungs
what was painted across the wall
in looped ‘*******’ cursive
timestop: graffiti
          i fear the human condition
don’t look at me or i’ll shatter
a powder touch would ****.

Do you hear the shadows shout?
Thats me trying to pour my heart out
And tell a story nobody has ever heard about
A rollercoaster with ups and downs
A relationship with smiles and frowns
The magic got me addicted
But too late I noticed
The risk was never worth it
A tragic accident
Had already happened
Leaving my heart sleeping in a casket
Damaged, with no way to be salvaged
Maybe I should have taken a course in braille
Cause love is blind
And no matter how hard I search
I never find
The answers I seek
To enable me to understand this chick
A foreign species
Is what this girl is to me
A mystery that was never solved
A code that was never hacked
Around you my world revolved
And I remember it really ******
When I figured
The three words
I loved to hear were a lie
I almost died
But I survived
And made it through alive
Then a few months later you apologized
Saying that things changed
And you'd like to try it again
But the pain had left resentment engrained
In my brain that almost drove me insane
And she who was my love became subject to my wrath
I lashed out and if I didnt say it before I'm sorry about that
Gave it time it went
And we considered each other friends
Or so I thought
Before I was aware of the feelings you caught
And you started talking about how you'd like to slit my throat
Along with those of whoever will be my wife and kids,
Then the crisis proceeded
When you sliced your wrists
With a compass
Trying to release
Whatever it was or still is
Killing you inside
Well fine then alright
Now that we've dropped off a load
And gone down the yellow brick road
Travelled along memory lane
Unravelling the past that was lost in our brains
In the hourglass drop the grains of sand
Lets fastforward to that which is at hand
Youre becoming someone I used to know cause we aren't talking
You're ignoring me and your friends who remind you of me
Trying to convince yourself that you dont really need me
And It's 2A.M. in the morning
Here I am awake and writing this poem
To once and for all rid myself of thoughts of you
If this doesnt work what will I do
Cause I know one thing's for sure that's that we're through
My aim is to mend all the issues
That I developed from you
And resurrect my heart, finally put it back to use.

We met with total innocence
Not an action between us begging repentance

I didn't know emotionally we'd grow and delve
I mean after all we were only 12

We first exchanged names and spoke of her body
This was all in the times when your girl was "Shawty"

I did not speak for months at a time
And then ran right back as if all was fine

But deep in that girl was a burning fire
Not innocent or naive she had a woman's desire

When we first truly touched there was nothing amiss
I first felt her lips with that slow gentle kiss

I knew in that moment that she'd touched me deep
This could be the first girl to know the way I used to weep

Fastforward a year and it looked like we'd never mend
That girl wouldn't give up and I just wanted it all to end

A deep dark place held me so very tight
A large black shadow blocked out all of Earth's light

And that shadow stays
So I've found a method to be happy without the Earth's rays

I've found sunlight elsewhere in that same girl
I'm still begging every day to get one more whirl

So I'll wait and I'll wait for her wall's gates to divide
And I'll keep myself right here by her side

I know not what comes tomorrow, or tonight, or in the end
All I know for sure is I'm in love with my best friend.