Destined to never be satisfied, that is me,
I will swallow the world and purge,
Wiping my mouth of the spittle, off too comes the grin,
Momentous occasions amount to invisible entrapment,
They'll try and tell me that it should be enough,
Sedated and post-op lobotomies on pedestals,
Formaldehyde jars packed with vernal reward,
Plopped on sofas staring at the **** tube barrel,
Fancier and well built imports,
**** measuring contest gone wrong,
Debt built up and drowning rats,
Tunnel vision scoped Dharman,
Wicker trinkets, frail mistreated,
Lunatics that love for the wrong reasons,
Insanity epidemic gross over-exaggeration,
Billy clubs fly from hands of misguided lawmen,
Prayers knelt under the bus benches,
***** corroding the underbelly of the social glance,
Blind blues moutharp in the corner still playing,
Trains running on time, taking the life from the patrons,
Steel breathes burnt crimson,
Foggy cauldrons from medieval nightmares,
The haggard ***** dangles her ***** precariously above,
Just an inch or two in the wrong direction,
And all this meaningless mess might be forgotten,
Books burned, learned forgotten, buildings from the sand,
Starting the sick cycle over again,
With an even wider **** eating grin,
Chartreuse Cheshire cats with inviting eyes,
Taking the breath from the first borns,
Replacing motor oil with sugar canes,
HOWLING what history has shown,
Making a prophet from the scammers and thieves,
I can't believe that we don't all see,
What my path of professed malnutrition,
Gambled stimulus, Golden fleece lined nimbus,
Never enough for the scabbed *****,
Never enough for the howling idiots in the sun,
Never enough for the lunatics undistinguished,
Surely never enough for you and me.
Continuing on snickering underhanded,
Snide underbreath worried about repercussions if found out,
Maybe even too ignorantly blissful enough to not give a ****,
Head down looking at your shoes,
Or ready to inflict a flat tire,
Graceful or oafish,
Humble sniveling whelp, prodding pious peacock,
Dividing rod stuck in the teeth of our teeth,
This is the loner society,
At least tolerance is taught in our schools,
Has anyone really learned anything?

"You could be a doctor!"
Yeah I could- Neurosurgery still allows
LOBOTOMIES
right?
(Tell me something I don't know)

"Why is it so slanted?"
Its trying to dodge your
OBVIOUS
conclusions.
(Show me better)

"How can you even read it?"
Maybe
just
maybe
because
ITS MINE??
(Someone get me away from this guy)

My great-grandmother lived in a time when if you sang too loudly in a public place
Such as on the bus
With no audible music anyone else could hear
You were thrown away
Reported by the sanest of citizens
Locked away in the mental ward of Bellevue Asylum
By your own family

She was an alcoholic
Well, she was Italian
As was that whole part of my family
And Italians like wine
And she liked her wine
Maybe a little bit too much
My grandfather said that by six o'clock
Everyone in the house was screaming
Throwing things
Alcohol-tinged, infant-like fits
The lot of them
Drunk
Every night of the year

But my great-grandmother
She was the only one who carried her drink
In a little metal flask
Tucked in her ragged coat
Took it with her on the bus
On the way to work at a hotel
Where people with enough money
To boost the world's economy
Slept, ate and yelled at her
For forgetting to put a mint on their pillow once
But she just hummed away
Took the flack with a smile
Sipped her poison
And rode the bus back to work
The next day
Drunk
Singing
La Donna e' Mobile

One day though
Her brothers caught up to her
As she was boarding that bus
She was singing again
And smiled
Asked them what they were doing there
And they looked at her
Smiled
And smacked her

They threw her in their car
And took her to Bellvue
In 1947
When the idea of mental health
Was shrouded in ignorance
And scrutiny
And the word "medicine"
Meant electric-shocks to the brain
Submerging in below freezing
Ice-tanks
And
Fiddling around
In people's brains
Through their eye-sockets
With screwdrivers
"Lobotomies"

My grandfather was born in 1945
He was only two when they took his mother away
And only three
When they told him she died
Rotting in the asylum
Experiments done to her
That my family will never know the nature of
Never know how much pain
She ****** up
Never know if the cause of death
Was actually "cirrhosis of the liver"
Or
An officially administered
Botched
Brain-****

I want you to fall in love, with my mind.
They say that romance is dead.
Aesthetic adoration is too easy to find.
I will dig deeper, doting the components of your head.

I ask that you return the favour.
No need for laboratory lobotomies.
There need not be forced labour.
I wear my heart on my sleeve.

And my mind on my mandibles.
I speak it. Repeat it.
The source inches above my clavicle.
It is replete with ****.

But it has it's moments too.
Though it's subject matter is grey,
a lot rings true,
from this pinkish purée.

I want you to find the harmony,
with my spinal chord.
And say with absolute certainty:
We will never be bored.

The feelings, that from my brain stem,
will be fully frontal.
From my toes to my cerebellum,
I would be yours, in total.

I want to fall in love with your mind.
Invest me in your intellect.
It will take time.
But it's all temporal in introspect.

Roses are red, violets are blue
My bones are broken, my skin black and blue
Why do you keep beating me on the head with that shoe
You tore out my eyes, intestines and testicles too
Let me bleed for a while, then made a *** of stew

You’re so dam crazy, it’s too late for me, if only I knew
How you like to perform lobotomies, after you sniff glue
The last one oozed brain mater, which you began to chew
It seems that Quentin Terintino has nothing on you
Some things so scary I can’t mention, they are very taboo

Beware all you naive boys, she’s the devil in a tou tou
She’ll **** on you more than what can be found at a Zoo
Her lies filled my head, stretching it till it popped and blew
Wait! Or was it the explosive poisons she put in my shampoo

The Value of life is measured by the price of fossil fuels.
Trespassers enter the periphery. They seek no mentor; they do as they please.
Looking for a seat in the dark; They crave fresh meat They roast Joan of Arc.
Sing all those whom wish to wash away the strife Those with the deepest dark shine.
Become one of the idols when you stare into the shadow of denial.
Inhaling the anesthesia, the French horn player develops amnesia.
The singer in a suit and tie wished for his forgiveness only to be denied.
He was the one who forgot while I was the one completely distraught.  
Crowded in back stage, the joys of the night doesn’t ease my aching feet.
Poetry accompanied by music, when girls are becoming bulimic.
And boys are receiving lobotomies all in the name of notoriety.
So once more sing of love and stars. See the sky glow red from Mars.
For this is the last of us, the means are now just.
Let’s adore each other, when we stand in the rain we are restored.
The romance of language carries with it a history of pain. You couldn’t tell from a mere glance.
TJW 2013

An unethical practice to fully comprehend my existence in
space and time,
I took the world hostage and prodded its inhabitants with
probes and electrodes
only to find myself
conducting self-lobotomies in front of the bathroom mirror;

Gazing through the eyes of McCrae,
I ****** my hands into
pristine soil,
tore up roots and
soldier bones, creating a
garden of chaos
only to find myself
amongst red petals and marrow
strewn across green vision fields,
but the larks still bravely singing fly!

I splattered ******* across
impressions of Monet and Renoir
only to find myself
dripping like
Dali,
screaming like
Munch,
is this what beauty looks like?!

I passed up a
hitch on a
Heart of Gold
only to find myself
in the mire of a
Brave New World,
kicking at the dirt that sent
electroconvulsive shocks
up my spine,
is that a headlight reflection in my Bell Jar?!

I looked down the barrel of my fingertip guns, still smoking and
listened to the hollow wind of my self-inflicted universal entropy...

run.

Through a wormhole,
into the forest of wisdom where I reviewed observational data of my
chaotic string theories,
there I found myself,
rejecting the null and
assembling a fire of new Hope using the
burrs and thistles burrowed under my skin,

scratching and clawing at unethical practice.

I and Me own different planes within the skull;
I settled in the frontal lobes
Where I can usually vote aye or nay, as it strikes my fancy
Controlling the higher thought, the calculations,
Schedules and contingency plans.

Me dwells deeper, inside the ancient brain;
The place of reptiles, receptacle of instincts
While I dream of ice cream sodas, ***, and journeys,
Me might dream of large snakes, have nightly dreams
Of terror, mass exterminations and die-outs,
Experimental lobotomies and spherical supernovas.

Me worships planetary deities and various idols of glazed stone.
I gave up dominance to Me, who can hijack My main processes
When confronted with extreme danger or duress,
In order to have the majority of say the rest of the time.

I and Me get along well mainly because
We are never occupying the same place for long,
Sort of a marriage of convenience;
All my logical reasoning can't turn Me aside
Once her wire gets tripped.
So I spend a lot of time doing damage control-
And hopefully, Me stays asleep.

A nine-eleven call goes out at midnight,
It's serious: A writer of poems
At such and such street, has a word
Stuck in his throat.
Stuck in his craw; he can't get it out.
He can neither finish the poem or even
Make a lick of sense right now.
What to do?
The medical experts confer over the two-way:
I've seen this condition before, one says, wary,
I think I would use the jaws of life.
That takes too long, said another.
I have a carpenters saw in my bag
I keep on hand for just such occurrences.
Though rare, it does happen.
We will just remove the head, push the word
Out of the way and reattach the head.
Believe me it is much faster in the long run
Otherwise it could progress on to
Editors re-writes, poetry readings,
Deadlines, and who wants all that?
Poets really just want to write.
The others are in agreement.
Now they'll be able to get right to work
Without hesitating, which is the kiss of death
In crisis situations.
In asylums, they employ lobotomies
To the same result.
For the rest of us, there are the interminable
Religious sermons and services.

to Dani*

remember when, you do not:
you are a ground slicing the center of
    this home.

the long divide the furniture endures.
in front of the colossal tv
bodies spilled like water.
20 minutes was all it took – your name alone,
a potent hygroscopy.

when close enough:
dissipate. You took all the green the foliage could,
    soldered to your body a forest it manifests.

   repeated, if not a newer foundling:

    the   space   you  take  for  acquisition ,
    the faultless tenancy   you   mistake   as  counsel.

every saved for, and gleaming space
   aspires for venue – translates to an arena for snapshot.

[some mundane depiction ascribes for you to be known]
years later my portrait still hangs perpetually
on a modern furniture from a contemporary skillset.
  take this declaration.

years later, leapt to this day and forward:
the surgery of galvanized steel is reminiscent of a departure.
the tedious laborer smiling through bonsai pots
  carrying out lobotomies. The afternoon more sterile than
   your    face  as if operation.  This town knows you by practice
  
  and habit: all of it sepia, if not leaden.