A shoal of silvery sardines
press tight together
for protection from dolphins.
They need fear no-one
in this tomato sauce sea.

We live in a world, that's loaded down with greed.  Man will do anything for money, falling to do a good deed.
Man will take a chance, to traffic people across the boarder.  They pack them in like sardines, and like a selfish hoarder.
We will never stop allowing drugs, from entering our land.  Men thinks that they are cleaver, by planting drugs, within the body of man.
With the technology we have, something  need to be done.  The slavery of woman who 's brought to our country, to them, it's not fun.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

We rode the endless plains
in supercharged
armored people carriers,
rolling like thunder
wasting not time,
which seemed to stand still
during the firefights.

We baked like sardines
in our metal box.
Some days,
we faced the wind
from the turret,
others away from it,
from the smell of burning flesh,
those dead pakoled-foxes.

We rode the endless plains
in supercharged
armored people carriers,
rolling like thunder
wasting not time,
which seemed to stand still
during the firefights.

Suffering from cabin fever, I raided my cache of end-time sardines and went slipping and sliding down to the dock to feed the near-shore birds.

One lone Repelican sat upon a bollard by the boat launch seeming frozen to the spot.  He was looking pretty grimm.

Taking pity on this cold, hungry waterbird former Marine-turned-Feeb, and apparently not stuck on I-275, this kindhearted Democrab was soon out of end-time sardines.

Telling him that I was sardine-poor but had one question I would like to ask concerning an investigation into questionable publicly financed bollard homesteading practices, the repugnant Repelican was not happy with me and stuck his long bill in my face while threatening to break me in half (like a boy) and throw me off of the effing dock before flapping away in a huff.

He called me later and asked to do lunch next week. Sardines on him.

r. ~  29Jan14

Like a can of stale sardines
i lie flat and stranded, denying
to myself that i'm no longer living
but just a piece of dead meat.

I try very hard to imagine
the tin can as a time machine
that returns me to those happy times
when you and i believed in eternity.

Now i'm brought back to the reality
that the meaning of eternity is being
soaked in a pool of sour preservatives.
But I'm sour, not because of the liquid;

I'm sour because you aren't with me.

“You know the worst thing I ever saw?” He asked.

I sighed to myself, took another gulp of beer and fixed him with a look of half-interest. He was drunk. A complete ****-up and a bore when he's drunk. I don't know why I drink with him. That said, he probably thinks the same.

“What's that?”
“Bedsheets over the benches in the church yard.”
“Ye-what?”
“Bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.”
“The homeless. Right.”
“I'll get us another drink.” he says, “then I'll start where I left off.”
“Oh, good.”

He comes back with two bottles. We drink and we start talking about football. We're just about getting by before he raises his palm to his face.
“Aw, ****. I forgot, yeah. The worst thing I ever saw. I never told you.”
“You did. Bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.”
“Yeah yeah, but that doesn't really say much, does it? You're probably wondering to yourself why that would **** me off so much?”

Not really. He's the type of no-action, all-caring, bleeding heart that sits on his fattening **** every day, 'liking' rhetorical captions over pictures, and signing petitions to axe some ***** politician or other.
“I guess. Shoot.”

He shoots.
“I wanna burn down the churches. Seriously. Stupid ******* religious folk. I bet they go home and post pictures up of themselves, all busy in the soup kitchen, ladling minestrone into some poor *******'s styrofoam bowl.
“They'll never touch them. Always at arm's length. You don't wanna breathe in the pathogens of the anti-people...”
He slurred a little, went to carry on, but took another gulp of beer instead.
“What does that have to do with bedsheets over the benches in the church yard?” I took a gulp myself, this time watching him with a little more interest. Probably just because he looks like he could spew at any moment.
“You're not letting me finish...”
He finishes his beer, gets up, almost bumping into his piano-***-keyboard. He's off to the fridge again. I have a look around while he's out of the room. I can hear him ******* in the kitchen sink.

I've seen the place a million times before but it always has a whole bunch of new **** tacked up on the wall or else bundled in the corner. He's no hoarder, just gets bored and throws out all the stuff he bought the year before.
There's a framed picture of himself on the wall, cradling his Fender as if he's a master of the arts. It's signed, too.
I've seen him play. Probably will tonight. Wouldn't be surprised if he's written a protest song called: bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. The old **** can't even hit an F major with regularity.
He'd decided to put up his vinyl sleeves on the wall like a 17 year old would with an array of **** pop-punk band posters.
Blink and you might think he's the new John Peel or Phil Spector. Stare, and you'll realise he's twice as crazy, yet half as talented and half as interesting to listen to.
His room is like a CV to show to interesting, young indie women. Shame he's hitting forty now,and hasn't been to a club in about 3 months.
Last time we went he just sulked in the corner and got too drunk. He cried in the smoking area about his job before going round and asking attractive girls whether they think he's too old to be out. Most didn't even bother to give an answer. Probably best.

He comes back in with more beer.
“A-anyway...” He says, groaning a little like an old man as he settles back into the chair. “As I was saying...” he sloshes beer on the carpet, rubs it in with the heel of his shoe. He spits on the mark and then rubs again.
“What I was saying was that the church would be a whole lot more useful to the homeless if it was burned down. A condemned building is a whole lot more useful than being looked down on by holier-than-thou, middle-class, white Christians.
“They go home after an hour, bolt the church doors, and then watch TV in their brand new conservatories that they spend several thousands on. Just give the losers a place to shoot up and sleep in safety. That makes sense, right?”
“I guess so.”
I couldn't think of a change of conversation. So I just drank some more and pulled out a cigarette. It's nice to smoke inside for a change.

“It's a ****** ******* awful thing. If people were actually religious, they'd throw open their ******* doors for everyone. It's what Jesus would do, right?”
“Right.”
“He'd have all the **** in his bedsit, piled in like sardines, spreading TB like wildfire.”
“And that's a good thing?”
“Well, it can't be any worse, right? Sleep's important. I learned that the hard way.”

He didn't learn it the hard way. Not really. He's a self-motivated, self-harming insomniac. He spent his teenage years listening to bad music and staying up too late ******* over his French teacher. I should know, I mostly did the same.
He hit the **** pretty hard during college. Never really looked back until recently. ****** him up worse than you'd reckon. He couldn't sleep without the stuff. Man, if you'd have seen the poor guy whenever he couldn't get hold of some for the night. Eesh.

“...you know what I mean though? I'm sick of charity. Those fun-runs you get. A load of women in pink pretending that they care about breast cancer, before posting a million and one pictures up of them in ankle warmers and a kooky hat...”
“**** of the Earth.”
“Yup. Right up there with the women who have 'mummy' as their middle name on Facebook.”
“Yeah.”
“Honestly though, it's the laziest form of charity. Throwing a couple old, mouldy bedsheets out on some bird-**** bench made of wood and ancient farts...”
“It is pretty lazy.” I drank some more.

It was getting late. We swallowed three temazepams each, moved onto the cheap shiraz once we ran out of beer. We leant back in our chairs, barely talking and letting Tame Impala supply the conversation for us.

“You know what?” I ask, pretty much out of nowhere. His eyes have narrowed. He's not sleepy, just ****** on ***** and tranquillizers. He takes a moment.
“Huh?”
“From what you were saying earlier... you know, about the bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, why don't you?”
“Why don't I what?”
“Burn it down.”
“The church?”
“Well, you go on about being lazy and ****. Here's your chance. Help the homeless. Break the locks, pour the petrol, take out a few bottles of wine if you find any...”
“Now?”
“I guess so. Homeless folk are dying of pneumonia out there. Not a second can be wasted.”
“I dunno. I didn't mean I had to do it. I was just saying...”
“I guess they were just saying too.” I felt like I was being a ****, so I changed the subject to women I haven't laid.

I stumbled home leaning on my bicycle all the way. Daylight was just about visible off in the distance. I passed two homeless guys on the way back, gave one of them a fiver, the other one my big mac and the last of my cigarettes (well, leaving a couple for myself).
They said thanks, god bless you, etc, etc. I carried on walking.

I woke up the next afternoon with a mouthful of sand and in desperate need of a hangover ****. I hadn't shaved in about two weeks and there were dark circles under my eyes. I thought about going out to the diner for a full breakfast, but strange people were beyond me.
I ordered a pizza full of meat and grease and garlic sauce instead. I text him to see if he wanted to come over and nurse the hangover with a little ****. Watch a film. Get drunk again. He still smokes it on special occasions, and this ******* of a hangover was pretty **** special.
No reply, and I end up rolling up a joint for myself, smoking it by the window and watching the magpies peck around the grass. It's nice out.

The pizza guy comes. He's holding the pizza up like a map, calls out in a bored sort of voice: “Hello sir. I've got a large Palermo Pizza here, with a side of chicken strips and a can of Dandelion and Burdock?”
I say yes and he hands it over.

I tip him with the coins still left in my wallet from the night before, and he sheepishly says he picked up my post for me as well.
I look down at the pizza I'm holding, and there's a few envelopes that look suspiciously like bills, rival takeaway leaflets, and the local paper. I say thanks, give him the best sort of smile I could, and then close the door.
I turn on the TV. I forgot the England match was on. I turn over to something more interesting. There's nothing, so I switch back over. Before I open up the pizza, I take the paper. A small-town existence, nothing ever happens, but I could do with a new job.

The front page is on fire. A church has been burned down in the early morning. A forty-something man has been arrested and then taken to hospital for severe burns to the face. A load of children's art has been lost, along with countless Bibles, prayer cushions, and vaults of cash.
“****.”
I read through the article. The whole place was gutted. Nothing could be salvaged. Nothing could be redeemed. In the corner of the picture, through the red, green, and blue dots, I could just make out some bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.

I remember, it was summer. I handed everybody my homemade pizza sandwiches. The smell of crispy baked bread with warm melting mozzarella cheese and sweet rich ripe tomato sauce. My friends and I were on a road trip full of leaping laughter. Laughter that grew six packs in our cheeks. Highways I call home. Songs we sang that came to life. We called ourselves the six pack. Driving an endless road down Lilly-stocks green fields and corn crops, jokes are made that make the day spark with amber. Hugs and kisses made our heart explode. The hugs and kisses that our parents no longer gave us anymore.

“You can run away with me any time you want.” We kept singing to the good and bad beats tuning out the radio as our voices warmed the air. Making the best of them, and making the air fresher than it actually was. Smelling no more than a flower in disguise. The girls lip gloss smiles and the boys lose leather seats shined. The girls laughed and chained while the boys sang their favourite songs. Their voices lit up the day more and continued a jubilant bumpy road. I remember my boyfriend putting the car in park. We all jumped out onto the warm concrete as we had our running shoes and gear ready. We walked in the forest and jumped over big streams of spring water. He held my hand and kissed my cheek. A perfect world on a perfect day. A photograph that would last a million years. Love and good times was our culture. We sang to the beat of our hearts.

“Cruising down the highway with my friends, top down and we're all on our way to the beach. And everyone keeps laughing at those cars we are passing, as we're ******* down that funny, funny ****. Oh yeah… oh yeah! We're rolling up to sand, take your shoes off, man. We are skinny dipping underneath the sea. And it's a chicken fight clan, throw your dukes up, "wham!". We are splashing in the water to the beat. Oh yeah… oh yeah! Crossing sandy dunes, hot day, mid-June. Naked kids, running wild, and free. It's summer time fun, relax and stay young. You could be home, with Oprah Winfrey. The water feels nice, dive deep down under. The ships, and treasures make reef. Just one of those days, had a blue, perfect wave. Come out, and join. You'll see. We are lying in the sun, when you’re done find a towel. Now we're thinking of where we're gonna eat. Back corner table, order lobsters and Black Label. Raise your glasses, here's to living out our dreams.”
We all ran with full stomachs down the beach to unpack in our clean house cabin. We all clunked on the couches and flicked the television on. My boyfriend Billy was laughing about bad pranks on the beach with his two best friends Dalek and Tanek. Nelly’s dating Dalek and Quinns dating Tanek. My two best girlfriends. Chatting away we heard a shattering noise. We all give each other looks and rush to the startling noise coming from the bathroom.
“It’s coming from that vent.” Billy pointed and looked at me. A huge metal vent with blue spirals. The vent shook the wall and the vent cover fell off. Billy saw a green creature run down the vent and took his flashlight. “I saw something! There! Down there!”
“Yeah let’s go in there and catch ‘em!” Dalek dramatically spun.
“There is no way on earth I’m going in there!” Nelly poked Daleks shoulder.
“Yeah, there could be..” I took Billy’s flashlight and held it under my face. “Aliens!” I said deeper in a jokingly manner. Everyone knows Daleks consternating fear for aliens.
“Aliens?” Dalek blankly stared and fearfully jumped in to Taneks arms. Billy wrapped his arms around me.
“No way on earth you’re going in there without me Betty babe.” I snatched his flashlight again and crawled into the small space. “That’s not a good idea though, come on Betty, come back.” Billy worried.
“I’m just looking!” My voice echoed down the humongous vent as I suddenly slipped. “Billy! Help!” I slid down the vent and rolled on my side as Billy shouted.
“I’m coming Betty! Wait there!” Everyone decided to follow and by the time I saw Billy, Billy and I heard the girls screaming and the guys laughing down the slippery vent.
“We stick together!” Quinn fainted in Tanek’s arms.
“Yeah, now who’s gonna get the magical rope and magically bring us back up?” I knuckled her hair roughly.
“I’m freaking out guys. I don’t want to be here. It’s *****. It’s rusty. I like these pants! Dalek! Why’d you push me down?!” Nelly heated.
“Shh! We can’t wake the aliens.” Dalek gulped and held her head tightly to his chest.
“There it is!” Billy shouted. The wrinkley green face ran out a different vent outside.
“We’re okay guys, look. We’ll go outside that vent, there, and we’ll be okay.” We crawled in relief and I was the first person to fall. I fell in the sand as well as everybody else mocked.
“Damit Dalek, I can‘t believe you got me into -” Nelly choked on the sand. The green alien appeared and spoke.
“Greetings!” it giggled. “I’m alien here harvest your brain.” It chuckled. It spat a big laugh and spoke again “Just kidding, my name is Jungalo. I see you’re in danger. You shouldn’t be here.” I look up into the bright sky light as I shadow my eyes with my hand. It’s definitely not human. But a male creature I assume. He stands awkwardly with a cup of fresh sardines in his awkward hands coming from the purple lake as the wind whistles. The warm peanutbutterflies flutter in the peanut fields. Millions and millions of peanuts. The green alien walked us down the trails of snails and over a few bridges. The lake’s shore was covered with sardines. Jungalo grabbed the purple well water took a bucket full of sardines too.“Hey there Jungalo!” The purple kids shouted from a distance; little goats apparently allergic to fish. I tried catching the peanutbutterflies to eat, because Jungalo said they tasted good. The creatures tasted scrumptious. We stumble across the rocky trails and jump into his tree house. Not any old regular tree house. A door on the tree that has a staircase. An underground house. Jungalo puts the sardines in the *** and lets it boil. I find these white fluffy candy planted around the tree. It’s shaped like a mushroom but we call Jungalo says their marshmellowshrooms, AKA double M shrooms. I love the feeling and smell of them so I pick them.
“Don’t! Don’t! Put that down!” The little green alien’s awkward fist monstrously hit me and I fell to the floor. Not just that, but I blacked out.
*
My breathe escaped and I jumped off the couch. I looked around the living room dizzy and unaware of my surroundings. The wooden floors were scratched and there was tomato juice spilt on the carpets. I had a feeling that tomato juice wasn’t the only thing we consumed.
I was too frightened to move. Seeing the empty bottles laying everywhere, I fell to my knees once more and weakly fell back into my sleep.
A food I once ate. In my kitchen when my mom baked. My taste buds had an overrate. To the flower and powder in my mother’s cake. On and on I express about things that make no sense. But I still move my lips to the beat of the tense. Riding up and down the hills of confusion. Maybe there could be a lack of resolution. Make it count, make it count. My mother in blue says. I’ll remember her words for the rest of my days. Take a nap, take a nap for goodness sakes. I’ll warm you the light to discourage the shapes. I love you darling, never forget. The tears I cried when I had my baby brunette.
My eyes slightly open. Where am I? With my feather head, I stand up and see Billy. I wobble and try shaking everyone up. Nobody moves. I stumble to Billy’s face and try to wake him last.
“Please wake up Billy!” I shook him and topple beside him. I try getting up even though my paralyzed legs try to stop me. I grabbed cold water from the kitchen and dumped it on his face. I watch him moan in pain and sickness.
“Billy!” I had enough energy to pull him to my chest. He looked up at me and spoke.
“Betty, what’s going on?” He grabbed me.
“I don’t know. I think we need to call for help.” I held his shoulder
“Are you kidding? We’re not doing legal things here Betty. We have to wake everyone up and we have to go home.”
“Billy I’ve already tried.” I teared. Billy tried moving everybody hard but nobody even flinched.

We heard hard loud knocks one after another behind the front door. We glance at each other quickly and clumsily walk to the door. Billy opened the door. A woman dressed in white stood there which pinched my pupils. It waited patiently just around the corner, peeking out from over the horizon. Death.
“Don’t be scared. Come with me.” She turned around as her wings fluttered like the fins of angel-fish. “Don’t worry you’ll see her very soon.”
My mom flashed before my eyes. "You're beginning to drag the ones you love down. Maybe you should just fall, and leave the world and lose it all. Maybe that's what you need, to finally see, I loved you through it all. It may feel like God went north, and left you to be. But all you need to know, is you have everything you need. It's just a blink of an eye, until the next time we meet. I'll hold you 'til the end, I'll hold you 'til you're free.” She hugged me.