If Romania was a color, it would be a funeral color.

It would be the color of remembrance, and the color of forgetting.

It would be a color that screams to be avenged, respected and mourned.

It would be a proud color.



A color that remembers a glorious past, mostly imagined and embroidered with more victories than defeats.



It would be a color of joy, yet hidden in silence.

A color that boasts of courage, but asks for submissiveness.

A color that speaks of kindness, but greedily hoards.

A color that's been censored.



The color of Romania would be that lack of color, that void that takes away all other colors,

and shoves them down below, under the writhing belly of the thick-scaled beast.

The color that waits to burst out with deep reds, and magentas, and blues.



It would be that color that would not stay dead,

would not stay mourned,

would not roll over,

but hammer against the void and bring forth the kaleidoscope of hope.

you share with me such hurtful words
that are a balm to
my kindred soul.

they hurt as they leave your summer wine lips
and drip like molten wax
upon my chest,
and heart,
and mind,
and touch my soul...

verse after verse.

you entwine my eroded coil
within your moonlight glow,
and tell me all the things
I so hungrily needed to know.

you wrap my broken hands
within your silken ones.

I crave to part your lips,
and share in such a melody.
that starlight hum.
that midnight medley.
that dark and ever-glowing sonnet
that brought you to my desolation.

I yearn to kiss them with my ones,
those lips as warm as starlight flame,
as perfect as the heart of night,
as young as time itself.

but mine are blistered
by frigid winds,
and bloodied from some fist
I've recently had to stomach...

Yours truly just a fluke of the universe
worming his way hook, line and sinker
thru the meandering time stream,
which current speeds up the older I get
rocketing toward my sixty fifth birthday
January thirteenth two thousand twenty four.

A garden variety (generic) agrarian wannabe
antiauthoritarian, bookish antiquarian bloke,
antitotalitarian, well mannered barbarian
disestablishmentarian, egalitarian, futilitarian,
grammarian, quasi hereditarian, latitudinarian,
libertarian, majoritarian, nonsectarian,
nonvegetarian, proletarian, sexagenarian,
Unitarian who receives social security
disability courtesy once paralyzing
lacerating, and debilitating anxiety.

Yours truly amazingly
chronologically, enigmatically,
gracefully, interminably weathered
despite malevolent mental maelstrom,
linkedin with extinction of **** sapiens
in tandem with many flora and fauna
populating planet Earth
courtesy Manhattan Project
when Ernest Rutherford split the atom.

Fiendish and gruesome
phantasmagoric denizens
dwell deep inside subterranean vault
perform an evil dance
haunt psychic landscape
with imaginary (yet realistic)
gargoyle visitations cast macabre trance
nocturnal unconscious invaders
cavort and gallivant
disturb quiescent sleep with
devilish and sinister prance.

Apparitions crept stealthily
into peaceful slumber receptacle
repository whence illusory
landscape of dreams
take place to rejuvenate exhausted
body, mind and spirit triage
rent asunder blissful sleep
with a startled fright
cold sweat drenched
nighttime garments and bedding
teeth chattered uncontrollably
heart pounded loudly inside chest
nightmarish phantoms wrought
an awful ghoulish sight.

Mushroom cloud anniversary
triggered frenzied gargantuan hallucination
since 6 August 1945, at 08:15
inauguration into atomic age took place
one country after another sought
to acquire demonic and destruction devices
maintain self-preservation in
surreal atomic weapons race
impossible to escape the dark threat
that looms and threatens life on Earth
one launched missile spells extermination
across entire global space.

No escape from humankind military machines
munitions march mean madness
and guaranteed demise to all life
**** Sapiens violent history of
bias, intolerance and/or prejudice
characterizes vicious warfare
and chronic species strife
unaffordable legacy for future,
(and perhaps alien) archeologists
who will sift thru civilization debris
with delicate knife.

Artifacts buried in heap of pulverized
and radioactive ash
civilization monuments
and hedonistic symbols
gone in a blinding brilliant flash
irksome flotsam and jetsam
spewed into outer space
alien nations light years distant
collect miniscule bits and pieces
offer object lesson as extinction
for beings that become excessively brash.

there was a moment in time
when death sat beside me on a park bench
and he had rested his hand on the gap between us

i,

too,

rested my hand there
and brushed my fingers against his

and for a chaste moment
i savoured the warmth of his skin
and intertwined my hand with his

but he stood up

and left

and maybe he knew,

it was for the better.

Do ya ever feel like a shipwreck adrift in the water
Pieces of ya scattered like a lamb after the slaughter,
a mere shadow of your former sweet innocence
barely bobbing above the big sonar rinse?
Can't believe what ya read
nor believe what your supposed to believe.
Can't help wonderin' bout the agenda
Definitley can't pretend not to.
I suppose ya just have to go a bit numb
Drift on the wave and play kinda dumb.
CCTV surveillance, so called necessity,
oh **** big brother's watching ya ***.
Google is god and god is dead
Oh **** the'll crucify me for what I've just said.
Street lights ain't just street lights anymore
they're stickin' cameras in 'um expecting us to eat crow.
We'll all be robots that's the plan
punch ya in, download, scan.
Chips in your brain, chips in your nose
they'll go with us wherever we goes.
The grammar's all wrong. It's the prediction text.
No need for fingers. it's all effortless.
We're losing our common sense and our low-fi cities.
I'm losing my mind and I dont even feel ******.
They're cuttin' down trees 'cause they're blockin' our signies
and burnin' and lootin' 'cause they've got some agendies.
We're loosing our birds, they're falling out of the sky.
Would connecting the dots lead us to  the wyfry?
Losing's all right once ya get the hang of it.
Be fine in the mornin' and get back in the swing of it.
Turn on the screen, see what's new,
choke on our Krispies 'cause we forgot to chew.
Ah who cares our thoughts ain't our own.
It's all covered and programmed by our phone
Yea
It's all fun and games when there's nobody home,
dinner's sprayed and modified to the bone.
God knows what's in the water, the vaccination.
No worries we're all sci-fried and on vacation.
Ah yea they've got us all pegged and amplified,
can't sleep anymore, we're all irradiated and wyfried.
Wyfry, shake, scramble, grill an' bake
uhuh it's the burnin' down of the human race.
ah yea it's the slow fry and burn at the stake.

You want to make the
pain happy? Like Gestapo you had
picked me. My half-poem becomes the antimatter.

Where has the sensuality gone
in the rose garden? Who was the changer?
What now honeybees are coming?

Between right and wrong
lives our god. Did you ever adored him
to change your gender?