I wrote that to you..

from the waiting room of my eye doctor
but I didn't know it sent. I was grinding on my jeep Sunday
and got a piece of metal in my eye the size of a farm tractor,

    but all is well after this second visit  👀

A couple of reasons for the multiple accounts..
Originally started as my way of satiring the many people
on the site that use multiple accounts to put likes and
comments on their own work in order to make it trend..
or even make the 'daily'..
or to stroke themselves  with compliments
so horrendously..  uh, dishonestly.
But me being the battle-hardened, ******* nonconform
that I am, the first time I commented on my own piece,
my own account made fun of myself
to such a degree..
   it ended up in a fistfight--
But it was me..  just ******* up
the whole trolling process.
I always tell the ones that I care
about  who all is 'me'.
I also phase popular ones of mine  out  
      and replace them with new ones  
          if that one is getting too noticed on the site.

That way I don't garner too many followers, which I believe
quenches one's freedom that is lost within the  obligatory
'give and take' mindset that is a cancer  on this
and so many other online writing sites.

Vogel started talking to you when I was no longer
scared of how quickly you got in with me.
I talk like crazy when someone like you gets in to the inner-core
of me so easily..  just by being the way that you are.
The babbling provides a canopy of structure..  Love's structure.
Strange, I know..  but I don't like being scared.
Its a boundary-thing..
and there is so little about ones like you
that even remotely slows down
the process of getting in..

and   I'm-a..  uh..
"I'm a loner, Dottie.. a rebel.."
~Peewee Herman

yeah.. that.

The accounts keep me safe from the
general public  by bringing
pieces of me out, relationally onto the screen  as a way of
providing for myself, the warm cover of love's structure--

   me..  with me.
All so very strange sounding, I'm sure.

I really enjoy watching you, kid.
I'm so sorry for bombing you with all those wordy messages
when we met. Your unique heart, mind, and spirit
are everything perfect in my eyes..  yes..  even with all of your
current broken,  fragmented pieces.
You were recently maybe under some form of a psyche-hold,
which is probably where the psyche eval came from.
Some in the mental health field care deeply..  many are just
going through the motions-- originally thinking it was
for them, and then finding out what the true cost
of love really is,  before slinking back into a foot-shuffling
process..   even as psychologists,  
and often  even medical psychiatrists (prescribers)--

    Who love to find a name for things so they can 'expertly'
    enter into relationship with what now has a name,
    rather than the deeply-hurting person.

Everybody wants the ****, beautiful-voiced girl who stands
a very good chance of making her mark so well in this world.
I would trade access to the 'best' part of it all with you,  
just to have the chance to be with you,  for even 5 minutes  
on that **** and tear-soaked, psyche room floor.

That is where I want to be.

My multiple "friends" keep me free..
unencumbered..  deeply-loved..
  .. ready.  
Broken-down, and pitch-black within the darkness of all its
despair. That is where it is that I would trade all things for,
    in order to be..
with you..  deep in to the very   r e a l   of  it  all..
if you ever fell down that temporarily far.

Everything I do is for that moment.  
My "friends" give me strength.  They believe in me
because I so deeply believe in my loved self.

       Hence, the ability to go anywhere
       you may one day have to go.


       Sorry, kid.. but you asked.

Something for the
insomniacs,
the maniacs,
and the lunatics.

Poetry about
you and me,
sleep and waking,
life and death.

This is to read
when the sun rises
and you're still awake,
or when the stars are
shrouded in clouds.

This is for all of you
who have yielded
your sanity to the moon
and felt the meaning of
lunacy in your bones.

I dedicate this collection of
oddities to all of you oddities,
may you read it and sleep.

Far across the water sits a little Chinese man,
who has his own ideas of life's most desired plan.

On the other side of the ocean is yet another guy,
whose plan doesn't agree with a Chinese minds eye.

Petty is their game but they just don't see it so,
and so they push each other in a destructive to and fro'.

Two school boys being bullies is the policy that they choose,
Both belligerent and stubborn, both determined not to lose.

Surely they must see that the other guy wont ever give in.
Preferring total destruction over allowing the other guy to "win".

They cant see that neither side will ever accept to give,
Both intent to destroy it all than allow us all to live.

All can see it coming but no one dares make a sound,
until the mark of mankind's passing is just craters in the ground.

I'm trailer trash
And you're the tattered wheels

Run me over
Vilipended shrew

This place is full of
Rabid raccoons
And collect calls

Someone's got to pay

Maybe we can milk
A cash cow
Or plant a money tree
Between grandma
And the shed

A game of miniature golf
Always helps my mind
Get back on par
(More or less)

Then it's back to the bus stop
And be done with you

When she asked me,
“What triggers you?”
I couldn’t pick one.
Crap.

I went crazy
I did feral little dances
I acted in ways most betraying
of my previous social stance

but there were others
a multitude
it was the fault of the moon
we are weak and...

Mr. Moon
The Whey-faced Satellite has drawn deck
of our cowered population

on this full beaming night
this Friday
the anaemic loon quaker
is a menace

it lugs ******* the minds most creative

it moulds imagination and felonious thought
where previous their dwelled only a shopping list

it skims hostile cream from the fragile
and kissed wetter still
the most eager berserker

a dance of madness tups open the houses
pucks at our activities
plucks strings that fire our kinetic clatter
and scuppers any will to resist

Human species take the streets in corrosive numbers
A Party like this
shall make a dent
A Party like this
shall be a fist in Our Story
Hosted by the Moon
here I am
in the mix
prancing like some zany goof

Insatiable insanity,
left wing, right foot, home.
Rectangular, triangular,
incapably prone.

Unable stigmatically,
invariably drone.
Whimsical fanatical,
address unknown

Sounds can describe
the words they convey.
Tranquil decisions can blur,
but do they.

Utter a word
to see what you say,
say what you see,
then be what you may.

Describe it in detail,
exhale every verb,
catch yourself, let yourself
grade on a curve.

But don’t strain your brain,
if it doesn’t make sense,
just take it all in,
come down off your fence.