Few dared to date Medusa,
For they feared being covered with contusions.
Those who did wore a blindfold to hide their eyes,
A blind date with fate and a disguise.

One of the braver men,
Who thought he could apprehend,
Medusa, his name was Trent.
He didn’t last long,
He took his blindfold off,
And like many before him,
He turned to stone and wasn’t heard from again.
Another challenger’s name was Wren,
Like the bird,
Medusa thought that was the strangest name she’d heard.
So, out of spite,
She reached across the table and exposed Wren’s eyes.
He gasped as his skin turned coarse,
Mouth open wider than a horse.
Medusa pushed him over,
Watched as he shattered,
And smiled to herself,
Even though she was lonelier than anyone else.

Medusa didn’t mean to be so cruel,
It was the consequences of her being used.
By a man to do things she didn’t want to do,
Unspeakable and terrible abuse,
She was the only one to lose.
So, she became a viper,
Her gaze became a noose.
Asphyxiation,
Righteous indignation.
She wouldn’t let herself be used again.

Finally, a man named Hunter arrived,
He tightened the blindfold around his eyes.
He sat across from Medusa, the table lit by candlelight,
She blushed, for he was quite a sight.
He reached across the table and shook her hand,
And he asked her if she had any plans.
She was taken aback, her mind rolling off the tracks,
Lost in a flashback, she babbled about tasks she had to do,
None of which was true.

Hunter laughed, a sound so sweet,
It made Medusa nearly fall out of her seat.
Was this the one she had been searching for?
Or was he just another liar?
Authenticity tends to hide,
Just like the scars Medusa had on her thighs.
One of her snakes whispered in her ear,
Advising her to ignore what she wanted to hear.
The snakes only wanted what was best,
But for whom? What was the purpose of their quest?

Hours passed by like comets,
First date turned into many happy moments.
Before Medusa could catch her breath,
Half a year had passed,
And Hunter had asked,
To see Medusa’s face.
She insisted that he didn’t,
But she knew he wouldn’t listen.
He lowered the blindfold,
As teardrops glistened,
Medusa thought she had just lost,
Her heart…

Hunter had heterochromia,
Left eye green, right eye a shimmering blue.
Medusa’s eyes were both red,
That pulsated in blossoming hues.
To both of their surprise,
Hunter didn’t turn to stone.
He captured her lips in a kiss,
Both of them were alone.
Medusa found the one who could see her,
She no longer had to hide.
Hunter loved Medusa,
It made her cry.

The world is filled with hurt people, like Medusa,
Who may push you away and leave you in contusions.
But underneath that deadly gaze,
Is a mountain of pain…

Born into a box ruled by someone else’s fine print.

Where can I go to die,  with dignity?   in peace?
The sad truth is there ISN'T a place.

No one ever sees that, even when it is time
for it to be in their face.

We cannot leave this world the way we would like.
Rules and laws govern us from the point of *******,  now.
Didn’t matter what you wanted, or how you lived, anyhow.

Euthanasia applies to every creature BUT us.
How is that even reasonable? Why don't we  have a solution that's feasible ?

There should be a pill, a process, an injection.
Something clean, nonviolent.  Something a family member could discover without unnecessary trauma and mess . Not a rope  or gun or a car exhaust ,
and more stress.

If mercy is written for the beasts and not the people,
then burn the fine print.
Tear up
the contracts.
Polite cruelty? as if suffering needs proof,
as if the idea, the desire for dignity needs permission.
  Respect   the person ,  choice  and decision.

Teach the world, starting with the U.S.,
a new word for human ending
not a disgusting, painful, lonely surrender of life, or suffering , depending,
A choice in  passing that preserves whatever semblance of dignity remains.  
A grant for  freedom  to decide  how  and  when.
After all it's love
not sin.

You treated me like I was your toy,
I had plans to become your boy,
I thought of what all,
But never imagined this fall.

The fall of our love,
The fall I will serve,
This isn’t what I deserve,
I thought our love could preserve.

Yet we are standing here,
With eyes full of tears,
We could have been peers,
If you had kept me as your dear.

Instead, you asked me to help you,
I thought this was to grow closer,
But you were just my player,
and your game ---a love slayer.

I would give you that,
You are a very good liar,
And I am just a cryer,
Now start finding your new buyer


Wrong is what I am not,
for even after your plot
My heart still loves you,
All it is perceives blue.

Are you happy now,
After treating me like a cow,
Is your personal vendetta complete,
can I find someone else to please.

But I will still ask you,
Why did you choose me,
What made me a key,
What is that you plea?

When I see your photo,
Tears fill my eyes,
my hairs start to rise,
While my mind still ask---
“Why me?”

My love for you was true
But you treated me like your crew
Now I need something strong to brew
To forget that you ever flew

We the gentle
Are meant for
Sentimental
For charcoal pencil thumb-smudged skies
Over lamplit rented rooms on the Seine
Moonlight gauzey glamoured eyes
Grimy hands that write paint spin, throw clay,
that grab our grandfather’s violin at all hours of the day and play.
Mad with passion,
starving, raving, gorged on lush love-struck life abundant,
on rain-slicked splendor.

We the gentle
Bend toward each other in salvation as sunflowers turn inward in the absence of sunlight.
Salvation.
It’s all wrong
We do not belong do not belong.
Bloodletting stardust into the vents
Hearts rent and free bleeding
Feeding the over fed
No page or paint, no violin
No romance, no gods here
But Death and Dread.

We the gentle
Get no roses but see red red red with arms outstretched,
Fighting the tide
Soft bodies open minds
Not weak but kind
Once fruit, now rind
We aren’t meant for these times.
Clear eyed and noncompliant,
We who know the essence of Love Defiant,
Truth in muck, truth in starlight,
We feel the press on all ******* sides
To run, to hide

And instead sing, paint, play
Write.

In Maga heaven
There is no scripture here,
only rubber-stamped, pre-approved lobbyists
with tanning bed fangs
******* on a choir of flesh-hungry frat boy ****** interns
chanting “U! S! A!”
with each pharma ****** your medical bills explode..

Matt Gaetz Botox eyebrows
his floating hideous cartoon villain face,
3-D printed and impaled perma- smile
as ubiquitous as underage prostitutes on Epstein's island,
now with more ICE-sanctioned “kids in cages.”

In the smoke-choked outer gates,
a pearly mezzanine,
Rush Limbaugh gurgling and affixed  like a  scuzzy dump
dabbing his crusty *** hanky,
sweating,    teetering,     a  corpulent blob,
leaking Snapple like a stuck pig.

He chortles on an endless A.M. talk radio loop,
his triple chins wobbling like pork rinds in a fat fryer.
4-dollar cigar, 10 inches of colonial sadism,
like his abandoned family burns
wet and slow.

Smoke curls upward,
thick as ***** generational trauma and just as sweet.
It drapes the room like a  gay funeral veil
made of Newt’s christo-fascist scam money
and powdered supplement bile.
"Family  values  "  he insist . preaching,
while serving his dying cancer wife their divorce paper in her hospital bed.

**** Cheney prays to Karl Rove, born on Christmas day,
both as ****** as the driven snow.
skin waxed like Lenin, but on hydraulic exoskeletons.
They fumble trying to hoist their cross-shaped catheters
to spoon-feed one another,
whimpering ineffectually
and muttering into a  minority fetus-shaped walkie-talkie
about more  planes , more planes  needed  in buildings
over Guantanamo freedom.

Sad excuse for  moldered ******
litter the  streets like the intended  death of  tax payer missiles ,       the gods of fear mongering with  their  half      melted war gavels
juddering with every heartbeat stolen from Halliburton pensioners.
Each  prayer  reminds the weak  
"abort   THIS,   *****"
  sunday school  molestations taught
through  bedazzled maga megaphone
mounted where a human heart
is supposed to be.

Mitch McConnell just another waddle flappin  on the  old turkey farm  , in divine chin contempt and  righteous ecstasy from
cancelling  the  last of the schools free breakfast and lunch programs  he smiles from ear to ear. His chins begin shaking.
He falls
on schedule
and is resurrected even more lobotomized each time. (somehow)

Beneath the bankrupt,  cracked Trump Casino marble, the house is still  winning  8 out of 10 times .
but  he can't  make a profit.
The gold rolls its way, to
a small, out-of-the-way obscure footnote of a Ronnie rotunda:
“the  Corpo Tax cut  Apotheosis  of " Star Wars "  Dreams.”

Dan Quayle moans through a diamond-encrusted **** grill,
his libido injected with Reagan Era tax cuts
and oil futures coated in powdered Whitehouse Adderall
from summer camp spelling BEE   , 1987.

His ******* tattooed with 'Tipper Gore,' twitch  Morse code
for “trickle-down,
tickle down,
trickle down.”
Each of Bush's Voodoo economic spasms sends a ripple through the latex Fallwell hymnals
glued to his shriveled, underdeveloped thighs.

Oh, but make way   ye  assured fools!
For  thou  has  no say over your body, Trans or Female,
as
Clarence Thomas
drives his big-block bribery  Winnebago
like he's  riding  a tricycle the size of the Lincoln Memorial.

His scabby, ashen elbows jut out
wobbly  battering rams.

Forgotten...  used and discarded  like Eric
Jared Kushner ,
stole  uncle Clarence's  custom
Golden Supreme Court Rascal scooter,
denting time and space with every vow
and slow ritual bow.

Clarence drools thick black sludge over his Anita Hill poster,
legal ink congealed into constitutional back alley abortion cancer.
His gums gnash "textualisms"
******* ... "textualisms "
( that's a word...  right?)
Johnny Cochran level   "textualisms" !
his  hymn,  a   mantra
turned lullaby,

Corpses of past rulings slough off behind him
like the bribery-bloated garbage snake he is.

Kristi Noem breaks the black reverie with a yelping ******
on all fours... again
beneath a dripping
taxidermied buffalo chandelier,
a pulsating greasy ******* protruding with
corporate logos blinking in
synchronized gun-show glory.
Fur
bloodied, mangled—coyote,
dog,
child? No one asks
as she is paraded past Sandyhook again.

The plug buzzes the Pledge of Allegiance
in MAGA Morse
with a URL for granny donations pls.
Her eyes say thank you to Truth Social.
Rights vanish like the separation of church and state
in this bloated degenerate unqualified puppet show.
Mega churches handing out loaded AR-10s.

Daily   the fresh piles of
dead kids
with NRA stickers on their lunch boxes
blocking the busses only lanes in front of their boarded up schools while the new Mega arena p­lays bikini ****** on the ultra Jumbotron in between penalty flags while brain dead 3 channel havin trailer park daddy gets drunk again, and cries about the liberals turnin all the frogs gay !­

Taco  Manatees cavort
in orange Cheeto dust
bedazzled glue guns threats.
Stormy Daniels *** dolls hang from scaffolds
meant for Mike Pence,
and everyone wipes their *** on stolen nuclear secrets.

The bolt clicks forward
in  to   place.  
The Leopold
calibrated....

The sound bites lacquered and pre- prepared

Amen, Karen. Amen…

A girl climbs on a pole
Dozens of strangers below
She looks so happy
I wonder where this was
Some basement punk show,
Her own gig?
The best night of her life?
And i wonder if she thought of me
Wished i was there too
I wouldn't blame her if she didn't
I know i made her smile like that
At least i hope i did
It’d make other things i made her do
Move to the back of my mind for once
We would have been better friends
We love the same things now
She would be in my band
We would go to concerts in the city
I would be patient, and never hurt her again
The warmth of our love
Like the warmth of twin car wrecks
In the parking lots of hell
If i had been there,
Either night
This wouldn't be my life
Even in this moment I turn the camera capturing her joy to myself
It wouldn't be my life, but mine's not important
Hers was
If only i'd told her that
She’d have her crosses,
Her flannel
Her shirt she gave to me
Because she wanted to swim at our friend’s birthday party
I said i'd be the lifeguard
But i let her drown
I told her to jump of a bridge
Said i hope she'd drown in the park when it floods
I was only a child, what did i know?
Now everyone is gone
Her, our friend, the pool and myself
I’ve become so like her it hurts
I keep dreaming she’s ok
No part of me wants to admit she’s gone
I deleted all our photos
I wanted to forget
I still sort of do
But out of pain, not anger

Occasionally, I feel like,
I’m being buried by a landslide,
So I go into my room and turn off the lights,
Play music to drown out my plights.
Suddenly, I feel a bubbling,
Deep inside my soul.
It’s been bottled up,
My dam isn’t enough,
And I’m about to lose control.

The truth is,
Sometimes I cry.
When I’m tired of bottling it up inside.
A deconstruction of pride,
Fractured fragments left behind.
My dam can’t hold back,
The tsunami that’s on the attack.
Sometimes, it’s overwhelming,
It can feel like I’m drowning,
In a pool of sorrow,
Of my own making.
It’s hard to stop it,
So methodic,
It keeps on coming back.

Pathetic, sympathetic,
It’s difficult to control it.
Cathartic, ironic,
How do people deal with this?
The waterworks are a virus,
That everyone’s contaminated with.
Can’t show weakness,
Got to keep a straight face,
A mask from the pain.
Let the pillow be the bucket for my sorrows.
Let the tears dampen the fabric of the case.
Let my blankets cool me off, calm me down,
And help me change my frown.

Sometimes all we need,
Is an emotional release.
Perhaps, that’s the way,
To inner peace.

You want to die?
I know what that's like.
When you want to -
Not to know what it's like to die,
But so you know what it's like to be dead.
I know what that's like.
Life has ***** your future,
And now you want to make your future
Something life can't ****. I know
What that's like. When you
Can give up easier
Than you can breathe, see,
Feel - Because every
Single
Moment,
Is filled with life,
Your broken life
Like broken glass.
A trail you walk,
And clouds of glass particles
Imbue the air you breathe.
And your hope is like a glass
Before it was ever made.

I know what that's like.
Life broke up with you -
And reality came crashing in
Like a stone. You didn't know
Blood could fracture.
                                 And now,
You know, too
That no matter what you do
Life goes on,

                                                   Elsewhere.