Magic fairy rings
     Budding decomposed mater [sic]
Cincture dream seekers

while out and about
an unexpected over bare ring bout
to defecate arose,
     where sphincter asserted clout
and would excrete
     despite without doubt...

if closing distance
     (to reach rental abode)
beaten out by loosening sphincter muscle
     transmitting excretory code

set sights on prowl for outlawed, secluded,
     and wooded make shift commode
and essentially for naught negating
     toddler toilet training, sans

     getting ***** trained undone
     via my ***** ready to explode
and blast immense solid waste byproduct
     (oh...close to the size of Rhode Island)

thus a marathon race against time
found immediate readiness to pull off roadside  
     to access make shift water closet
     generating image firmly in pooping mode

     grabbing hold of a tree trunk
     (a mini rocky horror picture show, -
     this analogy included for no particular reason
     other than as a non-sequitur)

     and also to convey, how I tried
     to allay distractions
     while painful contractions flowed
(perhaps approximating a woman

     on verge of giving birth)
but...no matter, aye could envision,
     an ever increasing heavy mf* load
hence approaching Highland Manor Apartments

     this chap abandoned
     prior simultaneous evacuation plan
     starkly aware probability for secluded spot sunk
(nonetheless, thy darting darting

     anguish, futile lizard like lookout,
     a geico Gekko whose cheeks did blush
     even for a measly Georgian bush
quickened nsync with ****** spasms

     visual scouting industrialized
     where backhoes didst crush
once a time sacred happy hunting grounds
     of native Americans, now flush

with newly built vinyl city re: urban sprawl a gush,
where cookie cutter houses long since bringing hush
     puppies muzzled, yet never the less and mush
a doo doo about nothing) except sprint

     ting to a void push  
immortalizing indigenous tribes ghosts rush
peopling infrastructure affixing
     urbanization with their warrior whoosh!

more often than not, a knightly surge
     combs a pawn me,
     especially after the stroke of midnight, when
hermetically sealed in my rookery,

     where bats in the belfry
     flap their wings at the speed
     of sound times ten
thence, this king heads to his counting house

     (which doubles asthma
     Perkiomen Valley bishopric)
     to economize on space,
     especially during tax time

     (as April fifteenth slowly approaches,
     me heartbeat doth) quicken
though becalmed, when imbibing
     idyllic, fantastic, and bucolic kingdom

     Americana paintings courtesy, sans nomen
Percevel Rockwell, thus jitteriness pacified,
     particularly speaking
     on the telly phone with Ken
Burns, whose trademark documentaries,

     particularly War between the States,
     where even roosting hen
got into the frayed scrimmage vis a vis, even
chilly being egged on to surrender as Ben

a fit to this American
     Civil War Yankee incarnate,    
whose doodling word
     ya probably don't give a hoot -Amen!

Thought about you again today, going over all the words I would like to have the chance to say
About how much you dearly mean to me, and of how sorry I am that my silence has pushed you away
though I know after it all you will just turn me down again, no matter how much I beg and plead, what’s done is done and no matter what I do it will never be as enough as it could have been that day..

It’s too late for this, we could have been that
but I ruined it and that is the fact
Now there’s nothing left to do but to move on or regret it all as the scene fades to black

The other day your name almost passed my lips, but I caught myself and shushed myself by zipping shut my mouth with my finger tips
Held back a tear I almost missed, because the feeling of you caused my heart to skip as if to trip
the last time we truly spoke I could tell all that was left of us was just a wisp, perhaps we could have built up from there, begin again but I’m not the type to take from another man what I wouldn’t want taken from my grip.
And so the only way to put it all is in trist

It’s too late for this, we could have been that
but I ruined it and that is the fact
Now there’s nothing left to do but to move on or regret it all as the scene fades to black

I don’t know what to say that I have not already put into words creatively from my head
though you deserve it all to be said everyday in everyway whether you read it or acknowledge verbally
You are you and that is why I try, yet I failed and in my fall someone else has prevailed and it hurts but for my fear that was the cost and so you dearie I have lost…

It’s too late for this, we could have been that
but I ruined it and that is the fact
Now there’s nothing left to do but to move on or regret it all as the scene fades to black

The chaos of life calling in the twisting veins,
Where lifeblood pumped and the children came to drink,
Now blackened and scorched ,
The shell of our beingness,
Lies parched and cracked on this devoid land.

Silence the stillness vocalizing the null,
From the blank slate view to the ceiling of the sky.

Life for life,
Dead or deprived,
The cacophony of the carnival disregarded ,
Only shadows and memories,
Lingering in the custody  of the earth,
Carried on the endless journey of the wind
We call nothingness.

Their orifices are alive with selfish yield
We have no tongue to speak.

Drained of existence,
Once we sheltered in the hollow inside.
Now we are spectres
Ghosts of the flood
Someday the rains will come again
So long we have waited
Lost between planes
Nothing but the echo of a perpetual utterance
We will dance in the gathering waters,
When breath shudders coldly,
Through the carcass of our essence,
Bringing out throats alive,
Drowning stone and dust,
We will call again.

Call to the perpetual,
Empty skies with aeonian lies,
Clouds which despise,
To whom we call abode again .