i am the one who makes up my owm axi,
rather than be man, in talk of repast,
and fake, and metaphor, and the need for
sleuth... ordeals and godly stature, but only with
orff's carmina burana, we are to dine?!
oh jew, oh arab... why whiff that stink so far
north? familial affairs? concerns? psychiatrists?!
how about an ode to dates
to break the month of ramadam?!
no, you tell me, at, what, point,
am, i, to, understand, you,
before, i, stop, selling, you,
apples, at, the greengrocers?
you gonna fake it and turn all turk
on me? i kinda hope you did,
the time i mentioned henry viii's wives
in a rhyme: charles the first goit the chop,
charles the second managed a harem
but primarily a poet,
charlie ****** the third?
    probably a plush stuffed bunny...
so i tell this homeless person my rhyme...
****! she runs off screaming...
next time i talk to homeless people
i'm brining a monopoly fake of a house
to surround and let the hounds loose on them...
but it's kinda nice... living in a society
that still believes in monarchy...
  i get to talk silly rhymes, just about names,
wives of henry buffon and...
that brothel disease: syphilis and sisyphus!
and that rhyme about 'enry... the 'andy man...
the one that could put up a shelf...
  yeah, that rhyming Olaf...
could get a homeless woman... running...
to fear rhyme...
    just when Otto was in power in germany,
and there was no vogue concerning baptising
babies with that failed name...
you know women, premonitions about
the zodiac and ****... magic...
          crying about the stone cold heart
of men in labs...
   yep, that story, it's boring,
it's history, tried and tested, proofs in pi...
and take to making up
names.
then again, the turks are prettily civil,
they can allow housewives,
and those housewife soaps.. i.e.
operas... i.e. melodrama that doesn't happen
in real life... the turks can stomach that...
ask an arab to provide the same when women
age... he starts a vanity project akin to
a pyramid that is the dubai glass-glacier...
   i know, and many other people
know where the Everest mountain belongs...
should that glass monstrosity belong where it's
currently placed? i'm looking at it and going all
Loci to say the most perfect joke...
   hyper-*****?
     ask the people that built it, the Bangladeshi...
why ask a ******* ****?
     they're bothered by Hindu...
i will add: -stan -stan, never mind Stanley
and why pole is never bothersome
you valentine crisp day-care centre worth of emotion...
  i don't get bothered whether you smack your
head against a pole, polejump, and polish
a wooden table... ****... get along with it...
english says don't when it says do not...
**** is acronym, ever heard of those?
     -        do i look like a queen Sheeba prediction
of copper skinned waiting for vitamin D
like i might wait for a suntan?!
yeah, i probably do...
but can you grow mushrooms on the tip of everest
from a horse's ****, giving there's so little atmosphere?
can fungi grow in zero oxygen environments?
  next, i'll say: i feel like growing one on my toe...
and be called an athlete...
     hail Olympus! ooh... hail 'eno... z...
    harp and snore... the anti clues given to both
orchestras...
apparently life was so very different back then,
thankfully my nostalgia only goes as far back
as the 1990s (nineteen nine tee offs)...
  before zeitgeist piracy and when your bought music.
i just find it funny how people get offended
by someone's spelling accuracy,
it's like people want people to become dyslexic...
no one seems offended when a triangle isn't
drawn...  ******! draw a triangle!
  a bit like: write something that doesn't require
spell-check!
              i always believed in people and literacy,
evidently people these days don't believe in either...
and yes, the Japanese really did write better cartoons
than the Mc Disney brigade...
they acutally invoked *** in their cartoons...
you know, once you learn english
you learn alice, the "wonderland" and the inherent
joke that the english language can't rub off,
namely paedohpilia...
           *** aware once able to take ***-invoking selfies
and posting them online?
  huh?
          you've been giving the status of a global
sprechen, and it's the internet, so apparently it's not real,
apparently the matrix metaphor can last for
30 more years...
of course the internet isn't real,
what with internet banking, hacking, politics,
the death of 20th century concept of window shopping...
the internet isn't real... what with
online dating... brothel services...
   THE INTERNET IS IN ITS INFANCY,
DO YOU EXPECT PEOPLE TO TELL YOU
ANYTHING APART FROM TRYING TO CALM YOU?!
   i too wished i wasn't the lab rat... evidently
the lab came before i realised i was a rat in it...
          they tell you it isn't real,
they tell you all that *******...
and sure, i buy it...
       it's just one thing,
they tell you the internet isn't real
when they accepted that the phonebook was real...
and yet they do their banking, on, the internet...
  what is and what isn't real... kinda happened...
and is already pointless to talk about.

Texts and Posts and Blogs galore
I must read, reply, comment, or ignore

Symbols, Emoticons, Internet Slang, l33t
What I read and write I can't even speak

What Hero, What Color, What God, What Sign
Profiles, Quizzes, Lists, Fan of and Pages are how I'm defined.

500 friends, 100 requests, an invite and dozens of tweets
Day in and day out come and go on my phone and PC

Yet at the end of the day when the screens go dim
I sleep alone never having acutally touched or spoken to any of them.

i found it
buried in the couch
stuck between two cuushions
next to an old cheeto

come home
be with me

i let you throw
your shorn leg
along side me
requested acutally
but before

"come here
be with me"

i leaked
me

i got a minor in dogs
who knows what i was talking about
you walked in and shook me to my core
no not apple
what was i saying

so many tasks to fulfill
things i enjoy
some are required

but acutally i just want to write
till i find my soul in the words
and my life in the stories
so that i understand
and there is something
that remains

We were in the woods
Even before the sunrise
I remember repeatedly
Trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes

It was my first hunt
Along with my Dad
And I knew in my heart
It would be the best day I ever had

I must admit
Not much sleep was had
As I layed in bed looking forward
To this morning and hunting with Dad

For months on end
Dad had tried me to prepare
And now it was hard to believe
I was acutally with him out there

Dad heard the movement first
And I followed his gaze
As the shape of the Buck
Appeared out of that morning's haze

He had warned me of buck fever
And I felt it for sure
Trembling from head to toe
As if I had a disease with no cure

But slowly and gently my Dad
On my shoulder put his hand
I will never forget that morning
Up in that tree stand

That calmed me enough
And I lined up for the shot
Doubts running through my mind
Could I do it or not?

As I pulled the trigger
I could swear it was two shots that I heard
And looking at Dad he just smiled
And for a moment didn't say a word

Then finally he said
"You got him son!"
And the adrenaline in me doubled
When I saw what I thought I had done.

Looking back I now know
It was Dad that hit that deer
Though he never admitted it
Even after many a year

I'll always remember it
Though Dad now is gone
That very first hunt
That he took me on.

Sober living accused of drinking
No longer the decoy or one to blame
Was always loyal and true getting hate
While you lie and cheat, sneaking around finally got caught up
Talking bold while intoxicated now that you sobered up not saying much or anything
Always the scapegoat for those in the wrong
Got use to being alone made it easier to grow
Don't blame others for your mistakes it's your life so own up
Use admire your way of life turns out you are worse off
Knocked me, told me to be someone, I was not and did not agree with
You cheat and play victim once they leave you and move on
Learned from your ways told myself be better
Why are you two faced; one fake to those who care about you acutally looking out
The other bad mouthing to those who don't care about your safety or well being.
Once I walked away you are no longer my problem and no longer my concern
Use to worry but you like to slaunder my name