A duo as diverse as can be found anywhere
but, once we were together, full of stories to share
Laughter and hardship made us both who we are
And now, to find those two people, is like roping a star

Baseball and cub scouts, standing in as your dad
These were some of the best times that I ever had
I wait for the doorbell, hoping that's where you'll stand
And that the burdens developed are gone with your hand

Two hard headed old mules,
As stubborn as the other
We've lost years of our past
And missed times as a brother
Two hard headed old mules
Growing old with regret
Both resistant to change
And ..what we'll never get

We'd stand with each other in times all gone by
We don't know how to fix this, but, someone should try
We're both so much older and wiser by now
This needs to be fixed up, but neither knows how

Years of missed laughter and growing as friends
Is extended each day, and we should make ammends
Our lives are much different, that much we know
But, we still sons and both brothers, with time left to go

Two hard headed old mules,
As stubborn as the other
We've lost years of our past
And missed times as a brother
Two hard headed old mules
Growing old with regret
Both resistant to change
And...what we'll never get

I wait for the doorbell, and know it's not you
I'm not sure if I found you, just what I would do
The sins of the father, should be put to rest
For our years full of laughter were some of the best

Fishing, and talking, sharing each others dreams
Have been wiped from our minds, at least that's how it seems
We'll always be brothers, right now just in name
We're just stubborn old mules, still playing the game

Two hard headed old mules,
As stubborn as the other
We've lost years of our past
And missed times as a brother
Two hard headed old mules
Growing old with regret
Both resistant to change
And... we're not done yet!!

Old Elm that murmured in our chimney top
The sweetest anthem autumn ever made
And into mellow whispering calms would drop
When showers fell on thy many coloured shade
And when dark tempests mimic thunder made
While darkness came as it would strangle light
With the black tempest of a winter night
That rocked thee like a cradle to thy root
How did I love to hear the winds upbraid
Thy strength without while all within was mute
It seasoned comfort to our hearts desire
We felt thy kind protection like a friend
And pitched our chairs up closer to the fire
Enjoying comforts that was was never penned

Old favourite tree thoust seen times changes lower
But change till now did never come to thee
For time beheld thee as his sacred dower
And nature claimed thee her domestic tree
Storms came and shook thee with aliving power
Yet stedfast to thy home thy roots hath been
Summers of thirst parched round thy homely bower
Till earth grew iron—still thy leaves was green
The children sought thee in thy summer shade
And made their play house rings of sticks and stone
The mavis sang and felt himself alone
While in they leaves his early nest was made
And I did feel his happiness mine own
Nought heeding that our friendship was betrayed

Friend not inanimate—tho stocks and stones
There are and many cloathed in flesh and bones
Thou ownd a lnaguage by which hearts are stirred
Deeper than by the attribute of words
Thine spoke a feeling known in every tongue
Language of pity and the force of wrong
What cant assumes what hypocrites may dare
Speaks home to truth and shows it what they are

I see a picture that thy fate displays
And learn a lesson from thy destiny
Self interest saw thee stand in freedoms ways
So thy old shadow must a tyrant be
Thoust heard the knave abusing those in power
Bawl freedom loud and then oppress the free
Thoust sheltered hypocrites in many an hour
That when in power would never shelter thee
Thoust heard the knave supply his canting powers
With wrongs illusions when he wanted friends
That bawled for shelter when he lived in showers
And when clouds vanished made thy shade ammends
With axe at root he felled thee to the ground
And barked of freedom—O I hate that sound

It grows the cant terms of enslaving tools
To wrong another by the name of right
It grows a liscence with oer bearing fools
To cheat plain honesty by force of might
Thus came enclosure—ruin was her guide
But freedoms clapping hands enjoyed the sight
Tho comforts cottage soon was ****** aside
And workhouse prisons raised upon the scite
Een natures dwelling far away from men
The common heath became the spoilers prey
The rabbit had not where to make his den
And labours only cow was drove away
No matter—wrong was right and right was wrong
And freedoms brawl was sanction to the song

Such was thy ruin music making Elm
The rights of freedom was to injure thine
As thou wert served so would they overwhelm
In freedoms name the little so would they over whelm
And these are knaves that brawl for better laws
And cant of tyranny in stronger powers
Who glut their vile unsatiated maws
And freedoms birthright from the weak devours

My thoughts lay 'neath the moonlight shine,
Yet the abyss still dark and silent,
The stars hung within the nightly heavens,
Whisper "Shall thou make ammends?"

I sang a song,
She danced upon it,
I did her wrong,
Her graces forgave it,
but she can't forget,
so she went on her way,
oh how much I regret,
now I'm left here in despair.

This is how I feel,
all that I've shared,
thoughts dark enough to ****,
written and told so I would be spared.

I'm not heartless or jaded or broken
Though I have been rejected a few times before
I'm still complex but I'm working on it
And all that matters is not what I've done, but what I'm doing to be better than yesterday
I'm not exactly where I wish to be just yet
I am still sensitive and protective and I admit I have doubts
I don't say sorry as much as I should, but I have my way of making ammends
I'm not lost or searching or impulsive and weak
I'm curious and interested in expanding my horizons
My imagination takes me everywhere and sometime I don't want to come back
But I still try my best to improve what I do have
I do what I can and when I fail it's a lesson
If I didn't do my best, I'll take a look at what went wrong
I'm a hopeless romantic and a dreamer in the process of making use of my life and all my potential
I can be funny, sarcastic and niave all at once
But there are times when I'm serious and all I want is respect
I earned what I have and threw away many oppurtunities
But thats the beauty of life whether I like it or not
I forgive easily and remember most things
Especially what it feels like to be hurt and left alone
I enjoy what life brings me and I've learned that I'm capable
I've found my voice and I'm not afraid to be singled out
My head holds a crown that might be too heavy
But all my burdens are mistakes that paved a path towards my successes
I was a girl but now I am a woman
And to be honest, I love who I've become
Some people like me, some may be critical
But the only opinion that matters, is the one in the mirror
I like to laugh, I like to share, I like to listen to my friends
But most importantly I love to smile, even when it's difficult and everything is falling apart
Because in the midst of rainstorm always comes a rainbow
Soon after any day now, the sun will shine on my destiny
And the puzzle of life will still make no sense at all

when the time comes, a drunk will speak
more sanity than a sane person is
capable of, then we'll be ripe to talk about insanity,
and incapable of "treating" it.

it's not really about the beard,
well, it sorta is...
i grew mine so i could fiddle with it...
which puts me in a position
where i say: violinist, in the classic fm
philharmonic!
i'm thankful that i was able to grow a beard,
no, not to look "trendy",
****! i was about to ditto in the word cool...
you never realise how much vogue
and indeed: fashion, gets invested in
when we're not talking about clothes
but about a person's vocabulary...
yep, so i'm 30 and have a beard:
or let's just say, ****** hair had the same texture
as ***** hair...
the gods are laughing,
how to discover exist, become so self-conscious
that you're able to tell a joke,
and then laugh back...
       that's why philosopher have beard,
you can just see it in them,
wait a minute: **** consistancy hairs
are growing on my chin!
  mortal have that poker hand ready
and waiting for the existence of gods,
   a Frankenstein momentum...
it's funny... so we just keep on enjoying ***...
   and the reason why i wasn't distraught
about the Fritzel case? i read
marquis de sade's ******* novella...
that doesn't mean i don't think about
       being a spec, a second in Hades' lava lamp
reincarnation flow... like we, really are:
recycled goods...
          laughing about it gives us armour...
reincarnation is so Hindi, i'm
about sport a bindi (that red dot on the forehead,
that macedonian wish we were **** with an
empire, shindig setting sun)...
you're the one talking to me in braille...
i'm  a half-wit trying to compensate the conversation
with an observation:
modern life looks like a revival, or an attempted
revival of the art of dialectics...
humanity is really trying to revive dialectics,
or as the platonic dialogues seem to suggest:
find the right enough of people...
find enough people to agree with you,
there's absolutely no mention of disagreement
in the platonic dialgues...
well... they're really monologues...
back to square 1...
                      it's hard to envision a dialogue
between people, it's even harder to stage
a dialogue, given that we'd have to
take to the art, or quasi-geometry...
and have to constatly fake it happening,
by faking it i mean acting as we really
cannot disregard our apathetic communion
toward the mere act of talking...
    dialectics is an art form... and it's begging to be
revived... but it seems to be failing in
an attempt to revive it...
                        everyone is just shouting
over each other, exchanging insults...
  joking... apparently comedy is trying to slow
things down, comedy is a pseudo-art-form
that's more arty than art itself, it's fartsy...
   who could have thought a **** (**** in polish means
luck) would ever make people laugh...
  we're all in the slaughterhouse askin idol guillotine
to: lay to rest, make ammends,
                say something, something profound,
if not prophetic.
              i just see a chat show host grappling
with an interviewee about how to engasge with
a dialectical art,
   we do live in very artistic times,
people call it minimalism,
they draw a square and you're expected to say
it's profound... because the art of dialectics
doesn't exactly agree to taking offence...
   it means retracting from the fictive monologue
of writing books...
it's a biblophobe movement...
        we're talking retraction,
we are saying: marriage doesn't do it for us anymore...
i'm trapped, in this world, and i have a stash
of 2000+ years of memory that i'm asked to
revise / improve on...
     you expect any different, from what i'm doing now?
people are in want of dialectics,
  they are bored of group therapy yoga....
and they're tired of being treated like
canned laughter... or an audience
with prompt cards they later don at political
rallies...
  like: when to laugh, followed by a t.v. editor
telling some minion: prompt the verb laugh
at an audience at a big brother show...
   i'm drunk, but i'm not stupid,
actually, being drunk and writing this makes
me ulta-conscious... i wouldn't say
intelligent... i think of myself as a sieve
most of the time... but you know, life, life gets
in the way and you sometimes a few
stupid mistakes, that you are thankful for.
i can't remember the last time i used
a dictionary... or a thesaurus...
       and i opened the fridge door about 100
times before i opened the front door...
and walked to the shop
where the cashier knows my name...
i'm like Bilbo Baggins who decided to stay
at home and said: ******* adventure!
i'm staying home and reading J. Joyce.
   we can't find dialectics, no more than we
can ask for a socrates real, by reading plato.
but it's nice that plato suggested that
philosophy could be theatre, i.e. staged,
made into a dialogue...
     just when we were bound and keen to
our sophistry, to our rhetoric,
and felt no emotional content could be bound
by mere talking...
     dialectics is a shade hanging over modernity,
i can't read a sun-dial with it hanging
over us... why art is so ritually minimalistic,
because this one art-form is missing...
no one is going to approach dialectics
is there isn't a real case for expressing empathy
and merely rooting it in: a need for comedy.
that halo-of-an-oasis is going to dry up...
(yes, written while under the medical care
of a headache... that **** is just lodged in my ****
and is teasing me... come out you little
cupcake, i'll flush you down the toilet, pronto!
or as the poles say it properly:
gówno przez ciebie gada / ****'s talking
through you... oh gladness, the oven bound parasite
booked for 37 degrees of the body's high-end
of temp.) -
but it's being staged as we speak,
   an art form, deviating from up-start and on the ready, go!
art of rhetoric...
               modernity is equipped with competent
talkers... persuasive and gnat-like annoying
with their provocations...
  what's missing is dialectics...
  how one side can question and become almost
mermaid... dragging someone into nodding
if not clapping approval...
      we can all agree that some people do talk
with the art opf rhetoric being almost
self-taught... ******...
                     dialectics is so much stranger...
it's an art of speaking that has become
      like a dusty moth infested ******
of a 80 year old nun...
                     she bakes great cookies though,
let her off.
               it's not that we're even having
these discussions, we're slobbering a chance of having
one with lies, shouting and "in your face"
dynamics... it's not even that we can
imitate plato enthralled by socrates, constantly
agreeing, going: aha, yup (nod nod nod,
******* pigeons)...
                    we positioned ourselves for the basis
of having to express hostility...
       because to have reached such a freedom
as we have, that we dare to call it: esteemed,
or highly regarded as in need of improvement,
or redefining.
  we seem to be unable to say why we
can't resurrect dialectics...
           all the talk-shows on a late friday night
will not answer that question...
     i'll spot the Halley's moment though...
a comet known as Hailey (hey! bruce lee)...
        when artists return to less abstract concerns,
we have all the science we'd need...
   can the arts stop contemplating new york
traffic grids, and ******* stops
and we return to celebrating the human form?
   it will really be something to see
dialectics... i.e. with one person so persuasive
that the other person doesn't argue...
    and i mean that as a concept anti despotism
without a massive throng of people doing
a political mantra chant of sheep, herd, approval.
it's like that question about consenting to ***,
that part of you that says: can i actually
think this?

If love is what you're looking for,
   I've got the magic potion;
It starts with trust and discipline,
   then ends with full devotion!

It comes with lending all your time,
    just giving up yourself;
To show the one who means the most,
   their love means more than wealth!

You must forgive each other's wrongs,
   don't live in times gone past;
You've got to focus on today,
   for ANY love to last!

Now show her that a passion burns,
   for her inside your heart;
Romance her with your love each day,
   a love to never part!

Don't ever leave her when you're mad,
   not one foot out that door;
Until you've made ammends with her,
   don't ever leave her sore!

Now spend some time in prayer each day,
   get on your knees with God;
Then hand in hand together walk,
   the road not often trod!

You take to heart these words I say,
   to make a simple plan,
In love you'll be a Hercules-
   to her, a Superman!!

Let the wind blow of life
branches dancing with the breeze
The sun shining rays of light
truth of this moment is here
Flowing through me and out of me
there is nowhere to hide
My eyes wide open present to and witness of the miracle of now
The gift of life to wake and see beauty
not darkness of conditioning
To heal the inner demons with conscious awareness and acceptance
Humbly face the truth and make ammends let go and forgive myself and others
I see now not what I use to see what the inner demons see; filter of the past and pain
But light in every situation
teacher in all people reflection of myself in relationship
Love in every moment
It's not all dancing clouds and fairy tales, it takes hard work and dedication
To see the truth of what I am is tough at times but worth it
As I am freer now than ever before, a life of gratitude and acceptance
The mind takes over at times, yes, sometimes an hour a week a month
But eventually I let go because I know to let go is to love
❤️

Sorry but I don't need you here
I want to be alone
All I need is my Mollie dog
laying by my side
Its not my intention being rude
nor ever to offend
Its just that on the mountain side
I can make my ammends
You see its here that I can sit and think
here that I can write
Sorry its not my intention
to push you out of sight
Dear friends I find I need to be
on a cliff above the raging sea
I find no inspiration in your mindless words
I can only write of what nature inspires

Sometimes I like to go to sleep
and in my garden private reap
incorporeal and silent friends
no need for hurts or make-ammends

When waking into nightmares cold
could I be forward or so bold
to stay right here a moment more
this peaceful place my mind explore

I am not missed my friends aren't real
my pain and sorrow they won't feel
they tell me how so much they care
with hollow vacant bitter air

When nothing in my mind is real
what can hurt me,  what can I feel
we medicate to numb our pain
Why then are my holistics vain

Sometimes I like to go to sleep
as haunting thoughts upon me creep
their icy fingers slip away
left behind in yesterday

Lift the
Weight off your shoulders
Make ammends
With your mistakes

Today is the start
Of a brand new day
And I plan on taking
Your breath away

Live life
To its' fullest
Don't surrender
To your fear

Because fear is
The devil in disguise
All he wants
Is to make you cry

Let God
Open the gates of your heart
Because this
Is a brand new start

If love is what you're looking for,
I've got the magic potion,
It starts with trust and discipline
And ends with full devotion!
It comes with lending of your time
And giving up yourself
To show the one who means the most
Their love means more than wealth!
You must forgive each other's wrongs
Don't live in times gone past
You've got to focus on today
For ANY love to last!
Now show her that a passion burns
For her inside your heart
Romance her with your love each day,
A love to never part!
Don't ever leave her when you're mad
Not one foot out that door
Until you've made ammends with her
Don't ever leave her sore!
Now spend some time in prayer each day
Get on your knees with God
Then hand in hand together walk
The road not often trod!
You take to heart these words I say,
And make a simple plan,
In love you'll be a Hercules-
To her, a Superman!!

I want to be lost, waste the day laughing
I want to run into the silky river
Clothes ashore and bodies splashing
Crashing into a body of quicksilver
In as much as an hour or a lifetime
Trek across the map with friends
In a place or time, in a realm or rhyme
Allowing our souls to make ammends

©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis

For today I shall pretend,
No matter what the truth ammends.
Today I will go climbing towers,
Spending all my loving hours.

I care not why he came,
He was there just the same.
I had him there, by my side,
And oh! Our forces did collide

Shifting did they mingle-mix,
Laughing hearty, turning tricks.
And looking on me his eyes did smile,
Even for a little while.

I smiled too, returned his gaze
Pondering his every phrase.
He was brilliant, his music bright,
It shone in me a consuming light.

I live on in his embrace,
Remembering his loving face,
The way held out his arms for me,
They way that anchor set me free.

It is true, that his return
May not have been the result of burn,
But for today, I shall think it so
Postpone the reality I hate to know.

It's funny how something so simple like a high school  heartbreak can hold such a dark grudge on your heart. All these poems and all my cries. My venting and worrying all gone. My life feels so much lighter. Happier. You dont notice that your being held back until your finally released. One message. One message, changed this all. I put my ego to the side and talked to you first. After months of unanswered calls. We made ammends. I can breath without worrying what I intake. You don't realize you need peace until it reaches you outside of your nightmares. Peace, it's the only thing holding you back from reaching beyond your state of mind.

Blackened heart that longed too long
charred to coal in smoking flesh
make ammends within this song
and cease the mind of this unrest.

To these weights do not cling more
the rusting chains that held you back
the sinking bonds beneath your pores
that made your feeling sadly lack.

How potent the poison is passion
A War in good fashion
The fog in the fields crash like waves that are massive
A passive polite the old man with the pipe but stills draws out his knife in the evening gun fight then explodes into flowers and casket
The light is too bright just to bask in
And tonight may be right for the captain
But i my dear friends are not fit for ammends i am neither the start or the finish
All must once end  like the rope and the pen and the pipe i just finished beginning

(Nerve meds setting in/what? We need to relax!!!) By me...nerve medication diary! Tounges dry, body is slowing to its course!!!! No remorse....the main ***** your brain is ticking down backwards! An easing of the day!!!woops there's a display! Breathing slowing, panic unloading out all into your tapestry we call sheets!!!nothing bleak! I can repair by reflection!! Write poetry by invention
PS: how god intended of course!!!!!
Tomorrow will bring another manic with that comes more panic and more uneasing mends!modest ammends!!!
Sleep will be white and bright with slumbering fairy like ladies to show me the next days run!!!a show! How fun...///
Peripheral vision of me in 3d as in leaving this own holdened carcass! Mortuary places cannot hold this body down!!!!!

My childhood idols have all come and gone
But you I remember like you were a song
No matter how very hard I try
I can't comprehend why you didn't say 'goodbye '
How hard could it have been
To just make ammends
But then you wanted to just be facebook friends                                        
A few hours away yet ten years apart
How could that not hurt your heart?
It damaged mine, as you can see
Don't you ever, EVER almost miss me?
As much as I miss you I just can not say
I love you like I did, back in the day

There's something so very liberating and soul-satisfying about redemption
A chance to make ammends
A chance to eliminate the ghosts of the past
Life doesn't give you a lot of those
So whenever you get one
Make full use of it

A heart and mind, so numb and frigid,

A love of darkness and desolation so rigid.

A past torn and disrupted,

A future ravaged and corrupted.

All that remains is a shadow...



No family, no friends,

Nor a chance to make ammends.

Every breath, an icy breeze,

Every word, unheard pleas.

All that remains is a shadow...



The world, an empty shell,

A silent curse, a lonely hell,

With vacant eyes, so crude, so vile,

And hatred that grows in the evil exile.

All that remains is a shadow...

You draw conclusions on your own time
I'm fit for the shoes I wear at night
and when you see me in your own  mind
You know what I said must have been right.


I have petted to many friends into corners
To many breaks to make ammends
Sell me my own ideas for quarters.
And why would I eat It all up.

They done it once again and again and again.

Service never was required
by those who said they want me hired.
They all know Im really to tired
SO get off of my back.


Why have we given in to this completely embarrasing
totally outdated way of living,  I dont know, I will never know.

when the autumn ends

will be we passed ammends?

doge the

                     pain.....

to get
           hit from another direction

i'll just fall.....

and get up again

don't you worry






           about David

Burn the canvas and lose the attire
Just learn from this don’t choose the squire
I’ve lived rich and I’ve lived poor
Laid in a ditch and saw the end so near
Thrown out and cast away
Starving yet drunk lead astray
Good “friends” and good places
Make ammends and fake chases
Looking for redemption or a spot of glory
Searching for salvation in a place not holy
A voice burnt like the scars of time
A choice you learned yet far behind
Apologize and sleep it off
Wake up to realize you’re alone and scoffed
3 years and yet still alone
No more tears you’ve done all you’ve shown
Can’t take back the things that happened
Can’t fix the the rings that cracked and
Still here you are  
Awake 3 am writing in the car
Missing them and knowing they are gone
Wishing them the best knowing you might not see dawn
But none the less you go on
Rambling and talking
Just wishing the life wasn’t the picture you’ve drawn

I carry with me
a light of hope
for a better tomorrow
but that tomorrow never comes

I cannot stand
lying to myself
Yet I cannot watch
myself become this weak

There arises a war
within oneself;
At one moment
a wish for something otherworldly
and another
the indifference

Put to a halt whatever
it is that you think you can do;
make ammends
and become at peace
with your inability to feel whole

There is a hole
an insatiable void
inside your mortal body
Minutes ticking by
you no longer are young and filled with hope

i was working in greenwich once, never mind what
i was doing: the view was great -
the bursts of air and i had myself imagining being
strapped to a longboat all the way to harvest
knowledge of iceland and greenland...
and bring back a vision of a snowman...
   but at the greenwich waterstones i came across
a rare find...
i still don't know why i didn't buy the whole
trilogy... it was there for the taking...
why i didn't buy the whole lot i will never know...
unless there's some alternative universe for me
to visit after i tot this one...
j.-k. huysmans' Durtal trilogy...
then again... perhaps là-bas is not the en route,
the cathedral, the oblate...
what did i pick up?
something better than a hardback edition...
an aubrey beardsley's 'of neophyte and how
the black Black Art was revealed to him by the fiend
Asomuel' (from the Pall Mall magazine...
june 1893) - so much for... Urotsukidōji:
legend of the overfiend...
that... castrating ***** anime from
the depths of the bedroom tax from
                   soy-sauce-tokyo...
but a Durtal will never become a Julien Sorel...
the first love, that of Stendhal's the scarlet & the black
when it was only a movie...
with rachel weisz and ewan mcgreggor...
no... Durtal would never become a Sorel...
but i had the entire trilogy in my hands...
whether là-bas is called en route...
it's a dream... come to think of it... there's a...
thinning of a 10 year gap...
the day when memories start behaving like
dreams: on the current day...
so i didn't have the trilogy in my hands...
i can remember the covers just as well:
                               la cathédrale and l'oblat;
perhaps en route wasn't included...
on the shelf... i wouldn't dare mingle
jean des esseintes from À rebours into...
salt mine comparison of... what Durtal...
                      what Julien Sorel would never...
this quest for the hafiz...
perhaps i did see four books next to each
other... in the greenwich waterstones...
no... come to think of it...
there's no need to it as such...
whether there were four books or three...
À rebours wasn't on the list...
i've heard of comradery in the world war one
trenches near Ypres...
i hardly need to hear of it in a marriage...
****-wit hard-on of a would be "dictator":
just like me... with a personal library...
and some music stashed in 80s quicksilver
discoball disks...
and some liquorice vinyl: mostly jazz...
for the love of books:
roman polanski's: the ninth gate...
it's a book it's not a mirror: nor is it a puddle
or a lake... but most importantly...
it is the ever present cat...
how will i ever sleep in a bed...
that isn't... that isn't prior to me sleeping in it:
warmed by a *****?
oh that's bad... as i was in love was:
which was oh so terrible as...
god... to have to fall asleep on my worst side
of the body... till it was numb...
how it was necessary to siamese ourselves
to sleep... the slit neck and the breaking
of the cucifix under a... heavier burden
than after the passing... it started to rain...
that apparent: no **** sherlock moment...
of glass eating mirror... how...
but narcissus only saw a ghost being reflected
in the primitive mirror -
he would have to wait until night to see
a reflection in glass... or at least banish his shadow
from the confines of noon to peer at his face
within the ripe hours of his testament...
prior to the mirror prior to the mirror...
there was only the ***** and:
let's pretend i look my best...
just pretend... there was no "divination"
of the visage... i sometimes forget that i can look
at myself, in these vampiric insults of a reflection...
what i crave is for someone to objectify me...
will a cat ever caste an "evil eye" into your scrutiny...
extend the hand... show the cat all your fingers...
to express the bounty, the gift,
the emptiness in the chore of the mandible thumb...
and will it not look elsewhere?
darting squint to and fro...
as much as i could love women...
there was only one...  ms. amber that kept me...
toe-tied but at the same time dancing
to an exhausting effort to... clinging to:
the death shall resound with praise...
and this body of mine...
should my shadow accept it...
stand in the orchestrated hall of a kitchen...
candle-lit whereby a rose will tun from
red to purple when enough candle flame
is looted for the purpose...
as all... not all: but me... grit their teeth...
grit their teeth until a shrapnel bite is gritted of
with a sublime fashion to conclude
a wake...
*****: that pensive spirit added to
a lemonade... which is such a burden that...
i almost wish to have written a chapter of
a scandinavian harlequins novel...
what good is a mirror...
when the only good ever came from how
others perceived me...
this... acrid slab of bone and flesh...
this blood this flush of quasi-flesh and blood
in the confines of marrow...
to borrow but also to break
the rims and the canvas skeleton...
to lord over mr. sponge-brains...
and all these, other... details...
piquant palettes of taste...
a cat doesn't know that:
one doesn't eat where one take a ****?
perhaps from the same gob...
one doesn't ****... but sure as *****...
one eats with...
peculiar wormholes into what's best
advanced as: well a cat is not equivalent
to keeping a turnip lucky...
as a cat is not a dog...
i always welcome forgetting the leash...
and if it was an alsatian... i keep forgetting
the muzzle...
cats... solipsistic bonsai tigers...
no: but every other mercury rising...
it's hard to come across an immediate affection...
notably among animals...
once i tried it with a herd of horses...
pretending to be holding a sugar cube
in my hand... i was almost hoofed in the head
dead... the moon was singing...
while the horse retorted:
there's no sugar cube, or apple in your hand...
i'm merely nibbling on your fingertips!
hoof! just missed my 'ed...
perhaps i was lying...
but what isn't a lie when walking through
a forest at night?
the moon has to be a lie...
your shadow has to be a lie...
i might have dared to take a mirror with
me on my nocturnal promenades into the forest...
but then again...
that would be akin to...
taking a candle-lit into a market square come
noon... when no shadow is ever made
available...
for the love of books...
it's hard to want animals to like you...
let alone love you so that they are necessarily
inclined to sleep in the bed you're about
to sleep in, interrupt you while you're typing for
some tickles and giggles...
cat's life...

as i was most "pressured" to peer at...
taking a shower while pouring water on the back
of my cranium for a simulated
******... at the moment / point where
the neck ends and the skull begins...
the crux of the occipital bone: less protruding -
or so i'm told...
i tend to forget the genitals or *******
at this point of extracting pleasure...

who is to be loved,
who is unloved, who is better loved...
who's just a ******* fern, with a bias,
to begin with? isn't that the usual poetic
rat-fest of this and every other current
output / outpouring?
who's love is the madman's love?

i write: and then i recoil...
i wish that i might always recoil
into braille: ⠞⠕
                                          ⠎⠑⠑

oh but i am bothersome... if china explored...
every other one child state policy...
i would always be at odds
come the measured sentiments...
otherwise the cats...
without the leash or the muzzle...
left to their own device...
sleeping in the bed i will
sleep in twists and turns
of... snow white and the sulking dwarfs...
of which there was a count to mind:
notably a 7 fold...

when drinking is a "problem"
while you're too preoccupied with writing...
then there's no point
of making a Friday night an adventure
with a limping boast for:
how much anyone might,
at any time... ever... drink...

i call it a sharpened syringe intake
of both violins and harps...
when the time comes:
there's that... breaking of glass
crescendo... the shock & awe
biltzkrieg "innuendo"...
there's that high pitch...
hanging knot of the noose vowel
"sigh"... elongating itself into
a measure of: the length of a serpent...
  
i fall asleep listening to horror movie soundtracks...
that cats are exposed to seeing ghost
from behind, having to peer at walls...
perhaps cats do not see shadows:
they only see ghosts...
bonsai tigers and demigod sphinxes...
blind-dating Artemis with
the bunnyman...

               a lazy hook: no advice...
refining the "concept" or a rock...
even if equipped with a chisel...
come, frankly, a rock is still not a mountain...

"one" calls it an escape from both darwinism
and feminism...
in the same one defines a piano:
it's not a pineapple...
it's not an apple... it's not a pear
or an afghani altar of the dowry...
some feudal **** load and *******...
it's not quite a lobotomy...
it's a safe haven of tax + a niqab...
because riddled brian is the half-cheese
chess piece soup steward and...
the bus links need to be left open...

a potato ≠ a bottle of *****...
oh but it does... it does it does...
i forget the moment i drink...
when i start to drink...
solo does the soul best...
      so little or so much of the unnecessary "talk"
surrounding alcoholics anonymous...
i will grieve the bibliophile woo woo
clan...
they take a photograph...
but then they might just stand
before your body beside
a coffin...
and... "eureka"!...
                   john wayne wins an oscar
for: true grit...
he finally made it!
- way say loan'g gone Sally! way why with
tht spaghetti drool of y'ers!

i dare you: to daft punk me...
i watch a cloud with as many
instructions as must be assembled
for.... the cloud will **** rain...
and i... shaman primo...
will juggle knee-caps
and rubber-***** and... the better fold
of an elbow waiting for a riddle...
otherwise:
it's called a sour-cherry tree /
seasonal dieting... honey bear
poo'k ch'oop... luvvie bit by two bears
honey dew... ms. housewife 1950s...
selling compliments
as household burdens...

of which none are to be "had"...
the love of books...
otherwise known as the chopin nocturnes...
the better "half" of islam
was written by... khadijah **** khuwaylid...
first wife surahs...
the rest is... camle jockeys rummaging
in the hill-top confines of spain...
bruising french cargo ego...

i love cats, i love books...
god please me to endear a love for dogs
when not having to use both
leash and muzzle... to pet a dobberman...
is enough: most enough...
i will love a book more than a woman...
beside some "added on"...
some romanian folklore...
a mongol invasion will set you back
200 years...
who were the mamluks...
who were the janissaries...
the brain-washed few...
what's best: is what has to be borrowed...
enslaved...
otherwise i call "her": timid Timothy...

the best of my life is a tomb...
the books and the stale air of flicking through pages...
the interludes of a harpsichord...
being played... becauae i know the difference...
if it is a piano... but it isn't...
there's a demand for citing Venice...
and the manufacture of glass...
and...
            
a bottle of ***** is an unbaked potatoe...
while ms. amber is a squared mile of
timid autumnal green... in that it's something
extracted from concentrated wheat...
and barley and rye...
and... this... figment of my imagination...
the hungarian tokaj -
i could almost, most assured... cry...
after each and every other single word
i write...

the violin shrill coupled with the escaping
vocals beside having to stratum guise themselves
into an opera: opera least welcome!
let us entertain the circus primo!

for the love of books...
the lesser case scenario of:
what does it take to barrage oneself
with a to mistake a cushion for a goose...
most certainly not the post-mortem
of the 72 virgins as promised...

why wouldn't i call
muhammad the little solomon?
i'll reiterate...
muhammad is the quasi
small ibn solomon...

queasy: first comes first...
muhammad whittle solomon....
not so great...
not akin loitering... surrounding
average shlomo greeting his dues...
his davish'am... psalms are not
to be questioned by sonnets
or jazz improv.
            
                    the gargoyles: novem portis...
dead-blank stares of
stone on wilting welcome, via hubris...
borrowed from the confines
of swedish cinema...

begotten by berries...
the Bergman in all of us...
it's time to make ammends...
bid the readers goodnight..
than the all-encompassing compact...
a mother due,
a grandmother due...
and say...
i arrived... but i am most certain:
to leave without any darwinistic burdens...
because: as much as i loved women
as ******...
women would never adorn the stale
perfumery...
that's better "lisped" by,
by books;
a clarinet of suspense is...
always the bounty of an escaped presence
to mind.
in the old narrative:
to love a ***** is to able to love all
women...
look toward a book... toward a piano!
better you sift through dust
and shadows! lick a gravestone:
if you're lucky!

i don't admire the world anymore
i'd rather see no faces beyond closed doors

if everyone would sleep on a rope laced necklace i think i may be happy

i do not see friends in this glass marble upon which i live anymore
i do not seem many who care but rather just aquire and regress to their own cavern

so many heads turned
but not many ears who listened

people diagnosed with vague perceptions
but yet no one was there to percieve

HOW DARE
fiction off of folk lore

HOW DARE
it is arson to deprive someone from their well being
but it is irrefutably criminal to deprive someones time from their livleihood
time is not in your will

even the most beautiful of eyes may turn to distant shadows
forcefields unspoken when the serpents devour you on proximity

******* a joke

and if i made an error , possible,  i should make ammends for such
i will
the biggest error may be denial of your own error and shame on you
**** everyone

when respect is negligible i question how you will overcome anything in life
all you do is run..