I have missed me
I have missed us
Things have not been the same
Maybe someone else is using our name

Some days it feels like we are hands on a clock
just going through all the motions
Other days we are never seen at all
Maybe its just our memory that answers the call

So I miss me
I miss us
Could there be anymore space between us
We are not the same
Maybe someone else is using our name

Is there still love between us
Could things go back to what they were before
Don't we deserve love too
Or do we love ourselves more

Oh how I miss me
I miss us
When we are not the same
For so long now
Someone's been using our name

Not even sure if our hearts work anymore
or if those parts have already died
Do we take a chance on love gone lost
Or just give up throw in the towel and hide

I still do miss me
As I do us
Will we ever be the same
We are trapped inside
Screaming out our name

i have gone awol
absent without leave
- i have gone awol
a basket case thats me.

On the outside i am crying
On the inside i am dying.
- i have gone awol.
I am abset without leave.

Am i truly damaged goods
For popping pills
A constant addiction?
A violent ****.
And loss off self.

Its beena year why do i
Return to this hell.
I am awol.
Ive gone on french leave.

Absent without emotion
Yet im crying in the rain
God i know you love me.
my friends are worried too.

But i am on french leave.
Im so ****** up
You dont even have the slightest clue.

I am awol.
Absent without leave
Please dont ask me where ive gone.
If i want. I will find you.

In ’68 Hutch and me,
Sitting at the bar drinking
Our third cold beer.
In a semi Fern Bar
Laguna or Newport Beach
Which now, I’m not sure.
It was around nine or so,
A week day night,
The place more empty than not.

She came in alone, made
Entry like the dramatic host of
A TV show. As if she were the
Center piece on the nations
Thanksgiving Dinner Table.
Over dressed to the nines,
Lots of color, heavy make up
She didn’t really need.

Her perfume scent hovered
Around her like a cloud of insects  
On a hot summer night in a wet meadow.
Kind of made my eyes water up.

She perched daintily like a dancer,
Upon a bar stool,
Three empty stools down,
Nodded the bartender her regular order.
A martini, a double it was,
With but a dab of vermouth.
One green olive on a stick.
The glass was prechilled as if
It had been waiting only for her.
She pounded that first one down,
As if the stem wear was a shot glass.
Another full stem glass appeared,
That one also quickly consumed
Two bright red lipstick stains all that
Remained in or on the stemmed glass rim.

Her main task accomplished,
She audibly exhaled,
As if tired or relieved.
I couldn't tell which.
Turned around on her stool to face
Hutch sitting closest to her.
“You boys Marines.” She declared,
More than inquired.
The close chopped hair cuts
giving us away.

Hutch just nodded, he never did say much.
A ****** just back from The Nam,
A dark scary guy of few words.

She opened her fur trimmed cloth coat,
exposing two very nice stocking clad legs,
And just a quick flash of red underpants.
Rotating towards us so we got a better shot.

She announced her name,
like as if we should know it.
Our blank stares informed her we didn’t.
Her face was to me, somewhat familiar.  
From movies in the 40s or 50s.
We were early 20 guys, she much older,
Trying hard to look younger, not succeeding.

Soon she was sitting right next to Hutch,
Two more Martini stems had come and gone,
Her lipstick finger prints upon them.
And still Hutch had not spoken more than
Three or four words.

She bought us a pitcher of brew,
Hutch grunted a short bit of gratitude.
We didn't have to say much, she was in charge.
It was all about her, she rambled on and on
Speaking volumes saying not much at all.
Beating back her crushing obscurity,
With flowery reminiscence recall,
Of glory days, long gone away.
Important for the moment, if only to her.
It was all; “me and I, I did this, I was that,
I slept with him,
And him and him”.
How about so and so?  I asked,
“No Darling not him, he was gay!
Still is.”

It was not long and she was touching Hutch.
On the hand, the shoulder, she was working him
With languid hungry looks from her big baby blues,
And the message could not have been plainer,
Had she held up a large hand lettered sign.

I don’t believe she was a “Working Girl”,
Just someone very lonely seeking to find
Herself, and some company for the night,
All to prove that she was still alive.

Looking at her, I could only think,
How sad and pathetic she seemed,
How desperate her plight.
To humble herself so,
In that dingy bar, among strangers
She did not know, Acting yet, still
On the only stage she could find,
Staring in her own bad ‘B’ movie drama.
In that dingy smelly bar.

Hutch and her left after a hour or so,
He never told me much about it.
He was unofficially AWOL for three days.
I covered for him, kept his name off the
Missing Morning Formation Reports
and the Daily Duty Lists.
No one cared to check. Our unit made up
Of mostly guys back from the war,
A pretty loosey-goosey outfit.

Once in a while now I see an old movie,
most are Black and white, Film Noir stuff,
And there she is, a much younger her,
Looking pretty **** good,
Not real big roles they were,
Claimed she was in the chorus
Of "Singing In The Rain" in '52.
To this, I can not attest,
watched that film several times,
But I never saw her there.

Had parts Playing damsels in distress,
A mobster’s gun moll a time or two,
Or unhappy Play Girls on a bar stool.
I guess it was type casting that done her in.
Or maybe she got a little too long in the tooth..
A sad ending to a short B movie career.
Life ain’t easy, even for a so called “movie star”.
Fame is not all it’s cracked up to be.
A smattering of fame, apparently worth,
Nothing at all.

What happened is certainly enough to appall.
I'm in the Army and I was forced to go AWOL.
I am disgusted by what happened and it's hard to believe.
Even though my brother was dying, they wouldn't give me leave.
I wanted to see my brother one last time before he died.
I plead with my superiors to give me leave but I was denied.
When it came to my late brother, I thought the world of him.
I went AWOL to be by his side and to tell him that I love him.
Now I'm facing a Court Martial, I'm in trouble indeed.
They turned their backs on me in my hour of need.
Now they're treating me like I committed a horrible crime.
But at least I was able to tell my brother that I love him in time.
A Court Martial and time in prison are what I'll probably receive.
But my superiors were cruel and despicable for not giving me leave.

I watch him sprint as fast as he can
across the tar road
right after dropping his black pistol
that’s just released a bullet that’***** my stomach
The smell of death suffocates me,
it whispers all the things
I’ll be leaving behind on this earth

I look own at the newly created blood river
that my stomach has just released,
it tickles down my skin
As the warm liquid flows out
a tear escapes my eye
and runs down my cheek
like a raindrop on a window
I tell myself that this is the end
Thoughts race through my mind
about how I’ve lived
and whether I’m going to heaven or hell
or if I should start believing in reincarnation
before it’s too late
I’m going AWOL on everyone

The air is thickening and my chest is weakening
My knees tremble as my hands and feet get numb
My lips slowly turn purple desperately wanting to be violet
As my thoughts twist,
a psychedelic knife stabs
through my chest causing impact
My eyes shut in pain like the effect of a car accident;
quick and sudden yet unexpected
My mind and heart synchronise a stop
having it be the end of me
I lie there lifeless
I’m going AWOL on everyone

Joseph Childress

Absence makes the heart grow
Fonder for most
Somber for some
Odd of others

The presence of love
Is the foremost force
In the divorce
Of reason

Attachments
Magnets
Victims of attraction
Repel
Then make tractions
That keep the world
Moving

Rebels revel
In revolution
Worshipping
The great changing
Like crescent moons
Before the new

Each phase
Relays the latest trend
As love, hate and sin
Blends in a cocktail
Of delusion

Drunkards play martyr
In the extremist
Conditions
Relentless systems of belief
That leaves relief
For the reliving of death

The children witness it all
Imitating
And coming up shorter
Than expectations
With each generation
Alternating ideas
For alternatives
Altering native ways of thinking

Beings battle for correction
In facilities
As others rights
Squander
In the quelling of dissent
Fighting fear
Is dear
To the hearts of trendsetters
Setting the standard
For the new age
New way of thinking

Off to Walden’s Lake
For the Great Disappearance
Dissing appearance
For the sake of absence
As absentmindedness
Watches from afar
Don’t worry
I’ll return with enough
Civil disobedience
The laws will have to change
In our honor

"SOMETHING TO LOVE, OH, SOMETHING TO LOVE!"

Gravity had( oh hell )
gone AWOL!

Sky and earth
switched places

in an instant
his mind unable(oooOOOPS!)

to keep up with the changing
reality.

Everything had gone w h i t e
as if the world had been erased.

Then, a blackout:
as if one had one's own

private night.

He woke to find his arm
had escaped his body.

Bones( his own )
sticking out of his shirt

as if his skeleton had gone
on a day trip

to this the outside
world lord god almighty.

Then, a universe
of pain

but all he could manage
was: "Ow...that hurt!"

"Hi!" said the sky
back in its proper place.

Pain screamed
through him.

There appeared to be
an eternity of it.

"I'm off!"
he offered as a retort

slipping out the back door
of the world

leaving his body
to deal with the pain.

Adrift in a sea
of agony

he held on to
a line of poetry

"Something to love, oh, something to love!"

Why should I become a marine?

Inhalate everything within my path fulfilling a prophecy to be promised in Christianity?

Or maybe I should bomb France to fill frustration because I can't get to Israel or Jerusalem.

Shame on me, No shame on you
I decide my religion is superior.

Or is it because of my lust for petroleum, 72 ****** wives after my death I bet ***** is the reason suicides the best bet.

But let's guess this bomb strapped along my chest will clear my mind of sin I feel these lies within am I inside the belly of the beast?

Knowing that our nations can get crushed doesn't matter but of the things that I believe in my spirit.

Should I forget the lives in Syria thats petrified about the way my disguise have me delirious.

So much written inside this Quran I misinterpreted.
I want out I don't care if it takes lethal forms of punishment.
Praising to Allah is where I'll lie inside this nourishment.
So here I'll abide going AWOL in all encouragement..

Gates climb


News and paraphernalia
Modern communication
Internet on vacation
Today, rural Australia

Goes awol in valleys, hills
As seeking when hiding
Frustration biding
Trees, various pitfalls

An Insufficient population
Say Cannot build towers
Excuses bely hours
Trying, for connection

Work with what's known
Try cavalier solutions  
It's the execution
When, creativity shown

First try computer waving
Above head I'm shaking
Signal not taking
Despite, the swaying

Next option lying on floor
Hint of access, fleeting
Patchy greeting
So slow, won't store

Then stand on top of bed
Try to reach high ceiling
Wobbly feeling
Response, still lead

Despite heat, go outside
The temperature violent
Connection silent
If Home far, just beside

Time past, similarly stung
Found access best rate
The paddock gate
Balancing, top rung

Troop to gate hopes keen
As Searing heat, metal
Stand and settle
Tightly, cradle machine

Process long, time lost
A Connection success
Finally access
But who, counts cost?

Eventually, its loaded mail
As Balancing hold keen
Humorous scene
As Sway, in light pale

Internet access by Gates
Not Bill, Steve, Microsoft
Hung steel aloft
So basic, surely debates

Climbing for a signal now
Is the practical response
Sadly ensconced
As Rural, area know how

But surely it must be time
When access essential
Internet critical
Yet today, gates climb

October 1968

Strange day away from a war,
in a bubble

with the liar who was my friend
who wore a shirt with
a combat aviation badge
a dead man had earned,
first stolen glory
I ever saw.

We are awol, but nobody knows,
then a doughy white guy with a camera,
asks the liar why we are
in Saigon,
at the zoo, in the middle of a war.

A Stars and Stripes reporter,
gathering
the opinion of warriors ( right, in Saigon) re
Jackie Kennedy marrying the Greek

He took our picture, asked our names,
we were awol,
but what the hell, how many losers
ever see their picture
in the Stars and Stripes?

Lesson

send a boy to fight a war,
never tell him who wins, if he lives.

As an old man,
like that tiger, in a cage,
not San Diego Zoo Eco-accurate Habitat,
a cage, concrete floor, old-time
cowboy movie jail barred
cage,

waiting,
like that tiger in the Saigon zoo, 1968.

Who Am I?

I am a boy and a man.
I am a son, a brother, a cousin, a nephew, and a grand child.
I was a boyfriend, a fiancé, a husband, and an in-law.
I am a bachelor.
I am surrounded and abandoned.
I am a family man and a loner.

I am a homemaker and a handyman.
I wear the apron and the tool belt.
I am a neat freak and a slob.
I am an amateur contractor and a contracted amateur.
I am a dumpster diver, a recycler, and a decadent waste.
I am a glutton, a scavenger, and a scrapper.

I am a friend and an enemy.
I am fun and an annoyance.
I am a lover and a hater.
I am creepy, cruel, and harsh.
I am tender, loving, and inviting.
I have a foul mouth and tender lips,
Drenched in jagged, soft-serve words.

I am a painter, sculptor, draftsman, sketcher, character designer, photographer, graphic designer, fashion designer, kitbasher, customizer, and crafter.
I am a reader, a writer, and a poet.
I am the Jail Baby, Ryan & Lisa, The Phoenix, The AntiFather, and The HEYMAN!
I compose symphonies of visual and intangible imagery.
I bring form to thought.
I destroy,
I create.
I am an artist.

I am a geek, nerd, freak, and otaku.
I have been punk, goth, prep, white trash, and metrosexual.
I wear glasses,
But only as a sick joke.
I am beautiful and ugly,
Clean and *****.
I am unique.
I am predictable.
I have changed, but am still the same.

I am a techie,
An electronic ******.
I am cutting edge and old school.
Digitally signed and sealed.
I am analog and obsolete.

I am an adrenaline addict.
I can chill, maybe slow,
But never relax.

I am blue collar, tradesman, and service industry.
I am peon and ****** on.
Oh, but I have done the ******* too!
I have been hired and fired,
Bought and sold.
I have worn the uniform,
I have said, “**** the man!”
I am the proletariat,
I am in charge.

I am a student, dropout, and teacher.
I am class clown and teacher’s pet.
I have learned, forgotten, and taught,
But never learned my lesson.
I don’t listen to what I’m told,
But always do what I tell.

I am a genius,
I am an idiot.
I have intelligence, but often lack the intel.
I am naïve, but wise.
I am right and wrong.

I have philosophies and ideas,
But no religion.
I have desecrated and blasphemed,
Prayed and praised.
I have lusted, envied, and coveted.
I am guilty and innocent,
Pure and soiled,
Good and bad.

I am a driver and a passenger.
I am an explorer and a shut-in.
I am wild and free,
Caged and stifled.
I was warmly wrapped in my blanket,
But burned through it.

I have rode, climbed, and conquered.
I  stood still.
I jumped in.
I have fallen and been defeated.

I have been abroad,
I have been nowhere.
I have drifted.
I have settled.
I have led and been led.
I have been in and out,
Here and there,
Around and AWOL,
On the run and trapped.
But, not everywhere.

I have applied,
I have procrastinated.
I have worked my fingers to the bone,
I have slept it off.

I have fought and fled.
I have quit.
I have endured.
I am a winner and a loser,
A champ and a chump.

I am fake,
I am real.
I have lied, cheated, and stole.
I have been honest, fair, and generous.

I am selfish and selfless.
I am a gift giver, gift wrapper, and gift taker.
I am a thief and a philanthropist.

I am insecure and confident,
Confused and absolutely sure.
I am proud and ashamed.
I am complicated and convoluted,
But simple to please.

I have blind faith and guarded suspicion
I have secrets,
But lie rarely.
I accept everyone,
I trust nothing.

I have pointed the finger,
Only to turn it on myself.
I have held grudges and forgiven.
I have trusted and misguided.
I have been Judas and Jesus.

I am a maniac,
I am sane.
I have been strong and weak.
I can keep it together,
But prefer to break it apart.

I have bled.
I have healed.
I have been abused and neglected,
Coddled and protected.

I have been kissed and punched;
Hunted, wanted, and arrested,
Ignored, overlooked, and invisible.

I have loved and lost,
Lived and learned.
I am a soldier of misfortune and opportunity.

I have blended in.
I have stood out.
I have stood up.
I have backed down.
I have been backed into a corner.
I have all the space in the world.

I have seen, interpreted, and perceived,
I have ignored, dismissed, and been blind.
I hunger, want, and need…
I am satiated and content,
But never at peace.

I have been misunderstood and underestimated.
I have been put down, put up, pushed away, and let in.
I have been known,
But never entirely.

I have raged, cried, smiled, trembled, and laughed.
I have been depressed.
I have been happy.
I have been suicidal. I have felt death.
I have been lost and found.
I have been broken, then fixed,
Stitched, yet glitched,
Scarred, but whole.
I am alive.


I took the chance,
I let the moment slip.
I walked the straight and narrow,
I ran down the road not taken.
I dream; some whole, some shattered.
I go with the flow, but don’t let the waves take me.

I am shards and reflections,
Machinations and reactions.
I am translucent pieces and parts,
Assembled and disheveled.
I am the big picture still focused on the details.

I am the sum total of heredity and experience.
I am not,
I am more.
I am everything and nothing.
I am a walking contradiction.
I am human.

I tried to be you,
But didn’t know what that meant.
I am me,
It’s all I know.

Who are you?

I should've guessed
by the nondescript response
teenagers glazed
by 'proper' use of language;
'old-speak' as some would see it
yet to be blessed by a words prowess
fazed by more than 1 syllable
seems inconceivable
and yet text-speak sits,
or rather, should be, languish,
as a hybrid of our languages
prompts me to write this
out of plain literary anguish.

each year on birthdays
write a small poem or limerick
the momentary excitement of opening the card
is lapsed by reason
(it does not contain a £20 note)
the thought bubble denotes
they express some disdain
the speech bubble that follows
the spark in the brain
just another of Uncles gimmicks
lacking the imagination to invoke
something more personal
than a hardback book:
another 200 recipes
for the aspiring young cook

they implied they enjoyed lunchtimes at school
instead wanted an iPad or something
equally expensive and cool

So I try to embrace it
this thing they call urban
write something poetic in text-speak
the very premise of it
is somewhat disturbing
the infinite curve of learning
LOLs from actual LOLS;
the mobile language equivalent
of online voyeurs,
the posters of nonsense,
noobs and trolls

apparently a ROFL
is more-or-less as potent as ****
I scratch my head in wonder
text-speak is used by millions
to converse on a global scale
some how

Q: does SUM exist
(as in 'shut ur mouth' )
is that acceptable?

A: not yet cordially invited on the list
(its an actual word
doesn't count as an acronym)
Im told

the coal face of the lexicon:
indigestible
the steep learning curve:
unpredictable

by your 30s its automatically
re-classified:
Congratulations
You are now officially 'Old'

we are merely wordsmith pedestrians
lost in the tide of text-speak equestrians
jumping and leaping and rolling in SETE and S2R's
are we binned as an S4L, the Spam For Life?
(perhaps I haven't got that abbreviation quite right)

in the context of text-speak
they are suitably troll-like in their essence
forgive me dear teenager
I am but a
SNAG in your presence:

'Sensitive'
(on occasion)
'New
Age' and
'Grown-up'
(given the right persuasion)

the riposte would be SUYF!!
('Shut Up You Fool' - said like MR. T in A-Team)
STM and Spank The Monkey
apologise, SOZ, SRY and Apls
or something equally short,
snappy and funky

at this juncture
before the brain has a puncture
simply BBFN, lest I
BBS or BBIAB or BBIAF
[thankfully this isn't a test]

like WCA
(Who Cares Anyway)
but you'd remark WAI
(and thats I for Idiot)
let out a long distance sigh
wave the imaginary fist
at the youth of yesteryear

all you'd get back was
Wicked Evil Grin
(WEG) for a
Wild *** Guess
(WAG);
a WEG for a WAG
and a PDQ x 2

would be the sum parts of the conversation
between me and you

if language and words and meaning was lost
if acronyms and abbrieviations
in CAPS
was all that there was

*** smeared in ***
with APLS for the PMJI
TXT SPK has got me PML
when MHBFY and
M8s on a MOB crusade
AWOL and dizzy for the next API
MGB for your MF device
throw in some GALGAL logic
where GIGO will simply suffice
Warning: PAW and GJIAGDV
(where the latter is Volcano)
include your GF for some cuddly GBH
and some GHP if she says so

its T2Go
be positive with the T+
and all of that Text-Speak CUZ
I'll T2UL and T for your time,
I'll TAH on the whole TBC

next year i'll just slip in a £20 note
and simply write:
Happy Birthday
with LV
from me

alas, she remained
silent in the eyes of all,
then left without words.

in a rush of confusion,
they waited, yet no return.

Art class was a given
A bird course as they say
But, our teacher had gone awol
You could say he flew away
They found him at a campsite
Cross legged on a mat
Naked, drinking cool aid
And talking to his cat
He snapped while teaching concepts
beyond the grasp of teenage kids
Who only wanted to pass time
and be on ebay making bids
He taught them about structure
about lines and Bernard Frize
and now he's in the forest
sitting naked with the trees
Pastels, crayons and chalk sticks
littered where he sat
sitting naked, drinking kool aid
and talking to his cat
the kids, they drove him crazy
never doing what he told
Instead they sat and doodled
while the teacher...well...unrolled
they didn't draw the things he asked
didn't study all the masters
instead they were more intent
on creating art disasters
he came to class equipped one day
to show them some van gogh
instead they all got up
And told him he could blow
he snapped and left the class room
never stopping at the door
he went to his apartment
and picked the cat up off the floor
he went down to the locker
he took his tent back to the car
he was going to go camping
he wasn't going to a bar
he drove up to the campsite
made his kool aid, grabbed his cat
took his clothes off and got naked
and sat down upon his mat
this is where they found him
seven days since he walked out
he's now painting in nice place
where there's lots of staff about
most days he sits in silence
in his jacket, sleeves behind
zonked out on medication
to help him find his mind
they give him lots of kool aid
but his cat he does not see
he just paints with all his fingers
making pictures of a tree
once he was a teacher
of a bird course teaching art
now he gets all his excitement
drinking kool aid from the cart
in his mind there are da vincis
claude monets and rembrandts too
but, on paper he paints tree limbs
in black and grey and blue...

LOUE LABOURS WONNE
( for Kyle and Laura )

we have
as Shakespeare says

"...neglected time..."
like all lovers we

lost in the kiss
eclipsed the hours

that strive to contain
us leaving Time

to sulk
tapping a toe

waiting upon us so
the world can continue

but ha - do we care
we care - not

for the ticking of the clock
and all earthly what nots

our souls
gone AWOL

our laughter
staining the air

like music we
but away "...away

the scene begins
to cloud..."

and leave these lovers
to do without much ado

what they
will

---


I feel guilty when I am
Not on site reading!



SoulSurvivor

The underlings stare
In submissive awestruck
Subjugation in landmine-filled
Landfills, are stuck
In the trenches, the feces
The carcass-strewn muck
Where the vermin-spawn ****
As they're taught how to work
And to fend for themselves
Like the Fall of Dunkirk
As the imminent doomsday device overhead
Incapacitates them
As mere prey to a web
Of a global dominion
Ambition connection
Subconscious hive-mind
Buzzing out the objection
And phobia-spreading
Pandemic misanthropy
Greed in disguise
Subsidizing atrocity
Not for me,

I am
The justified treason
The reason the man-hunters
Close open season
The cease-fire peacekeeper
Proliferation
The water war's rising
Desertification
An MIA runaway
AWOL defector
Still haunting the tombs of detente
Like a spectre
With what I assure
Mutually in the end
When I send go-aheads
On the ICBMs
And avenge the dependent expended
Caught in
This crossfire for-profit
Arms race it has been

I'm going AWOL at first light
Sherman threatens my hometown
I hate to leave Robert E. Lee
But my heart's not backing down
There's a railroad to Atlanta
I'll fight side by side with Paw  
General Johnson's too outnumbered
But we'll stand at Kennesaw


I don't like to leave Virginia
But Atlanta needs me there
With my family in danger
It's a duty I must bear
I'll meet Mayde at Big Shanty
We can have some time at last
I'll get up at the crack of dawn
And kick old Sherman's ***

Now I know we're way outnumbered
They have more than two to one
And Sherman hates all rebels
He's Abe Lincoln's favorite skunk
If we could get old Stonewall
To come down for just a spell
We could kick old Abe's invaders
From Kennessaw to hell


Mayde, I'm real scared of dying
If our rebel line should fall
But I'll stand to fight **** yankees
Make 'em think they hit a wall
We own no slaves but Sherman thinks
It's rebel killin' time
So I'll shoot holes in Yankee coats
Before there's one in mine

Open face of demonstration, demanding a new declaration
by excreting exclamations to explain to them
that there is no place for them to lay their head.

You want to erase them, and just replace them again
with a new generation that will provide the revelation
that will spark the alleviation of the victims of trade that had been played by those trained
to wrap chains around them, no longer locked to the ground but running in place nonetheless,
circling around at whatever pace has been set.

Playing house in the devil’s play-set.  
Always alluding to what you wanna play next.  
It’s time to resign from the contract you signed, pay all of the cancellation fines,
so you can start your own design.

The one that makes you inclined to put time into that
which will impact the things that you blame for losing your mind.
The things, you complain, are a waste of your time,
While you sit around and just hate and drink up a glass of whine.  

Open innovation can transform into inspirational collaboration,
which will then send out invitations to the world
to take their own aboriginal exploration which would in turn destroy all awol nations,
thus, breaking the boundaries of potential imagination.

Barbi is on Prozac and Percoset
her ******* are too large  
for her back
so now she is no good in the sack
thus Ken left her for Kim Possible
Snow White is a *** addict
so many princes so little time
Alice has OCD
she shares a half way house
with the hatter
G.I Joe is AWOL
last seen by Camp Pendleton
and
oh no
Bambi is venison stew
what is true
where is childhood
for me
and you?

Feeling hopeless, useless
Rejection left me low
Way too low

Death became an option
The preferred option
But no go

I woke up, stomach pumped
"******* paramedics!"
Profound woe

Many memories missing
Many bridges too
Reap and sow

Faith and hope dismantled
Dreams all entangled
Sun won't glow

Reaching out for others
Former friends AWOL
New ones show

Love and concern offered
Their judgment AWOL
Hope can grow

Equilibrium regained
Hard lessons learned
Now I Know

You had no choice
But to leave me
You walked away
And gone was the day.

They say you're in a better place
But I'm not so sure
Gone far too soon
I'm left like a ruin.

Thou shall be missed
Never forgotten
Alive not dead
In my heart, body and head.

Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.

Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to  Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.

So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.

I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.

I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.

Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.

A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now

Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.

Love is the stuff dreams are made of.

And through you..

Im through.

Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.

I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head

I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.

You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.

I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.

to disappear.
lying among the melancholy pages
with thoughts of paradise doing a waltz
in a ballroom called action that's
fighting to keep that name
i rolled over in my slumber
with hope that i would dream your face
cause i have a proposal i've been    
meaning to propose
let me take you away from this place

This is a special report my computer went AWOL unknown corruption , I am eagerly waiting for it's return.
I am suffering withdrawal from poetry and greatly miss all of you
Feel free to message me on what great poetry i have missed and i will add them to the top of my list , to read apon my computers return , in the meantime i am searching for a neighbor who is nice enough to let me take even five minutes of there time to go online.
I hope that i can cope with my computers absence, I don't want ,me or my computer or this message to self destruct

we're alive too
too alive to die
and we're in love all the time and my sister says life is a movie
and every movie has a love story
and life is about love

which is why I
will starve my ribs to Adam
will return to dust
will Eve your lips, the darkest hue of moon I've ever met
insomniac hips guide constellations to lucid dreaming
constant smoking and distraction
we gather in sheds and houses

in shreds the ways we forgive and forget
and weigh decisions, the weight of responsibility nagging at my shoulders
ripples of anxiety
curdle in my throat
it is Thursday
i let an infant pull my hair
i rub your sick back

I miss my blood/ my brother
detained
by four walls of injustice
know
one
knows
the
truth

but I
believe you
and now your family
in various states of uncertainty
holds the threads of stories that you weave
stolen money and crimes against humanity
repossessed cars
bottles of liquor
sisters in law
above the law
held up by the law
interrupted
interpreted
and moment we spent was precious,
we laughed and were normal again
the satellites in yr eyes
who knows what they've seen
what they choose to believe
their is such madness in our blood
it runs
thick and rampant
galloping in our genes
and we
live for a living
you alive even when you dying all the time
swollen tears/dynamite boot you/hungover father/ surprise maker of cigarettes and smashed porcelain
born again/seventh day sinner/ come clean out the water/ baptized coffee
working class hands hung the rhythm of the drum in my chest
the tornado of my soul

too big
energy contained not mine anyway
for you i would unlearn so many consonants
i would forget to speak in sentences
for you make moonly gestures
move me to guessing in 14 degrees with ward of the state AWOL passenger seat
spill yr worries sister
we are not alone tonight

you are so much of my blood when i forget what we are made of
we come from the same stardust
however toxic

The White Race
           &
The Black Base
In-fighting Nut-Case
Wearing kits & killing kins
Tracer bullets leave no trace!
Ak's & Ra's
Customized & hand made
Just Like Burger-king
Have it your way!
And this war is brought to you by
Your's Truly,
The infamous
NRA!
Cops shooting innocent by-standers on the block,
Innocent by-standers then copping Bump-stocks,
Dropping scores to make it count,
Odd murders 2 even out!
******'s posted atop rooftops,
Legislations to make him stop.
A "Mentally Challenged" Caucasian man who had gone AWOL?
Suddenly reappears like an Automatic A-hole
Posted @ the Hotel
Planning to **** wholesale
To get the maximum reward
Also to get closer to God,
Bodies 4 trophies
& Their Head's as his awards!
In the midst of all this
Another white supremacist
With absolutely no
Motor-skills
To run us over
& Cause massive kills
At Town Halls
Movie theaters and even at the Shopping mall
A Muslim nut-job
Planning blow-jobs
A darker American
A lighter Puerto Rican,
Or even a white broad,
Always someone@ur service
To start a brawl,
To ***** some skin
& Make it crawl,
To raise u up
Then Watch you fall.
Wild fires burning bodies bare
Of All colors,
From well done to medium rare,
White House to Gitmo
Water boarding & a bit more,
Laid back extreme sports!
**** 4 tats here,
Cliques & Gangs here
Bricks in the bag here
Clipped to the back rear,
**** yes No *** hair,
Shotguns no cab fare,
Tariffs on imports
Nuns & Nymphos
Hoes before bro's
Turning friend's into foes.
Deserted mill workers,
Over dosing on pill sherbets
Gettin' high 2 get by
Laugh hard then start to cry,
Suicides to feel Alive,
Straight up living
Just to curl up & die,
What a way to go
Get buried to touch the sKy!

Drawing attention to oneself is the best illustration to show that you aren't present.
That you may not be transfigured into a rabid popsicle stick.
One day, I may not there for you
to catch all of your raindrops from this clouded season you call truth.
My bones aren't as strong as they used to be,
I'm far from what I once used to be,
and the world carries me around like I'm on its backpack,
unzipping it only to when it's told to do, because in these times,
It's easy to get your backpack stolen if you don't have a key to lock it with.

This world is cruel.
The American dream comes with a reality check made in China.
We hold flowers and bricks on our dying hands,
because as humble and enlightened beings that we are,
Death will not knock on my doorstep
with his scythe hooked across the inside of my gums
without me bashing its skull and stabbing him with his crossbones
Theodore Dreiser never had to walk through the skins of black children
whose lungs had been eaten by politically justified stray bullets,
so unless Sister Carrie is codename for pleasurable manners,
then this little song-and-dance **** list we call USA has gone AWOL.
The doors have risen from the ashes of media grave sites,
and have opened its pathway to those influenced by it.

"CORRUPT SOCIETY"        
  
Ayo I live in a corrupt society treated like a slave
We're forced to work an make money for a debt we'll never pay    
The world gets colder than adolf ****** when he slayed      
In an  Antarctic  setting   with  tempatures dropping every day  
Where rebels who fight the system are always convicted
An the real  actual truth seems to come up hidden
It's missing like AWOL solders who fled there post
I wanna Emmagrat with an "E" cause this country's a joke  
I feel like I've lost all hope  I can't find a save haven
Dreams of  svoboda an time that I can't save    
Waiting on people to reply back sitting there alone
These dumb ones are jesters I'm a king apon his throne
My  brain thinks of things that are unthinkable
I'm like an iceberg you see I sink the unsinkable
(To be continued)

hello, i am manager Skip Hopper, here are your team rules for baseball. follow these rules and then follow the base line home

first you need a home plate
then you measure the space between the base
then we must put the base in the proper place

ok slugger, the players have rules
please stand for the national anthem of your country
after all, it is your country, even more so than corruption's country
look at all your fellow countrymen, who came to see you
that's your photo on a sports card, and your name in lights
those racists and haters are afraid of the lights
you must have a lot of power, please don't choke
only in the country that old stars and stripes flies over
would you even have a right to sit down when a nation stands
don't stand for the flag, stand for your right to choose
after all, is it not a signal from your brain that you follow?
you have more white people on your side than a lot of white people have

even if it is a white man signing your paycheck, it's all the more polar opposite of what is for some.
plus you think the kids want that white to sign a ball?
my team plays ball, and not politics
then my team shares with all races and colors
my team looks to win, on and off the field
welcome to team victory!

you'll bat first until you show me that home run capability

watch the ball and the pitcher
do what you have to do, even if you have to take a pitch to the arm
get to the first base, and lay claim to it
don't get attached to that base
a base is just a rest stop on the way to home
after today, we will no longer call it a base
think of it as a step on your front porch
calling it a base is like calling a baseball bat a baseball glove
now, the team is counting on you to get to first
then you have to count on your team to bring you home
this whole stadium is full of team members too
this whole league is on your team, in ways
the guy who makes the season schedule has a certain amount of teams
he must arrange the schedule according to us, and then do the hard part
math...
you know us dumb jocks can't do math, or much else really
that's why it's all about the numbers guys sometimes, too
why do you think we wear numbers
everything has to have a system to work properly
there may be some rules or players that you don't like

I don't like a 1st step, or 3rd step coach myself
after all, that's kind of undermining the manager
we don't need them looking over anyone's shoulder
that kind of **** even makes me nervous
i'm not the type of manager that looks over my team's shoulder

everyone wants a title...standing there just to tell you to go
that would be a fan
like i'm gonna just split my job three ways?
then hire people to stand on the steps of your porch?
and they're gonna tell you how to get home, when you are home?
i hired two guys who are into that "curling" crap
that is not a man's game
plus, why doesn't the guy with the broom sweep before the guy pushes that thing that is round
a puck maybe? it's not round, but i guess the circumference is a perfect circle
now a baseball, that is round
anyhow, i gave them their titles they wanted

head coach of ball scratching affairs
and head coach of spit buckets
it's so funny to see them be so serious about sweeping and ****
they concentrate so hard that i think they could scratch that spot on a player's *****
that spot that the players can't seem to scratch
who knows, i will tell head (ball boy) coach to look for *****
they're just like all canadians...innocent
i can't figure why a baseball team has a better flag though
a maple leaf? take off aaayyy

call everything by a sensible name

they call a rubber thing a base, and they call home a plate
see, a base is something you spend time on
a plate is something you clean twice during, and after a meal
well, on our team we try to keep the the next guy in line fed'
so, he is on your steps and it's as easy as handing him the plate
knowing you and your family have more than enough
knowing your fellow batters will hand you a plate when you're on their steps

remember, you don't follow the rules...
you step up to the plate, and the rules follow

it's really all about the fans

they are our world, and when our world does good
the cheers turn into waves and vibrations
like a fine machine, the sound becomes a hum
you can literally see the waves travel through the stadium

maybe this will catch on again

those waves travel beyond our world
just maybe some little green men will take notice
maybe they will respect us for how we make a diamond into a circle
or just maybe the world series will be known as the universal series
we could really use some competition

these other managers think they are so great
but one loss and they pinch their hitters and runners
then they try to change the rotation
you can't change a dang rotation without stopping
well, in our world, we have faith in the rotation
i also have faith in each player, and as our whole team
we are whole, keep that in mind always

that's why our team is called the country whole
plus, just naming it that, the whole country got tricked
they used to think we were tobacco spitting country boys
that positive energy really is like a snowball going downhill

our two head coaches love snow and hills
haha...everyone from canada is a comedian without trying
the great white north huh?
let's hear it for cheese curds and hat tricks
this is baseball and apple pie land
and by the way canada...

why aren't there any canadians on your major league baseball teams?
you make it hard to call it the world series
you also made ham and called it bacon

sorry slugger, sore spot...but anyhow

we all have a job to do, and doing it right is always a self win
counting on others, and trusting them to do their job, makes your job easier

there are a lot of rubber arms
they will be throwing all kinds of curves at you
only swing at pitches that are in your strike zone
never swing at breaking ***** and they can't break you

now, get out there and get a hit, walk, or home run
see you around the home slugger...know this

i guess my managing isn't needed here
i'm headed to club to watch in comfort
i don't know why people miss out on so much to be at the game
i'm a fan more than i am a manager
either way, we all know what's going to happen every time
we will extend our undefeated streak another game
like a fine oiled machine
making a perfect circle out of a diamond
while canadians scratch our ***** like fine oiled curlers
haha, scratching so seriously like that kills me

my team is awesome!

remember, this is not america's game
it's not baseball, and we know that
base and ball touch and you're out
then you'll run from a base and be shot by military police for going awol
just kidding slugger, tell the team i say hi and thanks for being on the team
i will tell the rest of the home team at that press conference *******

welcome to the big leagues kid

play ball!

take me out to the bar!

Mad at myself
Mad at myself
Why am I always
so mad at myself?
Cut clients short
time is but a construct but
this is my second or third complainant this week or last week and it’s like I’m impatient and cut their time short always middle-aged blond women maybe I’m projecting maybe I’m not so bad, maybe I’m just tired and lazy and being catty

I’m mad at myself
I’m mad at my actions
Waiting until last minute to register for classes got a way in but it’s becoming a disaster
I’m mad at my actions
I’m mad at myself
I’m no longer a child
on the fucken shelf
that needs to be helped
that needs her hand held
while doing every grown-up step
I’m mad at myself
I’m mad at myself
Mad at myself
At myself
Myself
Self
Elf
Am I an elf?
Why did I **** up?
Why did I **** it up?
Why am I stuck?
Why do I ****?

I can salvage it all
I can stop my fucken fall
So ****** I feel
It almost feels unreal
Work and School
I’m stacking
and slacking
I’m procrastinating
and waiting
I’m ******* up
and ******* it up
So mad at myself
So mad at my elf
So mad to be a self on the shelf
of childhood fighting adulthood fighting endless deadlines ending early making my clients ****** and not want to come back because they feel like they don’t matter because I’m cutting their sessions short or running late or taking my sweet **** time, acting like a shorty clown and in grad school I sent all those emails out but then go awol and have so many doubts that I’m making mistakes and failing just a little bit and I don’t get it

Why am I doing this?
Why are they so ******?
Why can’t I shake off my fears and fully fucken get into gear
until I work this work this out
until I forge my life with sound
until this mountain of mourning or sorrow splits like the hilt of a samurai blade splitting grain becoming fits of bulbous rage and it feels like I’ve gotten a bad grade in life not a C or a D but a big fat F

Full of strife
I can’t eat
I can’t sleep
I ****** up
I’m in heat
I’m in love
in my head
and my heart’s
full of dread
I’m upset
I’m aloof
I’m unaware
and a goof
I ****** up
I’m alright
I’ll make it all right
I’ll make it all better
I’ll stop straying off the beaten path
I’ll get wetter
and wetter
so soaked and sloshy I’ll
be okay and forgive myself
I’m no longer mad at myself
No longer mad at myself
I forgive myself
Forgive myself
Myself
Self
Elf

The town still drips
with last nights alcohol consumption,
effervescent with AWOL brain cells.
Romance viewed from the inside of a glass,
vanished in its absence.
Neon bar signs became the stargazing
of the twenty-first century
and hangovers a fast burning cigarette,
leaving romance to pile
in a duotone of grey
in the ashtray of our heartless society.