Kept your shirt but you took your love
Took my chance but you gave it to someone else
Handed you my hope but you squashed it barehanded

i.
I drove
myself home today,
Counting polemics
that I received;
that made me
feel so
attacked.

Swollen eyes,
Bruised legs,
And the urge
to dissipate
into a thin air
were just there
along with
my dead
soul.

The harsh words of
those people who
are not my
comrades are just
like an atrocious
zeitgeist of the
Fascists' dictatorship.
Those are
my biggest
weakness.

ii.
I pretend
that I am not
dying everyday
whilst in fact
every fragments of me
keeps on
losing consciousness and
even if I
regenerate,
a part of me
would always be
back on
dying.

What I'm looking for
is not a coherent
vindication nor a
stance that defends me,
I'm looking for
ways to possess self-mastery,
to be an Overman like
what Nietzsche had depicted or
to possess self-actualization
which is the
highest peak of
Maslow's hierarchy of needs.

So I began to
Construct
days of
decisive
battles.

iii.
[First arc]

I unleashed a
rather subversive
catharsis;
I punched the
mirrors until they're broken and
broke the windows with
a baseball bat
and fought everyone
barehanded
until the last moment
I shot my
two arch enemies
on the head
with my
revolver.

When I
was trying to bid
farewell,
the people
who witnessed me
unexpectedly said
that it was cool
and my dauntlessness
was cool
for doing that.

I thought
they would
hate me even more
but instead,
some of them
who are previously my
enemies ended up
wanting to be
allies with
me.
[BATTLE HAS BEEN WON]
[Achievement unlocked. +100 ability points earned.]

iii.
[Second arc]

I decided
to convey
awareness towards
the issue that
I am suffering from
through a form of
writings and speeches,
and turns out that
the society
ended up cherishing
my contributions.

They asked me a
myriad of questions
About how did I manage
to do all the things
that I have done and
how long did I take
to reach this
achievement.
I just stayed silent
for I couldn't put it
into words
how incredibly long
my endeavour was
to earn their
respect.

But I guess
it brought me
closer to
a revelation.
[BATTLE HAS BEEN WON.]
[Achievement unlocked. Magic points increased by 150+.]

iv.
[Third arc]
I have
always thought of
myself as a
modern day Cobain
due to my
lethargic self and
vulnerability and
how I depended on
cigarettes and dopes as
my redemption.

And my biggest weakness
is
my
own
thoughts.
The
world
inside
my
head.
[ACHIEVEMENT FAILED TO UNLOCK; DISRUPTED.]
[DEFEAT.]

v.
I tend
to
cry relentlessly
sometimes whenever
I realize that
all the nice things are
just dreams yet the
holocausts are
realities.

They told me,
how could I even
take care of anyone else
whilst I can't even
get a hold of
myself.

I went home with
one of my
favorite guys the other day
with bruises and a
lethargic physical condition
looking as if
I need to be protected
and I hate the fact that
eventhough I am not
fond of depending
I can't
go through things
completely alone
either.

[MISSION ABORTED—
—BATTLE HAS BEEN POSTPONED.]

vi
[No more arcs left]
I have always loved
the word "regeneration"
for the existence of that
word gives me revelation
that someday I would
get a
chance to encounter
lt too.

When I woke
up from a prolonged
deep sleep that felt
like death,
everyone told
me that they were
mesmerized by my
so-called act of courage and
volition. My lungs still
hurt and I
am still swallowing
blood that tastes like
drips of vermouth.

Honestly I
never wanted the
world as a gift; I
am in love with the
world but it goes
otherwise when it
comes to its contents.

vii
My acts that
they deem as courage
is not my
courage
it's just a form of
cognitive dissonance with
a hint of fallacy.

Oy vey, if only I
were given a freedom of
speech, I would
confront and
ask;
"Dear mother
earth and father
time, can I
live without battles
and just go ahead?"

[11417 329 2110 725
BATTLE HAS ENDED
AS DEMANDED BY PLAYER]

The whole
Thing started from dropping
The wrong name
At
The wrong time.

"And
How do you know
Adam?"

"Who?" She asked, stepping back. A look
Of horror was painted on her already
Heavily painted face.

"Adam...the guy's who's throwing
This party..."

I knew
I had made
An error.

"Who will pay?"
I thought.

"I'm throwing this party," she hissed, "Who
The **** is ADAM?"

I answered instantly.

"The guy manning
The grill with the Acapulco shirt
And yellow pineapple sunglasses. He
Said he organized and is
Running this whole thing..."

If an Australian wolverine mixed with
A Bay area Marina girl combined and birthed
Their rage into a single ball of high-powered,
impenetrable violence, bent only to destroy
Only who had crossed them well, that is what I witnessed
That night.

Her pupils
Became enveloped in a hot rose red.

Her cheeks, which had been
A pretty pink rouge color just a minute before,
Instantly switched into a purplish, slug-like color.

The blood within looked to be
Literally
Churning.

At one point, I swear I saw smoke coming
From her ears while her lips shook so bad I thought
She was going to ***** bile.

I didn't say another word.

I let her pass.

There was nothing I could do.

She put his face
In
The grill.

What I mean by "in the grill" is
That she whipped the metal grate off barehanded,
Proceeded to grab a very
Surprised Adam, and shoved his face
Into a searing ashy pie of red hot coals.

If it were a pie,
Everyone would have laughed, but because
It was red-hot-coals hotter than fire,
Everyone screamed.

I've never heard a man howl so loud.
It sounded like a million new born babies crying
When he hit the fresh summer grass.

A few girls screeched in fear, but everyone else
Gasped, looked at Aimee (the name of the actual
Thrower of the party), and took a few steps back.

No one was sure what she would do next.
And then,
She did.

"YOU PIECE OF MOOCHER
****!" she screamed.
Her eyes had washed over
Completely black.

I stood behind the screen door between
A shivering 1st string linemen who played for
The ducks and a pre-law major. Pre-law had
Wet himself at the sight of Adams meeting
With the coals. He didn't even make an
Effort to cover it up.

There was no shame anywhere anymore.

"YOU COME MY HOUSE, TO MY
N-E-I-G-H-B-O-R-H-O-O-D, AND YOU
HAVE THE ******* AUDACITY
TO SAY YOU'RE THROWING THIS PARTY!"

"Hey Aimee, I think
He's really hurt..." her friend
Tried to say. Aimee whipped
Her hand back and
Caught the poor ******* the lip.
It split instantly and she let out a
desperate cry. She whimpered and
Slunk back to whatever corner she
Had come from.

"IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR SLIMY LEACH
*** OUTTA' HERE NOW, I'LL POOR THESE
******* COALS OVER YOUR **** CORPSE!"

Adam tried to say something, anything, but
All that came out was a slow whimper.
It sounded like 0"help...me..."

No one dared move.

Then, she kneeled down and got
Very close to him. His face was
The texture of
Cheap, overcooked steak.

Her voice was quiet as
She spoke,

"And if you dare tell the cops
About this," she whispered, "I'll find
You. These are all my friends, you
Understand?"

Adam didn't say anything.
His eyes were locked on the ground.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND YOU
LITTLE PIG ****! I'LL GUT YOU LIKE
A POMEGRANATE!
PIECE BY ******* PIECE!"

She exhaled. She calmed down. Her eyes fluttered
As she threw her hair back, regaining
Her composure.

Then she began again,
"Do you understand?"

"Yeshhh," Adam struggled to say.
A piece of skin
Was hanging off his scorched lip,
Interrupting his speech.

"I didn't quite get that," she said,
Almost apologizing.

She got closer,
Reached for the dangling piece
Of skin, and viciously ripped it clean
From Adam's face
Like a child would a band-aid.

"OHHHHHHHHHHH!"
We all yelled.

Adam screeched another
Furies howl and rolled over onto
His back. "I UNERSTAND! I UNERSTAND!
I UNERSTAND!" He wasn't
Able to pronounce the D, but Aimee
Looked to be letting it slide.

"Good," Aimee said simply, "Now,
GET THE **** OUTTA' HERE!"

A tiny guy in a ducks
beanie and board shorts struggled
To pick Adam up. Adams
Eyes had rolled to the back of his head
And his breathing looked to be
Getting dangerously shallow.

He had ****** himself too.

The tiny guy and what looked to be
His probably now ex-girlfriend got him out
The back gate, onto the street, and into
A car. I don't think they would
Be calling the cops on Aimee.
For their sake, I hoped they told the emergency room
He had tripped and fell into the grill.

Aimee looked around at
All the stunned faces of her party.

She grinned, revealing
A very attractive row
Of perfectly white teeth.

"WHO NEEDS A SHOT!" Aimee screamed.

There was a pause. All
Was as still as the graveyard
Up the street.
That reminded me of a story a friend
Had told me.

He had decided to do mushrooms
After a hard rain. Being high, he
Needed something to do. He went on
A walk and while walking, passed
A graveyard, the graveyard I was thinking of.

He stripped down to his tighties
And bathed in the mud of the graves.
I remembered asking him if he was scared
While he did this. "No," he laughed.
I asked him why and he answered frankly,
"Even the dead need to bath."

Behind the screen door, I instinctively wooed.
It's like a knee-**** reaction. I didn't even really
Want to take a shot. I wanted to leave, badly.

"YOU!" she screeched.
Her dagger finger was pointed
directly at me.

"YOU AND ME
ARE TAKING
A SHOT!"

I looked over my shoulder, to the left and
Right of me, but there was no one there.
The spineless **** and pissy-pants leech
Were gone.

Aimee marched toward me. Her eyes
were Enflamed with the intense need
To drown out whatever she had done in the past
With highly toxic amounts of alcohol.

She grabbed me by the arm and
Tossed me in the kitchen.

"Tequila..?" she asked, "Or whiskey?"

I bead of sweat
Slid down my
Brow.

The answer felt as if it could
Determine
The rest
Of my life.

"How bout' both?" I managed to say.

She eyed me down.
I think she thought
I was trying to make fun of her but then,
She saw
I was serious.

"I love you," she said.

"Let's drink," I told her.

And that's how

I met my

Ex-wife.

Silent steps through dappled foliage
Listening deeply to the tree's east-west creak
Their song is one of simplicity
Bygone roots of an era long past
Digging barehanded through dark, rich earth
The pressure of dirt beneath my fingernails
I ache for lazy days and long summers
Firefly guts staining I-Hold-Them-Too-Tight fingertips
Grape Popsicle juice staining a just budding chest
My eyes close against reality
Afternoon warmth wraps around me
Slipping off into memory against a sturdy trunk
You cross my mind
Crimson, Frankenstein green, black
Used to be
Now
Brown, faded blues and tan
Deep breathes to shake free
Left wondering where my midnight soul went

Creep inside her body.
Start by pulling out hearts and souls.
Carve up and out room for yourself-
in what you recognize as a graveyard.
Unearth every other decaying thing buried deep within
make them sing-
bring them kicking and screaming.
Let em have enough sun they relearn how to miss it.
Never allow them close enough to keep the warmth.
You know better than anyone dead things shouldn’t have feelings.  

Crawl out of my resting place.
Dead things don’t stay dead.
When finally remembered sunshine
Stretches and curls.
Stays long enough to taste-
I revive in myself.
You’ve lived inside me
As long as this body needed a grounds-keeper.
To sweep away the moss and ivy climbing up all the tombstones.
You float through the aisles night after night
picking up unearthed ghosts to follow us home.
Your finger tips scratching against the tops
of all the dead-end versions of me.
I’m tired of hearing the wailing that follows.  
Cadaver girl,
I want my body back now.
Won’t you please put yourself to rest for me.


- I dig this grave barehanded and open sorrow
- Planting the garden to over run the cemetery
please cadaver girl
- know you are the last version of me I ever plan to bury.

When that 'Crabapple' rolled down the mountain the coonhounds ran like stuck pigs ! Guys that talked tough an red-neck men got religion faster than a 'red tail' buzzing a chicken pen !
This crikker-croaker was the meanest buzzard that Georgia clay ever invented ! He hunted razorbacks barehanded an bear with a hickory switch , the self proclaimed meanest son-of-a ***** in the whole shooting match , self righteous raw meat eatin' , grain alcohol drinking bush-whacker you've ever witnessed ....

As this moon-crested body
lie in its ditch.
Sleep became a poem.
That is, at some point
I became aware of a poem's
presence.
So it superseded composition,
yet still was.
It enveloped the: "I" that calls
himself a poet.
The poem was the basis for me,
not the other way round.
I stirred and sank, flailed about
in barehanded awe...unable
to intellectually loot a ****
thing.
Impressions were words, words
were impressions--"I" couldn't
get in front of its beam of light.
I awoke, and knew beyond a
shadow of a doubt, a poem had
written me...one I'll never be able
to recall.

my most recent self published Lulu book, [MOON tattoo], was reviewed by Krystal Sierra, and part of what she says is here:

Because of the relationship between the line and white space, the reader turns back to the poem again and again, a practice that speaks to religious tradition, incantation byway of word and image, how the poem itself becomes the way God, or Spirit, communicates with us via channels we understand, the interplay between the word and white space much like what we know and do not know about the nature of the divine. – Krystal Sierra

~

some poems, from [MOON tattoo]:

[level]

brother is digging barehanded in the backyard a hole for what he hopes is the alien of god’s choice. as for existence, my mother’s is low on mine. my father is keeping out of the same sentence any mention of ****** and totem pole. no one including you cares for my sister’s worry that this no this is the bottom of a rock. if asked, I will say I was visiting with my arms the museum of rowboats during the regional spike in baptisms we as a family failed to interrupt.

~

[meditation]

summer was for sexting and for watering the scarecrow’s spine. say it with me this was not that summer. as a ghost might surprise the mother and go to salt, a doll might remember its teeth.

brother is digging barehanded in the backyard a hole for what he hopes is the alien of god’s choice.  as for existence, my mother’s is low on mine.  my father is keeping out of the same sentence any mention of ****** and totem pole.  no one including you cares for my sister’s worry that this no this is the bottom of a rock.  if asked, I will say I was visiting with my arms the museum of rowboats during the regional spike in baptisms we as a family failed to interrupt.

1.
Flickering orbs of light
daintily pirouette

carving deep wells of horizontal thought
into the distant cave walls.

Gyration
by gyration

birth dancing shadows
emerge from the unpainted
anthropological canvass
of her moon waltzing heart.

2.
She feeds
on the blood
of a holographic universe

a vampiress
of the verse

her quill composed
of hushed owl wings

a squadron of angry whispers
poised on the galaxy’s edge
sipping deeply
from inky black existence

her pure
mirror soul

a rainbow suffused
with the mystery
of midnight

the oscillating wavelength
of her mind’s delicate intent
ripe with stark blue motion

reaching barehanded
into even the greatest broken-glassed voids

winking wryly at the waves
of the Cosmic Microwave Background

posting that playpen snapshot
of a stumbling baby universe

onto the ostentatious fridge
of her cascading nightime heart.

Let it be,
you don't engage in dispute
with me, to make us complete
and whole.

Sharp stings leave
my skin singed. Barehanded
I will fight with a
hollowed tiger.

A dark fear still hangs
on the milked mind. The tunnel
was unlit. You wanted
to become a white god.

The dead wine spills
from the ceramics. With feet
of clay you run very fast
to catch your shadow.

One day you will
walk in, to take revenge
on kismet and blend with me.

We’ve talked about these things before, my Dada and I. I’ve told him I love rope and ******* and we were both excited to start this journey together but still had butterflies in my stomach, not knowing what our evening would entail. As he bound my wrists and reached for our newest addition a leather-bound *******, the butterflies in my stomach began to flutter but my curiosity outweighed my fears. As the gag settled into its place in my mouth, I tested the texture and give of the ball with my tongue and as I worked out the fact that I could breathe around it my mind was immediately at ease. The shift in my head space was so obvious it was almost an audible sigh as I slipped into the most submissive state I had ever experienced. He laid me back on the bed and bound my hands above my head; and there I laid, at his mercy. So this is where we would begin our journey.
And then he touched me. His hands caressed my *******, then pinched and tugged on my ******* and I soon found myself squirming and whimpering for more. In a moment the sensation exploded as he sharply twisted them both, drawing an involuntary cry from my lips followed by the realization that the gag would provide the outlet I needed. I could scream, cry out, or do whatever came without fear that one of the neighbors would hear. That realization brought with it so much freedom and I embraced every sensation that he offered to me, just absorbing it like a sponge and I was free to respond without filters. As his hands moved over my body each caress became another note, as one by one we weaved them together as to compose an immersive musical interlude with the sensations he provided me intermingled with the sounds I would make in response.

When he finally reached my **** my body was on high alert and I was fighting the urge to explode. I struggled to make him understand how badly I needed it, how much I wanted to *** for him. In answer to my muffled pleas he pulled his hand away and I almost crumbled as he began to caress my body once again, leaving my senses humming and the feeling waned even if only a little away from the edge of release. The moment that he began stroking his fingers in and out of my ***** I almost immediately became unglued at the seams, then when he began thrusting harder it was all I could do to not ***. The moment of my undoing was when I felt his hand around my throat. I cried out and moaned through the gag begging for the relief my body craved and finally he allowed it. He could barely get beyond “Yes you may...” before my ***** was convulsing around his fingers coating them in my juices, screaming into the gag as the wave overtook me.

Immediately after he took my by the hand and guided me over his knee unsteady and trembling and began one of our familiar (and one of my favorite) rituals, a barehanded spanking. As he usually did, he started out with lighter strokes, progressively growing more intense. The wall of sub space hit me harder and stronger than I ever imagined that it could; not to mention much sooner than either of us expected it to. My mind was soaring away and embracing a level of sub space so intense that I had yet to experience up until that date. It was such a delicious feeling.

Once he felt my *** was sufficiently tender, he laid me back onto the bed and sheets brought with them the sting as my *** brushed against the normally comforting fabric. He laid down between my thighs and brought his mouth to my center, kissing and licking my lips then teasing my **** and making love to my quivering *****. My body trembled as I absorbed his tongue's caresses, the urge to *** becoming stronger. I could no longer contain myself and began rocking my hips against his mouth, whimpering until I couldn’t fight the urge anymore but thankfully he gave an Mmmhmm telling me that it was okay and my ***** exploded in his mouth, ******* so hard and crying out openly against the gag as the urge came again even stronger. He didn’t make me wait, thank goodness and he pushed me to *** again and again.

The moment he pulled away it was like my whole body took a deep breath but I immediately craved his touch again and I wasn’t disappointed. I felt his hand wet with **** caressing my *****, and I knew what was to come. He began to slowly work his fingers into my ***** first one, then two, then three….that in itself was tight and I loved how his fingers filled me. He massaged my ****** which feels strange and amazing all at the same time and another wave overtook me, then I was soaking his hand again. And then he began working the 4th finger in, and the feeling of my ***** stretching to take his hand was so ******* intense I didn’t think I could handle more sensation so when he held a small vibe against my **** I immediately came for him. He was able to get his fingers in past the last knuckles which is both a very big accomplishment and a euphoric moment; I felt so very full. I thought I was at my max…I thought. My mind was floating and my body was beyond doing much else than just taking him in and ******* over and over.

And then he added his thumb. I didn’t think I could take it all, and I came over and over without any ability to stop it or even control it at all-hell that's to say I'd wanted to stop if I could! After he’d pushed as far as I could take his hand, he pulled his hand away and thrusts ******* back into my *****. My senses were on high alert and another wave came. When I felt his finger pressing against the tightness of my ***, my body could not even resist. The only thing I knew was the next wave…and the next…and the next as I came again and again for my Dada. I was to the point of exhaustion, my mind in a place of what we refer to as full stop sub space and he could see that I had little more in me to give. So naturally he made me *** one last time, a good hard *** and he allowed me to just lay and float.
He laid close to me, allowing me to feel the warmth of his body against mine as he caressed my hair and whispered some of my favorite words into my ear as I drifted into sleep.

“Good girl.”

In war of words
you were your own-
image in sea of blood lunacy.

About the diplomacy
dawn brings the-
stings of wasps. The spirit
rattles the peace of mausoleum.

This is the curse
of unknown gods. A black
throat kills you by sweet lyrics.

Barehanded you
catch the lightning, and
the moonstorm sinks the boat.

I do not listen,
I do not read. Perceive
you in my silken thoughts.

The colors are fading.
Shrine lives by its unsung music.