I understand they find dinosaur bones there in your backyard. Big ones. I've never been to your house or even close to that neighborhood, but ever since you've written me, I am completely intrigued. What you said about me, I think about you in an execrable Hemingway way, maybe as in his "Death In The Afternoon." All the goring. Faintheartedness is nothing to be carried by bullfighters or by bone hunters, I suppose. If there were a way of going back to days of nobler more romanticized slaughtering in bullrings, without the controversy, I'd have to say it is more evident in our modern day Jurassic Park flicks where nerdish paleontologists are transformed into  fiendishly handsome toreadors.

I know I'm not making much sense. Bullfights and dinosaur rustling, what's to compare? One being non-civilized though colorful and bathetic, the other fantastical but forgivable because the beasts bite back. Oh, if only I could explain these machismo machinations. What a ruse. How song and dance does intrigue. Please write me again from South Dakota. I'd like to book one of those dusty dinosaur tours before I go extinct.  Bone hunts, bullfights, same difference.

I did not know that poetry has rules.
‘Tis not a craft for ordinary fools.
Those, that form and meter never master,
Are ever doomed; they are the poetasters.
As opera singers, out of tune, do make
Discerning listeners do a double-take,
And chefs, who sprinkle salt instead of sweet,
Serve meals that connoisseurs would never eat;
A writer with a wretched poet’s curse
Will never craft a great Heroic Verse.

So as I count my syllables and feet,
And wonder if my metaphors will meet,
I pray that hypermetrics are okay,
(For I have used a few of them today,)
I’ll leave the verdict, reader, up to you,
Affirm that to my mission, I’ve been true,
Or if the ending to my verse bathetic
Christen me a poet most pathetic.
Heroic Lines in Couplets, I intended;
Judge me, reader, now this verse has ended.

Phil Lindsey 12/24/15

She cries in her bathetic voice, "Bless you,
Bless you". Her cut up hands attached to a body
Floating through a crashed solar system,
The spirit choked from her throat.

I am paralyzed; drinking life from
A jewel-encrusted chalice, but I
Continue to sit here without a sound.
I can not, not do--nothing.

Silver years, frightening years,
Months without light or noise.
I sit and wait for solitude. It is
Nothing nothing nothing.

I am a compound for future generations,
Let them know how to be free. To know
It began with his mocking, squawking
sand paper heart. He made me whisper--nothing.

Clam, calm, cool lass now,
A woman walks into the room,
finding my hollow tomb. Break
Me out of my misery, dressed in my best suit.
I am a poor girl.

We have all needed
in our lives
a rubber duck
of bathetic deliverance.

Mental Health
I saw the the clinical medicine of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the psychopathology.
Are you upset by how nonsubjective it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the psychopathology so objective?

Diagnoses, however hard they try,
Will always be various.
Never forget the assorted and versatile diagnoses.

When I think of schizophrenics, I see an ill thinking.
Do schizophrenics make you shiver?
do they?

Just like a maternal ligament, is the epilepsy.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the epilepsy,
Gently it goes - the smaller, the brief, the runty.

Don't belive that the mental is cerebral?
the mental is emotional beyond belief.
Are you upset by how gushy it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the mental so bathetic?

The alcoholism is not physical!
the alcoholism is exceptionally psychological.
Does the alcoholism make you shiver?
does it?

whiff of his scent left me unconscious
Maybe his soul subverted mine,
My efforts failed due to paucity of his acceptance.
He eluded the bond and togetherness
Gave it  forth that he needed no arbiter to name this desultory relationship a complete failure,
Maybe this was an allusion to the bout of bathetic myself  back in yore
I felt for so long that I felt crapulence  with His soul
And somehow my sentimentalism caused this vicissitude ,
I was befuddled for a long period of time,
My soul  wanted to evade the situation or say the perennial pain,
I knew my soul was inchoate and that I’am not infallible,
But still I was dilatory in understanding it completely,
I felt like I imperilled his beautiful life for my obstinate heart and mind,
But how long must I bide in these thoughts,
so I needed to scotch  these thoughts ,
And with small feelings I harboured
I moved on,
I had to tell my tenacious self don’t temporize.
And hanker after your dream
And become hell bent, not mean
To yourself
Let go of the caprices, and influx of any such   thoughts
Burry the flurry of indecent memory,
Move on,
Do not let the bad hoodwink u
See the star that wink at u
The great fortune is about to come ,will knock at ur door with a gift in return
For all ur worries will be a hatchet to burry,
U will be a great unfettered soul ,
Will blow the world with ur powerful wind
Since the grist of solitude lies within
U ,this earth and all its people
Hold the bar for a lil longer the world will bow and
Evil will surrender
When u realise the power is u
The soul is yours.
And at that time u will have moved on
From the old pivot to a new side of dawn