As I was saying . . . (No, thank you; I never take cream with my tea;
Cows weren't allowed in the trenches -- got out of the habit, y'see.)
As I was saying, our Colonel leaped up like a youngster of ten:
"Come on, lads!" he shouts, "and we'll show 'em," and he sprang to the head of the men.
Then some bally thing seemed to trip him, and he fell on his face with a slam. . . .
Oh, he died like a true British soldier, and the last word he uttered was "****!"
And hang it! I loved the old fellow, and something just burst in my brain,
And I cared no more for the bullets than I would for a shower of rain.
'Twas an awf'ly funny sensation (I say, this is jolly nice tea);
I felt as if something had broken; by gad! I was suddenly free.
Free for a glorified moment, beyond regulations and laws,
Free just to wallow in slaughter, as the chap of the Stone Age was.

So on I went joyously nursing a Berserker rage of my own,
And though all my chaps were behind me, feeling most frightf'ly alone;
With the bullets and shells ding-donging, and the "krock" and the swish of the shrap;
And I found myself humming "Ben Bolt" . . . (Will you pass me the sugar, old chap?
Two lumps, please). . . . What was I saying? Oh yes, the jolly old dash;
We simply ripped through the barrage, and on with a roar and a crash.
My fellows -- Old Nick couldn't stop 'em. On, on they went with a yell,
Till they tripped on the Boches' sand-bags, -- nothing much left to tell:
A trench so tattered and battered that even a rat couldn't live;
Some corpses tangled and mangled, wire you could pass through a sieve.

The jolly old guns had bilked us, cheated us out of our show,
And my fellows were simply yearning for a red mix-up with the foe.
So I shouted to them to follow, and on we went roaring again,
Battle-tuned and exultant, on in the leaden rain.
Then all at once a machine gun barks from a bit of a bank,
And our Major roars in a fury: "We've got to take it on flank."
He was running like fire to lead us, when down like a stone he comes,
As full of "typewriter" bullets as a pudding is full of plums.
So I took his job and we got 'em. . . . By gad! we got 'em like rats;
Down in a deep shell-crater we fought like Kilkenny cats.
'Twas pleasant just for a moment to be sheltered and out of range,
With someone you saw to go for -- it made an agreeable change.

And the Boches that missed my bullets, my chaps gave a bayonet jolt,
And all the time, I remember, I whistled and hummed "Ben Bolt".
Well, that little job was over, so hell for leather we ran,
On to the second line trenches, -- that's where the fun began.
For though we had strafed 'em like fury, there still were some Boches about,
And my fellows, teeth set and eyes glaring, like terriers routed 'em out.
Then I stumbled on one of their dug-outs, and I shouted: "Is anyone there?"
And a voice, "Yes, one; but I'm wounded," came faint up the narrow stair;
And my man was descending before me, when sudden a cry! a shot!
(I say, this cake is delicious. You make it yourself, do you not?)
My man? Oh, they killed the poor devil; for if there was one there was ten;
So after I'd bombed 'em sufficient I went down at the head of my men,
And four tried to sneak from a bunk-hole, but we cornered the rotters all right;
I'd rather not go into details, 'twas messy that bit of the fight.

But all of it's beastly messy; let's talk of pleasanter things:
The skirts that the girls are wearing, ridiculous fluffy things,
So short that they show. . . . Oh, hang it! Well, if I must, I must.
We cleaned out the second trench line, bomb and bayonet ******;
And on we went to the third one, quite calloused to crumping by now;
And some of our fellows who'd passed us were making a deuce of a row;
And my chaps -- well, I just couldn't hold 'em; (It's strange how it is with gore;
In some ways it's just like whiskey: if you taste it you must have more.)
Their eyes were like beacons of battle; by gad, sir! they COULDN'T be calmed,
So I headed 'em bang for the bomb-belt, racing like billy-be-******.
Oh, it didn't take long to arrive there, those who arrived at all;
The machine guns were certainly chronic, the shindy enough to appal.
Oh yes, I omitted to tell you, I'd wounds on the chest and the head,
And my shirt was torn to a gun-rag, and my face blood-gummy and red.

I'm thinking I looked like a madman; I fancy I felt one too,
Half naked and swinging a rifle. . . . God! what a glorious "do".
As I sit here in old Piccadilly, sipping my afternoon tea,
I see a blind, bullet-chipped devil, and it's hard to believe that it's me;
I see a wild, war-damaged demon, smashing out left and right,
And humming "Ben Bolt" rather loudly, and hugely enjoying the fight.
And as for my men, may God bless 'em! I've loved 'em ever since then:
They fought like the shining angels; they're the pick o' the land, my men.
And the trench was a reeking shambles, not a Boche to be seen alive --
So I thought; but on rounding a traverse I came on a covey of five;
And four of 'em threw up their flippers, but the fifth chap, a sergeant, was game,
And though I'd a bomb and revolver he came at me just the same.
A sporty thing that, I tell you; I just couldn't blow him to hell,
So I swung to the point of his jaw-bone, and down like a ninepin he fell.
And then when I'd brought him to reason, he wasn't half bad, that ***;
He bandaged my head and my short-rib as well as the Doc could have done.
So back I went with my Boches, as gay as a two-year-old colt,
And it suddenly struck me as rummy, I still was a-humming "Ben Bolt".
And now, by Jove! how I've bored you. You've just let me babble away;
Let's talk of the things that matter -- your car or the newest play. . . .

Broken for some time now,
As the abhor is no good to me,
Proved me a counterfeit personality how?
Feeling bilked, she said to me.

I wanted to regret to her,
But she won the argument with the same technique,
Asking questions, made me felt reprehensible,
But her expressions were so unique.

She left me in the dark holes of the universe,
When I needed her the most,
Kept waiting for her to absolute me,
But the time had already gone.

Took time to plaudit myself,
But ended up making things knotty,
She was my lovely talisman,
Who made me realise how hypocrite I'm.

The hibiscus is dying
bilked to the hungry maw
of a desert kobold.
Listen to the knell of loss;
screeing of mouse in crushing jaw,
tiny sparrow philistined to a
mammonism of white-
seizing cold and jet trails.
Desert nights mordant,
aestival qualms hurry to
obliterate green orange pink red -
promises of what this dry rock soil
longs for prays for dies for.
Greedy dust -
I suffer no greater blow
than this dead blossom.

she cried havoc when chaos spilt from my mouth like milk.
i sunk fangs in her tilted head then i bilked.
i was drunk on pangs of guilt and debunked the whole lies,
the half truths you told Matthew from time to time.

i built a silk pursue from sow's ear but she jilted the gesture
so save the lecture because i won't pester you like the jesters do
because my wounds fester when i'm next to you.
i'm not here for you rescue

when you abandoned ship
from a boon companionship
so exsiccate in the canyon which
i excavated you from.

you grew some ovaries
when you said you were over me
so don't bother overseeing me
overseas.

© Matthew Harlovic

Our hot girl summer rolls on - like lava downhill or male models doing - anything.
We’re in Athens, Georgia, yes, it’s hotter elsewhere - but you can die in the sun - is this really a competition?

Fashionistas and trendsetters are adorning themselves in fluorescent lime green this summer. Making it the must-have statement color for the cool kid's club. The whole aesthetic was inspired by Charli XCX’s lime-green album cover for ‘Brat.’

Now, before you roll your eyes at the state of America, where silly people are bilked by influencers - isn't that what happened in the 60s with ‘flower-power?’ Wasn’t that ‘counterculture’ flagging, where everything from school buses to bikinis were flower adorned, driven by bands like the Beatles and umm.. [fill in the blank]?

So, we tripped (sounded psychedelic) to the mall of Georgia, to shop for unnecessary, lime-green things. Nail polish (which I think eats), beach bags, coverups, Crocs, friendship bracelets (cause we’re 13-year-olds), Cinnabon's - which aren’t technically green but are delicious and the Apple store - because it makes us happy.

I’ve read, or heard it said that “malls are dying.” Not this one, on a weekday mid-morning it was packed. The line for the eighteen-movie-plex looked like Spring Festival (Chinese New Years) at the Beijing airport.

Sadly, it’s time to admit that as 20-year-olds we’ve aged out of the “Clare’s” esthetic. A 12-year-old in line to get her ears pierced, looked at me, while I was looking at friendship bracelets, like I was her grandmother and I felt it - it was real.
.
.
Two songs to go with this:
This Girl's In Love (Live At HMH) by Trijntje Oosterhuis
Riviera Life by Caro Emerald

There was a slippy cat named silk,
She had her eyes on my milk;
I became quite wise,
Why don't you try some mice?
This is how she was  bilked.

Glad for birth write to express views
aware cunning linguists
will apply figurative screws  
in an effort at blatant mud slinging ruse
exercised courtesy mail in ballots,
or electorates standing in queues
who the previous Sunday
possibly fervently prayed within pews
a mixture of Republican and Democratic

gentiles (relating to or indicating
a nation or clan, especially a gens)
and orthodox or reformed Jews,
although dissimilar viewpoint you may choose,
perhaps feeling exuberant
crying tears of joy
with red eye to boot
unlike myself (a common Joe)
biden his time until 2028
until then experiencing moody blues.

The following mostly written
November 6th, 2018,
nevertheless, I copy and paste
bulk of previously crafted poem
applicable to 2024 presidential election
nearly six years to date
from forty fifth elected
meddling,  scheming, and yawping
commander in chief.

Das Don Auld (can hardly tank
tucker - son of Carl, and leave
landscape barren) calling out
rigged ken tuckered hoarfrost race,
viz demolition derby presaging
death to White Anglo Saxon
democracy DOMS (delayed
onset muscle soreness)
minions decry diplomacy,
crass denunciation of
Stacey Abrams

liberally Apple eyeing jingoistic rhetoric
declare defamation directly
upon disparate grass roots
hegemony, hectoring, heckling,
and harassing humble hobby (lobby) horse
sense, asper progressive
democrats hurrahing, holstering, hitching
visa vis disc hovering rays in the sky,
no fault in our stars,
harnessing healthy,

honesty, humility plowing,
sowing, and tilling political
terrain at expense tubby
execrably, damnably, cruelly,
brutally, nagged, branded,
and whipped malevolently,
mercilessly, and mischievously
lambasted by fourth grade
vocabulary level former commander
in chief exuding: haughtiness,
doughy bully pronouncing

prescriptions provisioning
one percent pampered
population attending one
born at Jamaica Hospital in Queens,
New York City hobnobbing,
galavanting, fawning...
at ego inflating functions
exploiting downtrodden
under most class "dirt poor"
bilked proletariat segment.

Pinnacle (topping Taj Mahal),
now owns Birds eye
bourgeoisie view, which
informs hawkish word
smiths, onlookers with
powerfully pointed outlook
excellent access, sans zealous,
vociferous, uxorious, and traitorous
tyrannical reigning Rex
less lee pugnacious noxious

loose xenophobic,
jabberwocky, demagoguery
laced jargon surly *******,
quizzically, pugilistic-allied,
outrageously punching
imaginary nemesis, linkedin
with instagram, snapchat
twittering skulking arch
conservative enemies
clandestinely undermining

(bone a fide skulduggery)
ambitions to turn back
figurative clock, applauding,
cobbling, counting crowdsource
to elect forty seventh
commander in chief
to reboot, remake, and retry
to restore American (post
world war II) hit parade
soundtrack resonating

with ardent blatant
bigotry, colored blinders,
devilish foo fighting
patriotism, nepotism, localism,
gerrymandered, jury rigged
Russian hijacked pollster
precincts, nativism milking
titillating conspiracy theorists,
denouncing radical ambidextrous
righteous leftists, silencing

second amendment agent
challenges provocateurs,
lake wobegon raconteurs,
and saboteurs infiltrating
highest echelons with spooky
intelligent poseurs, and green
lighting one man plutocrat
steamrolling aborted blackened
civil disobedience (Thoreau Lee)
walled in reproductive rights.

Impersonate a cow to get milked, kiss Michael Milken to get bilked
'cause rake-fist is the host deported grill of the bay, served on 1 tray
Dum' toes can't learn 'em nuttin,' dum' *****, can't learn 'er somet'in'
***** hinges in as them wages of sin rack up with cat-house binges
Hell singes trite mortal sins what ready Texas *****-house twinges
Fires singe flighty moral wins that sea-quake D.C. bordello twinges
Jail singes trite coral stints to swell semi-flimsy poor-house twinges

Self immolation as sacrificial bleating lamb
promises eternal martyrdom
awaiting voluntary die hard protester,
where countless vestal virgins provide blissfulness
(think ******* mansion on steroids)
synonymous with delightful
grand view garden of Eden
transmuting mortal flesh
(clothed in lovely bones)
into burnt offering
mummifying and searing
once robust sacred heart
courtesy hungry, and angry forked flames.

Escape said hell on Earth I must,
which hopefully convincingly
explains the above nightmarish scenario
awaking me from an otherwise pleasant siesta.

Livingsocial here at Highland Manor
sparks the matchless following hyperbole,
whereby overactive imagination
fosters grim statistics of suicide in general,
and setting her/himself afire in particular,
yes no matter the truism, we
(yours truly and the missus)
can attest to a roof
(recently reshingled) over our head.

If only the (laugh-in) fickle finger of fate
would bless with doggone sudden wealth,
or bestow beneficent altruistic philanthropist
to bolster my very anemic
checking and savings accounts
which still smarts nearly eleven months
after weathering a blitzkrieg assault
iterated umpteen times
within previous poems,

and even posted a gofundme page,
whose soothing telephone voice
calm, cool and collected (sotto voce) belied
blood thirsty Machiavellian
scheming compute hacker and fraudster,
who called himself Harvey Specter;
One scheming scammer,
who made out like a bandit
 after he fleeced one naive sexagenarian.

No matter psychological services
found the author of these words vilifying
above named malevolent online marauder
who initially (convincingly) weaseled his way
thru the milieu of cyberspace
zapping this Apple Macbook Pro laptop,
claiming to be holier than thou
by disabling access to the Internet,
I fell prey to his charade,
binary enfilade, and façade
entranced and mesmerized,
subsequently feeling wretched
after carrying out the bidding
by unforgettable referenced clip artist,
which incident of being bilked
reported to the local police,
whose promptitude responding
offered small consolation.

Little forgiveness yielded toward
a punning wordsmith,
still seething, fuming, livid with rage
and mad as a hatter at himself
for following hook, line and sinker,
an older fella ordinarily tentative and cautious
when commingling with persons unknown.

I politely ask for uncontested support
campaign contribution promoting me
an aging sexagenarian baby boomer
groveling by (and supporting the Frau
royal highness, (heretofore known as
the missus) solely courtesy social sic
(an abbreviation of the Latin phrase
"sic erat scriptum" - which means
"thus was it written)" security disability
which unearned and untaxed income
divvied up to pay Consumer Cellular,
Verizon FIOS, Hyundai Elantra auto
loan to Ally Bank, PECO, Apple Cloud
services, splurging on indulgences
Netflix, SiriusXM for commercial free
radio while we drive to and fro hither
and yon, plus my own valuable worth
the while to read (cover to cover) small
number of reliable socially progressive
publications such as TIME Magazine,
The Week, The Nation, Smithsonian,
and Mother Jones buzzfeeding yours
truly valuably indubitably reliable, and
currently, locally, and globally notable
events to keep abreast of impossible
mission characterizing changing mean
drama (nail biting action) played out
across the webbed, wide world stage
speculating how willing the average
Tom, ****, or Harry blithely gives
money to the political candidate of
their choice, but if I matter of factly
asked for money (even a measly one
dollar bill), a hooting and hollering
would ensue, nevertheless experiment
prompted me to broadcast an honest to
dog communiqué greatly beseeching an
anonymous reader to support your local
******, whose nest egg whipsawed by
egregious thieving unscrupulous fraudsters
posing as (fake) Apple technicians after
hacking into my MacBook Pro (Retina,
15-inch, Mid 2015) essentially hitting me
with a double whammy initially locking
access to become linkedin to stored data
unless I called a toll free number only to
unwittingly fork over a large sum of money
after being blindsided that Citizen Bank imp
ploy ease colluding to siphon every red cent
constituting checking and saving accounts to
this day approximately seventeen plus months
after I got royally bilked, fleeced, scammed,
et cetera, and no success after posting a blurb
on Gofundme, an idea got hatched just today
to adopt the guise of a political nowhere man
shaking figurative tin cup on the cusp of holly
days trying to elicit altruistic responsiveness
from any pair of eyes that peruse the contents
of my poetic plea gently plucking heartstrings
to finance life, liberty and pursuit of happiness
for one mortal male who shortchanged himself
more'n his halflife ago socially withdrawn from
the countless opportunities to risk saying hello
to a pretty little thang, which painful shyness
predated availability of powder milk biscuits
made from whole wheat raised in the rich
bottomlands of the Lake Wobegon river valley
by Norwegian bachelor farmers; so you know
they're not only good for you, but pure... mostly.

more difficult than
threading a camel
through the eye of a needle.

If unable to maintain contractual obligation
(meaning being delinquent
with timely monthly payments)
our 2020 Hyundai Elantra
will be repossessed.

Though totally aware
when ghost in the machine
a MacBook Pro (Retina, 15-inch, Mid 2015)
rendered said laptop locked courtesy malware,
which unfortunate circumstance
launched an avoidable fiasco,
I foolishly erred and dialed
the number that flashed
with unbeknownst sinister implications.

Lemme preface details of scoundrels who preyed on obliviousness blindly ensnared in scam by informing thee dear reader of the fact that I take nine prescription medications (for severe social anxiety, mild depression, and palmar hyperhidrosis), and often feel (dazed and confused) in a heavily drugged stupor.

The following summary presents the scenario copied/pasted when details initially whipsawed psyche of mine with horrible feeling of being duped, and utterly reckless and absent at oblivious to red flags.

All sense and sensibility went out the window on what began as an ordinary Tuesday, where writer of these thought of death wish.

I already filed a police report after being bilked for above mentioned funds, which incident occurred encompassing the dates June 20th and 21st 2023, whereby an Apple tech impersonator scared the dickens out of me by claiming Macbook Pro replete with countless Trojan Horses, computer viruses, malware, et cetera, and mislead me to withdraw cash out checking and savings accounts then going to the nearest ATM to convert cash into bitcoin cyber currency vis a vis courtesy creating easy to pluck virtual pursestrings thru My Wallet.com. Said funds siphoned immediately into the coffers of hucksters.

Effusiveness coursed thru my every pore regarding glimmer of optimism recouping all or part of the monies adroit bamboozler (scammer) finagled courtesy prestidigitation. He wove a fabrication, whereby Citizens Bank employees supposedly schemed (courtesy stealth me) to scoop up rightful capital constituting checking and savings of yours truly.

Matthew Harris courteously, imploringly, and quiveringly asked divine omniscient wizard if he could initiate a line of communication with your head honcho to present synopsis (see following paragraphs), whereby obliviousness to being exploited (to extract life savings - like taking candy from a child) predicated and linkedin to mindset on the date of June 20th, 2023.

Unsure how Macbook Pro (the computer utilized here and now) got hacked, but while perusing innocuous poetry website, a ghost in the machine suddenly, and unexpectedly disallowed me to proceed with any further activity. A warning message and contact number showed up which specific details no longer recalled. Even after turning off the laptop, and then turning said trusty Apple product (par excellence) back on, the same ominous warning reappeared.

After hesitantly dialing the number (out of service at this juncture), the following ruse coalesced.

We initially spoke late morning on the former aforementioned date after Macbook Pro rendered inoperable. As mentioned, no matter I turned off computer then turned machine back on again, an ominous message with contact number appeared to flicker on the screen rendering any processing impossible.

Fingers nervously dialed 331-307- 4900 (as iterated above number no longer in service) what supposedly fronted as Apple Technical facility. A alternate number (559-421-6744 also now no longer in service) also utilized.

Nevertheless, upon answering at the other end, said impatient impersonator, and impious imposter reeled off an immediate recitation of countless Trojan Horses, computer viruses, malware, et cetera supposed populated Macbook Pro, which prognosis scared the dickens out of me lest all private date compromised.

In order to resolve computer issues (in retrospect those **** bugs most likely planted, when he or his cohorts hacked laptop - I thought safe and sound with relevant protection) then convincing con artist barked out the following commands.

As directed (as if figurative gun held to my head), I drove to two separate Citizens Bank branches; one in Limerick, Pennsylvania and another Trappe, Pennsylvania roamed across riches and took out goodly sums; $ MMMC, $ MMMMCM, and $ IXD at either former or the latter site over the course of two days.

Said key player employing artifice repeatedly warned me to be attentive (keeping cell phone of mine turned on (cuz clerks might exhibit over friendly behaviour regarding said plan extorting money as a mode to distract me), and thus wise to keep mum lest tellers become privy to getting nabbed.

Truth be told, I take nine prescription medications (for severe social anxiety, mild depression, and palmar hyperhidrosis), and often feel (dazed and confused) in a heavily drugged stupor, which state of mind being comfortably numb rapaciously, necessarily, and hopefully helps explain how said drugs contributed to submissive foggy mental health condition.

A short time after stepping out the door (here at apartment b44 - highland manor apartments to track whether I happened to be following instructions), his calling on landline (to keep tabs on me) location showed Comerica Bank (1-800-266-3742) in Michigan.

After exiting the first and subsequent second Citizens bank branch (June 21st, 2023), I maintained regular dialogue (using cell phone 267-643-7315) with "Harvey Specter," who then instructed his thoroughly conquered, connived, and convinced subject (me) to drive to MP gas station; location 125 Gravel Pike, Collegeville, PA 19426.

Once there, whereat ATM machine accessed, and all the cash converted into bitcoin cryptocurrency, and virtually stored in MyWallet.com, which process (for reasons that seemed logical and believable at the time) also entailed scanning/photographing my license.

Upon returning to said man cave, an uneasy non peaceful feeling arose. Hunch validated after dialing Crypto currency toll free number 888-897-9792, and got told all monies liquidated, hence I filed a police report despite capturing culprit an exercise in futility.

Fingers and toes crossed (to no avail) after professionalism sought to affect a desirable outcome, and since that fateful fiasco finances never bounced back to a satisfactory dollar figure.

I now append a poetic endeavor that did recaptcha dire emotional straits linkedin to the unconscionable spectre of Harvey Specter or so he falsely called himself.

A diabolical, inimical, piratical,
and venal worm,
whose cut throat devious shenanigans
found yours truly to squirm;
his addiction to money (mine)
sated until he ****** me dry
analogous to nicoderm,
yet impossible mission
to smoke out the most minute germ
converting life savings of mine
into bitcoin cyber currency.

Horrible reality of being hoodwinked,
preyed upon human vermin
immediately upended high jinxed mien
floundering ten thousand leagues
under the cyber sea
analogous to Titanic submersible.

I always feel myself surprised
to what length con artists (scammers)
expend themselves, when they
(he, she) could be
productive citizens of society.

In plain English,
yours truly got blindsided, extorted
interrogated, needled,
tricked, and frankly zapped
courtesy fobbing off
honest to goodness verity
springing from computer malware
kickstarting me to be virtually robbed
in broad daylight
with the fullest consent of
self anointed aspiring poet,
(steeled against irony

as if liberating money
in both saving
and checking accounts – two of each
emptied out as if expunged funds
belonged to somebody else),
when delivering a sucker punch
that cost me more than
thirteen thousand dollars
inviting such thoughts
to overdose on prescription medication.

Hence, the shonda rhyme
of utter literal pennilessness
decries hatred linkedin
proclaiming scathing wretchedness
upon the talking head
(with a clipped dialect)
ensnaring unsuspecting victims
(lower case in point -
writer of these words),
when Macbook Pro laptop
got rendered non functionally disabled
thank you ghost in the machine,
wherein reigned indubitable chaos.

Hence, loss of nest egg
(found me cracked up)
regarding resultant monetary liquidation
fall of the crowded house ushered
disquisition without hesitation
briefly describing my death
originally due to fetal positioned
congenital psychological affliction
and today's painful aggravation,
when countless Benjamins
gussied up as hobgoblins

joined human league
averse to plaintive benediction
thence, this with mine jetblue
skinny legs like a chicken
his (mein kampf) got dealt mortal
(who gives a hoot) blowfish
rem mains disintegrated
by mailer daemons usurped dereliction,
whereby sanity given eviction
in the subsequent fiction

that makes feeble attempt
to evoke stricken gumption,
where eons ago nihilistic thoughts rode
roughshod to wreak humiliation
upon prepubescent initiation,
whereby the antithesis of jubilation
kept the author (yes, yours truly)
like a trapped mouse
in a cat protected kitchen,
where no cheeses cur heist
could rectify or bring libation.

Noah hide dee ya what mailer daemon
possessed this earthlinked
live nada so hotmail
to splutter so much persiflage
as evidenced above and in the following.

Ye might well categorize
the palaver as pure llama
heaped dung attempting
to sneak into yar consciousness
as some esoteric badinage aspiring
to convey that this doodler
with words adroit
with the english language.

Temptation to bid fare thee well
bah humbug anguish
cuz down the gullet goes lethal drug
e'en without any farewell hug
after smacking lips polished
off deadly drink from mug.

Within reverie long fostered hankered freedom
at last attained to exit silently
terrestrial real estate oblate spheroid
during hulu heralded century 21,
which would deliver
(ants sir) rectifying eternal senescent deliverance.

Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness
and goodwill toward men/women
served as a mere pretense
extant the global arcade.

Nothing boot charade, enfilade
(albeit with limp poetic/
prosaic pugnacious), facade,
gilded hilariously inside *******.

Ever since he kickstarted lifelessly,
his noggin oddly plunged quietly
resting as a deceased shutterfly
tonight under vaporous wisps
as somber mood prevailed
amidst the cloistered silence imposed from
the shunted cremated preference
re: symbolic (logical)
figurative burial of Matthew Harris
subsequently reincarnated as soft dust.

Potter's field here I come,
one harried styled swiftly tailored
faceless book earthworm member
joined the rank n file
of his slimy brethren n cistern
when a mortal male
(crushed courtesy cruel
cockamamie crime) ceased
to live June twenty first
two thousand twenty three.

I foresaw how miserable fate worse than death
resolved, albeit at loss to kith and kin
of beloved brother, father to deux
darling grown daughters and husband
since July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
now left destitute and widowed.

Immune to antics of scallywags,
the grim reaper undertook requisite business
and swung a his scythe with effortless breath
and started coffin.

He exhaled little billows of cold air
while awaiting the hearst
carrying lifeless body
of none other than me doppelganger.

Prior to imagined demise, I took special pains
to select an ideal piloted kamikaze pilot plot.

A mossy glen with a mill by the pond
of my boyhood swimming hole
served like the ideal welcome mat
for the return of this native son
long gone from his family estate of Glen Elm.

At pinnacle of storied fame
death struck (with welcome arms) unexpectedly
while dodging the madding crowd
off hucksters, punsters,
and xenophobic bummers
jostling to get a glimpse of renown author,
where paparazzi seemed
destined to track me down.

As the advocate of countless essays
on inalienable rights
for all creatures large and small,
no pause from the hounding
local populace offered peace of mind.

Until now!

The prospect of dying
never scared this non-believer.

Cessation of consciousness
essentially served completion of life
in corporeal form
and reconstituted physical being
into grist for other organisms to flourish.

Karma and glorious unique characteristics
comprising each of our respective charisma,
dogma, and persona
(generally comprising an enigma
to the world) absorbed
after contract with cosmic creator lapsed.

Brief occupancy on this terrafirma
as inscribed in genetic code
(merely a blink of an eye
in the universal schema)
gave this now deceased dreamer
notion to maximize enjoyment of each day.

One need not globe trot
(and boast of espying exotic places),
but could experience inner harmony
by imbibing the present.

Simple pleasures that abounded
in the wild or evoked via creative imagination
of august writers supplied
ample sustenance for satisfaction.

Contemplative and introspective mien
prompted Eros to be discerned
in the grand canyon of Mother Nature
in tandem with personal motive
to indulge like-minded thinkers
since the beginning of time.

Any given day frequently found thoughts
turning over every figurative
jagged rolling stone
when the veiled, shrouded, cloaked...
characterization invoking angel of death
might silently spring a surprise visit,
which metaphysical thought
interestingly enough gave sigh of relief.

Why?

Upon termination of enjoying existence
in living color, the eradication
of this pet peeve of mine i.e.
anxiety/ panic attacks
interwoven with inxs
of obsessive compulsive behavior
would dissolve into basic elements
of earth, wind and fire.

No iota amount of matter
marshaled the non-entity dimension
would assume command.

Those former psychological trials
would thence be relinquished
from their parasite role
and recompose cells
of one mortal man (me)
into matter to be recycled
into raw materiel
for other organisms to feast upon.

Basic constituent cells
of **** sapien in question
would become necessary seeds
for some other manifestation
for plant or animal development.

Godaddy maggots sans fancy feast,
a best buy per this former
foo fighting beastie boy,
whose nihilistic outlook
promulgated within his in utero psyche.

Gestation as an embryonic fetus,
the potential live, googly eyed,
earth-linked, wannabe hotmail prodigy
harbored no oshkosh bug gosh
pinterest to remain
in the world wide web of bad company.

Hence, nothing could mollify measly
mumbling linkedin kibitzer,
albeit progressive matchless
who unwittingly opened
the red box of Pandora.

Molecular features
would assume novel combinations
thru said degradation of flesh,
yet improvisation of biology
would wield wasted corpse
that once epitomized an articulate,
civil, enumerate, glib, invertebrate,
kind male into novel marvels
of unpredictable genus and species.