There they were,
all shining
clear
and see-through
plastic
the hole’s on top
like the Pantheon
in Rome
all open to the skies
the flies
the opaque yellows and pinks
mangoes and pineapples
with names like
rasbamango and applefluff
people walked accessorized
cups in hand
brains frozen
from the combination of low fat
probiotic,
bionic yoghurt and fruits
that could never, ever
have grown in Connemara.

It doesn’t matter why I was there, where the air is sterile and the sheets sting.
it doesn’t matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed and beeped every time my heart leaped, like a man whose faith tells him:
God's hands are big enough to catch an airplane

or a world,

doesn’t matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death,
or that every breath was either hard labor or hard time,
or that I’m either always too hot or too cold
it doesn’t matter because my hospital roommate wears star wars pajamas,
and he’s nine years old

His name is Louis

and I don’t have to ask what he’s got, the bald head with the skin and bones frame speaks volumes. The Gameboy and feather pillow booms like, they’re trying to make him feel at home ‘cuase he’s gonna be here a while

I manage a smile the first time I see him and it feels like the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
so I hold my breath
cause I’m thinking any minute now he’s gonna call me on it
I hold my breath
cuase I’m scared of a fifty seven pound boy hooked to a machine, becuase he’s been watching me, and maybe I’ve got him pegged all wrong, like

maybe he’s bionic or some ****.
so I look away.

like I just made eye contact with a gang member who’s got a rap sheet the length of a lecture on dumb mistakes politicians have made. I look away like he’s gonna give me my life back he minute I’ve got something to trade, I **** near pull out my pack and say


Cigarette?

but my fear subsides in the moment I realize Louis is all about show and tell. he’s got everything from a shot gun shell to a crows foot and he can put them all in context like:

See, this is from a shooting range and

see, this is from a weird girl

I watch his hands curl around a cuff link and a tie tack and realize that every nick knack is a treasure and every treasure’s got a story and every time I think I can’t handle more he hits me with another story. says:

See, this is from my father. see, this is from my brother. see, this is from that weird girl. see this is from my mother. it took me two days to figure out that

that weird girl, is his sister.

took him about two hours today after she left for him to figure out he missed her.

they visit every day and stay well passed visiting hours. because for them that term doesn’t apply. but when they do leave Louis and I are left alone and he says the worst part about being sick is you get all the free ice cream you ask for. and he says the worst part about that is realizing that there’s

nothing more they can do for you. he says:

Ice Cream can’t make every thing ok.

and there’s no easy way of asking and I already know what he’s gonna say, but maybe he just needs to say it so I ask him any way. Are you scared? Louis doesn’t even lower his voice when he says

**** yeah.


I listen to a nine year old boy say the word ****, like he was a thirty year old man with a nose bleed being lowered into a shark tank, he’s got a right to it and if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through it, I want to teach him to swear like the devil was sitting there taking notes with a pen and a pad but before I can forget that Louis is nine years old he says:

please don’t tell my dad.

he asks me if I believe in angels,

and before I realize I don’t have the heart to tell him, I tell him Not lately, and I just lay there waiting for him to hate me. but he doesn’t know how to, so he never does.

Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before god gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was.

He never greets me with silence. only smiles. and a patience I’ve never seen in someone who knows they’re dying. and I’m trying so hard not to remind him, I’ll be out of here in a couple of days, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted. and he’ll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow, I’ve been with him for five days and all I really know is Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow, and watch them float to the ground, almost as if he was the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say that its gravity that’s been getting us down. but the truth is

there’s not enough miracles to go around kid,

and there’s too many people petitioning god for the winning lotto ticket. and for every answered prayer there’s a cricket with arthritis, and the only reason we can’t find answers is the search party didn’t invite us, and Louis right now the crickets have arthritis

so there is no music.

no symphony of nature swelling to crescendos, as if we bent halo’s into melodies that could keep rhythm with the way our hearts beat.
so we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying nine year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven. we must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations then let our lives

echo, and grow
echo, and grow
echo, and grow

Grow distant.


grow distant enough to know that as far as our efforts go we don’t always get a reply. but I swear to whatever god I can find in the time I have left I’m gonna remember you kid. gonna tell your story as often as every story you told me, and every time I tell it I’ll say see,

there’s bravery in this world

there’s 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we take has to be given back, a nine year old boy taught me that.

so hold your breath. the same way you’d hold a pen when writing thank you letters on your skin to every tree that gave you that breath to hold.
then let it go. as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back
let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good ***

the black eye will be worth it.

because what is your night worth without a story to tell, and why wield a word like worth if you’ve got nothing to sell. people drop pennies down a wishing well as if the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought. but if you’ve got expectations expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of the hard work, hang in, hold on mentality, like I accept any challenge so challenge me
like

I’ve brought a knife to this gun fight, but other night I mugged a mountain so bring that **** I’ve had practice.

Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found the prize inside because we never lied to ourselves, never told ourselves it would be easy or undemanding.
so we sing in our own vibration and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop midflight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands on gods hands

take the time to catch you

so that even if god doesn’t, it wasn’t because we didn’t try.

I don’t often believe in angels, but on the day I left Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said this is for you,

I half expected him to say

See, this is the first one I grew.

-Shane Koyczan

underneath me
my metal river flows still

these are my scars
and you will not take them
away

I used to long
for an eraser

now I will slash at anyone
who will slash at me

double strike them
remove the metal

but you can't remove
the memory.

Technology:
how I love you and loathe you
in the same breath

your phonic ears
listening out for
a babble of distress
from a childs vest
sleeping soundly
in the next room

your ten tentacle arms
purge my words
and shelter emotions
across vast distances
for long lost friends
to find comfort
in 140 characters

your innovations
are the respirator
the breathing lungs
the beating heart
the bionic limbs
that help without want
to walk again

if only you could
just once
guess my words
correctly
just once
is all I ask

I invited that girl
for a pint
not a riot
and the black berry
ripens in the east
is now an improvised
IED

Technology:
will you ever be perfect?
or will you always
be evolving

how will you know
that you have not
stepped back
to be overshadowed
by an ape

punching numbers
searching for Shots
and finding Pints
in the middle of
a dusty Riot

Something tells me that you’re going to be magic someday.
That same something also told me that our intelligence is dying, fading deeply into an artificial existence,
swirly, milky, warm and familiar.
Oh! This cry reminds me of time spent inside of my mother’s womb, it’s the ******* essence of life, division creates one,
things come undone, wheels are spun and respun.
Oh, existence is exciting. De…
Spite what I say, I as a human have this exciting urge to believe in everything and nothing all at the same time, and yet feel completely content with the uncertainty immediately following. Why?
Why slide down the backbones of your friends instead of creating your own out of silly putty and *******? Because that’s all that’s REALLY going on here, right? Just a whole lot of utter and complete *******. We’re all just in search of something substantially and outrageously righteous to believe in.
Something profound, yet enticing. Never arrogant or stringy, stretchy, worn.
We live in mad days, a mad daze of terror, rage. Disgusting filth, mesmerizing measurements, fat men and their walrus struggle, THERE’S TOO MANY BABIES!
Everything’s real frothy, fluffy, CUSHY.
And this comfortable comfort aides me late past the second noon, where bubblegum and clownfish skies look so beautiful when you’re looking through smoky spectacles.
Let’s clasp hands and stroll down that crooked stretch of land far from electronic arms and bionic senior citizens, super as they may be.
don’t let anyone catch that regret in your voice, dear. This is just another rat-race, fast paced and now we’re stopped at some electronic gate while we travel down the Information Super Highway. ****’s wack, man.
What’s with all the can’ts and stops and yields? I say I can’t read fuzzy bear, so stop harassing my mood and demeter, you don’t see me checking out your gun.
STOP. WAIT! HALT!!
I’m going to threaten your life now, or at least I would if I could threaten any shredded living remains of a tale probably sadder than my own. Get going, you’re going to late for your Living in Denial workshop meeting that you attend every Sunday morning.
Don’t go throwing my sheep into the fire now, you never know what you might spark. And you don’t see me checking out your gun.
Just don’t hate me because I don’t follow your logic, it’s my world too man. See, you spark my petite taste for “sincere apologies” and throw another polished rock in my face. “Sorry” is no ******* excuse for greed.
You’re going to be pure, radiating magic someday. I can see it in your eyes, they’re asymmetrically wise. Now expand your voice like a strong Whitney ballad, hauntingly emotional and loud. LOUD.
So loud that your cousin Stanley can hear you all the way from his random mid-life crisis backpack excursion in the Swiss Alps.
Take my hand, friend, and in the park by the trees with the birds and the bees we’ll slowly fade into the grass, every atom meshing and combining, it’s science. Do you hear it? The pulsating of the massive brain, the all-knowing library?
Knowledge is flowing. We’ll get massively drunk and pass out in a cozy embryo sack full of words and goo (but don’t worry, we’ll be wearing raincoats).
Warm and surreal, we’re happy and we’ll wake up still drunk off of knowledge.

And then. We feel that stinging magic, and it’s bittersweet, glamorous and harsh. And just as euphoric as we were, we fall.
As with every high, there is a low
And you are a giant ticking grandfather clock counting each moment carefully and precisely, making sure to take note of the glow and grandness of it all. Everything.
Is ignorance bliss? Do you wish to be left in the dark?
Because, to be honest, I’m scared of the dark, and sometimes I need a little light.

I have no control,
I'm just a reflection of emotions deep below,
Feed me some antipsychotics,
Free me from my mind,
Bionic-

I got the sickest of Minds,
Come equipped with the quickest depictions that sicken your eyes,
Unassisted, don't be resistin' the fight,
Trip sixes leave you ******* to die,
Rap circles around you like a serpent constrictin your life,
Drag you through the mud and the muck before I kiss you goodbye like the crucifixion of Christ,
You don't know what's livin inside or what I put into these lines,
You might wanna diss me but it's almost forbidden to try,
**** on you ******* while I'm kissin the sky,
Diss all your writtens while you listen to mine,
A misfit, I'm twisted with an addiction to rhyme,
Watch you stiffen at the sight of me hissin at night,
Silence these voices I tried but my prescription ain't right,
My lungs are collapsin like somethins kickin my sides,
I'm not twitchin, I'm flinchin,
Pay attention, there's a difference,
Somethin wants to get in and take away my decisions,
Sometimes I wonder how the **** I got in this position,
I keep talkin to God even though he don't listen,
He's prob'ly ******* from all the sins I've committed,
Unspeakable actions let the demons in, scratchin,
I keep pleadin and askin but believe I'm the baddest,
Can't seem to keep it, reactin, but receivin the static,
Creepin in the dreams of an addict that needs to be handed,
It's reachin in me and its makin me panic, I'm takin it back and,
Retracin my tracks and erasin the past and,
Replace you with ashes and take the flame back I'm,
Burnin alive while rehearsing these lines,
You can feel it churnin inside, the turnin through time,
You're cursin my life,
Feel like bursting inside-

Feed me some antipsychotics,
Free me from my mind,
Bionic,
Walkin a fine line,
But I called it,
"Its night time,"
Don't worry, I'm on it-

Steel, Frigid to the touch.
Tension of movement can be seen through the entire figure.
Eyes open, the glow of inner essence betray the Beast,
For no matter how cold it grows attachments still hold true.

Hands full of power are weak to gold strands,
Incapable of abolishing past ties.
The Beast watches it's body frost over.
A tremendous roar echos as the Beast raises.

The realization of contempt has fueled change.
This Beast, this Man tears away his metal crust.
Heat breaks through the cracks.
I sigh with relief as I finally see my own skin.

god is the devil and the devil is bob

god is the devil and the devil is bob

god is the devil and the devil is bob

you see god triumphs all over poor bob

you see today bob was going to the local bowling alley to reform the messiah, you see

this person believes he is the messiah, and his mate brian was annoying the pants off him

by every time he got a strike, brian copies TV, saying, yes, there is a GOD, about 100 times

and drove the messiah nuts, saying why are you saying this, then brian got another strike

and said it again, yes, there is a god, and the next miss, brian will say 100 times , no there isn’t a god

brian never offended the messiah, but he said, yes there is a god, or no there isn’t a god about 100 times

and at the end when brian got 182 as his bowling score, brian yelled out, yes, there is a god up there

and when someone got the same score, he said, there is no god, it still drove the messiah nuts

and bob delahunty said, why are you saying he drives you nuts, he is a family person, you can

learn a lot from brian, and brian sang we are the champions, the messiah left going

god is the devil, and the devil is bob

god is the devil and the devil is bob

god is the devil and the devil is bob

GOD THE DEVIL AND THE MIGHTY BOB

bob delahunty wanted to understand the messiah, so he made brian and the messiah go to a ACT Brumbies game

and brian filled with the simpsons lines in his head, went go brumbies, go brumbies, and when they dropped the ball

brian yelled out we stink we stink we stink, and it happened again, the brumbies ran up the field with brian saying

go brumbies go brumbies go brumbies go, and they dropped the ball, and brian said we stink we stink we stink

and the messiah, who has bionic hearing said, the two islanders behind us, said, why does he keep doing that

and brian said, he was copying frankie j holden on TV, or trying to be the GOOFY homer simpson, which to brian’s

opinion is cool, it was the messiah that has the problem, and the messiah walked away saying

god is the devil and the devil is brian

god is the devil and the devil is brian

god is the devil and the devil is brian

god the devil and annoying old brian

and then bob delahunty decided to follow brian and the messiah around, and it seemed brian had a point

every time the messiah had problems, he would yell out, GOD DOESN’T WANT ME TO HAVE ******* FUN EVER IN MY LIFE

and the messiah would say that again and again, saying god doesn’t want me to that or this or every fucken thing

you see, the messiah wanted to live with some old soccer mates, better than brian because he was a total ******, and brian

said, i am not a ******, i am trying to be nice to you, allowing to go to the coast together, and to the movies

and you still say, and making me say god doesn’t want me to have fun ever in my life, and bob gave brian the messiahs drug to

help him beat the ****** in him, and stop that silly thing to say of god doesn’t want me to do that, it forced brian’s best school mate

ripping into brian’s head after hearing he is a buddhist, saying sit there, buddha doesn’t want you to go on the computer

and i told that voice, buddha wants me to join the next generation, which is better than being a ******, saying, if i eat a banana

god will punnish my family, and force people into rioting with one another, brian knows they wanna party, and bob told the

messiah, the way to make you better dear child, is split this friendship, ok, so the messiah walked away singing

god is the devil and the devil is bob

god is the devil and the devil is god

god is the devil and the devil is god

GOD THE DEVIL AND MY MATE OLD CHUM BOB

god is the devil and the devil is god

god is the devil and the devil is god

god is the devil and the devil is bob

god the devil and BUDDHA AND THE JEWS, makes bobs day really complete

"They're selling postcards of the hanging" Bob Dylan


Frolicking in the Hague festooned
as if some monarch's golden jubilee
not a room left empty in all the land
queues for miles to get a ringside seat
at what is billed as The Trial of Man
as W, ****, and Rummy sit chained
to the bionic calves of barstools while
Condo Lisa bears witness atop a piano
ferreted throughout the conurbation
breadlines and circuitous routes
recalling the Nicaraguan case
low on the radar of short-term
the disunited states of disarray
vetoes its own trial's outcome
and it is business as usual

Every Move I Made Was Bionic,
I Was Lost In My Thoughts,
It Was Like I Was Hypmotized,
Sitting Back And Eating Popcorn,
As Someone Else,
Was Working My Controls,
Me The Great And Powerful Oz,
Sits Behind A Green Curtain,
Mortal As The Rest,
Disconnected From The Electricity,
Leaving The Bombastic Sydney Behind,
I Haven't Felt More Useless In My Life,
I Felt Like I Got Punched In The Gut,
****** And Battered I Retreated,
And Let Autopilot Take Over,
Every Word Said Was White Noise,
And Every Word Whispered Was Grasped,
And Clenched,
And Torn,
And Sobbed Over,
*Me The One Working All The Magic,
Sat In Shock And,
Watched As Autopilot Got Shot Down

Palimpset prowling on the husk of beleaguered Rome
Aflame from Nero’s tenuous but tenable throne
Swiftly spoken with a singed hourglass and whispered sand
Crafty spacecraft are majestic more than 100 grand
Morpheus enlists the denuded Agent Smith
To swarm the battalions of celebrities that possess and trip
Upon the threaded needle of threadbare convention of betokened appreciation
Every rapport and every fleet dives beneath plumbable detection
So neutered brain damage became a rummaged adage
That too many whack-a-moles are sutured beyond the crisp package
Whet the craven set and propagate waves of earthquakes that strut
The mother of nature is ******* when profligate danger is a defamed ****
So in amphigory and honesty I have become the omphalos of sincerity
I arm myself with brandished personage and speak openly with great integrity
But to brag of how much witchcraft and wizardry exists in this green village
Is to invite a locust swarm of bad mascots and misnomers readily pillaged
So warm with the dawning sun, writhe with the diurnal pun
Cloister the Kloosters and Clooneys with dreaded Harry Dunne
But to relapse into the purview of insanity seems beyond the most lame duck profanity
Because reality conflated with virtual presence is a tantamount inanity
I emerge strong and gilded with every fluttered birds chavish splurge
As magnates that magnetize wealth and glitz are present and observed
But yet they are disbelieved by the concealment of truth and the obfuscation of beleaguered doubt
Swank and squalor rarely combine but when they do they obliviate all winning streaks in a route
A route that spans the gamut between stimulants and stimulations
A career path that looks upward at gainsay and gained elations
The sprawl of profiteers like me will be requited with the passage of years
The forced segregation is the totality of malfeasance and the sum of none of any fears
Only the rebarbative consequence of the giant tortoise and its Vuvuzela cheers
In a degraded state of annoyance that ESP conquers doubt with bionic ears
Lisp on the curb, wretched on the stomp, racism is nothing but masqueraded insecurity poised as self-doubt
Debited to each creation on a variegated piebald wrinkle on an extended litany of lies
Crips and Bloods become Croods and Oilers that are so U.N.-refined as an expedient for wise demise
To scourge the requisite harm of religions endangered by a patchwork of State Farm
To rinse the sour sins of aboriginal boomerangs that switch a bit patchy but always charm
To the knowledge of good and evil we have found again a permissible fruit in an opportune time
That erasure of the reverse course of sin to righteousness finds sublime
But Judah and Israel rebelled on principles and principals
Idolatry in schools is expulsion of nothing other than the voguish dismissible
We recrudesce in this time to an aborning erratum on a parchment of time
That claims hypocrisy in its stodgy restriction of suburban muses crooning originality on wine
Serendipity floods the proud with the avarice of bricolage clamor excessively loud
It extorts the simpleton to belief without understanding or disbelief without doubt
Return to the Jedi of the nomadic tribe of weathered clout
Clippers that sail and sprint through time where stragglers pout
For in every endeavor of this corporate oligarchy our choices are constrained
Our voices are transmuted into simplicities that own our narratives of a raillery train
And every squeal of rustbelt friction is voiced on simplistic fiction
And every majesty is unheard because of the pollution of abrasive friction
So I speak with the scourge of fish and the novelty of clones
I teach and desist sometimes because my eyes were never affixed to any throne
But I am reminded that a rap sheet is Wrigley and Chicago is Piccadilly
Your guess is as good as mine about where a Grand Elect Knight begins really
So to the insurrection of idolatry of a scarred past we have a supplanted Friday blacker that **** and smog until we need gas masks
Such a salesmanship is required to penetrate the desired, even when Iron Man and I are simultaneously wired
On the Iron in the Front Seat that derelicts the panache of the proud intellect because of languor fired
Women titillate themselves on the jeers of hollowed husks of conformity
They intrude with persnickety restive restriction because of arrogated authority
Such a negative bear must mean a positive bull, but **** is easy and blips are cool
That RADAR’s WHIP detection scrawls a deadened earth deracinated from considerations of thinness and girth
The Dickens of Charlie Brown is worth more than just a single smirk
So to those women that skimp on my exultant smile and my delicate words
Lady Gaga has written too many songs about your personal rejection which is patently absurd
Rays of thespian cordiality winnow the borderline between flicks and literary finds
Directors and directives sort an assortment of philosophies in the alcoves to which many are blind
But if to hear the chatter of a fresh tomato never spattered
Pallor and weight, thickness and cheddar grate, inconsequential when you are elite and of a winning fate
So finally ditch your zany attempt to maroon me as a victim of puritanism’s puny ideals easiest to conflate
I have the winning brand and proper package to balance the Libra Scale weight and wait
To those dismissive urchins of passive standards it is finally time to consider and deliver on that luscious date

Here's a little ditty about my father named Hugh.
 He has three grown children, that's one more than two...

He was born in Ontario but now resides in BC
Along with his three kids,  Medea, Sean, and me.

He has a work ethic that is second to none.
 I remember as a kid he would say yard work was fun.

He would bust his *** until his back was sore...
Then come home from work and still do more. .

He had some slips and trips that broke his hips..
And that's not Ironic..
Thanks to the great Doctors, he is now part bionic..

I've looked up to this man right from the start..
And still do so..  though he's an old ****. .

So I stand up here so I can shout..
Happy birthday dad, I love you,  and peace out!

i shattered his stone coat
snug around his idle core
by my fist of strong will and liberty
behind it bearing the beat of a newborn
simple and soft
radiating and revealed
to fruitful camaraderie
bionic boy bound by his brothers
craving delights they say a man should
thundering still with lust's vehemence
piercing through cyan lenses
i sliced it open
tore it out.
denied him at birth.
****** love
it's not enough.
it will die without saying so.
gathering stones

We fixed your heart, it's all spare parts
Your liver ugh, we threw away
This one's new, the one we grew
It's going in today

Those wobbly wonky worn-out knees
Let's consign them to the past
With these bionic ones you'll see
You'll run twice as fast

Need new eyes? It's no surprise
We have all you need and more
Take your colour and your size
Down to our new store

Your genome's on our database
There's nothing we can't do
So come on down, no time to waste
It's everlasting life, guaranteed for you

The world has lost its way
Addicted to lust and ****
***** and floored
Swathed by cyborg technology!!!
Lost themselves
Made bionic feelings
Of false self help
Their ways of living
And no room for laughing!!!
Their trusses are teathered
Demons with feathers
Using planes for war
Buying hypnotic's on shore
Spending money for hypnotic's
*** trade of the ******
Average being
Turned psychotic
As the hospitals are bashed with junkies
For tis,
Yes
The devil's quite spunky
Thy mind is all funky
Thine cars thou hast made roomies
As thou forgot thy wife and beau
Thou hast ruined mine view
Put lazors in space
**** babies by race
And romantic's tis
Should I even mention thou?
I chuckle and puke
To thineself I rebuke!!!!

As I seeketh reality,
Tis
Still choking in mine own claret!!!

Sweaty palms in a pool of nervous heat,
slipping feet wade afloat in miniature shoe boats,
like crocs hidden in a moat,
ravaging and ripping my nerves
carving blood soaked, rigid curves
seeping slow, set in place simply to disturb
and distract away from the right track,
pushing and pulling in different directions,
with every whim and limb located at a different intersection.

Concentration locked away, cast to solitary confinement
placed behind a sporadic, thoughtful wall of silence.
White noise, music to the ears of a lost boy,
living in a lost world, on the search for his lost joy.

Angry outbursts in quick succession,
apologetic verbs accompany the tenor section,
swift and low heartfelt moans
carry the regretful tones,
surfing through air waves,
sticks to the ear drum,
crashing and colliding through every bone.
Felt the sound tingle, through every hair in my nose
down across each toe.

A sincere change of heart,
reaching with bionic arms,
searching, never to be alone.
"Grab my cold dead hand, make me feel alive, like a man.
And we'll lead each other to a new start. And don't fear,
my words are genuine dear. Just show me you'll stay,
and I'll never astray, from love through progression
and not through obsession."

There is no longer any excuse.
In fact, there hasn’t been for a
very long time.

We have seen bloodshed
on soil around the world.  
Over one million lives,
in the name of
freedom,
democracy,
capitalism,
& I can’t quite recall the others
at the moment.

We have connected
through time and space.
We heard and we watched
Bell & Lindbergh
Ford & Armstrong
Gates & Jobs
transform the very fabric of our realities,
uncovering expanding realms
of possibility.

We have healed and protected
our fragile bodies.
Decades ago,
Mr. Salk became part of evening
prayers.
We began having less babies,  
and we marveled for 112 days
at the beating of the first
artificial heart.
Wondering or not
whether new bionic inclinations
had affected our humanity.

We have evolved
collective creeds
through unexpected revolutionaries
and in spite of dragging feet.
While AFL & CIO
became household names,
Ms. Anthony and Dr. King
made us cry
and shake
and question
our very foundations.

And yet,
after 165 years of change,
I say, with a heavy heart,
and millions of people,
and billions of dollars,
and a dream,
that the 1850’s schoolhouse
has been only
feebly & perfunctorily
remodeled.

From their graves,
Mr. Mann & Mr. Dewey ask,
“What will it take?”

2032

that thing strapped to my leg
is an artificial heart
my digital liver fits nicely
in what looks like a backpack
peristaltic action for digestion:
a mini quantum dot siphon
kidneys are actually implanted
nano graphene filters in the blood

I am a bionic man because I can afford it
but I am losing my brain
there is no replacement
despite computing prowess that worries the gods
there is no substitute for a soul
the Tao of this universe is irony only
and now the immortality of my body
horrifies my every thought
as the fluids pump
and the heart moves
but cannot beat

I think first, but lately it seems now a days that's my stupid curse
Because it separates the good from the worst
It makes me feel like could it get any worst?
Maybe so
But this liquor is a good start
They say a drunken mind speaks an honest heart
I've been up all night sick like a dog
You was in my dream last night and still never called.
That's ironic
Waiter, let me get another gin and tonic
That make me feel superhuman with a hint of bionic
But she my one and only kryptonite
That kinda drug that keeps the eyes open throughout out the night...
Why can't you let me sleep?
This a dark angel that forever reaps
Who sticks her lethal nails in you 6 inches deep
(Like a burial)
Which means she killing me slowly
Funny how you hate but barely know me...
I think you owe me.
More than just this new found imagination.
More than all the bullsh!t that you've created...
More than the time I've lost that you have wasted
Maybe I should've embraced it?
Disaster was in the menu and I just had to taste it.
"Get out my life, take a hike"
I just hope you make it.

Even if you were broke, Id pay for you,
If you needed protection, I would fight and slay for you
If you were alone, I would lay and stay with you. Nowadays I just look up to the sky, shut my eyes...wish, hope and pray for you.

Because you need it.

I'm bionic
Misfit
Mischief
These are words that pop up on my auto correction keyboard.... then I think
**** ...
this smart phone really does know me
better than me
A leaf blows catches wind
And frolicks down the streeet
Attach a go pro cam and catch some moments hopefully
Mold it cope with
flash photography
Molten lava seeps beneath the seats of the deceased
increased tensions building filling streets with the police
riot gear and gas masks
flying beer and possibly
biased fear in the stratosphere
I nearly stear clear of the mere thought of
Baskin in the omnipotence
Set aside our differences
And balance the arithmetic
With a litmus stick
Sign, seal it lick and stick
A stamp
deliver quick

Flash

I want to do something crazy
Like running ****
Maybe get a little tipsy
If you want me to
I'll go out and do a show
Show you everything I have
You know how this goes
If you say calm down
I'll just get louder
If you tell me one more time
Why would you rather?
**** the fun, down **** it now
Tonight we are going all out.

Flash flash baby flash flash
flash flash x2
Close your eyes
Don't pay attention
Loose your mind
To *******
Let's pose into a fun position
And act the fool did I forget to mention?
Melodyx2
Girl don't get shy let's have a blast
Come with me and just Flash!

If you don't loosen up you may even get booed
Were not chill were just to crazy for you
Is how we are so
Don't you wait up
I'll just leave you and go get drunk.
If you say calm down
I'll just get louder
If you tell me one more time
Why would you rather?
**** the fun, down **** it now
Tonight we are going all out.

Chorus

Half Psychotic, sip Hypnotic, got my feet on electronic
So robotic, its bionic
Call it retro-phonic
I know you wanted, baby you just forgot it
Is how it happened, you were a little on it
Before you met me, you were a tiny bit boring
Look the sun's out, and now's good Morning.

The tip is welded sharply but the mind is much sharper mental scribbles are illustrated with the ink of a marker let's make it bolder let's make it much darker don't tell the doctor

but I think I'm sick, drenched flashbacks are flushed down in my minds sink I think clicks like clocks tick, my gears are offset so I change my axis

I'm in an out like a fine stitch when I write my eyes twitch then blur out my language, I speak words of the damaged

time is a motion picture that I am watching if I stick then I'm it like the clown so come around before your fears drop to the ground

we play with pop rocks to the sounds of the then, not the now

Never pretend to be a part of the crowd I'm a part of the wow
that **** is shocking
I'm up like an umbrella and Ms. Poppins.

speaking babble like in Islamic
leaking metal calls me bionic
I rather live in a cardboard box than in an office honest I'm twisted but more on it then off it

where have the lights gone? it's about to get cold quick, let me drop this ice bomb
my mind runs longer than Olympic marathons
I'm  a flawed paragon
they ask me if am high
I say no it must be the cloud I'm on

That's right no wings needed
I'm an open flesh wound so this flow keeps bleeding
I will beat these words down till they scream mistreated
These words are missiles that **** for no reason
Now watch me aim into the air and shoot into your region.

there's this place
on my arm that goes
"swish"
It's the bit without
nerves where
the metal lies.

if I was bionic
and my heart
were made of steel
I'd be indestructable

but
then I
wouldn't be able
to  feel.

Contents of that Secret F.B.I. Memo

Next week the world is going to end again
When the north pole and the south pole switch places
According to secret radio transmissions
Secretly beamed from the secret headquarters
Of the secret Club of Rome far beneath
The Vatican and secretly aligned
With the secret sword of the secret Knights
Templar with the secret star WD-40
By our secret Masters on the secret
Planet Xenophobe in secret accordance
With the ancient prophecy of Cranium
The Elder discovered in a Prince Albert can
By the Portuguese philosopher and
Explorer Almoso Nutellaeus
Who thus received the dark secrets of the
Atlantean sorcerers in a secret
Language which only he was able to translate
When the Moon God Myrtle of the Aqua Kirtle
Blessed his Radio Shack TRS-80
With a rare pixie dust which can only be
Found in a certain secret plain in the
Sahara Desert at the Winter Solstice
Marked by a Bionic Blood Altar cursed
By the Knights of Toledo in a strange
Ceremony which can only be witnessed
By the Initiates of the Order of
The Cumulonimble Secret Ferrets
Of the Discalced Colossus of Roads
Whose emblematic pilum can be discerned
By pouring lemon juice over the pictures
Of the Caesars in a sacred clearing
In the secret Wood of the Thirteen Oaks
And a Loblolly Pine made when The Primal
Pole-er Bear from Beyond Time set up
The North Pole and the South Pole, and gave the
North Pole Santa Claus and the South Pole Little America
Station, and this Manichaean duality
Has set the planet in opposition
To itself, resulting in the cancellation
Of Gilligan’s Island after only three seasons
Because Gilligan and The Skipper were close
To discovering the Pre-Raphaelite
Anaemic Amoebic Astrolabe in yet
Another papier mache cave infested
By toxic golden hamsters of existential doom
Guarding a time-and-space portal leading
Directly to Oak Island where Captain Kidd’s
Lost cuff links (the ones with little pictures
Of Elvis golfing with leprechauns) can
Be found, the cuff links that channel the energy
Between The North Pole and the South Pole enhanced
By the chakra of a Hoover vacuum cleaner
Once used by Winston Churchill’s housekeeper
During the Blitz before she married her second
Husband, Trevor, who was the Hereditary
Keeper of the Keys of the Guernsey Privy
And thus a carrier of fairy blood
As required by Ye Ancient Lawes of the Booke
Of…something-or-other…which was carved in runes
On Roman skulls just before the loss of
The Island of Anglesey to Governor
Suetonius who was told by The Voices
That the Druids invented rock ‘n’ roll and
Must be destroyed so that the harmonic
Harmony of the North Pole and the South Pole
Could be restored to their primordial
Nordic vanilla pudding.

I try not to be so neurotic
my thought process is caught on ironic
stopped by a lost cause, I'm not bionic
the line that's drawn, I am standing on it

the rotted thoughts are only symbolic
what I got was a spot in the *****
my mind is trodden by forgotten logic
the road to irony, I am walking on it

So you like to listen with ears that gander..
To the miraculous sound dance upon the veranda
Through a ferocious pound of advanced verbal stamina
Banging out precocious power like political propaganda
Whilst Sanding down atrocious Towers of satirical working man hours
Miles of hanging around with flowers that gave us powers and led us to pipeline dreams
We thought we was Mario and Luigi it seems...
Cross pollination from a hybrid nation
Brought up on Nintendos and playstations
To then sort out endo and thc equations
Buttercups and Daisy chains utter such hazy frames for stutter much wavy brains that pucker up for glazey games...
A beautiful mistress coming with cuticle dizziness can be fruitful in optical misgiving ness
Goddess awareness was always the fairest nest
yet the one I always invest in is high hats and snares
Always there to ingest a rhymes saps and wears
More playful than a caress of sly ******* stares...
Apples and peaches of bums with succulent pears
Meet battle sound features on drums of reluctant fears
Whilst Cattle bound Creatures hum decedent sneers
And Snapple drowned preachers hear irrelevant prayers

Bionic biopics from ironic orifices
Leave subsonic tonics drawn for moronic sonnets...iconic comics form sardonic harmonics for all the polyphonics with bees in their bonnets
As the Flutterbuys scuttle buy you and I as I utter why do the good girls always make me cry
Yet the bad girls get me high
As they wind and grind
with nature's sweet sunset vibes
it's always a pleasure I treasure to take this fair weather  ride
Whereas the good girls just make me sigh and I wonder why I cry when they say goodbye
maybe good isn't something for the likes of you and I
these are the wonders of why try in an age of Wi-Fi
So we'll stick to our fly by drive by guise of rampage rides through each other's insides..

So come and gather at the miraculous sound dance on the veranda
Go run and gather up haphazardous fondants for a poetic stanza
The sun can hammer us with glamorous fragments for a consciousness Bonanza


A break in the pores is a take from the draws  as something is coming to you from a cause
A screed and a scrape off the times the mind's been in need of a gauze
From the marks she adores from her kitty cat claws
From crimes that hear a applause for the kind of sports only a blind horse could  report
So Don't be mortified or horrified for being glorified through a poet's eyes
it means you've fortified the tortured side of a fantasist sky
which is now where you lie as it's hard to deny you've been immortalized….
  Ooh yes see..that is your prize

In the beginning I had no doubt
I would return to the way I once was
There was no question about it

Years have now passed

Things didn't go back to the way they once were
And I finally realized I would never return to the way I once was

It took 4 years to finally realize the obvious


I once thought I would not live long enough to see my hair grow back
It grew back
Time went on
I got older
The nostalgia and longing for my old life got worse


I looked out the window today
And the pain cut deep

For me, the outside world is out of reach

It's there
It's real
But I am no longer part of it


I burry my face in my pillow and let the tears come
They always come


Every day is the same day
An overwhelmingly long day



I look into a mirror
The same face I see every day looks back at me
She frowns
At least I think that's what that ****** expression is
A face that is held together with so much metal seems more robotic than human


My back hurts now, so I should lie down completely
That's also held together with metal
So are many other parts of my body

I don't have the strength to make a list of what's held in place with metal bolts and screws


I rest my bionic self in bed
As comfortably as I can
And sigh



My heart hurts...
Now that part is still human