Yes, mechanical leaf mover,
create the shrillest sounds known to man.
See if it doesn't just slowly make the world a ******* place
by taking away the joy of crunchy leafs,
which gradually become moist, squishy leafs,
then, after a long period, emerging from a snow covering
thaw and lie there, fully exposed, recumbent,
depriving the dormant seed of grass its sunlight, preventing grass,
freeing up water for infrastructure needs more urgent and rational
than supporting the most boring of decorative plants encompassing our lives.

I guess what I'm saying is that, not only are your sounds annoying,
they're just another of the short-sighted endeavors our present society insists on.
You are the "circumcision-for-hygiene-purposes" of our urban planning.

*******, leaf blower. ******* and the excruciating environmental ignorance you represent.

I SAID *******, LEAF BLOWER, YET YOU PERSIST!

You need to let that leafy-******* grow,
covering the shaft of ground.
Rid it of the pleasure-impeding growth of grass!
Let the earth cry out for the sensation of tiny points of pressure
moving delicately along its surface.
Let the ground erupt with wild flowers, or at the very least,
the trampled exuberance of plodded soil
and the desperate levels of human debris that would collect upon it.

Or are you trying to hide our wastefulness from us by removing something
which is nothing, a nothing, invisible barrier?

You've already succeeded in giving my apartment complex the ambience
of an industrial production complex
which I suppose it always was.
Maybe your attempt at concealment
has been a revelation.

Or maybe I just can't think straight,
because there's been a god-**** leaf blower
circling below my window all morning
and now a heavy, riding lawn mower is coming to cut the grass
that hasn't grown since September
but has been watered every day
even though it froze last night
and it's almost November.

the bane of my existence
here
now
is
all of the incessant
noise.  

the city encroaches
ever outward,
gobbling up
the suburbs
like the great big
Blob

contributing
layer
after
layer
of noise.  

a new metro line
opened last year
disheartened
the morning

realized
it was the trains
i heard
as my puppy
and i
walked so early.  

trash trucks,
back up beeping noises,
leaf blowers,
mowers
and trimmers ...
all
conspiring
to drive me
mad.

the birds and owls,
snakes and deer,
hawks and rabbits
toads
and trees
and flowers,
puppies
all other creatures
divine,
tempering
this man-made chaos
this man-made
hell

keeping me hopeful
that
i
will
have some
respite
  

some respite
from this
hideous cacophony,
this man-made hell,
in the future,
not
too distant.

of course
there are
some benefits
from all
the city life

but i prefer
the silence
the solitude
of nature.


the Taoist recluses
who speak to me,
whose poems
paintings
writings
and silence
are balm
to my soul.  

some day soon,
i too
shall join
the recluses
far away
far far away
in the mountains.

but for now,
i am
only a modern day
taoist
recluse
stuck in suburbia,
doing my best,
living in this
noisy hell.

Leading sounds of spring
Are now preceding the season.
Scattered platoons of yardmen
clunk aluminum ladders
that thunk debris littered roof gutters,
bang a size range of galvanized nails
into an exterior catalogue of materials
needing attentive appending.
The leaf blowers, the leaf blowers
exhausting NASCAR level roars
attempting to push back
last fall/winter into their calendared slots.
And the first nice day Harleys
rumble distantly along the gorge road below.

And the night was the way it was
There was a heat but it was not unbearable
Hemingway sipped on his ***
As the Buk made his way with the beer
And Woolf eyed the passing river stream

There once was a dream that ended not in death
But only with the sight of a Christmas wreath
Snow fell upon the ground like the ash of dead men
And war pillaged the Earth like the pecking of farm hens

Where there is misery
There is desire for honesty
The rules of life change
When the bullets begin to fire

The mire has broken
There are faceless soldiers being
Ordered by nameless generals
The future is the present
And the present is at your doorstep

Walking through history
Seeing the horn-blowers with their faces
Painted with the screams of the lost
I remember by childhood
The vast plains concrete
And economical disaster on
Every front the pupil could encompass

Can there be only questions in life?
Where are these desired answers?
Are there friends on the other side of hill,
Or will life be only filled with the presence of enemies?

Am I my own nightmare?

Are questions
Only
A path to uncertainty?

The train leaves to pass a levee
With sights
That only grandmother
Would be able
To articulate

She cries as if
Death is her husband
And all her sons
Have abandoned her
For other women

Dylan is almost dead
I weep for the poet's dream
Seeing that the buttons
Never matched up to the seams

On the horizon the lines of clouds
Reflect the madness of the crowd
Born, constructed, and organized
There is no reason why
Man should not be demonized

Tell tale signs of the witch hunt are here
Can't you see that repentance has passed and not near
The horn-blowers, they cry for Joan
The cross burning
They seek another who unknowingly
Waits for their wheel to turn

Time ticks on
I love the sound of my
Gravel ridden voice
Mystery mends its wounds
As the caverns of humanity
Ensure that
Their will be a place for their eternity

Where is God now?
Where did he drunkenly wonder off to?
Why are there so many of us
With only ourselves?

I smell the scent
Of sweet and stale blood
The beginnings and the ends
Of a revolution

There is no spanish war
Anymore

There are no Germans
To fight

The Middle east has collapsed
In on itself

There is only us

And

The night

Part1
This body is full of worms
Glowing
And moving forever
If I could match their movement
I might know what it means to be still

This body is afraid of rusting
I shave ***** red banjo strings
From the creak in these joints
This body moves like a song
String snap at a high note

I want you to kiss me with your brake lights
Fast enough to snap a knee cap
Reset my gait

This body is falling apart
Like an old Volkswagen in your dad’s front yard
All rust and ***** engine rumble
Even at red lights
We idle like earthquakes

Feels like a bike rider taking up his own lane
In front of you
Makes you nervous
It takes patience
Not to speed up
It takes patience to stay

Part2
She smiles like I am a child
Asking silly questions

Think softly she says

Your body is dust
Swirling in daylight
There is your rust in the soft glow
It is free
And you are alive

You are still like water
A steady current
Your body is fish and worms now
They move and eat
They are free
And they are alive

Your body is a furnace for glass blowers
The men inside make marbles
They are blue
And gold
And green
And warm

Let her hold you awkward now

You are free
And you are alive

"Love, Love is a verb. Love is a doing word.
Fearless on my breath. Gentle impulsion
Shakes me, makes me lighter."
                ~~~
Snipping, mechanical apparatus of air
pushes around, the slightest elements of sound
unknown torment, blowing
leafs strewn through the corridor.
A reverse vacuum, no bag
only the earth
which perpetually maintains
the forceful stream of words
like
"snip" and "blow;"
they are verbs,
just like "love"
only harsher.

Your decisions don't merely impede the flow of days
relocating things that would like to stay
like crunchy leaves, unacknowledged beneath feet
until cries of ecstasy are heard by neighbors
who have nothing to step on.

Those discarded vestigial coverings would,
with a gentler blowing
have turned tepid, flaccid and freed.
Emerging from a snow covering
thawing and lying there, unashamed of their repose
shriveled and fully reclosed, recumbent.
Protecting from rough, sodden clothing, parts that can’t be hidden any other way--
diverging water toward infrastructure needs more urgent and vital
fallen leafs would not only **** grass, but let flowers grow
flowers of intimacy and exuberance
touching the hands of young women.

The sounds escaping mouths of leaf blowers are a demand--
they are a type of love lacking tenderness
myopic utterances of planning committees
who don’t know love is a doing word,
like snip and blow, an impulse, only gentler.
Ordinances are the "circumcision-for-hygiene-purposes" of urban planning,
never seeing that leaving things concealed by Fall
is the best way to see Spring
and experience the joy of new awakening.
They should let each leafy-******* grow,
covering our shaft, our ground.
Prevent the pleasure-impeding growth of grass!
And the earth will continue to cry
out!
Tiny sensations of pressure
moving delicately along its surface,
cause soil to writhe with lost control
then erupt with wild flowers and shrubs.
And if not these, then at the very least,
trampled torsion of plodded soil
covered by desperate human debris, collecting upon it
showing what we try to hide:
our wastefulness and discarding of things we really need
ripping off our closeness sheath
and replacing it with dark, green, translucent barriers
of grass
and blowing machines with blades
their maintenance demands.

Our apartment complexes have ambient
tones of industrial malls
when your procedures are taking place
you cut and snip and blow.
Maybe your attempt at concealment
has been a revelation.
But the fearlessness of love
I feel
is something you thought you could snip
and blow.

Hindsight blues,
I'm tangled up in you but you can't see through the overgrowth -
Thick bristles and whistle blowers,
Tell me your perception of me.

Let's laugh together at the discrepancies,
Don't expect more from me,
You know me better than that,
aristocratic nature, I hate where you come from,
That comfortable turf.

I can't be myself in your world,

Solipsism - listen we can only shine on reflection vision and that takes more than you or I alone.

Still tripping,

Tangled up in you.

a beacon of misery
shining his light on the neighborhood
selling his wares on dark curbsides
or servicing customers in broad daylight
a 24 hour drive thru
the projects never sleep
good at his trade but hit houses and hos
dip into merchandise and revenue
he had to keep his day job

they roamed the streets in search of landscapers
scoping unattended pickup trucks
and snatching whatever they could
power mowers, blowers, spades and rakes
they called themselves garden snakes
fencing their ***** on Slauson Avenue
their profession requires reliable transportation
so every now and then would find him
rolling in a new stolen car

caught in a police chase once
“Finally got him”, they thought
the projects campus is a two way street
only one lane in and one lane out
his criminal genius spied a window of opportunity
a silver haired angel was stopped in the exit lane
he entered the two way and screeched on the brakes
drifting up next to her car at an angle
put it in park, jumped out and ran
effectively blocking the entrance
the poor old lady didn’t know what hit her
intimidated by flashing lights and sirens
she froze like a mannequin
not having the presence of mind to get out of the way
my friend disappeared, blending into the ghettoscape

we were going to the movies one warm summer night
he showed up at my door with eyes like fire flies
a gray sport coat draped his forearm
to cover up the fresh track marks
didn’t seem to realize
his long sleeves were already doing that
I enjoyed a movie that he couldn’t remember
shown at a theater he couldn’t recall

tired of the trappings of addiction
the violence of every-day-dealing
the disloyalty of his gangsta boys
the threat of being caught
the bad hits and three day highs
the smell of living in stolen vehicles
or finding some strawberry to shack up with
he tried to clean up
enrolled in a residency program
way out in the mountains
they called it Warm Springs
afterward he started attending meetings
going to church holding his palms up
in praise and supplication
praying in tongues
he gave it a good honest effort
but he lacked the skills and temperament for real life
I watched him slowly, steadily decline
rolling back downhill like a Sisyphus rock
with ***** hair and smelly shoes
didn’t see or hear from him for a while
then one day he drove up in my driveway
music blaring in an older, blue Cadillac
flashed some bills at me
fanning through them like a deck of cards
“Congratulations”, I said
“You made it all the way back.”

I was born on Sepetember the third of 1998.
I was born two weeks early,
but I, to my mother,
was always a week late.
I've always been in-decisive.
You see, some people are born
holding AR-15's,
But I was born holding a
bright red bubble gun.
Maybe it's just that I'm
a girl, but I
barely know what a gun is,
much less
how to fire one.

My brother was born
three weeks early,
his gun was fully loaded,
stocked full of ammunition.
He easily fires round after
round of laughs straight
into the crowd.

When I was little, I
couldn't tell when people's
ammunition was real
and when they were
just firing blanks.
whether all people had
bubble blowers like me,
or if I was peering down
the barrel of a long bellied
rifle-snake.

my Father tried to warn me,
but my mother re-assured
him this was a
"phase I would grow out of,"
my brother tried to prepare
me, even
gave me his dart gun
full of laughing gas,
but I couldn't get the
hang of it.

It wasn't until later that I
learned if you wanted
to shoot straight,
you couldn't shoot up
first.

On the first day of
third grade, I
brought my bubble blower to school.
I thought that since
guns were illegal,
I would be immune.
I didn't know that
even a dull
toothpick is enough
to penetrate
a bubble that I
used to think was stronger
than steel.

But you.
You were always different.
You know how they always
say, "Don't bring a knife,
to a gun fight,"?
Well you brought yours
anyway.
A green jagged dagger
with your name engraved on
the side, Jaiden.

On that first day of third grade,
we were brand
new insurgents.
We lacked the right kind
of ammunition to survive
in the jungle they
called third grade.

I've always been a quick learner,
but. You
stuck out like a sore
thumb.

You see, you talked
a little funny,
and hitched your pants up
when you ran.
And you weren't exactly
what they called,
"pretty."

Sometimes differences
make you more alive.
But mostly they paint upon
you a big red bullseye.

Some people,
are born with snipers
in their hands,
Jaiden

And the snipers, they
didn't have a hard time finding
the big red target painted on
you.

I lucked out, you see,
I've always been
a fast runner.
And somewhere along the road
to fourth grade,
I exchanged my red bubble blower
for a black ****** rifle.
And it wasn't that much
different for me to
Run and zigzag.

Jaiden! Don't hike up your pants.
Just run and zigzag.
Jaiden, Please! just Run and zigzag
Jaiden! You won't survive this!
Just Run and zigzag.
Jaiden, Please just
run and zigzag.
Please.

We loaded guns full of ammunition,
well placed taunts
aimed directly at her flaws.
We picked her apart.

Jaiden Bailey moved the next year
We made her life a living hell.
When given a choice,
Be a bully or be the bullied,
with much shame,
I admit I chose the opposite
of Robert Frost.
I chose the road more traveled by
And that has made
all the difference.

Teardrop echoes; the tone of your skin drains away,
painting another picture of the night. Whistle-blowers of the night-
torchbearers of the day; kids fighting each other for tree turfs;
skipping stones at early morning ducks. But their mother
inside doesn’t have much time to duck his punch

Well domesticated dogs, too afraid to bark at the night’s
domestic violence. Dominated skin under the dominator’s tight
hands; the love of a shape-shifter— changing its skin to appear
loving for ten pairs of eyes; striking down with a false picture
of love- to the sight of six eyes. Like claws that sink into your
skin; he’s drunk again!

A day away from shelter; for a heaven that does exist from
one’s bruised knees. For all the hurt draped over troubled
shoulders, unfurled eyes crying silent tears bouncing off
the walls

                     A child in the next room hears the teardrop echoes

The chirds are burping,
the blowers are flooming.
The droys are beaming
Of firls so gine.

The dees are boing
what dees bo best.
So loys bet's do
what dees bo best.

Hind the foney.

It ain't no mountain high-__++
enough heart stickers 2 pluses
But----she's beat like someone's
playdough high setting
diamond in the rough
High level of mercury felt tough
Like the good will hunting

Let's fulfill our dream with
less talking
More snorkeling high hopes
Big escape important titles
Such a Sperling report high crime
she got high hopes
A kiss is not a kiss
Casablanca
Piano many riddles

The delicate mood became the
Joker her low jeweled belly bottom
He could just pinch her
His paint when smoke gets in your long
Eyelashes the temptation her eyes
of infatuation
How he can move
her schoolgirl crush

The mountains
The holiday sweet baked sun cookies
He was lady looker starting
fresh like a rookie

All loving to the end of her earth

The painter Gogh the fine feather brush
Could lift smiles like hot gold rush

Way below I see something
My eyes became the hidden lake,
My body got exposed to the shining light
The Knight high tempo until the daylight
But there is a high price that's all
I could take almost my blindsight
Her body elevated

She sighs the law and order
The highest authority constitution
the movie camera high action
Higher force of her revelation
Like her Crescendo Moon
Hot body stimulation
But she became to see the
lower state of mind taking the
Xanax route

High hopes she touched the
Goddard

The Searching her lips
piercing she losing her grip

What a hot Australian dude swap
Kicking around in his boots the
  rain puddles of love hurdle
The high raft of the tortoise turtles

My heart lies the crescendo
Such a high tempo she screams

Opening up high five
my exclusively yours
Hot five emails to find got
so excited until etc--

A mountain of broken hearts
Luv her favorite journey high
living totally fab
Those hubs and cool London pubs
On the edge of ecstasy but my dark
midnight pup labs jump up the vibe

The earth stood like a still life
The darkness and the red moon
Everything I thought of came true
bleeding
The high sounds of the clock
Striking at midnight
I felt the coach driving up the
Godmother not the fairest of Bees
They were swarming high seas
And left me on my scared knees

Some leftover Crescendo of honey
His chinny chin Big Foot beard-man
High waist lady gold bonds
of money

Howling wolf complex mixture
of her body curves too many

Symphonies playing
Like something never failed
Seeing the beauty rainfall
Mermaid Tail

Like the crest of
Tsunami all the selfie's
MeMe high tea hours
100 feet he could
of very well
wanted so much
to kiss her high-cheeks
But finding the treasure
lips curved-low

Italiano tempered the wicked concert
Concerto higher up temptation
High tempo hot soup
Louisiana red hot tabasco
 You gotta have her gumbo

Going to the Mountaintop
Mr. Concerto meeting
the computer
Mr. Dumbo what an
Mc Jumbo
burger the "Clicker Bar"
The stars eating away
The greens of her eyes
Living in a hut spitting
pits of olives 
 
Spicy ladies of pimento
In young and restless town
Sacramento
She was sitting her name Sofia  
High rise body elevated
The wicker chair (Loren)
Contemplated
Hearing a sharp squeak
of his shoe that is his affair
He was walking
toward her

He fired out pool shark
Like the Crescendo cafe all neck
out like giraffes to dusk at night
Two heads are stirring
better than one smooth
spread Jiffy butter
Enjoying their cappuccino
the flamingo dancers the bodies
sway together to be engaged
Licks of her envelope
He kissed up to her first sip
Hot mouth expresso

The Pacific high tempo soprano
the mountain can be terrific
Be more specific

That girl Marlo with the
 higher latitude in St Thomas
it won't bring back
a love quicker
Our minds get slower
Using her useless hair blower
"Pacific Crest Inn"
Mind controller
Bathing on sun worshipping
What a star turning point

But lower and deserted on an island
Like smoking the sun up with a joint
the Apennines Italy like pennies for
her thought
The lust crest of her waving high
Surrender my love (Silverback)
Glitter silver high tent

Rainforest of Gorillas
Monkey *** swinging and surfing the
High society ladies what a fly-by event
High Apple Martinique the computer
Felt flooded like she could use a drink
Yes we have bruised bananas and
horn-blowers those outfitters
out of their minds towners
They never leave the crazy freeloaders
Shell be coming around your mountain

High tempo voice meet
Tatiana of the  black crow plantation

Feeling the soulful E-Harmony
Coupling eyes of tears Seattle
Cows and sheep all stacks of hay cattle
Right now her salvation she needed
something lighter not exactly higher
The Sierra Nevada crest she looked up
She went back to her Mediterranean villa
Looking at her pearly white teeth
And said what is with all this crest
I have the best hours with
my crest toothpaste lower teeth
being brushed to the higher height of
my top mountain teeth
That crescendo
was my new birth

The secret of my energy
can be found in my false libido,
unwanted erections,
vibrations on the
inner-city bus.

My blue collar life
with a white collar tongue,
tried pyramid schemes,
tried working for the right thing
on the wrong side of the bar.
Worked on my oral ***
until going down was an art,

worked on my poetry
in the hope I could ******* through
the empty spaces,
clear absence of a career path.

The secret of my energy
can be found in my distance
from anything or anyone.
The secret of my energy
can be found in my contempt
for telling those I care for
about who I love
or what I ate for lunch.

Tried drinking green tea,
meditating by the ocean waves
until I sang the ballad of the sea.
Tried tuning my guitar
to the point the strings would snap
in the hope of portraying emotion
my talent had always lacked.

The secret of my energy
can be found in my distaste
for positivity and pessimism,
for conservative thought
and overdrawn liberalism,
for whistle-blowers
and tone-deaf singers
of flag-waving anthems
and golden age dreams.

Tried holding my hand to my heart,
pledging allegiance
to red wine, white skin, and blue truth.
The secret of my energy
can be found in every idea
I had reached out for
only to find that in my pursuit

I could only become the sum
of all that I knew,
of all that I was,
of all I outgrew.

I began to shake

This is it,
A broken plate.

It got worse and fell
Out, far beyond her

As his face smashed
Against the sea shell
A wave crashed and found

A sudden death in a
Hole in the wall.
**** it all.

There was no watch
Last night.
I actually slipped out
Flew out of the room

Oh and you
Looked like the ocean
At first sight.
Beautiful and consuming

A windy day
Lashing out against the dunes.
Thank God
They were there
I would've sailed away, If not

For your last breath.
You saw a shadow,
I saw the reflection of
A memory from hell.
I saw you and I,

Standing hand in hand
In your mother and father's
Little mansion in the Keys,
It's fingers set me on fire.

I coughed and swallowed
Your words of love. I've got
Six months to puke 'em out
It's poison

Bursting in my veins
I sang the song you love
"The Blowers Daughter"

Your father would love me.
It's too late now
For time to heal

My memory
Of this beautiful scar.

Your eyes and *******,
Took my breath and

I fell apart.

Every time it goes, that snow blows.
But the time it comes, who goes to blow snow?
The times have gone, that snow blows.
So what time will come, when snow is needed to be blowed?
And when the time comes for these snow-blowers to go blow snow,
Will it be time for snow to be blowed to make it go?
When the time comes for these snow-blowers snow blows to go,
The snow will go, as time blows.
Every time it goes, that snow blows.

Bar Born The Tasked Rascals, Art So Set Apart,

As If Not Of This Excepted Floor To Have A Soap Box Well Lit And Sound Bound As To Announce The Service Of All Mankind.

These Hell Bound Sounded Hound, Cranking Out A Numbness Of Flashing Rights To The Clearest Inner Outside Light, All Bug Repellent In Its Shaded Cast, As If The Main Mast Full Gale And Expecting The White Whale To Summon The Squall Of All, The White Bl;blizzard Of Darkened Davy Jones Host.

Late For The Event In Our Black Sly Right Tight Ties, Tux Not The Occasion Of Such A Dinner In The Coral Castles And Measured Counted And Weighed Sand Grains In Hand, All Ring Around The Rosie And Pocket Full Of  We Are The World.

Is It Insulting To Find A Tear Of The Torn Sided Fine, I'm Fine, **** Son, He Said He Is Fine... Is It? Is It Really Fine To Be So Kind As To Look Endlessly For The Truer Shine Of Ones Kine?

Wasted And Laid Barren In The Worlds Cup Over Flowing In The Digital Futures Markets, As We The Rip Torn, Black Eyed Beauties Of The Breeded Horse Smart
Before The Cart As It Was Said On A Wednesday Clay Shaped Self As The Potter Fell Over From A Heart Attack Just By The Mention Of My **** Name.

Was It This Simple Setting To Round In The Tails Tucked And ******, So Sad The Signs Were Of Mine Own Hand In The Mixed Bag Of Tricks All To Call The Summons A Court So Full Of Our Truths And Burdens And Labors Of Love And Hate, So Late This Judgement Of Set Aside The Ritual Tribes Dance To Call In The Rain, Only , As If, To Walk In The Birth Of A Giants Framed Hunch Back To Back And Caned By Cains Marked Hand.

To You This Might Seem A Tale So Riddled In Riddles A Rippling Crass Shaven ***, A Holler In Yonder Holler Or That Of A Dieing Mans Need To Cast Blame In The Way To Say, How Were We Ever Insane To Think On A Moments Notice Again That Shove To The Edge Of Wonder And Fulfillment Did He Dare To Craft A Sinking Ships Last Gasp, Or Were It A Was Not Of Lifted Simpleton And Worries Nots, To Blur The Feelings We All Seem To Hang Close To Our Hearts As To Say In A Screaming Tones Silent As Dogs Whimpers Oh , For Gods Sake , Forget Me Not...

The Cast Of Unwitting Jerry Cans Half Empty From The Storm Troopers Gaze, They The False And Amazed Wonders Of The Free World To Tempt Your Massive Thought And Considerations And Brain Power Looking Eye To Eye Through These Cell Phone Towers Of Joyous Tizzy And Spinning A Dice Of Little Means To A Giving.
What Does One Find? A Mere Chance To Work This Entire Poem And Line Into A Trout Of Creek Feed Leisure Time?

Or Is It Ones Worth To Graft The Strangest Brew In The Me And You, For All Time, Due To The Constraints Of The Time, Time And Half A Time Notion For Us To Hang This Heart Of Mine On.

I Do Declare, That In A Star Upon My Wishing Fest'iva And Nova In The Go No And No Doze Moments In Clear And Unfettered Satiation In Full Regalia A Black Mass So Fryer Tuck That You Can Not Star Too Long For The Sake Of The Pornographic Nature Of Thier Thrusting Fuckery In The Tupperware Tasted Cakes And Lemonaded Hast To Widen The Soul Of A Young Generations Boats They Care To Float , Yet To Prison My Dear Captain For The Sense Of Revenge Is Upon The Shoulders Of Those So Bewildered And Lost As To Find Sovereign Thought One Un-steal Able And Last We Could Count, One Above And Beyond The Coat You Brought To Warm Your Bones In Cigar Shaped Houses Floating Not Thine Boat With Stolen Blood Soaked And Still Depending On The Boys Heart Well To Wish Your Sudden Captivity In Audience And Nature To Stroke A Hearts Choke, For I The Warden And The Boastful  **** To Say, Oh Dear Friend They Think This Turn About Fair In Play Is Nothing But A Hopeful And Sick Joke...
Wisen This And That Cat Of Their Lost Abundance In Hate Filled Crafting Law And Law Out Has Your Trust Of Ever Kept Wasteful Play Dates Upon The Bare Backs Of Us And Our Children , Oh No , No, They Will Surly Not Take Your Announcement Of True Give A **** And Care In Such A Wondrously Deep Falling Hazy Gaze, No, They Are The Turds They Are About To **** Upon The Very Day They Proclaimed For Pigs To Never Fly.
Has This Been Lost In The Translation Of Brilliant Minds Eye To The Worded Version Of The By And By The Way, This Is Our **** House And We Are Now Here To Play The Hail Mary Of The **** Day, Or Was It That We Were To Gateraid The Bench Warmers And Arm Chair The Play By Play, All **** And Hands Out Of Reach, To Breach The Wealth Of Those So Ready To Cast Us A Lot Of Heart Ache And Diverse Diversions Of Race Hate And War Upon Every Shore?
I Say, Stand And Be Brilliant Whether They Can Understand A ******* Word You Say, For Truly It Is Only The Call To The Right And The Left, For They Left Us In Harms Way Day After Day, That Is Till Today, For You Are My Brother And My Sister, And On This What Do You Have To Say?
I Say, Take The Power Back My ***, We Are The Power And Its Planted State Of Non Affair In Foreign Affairs To The Truth Be This Our Back Yard Is Our Forward Guard And Today Is The Day We Defend The Whistles And Blowers Of The Stated Truth Among The Liars And Thieves, For If We Dare Not To Defend These True Human Beings, Then Whom Will Find The Basket To Round The Ends Of The Pews Of The Needed Death Total In The Burial Of Not Their Own Corpse But The Nature Of A Word And Its Meaning, For Freedom Will Then Be A Marketable Stock Traded And Made You A Trader On The Gold And Bar None, Son, We Will Have Lost In Every Single Sum.

So ? What Shall We Say On The Day, After Today, Is It Called To My Marrow, A Bone To Pick Or It Be Said, My Love And My Grace Held High And Loud In This Place, For Tomorrow Is Ours In Every Way And Let The Truth Ring Of Loves Grace And Abundance Was Set Free In The Hearts Of All Mankind, For Ours Is The Ever After And None Shall Steal What Resides In Our Hearts,



None Apart From The Part As A Whole, And None A Hole For The Whole To Find Reason Nor Scored Cause To Abhor The Truth Of Ones Core Who Longs At All Cost To Be Free. If I Must Choose Freedom Or Peace, I Choose Freedom At The Very Cost Of Peace, For If Peace Is Without Freedom, Then Whose Peace Is It You Speak And Whose Freedom Did That Peace Cost Them?  As The Obvious Price For The Few To Enjoy A Peace Where The Masses Are Far From At Peace Nor Are That In Any Way Free.

cold rain
beat down

earth softens
bare feet
sinking in
cold wet
weeds
greener than
grass
softer
and natural

fur coats
running along

fox trots by
don't need your
pelt little friend
ones of
your family
living
eternally
watching
having  my back

great blue
heron
takes silent
flight

graceful
& majestic

soaring off

great great blessing....

no 2 leggeds
no beepers
no mowers
no blowers

deep cold mud
a delightful
quagmire
******* me
down
down down
down down
far below
into the ground

left alone
roaming the
night
the early
morn

just us
wee too

puppyhead
& me

SO solitary
SO free

Where do society's extremists abide?
Rallies and Racists go side by side.
BBQs offer up well-done bigots;
On Jordan's lap dance the zealots.
Dogmatists rant in wild front rows,
True believers don't put on such shows?
Sexists cower in coastal Compounds,
Sects marry often in Salt Lake towns.
Troglodytes tan beneath southern suns.
Sepratists hold their final stand
On this side of The Rio Grande;
Fanatics occupy far Left and Right,
Partisans Op Eds are meant to enlight.
Mysoginists grab till they have blisters,
Huns and louts date brothers and sisters.
Philistines take our private spaces,
And whistle-blowers can't show their faces.

Of all the ists I know and abhor,
The musicist is a bigoted boor;
A connoisseur I abjure,
Who chooses tunes he insists
Are superior than my interests,
And disses tunes I like best.

So now I'll lay my needle down,
I've turned the table that goes round,
And plead musicists won't hesitate
To enjoy the tunes... don't discriminate.

Is a dichotomy.
It's a mix between the literary
And the story.
The ratios of metaphors
To mind blowers.
Where is the balance?
Information
Then a quote
And back to information again
And I am nothing but the writer
The voice telling the story.
I am unimportant

over the creek and through the woods,
a mower roars to life

shattering sweet morning silence with
sounds of this manmade hell.

little homeowner
lazy little **** or *****,

is your little patch
of manicured green
so important a sign
to ruin this sweet morn?

keeping up with the neighbors
buying into this artificial life.

never are you seen out
sitting about
in your little-manicured world
of green.

pesticides and trimmers
blowers and mowers
how i turn my eye with disgusted scorn

at the destruction
your convoluted idea
of beauty
has brought.

earplugs firmly inserted
windows and doors tightly shut

still i can’t help
but to cry out,
"why can’t you just
shut the **** up?!"

Eucalypts hang from blue sky railings
The mud is dry, ground is hard
The white ute in the garden
is silent
I love the sound without wind blowers
and lawn mowers
Words are gathering at Newstead
anarchists too
A short story tattoo
Ideas are crowded and loud
galloping around the racetrack
But it's quiet here at the Mudhouse
with the brown dog in the garden

Wreathed in kinetic wisps of fog,
the trees achromatize,
then re-emerge, verdant.
Chi Gong students wave hands in clouds
- no longer a metaphor,
but this morning ...
                                    breathable.
Stillness envelops all
until leaf blowers and edge clippers
cleave the calmness with
their sounds of domesticated gardens.
As if defeated by the din,
the fog retreats back towards the ocean,
leaving but a token of itself
shimmering on the grass.

Glenna Duméy
10/22/11

The immersion we feel
Stillness seems so rare..
Meditation leads us to
Those places of nature
Wind and birds setting
Such are deemed pleasant..
Returning then to
The traffic
The leaf blowers..
Might we then
Realize all ripples
as Noise
Looking for the
Common disturbance
of Stillness...?

Dear kind gentle reader,

just a note to share with you
my wonderful day with you all,
truly the most extraordinary,
and most fun day we’ve seen
in a long while

far surpasses those
those wildly laughing
burning with heat so strong
i could have sworn it was
the time for me to depart
depart the beautiful world & life
for i swore it would not take too
long afore i would be in my grave
for all of the laughin
all that laughin taking
me to my grave

to return to this lovely & blessed tale,

a family of four walked by,
and stop to talk to bark &
talk with puppyhead,
then at me, 

wood wood
wood wood
a lot of that was a goin on

as they wandered on,
we lickety-split got our tether,
tethered together,
we ran out the gate,
to catch  our new found
little fun mates,

two little angels with
eyes so sparkling blue
and curls of honey blond hair,

and one little wild man,
loud and fast
of which nothing was scary,
but himself,
himself of
less than 3

and their large hulking
huge smiling giant of a man,
their wonderful papa

puppyhead and me
Wandered along with
our new friend pals
crissing and crossing
and
crossing and crissing paths

stopped at a magical spot,
hung and slid and swung
so we did
magic ***** and trees as tall
surrounding us all

on our jaunty way back
such happiness was sung

truly a magical day indeed.

as a special magical delight,
puppyhead and me
did discover, the answer to
the mowers and blowers
and beepers

three tinkling voices
chattering along,
mercifully drowned out all
the annoying stuff

dear reader
however, I must confess,
while these little darlings,
have come up with the remedy
to all of the ruckus

i’m a still gonna need
to *** me a new pair of ears
now
along with my new pair of eyes
and now even
more than ever
bless their loud singing
and chattering little hearts


farewell kind readers,
do not fret
for we shall be back
if not yet, then again
almost immediately

blessed blessed night to all….
from
my puppyhead & me

I couldn't wrap my mind around her senselessness, she couldn't wrap her brain around a single thing bigger than whether cheap store bought soda was as flat as her own father's heartbeat. Or whether the blueprints to her grave specified if her coffin would be placed 4 feet under the location of a new and thriving mall complex. She told me if that were the case she wish she could be 6"3 so those ******* money blowers couldn't walk towards the exit without tripping over the remains of her skull.

And boy did this amuse me, although she was not a girl who spewed out questions. I had always prefered answering over being told. I came to learn the more and more she continued to lay out her own fate as if she were a bulldozer wandering over dead oaks, the further it took me away from the one thing I wanted to say. " Yes princess"

I became worn out with the small talk, about why her attic had two locks; one on the inside and one on the outside. Or how to pronounce my last name, and why her grandmas dishes in her home on the wall were hung a certain way.  Why did the **** dishes mean a thing to me unless they were her? Fine china, something she was not. One could not even categorize her as fine mulch or fine ground up broken glass on the pavement.

Pastel was not a color of innocence, I cannot forget how each seam of her ******* screamed to be ripped off as the shades of pink and blue taunted me. However, from another's point of view she would've resembled an angel on her back, and me being a monster as I passed up the opportunity a few feet away sitting in some wobbly wooden chair in her room.

I strayed from the chair and leaned my limbs against one of the four walls that consisted of peeling wallpaper in the top right corner and smelled of air freshener. I was drunk and thinking of any other reason than me, for why this girl was lying on her bed and ******* as it leaked through her ******* and onto her light grey sheets.

Leaving the room for a few minutes I was appalled, insulted. Young yet smart enough to know that diving into what she laid out for me would take away what goal I had strived for the past months. How degrading it would be to give in, but it was entirely new to me that she was practically summoning me from her tower. Leaping off of her high horse to give me something that I may never have the chance to get again. I had my very own version of Rapunzel. My perfect girl ( finally ) flipping her hair just for me.

My biggest regret was returning to the door frame. The silence was loud enough for the deaf to hear and everything seemed put into place and constructed with nails and hammers that all lived in the same toolbox called Awkward. Which came undone when she released the words " I saw how you've been looking at me. "

The door to my composure shut as I closed her's behind me. I was tired of standing anyway, I sat down beside her on the bed trying to compose any excuse to back out of what I just wandered further into. She slipped her delicate fingers down the front of her ******* and let out " You can just watch if you'd like. " I sighed and I was frightened that I would become filled with endless amounts of obsessive adoration, making me less charming than it seemed to be in her eyes.

I reach down and accept the challenge to get my fingers ***** but before I can even get close enough to the battlefield that I was handed she hesitated with " I don't think so, you've been horrible go to the corner. " Who was I to not listen? It had gotten me nothing, not even the satisfaction of dodging my own conflict with desire. She pulled my hair back, forcing my neck to bend back as far as it will allow. This does not phase how helpless I had already felt long before. She dug her fingers into my left shoulder, it hurt more mentally than physically knowing that she was digging her thumb inwards wearing the emerald ring that her ex gave her long before me.

She let go and crawled into the open area between my arms, I held her and couldn't see anything other than her almond colored face and she smirked and said " I'm not going to ask how strong you are, I'll find out myself " She positioned one of her legs onto my left shoulder and pulled herself up. Her calves squeezing my neck as hard as they could. She smugly asked me " So you still want to listen? " I pressed my arms as tightly as I could to keep her propped up, determined to do something right. She wanted to see me fail, she thrived off of my lack of skills to impress. I had never ******* a girl before, using that against me gave her some type of high that lasted for as long as we had known each other.

She laughs and says " There's nothing stopping you from telling me how wet I am. " I do not say a single word, or show any hint that may suggest that I would. " It would be best not to drop me unless you never want to get this close again. " She wanted to do anything to make me fail, cause me more distress than I already had in the invisible suitcases around me. Wishing that I had enough arms and strength to hold them however, I could barely hold this 5"3, 100 pound girl that I so deeply admired. Something takes over and although my words are rusty they come out " I can smell how wet your ***** is. " I hate myself because I could not fight this small temptation even though I had been fighting myself the whole time.

I could hear her fingers glistening in her *****, I did not want this. Not for a second, but Jesus she was so attractive and so wet and like a shark eager to destroy it's wounded prey I was going to swim into her and finish her off. She starts to loosen on her grip and makes me taste her. This happens to be her only and biggest mistake. I push her off of my shoulders and onto the mismatched tile floor as if she were a *** of boiling water that spilled onto me. I do not hesitate to take her hips within the palms of my hands and cradle them like a small child, as I forced my tongue inside of her. She realized she has lost control and this scares her. I feel her trying to force her legs back around my throat and she tries to push me away.

She finally manages to do so and I crawl after her while receiving kicks and slams to my rib cage. I grab her wrists and hold her down and her pupils expand for the first time I have ever seen in reaction to a human being. I whisper " So what happened? Go ahead and taunt me again as if you are still in charge, amuse me. " My knees hold her down as if she is a helpless animal that has it's tail caught under a cage.

She wanted to tease me, find a method in order to boost her ego perhaps, maybe that was the case? My knee was pressed underneath her sternum. I couldn't figure out what I wanted to gag her with, I had to find some sort of way to restrain her first.

Outside the bedroom window
a buzz saw screeches its grating song.
Leaf blowers roar out in an attempt
to accompany the shrill melody.
Minutes into the disharmonious duet
a rumbling bang joins in, trash cans
dancing out, filled with bottles
and pizza boxes.
I want to yell
Quiet! Let me be! Let me sleep!
but the world is awake,
singing its rattle and clang,
believing itself beautiful.
And maybe it is,
maybe it is,
but I am far too tired to listen.

i am a big man who deserves a break

i go to a restaurant to buy a nice well done steak

after that he goes to the nite club

to party with the young dudes, yeah that is cool

you see the queen of hearts really stole the show

and we took our blowers and we let out a very big blow

thinking about the bad stuff that is happening

simon parkes said just one thing

how about send us a new diamond ring

i want to ask a girl to marry me, said simon

yeah, let’s do it, give her a ring

with a very big diamond

hey, let’s go to the good old pub

and frown at the people who look all so smug

you see the men are here to stay, have a nice day

as we send them on their way, party on

Angry anarchy anticipates arcane action

Bruised banshees beckon bulbous bull blowers

Can calamity come calmer?

Climbing cold cobbles continues confusion

Disregard demented dinner doodles

Excited embryos excrete extravagant extraterrestrials

Forlorn figures fund future folly for fragile freedoms

Giants gather grinning grandma's grasping grand gargoyles

Hindsight hides huge hurdles helplessly

Introverted insight inspires ink infused instinct

Snow and rain,
Has been a bane,
And Mother Nature is to blame.

But now summer’s come!
I see barbecued grass under the blistering sun.
I smell a summer breeze,
Blowing through the puffy trees.
I hear the lawn mowers,
And the leaf blowers.

Now I know it’s really come,
Cause summer comes so hot and fun!
The breeze has swirled and whirled and spun,
Somehow I know this is the one!

All my friends have asked to play,
During March, April and May.
Please don’t make me say goodbye,
To August, June and July!

back at home they called me bart and they laughed whenever i'd say the word
jellybeans.


threw up on a bearded hipster gothic hermaphodrite on 2nd wave estrogen and on that
punk rock kick with
a hint of nu-metal

and a tinge of hip hop.

suicided inside the Walmart with one of the leaf-blowers and left the cart pusher to
remove of the carcass
and greeted by a nurse in LA.

haven't lost 33 pounds but am triying
with a steady diet of beans.

pinching my nostrils to look more ethnic.

on the board of racial relations and have received the ID
and now
conducting an interview with a guy in a stone tent in wales next to ****** henge when it reopened last sunday.


you know you're gonna have to go back to work tomorrow
and you're gonna have to put in twice the effort because
Jessica is sensing that you're 'falling behind' and it's essential that you
prove to this firm otherwise and pick up the slack
so these numbers don't continue to dwindle in this high-market season.

got a can of tuna, cold to these
lips.

banana up my ******* up to 6 inches half-way
****** for a day.

forehead is split
and eyeballs are soaked in ink.

back to the strip mall to get a free massage and sexually harass the
glass stand.

'NO.
TAKE MY MONEY AND SPEND IT ON ORANGES.

she cries a lot nowadays,

and I feel bad especially in the mornings,


and love has just turned bitter
but mostly tepid and
indifferent