Our glass is full,
it spilled over last year.
Your ropes tied to me,
were cut, so I fall.

In morning, we meet,
But it will different kind.
You will hold the suitcase,
I will hold an empty cup.

Why couldn’t we last the year,
we were breaking at the britches.
You packed your suitcase,
for red rocks and a better life.

I tried to mend the seams.
I tried to fix the table leg.
But my love you’ve wrecked it all.
It wasn’t balanced,
I needed your needle, your strength.

I tried to tell you,
it was about to burst, spill.
I tried to be patient,
and wait.
We pretended.

Who the hell was I?
Who are you?
I loved you.
Our glass is full,
let it fall.
Wash our hands of this.

In morning, we meet,
But it will different kind.
You will hold the suitcase,
I will give you the empty cup.

Fill it with what you need.
Fill it with the love you find.
Fill it with memories.
I will be here,
far behind.

Id love a big fat ****
Or a wrinkled up *******
An ugly looking hag
Who wants a ******* ****

If I had a big fat *****, with a big fat bucket
I'd lay between her fleshy thighs, and definitely **** it
My thrusting **** inside her ****, is where I'd like to tuck it
Spunking up would be sublime, when I lick and **** it

When your about to **** the fat, it takes a certain knack
Stuffed up fishy **** *****, or **** ******* round the back
A nice piece of chunky ****, with a big long sweaty crack
Fatty *** holes make you hard ,my **** would not be slack

I would ride a big large Gal, just like a waterbed
Bathroom ******* would be fun, as well as in the shed
Spunking up between her legs, cream cheese would then be spread
When both holes are full of ***, she can **** my **** instead

And after I have finished, with all of those fat *******
Something different I would want, maybe some old wrinkled witches
All wearing apple gatherers, and big large ******* britches
Older ***** long overdue, scratching long lost itches

A lot of fun I could have, in an old folks place
Disrobed willing grannies *****, stuffed right in my face
At least eight bits of gristle ******, a display of my disgrace
With each granny ****** in turn, if they can stand the pace

As I lift their skirts up their knickers I would sniff
I'm hoping that old fannies good, and they don't smell or whiff
The smell of old used granny ****, is probably just a myth
But I won't let it bother me, as long as I get stiff

I wouldn't even care, if they wore crap NHS glasses
As long as I could **** and ***, inside there wrinkled arses
I would **** them old ****** , all from different classes
Some of them in wheelchairs and some with heart bypasses.

It's irrelevant how fat you are, I really do not mind
As long as you are willing, and your *****'s wet and kind
And if you like it up the ****, then I'm that way inclined
******* ***** is quite fine, so is ******* from behind

So come on girls fat or old, all slags are a possibility
Your sexuality can flood out, there's no need for negativity
I'm willing to **** who comes along, to the best of my ability
Just make sure that I stay stiff, and maintain my agility

She said,
"Before you get in my britches,
you'd better fly,
give me a gold coin,
tell me how beautiful I am."

I replied,
"Honey, you're beeeeuuuutiful!
Here's a gold coin.
Sorry, I can't fly, but
I'll start taking classes next week."

She smiled,
winked, and
walked away
with my token.
Guess, that wasn't good enough......

UNDERDOG RAP

We are a population which is
Awaiting loaves and the fishes
And other unfulfilled wishes;
No chance to know what rich is,
While graduates are digging ditches
Immigrant PhDs are doing dishes.
Never quite knowing which is
Snake oil salesmen pitches.
Politicians too big for their britches.

Fools don’t know where the hitch is
Whatever the larcenous pitch is;
Reacting with kneejerk twitches
Due to governmental glitches.
And creeps like that guy Mitch is
Are rapacious sons of *******
Hunting for Democratic witches
In all the freedom fighting niches
With hearts as black as pitch is.

And the rich have a wish list
In which they scratch their itches
Regardless of what our ***** is
By wallowing in stolen riches
Punishing watchdogs snitches.
Politicians too big for their britches.
We are a population which is
Awaiting loaves and the fishes
And other unfulfilled wishes.
No chance to know what rich is.

Brent Kincaid

March 19, 2015

Friend Rockstar,
            Listen, yield to a robust think-tank,
            earlobes skidding against wheat and grain.
Terrible story, yes, what happened to that little girl.
Sterile teddy nightgowns weeping in the squad car windows.
Teacher – Teacher, do you harken my yodels for grace?
            I’ve never been maternal.
            Put the game on. Abortion.
            That’s what I’m about.
            Grab a bra. Sling some weight.
            That’s what I’m about.
Some housefly wings on a weathered corn cob.
Some downhome, homegrown twang for those fancy, fussy britches.
            Muddy workboots. Sweat-soaked collars.
            That’s what I’m about.
Him done made me read, sir.
What sacraments did we write today?
            I can still remember my first broken bone.
            I can still remember my first broken *****.
                        That could be what this is all about.
Mary, Mary, you can be contrite,
            so knife – so critter – so laze – so stalked.
    Who fertilized your seeds? Who reared your sprouts?
            Cockle shells and silver bells, honey,
            can’t grow up
            to be pretty little maids all in a row.
Sterile teddy nightgowns – green bells in gaseous gardens.
Friend Rockstar, you may have to sleep.
This restless harbor is a shivering anecdote spilled from a belly,
            a vast, deep cavern with love notes written in milk.
Your fried, stern smile was a flaking fingernail adjacent to the crack in the flowerpot.
Some garden, I say.

The fruit rolled by all day.
They prayed the cogs would creep;
They thought about Saturday pay,
And Sunday sleep.

Whatever he smelled was good:
The fruit and flesh smells mixed.
There beside him she stood,--
And he, perplexed;

He, in his shrunken britches,
Eyes rimmed with pickle dust,
Prickling with all the itches
Of sixteen-year-old lust.

Sad abrasions, that is how you wish to end it? If you can't carry that with you, that unholy insecurity, without tossing it at others, others just like you, how can you be expected to be admired? That way, though seemingly popular amongst outlaws who have popularity, is still a ne'er-do-well way. You're lighting your own pants on fire.

Ballsy as it may be, singed ***** is all I see.

Dishes dishes dishes
stopping me from getting
too big for my britches

Morning noon or night
piles of dishes
in plain sight

I needed a dishwasher
to help me be free
Turns out the dishwasher
has to be me

Pots pans measuring cups
pizza plates  into the suds
Extra moisturizer rubber gloves
dishes are not one of my favorite loves

Nothing could be finer
Than to have a real ******
In my britches.
I’m changing what I’ve got
Don’t tell me I am not
All you *******.

Some don’t think my gender is my place to decide
They don’t know that I’m a woman inside.

Nothing could be finer
Than to have a real ******
In my britches.

Nothing could be better
Than to change my gender letter:
Make it legal.
All will call me miss
Or give my *** a kiss
And make it regal.

I have been a girl inside my whole entire life.
Now, if i want, I can be a wife.

Nothing could be better
Than to change my gender letter:
Make it legal!

I don’t tell the homophobes just how they should be.
They all need to do the same thing with me.

Nothing would be sweeter
If I never had this peter
To confuse things.
How happy I will be
With that serenity
That a cooze brings.

You may doubt the logic here, but I’m here to say.
Trust me when I tell you I’ll be happy that way.

Nothing could be finer
Than to have a real ******
In my britches.

The Rav
of Northern White Russia declined,
in his youth, to learn the
language of birds, because
the extraneous did not interest him; nevertheless
when he grew old it was found
he understood them anyway, having
listened well, and as it is said, 'prayed
          with the bench and the floor.' He used
what was at hand--as did
Angel Jones of Mold, whose meditations
were sewn into coats and britches.
          Well, I would like to make,
thinking some line still taut between me and them,
poems direct as what the birds said,
hard as a floor, sound as a bench,
mysterious as the silence when the tailor
would pause with his needle in the air.

At high noon
the Witch will be burned at the stake!
we will see heads turn, hips bend, limbs break!
we will watch as the coarse flame is reflected in her eyes!
we will show no mercy as she dances and writhes!

She gets what
she deserves, this evil-doing trickster
even now as her lips boil and her skin begins to blister
she slipped to our children a candied liquid elixir
it made them delirious, it ****** with their minds
now they've formed an army and are coming up from behind
They mean to save her, these once-innocent children
we only had about twenty now they number one million

The fire burns
through her chest, blouse and britches
we even hired the court's jester to keep us all in stiches
Let the fire burn free, give it no restrictions
for today we burn a Witch with the purest of intentions
but what exactly what her crime was
I believe I've failed to mention

She ordered us
to think, for ourselves one and all
and now at death's brink, out to the devil she doth call
She shouts at him with pleasure as her black heart succumbs to flame
He approaches at his leisure, he's no amateur at this game
He gathers her from the post, right before she dies
he tastes the flesh of roast, feasting on his prize
right before he left, he peeled off both her eyelids
and flicked them to the crowd, we devoured them in silence.

If not to tempt the temperaments of lesser men, I shall bludgeon the object of our obsessions again, just to watch the reddened britches go un-itched, as my grinning is met with dissatisfaction, impacting the over expressed whining of gentle wimps, flailing, and stomping as disgruntled chimps, flinging feces from the cages again.

As my Dad used to say.  The Truth.  Thee.
So I made you  Lies you cannot be so can
Not long stand.  Who is great is not mortal.
Pretense will fall .  A brutal crash but is yet
A kindness not least to him who made of his
Self a fraud forfeiting his soul  for vanity,  A
Child of God no more that could not long be,

Adolf ****** was really quite a chap
He made those Froggies eat a lot of crap;
And he made all those Norwegians
Look like a load of paraplegians.
He marched into Poland with his troops
Into their pants those Poles did poops.
He made short work of the poor old Greeks:
And in their pants they did big keeks.
Killing the Jews was oh so bad and cruel:
Burning them up for harsh winter fuel.
But invading Russia was a bad place to go
And the Nazis froze in the cold and snow.
The Yanks were frightened to join in the war:
They were **** scared of what they saw;
(they only got involved when the Japanese
brought the Pearl Harbour fleet to its knees).
Only the Brits stood resolute and brave
For Churchill was an inspiring knave;
He fought Adolf on the shores and beaches
And the Germans crapped their leder-britches.
So what is the lesson of these facts from history?
Not ****** much - what a ******* mystery.

Back bathing by Bambi's Bath
Biking Below Big Bridges and Britches
Banners believe bass bands become bad
But besides Beans Bumping by bricks bring bags back
Buffering bemused banned bakers
bring bad buns
brake bonds building back.

Come on skinny love just last the year
Pour a little salt we were never here
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer

I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Right in the moment this order’s tall

I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind
In the morning I’ll be with you
But it will be a different “kind”
I’ll be holding all the tickets
And you’ll be owning all the fines

Come on skinny love what happened here
Suckle on the hope in lite brassiere
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Sullen load is full; so slow on the split

I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind
Now all your love is wasted?
Then who the hell was I?
Now I’m breaking at the britches
And at the end of all your lines

Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who will fall far behind?

It all started with an urge to go to the movie theater
PTA's "The Master"
It was a 35 minute walk to the nearest cinema in Brooklyn
Nighthawks is what it was called

1:10pm, 4:10pm, 6:10pm, 10:10pm, the show times
Since I woke up at 12:45am, 1:10pm was out of the question
4:10pm seemed plausible but when the clock rolled around I was still puttering around the house
I could putter no more by 6:00pm and flew the cooped up den

The air, brisk and crisp
Time fell back
Women's heels clap the sidewalk in applause
All for the autumn on a Sunday frozen in time

I arrive, show sold out
I walk across the Williamsburg bridge, why not?
First theater in Manhattan I see turned out to be live art
So I turned out and left

Manhattans alive while Brooklyn slumbers
I dart down Clinton St toward the old Avenues
November, I could go without the cold weather, but I love the seasons
Pumpkin lattes **** my wallet dry like lesions

Soon I'm walking down 2nd Av, feeling familiar with my surroundings
Funny, feeling familiar, in a city I thought I'd never know, (you'll never know if you don't go)
Got some dollar pizza on St Marks
Followed by a dollar falafel, which tasted awful, (now I know why it was a dollar)

I walked in circles around Union Square, in union with everyone there
Happy that my feet were to the street, where they belong
Freezing, frozen, frigid, shakin' in my britches
Wrapped around my neck a borrowed scarf
Bumping into people, "I'd like to get by now", like Garth

(keep moving, you'll find what you want to find)
In big bright neon light at Village Cinema
"The Master"
(In 70mm)
Huh, 70mm, "Cool", I thought

The theater, empty as a loners funeral
I was the only one there, red velvet lined seats
I missed Halloween
Maybe this is my treat

The world is beautiful
This city is mine,
All I had to do
Was leave my old one behind

I don’t sing anymore.
Ever since I quit the music ministry
and later the church all together.
I stopped singing because
the band and microphones
weren’t mine so they had to stay at the church.
That store-front wreck
slightly glazed over with peach spackle
to shoo away any indication
of its poverty or its emotional members.
And emotion was all everyone
ever heard or saw.
Even our baffled neighbors
in the two story  apartments behind us—
were subjected to a blunt
steady annoying hollow drum beat
accompanied by an old wooden rusty *****
being played by—get this---
the biggest **** I ever saw
with a parade of effeminate brothers
to the right all singing (or screaming)
to the Glory of God!
All singing…everyone
A congregation full of people
ready, anticipating the presence
of God so they could get buck-wild
jump, shout, and run down the aisles---
or at least until the organist hits E flat
(which of course is the universal
Church queue for “Y’all got 30 seconds
to give God a crazy praaaaissseeeee!”)
And crazy was exactly what took precedence.
Guys shouting themselves
right out of their britches
sisters shouting off their sweaty weaves
hollering, high pitched screeching “**’s!”.
Mytika in the back of the church
standing on a white plastic folding chair
blowing the hell out of her holy whistle
while waving a white cotton handkerchief
round and round above her head.
And all of this chaos was somehow
glued together by a subtle soothing
baseline humming ----
doom-doom-doom-doom--doom---
doom-doom-doom-doom--doom---
do­om-doom-doom-doom--doom----
doom-doom-doom…
Amongst all the noise and commotion
I was the only oddity to be found.
The only white looking person
who had the audacity to be singing into a Mic.
People falling out, shaking, rolling on the floor
was never out of the ordinary there.
But having an un-black person
a part of their unfortunate country club…was.
Out of all the paranormal spiritual metaphysical
manifestations –I turned out to be the
scariest **** they ever saw.
Because to me God wasn’t a game
or a religion or a face or a person
or a symbol I hung around my neck.
He just was—and still is—
so I could be.
I didn’t buy into the lopsided myth.
The let’s have church,
throw all our worries out the window
and act like we lost our **** minds-
Myth.
And after singing
or at least trying to sing
I had to quit.
Because after all the weird-*** ****
I had to endure and put up with----

I apparently was the only *******
there out of tune.

Every second.
Every minute.
Every hour, I love you.
That's all I know.
That's all I'm willing to do for the rest of my life.

You love me, when I'm down.
You love me, when I'm up.
You comfort me , with undying love.

When I'm in my mood of lonely solitude.
You give me space.
Yes, you patiently wait, until I've have something to say.

You're my sounding board.
You're my trust of faith and wisdom.
You alert me when I'm too big for my britches.
In other words, you bring me back down to earth.

Oh, you ways to end an argument before they begins.
This , what makes you my best lover and friend?
You simply you.

You're one of a kind.
And I'm proud to refer to you, as mine.

You told me I'm a lion,
That concerns itself much too often
With the opinions of sheep.

I worry too much,
Let's be honest.
I apologize too much,
And it hurts not to say sorry for that.

I am afraid
Almost constantly,
But overcoming my fear
Drives me
To be
Who I am.

If I am a lioness,
I am a queen,
And then I ask of you,
With a crack in the demand of my voice,
Be my king?

You claim I could not hurt a fly,
I could not hurt a soul,
But it is a choice,
Can't you tell?
To sheathe my claws
And not bare my teeth.

I could choose to be vicious,
I could choose to be cruel,
But vapid venom has no interest to me.

I choose to show weakness,
I choose to be vulnerable,
I choose to be
The me I accept.

Maybe I shouldn't concern myself
With the opinions of sheep,
But some sheep are wolves.

Though,
I suppose,
With the king of the jungle
At my side,
There's no need to fear
A pup that's too big for his britches.

He was lean,
a hungry coyote,
tattoo'd, cynical,
probably coming down
from smoking a bowl.

"I dig your tattoos."

"Thanks man. I got a few,
I'd like a few more,
but that **** costs a lot of money."

His hair was shaggy,
reaching for his shoulders,
he hadn't shaved in a couple
weeks.

"What does that Asian script
on the back of your neck mean?"

"Oh,
it means Black.
Ya know?
Like my last name.
It's like a ******' football jersey.
Just in case I forget my name."

We walked down
darkened corridors,
he made me nervous.
Not like I'm going to
**** my britches nervous,
but that this guy is older,
wiser, not afraid to say
whatever the hell he wants,
and probably doesn't want
to waste his time, kinda way.

"Nah, dude.
Burch threw me a bone on this one.
I picked up most of my writing from
taking a course on Creative Writing
with Professor Jamison.
The dude was ******* legit.
He went to Yale or some ****.
Two Ivy Leagues anyway.
You would'uh loved him.
He made bank too.
90 grand,
more than anybody else I
know on this campus."

He talked satire,
he talked poetry,
he seemed ready to devour
any unsightly barrier in his way.

"It was nice to meetcha'"

"Hell yeah, you take care of yourself."

Why do I have a feeling that Mr. Black is going to drastically
alter
my life?

It's really hard to see the world when you cant even leave the house.
No im not staring at your ***'s just admiring the uhh fabric of that blouse.

Mickey mouse sure is a ***** since he started doing crack.
Put minnie out on the street.
Daisy's out there to ?
im not even gonna say what I seen her do with pluto
but i want my money back.

Crystal **** and coffee starbucks really has changed.
Really Tommy  stop slipping your sister the tongue.
Really dont look at it as lynched prisoner why not think of it as
well hung.

Im sorta demented and well just not right
everyone admits.
I hope this isnt to forward but hey can i see your ***'s
You can swear you were just drunk sweetheart but Gonzo
never forgets.

Hey thank God for night vision and my sugar's drunken mother.
Boy naked twister sure is awkward.
Watching three mules with sister Sara and my wife's
kinda well sensitive brother.

Im one of a kind  thank the lord.
A pervert of  the ages.
Gotta thank my mom and dad  and jack dainels
such magic was created that night in back of
the sizzler  in that old ford.

Im a old G and not the spot.
Drinking till my liver kicks out.
Heaven isnt my style besides everyone knows
its in hell my wicked mind shall forever rot.

He  should be banned every pen named
complaining time of the month  *****  submits.
If ya hate me your wasting your time sugar britches.
Keep on talkin  cause kidies Gonzo never forgets

Awash with ***** I peed all over me
   shoes
Well Storm me if I ain't a bad sea
   Captain
I'd had a ton of *** and a whole
   barrel of porter
Now the landlord he's shouting "Last
   Orders"
So where's me Crew, me Swabs, me
   Hearties ?
Yea! where's me Aces and me Deucies
.......Nowhere to be seen, not a one,
Just a pack of feckin' Jokers,
Find me the Fox and show me the
   Shirkers!!!

I'd drunk too much that's what I'd
   done
Well tie me to the mast and chastise    
  me severely for such unseemly
     behaviour
All I wanted, just some fair company, to be lavished by a couple of lovelies
But No! they wouldn't have it,
   wouldn't entertain me
Snobs! Stuck up cows!! *******!!!
We nearly had a Barney
I'd rather wet me ***** in a Jar of
   cold Jellies.

Standing there outside in the cold
   night air
Trying to get me bearings, yea! trying
   to take a reading
Me Northern Star, he must have
   fecked off to the Northern Bar
And my compass, he's whirling
   around like a Dervish,
Well ***** me sausage in a jar of
   malt vinegar
We're sailing blind tonight me boys
Keep a sharp lookout atop of the
   Crow's Nest won't ya!

And so, we ventured out, a brave man
With ***** as big as the bold Hercules
   himself
A wee bit tentative at first I'd concede
Lurching about from side to side, all
   over the place
But not to worry, with me there at the
   helm, both hands on the wheel
Solid and salty as any old sea dog
Singing away to meself a wee shanty
" I'm no landlubber me!
  Just give me the dark and the rolling
    sea"
Steady as she goes me Hearties!
I thought we was doin' alright till one
   of my feet
It trod in a space with nothing there
   in it
And my Ship it goes tumbling
   sideways over
Hell's britches!!! I'd trod in a pothole
   the size of a manhole
"Man the lifeboats Lads, we're going
   over" I cried.

Next thing I know I'm lying on my
   back
And the Moon she's blowin' me kisses
And at the end of the Bar, there! me
   Northern Star
And Him smokin' a cigar and sippin'
   Brandy with some *******
Looking like a Dandy at Christmas
"Hey Judas!" I shouts over, "where's
   me monkey?"

And then suddenly, this woman, this
   woman out of nowhere
Out of the darkness, this Spectre
An old Sea Witch for sure, by thunder
She starts bawling laughing at me and
   pointing her crooked finger,
Well dent me dagger on a cold
   woman's heart
If she doesn't cut the legs right out
   from under me
Every time she opens her big Gob, the
   squeals of her
Makes me feel two feet tall she does
   with her cruel laughin' & sneery
       banter
And her drawin' a big crowd around
   her
(And me! a Giant!!.... a feckin' Whale, a
   Walrus!!).

Well lash me Luger and wake me up
   with a poker
I wasn't wobbling, that was just me
   swagger,
And I ain't lying down here no longer
   either
Heave ** the ropes me lads and haul
   me up me Hearties
Till I stand once more at a proper
   angle,
Yea! Hoist me up like a mast and watch me sails billow again in the
   breeze
Watch me belly bulge out and me eyes
   roll around in me head
Now we're back afloat, buckle up me
   sword on me belt
And roll out me cannons
For the name of this ship, if it isn't the
   Great, the "Great Defiant ",
By the two Horns on Hell's Gate
What am I doing here at all in this
   place, with ye folk
I'll wave me ***** at this world, yea! I'll dangle me dibbler
Did ye not hear, did no one tell ye
I'm off yea! I'm off to Australia.

                       II

For Sweet Destiny, she visited me this
   night, she kissed me
She came like a gypsy when I was a bit
   tipsy
So exotic with all her bangles and
   beads and her charms
And dresses all the colours of the
   rainbow
With her big crystal ball eyes of grey
Like the Moon she mesmerized me
   completely
And then she kissed me with lips
   sweet as whiskey
And she whispered in my ear a magic
   word. " Australia ".

You see this was how it was
I read it some place,seen it somewhere
A sweet wee lass, a fellow girl poet
   from Australia
She said, she lamented " Poetry, it isn't
   very big over here
The people their not inclined, their not
   of that mind"
Said I aghast, I'll change their hearts
Their hardheaded folk, those folk
   down there
It must be the snakes and the spiders
   down the toilet
So hoist me up onto me pulpit
Them heathen folk they need
   convertin' badly.

O! Give me a Ship, give me a Galley
And like Columbus I'll start a big
   rumpus
We'll sail off over the horizon, and
   keep turning on the globe
Till we sight the shores of that Sweet
    Island
And that lovely Queen of the South
   reclining
Beautiful and wonderful Australia!!!

There's gold in their hearts even
   though they may not know it
And jewels in their eyes big as
   diamonds
Treasures by the thousand
So hoist up me trousers boys,
Me! I'm off to Sligo
Wait a minute, No! No I'm not,
I'm off.... off to Australia.

So gimme a wooden leg and hoist me
   parrot up onto me shoulder
Arrrr! Jim lad.....now where's me
   soldiers
Are ye with me lads
We'll plow through the sharky seas
Then I'll plant me flag on their
   beaches
And claim this Land for Posey.... yea!
   for Poetry,
And if they don't like it
If they string me up by the ***** and
   spit on me
Sure I'll just smile back at them and
   tell them
"I'm just..... I'm just Jim Dandy".

                       III

Alas! It wasn't to be, next morning
   they found me
Upended in someone's garden
The Sergeant he shook me, " What are
   you doing down there? " he said,
"Ahoy there shipmate Sir" says I, like a
   true shipwrecked sailor,
"I had me a dream last night,
I dreamt...I dreamt I were bound,
   bound for Australia.

This morning is bleak and dreary,
The lake is frozen and cold;
The prince is making me weary
Of all of the stories he's told.
I've seen all his quests for vengeance,
I've counted his spoils of war,
I've relayed all of his messages,
And now I'm quite terribly bored.
He's crude, he's foul,
He never says thank you or please;
He never stays quiet, he always yells,
And his britches smell of old cheese.
I cannot bear to be near
A man so lacking in refinement;
He's got not an ounce of respect,
And should be in solitary confinement.
He's repulsive, repugnent,
A blight on the land;
Why, the very birds won't eat
From his murderous hands.
Oh! If only I could escape
This horrid, ***** man!
If only I could save myself...
Oh wait! I can!
So, I think I'll go find a dragon,
And strike up a bargain for gold;
Because princes are tasty with ketchup-
Or, at least, so I'm told.
;)

She stands there listening. She sets her snares snaring Knowing she is a love genius. you know where, she never don't.

She has no baby there. She has a child there. There is no need for a phrase like in other words. She loves only one boy.

She's a settled woman.

Men make love to her sensual riches. None of them are in charge of her britches She tells the truth, and forgives She doesn't need to do such things though.

You forget, she is a settled woman.

She's an artisan. Always knew the talent of giving from her father. That man admitted his lies. Even after death I will not just be a user of you, neither.

Nothing she has done has been labor for him

One man. One Man. None brilliant enough to accept her. Even after leaving her with  one up front.

Before one. She's a settled woman. And few settlers, are love settlers.

As short as the man closes the window. This settled woman, will stay forevermore.

Sweet sweet powder
Sweet sweet powder
Cutting keys wit flour
****** man of the hour
It’s the sweet sweet powder
Sweet sweet powder
Lookin down from the tower
Homeboy, I got all the power

It’s the sweet sweet powder
Like I’m raven from the bowery
I be hittin fools wit trash cans
Wake em up in bout an hour
With that sweet sweet powder
Shootin three ***** like crowder
Hollarin hella louder
Like Aretha in the shower
Got that sweet sweet powder
That I’m given to the *******
Never ****** with those snitches
That are wearing goodwill britches
No I roll with the
Sweet sweet powder
Been running through the ditches
Eating salty ham sandwiches
You act like I don’t know riches
I know that

Sweet sweet powder
Be cutting keys wit flour
I’m da man of the hour
Jumpin in the shower
With the sweet sweet powder
On the ivory tower
Pimpin tricks by the hour
Holding all the ****** power
Got that sweet sweet powder

Now wit that sweet sweet powder
I get ******* like a Scotty
****** Baio was hottie
But with that sweet sweet powder
He coulda ****** gotten Molly
Little Ringwald in her prime time
Slap that *** like a hate crime
Sweet sweet powder blowin my mind

I got that sweet sweet powder
Fuckim man of the hour
Rollin with robin trower
Acting like a lil bow-er
With my sweet sweet powder
Turning trick by the hour
Showering with power
Giving ******* flowers
Got that sweet sweet powder

Waking in darkness to brainstorming moments
Warm under covers on this freezing morn,
Recalling the instants of yesterday’s sequences,
How they developed and how they were born……

“Moving with grace in a form fitting garment,
Curves in the shadow light tauntingly near,
Beautiful lines in a moment of weakness
Titillate senses erotically clear.”

“Watching the mouth of the bigoted warbler,
Watching him spout his idolatry spiels,
Rhetoric of mind bending, **** licking garbage
Image of self is the place that he kneels.”

“Urgency now with insurances deadline
Making provision for payments now due,
Juggle the baksheesh for paying the piper
Or the cruelty of bankers will cauterise you!”

“Laughter arouses the happiest moments
Merriment opens the faces so well,
Emotively gracious the giving of laughter
Contagiously, wonderfully ringing the bell.”

"Uncomfortably caught in the midst of an untruth
Unconscionably really, can’t call it a lie,
Got caught in momentum of tale in the telling
Upsetting me now to the point where I cry.”

"Can’t recall why, but I know there’s a matter,
Ripping my britches to try to recall….
Something importantly, now to be dealt with
Frustratingly lost in the fog of it all.”

"Harmonies rise like a mist in the temple
Delicate cadences rise and they fall,
I wonder why God allows this unbeliever
To sing with the Angels in his Holy hall?”

“Running my fingertips over her curvature
Feeling the ***** line plummet to fall
Knowing the thrill of elicit collusion
Anticipate promise of wanting it all.”

Sudden alarm in the midst of a waking
Urgency calls at the dawn of the day,
Heaving my soul into frost waiting fingers
Leaving my dreams in the warmth where they lay.

Marshalg
“Pukehana Paradise”
Auckland NZ.
22 June 2013

Not long ago, if you could call a few years ‘not long’,
when I was still gloomily drawn to that mysterious magnet
known as the mighty Mississippi, I uncovered a nautilus fossil
not far from the Tennessee-Arkansas border, where the land
churns like red butter into the infinity of the Mississippi.
A nautilus hundreds of miles from the closest deep water.
(And only fifteen minutes from Graceland!)
They say most of the Deep South used to belong to the floor
Of some vast Jurassic swamp or sea or river—I forget which…
In the grooves of this shell-rock nature keeps its own history.
No stranger to change as the dust and mud reveal me.

Think how much change
you’ve witnessed in your life already.
Today, tomorrow and yesterday change is a hot-traded commodity, up in the Dow,
down in the Nasdaq, two day super-shipping in the fast lane.
Change customizable, ordered up and hot and ready-to-go,
the hobo on the street asking me for some change;
I told him to change his ways, get a better rate,
exchange those rags for a business suit and some britches.
He just laughed and said: “Huh, are you kiddin me?
In this day and age a man can have twenty lives in a lifetime.
I’m just asking you for a little change…”

It’s been done to death and back a million times this age.
My friends are always telling me I need to change my ways.
That I need to roam and range, that all wise wordsters roam and range.
“Change you can believe in!” But let’s just change the channel.
Onto something else, something new! Everything built for the times,
none of it made to last. See how we age and distance so fast!
Two million years in the making, we’re living proof of the past.
Don’t be a stranger to change; sit back and enjoy it while it lasts.

The boy in the park with pigeon eyes
“What is the rake of human history?” he asks me.
Cruelty and pathetic little bird-like people,
all their seed spent carrying half-ton rocks up
to the tippy-top of the Tower of Babble.
If you possessed a machine of infinite light and speed
would you go back to before change existed?
Could you resist it? Or would the blackness then lead you back to now?
Wondering how—how it all got started.
Change is strange, only the rabbit knows
how deep the rabbit hole will go.

All our lying lives spent flying,
and when we finish no one starts and no one goes.
all of us pondering the unshareable experience.
The world keeps winding on an invisible string
but the weight of the wait in line is unbearable.
A raindrop falls from the sky and hits the shell-rock in my hand
And looking down at the nautilus fossil
I get a chill, for it tells me there are creatures
without words, without hearts, dreams or ears
that have slithered through the dark untouched by change
      for millions and millions of years…

You asked to watch but you didn't pay me
We sleep together but you treat me like a stranger,
Think about it though, eight months together,
What came together in a year, flew away like wind under a feather,
we didn't even treasure the pleasure,
of our favorite ecstasy completely,
on the real sweety-
this flower really needed to spread its seeds
out of me, but we stopped not on dime but in line,

"exit please."

Like out of the CDC, like I was some god awful disease, dope please? No thinks so me I don't think so sweety.
2 rounds of purple morphine for the drug fiend in me, or make it vicoden and bar a xanax,
just to **** this diarrhea and this panic.
Now isn't that romantic- on the realz?

"{Sitting on the toilette popping ******* pills!}"

****, way up here I can smell my own ***
It's prolly since I see the shower but I pass it.
In truth you're not man, if you haven't
bent over at the waist, and wafted the air right in your face!

That dumb **** true don't you know it, we're through don't you know it, other girls start to know that I'm free, but I'm not Mr. Cleeeeeaan ***,
BUT,

i.don't.give.a.****.

Mating is really just dancing, or prostitution,
Producing the penalties of humanity, the principles of masculinity is virility, and clearly I couldn't afford it, but the truth is that I abhor it, like showering? No. But I guy can dream. In the end we'll stay friends, a begin with no guarantee. So sweety,

Dear Princess:

It was a pleasure to date with a focus on mating, mutual *******. Being fastened with love, the harrowing, and heroing, not ******, but I have been skipping heart beats freely. I weaved we poorly. But it had nothing to do with me or you for the matter.

I'm not mad or displeased. We're just seeing at different degrees of relationship, now I'm having conversations with Mrs. No Guarantee, it's not flattering, but it's much worse to burn our bridges, burn your britches under my pillow.

"Shh..." - don't talk about those, she told me.
Just hold your nose to these *******.
Fold your clothes and you can see,
that you used to be inside me.... ***!!!

The Pleasure.