okay so i’m beginning to believe i was born asleep and still haven’t woken up, or caught in a day dream where my name is the answer to all your security questions. okay. a thousand years of wondering and all i can come up with is that you fell in love with me at a picnic in my imagination. the lemonade we always talk about swimming in sugar and tiny handmade sandwiches from my kitchen, your favorite, extra pickle. don’t forget about the pickles. of course the clouds march in stomping out the sunshine, of course. it was dark and there was lightning so much lightning. don’t be scared just now darling don’t be scared. in the middle of the night we only talk about your version of the story. how i’d ask you to stay, asking you to tell me what’s real asking you with my hands asking you with maps, a country called please listen to me, you should know by now that it is an island too far to sail to according to you. i know i know, who dared name an ocean lonely when all the ships are sinking. we can go back we can turn around where the sky is the gentlest shade lavender, we can go back and have a conversation that has never happened before. when everything is the color of day old bruises i won’t let you down. i promise when i get home i will count every freckle every one. when i get home can we open one of those mason jars full of fresh air because i can’t breathe. i remember that day, although i pretend it was more recent than it was. you were there in a swell of green grass in a dress that makes me blush, and there i was blushing. i’m not sure how i made it out alive, skipping the part in the song where you, long gone come busting through a doorway, through the well air conditioned living room and and across the kitchen tile, to the refrigerator where just like in elementary school, my fourth grade heart wrote all your favorite things on flash cards in the blackest magic marker so i could memorize the things that made you happiest. and you turning around in slow motion to see my face, or where my face should be, the only expression i can make anymore, realizing that you realized that i only ever wanted to be something that made you happy. suddenly you’re tired, and i’m tired too, goodnight goodnight, i’m falling asleep because it’s the only thing that doesn’t burn. i’m falling asleep to go back again. everything glitches and i’m underneath your perfect teeth. you say “i would never hurt you” and i say “just like that?” and the layer starts over again, always back to the moment i asked you in my bravest of voices if i could hold your hand. you probably don’t remember that moment, or maybe you do but don’t particularly share the same sentiment over its importance. you see, i’m always fine until the part where i have to say it out loud, and then time stops. i have always wanted to tell you that something happened inside me that night and now i’m not the same me as i was before. so if you ever cross a bridge. if you ever get my voicemail, if you need me, i’ll be sketching up the dramatic parts in my head and they’ll happen just the way i imagined just you wait you wait. the last scene the very last one, the bottom layer, knee deep in mud knee deep in i told you so, you say “i would never hurt you” and instead of saying “just like that” i reach up to kiss you and the room evaporates. so if you want lemonade and bedtime stories, if i can make a believer out of you, if you want bucketfuls of november if you want grace if you want the courage it takes to ask for grace, you’re over the train tracks you’re almost home you’re almost there. what else can you say besides “okay pumpkin okay sweetheart, in my head everything was beautiful" the doorway now filled with people who send you birthday cards saying welcome back welcome home we’ve missed you, hello. hello. the time spent waiting, chorus of rain, i only invited you over so we could make perfect sense. i only gave my hands away because you didn’t want them anymore. and days later a man with a shark tooth necklace asked if i was okay and i lost it i just lost it. all the little red bricks with their little names carved into them, how they don’t feel comfortable under your feet, how there were hundreds of flowers but somehow we took a picture of the same one the very same one, and how we can’t talk about things like that anymore, how i was sitting on a bench and i didn’t hear you call my name, shaking hands on accident with your parents hello sir hello mam, your daughter is my favorite ghost.

The Elders Warn Skinny Vinny
Skinny Viiny, eat your meals -
no spitting and no sputtering;
just chew and swallow
everything mom feeds you
Think of the millions in Third World Countries
who daily and nightly can't afford food

Skinny Vinny, eat your food
or when you're asleep alone at night
the cockroaches will gather in your room
and they will nibble and nibble
and nibble
at your arms and your legs
and they will nibble and nibble
all night and all moonlight
and they will nibble away
all your fingers and toes
So if you don't want that to happen,
Skinny Vinny, eat all your meals
all that mom feeds you


But Skinny Vinny Ignores Her Elders
Now, one night, Skinny Vinny saw
that all the cockroaches
did come  (only in her dream, though)
and in that dream the cockroaches ate away
exactly as her parents had prophesied -
nibble, nibble, nibble, nibble
at her fingers and at her toes  -
and Skinny Vinny was exactly bereft
of all her yummy fingers
and all her smelly toes



Skinny Vinny Learns Her Lesson
And by this dream
Skinny Vinny had the **** beaten out of her
so much by fear
that from then on she ate all; she ate all at hand
she ate all she was fed and all at the table
and she demanded more by platefuls and bucketfuls
and she ate by trolley-fulls and delivery-truck-fulls
and her parents had to bring in
containers shipped in from China daily
all by Double Happiness exclusive deals

And Skinny Vinny ate and ate
and no food went to waste;
and her parents spent all their inherited fortunes
and they worked and worked day and night
even at the time when cockroaches fly
so they could feed Skinny Vinny
who ate all far and nigh -
and when last I checked the Daily Mule
( whose publication motto is:
We swear to carry nothing but unprocessed truth)
the parents are still working in the mines
in order to feed Skinny Vinny
who once would eat nothing



All parents learn your lesson*
And so be warned all ye parents
that threaten harm to your children
because they will not eat -
the very threats will be laid on your heads
and you will be digging in coal mines
to feed your kids

((Reading the notes might help you to understand this poem slightly more... though I can't guarantee it.))*

You know the best place to build a base would be the middle of the ocean.

just a thought

It was last September I told her, I told her to leave.

Help I'm drowning.

that's how it felt

Get her out the road I said, you know there could be anything coming round that corner.

still, I hope you know that sometimes this world has sent me crazy and

I hope you know I have now walked in completely the wrong direction to get home.

but let me give you some advice before I leave completely, it will never make much sense to you, but it will never really need to

When the river becomes starved of water,
don't go throwing bucketfuls of water at it's parched tongue now,
What you've got to do is you've got to plant yourself a flower or two in there, or otherwise build yourself a castle in the dirt,
Something like that.



Well, sh-t.

I have to leave now.

even now I can tell you know I never will
and really

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I always knew I was asking too much of you, when I asked if you might still be my friend.

No, don't go that way.

but you can't stop me
and
anyway, anyway, maybe if I let it go now

It will all be fine.
They will probably just turn up in a box of instruments somewhere.

good feelings often do, but then, I suppose, so do bad ones




What's the name of this tree?
I am having a shower in this tree look, a shower made of leaves, like, the water droplets are these leaves.
I always think these trees look like shower trees, the way the leaves hang down.

hey, hey, remember in those woods, before I showered

All I wanted was to find some grass, and you took me to the one place completely full of nettles.

I'll never forget it



I know,
I know I keep telling them and I know I keep telling you, and him and her and me and everyone, but

He hates my guts now, he really does, and all I ever did was keep trying to do the kindest thing, I keep trying to be kind.



but if I just forget all that
the truth is, when we go walking

We're not even drunk, not in the slightest.

and I'd like to tell you what I am

But I can't make decisions, Annie make a decision for me.

but how then

How are you so calm?
I just don't think about the future.

that's the only explanation I can give



thinking about it, I guess

I'm usually inside this like, wall of, kind of, mirrors.
But they're all different shapes so they don't line up perfectly, like, there are gaps.

and when I'm in a pavement mood

I'd rather have her shouting at me than tell her that the thing was, that I was sad then, and that was the reason why.

I think I'm like one of those buzzy globe things,
What are they called the brain things,
A plasma ball that's it.
But not as spherical, 'coz then it's all the same and nothing ever gets out.

there has to be some kind of gap, some kind of break somewhere



so I've had an idea

So can we all buy a boat?

or perhaps I could just be one

Look, by standing in this puddle I'm basically in the river, see?



I know I get distracted a lot,
sometimes I hear them tell me to try,
the thing with trying is that

The closest I would ever get to perfect was always in an accident,
So I think that true perfect must be broken up into at least a million, billion different accidents,
And maybe someday someone will piece them all together,
But then I think that their life might just be so full of accidents that it wouldn't even be theirs anymore,
And they would probably become so mad that nobody would ever believe them.



So anyway,  when are you going to tell me some more of your dreams?

I'm sorry, I never meant to go deeper than just to paddle in yet.

He said he's bricking it.

but I've been remembering my dreams in the morning when I wake up recently, and I've been finding the words and I think I can keep moving

There's a woods behind my house now, but I don't want to adventure there on my own really.

I think I'd like to know where all those little paths lead to someday though
so

Shall we open that gate?

or maybe we could just climb it
I don't know



I guess really I'm a wanderer, but also a wonderer,
perhaps one more than the other,
I can never be sure.

Certainty is someone who I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting.

I only ever hear bad things about him.

but hey, don't let yourself be too quick to judge I said

We've only heard of about ten crimes in the area in the past year, most of them thefts.




sometimes

I swear she doesn't even know who I am.
No, but honestly,  I think it was just that microphone that got in the way.

Why don't you all just leave? It's not like any of you even care.

but we both know that's a lie
and anyway

It always calms me when there's sunlight on my face.

then all I need is a nice deep breath and it's gone
and I know that

Yes, there is still a bottle of ***** on my chest of draws.

but really, it's okay because it's empty you see



now here's something that will make you smile

That cloud looks like an elephant with its legs on backwards.

I hope you see

And ever since you saw it, you wanted your hand to be touched in that way.

well, maybe that's just me
perhaps I shouldn't have said that
what have I become
I could not tell you the first day I began to live the life I'm living now but one thing I have realised is that

I have probably found more meaning in a field of grass to be honest, than I ever have in most other things in the world.

sorry, sorry
we're still paddling though I think, so it should be okay



Sometimes the world is just too much and I forget what to do.

have you felt how it affects us

I tied a scarf around my eyes this morning, because the light was too bright through my curtain.

and

You're losing your voice from talking so much.

but the whole world won't make me forget how much

I love the way it feels when I breathe the air in the morning or the evening,
when it's like the day's changing from one thing to another.

and the whole world won't ever make me forget this thought I keep on hearing in my head,
that*

We need to just find somewhere,
somewhere to have a moment.

She sits on her bed
brushing her long brown hair
with the brush
her mother gave her.

She has had a bath,
needed after being
with him,
the way he was,

and for so long.
The bath so relaxing,
the water just right,
being able to lay there,

water over her,
suds from the borrowed
bath stuff( Gabrielle
need never know),

she feeling the water
fondling about her *******,
washing him off,
dissolving him

in the suds.
She brushes him out
of her hair,
each long stroke

and a bit more of him
is gone.
She stops and thinks.
Mid air the brush

and hand stay.
Was it always that way?
No, there was a time
when seeing him

was a pleasure,
she actually used to get
excited when he
was to come,

actually looked forward
to his presence,
his love making,
the things he used to do,

the way he did them.
Now, she dreads him
being there,
making love to her,

his fingers in her hair.
She brushes again,
downward strokes,
takes out the knots

that gather at the ends.
Was it ever love?
Was it other than physical?
Just a game of the ******?

She puts down the brush
and gazes at herself
in the old fashion mirror.
Still passable,

still presentable,
still has it in bucketfuls
as he used to say.
But, no,

she supposes not,
never really got to her heart,
never quite made it that far.
Liar, she tells herself,

you loved him more
than any other,
used to lay awake
at night thinking of him

and his next call,
it wasn't just *** after all.
No, I suppose not,
there was that strong

element of love,
that other than just
the physical,
other than the ******.

But that makes it worse
not better,
the fact I loved him once,
she tells herself,

takes it deeper,
takes it to the core
of the heart,
that place where each

string of nerve,
each particle of being
is torn open
like a ripe fruit

and ****** dry.
She's just had ***
with him,
just the physical,

just the lying down
and taking it bit.
Now, she loves him not,
the lying, cheating ****.

you taste like the fizzy sodas,
watermelons in summer,
the afternoons i spend daydreaming,
clear skies inside milk cartoons.
we meet in between the lines,
touch sparks like fireworks
and heat melting off our walls,
we're two lines crisscrossed
into several points,
constellations and corners.
first kisses,
shy touches,
getting to know.
you taste like the strawberry lip balm
you put on before dinner,
bucketfuls of cotton candy,
midnights that sound like gentle waves,
middays that promise fondness.
let me catch your bottom tier
between both of mine,
catch your hand under the table,
catch you when you fall.
i am no traveller or adventurer,
but i'd be eager to map out
your every nooks and crannies.
fill in your edges as you caress my curves,
finish where you start and
end when you begin,
meet you every time i dream
of the cloudless nights and the stars
above your rooftop, inside your eyes.
i am not big on promises
but set again another date,
let's do this again
and i won't be late.

I woke next to you this morning
Your warm skin and scruffy face
           -which I find incredibly ****
And usually just this
Can make me skip
   throughout my day

But not today.
I woke with
       the silent wild fire
  from last night - and several days before -
still quietly burning
still slowly consuming
            my heart.

The night before this one
     you promised
things will change
But how can I wait
with my forest turning into ashes
        tree by tree
        branch by burning branch?

How can I wait for you to stop this fire
by throwing bucketfuls of water at it?

otherwise wordily titled: pooped out
after pouring bucketfuls of water into
place of ablutions
all the while skipping to my loo
umpteen times courtesy bathtub faucet
turned toward hot temperature
so toilet would finally,
magnificently, and royally flush.

As ofttimes occurred in the past
anonymous reader's time
I once again promise to waste
concerning asinine verbiage
without this bard **** feeling shamefaced
broadcasting his fealty
to posterior predilections must appear
(as rearing to volley rebuttal
against fans of mine) yours truly
ofttimes discusses that byproduct,
which issues out buttucks) narrow-based
if not downright banal, gross, offal... in haste
to craft something more philosophical
how craven ***** talk
whereby theme doth self debase.

I excreted a bowel movement
earlier today June 5th, 2022
substantial enough to sink battleship
(maybe ye experienced tsunami after effects)
laboriously dumping bucketfuls of hot water
insync with applying plunger found me a drip
with perspiration, and would have possibly found
site manager and/or maintenance man to flip
(a rare sight to behold
worth inconvenience of clogged toilet bowl),
which yours truly felt strain in back muscles
as he poured bucketfuls of water from his hip
accidentally splashing water
on bathroom floor

yes your honor
(necessitating **** deck to evacuate)
if thee choose to sit in judgeship
but please be mindful
to restrain giving me any lip
cuz atypical dilemma I figuratively did nip
in the bud, yet foresee similar outcome
sure as this...
once upon a sage, rosemary and parsnip
herbaceous generic fellow sought readership
ideally landing webbed wide world trip
heralded all along as a V.I.P.
where fanfare for this common man
would find his doggerel
induced listeners to yip.

Otherwise wordily titled: pooped out
after pouring bucketfuls of water into
place of ablutions
all the while skipping to my loo
umpteen times courtesy bathtub faucet
turned toward hot temperature
so toilet would finally,
magnificently, and royally flush.

As ofttimes occurred in the past
anonymous reader's time
I once again promise to waste
concerning asinine verbiage
without this bard **** feeling shamefaced
broadcasting his fealty
to posterior predilections must appear
(as rearing to volley rebuttal
against fans of mine) yours truly
ofttimes discusses that byproduct,
which issues out buttucks) narrow-based
if not downright banal, gross, offal... in haste
to craft something more philosophical
how craven ***** talk
whereby theme doth self debase.

I excreted a bowel movement
moments ago today April 11th, 2024
at approximately two thirty post meridian
substantial enough to sink battleship
(maybe ye experienced tsunami after effects)
laboriously dumping bucketfuls of hot water
insync with applying plunger found me a drip
with perspiration, and would have possibly found
site manager and/or maintenance man to flip
(a rare sight to behold

worth inconvenience of clogged toilet bowl),
which yours truly felt strain in back muscles
as he poured bucketfuls of water from his hip
accidentally splashing water
on bathroom floor
yes your honor
(necessitating **** deck to evacuate)
if thee choose to sit in judgeship
but please be mindful
to restrain giving me any lip

cuz atypical dilemma I figuratively did nip
in the bud, yet foresee similar outcome
sure as this...
once upon a sage, rosemary and parsnip
herbaceous generic fellow sought readership
ideally landing webbed wide world trip
heralded all along as a V.I.P.,
where fanfare for this common man
enjoying Appalachian Spring,
would find his doggerel
induced listeners to yip.

it's not by the drop
but poured out by bucketfuls
when God gives mercy

©2013 Michael S. Davis

Watercolor trickles in from the edges of the window,
Smudging out the clear sky.
I flee the angry bucketfuls of oily paint,
That splash and smear the smooth floor below.
Finally I can run no more,
And I am pounded into red, white and brown,
Adding to the beautiful photograph below me,
Stretching out to the horizon.

Do you dare think
that you are superior?
You are not familiar with her, she
who stands before you.
Yet you find yourself above such a creature
who has moved oceans and rescued
sailors out at sea, while swallowing
bucketfuls of salt water, without protest.
You dare think that you are superior?
She has washed up on shore, spurting blood from her lips but she does not tell you her adventures in turmoil.  
You do not care, for you are only passing through.
You begin to utter choice words, but you may bite your tongue.
For she will send the tides to drown you out at sea.

a rough bit of it all
torn about the tinged straights-
a bridge to build,
a brick to lay,
another day gone by.

the ornaments inside my house no longer serve amusement-
my clothes mismatched all habberdashed
rest sullen on my skin,
the glow of screens tear at the seams of mildly sane perusement-
and I cannot drink away the ghouls with bucketfuls of gin...

what to do?
o, what to do?
another click or brushstroke-
a painting made for debts unpaid
to some stew of soul and self...

I’ll wrench some “purpose” from the pulpit and stuff it on a shelf.

where sorely needed precipitation
necessitates affected population
to perform a collective rain dance
(decked out in electronically smart frippery)
24/7 and 7/52 weeks a year
defies even the most adept meteorologists
(equipped with special magical powers)
to deliver nothing short of a biblical deluge
makes them (the weather forecasters)
appear as motley fools,
when mother nature

presents herself insync
(and well deserved
to be crookedly pilloried)
with handy dandy
blue skies as an affront
even garnering wrath
of Kong and sons of Kanute,
but more horrifically
evincing absolute zero happenstance
to release bucketfuls
of sought after requisite

moisture from the sheltering sky
prodding conspiracists
to put earth in the balance
with the uncomfortable truth
to beg the military intelligence
to draft schematics
to ***** at least one humongous lance
fired away with a half sashay
subsequently poking holes
in the cloudsource,
or as an extreme measure

firing nuclear missiles
high in the atmosphere perchance
hitting hard and knocking
sense and sensibility
in the mindscape of the gods
and goddesses of rain,
(needed to mill whole wheat flour,
raised in the rich bottomlands
of the Lake Wobegon river valley
by Norwegian bachelor farmers,
and are often described

being "pure, mostly"
and "good for you"
due to their whole wheat composition)
or more accurately affecting,
(albeit rendering, and delineating)
countless names representing
aforementioned invisible supernatural beings
(considered inviolable and sacred
and worthy of worship)
into dental sent trance.

In an effort to expound
upon intent to brainstorm
regarding an outrageous modus operandi
to quell the dearth for rain
or synonyms of said word
encompassing Earth, a planet third
nearest from the sun
I, a long in the tooth
and formerly indentured servant

also notate that
temperatures considerably warm
for November, October and September
rounding out two thousand and twenty four,
where climate change
(read warming) in full swing
(your partner round and round),
though mild temperatures
diminish heating expense,
(in conjunction with LIHEAP,

I qualify for PECO's CAP Rate program,
a discounted rate
for residential electric
and gas customers with low incomes),
thus far HVAC unit never turned on
only the LASKO
portable tower heater model 5144
accessed to take out the chill
in our one bedroom apartment
here at Highland Manor.