I own an ugly sweater
It has tatters and tears
Misshapen patterns
And holes everywhere

From the missing tag
That’s been savagely clawed and cut out
Why companies make them so scratchy
I have yet to find out.

Cheese grader sized holes
From where hungry moths attacked
For their personal enjoyment
Or a midnight snack.

A perfectly good sweater
And being prone to sharp corners
Don’t pair well together
Just ask my unraveling thread
That’s been caught onto edges
And hideously snagged.

It’s humorously sad
Go ahead, you can laugh
Your sweater is next
The moths are coming
I promise you that.

The bottom frays like a hippy
I would say it looks cool
But that style died in the seventies
Just wait, that that trend will recycle
I’m not in denial.

The fabric and material
What’s left of it
Is a delicate cashmere…

Alright fine, it’s a scratchy wool
Ancient, archaic, and feels like Velcro.

Sometimes leaves cling
So I look like a tree
The optimistic side of me
Just says nature loves me.

But I could do without the bees
Ohh so many stings…

The insides are bumpy
From being cleaned on high heat
Now my sweater suffers from dwarfism
It’s challenged vertically.

The wrists are stretched out
From being rolled up and down
Permanently smells like dirt or meat
Depending on my activity
Or what I had to eat.

Blackened mascara speckles the sleeve
From dramatic tears
Or being too lazy to grab a tissue
As if my sweater doesn’t have enough issues
I drag in my problems
My pendulum swinging emotions
If my sweater were human
I swear, it would leave me.

It’s been thrown on the floor
Tossed in the back of my car
Tied around my waist
And forgotten in stores
I always say sorry
I hope it forgives me.

From the sleeves that cradles sneezes
Hugs are completed
Sharing germs or sharing love
All becomes one experience.
You’re welcome.

The front like a canvas
A Jackson ******* painting
Ubiquitous splatters of coffee stains.

Missing sips that dripped off my lips
From being scolding hot
Or scarce concentration
But nine times out of ten
It’s my deficient attention.

Looking like it’s been through hell
And no denying it has.
Sure, I could donate this human sized rag
But they wouldn’t know the story behind
Each stain and frayed thread.

They would see the sweater as just ugly
Dismiss there was even a journey
They wouldn’t ask
The why’s or how’s it came to be.

This sweater is not just fabric
It’s a memory
An extension of me.
…
..
.
But seriously,
I should get this dry-cleaned
It’s disgusting.

But I love it.

Superimposing marks
On red, swollen lips
Bit and bled from chattering teeth
That tolls nervous as a cuckoo clock chirps.

A bumpy road with
Spidered cracks
Like a well dried jerky strip
Wrinkled, and tough.
Bit and chewed
With no bones underneath
And no guts to go forward.

Warning skies
Of red in the morning.
And thunderstorming nights
That flash with lighting so intense
You'd think an old-age photo party was commenced way up high.
And rain so furious
You'd think the clouds were tearing themselves to pieces.*
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­-------------

As a cloud,
I think I should add
That we aren't all fluffy and white
Nor scary and dark.

Our seasons do not come easily
For we undergo much
To make it "rain."

And even more to keep it calm.

Thunder is not a weathering crash,
It is yelling from another room.
And the lightning flash,
rage,
That leads to liquid pain.

The hard pressed wind that tosses your hair
Are witheld screams
until tolerance level reaches maximum,
And snaps. Like that old willow's trunk,
Wrenched from the earth,
Because the sky is powerful
And we are only along for the ride.

But, there is sunshine that warms our tops
While the bottoms are in shadow,
wrought in darkness that writhe along uneven surfaces.
But, there is moonlight that makes us gleam,
Like silver was sewn into sides.
But she is not always there,
And as her light fades
So
Do
We.

Isn't it queer
How puppets,
Made of cloth
And button eyes
Can be so animated
And lively

While humans
Like myself
With a beating heart
And blinking eyes
Are too tired
To even smile?

Then again,
Puppets have
A puppeteer's hands
Working the magic
While I
Am dragging myself
Across the bumpy roads
Alone.

{a.s}

By know you are old enough to try to understand
What love is between a women and a man
You see, at this point you don't have names
And Gregory can't settle the same.
Gregory is your farther as you know
You're not even a thought yet we can't wait for you to grow.
You won't be born in the next five years
But as soon as you're planted I'll cry happy tears.
Daddy and I are preparing
For when we  have to start caring.
Everything we do right now is for your advantage
So there won't be much struggle in your life to manage
Dad will soon be in the real world
And I will be his supportive girl.
I will still live with grandmama
And he'll still live his mama.
As of now that is okay
Because as long as we pray
God will be there for you, dad and I
Assuring us everything will be fine.
Ten minutes before I was stressing
But then remembered that God is always blessing.
That rule is for you as well as the rest of planet Earth.
I can't want to give birth
But I know I'm not ready
I gotta take it slow and steady.
Daddy will get the best job and make good money
So your days will always be sunny.
I will continue to learn and save some funds
And the best will never go undone.
I'm two years behind and dad is two years ahead
So that we can afford the best place for you to lay your head.
Dad is so sure and confident that I am the one
no matter how much I say I'm done.
I couldn't imagine myself with anyone else by my side
No one can handle the bumpy ride.
Dad would go through it all for you kids
He even went to Madrid.
But I hope and pray we never disappoint
Because we became joint
Without the love and motivation
How could we have reach salvation?
I started on February 16th
Everyday into every week
Building together
For an amazing forever.
So when you're mad at us just remember
That things will always get better,
We did nothing but try,
For you everything we buy,
A family we will always be,
Although sometimes we might not agree,
We work the hardest we can,
And made the strongest plan,
For you, our creation out of love,
Which is made of
Some of dad, some of mom
And a whole lot of love bombs.
So as I study tonight
And dad fight the world full of spite,
We remember everything we do
Is motivated towards you.
When pa is playing in the back yard,
Or i'm rocking you back to bed as a guard,
We value every moment
For you kids to never be broken

Love Mommy

P.s. I forever love you kiddies

Another shift, another day, Another buck to spend or save
A million riders, maybe more, delivered to their office door
Or maybe warehouse maybe store.
Or church or shul or city school, right on time as a rule.

Clickety, clackety, clickety, clee,
I am New York, the City’s me
Come let me ride you on my knee
From Coney Isle to Pelham Bay
From Bronx to Queens eight times a day.

Ride my trains, New Yorkers do
And you’ll learn a thing or two
About the City up above, the one some hate, the one some love.
On the street they work like elves
Down below they’re just themselves.

Through summer’s heat they still submerge,
Tempers held (though always on the verge),
They push, they shove – just like above –
The crowds will jostle, then finally merge.

Downtown to work and then back to sleep
They travel just like farm-herded sheep.
In through this gate and out the other,
Give up a seat to a child and mother,
Just don’t sit too close to that unruly creep!

With these crowds huddled near
Just ride my trains with open ear,
There’s lots of tales for you to hear.


Dis stop is 86th Street, change for da numbah 4 and 5 trains.  Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.   77th Street is next.  Watch out da closin dowahs.


     I’m Doctor Z, Doctor Z are me
     I’ll fix your face or the visit’s free.
     Plastic surgery, nips and tucks
     You’ll be looking like a million bucks.

     Looka those pitchas, ain’t they hot?
     You’ll look good, too, like as not!
     Just call my numbah, free of toll
     Why should you look like an ugly troll?

     You’ll be lookin good like a rapster
     Folks start stealing your tunes on Napster
     Guys’ll love ya, dig your face
     Why keep lookin like sucha disgrace?

     Call me up, you’re glad you did
     Ugly skin you’ll soon be rid.
     Amex, Visa, Mastercard,
     Payment plans that ain’t so hard.

     So don’t forget, pick up that phone
     Soon’s you get yourself back home.
     I’ll have you looking good, one, two three
     Or else my name ain’t Doctor Z.


Dis stop is 77th Street, 68th Street Huntah College is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin dowahs.


     It was a limo, now it’s the train;
     Tomorrow’s sunshine, but now it’s rain.
     The market’s mine, for taking and giving
     It’s the way I earn my living.

     Today’s losses, last week’s gain.
     A day of pleasure, months of pain.
     We sold the puts and bought the calls;
     We loaded up on each and all.

     I’ve seen it all, from Fear to Greed,
     Good motivators, they are, both.
     The fundamentals I try to heed
     Run your gains and avoid big loss.

     Rates are down, I bought the banks
     For easy credit, they should give thanks.
     Goldman, Citi, even Chase
     Why are they still in their malaise?

     “The techs are drek,” I heard him say
     But bought more of them, anyway.
     I rode the bull, I’ll tame the bear
     I’ll scream and curse and pull my hair.

     So why continue though I’m such a ****?
     I’ll cut my loss if I find honest work.



Dis is 68th Street Huntah College, 59th Street is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin dowahs.


     He rides the train from near to far,
     In and out of every car.
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”
     Some folks buy them, most do not,
     Are they stolen, are they hot?
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”

     Who would by them, even a buck?
     What’re the odds they’re dead as a duck?
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”
     Why not the Lotto, try your luck,
     Or are you gonna be this guy’s schmuck?
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”


Dis is 59th Street, change for de 4 and 5 Express and for de N and de R, use yer Metrocard at sixty toid street for da F train.  51st Street is next. Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin dowahs.


     “Dat guy kips ****** wit me, Wass he
     tink, I got time for dat ****?  Man, I
     got my wuk to do, I ain gona put
     up with him
     no more.”

          “I don’t know what to tell this dude. Like,
          I really dig him but
          ***?  No way.  And
          He’s getting all too smoochie face.”

     “Right on, bro, slap dat fool up
     side his head, he leave you lone.”

          “Whoa, send him my way.  When’s the last
          time I got laid?  I’m way ready.”

          “Oh, Suzie,..”


Dis is fifty foist Street, 42nd Street Grand Central is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin doors.



     Abogados es su amigos, do you believe the sign?
     Are they really a friend of mine?
     Find your lawyer on the train
     He’ll sue if the docs ***** up your brain.

     Pick a lawyer from this ad
     (I’m sure that you’ll be really glad)
     You’ll get a lawyer for your suit,
     Mean and nasty, not so cute.

     Call to live in this great nation
     1-800-IMMIGRATION.
     Or if your bills got you in a rut
     1-800-BANK-RUPT.

     We’re just three guys from Flatbush, Queens
     Who’ll sue that ******* out of his jeans.
     Mama’s proud when she rides this train
     To see my sign making so much rain.

     No SEC no corporations
     We can’t find the United Nations.
     Just give us torts and auto wrecks
     And clients with braces on their necks.

     Hurting when you do your chores?
     There’s money in that back of yours.
     Let us be your friend in courts
     Call 1-800-SUE 4 TORTS.


Dis is 42nd Street, Grand Central, change for the 4, 5 and 7 trains. Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Toity toid is next.  Watch out da closin doors.


They say there’s sev’ral million a day
From out in the ‘burbs, they pass this way.
Most come to work, some for to play
They all want to talk, with little to say.

Bumping and shoving, knocking folks down
A million people running around.
The hustle, the bustle the noise that’s so loud
Get me far from this madding crowd.

“We can be shopping instead of just stopping
And onto the next outbound train we go hopping.
Hey, it’s a feel that that guy’s a-copping!”

They want gourmet food, from steaks down to greens
Or neckties and suits, or casual jeans,
It’s not simply newspapers and magazines
For old people, young people, even for teens.


Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is Thoidy toid Street, twenty eight is next.  Watch out da closin doors.


     “So what’s the backup plan if
     He doesn’t get into Trevor Day?
     I know your
     heart’s set on it, but we’ve only
     got so many strings we
     can pull, and we can’t donate a
     ******* building.”

           “Hooda believed me if I tolja the Mets
          would sail tru and the Yanks get dere
          by da skinna dere nuts?
          I doan believe it myself.  Allya
          Gotta do is keep O’Neil playin hoit
          And keep Jeter off his game an
          We’ll killum.

               “My sistah tell me she be yo *****.  I tellya I cut you up if you
                ****** wid her, I be yo ***** and donchu fuggedit.”

     “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.
     And we can just **** good and
     Well find some more strings to pull!”

          “Big fuggin chance.  Wadder ya’ smokin?”

               “Yo sitah she ain my *****, you be my *****.  I doan be ******
                wid yo sistah.  You tell her she doan be goin round tellin folks
                dat ****.”


Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is Twenty eight Street, twenty toid is next.  Watch out da closin dowahs.


     Do you speak Russian, French or Greek,
     We’ll assimilate you in a week.
     If Chinese is your native tongue
     You’ll speak good English from day one.

     Morning, noon, evening classes
     Part or full time, lads and lasses.
     You’ll be sounding like the masses
     With word and phrase that won’t abash us.

     Language is our stock in trade
     For us it’s how our living’s made.
     We’ll put you in a class tonight
     Soon your English’ll be out of sight.

     If you’re from Japan or Spain
     Basque or Polish, even Dane,
     Our courses put you in the main
     Stream without any need for pain.

     We’ll teach you all the latest idioms
     You’ll be speaking with perfidium.
     We’ll give you lots of proper grammar
     Traded for that sickle and hammer.

     Are you Italian, Deutsch or Swiss?
     With our classes you can’t miss
     The homogeneous amalgamation
     Of this sanitized Starbucks nation.


Dis is Twenty toid Street, 14th Street Union Square is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin doors.


     “Ladies and Gentlemen, I hate to bother you
     But things are bleak of late.
     I had a job and housing, too
     Before my little quirk of fate.”

     “There came a day, not long ago,
     When to my job I came.
     They handed me a pink slip, though,
     And ev’n misspelled my name.”

     “We’ve got three kids, my wife and me.
     We’re bringing them up right.
     They’re still in school from eight to three
     With homework every night.”

     “I won’t let them see me begging here,
     They think I go to work.
     Still to that job I held so dear
     Until fate’s awful quirk.”

     “So help us now, a little, please
     A quarter, dime (or dollar still better),
     It’ll go so far to help to ease
     The chill of this cold winter weather.”

     “I’ll walk the car now, hat in hand
     I do so hope you understand
     I’m really a proud, hard working man
     Whose life just slipped out of its plan.”

     “I thank you, you’ve all been oh so grand.”


Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is 14th Street, Union Square, change for da 4 and 5 Express, the N and the R.   Astor Place is next.  Watch out da closin doors.


     The hours are long, the pay’s no good
     I’m far from home and neighborhood.
     All day I work at Astor Place
     With sunshine never on my face.
     Candy bar a dollar, a soda more
     A magazine’s a decent score.
     Selling papers was the game
     But at two bits the Post’s to blame
     For adding hours to my long day.
     All the more work to save
     Tuition for that son of mine: that tall,
     Strong, handsome, American son


Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Yer at Astah Place, Bleekah Street is next.  Watch out da closin doors.


     Summer subway’s always hot, AC’s busted, like as not
     Tracks are bumpy, springs are shot ‘tween the cars they’re smoking
     ***.

     To catch the car you gotta run they squeeze you in with everyone
     Just hope no body’s got a gun 'cause getting there is half the fun.

     Packed in this car we’re awful tight seems this way both day and
     night.
     And then some guys will start a fight.  Subway ride’s a real delight.

     Danger! Keep out! Rodenticide! I read while waiting for a ride.
     This is a warning I have to chide:  
     I’m very likely to walk downtown, but I’d never do it Underground.

     Took the Downtown by mistake.  Please, conductor, hit the brake!
     Got an uptown date to make, God only knows how long I’ll take.


Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is Bleekah Street, Spring Street is next.  Watch out da closin doors.


     The trains come through the station here,
     The racket’s music to my ear.
  &nbs

"Why are you frowning?" he asked
as always, I answered, "I'm okay"

Truth is
I feel like my stomach is aching
due to the bumpy ride we're taking
like every car on the road
keep crashing on ours
while he has no intention
whatsoever to make a u-turn
nor to push the break pedal

Life is not a garden of fragrant flowers,
Life is a chef's kitchen;
Some things get burnt,
Some are frozen,
In the end, it all tastes well.

Life is not a cycle ride down a smooth road,
Life is a bumpy journey uphill;
There are sharp, blind turns
Plus an upward *****,
But the view is magnificent.

Life is not a perfect picture captured by a DSLR,
Life is a photograph shot with a 1.3 megapixel camera;
With no editing allowed,
The sky looks blurred through it,
When actually it is clear.  

Life is not a cup of Starbucks coffee,
Life is a glass of Coke;
It is cold,
Addictive at times,
Mostly, fizzy and sparkling.

Life is not-
Seeing the glass half full.
Just appreciating as is;
*Simply, beautiful.

First, I spotted the gaggle sagging innocently enough,
One might say blissfully reflected in the laptop screen.
Then out of nowhere came the phrase, "whodunit?”
And from the hanging sag, a sly, silky, voice whispered,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."

Clearly a few clues were left behind, wispy hair strands,
Scattered age spots, skin tags, a few moles, posed upon a
Pale listless, crinkly, lightly pimpled, surface, and from a
Wrinkly, shallow crevasse a voice teased,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."

Totally hooked, curiosity piqued, southward I spied,
A once upon a time perky, treasure chest, half hidden,
Now two solemn, empty grain sacks laid east to west,
And close to death but not quite, lazily they muttered,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."

The final chapter, an ancient, untold mystery solved,
No crime, no villain, nothing stolen, only flesh alchemy,
Where a plateau of supple, touchable, skin once resided,
A lumpy, bumpy, flabby flesh pillow lolled, and it murmured,
“Ahhh, Boston cream pie, a quick nap, that's the ticket."

You my friend love to run more than anyone I know
You run so fast your body has to catch up and when it can't it slows you down pulling a hamstring
Then the other
And then your left one again

You had bruises for months trailing up and down your legs-your battle wounds

Weeks upon weeks of stretching
Icing massaging caring bracing eating
Trying so hard to sooth the pain
So bad it hurt to sit
Slowly but surely your legs came back
A tedious process of long nights and good mornings

One day you were new again
In the sweltering heat you taught  your legs what it felt like to run
And they loved it
The months flew by chasing you down
You were unstoppable getting first and second a states in the winter

Things were looking up and you started to get anxious about college who would choose you?
But in the end, you chose them
You are an official member of OSU
Proud to be a buckeye

Outdoor season started and you are oh so careful
Spending an hour every day before practice to warm up slowly to not repeat last year's trial
Hours spent after practice to ice and stretch hoping that this horrendous day would ever come again

Today I watched you
I was sprinting on the field while you were meticulously counting and calculating your speed and steps by doing drills
Our brothers strides by-racing each other in the 600
You strode along their side-beating them all when you started to limp

Your eyes turned glossy
Your face crumpled in despair
I to you asking if you were ok

You looked at me like a deer in headlights
To scared to tell me-hoping that the devil couldn't possibly come back to haunt you
Your eyes told me everything
Two pops and a pull

Bad
Very bad
But it's your right leg- your good leg
Impossible

The emotions hit you like you were on a bumpy roller coaster
Frustration
Angst
Anger
Sadness
Frustration
Anger
What did you do wrong?
What variables didn't add up?
Why you?
Why?

I wanted so badly to comfort you
To hug you
But it would put you in so much pain
Who knew that a hug could do so much harm?
I helped you to the trainer
Every step was another test and another reminder

Why can something you love so much it hurts you?
Why should someone so good feel the pain of a pulled muscle?
Why?

Bump, bump
                      Bump, bump
                                            Bump, bump
Bump bump
Bump bump bump
Bump bump bump bump
Bump bump bump bump bump bump bump

Bump jump!!!

I dont understand

Mine heart gets faster when she goes away
Yet I wait for her to cometh back

For she always controls the beat of mine heart
Realities fact!!!

I needeth mine heart medication right now,
I hope she cometh back
I need her no doubt!!

Bump bump
Bump bump bump
Bump

Mine heart is dying
When she leaves
I need her soiling
I need her seed...

She's the amore to mine heart that pumps so heavy without her!!

I

Said the Table to the Chair,
'You can hardly be aware,
'How I suffer from the heat,
'And from chilblains on my feet!
'If we took a little walk,
'We might have a little talk!
'Pray let us take the air!'
Said the Table to the Chair.

II

Said the Chair to the table,
'Now you know we are not able!
'How foolishly you talk,
'When you know we cannot walk!'
Said the Table with a sigh,
'It can do no harm to try,
'I've as many legs as you,
'Why can't we walk on two?'

III

So they both went slowly down,
And walked about the town
With a cheerful bumpy sound,
As they toddled round and round.
And everybody cried,
As they hastened to the side,
'See! the Table and the Chair
'Have come out to take the air!'

let's have a game of reverse-phraseology....

man up...

   hmm... let's see what i can conjure
up, within this, gender-neutrality...

how about...

  that old english saying...

buckle down,
    buckle up / knuckle down?
  (i never know which
is the correct phrase -
clench your hand into a fist,
or lose weight -
   or, tighten them
for a bumpy ride).

   take the knuckles
to the grit / sandpaper...

   how's that?

any bwetter?
            no?
   oh ooh um, ah...
          
            i thought these people
were into gender neutral pronouns...
which, oddly, enough,
have to also be singular and plural
neutral:
  
last time i checked: they...
referred to a plural description
of gender neutrality, to begin with...

but hell! ha ha ha ha ha!
we can play this game, all day,
and all night, long...

       but NOW, for a wild idea...
how can you enforce the adrenaline
junk from being stabbed,
not anticipating a stabbing?

i guess... i guess you have to heat
up the knife...
   so there's a warm butter sensation
ascribed to the flesh...
               flesh...
  i like that word...
     i can almost imagine
a slaughterhouse,
   with raw pork in full attire of
a corpse, dangling off the hooks...

and that believable scent,
outside of a Parisian perfume factory
attached: what if i fried this,
exponent of a gutted pork torso?

- and why isn't bush-meat
prohibited in the Qu'ran?
    pork? the most economically constructed
animal in the history of:
anti-vegeterianism anti-veganism...

      rats are, apparently, omnivores...
my neighbor owns four albino rats,
saved from a testing laboratory...
seen one ******, scuttle the garden
looking for a labyrinth
to be experimented on...

oh i love the tease of policing language...
man up contra
            buckle down...
you just sizzle...
   imitating a rattlesnake with
your tongue on trilling the R
with that kind of ****...
   you really end up wanting to poke,
and poke...
    at this sort of genesis phraseology...
with either a reversion,
or an inversion...

i'd prefer you to allow me to exercise
my right for compelled speech,
in which "manning up" is degraded
from the casual phraseology attainment,
and that the old school
english buckling down
is used...

      man? up? there's nothing copernican
about that expression...
please... can you excuse
my politically correct counterpart
to be allowed a phraseology blunder?

we too, are for gender neutrality
in... bashing a man down...
   we call "them" the brash knuckles
brushing off of preconceived
sexuality indicators...

    no blue boy, no pink girl...
no tractor boy, no Barbie girl...
               but there is no...
  "manning up"...
         WE UZ A PEOPLEZ' PEOPLE...
A PEOPLEZ' **** TANK...
running low... on thought -
or whatever the once glorified
moral ought used to be...
   mahatma mah'gandhi -
liked the name for one reason...
see how the H appears and disappears
in the nouns?
   it's there's at mahatma...
but... turned surd in gand(h)i...
   i don't even know why it's not a surd
in (h)indi -
   so blue blue, i'm blue...
      
extensive culinary and musical
traditions kept them afloat,
from biting the razor,
   when drowning...
   and not, exactly, opening
      the oompa-loompa casinos.

Father, Son, Mechanic…
Man, I’ve wanted to talk to you – really talk to you – for some time now.
to see your face in front of me, instead of dangling from necklaces,
or hanging, melancholy, over sexless couples’ beds.

I’ve spent a lot of time reading all that stuff you wrote (supposedly),
and I’ve enjoyed it, Man, I have.
but I keep wanting it to be a letter, when in the end it’s just
a bipartisan explanation – an engineer’s guide to
building a pretty vehicle around a faulty engine.

I always see you, arms spread,
sprawled across the older bitter-america’s steering wheel.
my mama would tease me, saying you’d want me to help some day.
but you and your cronies drove me like a beat-down El Camino,
joyfully taking me through wrong turns and bumpy streets
waiting for my chassis to split.
and once I ran out of gas to offer, you refused to touch me at all,
letting me rot in your cobweb garage.

and all those ******* in turtlenecks and polos popped,
they’ve gleefully branded your logo on their chemical biceps
and gaily explain how close you were.
how they knew you like no one else did,
how you guys didn’t have a connection, but a relationship.
people should only let their mechanics touch their cars, though,
and keep their innards free of oily fingers.

to be honest, I don’t think I’ll be coming back to this establishment again.
it’s a little too clean for my taste, and your prices are way to high
especially when all you get is a little peace of mind and a sense of humbled grandeur.
don’t worry about the car, though – you can keep it.
you’ve sort of spoiled all its good intentions,
so I’ll be buying a new one sometime soon.
I guess I’ll be taking a taxi.
No, actually.
I’ll hitchhike home.

By: Cedric McClester

Justice delayed is justice denied
A familiar credo rarely applied
So the call for it is a rising tide
They’re only trying to close the divide
It came so quickly in Baltimore
Like nothing that they had ever seen before
The young prosecutor was so able and sure
Though she never tried a case like it before

This time a rookie would light the fuse
People rejoiced once given the news
The laws don’t exist for police to abuse
Responsible parties have to pay some dues
She laid the facts out chapter and verse
Starting with what she said occurred first
It began to appear that Freddie was cursed
As she laid out the charges it looked even worst

Although color only tends to distract
If you must keep track as a matter of fact
Out of the six cops three were black
Which doesn’t suggest that they knew how to act
Cops bleed blue whether black or white
The uniform’s the same am I wrong or right?
Either or they’ll put out your light
Then say you resisted and put up a fight

People were asking how Freddie died
Some rightly suspected from a bumpy ride
And now that those facts have been verified
It’s more than a theory that will get tried
Just as if Freddie was sending a sign
His broken neck and a badly cracked spine
Wasn’t self-inflicted we got to find
Did they really think that we’d lost our minds



© Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester.  All rights reserved.

The Moon would like to let everyone know that it is done
It is sick and tired of chasing after Earth
No matter how beautiful it seems
  It always ends the race two steps behind
  But dear moon doesn't have the whole story
You see the Earth is also chasing after love
But it does not pine over our dear Moon
It hungers for the Sun
The last 4.5 billion years spent
In the sun's soothing lullaby
Its oozing radiation, and humming warmth
Butterflies flutter at its core
But ill-fated as all love story's are
There is no love left to return
You see,
The Earth's surface is a little too bumpy for the shining sunrise
Don't blame the sun it did not call upon this bewitching manner
The sun is not believed to be apart of this foolery
It is not in enchanted by the all powerful
It does not fall in love
Nor does it  spin for another
It stays in motion for no one
It is a humming ball of fire
Burning everything in its path
You tell me a good love story
I shall call you a fool
You label me pretty
I shall label me Sun
For just like it
I am my own sunrise
I can, shall, and will Ignite
Ignite my prince charming
Ignite all such fairy tales
I am not you're pretty princess
Puckered lips and giggled laughter
I am the queen who shall show no mercy
I will show you true meaning
Of fire
Of fear
Burned bodies turned to ash
Ignite my darling
Ignite

There is no cure, no fix, no magic spell.
I am an aberration, as you know.
I never promised you a villanelle.

You cannot trap the ocean in a shell.
You feed the roses blood to make them grow.
There is no cure, no fix, no magic spell.

It does get bumpy on this carousel.
The ride is all extremes of high and low.
I never promised you a villanelle.

I was the aberration, you could tell.
I ******* my neuroses in a bow.
There is no cure, no fix, no magic spell.

I think it's safe to say you know me well
in all my many masks, but even so
I never promised you a villanelle.

Let me pin my ragged heart to your lapel.
If it's truly what you need, I'll let you go.
There is no cure, no fix, no magic spell.
I never promised you a villanelle.

River gift, flowing upstream and down
Cresting with the bumpy waters tow,
Slick as an eel, you move and fro to play,
Warm in the gleaming sun that rides
With you each day,

                              you have shone, great
Knowledge of salmon, found the pearl
In the dark mussel, bend as even light
Must, piercing the waters of the under-
World, lording the fey, riparian borders,
Like a God.

Kourtney Kardashian usually displays some quirky style when shooting her reality show Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

And on Monday the 36-year-old single mom was at it again as she wore a baggy army green jumpsuit when landing with her three kids Mason, aged five, Penelope, aged three, and Reign, eight months, in St Barts to shoot her E! show.

Looks like mom Kris Jenner, 59, did not get the fashion memo as she was seen descending the steps of a private jet alongside Khloe, 30, Kim, 34, and Kendall, 19, in the exact same getup.

The jumpsuit seemed to hang off Kourtney, who paired the staple with clunky platform black and beige jazz shoes, gold necklaces and gold-rimmed aviators. The ex of Scott Disick played down the glam with a ponytail and minimal makeup.

Kris wore her suit in a more fitted manner that showed off her slim waistline.

The ex of Bruce Jenner (now Caitlyn of I Am Cait fame) added beige combat boots and a small beige Hermes bag to her look.

Her hair was worn styled in a spiky fashion and she didn't forget to glam it up with vintage sunglasses and lipstick.

Khloe was playing good auntie as she carried Penelope, who was cute in a white dress.

The girlfriend of NBA star James Harden had on a black sleeveless mini dress and black high top sneakers. The E! babe carried a large neon yellow Hermes purse and wore her blonde locks up in a messy top knot.

Kim, who carried daughter North, was the most dressed up by far.

The pregnant wife of rapper Kanye West had on a tight beige dress that showed off her baby bumpy (she is expecting a son in December), beige rain coat and strappy beige heels. Her hair was worn down and parted in the middle.

North had on a summer dress and beige sandals, and her hair was worn in a top knot.

Kendall had on a plunging blue outfit with black and white Adidas sneakers.

The Calvin Kelin model had a black purse on her shoulder and gold-rimmed aviators on, copying her older half-sisters Kourtney and Khloe.

Her younger sister Kylie, who turned 18-years-old over the weekend, was not seen.

The crew for Keeping Up With The Kardashians could be seen holding cameras and a boom as the stars walked off a red, white and blue private jet.

The family has been shooting the next season of the E! show, which will air after I Am Cait ends.

The Kardashians often film their reality show when on vacation as they did in Armenia earlier this year and in Greece in 2014.

This show of unity comes the day after Kim and Khloe were seen arguing with Cait on I Am Cait.

Jenner's comments about her family in her Vanity Fair cover interview have become a running bone of contention among the Kardashian clan.

Kris confronted her ex-husband over what she has said about her in a powder keg moment that was teased after Sunday night's episode.

Kris tells her in a video posted on E: 'You're sensitive and amazing to all these new people in your life, you're just not so sensitive and amazing to the family that you left behind.'

Caitlyn gives her side, responding: 'I try to do everything I can to be nice, reach out. You have to see it from my perspective, be an ally when it comes to dealing with the kids.'

Then the former Olympian says, 'Don't go there, this is not the issue. I was defending myself. It was a distraction from the sense of who I was, that doesn't mean I didn't love you or the kids.'

Throughout Sunday night's episode Caitlyn is shown getting into arguments with her stepchildren, first with Kim and then with Khloe.

When Kim comes to visit Caitlyn first complains about how her family had all kept their distance.

She said: 'Nobody's come out [to visit], Kourtney hasn't made a move at all, obviously Khloe hasn't come close - I feel so isolated out here. All of a sudden there's this wall that's up there.

'I just want everybody to be happy. I love, love, love all my kids. I wish you guys were here every **** day.'

But it is not long before Caitlyn is also being criticized, firstly due to her nature and then due to what she has said about her family to Vanity Fair.

Kim said: 'You still have a little Bruce in you. I thought Caitlyn would be a little kinder. I think that there's some things that you said that you might not realize are hurtful.

'You said that Kendall and Kylie were a distraction. When they read that - I don't know that they'll quite understand that.'

The conversation then turned to Kim's manager mother, with explosive results.

Kim said: '[The interview] said, "had Kris been accepting to who I am, we still would be together" - and that is the most unfair thing in the world to say.

'You're a woman now and she is not a lesbian - she does not want to be with a woman, that's not fair to ask.'

Caitlyn defensively insisted: 'As time went on our relationship changed drastically. In my eyes it's like, "Well, I don't need him any more - I've got all the girls." I felt it in the way she treated me. She wanted me out of the house.'

Kim, insisting Caitlyn should have been thrilled and saying 'good riddance' to a relationship that 'wasn't mean to be', told her: 'If I was with someone for 25 years I would look for the positive things and try to end it on a good note.

'You said "Kris mistreated me" - it sounded like she beat the s**t out of you. You could have a little more respect.'

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/princess-formal-dresses

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Dear rainbows,
Thank you.
Thank you for showing that out of every storm comes
something so inexplicably beautiful that we often stop all that we are doing to admire you.
Thank you for being a bright light at the end of every struggle.
The day that you don’t shine after a terrible storm is the day that I give up.
Thank you For your every hue.
Larger than life, your bright colors streaming across the sky,
Thank you for being a beacon to all of our allies.
I reach for you and your beauty.
Thank you for being the symbol of an identity I hold so dear
For your colored stripes are ever so often my only hope.
Thank you for giving me strength when I need it most
You tell us, not to give up when life is unfair, to not succumb to our despair
Thank you for being this, Mirage of heaven
The prettiest woman, a reborn Marilyn Monroe
Thank You For I can feel your hands guiding me
Down every bumpy road
Thank you for standing tall
Like paint trickling down from the sky
Thank you for being the bay and meadow
While the clouds fly high above your head
Thank you, for defining all my colors
All the colors of my rainbow eyes
Thank you for your rare kind of beauty
For, heckling the rain
Thank you, for brightening the sky
The vibrant shades of the world
Thank you for cheering me up
Even on the darkest of days
Thank you, because after the world glistens with rain
It's fun to explore what lies beyond your end

the grit courage of trust**

still too young and now, too old, to comprehend,
love~trust and all its secondary derivatives,
not extant on a plane of new bed sheets of
silk~linen tablecloth rectangularity

go into the park's garden;
black soil fingernail coating
awaiting, impatiently for you,
dig in direct hands ungloved

is it not,
sensual and yet gritty,
two coextensive sensations?

slip inside (you/me, me/you),
there is a razor's edge duality duty,
trust, serve and protect,
take and
handle with rough-care, for this our state of beauty
au naturel, the rush and the fall,
the climb and the conquering,
only to start again, each step, each rung,
coated with the
the grit courage of trust -
                                          do you begin to comprehend?

trust is a bumpy landing on a glide path that is strewn
with potholes that can grow into sinkholes without
the grit of trust

the soles of my feet are a message,
gritty from walking
all-life, not just the edges,
is a two act play of roughening,
upon the limbs the things,  
that carries us *****
but bares the wearing of
unkind touches of reality
working us over

why the soothing,
but not the smoothing
daily twice is the cream that
emerges from the grit courage of trust

even the vinery's progeny of great love,
grapes that must
embrace the wind and rain,
the wearing down tools of
the exterior that brings an acknowledgement -
                                                            do you begin to comprehend?

this is not an algebraic formulaic solution solvable problem,
this derived from dirt, access to accidental, the tongue and the nail,
the cracks upon the skin, that grow wonderful deeper, unfillable,
where the love gets in,
were the words are written and stored,
rough to the touch,
under the grit courage of trust -
                                                       do you begin to comprehend?

this grit is unbelievable beautiful  
only a love po-em.      


5:22am

She said
you don't understand
it's more than that
it's bliss
it envelops all that was
and has ever been
I said don't be silly
I want to make love
and then I want to ****
I want to play songs on your skin that your lips don't know the words to           drink the candlelight in your eyes
  get drunk like wine
  sweet as
   summer
I want to paint goosebumps on your thighs
trace the outline of our future as our shadows
  dance on the wall
I want bodies to quake in a thundering rhythm
ships soft as silk under siege by some
  unseen storm
I want to color outside the lines of your body
  scribble musings with my fingertips
  read the response with the rise of your hips
tattoo your curves like there's ink on my tongue
I want to make you hit the high notes that make the sky split open
reach the moment of utopia  
where ragged breath is broken
and for a second
gravity consumes the both of us
I want our consciousness to float, made one by unseen forces
while you lay beneath me *******
souls no longer out of focus
and words no longer spoken
rather,
cloaked in
golden    hopeful
      moments
left to float in some abyss of sacrilegious potency  
Your aroma has a pulse
    it sighs in my ear
draws me in with scented fingers
   between your thighs,   beneath your fears
I want to soak in the madness as my sight disappears
and all around us sprout the roots of prayers
   unanswered for years
I want to collect the moments I leave you breathless in a jar by my bed
so when the arch in your back leaves you on the cusp of
   paradise
             and
      lust
I’ll crack the lid
and let you feel nirvana like Buddha never did
I wanna pay homage to your eyelids
  fluttering in heavy silences
a testament to science how your stomach falls and rises
I’ll savor the way your headboard creaks
take pleasure on a ride through valleys and peaks
I want ecstasy
   and movement
      to unite
    with the clench of your fists
   your trembling lips
your sweat as it drips
onto the sheets
A sacrifice of pleasure
and the message is received
embrace the fire of each other now the Gods are intrigued
I want heaven to fade away
seeking solace in the midst of weak and shaky knees
I want to hold you as satisfaction encloses
the walls fold and collapse in on us and all that’s left in the world are
two bodies
the matrimony of synapses and
two    bodies
a mattress moaning in the blackness and
two      bodies
a matching set of sins and quick gasps and
two         bodies
In a flash I relapse and there's no
body
And now I've perused road maps, mused with psychics
read encyclopedias front to back
trying to help find my way to...
to I don't know what
no
maybe it's a who
to help find my way back to the lover I lost my love to
And then when I do
I can finally ask her
how come when we finish there’s no divinity left to hold onto?
You see
   ***
is my magnum opus, what I live for
  why I wrote this
so as I sit engrossed in thoughts that linger and control me
  I want to say I picked a lotus
watched in awe as it unfolded
melted sorrows into roses
with one colossus stroke of bones and flesh I learned the road to death
   gets bumpy
if you’re lonely.

She laughs, he smiles.
The black forest taste he could only taste at the peak of light beams
Her laugh seems similar, quite similar.
Her haha's outcasted the glooms and dooms
Just as the black forest melted on his taste buds when sun rays streaked upon his shoulder blades.

She cracked a joke, he laughs and nods
Intellectual is what they might say
A brainy maniac she is, who could co-host a sitcom
His Friday nights would now only be filled with her wits
Replacing all the beers and stouts for a while
His once bumpy and rocky throat is nil compared to the highly raised cheekbones visible during a good laugh

But one day she cried.
The guilt he carries overshadowed his sympathy.
Her big swollen eyes
Her pinkish and warm face which was covered in dribble
Hadn't he known?
All those time he made somersaults, he was drown deep below
He could breakthrough,
but was too mesmerized by the mermaid's blinking fishtail and scaly skin.

And she saved him
From being turned into a merman
Only then he was back to square one
Where her laughters, her jokes and her sobs are actually his sugar crush, his Gatsby gold
As always, she was after all, his soul saver.

Trick or Treat
Trick or Treat
I tried a trick in the last piece will mix this up with both but as Betty Davis said In all about Eve buckle up
It going to be a bumpy ride I will give you a little of both at first the deadly trick I didn’t know and the
Treat of playing chicken with a freight train only now I was seven we lived on Railroad Rd Ave the first
Street south of Jackson where the pizza wars are fought daily between Pizza Hut and Pizza man. I
Crossed the ditch and climbed the grade a little challenge at seven but as I played on the track I heard
That old devil that always shook our house as it passed but it made up for it with that romantic whistle
And the feeling you got as you listened to it fade into the distant night. Well I didn’t know what romance
Was totally except on westerns and I did think those Warren twins were cute and when those brownies
All gathered on the east side of Lincoln school under that tree I did stare and enjoy such a wondrous
Sight they would and have repopulated our world given us the promise of an unbreakable future I can’t
Tell if I heard I guess that was the case I heard it first when I saw the train it was down by the bowling
Alley it was just a dot at that distance not very big it didn’t take long for it to metamorphous in to a
Fierce giant black behemoth it was getting intimidating half way to the crossing to give you the distance
At the time I jumped out of the way and ran down the hill I almost was sent flying as I encountered
Angles we lived in the second house from pine and I was right across from my house they almost had
One less mouth to feed I feel they would have gotten over it about the time it would take to eat a
Hamburger at home town so you get the distance I let him come across the pine street crossing now
Tension was shaking me two things I didn’t know that they rolled back and forth and that they were two
Stories high the ground did more than tremble by this time he was through the crossing and driving
Toward my position that I wasn’t ready to forfeit just yet I had a stubborn streak and a rebel
Heart even back then that might yet land me in hell my wife just said I was banging the keys I talk loud
When I get excited about something and on here I bang the keys. I will have to leave you hanging for a
Moment then take you back for the ending on the same thought about being a rebel I had a dream
Some Years back I was standing in front of a mirror and God was trying to put this detailed and glorious
Crown of intricate gold on my head it wasn’t happening with ease like the time I was ten the coat I had was finished
Torn from the collar to the shoulder it hung down god awful inside stuffing best description here came
The enemy mom sister aunt Grandmother and her sister with a new coat I hit the floor with my best
Three Stooges Curly imitation not a pretty picture even scared the old auntie visiting well from coloring
Books to fox terrier dogs that was what it took for me to relent and give up my coat see what the train
Was up against I have to take this opportunity for years I have tried to honor this special teacher but the
Story to sad and tragic I tried another time to write about Candy Jack a young mother who died leaving
Two five year old twin girls for her mother to raise as I set there drawing on the feelings you have to have
To write I got more than I bargained for Candy was totally visible in my mind but a visitor came with her
As I write this I have a cold chill it was death now Candy lie in repose in her casket but the truth of her
Condition started to take over and grip my body that was all I wanted I dropped paper and pen and left
The room never to attempt her story again you can’t match Mrs. Dagon’s story with mere words I doubt
If even Faulkner could even though he masterfully handled the subject in she lay dying I set in her class I
Might have been at a loss in the business class but I got how much she loved her husband Jim that’s
When and only when her hard exterior softened I hope in vain that her hardness somehow gave her a
Semblance of armor you surly know the story Jim died of cancer they had her in the hospital she asked
To go home for an item she would be right back a promise maybe she meant to keep but the story she
Was wearing a gown and a thin oh to thin a house coat she went in one door maybe in that stillness and
In that reality I spoke of in The Magic Lamp she came to the end of her mind and hearts ability to endure
The untold agony this is what happened she walked out the other door crossed the same street her and
Jim followed home so many times in life she continued over and up to the tracks waited she heard the
Same romantic whistle but for her it was laced with unbearable pain she offered up her life as she
Stepped in front of a fast freight Jefferson stated the tree of liberty must at times be refreshed by the
Blood of patriots sometimes release outweighs the scale of life no longer in balance and can only be
Made so by extreme measures for all who love, you Mrs. Dagon made our experience far more richer
And I know Jim was as the old almost sacred song says I will wait for you just beyond the moon farewell
And God bless continuing in this tragic vain but back to the same crossing I left you at a display of exact
Opposites from Mrs. Dagon the Chesty potato chip man driving the little blue van was killed and people
With the ugliest actions he had barley been removed and they were vultures without human decency
Scrounging potato chip bags and cans of chili enjoy idiots it was a whole different story when the train
Derailed at Owaneco throwing boxes of shoes everywhere sure there was souls and heels everywhere
But they were leather. So there I stood he crossed through the crossing now it was terrifying thats why
They call it chicken I just kept standing there lengthening the thrill I had time now the trick, sometime
Later I played this on the side walk with two guys on a bicycle I kept standing there but when I finally
Started to jump the trick happened my nerves froze and I couldn’t move they hit me and knocked me
Down it was painful but I wasn’t there I was in my mind back on those tracks the train thirty feet away if
I didn’t jump when I did what a small minced pie I would have made.

When I leave this town of sticks and stones,
And make way through the thick, dense fog,
I will no longer feel anxiety pouring over me,
Will no longer be, a bump on a log.
When I rome free through the wild outdoors,
I will no longr contemplate my past,
The moment I achieve pure happiness,
Wanting the moment to forever last.
When I long to see my boyfriend,
I won't lie there foolishly and cry,
Because life is about diversity,
To progressively advance and try.
When I learn the true meaning of, "I love you,"
I will feel omniscient and strong,
Despite my hardships,
Whether right, or whether wrong.
When Im off to college,
New doors will open up for me,
Such extraodinary opportunities out there,
For such a dedicated, yet small me.
When I'm married to the man I love,
My wasted thoughts will leave my head,
I'll only worry about the choices I made,
The actions I took, and the things I said.
When I achieve my dreams,
Self-actualized, I'll surely be,
Hoping to some day become a legend,
With endless things to see.
When I'm eventually deceased and gone from this world,
I will have looked back and said I tried,
Tried to make use of the life God left me with,
Along such a beautiful, bumpy ride.

(For Marg and Laurice, snake charmers extraordinaire)
  
Like the Burmese priestess
kissing the cobra
I must never take my eyes off
that steely, staring, coal-black serpent eye
lest the fangs swaying in that unborn smile
strike
in the split-second
that contains my salvation or my undoing.
Lips always poised between heaven and hell,
I advance on the servant of knowledge
hooded with an assumed mastery,
that hood branded with Nature's tattoo:
Omega, the end
and that flickering tongue that reads my body
temperature could cut it cold.
Cold as the smooth-bumpy reptilian snout
upon which I lightly lay
the final kiss.

I'd like a re wind of my life
at a slower pace
where nothing causes any strife
and i turn up the ace
no bumpy road
no sad mistakes
life is all twinnings and
cupcakes
this is my dream
a silly one
no wonder im flat
on my ***

The question is not when we meet our end,
but how, and how does not mean what you think.
Should it be fought, or welcomed as a friend?
To that I say, live to the very brink
however you have lived to now.  Each one
who walks though shadowed days finds their own pace;
some stride, some cringe, some stumble, others run.
What each can handle is what each will face.
If talking seems to help, then speak.  Or you
might soldier on, clad in your armored will.
No one can tell another what to do,
just what they've done, for better or for ill.
The path, if smooth or bumpy, is your own
and should you choose, you need not walk alone.

This feeling brings my face to show a slight red on the carmel surface
My eyes twitch and open and close rapidly
Who would have thought I would be nervous

You are not my first not even my second
but they were merely covers
you being my third are also my first in my mind

I can't foresee all that might come
The road might me bumpy
It might contain some curves real steep curves
Or it might be smooth as a baby's bottom

I don't know what I might feel
But I am willing to jump in
For I am that type of guy
Who goes ahead pluges head first ignoring the waring sign

I will be honest with you though
If what we have doesnt feel right to me I will say
and If I do feel like it should last forever  ditto
For you deserve the truth no matter what

So as the days start to dwindle to when we can see each other agian
One feeling is all I have
I am Nervous

There’s something about the way your words just flow when you speak of what you love that gives me a sense of peace. This is the same kind of peace felt when the Florida wind caresses against my skin on a warm afternoon, and sometimes I like to think your touch is just as gentle and welcoming. Sometimes, convincing myself that your touch is as smooth as the words you use to lure me to you drives away the monster inside seeking what to taunt me with next. Lately, it’s been picking at you, but when you smooth out the bumpy road and just drive, my mind is at peace. The peace growing in this careless mind which I used to call home has a name: Travis; my new home.

There’s something about your eyes; profound, delicate, confidential; they describe you. Just by the gaze of your brown/green eyes, your personality is revealed. And it’s that confidentiality in your stare, and the delicacy in your gaze that gives me security.

I can’t wait for the day that it’s no longer the way you observe people, but the way you hold me that gives me that sense of security. Where it’s no longer the way you talk, but that “Florida wind” impression you give off when your breath strokes against my skin that gives me that same sense of peace. When I’m home and I can rest and hear the music of your heartbeat putting me to sleep. I can’t wait for that day, when I can just put those demons to the side and breathe to the rhythm of the music. Because with your peace and security orbiting my mind, I can finally rest again.

No feelings
No depth
No core to strike the iron hot
Upon.
I regret to inform you Sir
That I have lost the capacity
To care,
That I have dropped the
Ephemeral Ball of belief
And have become tangled
Undone.
A shallow
Hollowed
Cracked
Broken and busted
Shapely shell
That contains only dust,
Particles of Mistrust

I am bumpy rolling stone
No moss collected
Just cleft reflected
On a surface
Not shy or unscarred of pain.

This is today
This empty decay
This is now, this dust cloud
Caught trapped aloof and uncaring.

Greased wheels, I knew you once.
I loved to balance like a child.

Roaming the paved streets; riding is like flying.

I knew you when the store held you back.
I chose you from behind handlebars with purple streamers.

Your tires silently carried me to classes,
each brake stop signaled that we were close to our arrival.

I sat on your worn black seat like I was on a throne of sorts.
Even though that seat is tattered with one rip on the side,
all I saw in you was my own **** pride.

Spokes, I knew you once.
I played your tune each journey that we went on.
No hill was ever tall enough, no road was ever too bumpy.

Gears, I knew you once.
Click, Lock, Click
sometimes you were tight and never let me ride
sometimes you were loose and my feet went flying ‘round too fast for me to catch
                     what you were doing.

I knew you once, when time was young.