some dogs who sleep ay night
must dream of bones
and I remember your bones
in flesh
and best
in that dark green dress
and those high-heeled bright
black shoes,
you always cursed when you drank,
your hair coimng down you
wanted to explode out of
what was holding you:
rotten memories of a
rotten
past, and
you finally got
out
by dying,
leaving me with the
rotten
present;
you've been dead
28 years
yet I remember you
better than any of
the rest;
you were the only one
who understood
the futility of the
arrangement of
life;
all the others were only
displeased with
trivial segments,
carped
nonsensically about
nonsense;
Jane, you were
killed by
knowing too much.
here's a drink
to your bones
that
this dog
still
dreams about.

Addendum to title:
Boyhood Digs in Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426

Oft times forced exposure therapy spelled rustling quiet
Pyrrhic punitive onslaughts noisome moody linkedin kicks
jarring inxs harbored grievances foo fighting essence
denoting cannibalized august boy aghast to confront reality
returning home meant compromising autonomy
acceptable collateral casting leftist strides rite
constituting timid steps circumscribing childhoods’ end,
comprising reluctant trudge treading toward adolescence
where wold wide webbed magic ride
rode ruff shod o’er carped hooked
synthetic threads re: fibrous veld
whence extolled impressive footprints
measured triangular wedges rung duff feet
expediently dragged churlish badinage afoot
stretching across Scottish tartan
Harris Tweed unwelcome matt despite frustrated parents
whose vitriol unleashed tough-love,
smacked regularly quasi planned
threatened ultimatums venomous viz witches
yawping against my brand
falling out of good graces,
though hatching escape merely fanned
actions hightail me to bedroom, a secure space,
not exceptionally grand
yet despite rapacious and relentless rage
against the sole son, who hand
did lee managed inciting wrath
of me papa and late mama,
this parcel of land, now entombs nostalgia
namely 324 level road, Collegeville,
Penna, 19426 make believe pal Joey and this creator
passively succumbed to withstand
invisible jetblue lobbing onslaught of slingshot barbs,
wharf fear to rely on self way past primetime,
which solo endeavor didst demand
absent belief, confidence and faith in innate survival skills,
hence countless admonitions recurred
razed quest qua pursed lips
those who begat their only male heir,
provoking predictable panned
da moan he hum in tandem
with concomitant wickedness akin to eland
caught in cross hairs getting pistol-whipped
with many barking explicit derogatory gerund formed
expletives, that did not dislodge this immobile body electric
defying logic, now in retrospect clueless why I suffered to withstand
incessant verbal, venal, and n’er vampire weakened blows
inexplicable, how this soulful, ruminating,
and tortured walking wounded blithely weathered turpitude  
though devoid of sense and sensibility, how no man iz an island
though at times incontinent, where jocund this bard for’er opened
Pandora’s box, but hindsight softened cleft pride and prejudice
whereat bulldozed site of once grand “Glen Elm” tears me up inside
fading memories refreshed, via priceless gift
from beloved younger sister
unwittingly mitigated hammer blows of pain to confront the void,
whence away from obliterated complex edifice grief felt ******!

I kiss the rain and recall thy blame, of the one I cannot name who is in pain and is insane.
Allow me not to sour over you no more or linger in vain, as I cannot account for what you’ve done it was painfully disdain.
So far away I leap from you,
I let go and I grow.
Cower was your power over me, bunted by your insufficient explanation of your aleck that kept me caged, carped and frugal.
With your haste I bare you not our child but that of a black blade that I craned, and I killed. I killed you.
You scraped me of my honor and took away my aim to stay high and live a life.

twirl ballroom spritz
    'cross abandoned parking lots

weave your lamentations
    out in umber mist

gin and panadol
white arsenic cordial

death drive in moderation                      


bushy dough
down your gumboot towers
yyo faggg
fark your sign'a'lings
carped up in the haddock pouch

in maudlin dreams
swirl your phone sleeve
round your wristflick
                                         nah
you blooster mate
right cranberry

where the **** is it? where the **** did you put it? it's not funny, hahaha, oh god, hahaa…..


but     later,    


  radio incinerator
   nightcap in sodium cloud
beached tire tree

Your lips linger on my cheek for just a
little
       longer

until you whispered,

"Please, let us not haste
for this time with each other
is a terrible thing to waste."

His smooth, velvety lips touched mine
and in an instant,
my brain erupted into a chemical storm
which devoured my body, mind and soul.

I cherished that day.
Never have we carped so much diem.

if you can try
to cast your mind
to times gone by
left far behind

those days of yore,
aeons ago,
long before
men kneaded dough

before time begins,
before internet,
when man wore skins,
and a woman, corset,

those days when Luddites
meant English weavers,
'n churches were tight
with avid believers

when a Yankee still dreamt
his country was golden,
a queen, monarch meant,
if quaint and olden,

when people still dialled
to each other on phones,
implied lazybones [that idled]
when they carped on about drones,

when block was an obstacle
placed in a road,
canoe, pointed vehicle
by one paddler rowed

when catfish a marine creature
dwelling in sea
and cloud a sky-vapour
that veiled clarity

when tweet was sound chirped
oft by a bird
and old text was a script
inscribed on a sherd,

when RED was a colour,
as indeed was blue,
e'en then, my dear fella,
we still knew a thing or two.

Doc Umentary wanted to make a film with Melody Maker, but his cameraman, Slim Chance, vetoed it because Jack Hammer, Charlie Horse and Steve Dore insisted on being involved. They were all drinking at the Round House owned by Phil I. Buster, managed by Tom Boy who periodically had to stand up to the unruly patron, Marshall Law and his pal,   Checkpoint Charlie. Sitting in the rear was ***** Nilly hanging out to with Will Call, phone by his side. Tess Osterone mingled and hit on Art Syfartsy.
Also vying for his attention was Pat Sies, Miss Match, Vi Rus, Merry Christmas and Quiche Lorraine, who always claimed she was hungry but never had the money to pay for dinner.
Uh oh, in walks Ty Tanic and his bodyguard, Vin Dicate. They buttonholed Frank Lee Speaking telling him to shut is trap. Vic Trola and Ray Dio intervened. “He was only having fun,” they chimed. Watching intently was Amazing Grace who also tried to calm the situation.
Sol Vang was surprised to see Con Descending, who arrived with Sir Viver. They sat with Marine Layer and Nick O’Teen who blew smoke rings for attention. Minnie Apolis brushed off **** Ta, who said he rather sit with
Miss Demeanor any way. Polly Graph, a real operator, got drunk with Ty Oneon, and had to be driven home by Des Ignate.
Out on a limb went Douglas Fir, egged on by Tom Foolery, who in turn was backed by General Denial, just as Claire Voyant predicted. The lazy N. Tropy picked at the food table presided over by Al A. Carte. Peg Leg couldn’t stand it any longer so she begged Hans Down to find her a seat. She was happy to sit with Erin Gobraugh, Morgan Car and Tom Collins.
Dee Escalate backed away form Mal Evolent and his **** friend, Rock Bottom. P. Nut munched on the table food, a garrulously chatted up Dan Ube who mention his great travel with Marv Elous and his gal, ***** Pack.
Perry Patetic was everywhere, dancing with Patty Cakes, laughing with Tim Buktu, and claimed he had an invited to the affair, which when he said so, Al Ibi, shook his head.” Did I mention that Scott Free was seen with Buck Teeth? They were paired with Deb Enture and Ray Vaughn, who raved about the quality of the people there: from Flora N. Fauna to Dolly Grip, to Hal I. But, and the seemingly ever-shrinking Morris Minor.
Herb Dressing and his sweet potato Ida ** dined outdoors with Al Fresco, the always great to see Stu Pendous, and the charlatan 3 Card Monte. Jim Beam got inebriated and couldn’t remember the same of his cousin, Phil in Deblanc. Colin Oscopy made an *** of himself, only to be topped by the show-off Cliff Hanger.
Earnest Money carped about deals gone south. Reed Thin seemed to get along pretty well with Daisy Chain, who batted away her date, Ron de Vouz. Clyde S. Dale horsed around with Will Power who had stopped buttering up Polly Unsaturated.
Cara Van and Ava Tar tried to get Tim Id to come out of his shell, which he did once Cardinal Sin chatted him up. Will Reading asked Count Les Opportunities for recommendations on his finances.
Hazel Nut savored the bon mots of Vera Fi. Donny Brook somehow ended up with Hope Diamond who was looking good. Del Taco scarfed with the religious Gen Uflect, next to Moe Hican and Ren A. Gade, who was dressed as a cowboy.
Ruth Less made a beeline to Georgia Peach, pitted against Frank Incense. Dusty Roads told stories to Ginger Ly, and that Southen gent, Beau Regard, with his date Rose Colored Glasses.
Mark Mywords spoke of dictionaries he adored, which bored immensely Ann O’Rexia  and Juan Dice.
Al Gorhythm had it all figured out. Buzz Cut agreed. Victoria Columbia just wanted to go home.

Do your best
when it looks impossible.
Show up
when the task appears overwhelming.
Say yes.
when saying no would be easy.
Step forward
when you could be anonymous.
Act
when it would be easy to do nothing.
Choices are inopportune,
and pass instantly.
So does life.
So, carpe diem
while it can be carped.