There's a monster
in my book bag,
stomach growling
and eyes alert.

It grows pleased
with each hour that
ticks by,
running away with
the delicious taste
of wasted time.

It feeds on my time,
consuming my entire
night, my life,
taking up all aspects of my being.

To take a pen
to its heart
would be more effective than
the sword,
but altogether
more challenging.

Its vanquish happens
in intermittent streams,
bursts of valiance and
productivity, then
the silent tapping of
impatient feet
in armor made of
vain and thoughtless dreams.

We create our monsters,
in essence,
our lives not quite
challenging enough
with a literal foe to defeat.

We shape our monsters,
give them life
and soul in structure
with new patterns to always confuse ourselves.

We are our own monsters
in the classes we cram,
the responsibilities we pile,
the layers of duties
pulverizing air to thin sheets.

It's hard to breath,
hard to think,
over the growling from
our tapping feet,
our chattery fingers,
our smacking lips,
those wandering eyes.

It's hard to plan
and hard to realize
the ultimate goal
with a wandering brain that,
fearing the eventual,
allows the book bag
to remain closed
for another hour.

Sometimes my mind gets really chattery and I just can't focus on anything.
I try to talk to people, I try to explain my thoughts, but it comes out as
ASDKFJAL;SJK!
No one seems to understand, they give me strange looks.
100000 blaring screens in my brain, screaming at me, begging for attention.
I'm only one person with two eyes and one brain, two legs and two rings on every finger!
ASDKFJAL;SJK!
Most of the time, I really just can't find the words.
Look at all these words I have, on my shelves, under the sink, on my bed.
I have them stacked in boxes, some are dusty,
Some are worn oooouut.
And even though I have all these words,
I can't find the right one.
I have this one right here, and OH, this one! This one's a good one.
But...
I need one to go in the middle,
Have you seen it? I can't... find it...
ASDKFJAL;SJK!
I have a lot of jars, too.
Big, small, tall, hahaha
The jars are all dusty.
A thin film of colorful light
lines the inside of each jar.
I don't know what they're for,
I can't open them.
Well, there was this one jar I opened
By accident. I dropped it.
It broke into precisely 800 little squares
and this grey, golden light filled the
Room.
It just swallowed up everything everywhere
and left nothing but everything
ASDKFJAL;SJK!

The clicking of shoes
The city night suffuse the air
With its chattery warm glow
I hook my arm in yours,
Feeling quite at peace
With the chirping night
And the cool tepid air,
At how the moon shone
Just so your eyes shone fair
I'm not fooling myself
I know I cannot indulge too deeply
There is an end to every story,
Even just a stroll of two best friends
Wrapped in a complicated fortune,
A love without a rose
A love with just two faced syllables
Never knowing which brick
Is made of fools or gold
Only knowing our paths were to travel
Together as long as it shall last

Rusty steel mesh barricade covered in faded yellow paint,
Great metallic rumbling & click-click-click-click of the train behind us,
Then
The world is still -
      A near-silent buzz fills the air,
Over the railing, the trickle of a dying river runs down the step,
The violet bushes overgrow the banks,
Great trees, thin & leaning
Reach from the waters &
Drip with the dead pears, black sleeping bodies of bats -

As the sun dips to sleep in the furry trees beyond,
Wings rustle,
Orange furry scarves appear &
Chattery cries echo off the water,
Loud & steady beats of leathery black wings erupt
Snouts calling, laughing, shadows taking off into the dimming sky.

picked a plum     whistling        hound

barking profound

kissed a cigg

juggling     a foamy tea kup

wating
for the handyman

leaky pipe    and a French fry.

sincere artist
-   faithful autist     -  mislabeled  ,
and misunderstood.


pride unkown  --  message unclear  -- -      teeth too chattery

batman flattery

**** in the jug     with charcoal  paints   and a toothbrush  to clean up

Oh, this shall be the morning
that consumes the last
morsel of my sanity;

my predawn bus stop arrival
met with the chattery
of a fellow with no regard
for the drowsy hours.

Why is he talking to me?

The whistling chirp of a sparrow
slices through his ramblings -
clearly offended by the
chatter that roused him;

or perhaps it was expressing
sympathy for my current woe,

but as I listen to the bird
violently cursing the
gabby gentleman,

I begin to feel like
I made a friend.

Though reading horror stories
gearing up as strawberry spring fest
full throttle danse (macabre),
an only every now and again predilection
genre crazy wave
washing over me like
a killer tsunami,
harboring pier rill less night surf
(subsequently fueling figurative
hair razing close shave

critical desperation) to save
thine scrawny ****,
(a derriere laughing stock,
and hence cheeky of me to rave),
what you put
in a Margarita,
those rare occasions satiated, when
hung over insomnia heavily bulging,
rheumy myopic blood shot eyes
nonetheless lock into

vital opening sentence determining,
whether adroit kingly author
nimbly setting the stage and pave
ving what thenceforth, pro
misses tubby a cell out ace
in the hole captive audience
skeleton crew exhuming a grave
grim reaper they crave
(me, this apt pupil), doth brace
himself by all counts once

a bad little kid deserving, well...now...
just a bag of bones,
who fiendishly cackles
analogous to screeching
linkedin deafening banshee
when leaning in (Sheryl Sandberg like),
whereat after opening sentence,
an instantaneous big bang
possessive gnarly hand
forcibly grabs my attention

presaging and frightening
yours truly (juiced in case
ye did not know),
where within the bazaar
of bad dreams epic,
which seems like forever,
when I finally erase
and exorcise the bogeyman who,
regally, masterfully, immediately,
dramatically got woven

lady chattery teeth and all
withering wicked warp and woof
establishing (proof positive),
an excellently crafted
Chiral Mad heavily shades
of night are falling
gussying haunting place,
where the color of evil permeates
every cerebral space
with darkness, said

sub rosa prime evil punctuates
the mind of this dream catcher,
whence after four past midnight
the reaper's image appears
sending adrenaline rush,
surreal augmented moving pictures,
viz flight or fight
courtesy third eye blind
did, when firestarter alarm didst grind
passage of time manifesting dark forces

blaze zing atavistic fear itself lined
up battleground formation
from the borderlands of my mind
this even before turning
the first page where the eyes
of drag'n my afterlife
glowed with radiant shining
where suspense didst wind.