I had *** with your mother last night.  
She was a hairy, sweaty mess.
I took her down to the corner bar
And bought her a couple pints.
That's all she needed.
After a couple hours
I was down her throat.
Your mother is a real freak.
I wanted to create a romantic atmosphere
But she insisted that we just **** in the dirt
Like animals.
We behaved like primitive heathens
Lusting in a prehistoric heat.
Teeth gnashing, hair pulling, sweat beading;
It was like all the civilities had been shed
And we were acting without the aide of a
Cerebral cortex.
In the morning, you strayed silently
From your room and sat down at the
Kitchen table.
Silence.

We have a snug retreat far in the woods
Not bigger than a robin’s nest
But cozy and comfy for just two souls
A hide out from the fuss n’ fever of life

It has a small garden hemmed with a hedge
Neatly laid out in décor and taste
And gleaming with refreshing verdure
The haunt of butterflies and honey bees

An ideal place to sneak away, now and then
From life’s pressing cares and concerns
Here the air is pristine sans soot and fumes
A confluence where peace and beauty unite

Here we break loose the tethers
From the rigid civilities of urban living
Throw away the habits of reserve
And become joyous and freehearted

Sometimes we make an impromptu trip
Sometimes we plan it well in advance
Whatever it be, being here is fun
And enjoy our stay like a weekend picnic

On some evenings we go gathering
Succulent fruits and wild berries
And roam to the wide stretch of open fields
Lying furrowed waiting for seasonal crops

More than ever we now seek solitude
It is in the quiet and not in the noise
That we are able to plumb life’s depths
That we listen to our hearts’ songs

It is here our souls acquire dove’s wings
Though time has taken its toll from our bodies
Though youth and beauty have gone for ever
Still we walk in the woods with hands clasped!

Quiet in the dark, I hear her voice,
She speaks in riddles with no rhyme,
I press my ear against the cold plaster,
But she will speak when suited for her.

A long, mournful, cry forlorned, listening,
I speak so softly to whisper my desire,
But she will speak when her time comes,
I must be patient and wait a lingering time.

So buried long ago in this cold wall,
Long forgotten, but not forgiven locals say,
To why her fate came to her that long-ago day,
Is mysteries mystery I now must comtemplate.

When nothing comes, just like a blackened  void,
I call her name, so frantically in an audible voice,
But she will respond whenever the fancy hits her,
I must sit silent in case I miss her frigthened word.

Enough with civilities in playing a waiting game,
For her icy lips and cold-stone stare will surely come,
When walls of regret are torn down in self desire,
And I will gaze upon her skeletal soul to so define,
Why she is lost and buried so in walls sometime ago.

.
In overcrowd of family
I was orphan.  No legacy
Of leftover dream, in shut
Into indifference and colds
Unfounded, of cacophonies,
Egg of unreal yolks cracked,
Where even a heart is mute
Without ear, without touch,
When a soul is overlooked,
Like a shadow in high sun,
With parents, who seethe,
Breaking their own bonds,
In a room free of warmth,
Unbeknownst, harmony,
Let loose from civilities,
Open to rot and curses,
Hollow as any prideful
Automatons bent out
Selfless unknowings
True destructions,
Negating orphan.

For a few years in college
I lived across from this church
And every Sunday morning
When I was alive enough to wake up
From the first of the church’s bells
I would begrudgingly wrap myself
In my comforter force my feet to
Flop on the frigid floor and walk
To my front door
I pushed through the half-on-it’s-hinges-screen
Sat on my porch lit up a smoke-and watched
The parade of cars unloading
Women in too tall heels
Pushing them higher above hell
Men in their dress shoes shined
Into mirrors for the heavens
And like a much more bitter
but surely a just as hungover Noah
I watched them as I counted off all the couples
And I wondered how they must feel
Just for that 40 to 60 second stroll
From their car doors to the bow of the chapel
And the worst part of me
The part that belongs hidden from
Social niceties and common social civilities
Thought they must be so smug
Them thinking along this walk that
They are the saved ones
That the ones like me have certainly missed the boat
But always after thinking that the part of me
Aware of my own spitefulness the peacekeeper
Of my temperamental nature
Adds how nice it must be to be a simple animal
Filing into a sanctuary of hope
Where they believe they will be kept dry
In a world where sinners like me are soaking wet
Then again the worse part of me finds humor in that
All of these thoughts usually pass through in enough time
For all the patrons to pile in and the last bell sound
And my worst part, the part that finds humor in grit
Made me laugh out a puff of fresh smoke
And think but how is my cigarette still lit

Jesus was a communist
let's be honest
"All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need”
Acts 2:44-45
"Jesus answered, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.""
Matthew 19:21
"Woe unto you who are rich"
"Woe unto you who are rich"
"Woe unto you who are rich"
luke 6:24
we live in a world of woe
people base their political decisions on their personal greed
and stamp on it a 'christian conservative'
mark that they mass-produced in their factories
and they sit in their houses with their pools while there's children starving
in our capitalist society,
most greedy wins
survival of the worst character
they sit on our backs like the cats they're called but they aren't soft
they spit in our faces and they claw us
"we had to make our own way in our generation"
well in your generation it wasn't so unbalanced and tipped and **** near impossible, was it?
we live in a monetary nation
where virtues are pride, ambition, manipulation
how did this free trade expedition go so horribly wrong
our government shuts down at the mere mention of free health care
God forbid everyone have health care
they call us the entitled generation
because we want some money for education
let me tell you something, it's the 21st century
people's vocations can lead them to supply for the whole **** population
we don't need this dog-eat-dog world
we need a location to start from,
the pacifists will fight,
occupy wall street because the
entitled generation is entitled to rights
like life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness
and free health care and equal opportunity for minorities
is not so objectionable that we must abandon all civilities
and throw strangers out of our gates
we are a country of immigrants
they deserve a chance too
because people are people
and all humans are endowed with certain unalienable freedoms
they're scared of communism because they think it will take away our choice
but the corporate world has destroyed any choices we make
limiting it to lucky born one percent
or slave to the rat race
with the cheese dangling right in front of our face
that's the cost of capitalism
a loss of choice, say goodbye to fair trade
fair isn't fair when we're suffering
a Godless world is one where we look down on the people next to us
so for God's sake
let's fight
revolutionize
because this is wrong, not just in my eyes, but in your eyes
when they take all we have and call it economy
take it from Jesus
let's live like hippies and commies
together with our brothers and our sisters
united in one body.

In the eyes of the fragile *****
The world was all placid
Passive, the girl had been made so
Trapped in the era’s all civilities
And delicately softened with the suppression of feelings
For the expression of them came across as rude
Thus her inferior position in the dwelling rendered her mute
For a thought of her very own was deemed inappropriate
Yet, Edmund’s support since the beginning, always stayed
Edmund, this cousin so dear, the obliging one
The one for whom her feelings grew against all odds
The secret, endearing wish for a deeper affection
And the realization of the impossibility of such connection
Swirled within as conflicting thoughts
Tormenting her already wretched soul
And the presence of Miss Crawford
With her magnificence, left her torn
Her charm thus clouded a manipulative nature
But blinded the sensitive Edmund with elusive rapture
And hurt poor ***** who saw it all so clear
How to bear the loss of a companion so dear?
Deceptive motives so well masked
Yet ***** should deny it when so asked
Because she was not to choose
Because Mary was not one to lose
Despite her acting nice to *****
Were her intentions sincere?
***** certainly was no figure to revere
How was she to save her cousin from delusion?
The answer was yet to come
For now, the road was lonesome...

-10/05/10

If given the time (i would)
to trace the constellation
of your freckles,
make monuments of moles
and shrines of your scars
You have the map of all
the towns I’ve never seen
all the cities I’ve never slept (with you) in
Trail each strand to the root
and gently make a space for each
of your fingers in places
with mine, your head, my neck
No need for awkward civilities
We never needed to speak (to me)
an unholy breach in contact
less direct forward thinking
In a different time and
place your bare bones under
footpaths where we can finally
lay to rest with all the words
said and unsaid in lovers breathes

Today I leave nothing to the imagination
In a historically accurate setting.
I, your narrator to navigate through
Corridors of a physical mindscape
(no escape)
Decorated with impressions and caricatures.
Follow my voice,
I invite and incite all Memories:
A curation of characters and sentimentalities.
Taxidermy preserved to its last breath.
Exhibitionist curiosity.
I must be an architect
to reconstruct a desolated house.  
"Welcome home," to my
Recollection residence.
Archaeological labor too, to unearth
Buried civilities and forgotten feuds.

To stand in the ashes of
A prison of twelve winters
On summits is a struggle
To surmount shades and shadows.
Pouncing, pulse,
I suture each slash with sleep.
But here you are,
pilgrim of an echo,
breathing life,
you have struck a chord
—And a dissonance that
thrusts me into the future—
that rings through my forlorn past.
This time, in that foreign country,
a new page slowly, slowly turns.

“The long day abates and the full moon rises,
My bleached islet does all the more for my writing,
The ghastly imagery that haunts me in my somber,
Can I forget of all the distortion that was to follow?

As I easily compare you to a lustrous brilliance,
Meanders of her invading my mind of the days,
Thinking of your precise grandeur fills my days,
Meadow flowers and butterflies on summer’s day,

Immersed inside nightly dreams a new perspective,
Our heated toasts the past frolics of seasons,
Our summertime on the sleepy hollows cosmic,
The sounding furrows for my purpose holds,

It may be that the gulfs one day will wash us down,
The prudence labor of love procured slowly once again,
Whisking our rugged ways and through softening civilities,
Wishfully subdued them to the useful and the good,

I will one day taste the sensation of your desperation,
Closing my eyes I am transported to another dimension,
Of common duties decent and never to fail afore me,
I hope to gain the images scarcely make any sense,

My voyage continues unabated as I go forward,
No ballad or acumen can be found as I am drifting,
Unfettered and confused from days past in life,
I now sense slowly drowning immersed in my tears”
By Andrew Guzaldo 12/15/2018 ©

sadly we’re all born to play supporting roles
but the prisoner by subtraction
is free to imagine anything
he can make you and me zombie slaves
concubines to his fantasy
he has that right; it’s kosher
while we wear chains of responsibility
shackled to the civilities of liberty
exercising our right to spend money
on **** we don’t need
he can steal it all
he can dream us to death

A battle fought is never in vain
Whether the outcome's defeat, victory, surrender, or retreat
To peace, it's all the same
For civilities' sake
We could lay down our rifles
Walk away from the trifle
And dust we kicked up
Feign sickness
Acting like you chucked
Refuse service
Merchants of deaths ducked
Flee elsewhere
Instill a boat's deck with your trust
And hope it's helm steady
Cause Lord above knows
Which direction bears hell or heaven
And of both in this world there's plenty