He wakes up with teeth grinding, lightening bolts in his jaw
Crooked smile, broken as his home is and lonely in suffering
Each day when the cruel sun streaks in through cracked curtains
and he is reminded of a unique affliction, the asymmetrical torso
moreover, the scabrous flesh that adorns the arms and inner thigh
He feels morose and grotesque, as a woman could never be
Reflective avoidance, the mirror always covered when he stands to ****
Rheum still covers delicate eyes so accuracy goes out the window
and grumbling, stooping over, wiping the mess he sighs and makes wishes

How painful these days are to a man that prays for femininity
Stature and girth like a real man, though dreaming as a schoolgirl
Bristling stubble, adoration for his thick hair from envious men
Appeasing some latent homosexual desire,
but not enough to reciprocate adoration
The pain in his worn teeth is a constant reminder of ineffectual existence
and his shoulders ache every day, whilst legs are jelly and lose balance constantly
How cruel the lethargy can be, that some days he alters anatomy
at least in his own psyche, that ever fruitful imagination

So in lonely doledrum evenings when the mists set on cityscapes
the petty escape is worn, vibrant black ladies-wear, evening gowns
and wild high heels, posturing female attire for a tender soul
Corsets and tapes hiding unseemly masculine traits,
figurine madness, the make-up set meticulous and dynamic
Ruby red lips that eschew gender conformity and mascara mirrors the sky
She feels that warm embrace, spiritual in deep ****** chasms
Grasping for the apparently unattainable; magazine littered pictures on the tabletop
and her coarse fingers glide on silken garments, moonlight serenade on the speaker

How elegant the movie star madame, in this depression taken hold
A temporary release she clinches on to some beautiful image, forever in love
To be beautiful is to be happy and all women are beautiful, experience as a teacher
Funny how fatigue disappears once embellished in womanly garb
and funnier still that the aching head and rotting mouth are nil under blusher
Those nights can be liberating for a man of ennui and illness
Confusing though it may be, that such a man can attain such joy
and still feel devotion for every woman he loved, the fact still remains that
In the mirror she saw herself smiling and so she reasoned to turn the mirror the correct way up

(Commemoration of Earth-Day, 22nd-04-09)

Earth hath
Been Weeping!
Nature lacerated & pleading?
Extinct species beseeching;
Antarctica mercilessly melting,
Noxious gaseous emissions heating.
Have you ever wondered?
“Of the Greek mythology!”
women warriors of Scythia astray burned off the
Right ***** to try
to habituate the bow and arrow in sly,
arsenals of terror abound harsh shear ploy!
Hitherto, the atrocious force upon Nature ne'er stops.
Wherefore-now the lost leaf of the conifers?
Searching for the nearest route to the Savannah Plains,
Waiting pro the long anticipated cascades of the tropical rains. Babylon wrests & clinches intimately thy adored hanging gardens that black slaves tend no more hasten. Euphrates in the Persian Gulf wanders uncertain; Everest looks down in pitiful scorn…
As it wobbly looses its molecular activity in pain.
Humanity squirms in an enamored Trance
to heave a foundation Of conscious Purpose
That Earth day waits Upon us
To elucidate a divine Hypothesis.



~~/|\~~

Namaste'

~~\|/~~

General.
Sir.
That is how you will identify me,
Hoorah?

I tell you what.
I am a soldier
But you?
You gotta earn your rights
To be privileged with such a title.
You get me maggot?
Fall in line, keep your lips locked.
Look me in the eye.
See any fear?
You shouldn’t, unless
It’s in your reflection.
You scrounge for this courage,
These cajones, that passion to surmount.
To get here, where I stand…

Here…
Can any of you maggots tell me
Where here is?
Anybody?
Are you even listening to me?
Where the hell are you going?
I never said at ease!
Sigh

I was an elite,
A soldier,
A leader.
Where here was the frontline.
The trenches, the beach head,
Africa, Stalingrad, O’ahu.
Now, here
Is found forgotten,
Lost in tragedy,
A false spectacle of hope,
Leaves me lost in this wicked dimension.
Clinches my soul.

Bang! Dust cover, flash
Dust cover, flash
Flash…
My senses.
Fading.
Into this abyss.
Leaving me here.
A ghost.
A spirit.
Please…
Bury me a soldier

Some people have ***** 
Better known as ignorance when reacting onto a matter

Others have heart 
Those who engage their feelings with the cause; although, the conclusion might result in heartache 
The risk is worth taking 
No blame nor shame 
Life is what you make it 
And decisions should first be feelings 
No one should answer life lessons 
With ******* clinches and chest flexes

Clammy creepy freaky fright
virulent vermin scary sight
tell me what is that.

Crawling craving webbing prey
frightens her when eats her whey
saved when pounces cat.

Ominous is its wicked lull
saintly sitting on the wall
mischief within skull.

Meditate in a stupored trance
quickly clinches preying chance
victory's joyous dance.

Brutish brownish bitter brat
worse than hornet bees and gnat
tell me what is that.

**** if you can in one slap
break its sticky ******* trap
hear hands' roaring clap.

Hand clinches
into a fist.
Which I could use
against you
Not a care in the world.
You say I'm blasphemous
I say your weak.
Screaming demons,
muscles writhing
in pain.
Blood stained eyes,
my tongue
sharpened like a sword.
Begging for mercy
upon a liars chair.
I can
I am.
tears shed,
spit it out.
Dying one more death,
to be redeemed again.
I live on.
Calloused hands, scarred sanity
hate is divinity
I am almighty.

I.

On the surface easily gliding,
  are my hands. I keep on the table
  an ajar carton of cigarettes. Then slowly
  becoming in my pocket, taking form of a hand,
  a crumpled cinema ticket when straightened,
  ironed by plainsight, walks with lines, the end credits roll lasciviously like an estranged lover
   whose face I can almost touch.
  When let go of closure, air thins and I move
  secretly with fluency. This is how objects
  escape my grip.

II.

  In front of the eatery, a transit.
  I had a dream once in a depthless sleep,
  a figure in stilts studded with guilt.
  The face next to me, disquieting the music
   of currencies, naked in sound as the truth shaved
   like a beast. The nearby tarmac resounds with
   another throng of absence. As a substitute
   for beings shackled to duty,
   the oncoming woman assumes theirs,
   borrows their faces of dreariness and ***** a thousand times like white sheets harassed by
   the wind through opened windows.

III.

    Define space as a venue for collision.
    Say when a red-haired woman straddling
    a duffel bag and myself confused as a peripatetic.
    She ascribes her presence to my footing
    and from where she left off, I take form
    of her expired movement.
                     Found strangeness is that space
    is what happens when remembered. But hold no
    bearing and rear contrivance,
     trying to be bold by definition -- space solicits
     the in-betweenness and then transmutes
     an occurence,
             say the volatile shape of a hand when
    clutching and releasing, the fugitive manner of
    feet when avoiding puddles, the unsolicited
    reticence of a troubling question.

IV.

            A man carries a take away and is now
     amongst the populace, waiting under a shed,
     housing a familiar language. Home.
    
      But first, trivialized. Haggles with the cab driver,
    trying to transact a being angled towards home.
    They agree to a fault, money's perfume clinches  the fingers and is given to a calloused hand.
             Air once stale, is now succulent with the
      resonating memory of a child's excited laughter,
      and is now presumably waiting behind a gated
      home. Like the palm of the hand, the number
         of times the vehicle trundles within
     the nearby avenue is the force it enkindles
        with rest. He is home,
     unloosens his clothing. Like a fine specimen
          freed from a vitrine.

Moonlight trickles through your open window
The wind caresses your naked body ever so softly
The distant waves seem to whisper a name you do not Know
Your heart beats faster in answer as thoughts turn to what might be

An unknown, not seen or heard
But "felt" in that Solemn and Somber Embrace
Like that gentle wind a slight caress in each word
Thoughts and Emotions, without a Face

You close those lovely eyes, shutting out the moonlight
Silently he comes to you
A silken scarf In an unseen hand and you shiver in delight
As desire takes Form in your mind, filling you through and through

You Feel the silk against your eyelids, across you cheek
Your body feels invisible bonds that do not yield
Each nerve cries out for a touch, making you weak
Your soul rises from your body, dancing in a distant Field

Of Wanton Desire and Dreams
In this blindness you feel a silky Touch
Arching your back, your body crying out, it Screams
As that Silk glides across your neck and *******, almost to Much

Longing for caresses, you wreath in Desire
"Stay still," A silent voice seems to command
You lie back trying not to move, but drawn to Fire
You reach out to touch him with each Hand

"Stay still," that voice you can't hear
Seems to say again
Finally, as if in agreement and Final Defiance, still wanting him near
Your hands fall heavily to your sides, you refuse to lose but can't Win

Your fist clinches, nails Biting into your palm
You fight to remain still under what has begun
Lips softly explore your body, desire a building storm, but outward Calm
With each moment that passes more and more is Done

You find it unbearable to remain still
Fighting no to lose Control
It excites you, heightens your desire, tests your will
And yet seems to fill many forgotten needs, makes you Whole

Seemingly Complete
You do not move, but wait in the darkness
Feeling the Warmth cover you, Still somewhere your will refuses Defeat
As hands trace your curves, so tender the Caress

Over your stomach and across your thigh
Hesitating for a moment that lasts forever
A mouth nibbling, tasting your flesh, your will asks Why
As each touch leaves a burning fire in its path, fare weather

In a storm that builds with hands pressed firmly between your thighs
Straining not to raise yourself against them
Your will, your reserve, still refusing to Submit, but each moment buys
More Submission, More Desire, focused on him

The Silk becomes as Leather
He has touched you not, kissed your desire with words without a voice
But Binds you still to your pleasure
Lets you taste the whip, that binds, burns, heats your souls fire, a choice

What way Has been Shown
Do you surrender; is it greater damnation or bitter sweet salvation
There in that sensuous Darkness, alone
With your thoughts and emotion

Webs of smoldering silk thrown round you each moment
Binding your will securing your surrender, even as you struggle with the Storm
That rages within, a constant torment
So easily dismissed in nights past, now takes Form

It is a symphony, a struggle and a blinding dance
A song an Embrace that you never tire of, despite the hiding
Of Emotions and Thoughts, In symphonic whispers of master and slave, that does Lance
Strongly your Heart and Soul, Binding

Them to passion burning brilliantly
A consuming blaze alight
Melodious, harmonious, deliberately
Drives your Will and rational thought to Flight

Your heart and soul laid bare exposed and naked
To his touch Silence rarely hears the screams
Of a slave's whispers, and a wills hated
Submission to the kiss of the whip and silk, as each envelopes your dreams

-Wes Noneya-

Now they are memories
like silver threads in a gliding tapestry
how wondrous feeling and smelling the sea breeze
the aromas and excitement of the market
the cool magnificence of the mountains
in late autumn on the brink of winter.

These travels and their newness
still dance in my head
but even now my gut clinches
remembering the effort and focus
on preparations each day.

It’s the dark side of the coin
sadly evoking shame
to even mention it
a blotch in the snow
on the marvelous trek north.

But write it I must.
I wonder if it take courage
to be pitiful in public,
but maybe that’s what poets do
undress in front of everyone.
It is the stuff of nightmares
and here I am doing just that.

On the other hand…

How sweet the peace
and routines
back home
sitting calmly writing
looking out on the back yard
the tallow trees coloring
preparing to shed a variegated carpet below.

Maybe it took travel
to help me appreciate
the beauty of
these serene moments
at home.

The frozen road covers with blood.
I see thy feet are dancing on it.
You are twisting your body with clam eyes,
I cannot hold my eyes but see.
How delicate your steps are!
My indecisive oath lifts me up,
And clinches me to see your Danse Macabre.
Your indomitable splurge melts the ice,
Cleans the path to walk on it,
Invites the passer-by to go on that way.
Everyone goes, I don’t dare,
I just watched the dance of thee.

The iodine of lapsed desires
The sting clinches my strength
The cold claws at my fire
Stealing my gleameth

You walk on by to war
Now I wish you would reappear
But the notes are black on the red eyes of Mars . . .
year after year

The beating heart
that leaps out at your sight
To who can compare?
The sight is too rare

The day passes
dawn to dusk  
the morn to eve
wake to rest

Through it all the pressure increase
The flame reaches new height
as it clinches and burns within
The fire keeps my smile alight

For my love is undetered
unstoppable and unbreakable
The joy and happiness that awake
Make every day worth the wait

Freedom lies only with you
as I am imprisoned in this cell of love
The chains don't break me
but make the labor even more

For if it provides
for the one true reason
and sight before me
then it was worth every hour

As I close my eyes
Even in my dreams I shall remember
Just how good and true
Your beauty as it makes my heart fly

He’s hooked to tubes and monitors;
They speak to him hoping he will hear.
People test and probe reducing
Him to an experiment in a bizarre
Science fair where the best result is disability.

They cry for him, hope for him, pray for him
As the machines, hum, pump, and chime
To keep whatever he will be now alive.

I cannot see him there, but I remember
Days on football fields when we were young
Nights at dances with girls who teased us
In the clinches and sent us home alone.

He sold me my first car and we got old together
But not gracefully, not us.
We struggled against who we were
Trying to be who we thought we could become.
Failing and succeeding as we went;
Always friends who sometimes fought.


So much I remember as I lay here,
Safe until it’s my turn, and I wonder if he
Remembers who we were in that awful place where
They pray and hope to save what’s left
Of a good man’s life.

THE SNAKES AND LADDERS OF TIME

She gasps
at the faded photograph.


A crease
hides my smile


"What...you. . . you
were four?"

She's never considered
this before.

I smile at her
disbelief

that this fat old man
could ever have been

surely not
her age.

She acts as if she is
the first four ever to be.

Ahhhhh the snakes
and ladders of time.

"Oh it's a long time since
I was four...but four...I was for sure!"

I laugh at her
incredulity.

"So where did your four go!"
she asks like a defence lawyer

turning to the judge and jury
of her lined up dolls.

"And how did you get so old?"
she clinches the conversation convincingly.

Yes...where did I go
I question myself.

Four year olds never die
I tell my self.

They play hide and seek in
the minds of fat old men.

Popping mischievously up
with a now and then yell.

"Here I
be!"

"But if you were four
once upon a time ago..."

I feel her argument
close about me.

"Then you should know why
I don't want to go to bed!"

I check with my former four year old self
and sure enough he says: "Yup!"

I have to admit she
has got me...there.

Trapped by my child's
impeccable logic...******!

And so we have 4
extra Snakes and Ladders

played with all her
extreme hysteria.

Stops only
when I fall asleep.

She covers me with a towel
from the bathroom.

Puts her self
to bed thank you very much.

Tells Mummy
"Shhhhhhhh...

Daddy's
sleeping!

I try to make excuses,
that person with anger management issues
high blood pressure
stress I know nothing of.

But my own anger keeps rising
at thought of their unreasonable outburst directed at me.


And then I think, "they are mentally unbalanced" and that clinches the argument I have with myself.

The last prescient perspicacious politician,
who presided at the White House
ran out of office despite victorious landslide win
most Democrats gave their signed,
sealed, and delivered grudging approval,
but could not stem the crowdsourced
riptide of repudiation, a buzzfeeding,
and deafening chorus
of dyed in the wool rambunctious raconteur
Norwegian bachelor farmers
linkedin to radical reprobates,
hence subsequently our boy
from Scranton, Pennsylvania
found himself exiled to Uranus.

Tis now the time for
Forty sixth American president
to best relinquish figurative reins
as commander in chief
cognitive delays erupt frequently
fostering speculation
as to his wherewithal to serve
as oldest commander in chief
(since inception of North American republic)
being an octogenarian
launching a second administration,
I strongly encourage him
to harken back

circa nearly two hundred
and fifty years ago,
when founding fathers
took the global stage
surrendering mantle to Young Turk
such tapping qualified
representative of Generation X
Millennials or Generation
failing to forget at two score and four
constitutes average age of Founding Fathers
some less than 40 years ol in 1776
with several qualifying as founding teenagers
and twentysomethings.

Young Caucasian men all
most of the Founding Fathers genealogy
traced back thru English ancestry
many could attest family roots
extending across various regions
of the British Isles, including Scotland
Wales, and Ireland.

Fraternization among the wealthiest people
in the Colonies when they drafted
and signed the Constitution,
they pretty much expected vested gentry
to continue to guide the young nation.

None of the storied lives
of the newly formed patriarchal government
predicated upon The Articles of Confederation,
prepared by John Dickinson,
and the Declaration of Independence,
drafted by Thomas Jefferson,
both contain the phrase
"United States of America,"
which name officially adopted
by the second Continental Congress
on September 9, 1776.

Hard fought pitched battles would ensue
(and still spark fiery protestations)
eventually securing enfranchisement
for sidelined populations meaning
White Anglo Saxon Protestant men
no longer the exclusive voting bloc...

Unless das auld Don brooks
no Barron naked lady,
and by hook or by crook wins carpe momentum
snags, nabs, clinches, et cetera
courtesy political landscape gerrymandered
to twerk a Republican landslide,
⁦Tuesday, November 5, 2024⁩
choice for forty seventh commander in chief
(the 60th quadrennial presidential election)
securing the mantle of führer -
taking a page from Mein Kampf playbook.

Welcome to triumphant Trump land,
a webbed wide world demanding fidelity
courtesy his totalitarian crushing paws
wielding ineradicable, indestructible,
incontrovertible ******* *******,
whereat trampling colossal pachyderm
crushing into pulp
competitors, (especially contenders
braying, fearing, and opposing Donkeyhotey)
on the playing (né killing) ****** fields
little absolute zero vestige of democracy.

Existential nihilism of mine
would get ratcheted to the max,
cuz autocracy will punish as a crime
any nonestablishmentarian characteristics
diametrically divergent
from the credo declaring
fealty to the national socialism
(a form of nationalism
with socialist characteristics
sometimes referred to as nationalist socialism -

paving thee way for ******,
a form of German nationalism
and fascism promoted in Germany
by the **** Party de rigueur paradigm
guaranteeing for life self declared dictator
and his iron maiden,
who will hastily usher legislation
decreeing unquestionable obeisance
to the prophet (profit) of money
the twin principles

(with a twenty first century
twist and shout) eminent domain
and manifest destiny,
particularly within the realm
describing the outer limits
of the solar system, where dark shadows
witness colonization of the Earth's moon,
and other planets'
promising natural satellites.

Where yours truly predice dystopia
the cut throat machiavellian methodologies,
he (who luxuriates in the role of tyrant)
and his cronies will bleed the electorate dry
proving the maxim
you can't get blood out of a stone
totally false, and fueling, jump/
kickstarting, and orchestrating
(videre licet burning fossil fuels
at the expense of Gaia)
foisting horrendous impetus
on third rock from the sun
maximum destruction the name of the game
far from whatever loss of life and limb
concerning rendering extinct
multitudinous genus and species
constituting the biosphere.

Fast forward bajillion years
Terra Mater Prada raiment she wears.

THE SNAKES AND LADDERS OF TIME

she gasps
at the faded photograph.
a crease hides my smile

"What...you. . .
you
were four?"

she's never considered
this before
I smile at her disbelief

that this fat old man
could ever have been
surely not her age

she acts as if she is
the first four
ever to be

ahhhhh
the snakes
and ladders of time

"Oh it's a long time since
I was four...but four
...I was for sure!"

I laugh at her incredulity
"So where did your four go!"
she asks like a defence lawyer

turning to
the judge and jury
of her lined up dolls

"And how did you get so old?"
she clinches the conversation
convincingly

yes...where did I go
I question myself
four year olds never die

they play hide and seek
in the minds
of fat old men

popping mischievously up
with a now and then yell
"Here I be!"

"But if you were four
once upon
a time ago..."

I feel her
argument
close about me

"Then you should know
why
I don't want to go to bed!"

I check with my former
four year old self
sure enough he says: "Yup!"

I have to admit
she
has got me...there

trapped by my child's
impeccable logic
...******

and so we have 4
extra Snakes and Ladders
played with all her

extreme hysteria
stops only
when I fall asleep

she covers me
with a towel
from the bathroom

puts her self
to bed thank
you very much

tells Mummy
"Shhhhhhhh...
Daddy's sleeping!

A mini-sphere ruptures
amends untold lives for all time
abandons those close to devastation
the angel of death executes her calling
upon a still warm body
a man whose depression pleads for her to save him

Those left behind
remember the decimation
nightmares
demise, hollow
only dark memories float
angel of death clinches him
at once, they bolt into an unknown space of her choice.

and let the youngbloods take the reins
infusing our promised land with hope.

You done good for America,
serving as laudatory President
from 2020 to the present
Vice President from 2009 to 2017,
and in the United States Senate
from 1973 until 2009.

The nation teeters on the brink of chaos
legions of legendary nasty
and not so shortish belligerent brutes
aping capering, galloping,
hollering on their figurative high horses
egging, fomenting, instigating,
jimmying, kick/jumpstarting, kindling tinder
activating spark to explode in a reign of terror
decking the hallowed halls with blitzkrieg
videre licet philanthropic donations

courtesy gazillion billionaires
from Wall Street to Silicon Valley
trumpeting their Republican choice
cymbal eyes zing, drumming,
fluting with sax and violins,
whether former president number forty five
loses or clinches what promises
to be a hotly contested election
Tuesday, November 5, 2024
marking the end of the world as we know.

Though no bleeding heart liberal
yours truly vouchsafes
being die hard landlubber
ardently embracing social progressivism
chalked up to a Unitarian upbringing
and parents who would not tolerate
a conservative proponent
of any right wing controversial issues -
just kidding, but in retrospect

a heavily skewed leftist tack
did not disallow opportunities
to spar with intelligent repartee
particularly with father -
Boyce Brandon Harris,
a strongly (read dominantly) opinionated
Democrat, whose willfully voiced notions
set the precedent concerning
what side of an issue would be acceptable.

He passed away October 7th 2020
and would be appalled at current political events
besetting the United States of America
and may even possibly take pen to paper
to sketch an intelligent blurb, drawing,
funny highly jaded literary novelty,
applauding your storied achievements.

Quite frightening the strong lurch toward autocracy,
great probability linkedin to ruthless demagogue,
a machiavellian agent provocateur
one foo fighting beastie boy barbarian, and totalitarian
dead set to eradicate closest approximation
of egalitarian and humanitarian realization
witnessed with starts and fits of enlightenment
and inexcusable decimation,
humiliation, liquidation, and pacification
of peoples dissimilar to ancestors,

who came to Turtle Island
(a name for Earth or North America,
used by some American Indigenous peoples,
as well as by some Indigenous rights activists)
from northern Europe, especially England,
and who were formerly considered
to have a lot of power and influence
nevertheless wrought a continent
associated with the land of the free,
and the home of the brave

serving as a beacon for possibility of lofty ideals
to attain salutary manifestation within the realm
spanning from the mountains to the prairies
to the oceans white with foam
encompassing diverse topography
from sea to shining sea
spurred courtesy ignominious manifest destiny
nevertheless anchored by
Constitution of the United States
a cherished living and breathing document.

In April 2023, the Heritage Foundation
published the 920-page Mandate,
written by hundreds of conservatives,
most prominently former Trump administration officials.

After I read excerpts of Project 2025,
courtesy news worthy publications
such as Mother Jones, The Nation,
The Week, and TIME Magazine
my intimation jump/kick started
to make a general conclusion
that said tome of a door stopper
cast dark foreboding shadows
hinting the outer limits
of many important legislative milestones

promulgated for the benefit of society,
especially post American Civil War
granted then revolutionary smart
transformations from isolationist
essentially incorporating xenophobia into  
broad-mindedness suddenly
on the figurative chopping
if former president Trump  
garners the majority of votes,
whereby he would set in motion

looming monstrous nightmare outlined
in above titled manifesto
would spell gloom and doom
not only across the contiguous United States,
plus Alaska, but affect
western civilization in general
resurrecting the ghost of despotism
eviscerating the guts of the unique experiment
in government courtesy founding fathers
(though no doubt significant women

played an important role
helping to bring into fruition
mandates and female dates
resulting in our raison d'être
to pursue vocations to allow, enable, and provide
free market enterprise an economy
where the market determines prices,
products, and services rather than the government.
Free enterprise focuses on the private sector,
private investment, private risk taking,
private innovation, etc.

Laissez faire represents the other side of the coin,
the absence of government interference
in the private sector, especially in matters
of trade-policy (the historical origin of the term).