And it's difficult to remember something as the very name of Eisenhower
Or flowerbaskets
And tired movies made of silicone and
Aftersex
Or sixteen candles echoing out of an imaginary suite with cigarettes at every table
And green lawns
Barbershop conversation
The reflection of the sun in special trees
Or my best friend Jesus Christ
Or the smell of the theater that one day with the cynics who just got back from a tennis match and barbwire still laced delicately around their thoughts and
Nihilism
And automotives
And priestess Jane or Henry's gloomy doppelganger who reads alternative magazines and loves the aesthetics behind broken glass
And fine tuned musical instruments

It's difficult to remember
Lonesome Fridays smoking on a park bench trying to finish the puzzle
Or synagogues you've never been in
Or insurance
Or newspaper articles detailing the misadventures of Mr. City
(Of course of course! Take your shoes off at the door and make yourself at home)
We're tossing all our sewage into the ocean
that's far from clean as it
LOOKS anymore these days
That's anything
And everything except for the glowing mountains seen faded and wintry behind Apartments and the
"Glorious Mexican House of Spices"
Never been in there either

It's difficult to remember
Times of Mr Twin Sister
Or Joan Jett in the hallway
In a highschool who's psychology classrooms have become a time capsule in the ground/
Or the gentle skinny ******
Wearing Broadway makeup and
Kafka tattooed on his shoulder
I like his hat
He looks at me suspiciously
Or the guy who is yelling his order at the counter when it's quiet here anyways
Or the mariner who has a hobby of the saxophone
Or 1970s *******
Or the sheepskin bikeseat fad that's yet to come but I'm predicting it now!
Or two dollars and twentyseven cents at the beginning of Allen Ginsberg's America
"I've given you all and now I'm nothing"

It's difficult to remember
The Oriental
Sacramento flies
Midnight Moon
Quarter to four
"The Immortalization Commission"
Remodelled hotels downtown
Where mandalas on the floor became a
Tiger lily luminous
And the kimono is yesterday's painting/
Dearest Darling
When I was feeling down!
A staircase in reverse (??)
The sound a kiss makes
It's difficult to remember
Colleen's earrings
Or Washington State
Or air conditioners in Bali
The Indian ocean's daybreak hymn
To Seminyak
Or whatever happened to Steve from the Airplane out of Taiwan
On 3 days awake
Hello Kitty nursing stations
****** (Kubrick's version)
Cardboard taking up half my bedroom
It's difficult to remember until I jot it down and then its a sudden forever
Sunshine Superman in a cafe spontaneous
drawings with someone I just met who has some ******* attitude/
Who hops fences and has feral ideas
People! En Masse! Te Amo!
You're all in wolven liberty
And vague postulators
And holy prostitutes for the dollar
Sad eyed intellectuals
With undergarments made of breakfast cereal/
Seaferry poetry is different from
Trestle in August poetry
Or henna handshakes
Or the Napoleonic era
Sweet Cherry Pie
The tulip's tongue
Garabajal
Cloudy first day of July
Was hotter yesterday
But not too hot

It's difficult to remember
Antiquity
The pale horse Studebaker outside the clinic
With a glossy red trim and **** I wish that was my ride
Andy Warhol's exploding plastic inevitable
Nearsightedness
Angels and their ability to shower with a a snap of their fingers
Distant harp music
Better him than me
Bananas almost ripe
Green aquatic
Reclusive junkies
Palomo's appliances
Questions for the next time
How much I like what you like and how I like that you like what I like
Ahh that's not my bus
I'm trying to get to the city!
That one quote Socrates is known for about knowing nothing as true wisdom
Supermarkets being built on top of liquor stores burned down a while back
Monopolies
Tragedies
"No Love Lost"
THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL
Your guess is as good as mine
Never tried to eat Asian food in Asia
It was all pasta and good cider that tasted like pineapple
Rain hitting the window and I'm
Drowsy again
God Save The Trees!
Curly hair looks good on boys
Torn up blinds
Queer as a three dollar bill
If Bill costs 3 dollars I'm sure he's caught something better safe than sorry
Sage advice
I'm the very model of a modern major general
Golden yen and international currency
Incense in the bedroom and how good it smells
There's my bus! Applying for a better job than the one I got now
But that's how it always is right?
Chasing satisfaction
1007 apt
Porch ornaments
Unique names
Unique style le style
The extra charge on foreign ATMs
Cordoroy polo shirts
Flooding in New York!
When someone's face screams *******
"Slippery when wet"
Dine N Dash
Grass gone yellow
Confidence in dyed hair and capes as long as wedding gowns
But less expensive
Doors that always seem to be locked and I'm wondering 20 year later what's behind them?
Albino animals
White thoughts as clouds or
Abstractions
Weathers nicer in Florida but who cares
Festivities this early in the day
Automatopeia
Do sad orphanages still exist?
Just like the movies
Midnight in mirrors
That sick puppet at the shoe shop used
To know how to really hammer it down
And now he's weak and forgotten
Never heard the words of a true prophet only Oceania
Or the private temple near Apollo Bay
Like Japanese gardens behind that gate
Will I ever see it
Make a proud example outta ya misbehavior
Form without function
Exhausted spiritualism
*** Kettle Black
negative photographs of dark rooms
And there's laughing coming from SOMEWHERE
Essays on kleptomania
Had a bad dream I became a cliche
Surrounded by other freaks and there was a lovely ***** I fell in love with her
We married in Oregon by the sea her name was rosy
***** rosy
Check your mailbox for nails
And what you don't wanna hear/
If you were a vegetable you'd be organic!
Empire
Satirical bubble gum
Satori
Linda Lovelace and her special party trick
That's someone's fantasy
Diamond in the rough
Mister guy with two black eyes frequents the adult playhouse
Hes fully stocked on fishnet leggings
He's too proud to put them on himself but
Has nobody else around
Boo hoo
Swigs back the whiskey and trips down the stairs getting a third black eye in the process
Marion came by with her dog the other day
Wanted her box of clothes back but he loved to sniff them to remember her
But she wouldn't have it

"Honey I'm going to call the police!"

"Ah they don't give a **** they have bigger things to worry about"

"Yeah you got that right shrimp **** enjoy my unwashed *******"

And she never came back again
He started losing the vertebrae in his spine 1 by 1 and you know where this is going
I won't say he was a poor man because he had it all coming to him the *******
But he coulda had a better start if you ask me.

It's difficult to remember
And even more difficult to forget
After the fact

Seagull opera
Giganticism
Portrait of the artist as a young man
Losing one's pencil when the best idea of your life drops down from heaven and into your sorry head
Signs graffitied to have funnier meanings
Cruelty
Impassive
The Loyal Lioness
And Bangladesh has too many kitchens
And not enough dishes
When I was young I used to say Island as "is-land"  
Which is true it is land
But the Europeans probably stole it from somebody else anyways/
I left my future behind
And objects in the mirror are closer than they appear
Im no illusionist
I'm terrified of the cracken
Father feels the same way about
Hotels
Why bother/
This has been going on and on for a while are you tired yet
Is your patience being tested
Mine isn't because this wasn't an all-at-once kind of rambling
It's extremely important to laugh at least
Once a day
Otherwise you'll find yourself a politician
In no time at all
Rockefeller
(         ) Quaint home to die in
I think
Trains create great music
Float on
Sink into yourself
Roses in a crooked alley
That's people
Busy busy busy busy
Let's describe a situationist
I'm not a fan of bright colors on clothes
Your best shade is blue
Bricklayers transcription of Don Quixote to a skyscraper
Rocket thyme
& Garden
Erratic children's
Insomnia
The doorbell repeatedly
Vancouver riots/ I saw that live on the news!
Pictionary with the surrealists
N Dada TV set MC Escher
Antenna
You're in the Twilight Zone now
Dear Ramona
I'm trying to make it up to you
With a brightness only seen when you're ready to see it so please for the love of God don't blame me when it's not appearing
The tapestry hidden
Keep your blankets clean
And avoid hospitals unless you're fine with fishbowls & the halogen
The water gestapo
Storage lockers full of unacted plays and
Antique microwaves
Emitting the nostalgia of the cold war era
And what a waste of time that was /
Walter Wanderleys presence in Autumn universities
The opening of Vivre sa Vie
Salvador Dali's pluvial taxi
Lightbulb epiphanies
Aquariums and their protestors
Zebras in the shade
Two wrongs dont make a right
Elizabethan theater
Saloon shootouts in a fever dream
I lost and bled out all over the rustic wooden floor
A maiden reached out for me and El Paso did play I woke up and pretended nothing happened/
Funerals for bad People who did bad things
My first memory of a cat beneath the mattress
Hello Dolly!
Auditory learning
Psychotherapy
Lillian the landlady lost her ladle and labeled little Lyle as a lair
The Black panther movement
Reading symposium some years ago and
Making note that Phaedo was still my favorite dialogue/
Zen Buddhism
Xoxo xoxo
The day Gypsies were replaced with
Surface ****** appetite
And not the real thing
Newspaper clippings
Hypnotism when all other options are out
Mystical visions of sidewalks
And the love of your life stepping through a door you've never seen
Maybe Yes No I Don't Know
Creature comforts
Che Guevara's problem is that his beard made him too easy to recognize
(Also that little hat!)
Chinese cough medicine didn't work
For long I still wheeze sometimes
Domestic violence thru the wall
Ceiling fan probably doesn't even work!
Dimpled laughter
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
In skytrains to Commercial
Bermuda in her mind
And courtesy in her voice
I'm no Arthur Rimbaud
But you already knew that
Alcazar of Seville
Filling up the shipbottle
Here's your paradise
Now relinquish it as it is
False!
Hare Krishna
Nowhere Fast
El Diablo and the
Portofino loaf left rotting on the countertop
Latin children speak of the sacred viper
You'll hear of it after this but we'll never see what the ******* meant
Heads alternating round the social current
Of my lively city
There's a dog soaking up the rain
And songs are made in honor of
Recent catastrophes
Trials are dealt
Cards cast to the gutter
New York quiets down for the news of another war
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Skeleton key
Ballad of the last wailing zoo
THE ATRIUM
Complexity in simplicity
That's how Brainard got me!
Elderly overcoats
Hiding purest LSD
Is a fan of Hawaiian T shirts
And a communist
What if I was a Freemason
Or owned a tanning salon
Faint crimson
What did Marv look like again?
"You're surrounded by people who love you"
Coffee when one needs it
GOODBYE BLUE MONDAY
Tattoos on the wandering man
Oriental chimes and the people who own them
Bus stop regulars
Vines overtaking power lines
The hypnogogic state
Strawberry light softening
The mind
Sister Ray LOUDLY PROCLAIMING
doitdoitdoitdoit
Passing the graffiti n Pluto neon
Halal wide awake another Saturday
Where's the Karaoke
Flashing by here
Those who find comfort in a bridal scavenger hunt
Or expensive beer
And here comes the hooded clown
Clamoring about his favorite
Loudspeaker
Telling me my time is soon and the noise
Drowns out the drowsy bliss
After hour spirits the perfect time for
Writing and trying to read distant Chinese
Indecision on the tip of the tongue
"NOW WHO IS THAT KNOCKING
ON THE CHAMBER DOOR?
COULD IT BE THE POLICE?"

I'm completely off the topic
And into Apartment lobby photosets
Low battery phone calls
Confessions
Nauseated reverb
Trying to see the attachment people got with bingo halls
And moving companies
Ah no luck again
Eve is at it with her showtunes
Halfway methodology
Triage
Paisley headbands left
Distraught on the quivering
Heater
Dwindling sunsets
We're truly disciples of the moon spirit which grants us more energy
(This is according to a drunk I met one night)
Or ***** old men
When the horizon is engulfed with
A winking cinder
Suitcase at the door
Last time
First time
Magician never reveals his fetishes
(They all have to do with bags under your eyes)
Employment office dramas of my friend the one who blinded a social worker
And the one who blamed Islam
And the one whos philosophy entirely consisted of Spooky Action at a
                                            DISTANCE
Parisian riots
Queer youth
Didn't make the team! Jester
'cross the hall who's beard suggests
Ishmeal n car battery n expired vegetables n rain which crosses the line n
***** cranberry n
Poorly fitted suits n
Harsh pigment n incense shops n
Bocca     secret towns
With churches more beautiful than any you'd find in your own city
n the cultural market
Xylophone ear to ear
Soul cleansing starting at only
$89 (with a 6 month guarantee)
Sophie's birthday and her picnic at Victory Park
The nearby bums trying to sell tea mugs and
Loose wires beside gated convenience stores
I'm an Island away attempting a poem
And never bought a scratch n win
Or heard the same song more than seven times in a row or been in a column
Or escaped the washhouse
Invested in a birdcage for next year
Been to a palm reading
Visited Oasis
Smoked salmon
Told anyone else about Montana
Screamed the things I'd like to scream
** Word of the day
Or kissed a lunatic or swallowed the corpse of yesterday
I keep her on my neck until
I'm too anxious to let go
Counting streetlights
Jeans worn in and faded to be sent off to
A lonely caffeine addict
Christmas Eve I'll be reading a postcard from San Francisco
Asking the same questions
My imagination is made of a different material than last week
Now it's the same color as your hair
HEY that's a good pickup line to use in the heart of the Canadian Embassy
Drinking discarded music resembling a sweater you may have said YES to if it wasn't so unsure of itself
And now Mr. Acker Bilk ascends thru the window of an August home
Like a lazy hornet
I'm still lost without identification
Or a nice belt
As happens when one uses a quality item too casually
How did uphill suddenly seem so downhill?
I'll claim a waterfall
For SALE that inevitable Indonesia
Greyhound O another greyhound O another greyhound
I'm fretting too much about not enough
Delayed the Airport and the yellow question

????

II

What if I knew how to read the curb?
Or translate drunken droll
What if I was never tired again and could
REALLY do anything I set my mind to?
What if I was the first cigarette that cured cancer instead of caused it?
What if I could end superstition
And walk underneath any ladder I wanted?
What if I could make it with a young Audrey Hepburn!?
What if I stopped pretending to be a microphone and got on with "it"
What if the grocery store closed later
And I opened earlier?
What if parking lots werent so sad
All the time?
What if gravity simply had enough of exotic birds and specifics?
What if we stopped trying to recreate what is truly lost?
What if foreign children embraced
Wasting time instead of
Midnight starry bicycles
And the antics of a monk
Disguised as a romantic?

There are those that worship God
And those who worship the Sun
And those who worship nothing at all
But I suppose on the last bus
We're all the same exhausted
Voice who can't wait for next pay day
What is an empty bank?
Or authenticity
What is there to prove anymore?
I hope I don't die tonight and regret
Being impulsive for once
You're a smart shadow
And a dull character
Pushing the last of the daisies
Get the lamp to turn on again
Give the pavement something to look forward to with your walk
Be consistent in being inconsistent
If there's a word there's a ***** and a poem for it!
We all oughta worship
Nothing at all except
Clarity
Compassion with ones neighbor who either forgot the pay the electricity bill or couldn't afford to
We're a swimmin

Caint Complain
                       By Phyllis T.  Halle  February 26, 2006
Growing up in a tiny coal mining town in the hills of Eastern Kentucky,
I frequently heard a response out of the lips of stooped, arthritic miners, toothless women, old before their time,
wretchedly poor widows with six children to feed.
It was just a common reply to the courteous, "How are you?" -
"Caint complain."
The high pitched voices of those descendents of English, Scottish, German, Irish pioneers still echo in my ears and I wonder always at the tenacity, strength and wisdom which resounded firmly in those two words,
                                          "Caint Complain."
Very few people had indoor plumbing, telephones, cars or two pair of shoes. Health insurance, retirement plans, paid sick days, furnaces, pizzas, air conditioners, jet planes, paid vacations, job security, career planning were all unheard of unknowns.
When someone became ill, the ‘‘kindly old general practitioner would come to the house and dispense his little pills and words of encouragement and instruction, knowing the limitations of his skill and ability to heal.
Mothers and fathers still buried their little children who died from diphtheria, pneumonia, whooping cough, measles, diarrhea, croup ( a disorder known in later years as asthma).
Husbands buried wives who died in childbirth, at an alarming rate. "Caint Complain," they'd say gently, with a soft 'almost' smile and deeply troubled eyes.
Sanitation was fought for, vigorously, by hard muscled women, who scrubbed and washed, and swept and mopped.
They'd boiled the family’s clothes which had been worn for a week, in pots in the back yard, "to get ‘em clean."  
Killing germs was not in their vocabulary, but that is what they'd were doing. Ask that little old gal who was out in the yard, stirring the clothes around in boiling water, over an open fire, "How are you doin’?"  
                            "Caint Complain, " she would invariably say.
WHY couldn't they'd complain? Where did their tenacity come from?
Where did that philosophy of not complaining come from?
Where did they find the resolve to place dire, critical deprivation, hard labor and malnourishment behind them and place a smile on their faces and say
                                Caint Complain?

I knew some of those people when they had grown very old and faced birthdays in their late nineties. Without exception, they had the sweetest dispositions, most grateful hearts, kindest words and calmest old ages of any among the many I have known who reached that age!
When the pressures of their life had faded and they had nothing remaining that had to be done except to live out the final part of their life, they did not have a habit of complaint.
Some recent phone calls I have received were what prompted me to think about this. One right after another, friends called and for the first ten minutes of each call, I listened to a long list of complaints about the trials and travails my dear friend was suffering.
Each friend has: no financial worries, a wonderful primary care doctor, prescriptions to keep their heart pumping, eyes seeing, brain focusing, stomach digesting and body sleeping, each night.
They are protected from financial ruin, by medicare and/or HMO, social security checks, pensions, savings and inherited wealth. They have loving, devoted sons, daughters, nieces and nephews who keep in touch and are there for them.
They each one have lovely heated and cooled homes, apartments or condos with every convenience known to Americans; cars or taxi/bus services to get them out and around. More than that, each has beautiful memories which they can call upon to bring a smile to their face at any moment of the day or night. But somehow we find plenty to complain about.
Why haven't we formed the habit of Caint Complain?
Maybe the philosophy of always seeking more comfort, more possessions, more money, more- more- more- of everything, has driven us to achieve, accumulate and accomplish but it required us to never know what the word contentment means.
Contentment doesn't mean having everything at one’s fingertips. It doesn't mean lacking nothing. It certainly doesn't mean every dream and desire fulfilled.

Yet there are many who have enough of everything except the common sense to know when they really "Caint Complain."
Happiness is a fleeting moment of joy. Contentment is finding peace in what you have, what you are and what you have accomplished.
Having the serenity to know which one brings lasting goodness into your life is wisdom.
A SMILE IS THE KNIFE GOD GAVE US TO CUT THE SIZE OF OUR TROUBLES DOWN TO A BEARABLE LOAD.    
Lots of love and hugs, Phyllis

A morgue is an unhappy place regardless of time or place.
The somber few that haunt the halls often project the surroundings dreadfully.
While walking the gray tiled rooms it’s known too that we shall one day wear the toe tag.
But mortality gives way to reality and jobs are done with quiet respect for passed souls.

And then there’s the Juarez Morgue...
A hot July day and a drive through Mexican customs brought a meeting with police officials.
A body in their possession, they thought, would bring transportation home.
Calloused officials with shiny gold 45’s aglow, spoke rhythmic Spanish in their police code.

A “******,” said one and this should be fun a ride with those looking more like hit men.
A car loaded with “Madrinas,” in tow and AR 15’s laid in seats in a row.
How odd thought he in a land purportedly free and fright on passerby faces.
Cocky bravado speaking radio slang,
did drive towards the Juarez morgue.

A couple miles out a turn in and out did place them in a neighborhood quiet.
But a familiar smell in a nose did swell, and wonder of how that could be valid.
Putrefaction it was, the odor rose above as the children played gleefully nearby.
How could it be when he could not see the edifice emitting the smell?

A small octagon building, small air conditioners in four windows.
Could it be that this was the morgue?
The desert sun bright and heat overbearing.
My God this is a place of death among many living, what a fright!

The escorts did enter, the detective slowly met the front door.
He was quite pensive when sliding from light to the dark.
His eyes gone black his vision insufficient, as he started to be able to see.
A wet sounding step and a curious glance, did place his feet in crimson water.

Disbelief as the room came into focus, he saw well the visions of what belong in hell.
Bags of bones stacked they were, a femur and skull, the fully decomposed welcomed.
Four porcelain tables and bodies disabled lay upon with nary a stare.
Just shortly behind bodies piled feet high forget a tray or a gurney.

Overcome by it all he began to stall, and try to gather his thoughts.
Rank smell in his nose sent him scrambling for his cigar.
The smoke unable to cover what he did discover, his heart fell hard to his knees.

How inhuman it was to see rampant disregard for the dead.
No scalpels used to cut the Y,
a kitchen knife he could cry.
Sewed up a corpse, with rough twine of course, he regretted where he did stand.
His spine became metal his mind did reel and a new wrinkle appeared on his brow.

On some summer nights when heat fills the air, he does look up to the moon.
His mind travels back to the withering stacks, and the odor still gathers in his nose.
The years have passed by and he doesn’t know why, the memories will not fade.
Restless sleep, fallen heart, many more new wrinkles have taken there place.

A war there has broken out,
and factions viciously ****.
He can’t help but wonder what has happened in Juarez.
The tractors and the bodies they plow.
No building this time a long ditch in the ground scores of people pushed into a long trench.

He walks each day with what he has seen, which cannot be unseen.
Wrestling with himself in the bed, and covering his head.
The dead they do come to visit still.
The Morgue in Juarez left it’s print in the mind of a young fellow.

Indulge the last line if you have some spare time.  Dios bendiga los muertos de Juarez.

It's the first day of summer heat.
Temperature is one hundred and four.
The junkies and drunks hit the street,
shufflin' towards death's door.

Freon raindrops fall from air conditioners
that hang from windows on the third floor.
I think "this day couldn't be finer",
as I shuffle towards death's door.

Bicycle tires roll over broken glass
from the shattered window of a store.
The prostitutes all congregate beneath the overpass,
as they shuffle towards death's door.

**** smoke fills the air
as I finish off beer number four.
A chance to put my mind elsewhere,
as I shuffle towards death's door.

Before reading this I want people to know that I have never been *****.
I got the inspiration for this poem from a post on tumblr.*

One
After the first time he put his hands on her
she never thought she'd be able to escape the grasp of the feeling
she stayed up till 3:41 in the morning in the bathtub
sitting in the scalding water
trying to burn the dirt from her skin.
she sat there until the water turned cold
and she had not one tear left to cry
and until her skin was rubbed raw and bleeding.
she counted the bruises on her body
9 on her stomach
1 on her face
1 on her neck
a yellow and purple necklace around her collar
from the telephone wire he abused
from the telephone she didn't dare use
even after he finished manipulating her.
she scrubbed his fingers from her hair
but decided cutting it off would be easier
she washed his yelling voice from her ears
but found that screaming made him quieter
she scraped his taste from her lips
a dry martini
a cigarette
and someones tears from the past.
she couldn't scrub her wrists hard enough
to erase the feeling of the ropes he had her anchored with
so instead she sliced the flesh of where the imprint lay
attempting to release the strain from the burn marks on her skin.

Two
That same morning when she almost bled out
she checked herself into a hospital.
They sewed up the crimson bracelets she made
trapping inside of her wrists
each scream he muffled
with every new stitch.
she guessed they figured out what happened
whether it was the bruises
or the way her speech sounded like morse code but
they told her the police were informed
and that they'd do everything in their power to find monster
who opened the door to her own personal hell.
When the sketch artist asked her to describe him
she told her he was a photocopy
the regular John Doe
medium hight
brown hair brown eyes
nothing special or unique that would make a girl cross to the other side of the street
just like she said she should have done.
When they told her she needed to be inspected
she didn't even flinch
that seemed to be the only thing that people did these days
was inspect one another for an outcome that they'll be paid for
in paychecks or pleasure.
They stripped her down
apologizing for the cold
they took pictures
apologizing for the flash
they held her hand
apologizing for the feeling
but why apologize if he already imprinted it on her body
there's no going back from this
she will never be able to look at a man the same way again
she will always see cold hard hands on her shoulders
even at the warmest touch
she will only see flashes of his lips forced onto hers
when she receives the smallest peck
she will never be able to feel anything but a mattress beneath her back
rope around her wrists
and a freezing cold emptiness inside of her stomach.

Three
After the second time he put his hands on her
she stayed up all night in the freezing cold water
not even trying to remove his mark from her.
she figured that if the dirt beneath his fingernails were still there the second time
the dirt would still be on her too.
she let the filth engulf her
telling herself that all she was was dirt anyway
and as she lay with her head underwater
she screamed as loud as she could
for as long as she could
until her face was red
her voice was scratchy
till the veins in her neck pulsed
and when she finally sat up she was deafened by a deep silence
with no more sound than rippling water and the ticking of the clock.
That's when she realized that no matter how loud she screamed
she would never be heard amongst other peoples silences.
silences full of beeping cars and TV commercials
buzzing air conditioners and clinking plates
quite whispers and loud laughs
full of family and friends and the whole world spinning around them.
she would never matter to anyone
no brakes would squeal at the sound of her desperation
no ears would turn to decipher the morse code she mustered shakily from her lips
no one would ever care that her screams for help were muffled
and no one would have a hole in their stomach if she disappeared.
at this thought
she slipped deeper into the tub
unwraps the bandages from around both her wrists
uncovering scars that would never heal.
She explored the wounds with her fingers
and saw how weak the stitching was
like the nurse who repaired her found it pointless
and attempted it half heartedly.
She discovered that pulling the dark material that was woven through her flesh
would release her blood
like opening a door to another universe.
the purple would quickly turn to red
drop slowly into the tub
creating a water color painting of the war inside her head.
She pinched the strings holding the two parts of her together
******* their rough surface
she began to feel tired
dreaming of a happier place
of a happier her
of feeling like a person again.
she pinched the string
and pulled.
hard.

Although not an official list of most searched beauty queries, these trends were searched way more in 2015 than they were last year. You might be tardy to the party, but finally figuring out these makeup and skincare hacks will take next year's selfies to a whole new level — at least until 2016 when these trends are ditched. Till then, get your contour and strobe fixations worked out while it's still in style.

-How to contour

An old trick in any makeup artist's arsenal, contouring steadily gained attention in 2014 before exploding this year. Nowadays high-end and low-end contouring kits are widespread, with both cream and powder options popular for slimming faces. To contour, take a matte brown shade darker than your natural skin colour and buff it into the hollows of your cheekbones. Then blend until it matches seamlessly with your skin, creating a natural-looking shadow. To make the effect more dramatic, use a shade lighter than your skin colour on the high points of your face. You'll look clownish for a hot second, but the effects can be dramatically glam or subtle improvements.

-And how to strobe

Contouring's luminous cousin, strobing, took highlighting to the next level. Instead of creating shadows with contours, strobing illuminates the parts of the face where light hits. You'll want to apply a highlighting product to the centre of the forehead, the bridge of your nose, your Cupid's bow, and above your cheekbones.

-How to beard balm

Mane maintenance went below the chin in 2015, with artisanal ****** hair products going through a boom. Among them was beard balm, a pomade made of nourishing conditioners for making face fuzz soft and silky.

-How to put box braids into a bun

Long-lasting and low-maintenance, box braids are a style that always looks good — especially piled high into a bun. To get a top-knot bun, tie hair into a ponytail, twist around, and then tuck loose braids in. Bobby pins will be your best friend for this.

-How to wear matte lips

Popularised by the Kardashians, the matte **** lip made a comeback in 2015. To mattify any lip, apply a light dusting of face power to your lips (but not so much that your lips dry out). Or buy a matte lipstick, which come at luxe and drugstore prices.

-How to do the Kylie Jenner Lip Challenge

This digital dare inspired by the youngest of the Kardashian/Jenner clan had those aspiring for fuller lips ******* on shot glasses. Suction created by the cups cause a temporary swelling reminiscent of Jenner's pout. However, it might not be a good idea to jump on this long-gone bandwagon now — the challenge inflicted swelling, bruises, and drew controversy that Jenner herself spoke out against.

read more:http://www.marieaustralia.com

www.marieaustralia.com/plus-size-formal-dresses

the coolness of the Atlantic hits us like an epiphany

you tuck a willow in my hair

as i taste summer in the air and insanity on your tongue

those nights when we felt like fireflies trapped in mason jars

and we watched all the others follow the lifeless lights of city streets

enduring the foggy-eyed mornings that follow with a blanket on the floor with you

a forest fire ripping through my head

(i loved you)

a bass drop of a song in the backseat of your friend’s car

my heart flutters like sparrows to the sound of thunder

and the sun trembles over the horizon

i know how this will end, just like i know you

but for now we are young

the wind hits our broken pieces and fills the holes

i count up all our mistakes and they seem beautiful

as we wait for the fiery effervescence of violent waves

i hope we remember how they sound when we get old

we let the meaning of everything cloud over us for a while

(i loved you)

broken air conditioners and laughing out loud for no one to hear

and we wonder if we exist at all and i think how strange this is

as phosphorescent waters swish and spill

i scream inside so there is no echo

my sleep took over slowly that night

i used up all my colored film on you

and i found the pictures in the glove compartment today

i love(d) you

to her thighs....
my taste buds
so eager to say hi,
if I was asked to describe
I'd say just look
outside,   Around the
time... when the moon
was destined to hide and
air conditioners kidnapped
the space windows and their
sills used to collide

While i strive, tongue
kicks a lure for her
sweet surprise.... That
collapse in time mimics
the anticipation of a
hydrant's refreshing
jolt when it's hot outside

her satisfactions
introduction feeds me
the thrill of that last
day of school during
dismissal time, freedom
for what seems like forever
it's two month limit always
fled past your mind

When she divides
and reveals the treasures
her structure was built
to hide... My taste buds
reunite with the flavors
of summertime

taste like summertime

© 2014 viewtifulink

What if this is me, losing my love?
What if this is my love being taken from me, kidnapped and ransomed and I don't have enough energy in my body to pay up?

Saturdays were her favorite.  She'd watch cartoons in the morning and play with paper dolls in the afternoon.  She made sure all the paper dolls had another doll to love them, a perfect match of brown eyes, cute smiles, light hair.

Where have you gone? I barely recognize you anymore.  How can I make you look new if all you ever do is sit in the corner like an old doll?  You're fragile, you're breakable.  I don't like what you've become and quite frankly, you're scaring me.  Stay over there, don't come close.  Tell me why your eyes are glazed over like that, tell me why your hair is coming out in patches and why your full pink smile has turned into a thin white line.  You were my best friend, you were my sister, you were my little Kelly.*

Sometimes she would watch the people that walked by.  She would choose names for each person and pick one individual out, imagining what their reaction would be to her saying, "I love you, will you run away with me?"

Come back, please.  When you started fading I thought it was because you had been in the sun too long, I thought it was because you hadn't had any food in some time.  Our tea parties became rare occurrences and you were always sleeping.  Come back, little Kelly.

One day she woke up with an energy made of something she couldn't measure.  Not joules, not electron volts, not anything she could quantize.  It wasn't the caffeine and it wasn't the 7 hours of sleep the night prior.  She woke up in love.

I've been trying to sell our house for two and a half years and it just won't sell.  You're poisoning this house, my old friend.  You need to leave, you need to be buried in the backyard, with the puppy we adopted and the bunny I hit with the truck when I was 17.  You need to get out of my house now.  We're both much too old to play together, and you never seemed to understand that I had to move on.

Her trouble was that she woke up in love with one stranger too many.  She's lied so many times that she doesn't trust herself anymore.  Make her decisions for her, she's not a fit mother to these poisonous ideas she is fostering in her head.  Don't allow her to choose her future.

Kelly, don't you see, I don't love you the way I used to.  Kelly, you need to go.  A family is stopping by this afternoon to take a tour of the house and you need to be swept out of the attic by then.  Pack your things.  Take your cracked glasses and your grey shoes.  I'm too old to be a part of your family now.

--

She sees a hint of what she fell in love with.  His eyes are downcast, his fingers strumming and thrumming her love songs without words, his mouth twitching with thoughts he can't seem to string into sentences.  He is a beautiful child again.

Sing me songs even chickadees don't know, strum me the most beautiful lullaby.  Take a picture of this moment- bottle it.
  
She loves the hint of a smile when he catches her staring at his lips instead of the neck of his guitar, when he realizes she is in maddening, chaotic love.

And some days you're just a friend.  I see you leaking from your life, straight out of your backyard.  And sometimes you mean nothing.  I see you standing alone on your deck, sitting on your cement paradise like it's your imaginary god.  Keep yourself in check.  You won't be getting any more kisses tonight, I can't – I can't let you be the one to make up my mind.
  
She can barely remember the days of being alone, of being unable to tell anyone about her scars shrouding her hips and her head that hung heavy.

Today was a fever, a fog of anger.  I want to make you hate me, I want you to leave.  Save your lies and excuses for someone else, I don't want to hear them. I hope the fog can creep in my ears and into my brain.  I want it to make me forget everything about you.  I'm sure I'd be happier.  Maybe if the fog can erase my memories, I can finally stop crying.  Maybe I can stop trying to prove I want to die.  Let me **** myself, let me go.  You're smoke in the wind and you're fading with every breath I take.

Sophomore year of high school was the most difficult time of her life.  Fortunately for her, she met you that winter.  You made her smile, you made her laugh. She found a boy whose blue eyes and long brown hair complimented her own. Her paper doll dream come true, you loved her as she was.

You are smog.  Your face is no longer a child of summer, your hair has gotten long and tangled.  Your eyes are clouded, and you are fading, slipping from my fingers.  As your soul dies in my arms, as I try to save you, you steal my breath, grab at my lungs, take what is keeping me alive.  What is there to fix, and can it be put back together again? L-o-v-e is only four letters long, but then again, so is your name, and god knows that doesn't mean anything to me anymore.

--

His back was straight and his stomach was soft.  The hollow of his collar bone and hip bone spelled her name in 12 point font kisses.  Her breath came out in gasps and he shivered from the thought of being able to coax such unfamiliar passion from her lips.

You are the night.  You are the wind in my dreams and the birds in my hair.  Lift me higher, I want no control.  I want to see the tops of buildings above the low level clouds; the spires piercing the sky like needles piercing my flesh.

The feeling doesn't wear away.  Days have passed and they still long for each other.  Their bodies feel the urge to be near, to be touching.

*Let us set sail on the tunes of summer, of air conditioners and scratchy radios.  Let us sail away from this life.

There's a great owl
outside
my closed window,
hooting
to the rhythm
of air conditioners
kicking on and off.
It's melody seems askewed,
as if it's toxicated
on the technology
of finely tuned thermostats,
seemingly
out of whack.
And when I think
about those places without
controlled climates,
I wonder if the songbirds there
sound better than a drunken
bird of prey here.

"Sometimes I think to myself that if I owned a gun I’d blow my brains out the back of my head. But since I don’t own a gun, these bottles of whiskey will have to do," Richmond told the Arab man behind the counter of Bob’s All American Convenience store. The Arab man nodded politely and counted the money Richmond laid down on the counter before putting it in the register.

Richmond leaned against the counter staring past the clerk and past the cartons of cigarettes and boxes of condoms and blunt shell wrappers that fooled no one of their intended use. Richmond stared past the convenience store walls and passed the ****** blowing a John in the back alley by the dumpster and past the man beating his wife in front of their children and past the 13 year old girl that just found out she was going to be a mother and past the block that only worsened every day and past the city that was crumbling beneath corrupt politicians and the debt they incurred and past the country that hid the truth from its citizens.

Richmond stared past it all and felt his eyes begin to water as tears started to fall down his face, tracing his age lines, tracing the scars that scared away children, tracing the laugh lines he no longer used until he could taste his tears, salty and wet, first on his lips and then his tongue. Richmond cried for the first time in a long time and began laughing at the thought of himself crying. He did not know what brought it on and when he tried to pinpoint the thought or feeling or emotion that triggered the tears he was met with a migraine.

The Arab man behind the register looked at Richmond with suspicion and reached beneath the counter top and pulled out a baseball bat that had nails protruding from the top half and told Richmond that he needed to leave, that this was a place for business and not weirdos. Richmond wiped away the tears with the ragged sleeve of a flannel that he had found in the dumpster earlier that morning. He feigned a smile the best he could to show no hard feelings and grabbed the brown bag containing three small bottles of whiskey and left the store.

The air hit Richmond’s tear stained face and instantly cooled him and he felt the bitterness of winter coming even as he heard the air conditioners running and the taxis honking and the birds over in the park a block over chirping. Richmond walked along the sidewalk, ignored intentionally by everyone he passed, and found an alley way unoccupied except for the rats digging thru refuse and slid his aching body down against one of the buildings brick walls and took out a bottle of whiskey and uncapped it and brought it to his lips and felt its amber courage wash over his tongue and down into his belly creating a warmth that he hasn’t felt since the doctors told him that his wife and daughter had died in the car accident that had only left him scarred badly upon his face and chest.

Richmond thought about their deaths and felt the pain as if it had just happened and not seventeen years ago and drank the first bottle of whiskey gone until the numbness overtook the ache and he watched the rats scurrying thru the garbage before a cat crept down the alley and coughs one of the rats off guard and began toying with it as cats do. The other rats took off down various holes and behind whatever coverage they could find so that they could live another day.

“Smart rats" Richmond found himself saying allowed. He opened the second bottle and drank it as he watched the cat tear open the flesh of the rat with its sharp claws on its paw and tear chunks of insides out with its feline teeth. He drank the bottle as he watched the cats white face become red with blood from its **** and he drank as he watched the cat lick and clean itself until it was a white cat again and it left the alley. Richmond stood up slowly using the wall he was leaning against for support and he stumbled his way out of the alley with his one whiskey bottle left hidden beneath the left side of his flannel. He cradled it like an endangered animal and continued his sluggish, stumbling walk towards the park where he found a bench and laid down and closed his eyes.

When he awoke he saw a cop coming towards him. Wanting nothing to do with the law Richmond quickly snapped to and started walking in the opposite direction of the cop. He looked over his shoulder once or twice or three times after a good while of walking and did not see the cop anymore. He sighed. And laughed quietly.

Richmond walked some more with no path or intention in mind until he sobered up and realized he had walked to the graves of his wife and daughter. Richmond dropped to his knees and began sobbing and scratching at the dirt that covered their caskets some six feet below. He howled for god and asked angrily why them and not him. He laid his head down on the ground and cried and the dirt mixed with his tears so that he looked blackface in some spots. He wiped away the mud and tears and took his last bottle out and before putting it to his mouth told his wife and daughter that he would be with them soon and he pulled the trigger by drinking the bottle empty and laying down next to his wife’s grave and holding the ground where she lay dead.

The next morning the care taker was doing his first daily walk thru and came upon Richmond lying with the tombstones, dead, and with a smile on his face.

O Hair, o Hair, wherefore art thou dear Hair?
You stuck with me since I can remember
How come you’re leaving? Why do you not care?
Why haven’t you grown since last November?

What did I do to make you love me less?
I’ve always given you the best shampoos,
Conditioners, hair cream- why are you distressed?
I wish you could talk- for I have no clue.

‘Stress’- the doctor says that you can’t bear it
It hurts you, it makes you sad, angry, weak
How I miss your happy, active spirit
You lit up my days when the world was bleak

You were obedient, made me look good
Introduced styles of your own I didn’t know
Growing fast into a shiny mane you would
Falling tantalisingly to my brow.

You used to cooperate with the stylist
So I tried new things, innovatively
Fashionable styles I never could resist
But you danced brightly, never plaintively!

Alas! I can’t possibly understand
Why you fall away to the cold hard ground
As I brush you, in the shower, strand by strand
The sight just shocks me as you make no sound.

You don’t respond to new-fangled oils
Bought online for you in desperate attempts
To make you grow again, healthy, unspoiled
But you stare up at me with harsh contempt!

Do not desert me yet, my darling friend!
I will change myself for you, make it right
Ensuring your precious life doesn’t end
I will put up a victorious, mighty fight.

I’ll meditate to reduce stress on you
I’ll stop shampoos to use homemade products
I’ll take the required medicines, oils too
Baby, for me, increase your good conduct!

I’m so sorry for all that I did wrong
All the things that then made you want to die
I’ll take care of you now, you will be strong
Work with me now, sweetheart, don’t ever cry!

It's summer here in Miami, Florida.  The Jacaranda tree has violet flowers that fall and float on the tops of the moist jade grass.  The Gardenia bush with bent branches is heavy with fragrant white flowers.  Parsley, basil and dill are tall and flowering with bees pollinating them.  

Numerous plump cherry tomatoes, with all their tingling flavor, hide among the leggy bushes. Green and scarlet bell peppers, smooth and crisp, hang on neighboring branches.

Several new baby birds are fledgling from nests while their parents protectively hover nearby.  Two families of scarlet Cardinal birds greedily eat from our outdoor feeders.  A flock of fifty Cherry Head parrots with their crimson shoulders and heads  crack open black sunflower seeds.

Toads at night call to prospective mates sounding like broken air conditioners.  Black wiggly bodies swim in clusters in the canal feeding on algae waiting to grow their legs and hop through the tall grasses.

Global mangoes growing and ripening on trees are large enough to sweeten the palette .

The sun is smiling warming the earth--the animals, plants and people.  Steady rain quenches the thirst of all creatures.  Nature is here for us to enjoy.

My muse, my muse,
She’s here right now
She just took a shower and her hair is still wet.
She's wearing a bathrobe, she walks up to the bed and sits
When she crosses one leg over the other I catch a flash of her thighs
Inviting thighs, long legs
She has pretty feet
And pretty ankles,
I always look at feet.
She has delicate wrists
She has long thumbs, here she is
Now leafing through a magazine
With those long thumbs,
Long fingernails.
Her shoes are on the floor, shoes that she wore last night
They've fallen over on the carpet,
My eyes find my way back to her
She seems to have found something interesting in the magazine
Here she is, concentrated on it, her back is straight
In this light, this natural light,
Without make up,
She looks impossibly lovely,
Renoir would paint her.

I get out of bed and walk into the shower.

There’s something strangely intimate
About taking a shower in a girl’s bathroom,
Shampoo bottles and hair conditioners all around me
Water cascading down my bare chest
Recollecting and replaying scenes from the night before:
Unbuttoning her jeans, pulling them off
Seeing her Hello Kitty underwear
And laughing, and thinking it was cute
And saying, umm… so how old are you again?
Humour always works, yes, humour always works.

I love ******* this girl.
It seems as though I'm always ******* her.
At night in the living room, on the sofa
Unfastening her stockings and slowly rolling them off,
Next her skirt, then her underwear…
Sweet parting flesh
I begin thinking of how it’ll be, how it’ll go down

She's always in something classy,
But man, it seems as though I'm always ******* her.
Sometimes I strip everything off her body,
But I ask her to leave her earrings and heels on; they confirm her nakedness
Hoop earrings
Red lipstick
Red heels
I lie in the middle of the bed, lights are dim, she climbs onto the bed
Curls up between my legs, begins by kissing on my stomach...
Great lovers lie in hell, the poet says.
Great lovers lie in hell.

I'm falling asleep afterwards, but not her
*** invigorates me, she says, tying her hair in a ponytail
This girl, she has the effect of lighting a matchstick in the dark.
She lays beside me and begins to read Jeanette Winterson
And just before I succumb to a deep slumber I remember something and tell her,
*Baby, baby, baby, your Morse code interferes with my heartbeat.

OK, I can no longer say
I’ve got a receding hairline
and sure everyone can see
the plain fact, the bald fact -
but there are pleasures, you know

I’ve saved heaps on hair gel
and shampoos and conditioners
(enough I think
to fund my retirement)
and I can actually feel the cool air
(no one can call me hot-headed)
and the great thing now
is everyone says with all honesty
I’m **** as Sean Connery
(what they actually think
or say behind my back
is none of my business)

but the best blessing of all
is I never need to look for my comb
(I confess I was always misplacing it)
and so I don’t need to reach for my wife’s comb
and so she lies as still as a cat
and she doesn’t need to roar
like a lioness
first thing in the morning:
Don’t you dare touch my comb!

Ah, the blessings that linger
like so many halos
in eminent baldness

They said that I made a better storywriter than a poet
Whatever!
Poets get their ideas from stories but my creativity comes from a glass of Moet Chardon(
A poet is someone who looks for adventure and there I was
On the back porch enjoying the Island breeze
The surging wind made it way through the tall propaganda trees
The trees act as obstacles to wind, somehow those propaganda trees made the
portable air conditioners seem useless in comparison
A family of monkey kept up their appearances daily: jumping from branch to branches
Breaking off bunches of oval-shaped young’s apples, like a morning ritual
while keeping a close eye on me: I capture the moment as it presents itself
Meditating and thinking about making right choices in my life:
My Nana once told me that propaganda leaflets were good for brewing tea to lower one’s blood pressure.
How many times can someone test the cold, cold icy water to realize that it wasn’t suitable for bathing?
That was my was way of dealing with difficult seasonal romance
I am now getting to understand Amy Winehouse struggle with love, relationship and commitment
Going to rehab may mean having to deal with difficult people, however, my addition is far more complicated
Making right choices is my life mission.

im dead asleep
dreaming
looking at the surface of your feet
fly ahead of me
ill glide in your tail wind
gushing and inhaling
those sweet perfumes
conditioners and soaps...
zoom on
im RIGHT behind you

where are we going?
not the flower patch
over the overlook
above the kite
under the tree house
around the floating kayak
amidst but not stopping
the stones in the drive
just to float then?

oh
now youre ringing
uh, hullo
use your phone voice
and tell me im awake
pinch me through the receiver
to tell me this is no dream
to let me know that i
should wake up again
from beneath this tree
to fly
once again
this dusty old kite with you

as long as you are holding one end
im jumping straight up
hop to
scratch the bottoms
of hobbit feet
to make you smile
just one more time
IM UP!!!
run and pull and so on.

**** right this has nothing
to do with kites
this is about us
i find you in both places
among the darkened ether
enchanting me
and under our star
and then all the others
beckoning me
sometimes more than others
but never
never
more than when we are floating
wax paper
above trees
power lines

Puddles in black asphalt make for perfect lagoons
murky waters stirring, kissed with light bent from the sun
air conditioners brace the ledge, ready to jump
marlboro in the air, sunday morning is a holy sight
unanswered questions on bus stop benches,
basketball court with boys who have sprouted like weeds,
too fly for high, or too high for fly,
all background music to the thumping of ball on concrete,
Elders on rocking chair thrones atop of stoops,
witness to all that plays out,
from corner store ballets and 3 a.m. shootouts,
The beauty of it all, an orchestra of bodies,
awakening from slumber for yet another day

A Round table.
Dinner.

9 Goddesses Sit.

A chocolate Angel with aphrodisiac saffron, almond honey bars of bliss 2 squares enough to get you as high as you like, heart racing, body tingling, a silly silky kind of euphoria kissing the inside of my capillaries
and cacao energy bouncing across my hyper sensitive pathways.
A Smart Cosmic Cookie giggling with winky eyes
A flamenco beat with ideas to translate movement into music
A silver haired tarot reader from Peru, yellow beads strung round her neck, her vibrant skin glowing earth brown-red
her energy sung out luminous.

At least 3 generations are co-existing in pleasant harmony,
All of us : healers of a sort,
None of us :  hold only one job or skill,
Two of us :  are currently in nomad travel phase ( Youngest and Oldest)

When two men pass by and say hello
I feel our energy say hello in unison but with some nonchalance, centered more upon the union of grounded,
clean and compassionate energy exuding from us all,


We laugh and are present
love is abundant.

We joke that they don't know what they've let into the festival
"exorcisms and stuff" as a few of us fake laugh an evil cackle, erupting in giggles.

There's talk of herbal medicines and herbal hair conditioners,
I sit and maintain my conscious space by not thinking
being aware is my mode of being
acting upon feeling,
using mind to restrain all words from exiting my mouth,
not mindless babble.

I smile to myself and inhale the fragrance of light workers living.

I didn't know, I told my friends
I only saw the odds and ends
Littered over his garden.
I didn't know, I couldn't see
The person that he used to be
Before his confusion.
We used to call the council too
They'd charge him for the work, it's true
...though he hated them.

The blow fly problem abated for a little while.
The rats had nowhere to hide until he provided more accommodation.

I couldn't see, I told my friends
A garden full of odds and ends
Obliterated the man.
I couldn't know, I didn't see
He once was just like you and me
Before his confusion.
The council took his stuff away
It took them more than half a day
To move it.

We asked what he could possible want with second-hand garlic presses
and a pair of boy's shorts.

I didn't care, I told my friends
How many men the council sends
It will not solve it.
They'd need to know, they'd need to see
The solution's clear enough to me
He needs to go into an institution.
The council tried to talk him round
They never gained an inch of ground
He was intractable.

The junk helped him live his life
Old air conditioners and wood for healing was an unusual approach....

I didn't see, I told my friends
I hated all the odds and ends
Gathered with love.
I wouldn't know, I wouldn't see
He needed care from you and me
To cure his confusion.
The council only saw the crap
Only television saw the chap
Under the junk.

Even then, the hurts in his life were only diagnosable
Using the encrustation outside.

My shirt smells of you tonight;
like maroon sheets and air conditioners,
but I'm still blowing my nose in it,
filling the crevasses with little pools
of shiny slime, reminiscent of old
nail polish.
Maybe it's because I'm too cheap
to buy tissues, or toilet paper just isn't cutting
it for me anymore, yet I'm pretty sure
that I needed to find a legitimate
reason for my nose to be intimate
with the gentle cotton fabric, without
giving away too many inappropriate
notions of affection.
I've found a way I could press
you against my face,
like the way my nose normally fits
in the nook of your neck,
when I'm nuzzling you at night.
It smells the same as you, minus
the cigarettes, and it still makes me want
to graze my teeth over your earlobe
and tease my fingers along the edge
of the elastic on your boxers,
even when you're fifteen minutes away
and you passed up ******* me to spend time
with Brian.

His guts swirl to the beat
of the marching band.

His hands are nothing
but earthquake rumbles
that he tries to control

and his veins turn into fault lines
pouring sea water onto his palms.

His name hangs on
the screen like a ticking
time bomb ready to explode
into bits—into tiny grains to spread
around the world.

Every step to the stage
is one minute closer to

another day coming to a close—
like an old book that needed
to be returned to the shelf.

Pearl crusted croissants moons
greet him for a consolation—
a congressional medal of honor
he’ll be proud of to hang on his body.

Sugar filled tears fall
like river—one tear at a time.

And finally…
            he can smile with ease…

There was no them and there was no stage;

it’s just the broken
air-conditioners’ noisy hums
that need to be fixed;

it’s just the annoying squeaking
chair that has been too old to be sat at.

It’s just an empty paper
whispering that
                                    he will die today…

His dreams still
                                                            hang on,

*but today…
                                    he is just another
                                    selfish prayer
                                    that God forgot
                                    to hear…

Warning: I rarely drop f bombs in my poetry...but this is most definitely an exception. Please see link in notes. Thank you!


I was thinking on the way home from work in my car that has no air conditioning because as we all know, air conditioners in cars rarely last past 100,000 miles and make a great excuse for getting a new car. That’s why car manufacturers put ******* ac’s in cars. That's why car manufacturers don't like any new ideas like something other than that **** we've been running on for 100 ******* years. Ever wonder how we can make an electric car for the moon in the 60's, but for the most part we're still running on Exxon 50 years later?! Ever wonder why there's been no new innovations in getting our fat ***** around? Ever wonder why the few electric cars we finally have are so ******* expensive? Jesus, wake the **** up! Anyway, I was thinking about how this was the 3rd day in a row of 99 degree temps and how anything over 90 degrees was a rarity when I was a kid. So I gotta say Al Gore had his **** together…Inconvenient Truth baby! So, what the **** happened to Al Gore...thank you! So I get home and stand in front of my ac for 10 minutes because I’m sweatin’ my *** off. Then I turn on the tv to relax for a few minutes and I see that oil is still leakin’ in the Golf. Haven’t they fixed that **** yet? Why ain’t these ******* in jail? Millions of gallons of oil going through a pipe into a boat and they got no ******* plan to stop it if it ***** up? Way to go BP, you stupid *****! Oh, and thank you for keeping an eye on this **** for us…whatever department we are paying taxes out the *** for keepin' an eye on this **** for us! Also, gotta’ give a shout out to my buddies at Exxon once again who dragged their ***** through court for 20 years and ended up paying 10% of what they were originally ordered to pay for dropping millions of gallons of your precious oil into the Prince William Sound. Did you send thank you cards to the Supreme Court for kissin’ your ***** you collective pile of ****! How many thousands of lives did you ruin? Do you think about that…**** no! A few years ago I laughed when I saw somethin' on the web that said the 911 attack was planned. Now that **** was even too far out there for me to believe. Then I saw Mr. Bush tell a reporter that he saw the first plane hit the first building on tv before he went into that school. Think about that **** for a minute. JFK assassination…after years of reading books on this and seeing documentaries…I found out that even the Zapruder film has been spliced and diced from the get-go to possibly cover up a head shot from Kennedy’s left side. I said ‘possibly’ because I just don’t ******* know and none of us will until somebody that does tells us the truth. The truth...remember what that is? Maybe not...because we rarely hear it. God knows enough witnesses tried to tell the truth. They ended up either dead or scared of being dead. Ever hear of the Harper fragment? Look it up! The one thing that plays over and over in my head that points me in one direction is the two Secret Service agents being ordered back into their car filled with other secret service agents and away from the back of Kennedy’s car just before it headed down Dealy Plaza and seeing the one agent shrug his shoulders twice…as if to say…’why the **** do you want me to sit in the car doin' **** when my job is to protect the President.’ I bet you haven’t seen that, have you? Do I hate this Country, No! I love this country. What I hate is lies. What I hate is being manipulated. What I hate is greed…and those things have worked their way into our Government, our Corporations, Our media, our Courts and our thoughts. Even Eisenhower tried to warn us about this **** and Kennedy tried to stop it. Last President that actually had the ***** to stand up to these ****** that own our country now. Too many of us feel we are betraying country, neighbors and friends by questioning what is happening. It is possible to love and question. There’s a great line from a Clint Eastwood movie; 'Don’t **** down my back and tell me it’s rainin.’ Well, they been ******' down our backs ever since they slaughtered the original owners of this prized piece of real estate. Google 'Trail of Tears' and learn some history...cause you won't learn any of it in our wonderful educational system. **** it’s HOT!
I’m nobody…but if I was somebody and this was published in Rolling Stone and one week later they found me dearly departed…the victim of a drug overdose, a fast moving cancer, a karate chop to the neck or a single car accident in the desert…would you question or would you accept…question or accept….question…love ya Dorothy!

My uncles are good men.
They can run businesses and
fix air conditioners, but they
lack a certain compassion.

For example:
My uncle-the small one
is angry about a problem
only encountered in this
land we call free.
He had to tell 100 people
not to shop at a certain
store because he is a
spoiled little brat.

Suddenly my brain starts
to drift into the other things
I could tell 100 people.
I could tell them I love them.
I could tell them there's a sale
on at the mall, but why do you
have to tell 100 people that
they shouldn't buy anything
here because you have
Napoleon's problem.

His mother is dying in the back room.
Tell 100 people about all the things
she did in 82 years. Tell them
she should be sainted for all
the injustices she faced so you
could tell 100 people how little
beauty you see in the world.

Christmas trees
Old air conditioners
Musky airports
Nanna's house
Ski lodge's wood
Appalachian lavender
Lighting matches

Whine, b*tch, & complain.
It's what I do best.
What about all the rest?
Well there's not much to say.
Lunatic goes ballistic.
You all don't understand.
To damage someone's mind, heart and body. Damages their soul.
I hate this life.
I can't remember any of my past lives.
To know if I ever hated them too.
Was I ever did rich?
Did I ever matter to someone?
Was I a better person?
These questions will never be answered.
How many tragedies have I suffered?
Do I care?
Does anyone care?
Before cars.
Before airplanes.
Before trains.
Before ships.
Before birth control.
Before electricity.
Before plumbing.
Before technology.
Computers, phones, stoves, fireplaces, heaters, air conditioners, toilets, water filters, tar, glass, paint, plastic, steel, fans, furniture, music, coal, fuel, rubber, & cement.
Did cave men and women care about religion, politics, government, education, economy, rights, justice, careers, gold, slavery, crime, morals, family values, security, love, beauty, stress, depression happiness, pain, celebration, tragedy, skills, entertainment, logic, science, history, math, reading, writing, spelling, drawing, fashion, reflections, diet, exercise, nutrition, development, inventions, ideas, language, speed, health, illness, death, sin or revenge?
Anything?

I count the grass on the ground.
I count the clouds in the sky.

Summer is happening.
People are complaining
about the heat and humidity.

Air conditioners are conditioning.
Aeroplanes are flying overhead.

Other people are occupied with
their own dramas and situations.

Me, I am just being quiet. Not
looking to talk with anyone.

I am thinking of how matter of
fact the Doctor was when he
shared his professional opinion.

As if he was talking about the
hot summer weather; as if
the temperature was crucial.

I listened to every word he said.
Shook his hand and thanked him.

Strange how we fall so easily
into the habits we've been fed.

I count the grass on the ground.
I count the clouds in the sky.

I will never reach the end.
Will I ever reach the end?

Will I be sitting here, next
summer, counting anything
at all? What do the clouds
do when the grass turns
brittle and darkly brown?

as my neighbors air conditioners blaze
someone has to sit outside
take long mental logs
of the reluctant halfmoon
behind such white cotton candy cloud formations
this cerulean filled july afternoon
cottonwood shade, swirling breeze
ample enough for me
to find grace
ample enough for grace
to find her voice

Air conditioners and taxis and fake smiles,
Drinking and smoking and everything vile,
An entourage, photographers and this world senile,
Its all so plastic, everyone so greedy, needy and futile,
I feel like the only sane degenerate, trying to make life worthwhile.

Remembrance Day / Veterans' Day - 2

Would You Like a Downgrade?

I.  
“Everything I own I’m carrying on my back,”
A shipmate said wonderingly that last day
In the recruit barracks.  And it was so:
Two sets of dungarees, one pair of shoes,
Two sets of Undress Blue and then one set
Of Dress Blue B, one pair of sneaks, one pair
Of this, more sets of that, a ditty bag
Of Personal Hygiene Articles,
Officially and carefully approved,
All in a new seabag.
                                       It was enough.
How much does a man need in order to die?

II.
And now we carry mortgages, jobs, books,
Televisions, cars, hunting rifles, clocks,
Lawnmowers, bills, Sunday suits, Monday shoes,
Plastic boxes that light up and make noise,
Fences that need repair, cats to the vet,
Air conditioners, chainsaws, queen-sized beds,
Closets that need sorting out, chests of drawers
Of things we never needed anyway,
Cameras, clawhammers, pens, reading lamps,
Scissors, and writing paper.
                                                   It is too much.
How much does a man need in order to live?

October 1

Autumn’s arrived so suddenly  
her colorful blush upon leaves
soon to fall amid ripened gourds
lying in our small garden
where strong trunks of
brussels have begin small sprouts
beneath giant leaves.

At my feeder, birds no longer nibble
daintily, but gorge, filling for southbound flights
rain beats against my roof
in the now chilling air.

Where summer with its warmth?
Tomatoes too late to ripen, remain green,
bumble bees sit heavily on the few remaining flowers
hoping  for warmth’s returning beam,
while honey bees finding my Cimicifuga racemosa’s
white scented floral spray
busily gather its last remaining nectar
for their winter nests
somewhere in my woods.

And I now out of my Bermuda shorts
and colorful short sleeved shirts
don  long legged corduroys, an old sweater
smelling  slightly of moth ***** to
begin the chore of gathering the garden
furniture’s pillows, turning off the sprinkler
putting away the hose.

It’s time to remove the two ultraviolet lamps
from my ponds water pumps lest freezing break the bulbs.
Koe fish, less interested now in my daily feeding
rise  to the surface in the cooling water
more slowly as if preparing for sleep.
I marvel at their ability to simply
lie under the soon to be frozen water
to await spring.

We humans don’t have such patience.
We gather logs for our winter fires
remove screens and windowed air conditioners
check the furnace’s pilot light  and search among the eves for
boots and scarves and gloves.
Autumn soon to be Winter

Formed in a field of fire, I cry,

serving thorns of beleaguered triumph, I crawl

to a shorn little wreath of wiring, I stall

to enthrall all the force behind me, I crawl.

Crawl with a ghost's sobriety, in a  thought
I have wrought
what a world denied me, in a joke,
but its not,
it's assuming a piety
in deliverance from fouler hits
isn't a blinder for your civil bliss.

Wake the **** up.

Watch the flare, trace the wick.

Dodge the rain drops, cop's air and spit.

Hopped a train of thought for a ditch

Found a chain of White grapes and whips.

You intervene with glitter glue at the seams,
assume to placate flames below the root of your jeans,
assemble suitable frames amid a brutal disease,
accrue the nourishing famine, staying true to your leaves,
and seeing nothing.

_

capitulate to the critical conditioners , an oppressor
hypernormal in biblical proportions for your pleasure
find the border for brick mortar
pull lever, level threat, fine order,
don't. cross. this. line.
ever.
Never stop to observe the servile nature of your stature
levy thoughtless concern to herd the ******* in your factor
paper shredder for flame fodder, **** your water
crawling out with a name, and an aim to discolor your collar

I have no eyes to see son or daughter,
grass in the field, lacks appeal,
devoured countless when I was smaller

Eyes on the whole deal, now
coal fields, cold meals, thick prose, sick cows,
this thirst, it grows, it thrives, right now
it knows, it chose,
these throes are how these days will close when you aren't loud.

Eat the rich
Eat the poor
Eat the earth
Nevermore.
Wake the **** up.

Hinged

It's a feeling of bulkiness
Gathering up the strength
But also the coordination
In front of the mirror
A certain Goliath effort for
Planning, detailing, getting affairs
In order, all in orderless care

Carbon planes rattle the
Hotel air conditioners on the 2nd
Floor below the outside balcony
Smoky white dancing lines trace
And replace a clear day view
Like so long ago when all the world
Was just a moment, just a day,
Just a boy and his thoughts

I made all the right calls to
Make sure it all goes smoothly
The plan in place and ready set
I slip off the Adidas shoelaces
And place them to the right hand
Side of the bed with the night stand with the magazine the hotel
Put out,
The Kardashians' latest baby story
About giving birth in designer high heels
The eyes all white and faded in
Too much light

The cord in place, I move the
Desk chair closer to the center of
The room, the wheels squeaking
Like the raising and lowering of the crab traps from the shore house, Long Beach days shine on
Forever ago

My feet wobble as I climb onto
The chair, that few-second elevated vertigo
Feeling obscured further as I slip
Off my glasses one last time,
Blind and blurred to all the world I cannot see

Tears heap to vapor and disperse with a weary glaze down
My cheeks as
Life seeps away into mortal corners, boiling goosebumps on my arms
Drowning nevermore,
I feel the thresh of the cord
As this world turns to the next
And a soul quietly exhales