Imagine my conniption and slipping
When I noticed the man in the mirror was missing

I folded into self destruction and binged self hate
Before I was light, till sadness added weight

Then you came through the walls I erected
Inspired by your vivacity and charm I became connected

And under the Christmas tree you laid fair
In my glee, I knew I had never been there

Sleeping in throws,
Wrestling in pillows.
This baby is convulsing,
Stuck homeless in cotton rows.

She jiggles tickles,
Crisp, she is fickle.
She tingles the conniption.
Nerves, in axon missiles.

Binky slips, the eyelid's 'clipse,
Her wrist is the pith,
Of nights caption "Mist".

Sleeping babies.
Calm nights hard winds,
As the spring commences,
Graduation of twigs,
To sprigs of life,
To growing thighs,
Cough up the milieu.

Minutia.

The growing immortality.

Sitting in the quiet pulchritude,
In limerence, I am drenched,
Luculent from head to foot.
Watching people gallivanting -
Some agathist, impavid with life,
In eucatastrophe, they are.
The lollylags and misantrophic,
Dillydallying with humdudgeon.
The rugrats in constant bumfuzzle;
Stroking their rumpots are the drunk,

A man and a woman, and a bingle,
Then a belgard was exchanged.
No noise, just music in my ears;
No argle-bargle of the blatherskite;
No conniption from old hag.
No need to absquatulate,
Just enjoy the quiet festivities.

Tiny hairs on my arms stood on end,
As I felt the wind surround me.
What a beauty this place is,
The hoddy-noddies took for granted.
Melancholy, serenity, strangely nostalgic.
Pictures of the past and the future,
Disembogue, delivered from my head.
All this images ensorcell me, over and over,
With a final intake of breath and a shudder,
I took in the picture, forever encapsulated in my mind.

Quiet rabble of leaves
Against curb
Naked canopy
Rain sieve trembling
Above moss stone
At rest...
Charcoal metronome sky
Low hum of omen
Damp crows
Gathering fog of 'morrow's flowers.

Languid vines boil
Against oak
Trunk course
Festooned with moist ghosts
Amid lush drone
At rest...
Drab conniption of limbs
Braid the whim of God... And
From below
Mine eye's upheaval, To it's knees.

in the hour of our frozen gleam
the minute of our fire.
in the year of our immortal toil
the day of our desire.
in the crease of our unyielding
lies surrender to the void.
to the matador, the bull
and from the horn, aplenty -
nothing good.

II

a masterpiece of blink, the love
that seldom loves the monument -
that stands before the world, a surge
of effortless bewonderment.
a shattering renewal
of a timeless thing to ponder with.
that carries every angel
far above the dread of human steps.
a sovereign note to fugue
is Love that covets
what it's never met
and nothing can consume it all
too ill equipped to join
with it.

III

summer past your face
is how the spring resolves
how winter sleeps.
the dead are long, but life
evolves to swell upon the earth's
descent... to buttress the oblivion
that howls amid the heaviness.
the weight of our conniption
fits the coma, mostly
now and then.

IV

pearls are made of glass men
that shill.

and the willing dark
contains it all.

and It

the dream
we fathom with.

and All

the pearl
we can't
recall.

I am a conniption personified, and you have stars in your eyes.
-no wonder we didn't work out

chapter four;



April 24th. 1985
4:20am.
I climb out of the cab too tired to get home another way. As I enter the house after doing a double shift at the Pink Poodle; the sound of the hall was this chilling hush. Not quite as-if it’s that silence of when everybody’s asleep… but this feeling which comes back washing over me ‘Did they move without me again? Did they move to another apartment without telling me?’ It wouldn’t be for the first time; I’ve come before to the place which was called home only to find the two of them have had taken my baby and lock, stock, and barrel moved into a new home without warning me first; or, in fact, telling me anything at all… but I thought, no: he wouldn’t do that again, not now, not knowing I’m due for a cancer- surgery on the first Wednesday of June???  I’ve been giving, him , Dad extra money for all the expenses will need so I could take off the eight to twelve weeks from working the doctor said I would need for a good recovery.
I reach the door; the basement door is open but there’s no light on down there??? I had to unlock the door; this is weird it not often this lock’s on?! As the door slowly squeaks open there are lights on; I see furniture!? My Annamarie isn’t running around in the middle of the night with the nightlights on as she normally would be… the lights were on as if it was suppertime? I peek in to see if she was asleep inside with my son; my little boy was there; the prince of the manor on his full-sized bed; I close his door and as I did I turn and look towards the kitchen the only room having just the nightlight on and I could see his, Dad, door is particularly open and the big light is on… he’d never use the big lights???  He’d only have on his lamp next to his bed?! As I got closer I hear Annamarie making this mournful cry; I get to the door and there in the middle of, his room, his now empty room; my sister is on her hands and knees sweeping up Nothing of his remains; not a thing left behind of where he use to be... “Annamarie, where’s Dad?”
A gasping moan, “Daddy’s gone; Daddy’s gone.” Annamarie takes a wet cloth and begins gathering in the smallest of particles??? Repeating over and over “Daddy’s gone?!”
  I walk to our bathroom and open the door; it’s empty, it’s not in here?!  I went back into his room “Anna?!” In a harsh stern tone, “Where is your father? “Daddy’s gone; He’s gone.”
I recall in the hall how the basement door was open and dark;” Crap???”
I went out into the hall; standing top of the stairs. I look into its darkness; my mind reels and it, now, sets to motion of the reasons of why I’m here looking down?! Conjuring up images of could haves…
‘Found in bed?! No; he’d still be here in his room?! She’d never enter there; the room always off limits unless the door is open??? So, no…
He could have been in the bathroom? No, he’d still be sitting there???
Maybe… the two of them fought?! I don’t see anything broken??? Well, won’t know until I go down…
Switching the light on, I look down the steps; storage boxes, plastic wrapped items and all kinds of old furniture jam-packed from floor to ceiling… I get to the bottom where there are pathways throughout narrow paths created-walls built of all her storage?!  She, as a packrat do, packs; I think, one day, someone will be in theses shoes seeking me out; from within a maze like this one and hoping not to find the proverbial cheese… third-way through, it dawns, the thought of down here is a trap??? ‘If they had fought…’ I grab a piece of metal and continue. Looking, fearing now, of what I think and thinking if right I may be a soon to follow. These boxes and stuff are always moving always changing directions I reach the boiler room at the back were plastic containers fresh ones are…  
Sound comes from back along the path?!
“Dad?!  Dad?  … Is that you?”
Silence.
“What’s going on?”, I spoke out sternly!
I hear her… she weeps from somewhere along the path.
“Annamarie!  Where is your father!?”
  A feeling of overwhelming dread! I draw on tone of voice; her mother’s, I bid for a response.
“You tell me, right now where Nelson is?!”  
I move myself nearer towards the stairway “You tell him; I…, want to talk to him!”
     “Ma! He left us?!” She stares at my hand… Theresa,… Daddy’s girlfriend was here… he’s gone???
“Anna lets go upstairs. You can tell me everything upstairs!”  
I have had plenty of down in this pit of the ******; I want out!?
Annamarire starts cleaning and I follow her around; she tells me of how Joanie, his old girlfriend has been back in contact with him; apparently the two of them made their plans to move down to Florida together?! He decided since his plans did not include us our knowing was way-more than unimportant?! Long after the sun’s been up she hands me a kitchen-tall garbage-bag?!  She says tearfully,” Daddy told me to give this to you?!”  
Inside, were all the papers which pertain to the house, bills, records and one big manila envelope??? And behold it’s completely empty; it was the envelope I’ve been filling up for the last eight months; it’s all of money which he was holding for us, in his room that was there to make sure none of us would be having a need for anything after my surgery.?! That envelope would mean we’d have all we need ‘til I was ready to go back to work.  
Not a goodbye, not a sorry but I need this money more than you or even I deserve this money more than you; not a single thing?!
Well, maybe that’s what leaving the empty envelope is about?!
He hadn’t even say goodbye to Little Joey? To him, he says, “See you in the morning, Monkey!”  Not  
Just a here’s a bag full of how much all of you are worth to me?!
And, a simple, “Here give this to your sister!”
It is undoubtedly his idea of a perfect plan???
  Then, as I search further through all the stuff… all the bills show he stopped making any payments on them months ago?! Nothing but a handful of final notices and he’s gone?!
Tears in his daughter eyes and a grandchild both which he showered with affection? He left them without a care?
A “See you in the morning!”
No justification …, No reason of why, ever?!  
   Only one good thing comes about from his leaving; Joe begins coming inside the house. A good thing…? He has known of… but not about my family; how is this going to be? His Norman Rockwell, My Picasso may shatter the glass doorway to our wonderland relationship?  Joe is about to learn more than I would ever wish; much more than I believe in his abilities to handle knowing?!
Joe considers my father absolutely vile for leaving in the way he had without even a Goodbye and his not paying those months of bills though he knew, full well, about my having surgery and all; Joe is unaware of the true depth my condition; no one other than the old man knew and he only did because the medication I’m taken needs to be kept in his room and he help me during those times I was required to stay in an isolation’s protocol.

After surgery I go right back to work; removal on June 5th. And on June 15th I sporting a scarf hiding my discolored neck with these freshly removed sutures still looking raw; into the club I go and if and when some guy there would ask, “Why the scarf? I laugh saying, “The boss got mad at me! Look at what the hell he did!” After I did that?! He was…  
Joe’s mad about my going off and returning to work too soon; he says I’m setting myself up for a nasty scar infected?!  He doesn’t consider …without a drop of a dime on how I couldn’t allow myself to need him in the way of any kind of finances?! He, I think, believes I don’t trust him to be there for me…I do more than he could ever comprehend; but for me, a sense of freedom in doing on my own stops keeps from feeling trapped?! In my heart I belong to him… to be financially bonded to him in any way would make me bought and sold to him and if…, in doing that my being with him would no longer be “…If you want?”
He was correct!? I have a raging infection in the scar and I now have to have so much medication I’m walking around here beyond loopy! He’s angry at me and he’s not talking to me…
Until I call him on September 10th  
When my sister screws up: While still loopy on too much medication … I ask my sister to go up to the school and get me the paperwork to have Joe enroll into school;… instead of bringing  me home all the forms she fills the papers out on her own?! Yeah, if stupid comes with awards I would without a shadow of a doubt own top honors???


September 10th.1985:

Little Joe is having the worst first school year ever; this coming from one actually kicked out of kindergarten?! That’s a different story; and it was the right thing, for them, to do back then. This is in no way right? What they are doing to my child; a boy who was already able to read and to write and he wrote in both print and script?! I’ll grant you my Joey does have impediments when it come with his interactions with others and he is electively mute; but, this is because since from the time he came back home to me after being kidnapped… we were very overly protective with him?!
This year is his first time being in any kind of school setting!? He has had no idea there were so many others his size in the world And, in three days this school changes his class four times??? You’re saying to me the child, my child, doesn’t have any ability to learn and he should be institutionalized?! And I have every reason to believe they’re going to work hard in taking my child away from me?! What the hell do I do???    
I call Joe; I cry to him on the phone. “I don’t know what to do?”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s the little guy, its Joey’s school; their saying his not capable of learning, they’re saying I’m a drug addict and they say I don’t want or care about him? Help me???”
“I’ll meet you up at the house; but, I have work so I can’t stay very long!” Joe was there in no time. We take ride, going around the block and we park in the Carvel’s parking lot; I hand over and show him all these papers… and when I say all these papers; I mean a pile the better part of an inch thick?!
It took Joe a good ten moments just to get a handle on what’s what in these… and he starts blowing a conniption!
“This is your sister; your sister says you’re an addict and she’s raising him on her own because you don’t want him?!” he starts calling her every kind of name!?  We sit there and go through all these papers and talk for another forty-five minutes until he has no other choice but to go; he’s running late for work! I am, now, so much calmer and Joe leaves pitching a fit! The next so many weeks of hell with the school-board and, which seem to be endless, search for a right placement for the little guy… Big Joe’s right there the whole time and I know, believe-you-me, I know if Joe wasn’t here at this time… this would’ve destroyed me and l would be somewhere, babbling in a straight-jacket and they would have taken my Joe as well! And, I know my sister would keep her promise she made on May 17th. 1980 when she first moved in... Every last place we look through is a no.
Joe drives us to see two to four schools in a day…trying to find the right placement; and, he did this with my sister sitting there, near enough for him to take a swing at…, she’s right there in the backseat of car??? Joe has, without a shadow of a doubt, the patience of a saint!  I know, I look back and I’m lucky he hadn’t killed us both…me and my sister!  You know there isn’t a judge or jury who wouldn’t come back with a full acquittal for this man.
  Finally, on this day, we’re all going to this place PS23Q Joe gets off the highway, he turns onto Union Turnpike and now he turns left onto Commonwealth Blvd. in Bellerose; I am so nervous! There are two in this car who are perfectly fine with what’s going on but here there are also two others who should have their names’ changed to Brook for all their babbling?!
Annamarie has no wants whatsoever to see this child being anywhere other than at home; all I want is a best outcome?! I want my son to only have the very best; with Big Joe here helping?!  I know, that’s what will happen!
My two Joes’, they walk ahead and go into the building on their own; they’re hand in hand as nice as you please! Watching them with one another… they are so good with each other; they are … But; Joe doesn’t understand… He couldn’t; he has no idea what Annamarie is all about!? He’s unaware of the way she might react… I fear her actions; I fear if this isn’t handled just right she’ll hurt herself or do something way worse??? He doesn’t realize the circumstances for me; I am completely responsible for everything in regards of her. She’s a child, of a fragile state; a child who could, all of a sudden, become highly volatile!? She could never be left to her own devices??? If it’s at all something could be avoided; I wish to avoid Joe ever becoming fully aware of the threat she could pose; if it could ever be possible?!  As long as I can maintain her stability through this and get home. It will be a real feat?!
I get her inside; it’s a hard looking at things…  Joe and I go down the halls looking at everything “Joe will have everything he needs here to help him; this place is the best place we have seen?!” All one would need do is to look and see big Joe’s face and you know there wouldn’t be better; but to Annamarie’s reactions???  She stands there looking into this lovely enclosure… an indoor play-area; and she looks so angry, it seems as-if she believes we’re trying to place the boy into the center of all nine circles hell or something?!   Joe over at the desk talking to the guide sees me just staring at her… he walks to me; and, he angrily says,” Stop looking at her! This place has everything this kid needs; … you know this is what’s best!” He turns to the staff worker, “Go get those the papers ready for her to sign!” Joe knows, he sees it in me, if he was to give me a smidge more time I would have sided with her and I would’ve said no this place wasn’t right, as I had… times before?!      
We return home; “Twenty-three moments by highway; not bad!” This could have never ended so well without him being here; Annamarie enters the house, seething … if looks could… both of them whenever they not eye to eye.
“You make mountains out of molehills!” Joe has said these words to me on more than one occasion; and how, Joe was for little Joe today… Yeah, I will guess he is right?! That is if the mole is larger than the largest Godzilla, with red-hair.

I live among prying peers
Telling me which way to steer
They’re all I can hear
So to garner cheers
In their direction I veer

I thought if I stayed still
They wouldn’t see me
So I took a pill
So I could be me
But that didn’t free me
Once I was needing
Constant feeding

So I join civilization
And see their indications
Pointing towards temptations
To provide societal placation

They send me
To the trendy
Intending
To amend me

The conformity
Is informing me
Changing horribly
To what I see normally

My confirmation of conformation
Is in observations of obfuscation
In this iteration of integration
Where I conform for calibration

I’m willing to be wrong
To belong
Can I be strong
Singing another’s song?

I want to fit in
So I sit in
Places I’m whipped in
Hatred I’m dipped in
In a crazed conniption

I’ve had a painful life
Under their knife
Giving me strife
To make me right
In their light

Consumed by conformity
Society absorbing me
Changing enormously
To the form I see

I hate what I’ve become
At their behest
So I load my gun
And join the rest

I’ve become an automaton
Building atomic bombs
To drop on the calm
Who don’t sing my song

I want to be real, as real is the ultimate goal in the game of obvious. There are purple whispers in my head. In my head. I tip-toe endlessly on the path toward forgotteness, but I am a failure in the efforts of the war against such and boredom. I dance in the savage way of my ancestors, but only in my imagination, for I know I’ll be corrected if someone actually saw. There is not enough time for the waking of the ghost of tomorrow. Beyond the reasonable laying of my lies and mocking the fiction, there is something true to wrap my hands around. I want to be real. My hair is done in a way that it makes instant jokes about gravity. It stand beyond normality like my soul, but unlike my soul, I battle to tame my hair. With every flick of the comb, I remember my marigold childhood. I remember the time when the comb was my enemy, and sleep was my crime. The pain will not wash away from the soda I poured on my head. It burned my eyes out, but luckily, I had a new pair. The internet will help. Yes, my friend named Internet. We go drinky drank around the corner, beyond the grazes of normality, like fireflies in space. We dance in the moonlight, partly because it is cliché, partly because I want to know the feeling. I make my own opinions about my life and my situations.

Whisper whisper. Is that the call of reality? I am not here today, so leave me a message on my wall of ecstasy.  It is painted the same color as my nails, cobalt blue and metallic grey like that kiss from Japan I kept hidden from everyone, except my other self. The streaks of conniption flutter by on wings made of the abyss. I can’t help but stare as they float by, for I can’t catch them. I can’t catch them, but I don’t lose hope for the future. I want to be free of the pinks in my life, for they are my night terrors in stereo. I want to rid myself of the oranges as well, but they are necessary, so I tolerate them. Have you come to make me real? I can see behind your eyes. You are intrigued. I want to wrap my fingers around your violet locks and make a rainbow for the future. I don’t like the way ginger kills all that is beautiful, it is not invited to the party hosted by the voices in my head. The world mourns around me constantly beyond the written understanding of how things should be. Yet I laugh. I laugh. I laugh because I am empty inside. Where is my symphony of light and imagination? I imitate these feelings with song. I pass these feeling like a disease through dance. Whisper whisper. Shimmy twirl. I have a secret too.

Eight at night and the doorbell rang,
And THERE right before my face
Was a newspaper—almost touching my nose
And barely giving me breathing space.
 
“Here’s your free paper,” I heard a voice say.
I stepped back to read the name of the rag.
At once in my mind I realized that
The name of the paper had raised a red flag.
 
“Sorry, but I don’t read that one.
Anyway, thank you for your time,”
I said to the kid as I started to close
The door, but the kid blurted out, “I’m
 
Hoping that you’ll subscribe to my paper.
Sign up right here; you won’t regret it.”
I shook my head in amazement and said,
“Do you know what? I don’t get it:
 
“I just told you that I don’t read it,
So why would I want to buy a subscription?”
The frustrated kid refused to take NO
For an answer and started to have a conniption.
 
“BUT...just do it for me!” he cried.
“The more I sell, the better my luck
In winning a trip to Hawaii; what’s more,
I’m also trying to earn a buck.”
 
At THIS point I was the frustrated one.
I thought to myself, This guy’s too much!
He’s completely clueless; moreover, he’s acting
Like a son of a such and such!
 
“Good luck with your sales,” I politely said.
“But wait, I’ll wash your car!” he cried.
“I’ll mow your grass; I’ll trim your trees.”
“NO thanks, AND good-by,” I replied.
 
Exasperated he bellowed out,
“I need this sale to up my score!”
I calmly said, “This conversation
Is over,” as I closed the door.
 
I didn’t hear him walk away;
For all I know he could be there still
Pushing his paper, trying to earn
More points but actually scoring nil.
 
While the kid lacked tact and subtlety,
I doubt he’d ever take my advice.
A bit more sense would serve him well,
And a little less pushiness would suffice.
 
A future politician? I wondered.
Or maybe a future billionaire?
Whatever the case, he's got chutzpah,
I thought as I returned to my chair.

- by Bob B

thrill against him He was a
dog with a wide heart.
The enchantment
as good as
gone

surrounded by fit tantrum scene even conniption
understood

when they were at the end of the road
sitting still

"there is
nothing now that I want. I am becoming ill
I do not understand why

"But why The
difficulty about you is that you suffer of an excess
of
small pieces
At least you are keeping yourself busy
your energy-a little
pale thing fearing "Me! On my
Own!"

but still

I would rant and I’d rave
I’d bargain and scold,
Till I was blue in the face
And feeling quite old,
Just to get the girl reading
Something more than Teen People,
I’d gladly climb Everest
Or leap from a steeple.

I burned 17 packages
Of incense and sage,
I scouted the bookstores
For tomes for her age,
But what good would it do
If she never opened the book,
She would tell me, dear Father
I don’t like the look.

I loped to the library
And toddled to Tower,
I dashed down to Dalton's
Scanning books by the hour,
All with a longing
And a keen aspiration,
This daughter would read
For a minute's duration.

Alas and alack
All my efforts were nil,
Not a Shakespeare or Keats
Nay, a Jack or a Jill,
Until I admitted
My failure as Father,
All my running amuck
Was an embarrassing bother.

I was forced to succumb
To the wiles of her ways,
She could read fashion mags
To the end of her days,
If only this Father
Would pay the subscription,
Or this daughter would connive
A catatonic conniption.

This tale has an ending
And it came down to loyalty,
I pay her to read
So she's feeling like royalty,
I had to demonstrate
That I was loving, not mean,
I said, "Read in the car"
She replied, "Limousine".

How often it's told
In stories and lore,
That raising one's children
Is often a chore,
But the right application
Of smiles and charm,
Will insure that the Father
Will avoid lasting harm.

in sheepskin and marmalade we palaver and jig our rods in the Nile
but seldom, Our sunspots blighted and the constant barrage of
darkening's become the strobe wafer-thin ramblings
of madmen with catheters for priests,
and Catholics for conniption fits
for faraway kings
to dish about in near-away
parlors of unpolished reality.
Yea! sans varnish and crickets with rickets
and a whole host of dismay, dismayed by gardens-
and a whole menagerie -
an appeal to a constant
NO!

receiving a fair bit of the Real on a stick
and a few fairies
in the wing ***** of our falderal  
Nesting in Summers, too keen on Winter
and anointed by the drizzle
of a sumptuous outsized
Joy

a dangle in the tinsel of a calm.

half annoyed.

(warning ungapatchka language ahead)

Hence plead ding for
Mary Poppins wannabe
with snap of her fingers
can affect ship shape
tidiness, which task
needed before May 2022
when yearly inspection
indeed takes place.

Flush with rage the spouse
will become allied
if reference made
how she buzzfeeds disorder
altercation especially likely
if divorce blurted
making me wish
to experience (immediately)
bartered bride, when mine
pointed finger doth
nonverbally chide
markedly appalling untidy
predilection she blithely
exhibits woeful scant
interest to maintain
can-do spirit affecting plea

zing aesthetic humble abode
ofttimes slacking
off cleaning trail
of abomination, which talent
includes unwittingly cultivating
qua primordial
soup possibly
duplicating conditions when life
originated (bajillion years ago)
on planet Earth
witnessed courtesy think
gummy, groovy, gooey,
gloppy, (nippy, nap, noopy)
protoplasmic slimy
oozing blob (starring
Steve McQueen) amoeba

like swallowing small towns
with names such as
Chester Springs, Downingtown,
Phoenixville, & Royersford
hungering, hinting, and hankering
to hasten home hearing
Harris harridan hooligan
hoopla conniption purportedly
linked into order
issued courtesy board of health
for hen pecking
wife to hustle &
make house beautiful for Biden
(accompanied with hit parade)
announcing (yea)

at long last Republican
administration overhaul
which fête yours truly slated
to host determined
(weeks ago), thus
necessitating legally wedded
counterpart to apply
elbow grease in tandem
to render **** & span
where unsightly food scraps,
soiled clothes, scattered papers,
et cetera strewn
helter skelter, the disarray
the culmination of 4+
years occupying these digs
in Schwenksville, Pa.

Upon being told
"get the place in ship shape order"
she went ballistic like bupkis
fired out me gluteus
maximus, (whereat
I couldn't help but think ICBM)
yea, an incongruous thought
as she rattled vitriolic,
colorful expletives
coarse language enough would
make sailor blush
shutting his yapper uttering before
he even uttered
"shiver me timbers," hence clatter
and din created cacophonous
noise as my fair lady

affected one woman
siege warfare as pots and pans
flew pell mell thru air
while I took refuge in fallout
shelter unused since
total mortal kombat destroyed
major swath of webbed
wide world, global debacle
our dear leader triggered
(when in pensive mood) he
lobbed weapons of
mass destruction after being axed
to "go back home" meaning
his mother planet Uranus.

(warning ungapatchka language ahead)
regarding following lines courtesy the missus,
who adventitiously, inadvertently, unknowingly
allowed, enabled and provided inspiration I
attest Frau Harris inspired me as she lies abed.

Flush with rage the spouse will become allied
if reference made how she buzzfeeds disorder
altercation especially likely if divorce blurted
making me wish to experience (immediately)
bartered bride, when mine pointed finger doth
nonverbally chide markedly appalling untidy
predilection she blithely exhibits woeful scant
interest to maintain can-do spirit affecting plea

zing aesthetic humble abode ofttimes slacking
off cleaning trail of abomination, which talent
includes unwittingly cultivating qua primordial
soup possibly duplicating conditions when life
originated (bajillion years ago) on planet Earth
witnessed courtesy think gummy, groovy, gooey,
gloppy, (nippy, nap, noopy) protoplasmic slimy
oozing blob (starring Steve McQueen) amoeba

like swallowing small towns with names such as
Chester Springs, Downingtown, Phoenixville,
& Royersford hungering, hinting, and hankering
to hasten home hearing Harris harridan hooligan
hoopla conniption purportedly linked into order
issued courtesy board of health for hen pecking
wife to hustle & make house beautiful for Biden
(accompanied with hit parade) announcing (yea)

at long last Republican administration overhaul
which fête yours truly slated to host determined
(weeks ago), thus necessitating legally wedded
counterpart to apply elbow grease in tandem to
render **** & span where unsightly food scraps,
soiled clothes, scattered papers, et cetera strewn
helter skelter, the disarray the culmination of 5+
years occupying these digs in Schwenksville, Pa.

Upon being told "get the place in ship shape order"
she went ballistic like bupkis fired out me gluteus
maximus, (whereat I couldn't help but think ICBM)
yea, an incongruous thought as she rattled vitriolic,
colorful expletives coarse language enough would
make sailor blush shutting his yapper uttering before
he even uttered "shiver me timbers," hence clatter
and din created cacophonous noise as my fair lady

affected one woman siege warfare as pots and pans
flew pell mell thru air while I took refuge in fallout
shelter unused since total mortal kombat destroyed
major swath of webbed wide world, global debacle
our dear leader triggered (when in pensive mood) he
lobbed weapons of mass destruction after being axed
to "go back home" meaning his mother planet Uranus.

(warning ungapatchka language ahead)
regarding following lines courtesy the missus,
who adventitiously, inadvertently, unknowingly
allowed, enabled and provided inspiration I
attest Frau Harris inspired me as she lies abed.

Flush with rage the spouse will become allied
if reference made how she buzzfeeds disorder
altercation especially likely if divorce blurted
making me wish to experience (immediately)
bartered bride, when mine pointed finger doth
nonverbally chide markedly appalling untidy
predilection she blithely exhibits woeful scant
interest to maintain can-do spirit affecting plea

zing aesthetic humble abode ofttimes slacking
off cleaning trail of abomination, which talent
includes unwittingly cultivating qua primordial
soup possibly duplicating conditions when life
originated (bajillion years ago) on planet Earth
witnessed courtesy think gummy, groovy, gooey,
gloppy, (nippy, nap, noopy) protoplasmic slimy
oozing blob (starring Steve McQueen) amoeba

like swallowing small towns with names such as
Chester Springs, Downingtown, Phoenixville,
& Royersford hungering, hinting, and hankering
to hasten home hearing Harris harridan hooligan
hoopla conniption purportedly linked into order
issued courtesy board of health for hen pecking
wife to hustle & make house beautiful for Biden
(accompanied with hit parade) announcing (yea)

at long last Republican administration overhaul
which fête yours truly slated to host determined
(weeks ago), thus necessitating legally wedded
counterpart to apply elbow grease in tandem to
render **** & span where unsightly food scraps,
soiled clothes, scattered papers, et cetera strewn
helter skelter, the disarray the culmination of 6+
years occupying these digs in Schwenksville, Pa.

The refrigerator declared Superfund unsightly eye
sore what appear as numerous science experiments
gone awry, some former edible morsel encapsulated
with coating of mold adjacent to vessels housing
liquids hinting of genesis courtesy primordial soup.

Upon being told "get the place in ship shape order"
she went ballistic like bupkis fired out me gluteus
maximus, (whereat I couldn't help but think ICBM)
yea, an incongruous thought as she rattled vitriolic,
colorful expletives coarse language enough would
make sailor blush shutting his yapper uttering before
he even uttered "shiver me timbers," hence clatter
and din created cacophonous noise as my fair lady

affected one woman siege warfare as pots and pans
flew pell mell thru air while I took refuge in fallout
shelter unused since total mortal kombat destroyed
major swath of webbed wide world, global debacle
our dear leader triggered (when in pensive mood) he
lobbed weapons of mass destruction after being axed
to "go back home" meaning his mother planet Uranus.

I've been described as beautiful by people with poor vision. My voice is melodic to the profoundly deaf. My youthfulness has been noted by folks in their 90's. [№ 9 : Hillary is ****. Bill likes 'em ****.] Throw away your new, expensive lawn mower and use scissors to achieve that manicured lawn that will have your neighbors collapsing into convulsive, conniption fits of envy.

Sebastian Cabot in a hostel oh God, with Abbott & Costello so odd
52 weeks before mad Abbott & Costello had inhabited hostile Ohio
This unclasped brassiere dignifies my teen years feeding lean steers
on shipped tortilla or corn chips, soaked soggy aboard sunken ships

(warning ungapatchka language ahead)

Flush with rage the spouse will become allied
if reference made how she buzzfeeds disorder
altercation especially likely if divorce blurted
making me wish to experience (immediately)
bartered bride, when mine pointed finger doth
nonverbally chide markedly appalling untidy
predilection she blithely exhibits woeful scant
interest to maintain can-do spirit affecting plea

zing aesthetic humble abode ofttimes slacking
off cleaning trail of abomination, which talent
includes unwittingly cultivating qua primordial
soup possibly duplicating conditions when life
originated (bajillion years ago) on planet Earth
witnessed courtesy think gummy, groovy, gooey,
gloppy, (nippy, nap, noopy) protoplasmic slimy
oozing blob (starring Steve McQueen) amoeba

like swallowing small towns with names such as
Chester Springs, Downingtown, Phoenixville,
& Royersford hungering, hinting, and hankering
to hasten home hearing Harris harridan hooligan
hoopla conniption purportedly linked into order
issued courtesy board of health for hen pecking
wife to hustle & make house beautiful for Biden
(accompanied with hit parade) announcing (yea)

at long last Republican administration overhaul
which fête yours truly slated to host determined
(weeks ago), thus necessitating legally wedded
counterpart to apply elbow grease in tandem to
render **** & span where unsightly food scraps,
soiled clothes, scattered papers, et cetera strewn
helter skelter, the disarray the culmination of 4+
years occupying these digs in Schwenksville, Pa.

Upon being told "get the place in ship shape order"
she went ballistic like bupkis fired out me gluteus
maximus, (whereat I couldn't help but think ICBM)
yea, an incongruous thought as she rattled vitriolic,
colorful expletives coarse language enough would
make sailor blush shutting his yapper uttering before
he even uttered "shiver me timbers," hence clatter
and din created cacophonous noise as my fair lady

affected one woman siege warfare as pots and pans
flew pell mell thru air while I took refuge in fallout
shelter unused since total mortal kombat destroyed
major swath of webbed wide world, global debacle
our dear leader triggered (when in pensive mood) he
lobbed weapons of mass destruction after being axed
to "go back home" meaning his mother planet Uranus.