I’m a soldier
in a war
sold to the highest bidder
Biding my time
getting high
but not getting
anything out of
life

A lifer
a loser
lost his way
was on his way
on a journey
was earning
a living
was living
a life
in spite of
spitting in the face
of all I was faced with
Couldn’t face up
to the need
I was feeding
A hole
from which
my soul
was bleeding
Unknown reason
harboring this treason
give it time
it will season
Belief system
the Devil
finds pleasing

No matter
how much I tried
and from everyone hide,
including myself,
what was
deep inside
If I went
and made
an attempt
a fool I'd be,
wasted time spent
A lament
at controlling
the tide
And each day
from the next
more and more
of me died

There was a time
when all my efforts
went unheeded
and instead
succeeded
But these courtships
did not breed
or plant the seed
Instead was seething
to be
leaving
Escaping from me
with each breath
I’m breathing

A horrible time
indeed
Unfamiliar,
making me ill
Not having free will
Undeserving
and not for me
to get
Must get angry
and upset
Breaking steps
So many
missteps
I’m falling
more than I’m standing

Steps I’ve climbed
mostly blind
by my blindfold
Its knots
I bind
the moment
I ‘rise-and-shine’
so that
in time
when rising
like yeast,
the hiding
inner self
self-defeats

Every hand folding
as I’m
raising the bets,
doesn't make sense
From where
did I get
this invisible pet
Originally set
and previously molded
in the early stages
of the morning
in a story
that’s boring
and been told
time and time again
with
lost love ones
and friends

A friendly reminder
that a
“stitch-in-time”
is not
a time saver
if the referenced ‘stitch’
relied upon
was built upon
lies
Consumed
from others
that we
self tie
but mostly
force fed
by the very hand
controlled
by my head

It’s a numbing thought;
reasons sought
Elusive?
‘yes’
but pieces
caught
My peace disturbed
by actions
brought
from a desire
to numb
so that these thoughts
will be
forgotten

Decayed
and rotten
left for days
in a
wrought iron cage
Anyone
with sage
too afraid
to consume
but 'In-Doom'
I trust
and with full ******
my smile
displayed;
Forward I go
for sins
I pay
and lie within
this bed
I've made

Not night;
thick of day
No difference displayed
Skewed indifference
to the
different
paths
that have been
laid
like the path
of destruction
from this day
back
in my wake
Bindings
can't brake
A life's mistake
Lay me down
my soul
to take
Lying in state,
a viewing,
my wake
My mind
now awake
-
Cruelty's laugh
makes me
an ***
A crass reminder
of a life
that's past

Not so far away girl
still so impossibly far
why must we wait until sunrise
to fall asleep?

Why is this beauty only conceivable
after the bottle dripdrips empty?
sinking deeper and deeper into saturn's orbit

youthful vibrant fluffed up peacocks
clucking on about research chemicals
and music festivals and last night and 6 days before
about banking and obamacare
and oh, my they're all talking
all at once
talktalktalking about this this this and that
not even asking for audience
soundwaves echo into nothingness
screaming lungs void of substance
fleeting purposes
failed courtships
unheard unimportant words
and oh, my, what a tedious thing
the night has become
but to stay at home alone
would be even more unspeakable.

Outside the party across the street
there is a tree
splayed out overhead and undergound
soaking up carbon growing tall still growing
slightly sad tree breathing in the silence of our sighs
dancing fallen leaves wrapping up the deadspace around us
deadworld space where we two sit under the edge
of revelry and absurdity
laughing, drunk, with the moon and the stars and
for just a second
feeling
slightly less impossible.

I was the canvas, as were you
One canvas to each other
and on the wall
with knees underneath
indecent exposure
naked mind of mine

Flushed out edges of this unique bedspread
a shower curtain used as a tablecloth
used as an ashtray

This was her only wedding dress
Wedding dress two dollars and seventeen cents
value market discount white sale

Found in the back when
suddenly everything was zebra stripes
and she was already ten minutes late

But what is time to a pack of teeth?
A high-ceiling filled with nostrils and bat claws
smouldering tar-stained enamel
fits nicely on the frayed corners
of her tablecloth underwear
and brushed away the ashes
leaving half-finished highways
and dark-stained alleys
and brooding courtships

She missed her basement apartment
and the way no one took her seriously
and the Grand Finale!
and riding high
and the blue ribbons
that sometimes came with last place
and windows and pillows
darkened sleep patterns with silver eyes
half-moon Iris

She isn’t home anymore
She left for a smoke
and the sidewalk took her

Michael Sinclaire/Mary Fahey. March 2013.

In old south down, where the mourn mountains sweep,
There's a bridge made of wood where the willow trolls meet,
It's on midsummers eve when the sun takes a bow,
And bids bye, and farewell to the willow tree bough.

Talk of the evenings events and the mood there about,
And the damage that was caused by those lager louts,
Father willow troll talks of the courtships that passed,
Between boy trolls and lady trolls, and whether it'll last.

The baby trolls settle as the darkness descends,
And the moon shows her face to the willow troll friends,
Merry music is made from the willow tree strings,
And the food is supplied by the south down night things.

Horrid worldly events are a lifetime away,
As the humans excist by the exposure of day,
Two worlds so close, but nature keeps separate,
Never mixing together, its chosen by fate.

Pay attention and watch now, as my tales have begun,
Of a day seeking willow troll and his son.....

As stars reflect the knowledge of the sacred,
The boiling seas of the cosmos churn acrid.
Upon the nurturance of Venus' passionate quivering calls exclaimed,
The essence of God's wrath so lovingly made tame.
As the chariots of love, upon the courtships of epic virtue, possess,
Our goddess sisters, import the specialty of rule, for which the governs obsess.
As Boreas' trumpet sounds a euphoric ecstatic bliss,
Rosicrucian passion bells hither, to a faint swaying and hiss.
As the murmuring embers of the divine, left receded,
Hour of humanities past, no time of present, so subtley defeated.
As upon death, a mummy spreads its rein,
Crucibles of knowledge, all for not, in vain.
The seduction of fertility and the mysteries left to relish,
Though made bitter upon showers of mourn, to embellish.
The disillusionment of our fathers’ petty immortal opportunity made solemn,
The wisest of men, why, amongst the true, made golem.
Take precedence, then and now, when upon your throne of pride,
As the winds of wrath call upon, our savior’s passion tried.
In due notion a precedence of time, without respect,
A fulfillment of God's love, our souls to resurrect.
As dragons drew the chariots of night with profound duration,
A coward’s sword in hand, his skewer's elation.
As stars reflect the knowledge  of the sacred,
Humanities, why… derision for dole, left shaken.
As prophets emit, as seen thus…
When stars do let fall the Sun,
Pray thee, a heavenly Venus.

It's the night,
before another rotation,
things feel right,
unspoken words,
have turned into one way actions,
elusive internet *******,
replaced by the piggle wiggle's,
chainsaw snoring,
the room smells of seroquel, feet,
and the helping of hope,
sticks from a recovery melted poet,
legs of jell-o,
mood of mellow,
dancing twilight in a skyline,
of building and buses,
a year ago he was drunk,
and jail was his entitlement a week,
later,
two years and more,
have evaporated to chemicals and nights that no longer exist,
and lust,
and fair share of unalibitical rust,
the sounds and smells he's,
holding onto this year,
the only hourglass sand bits,
not fallen through, for the feels of fear,
will only disappear,
Birthdays in rehab,
birthdays ad non infinitum,
courtships of programming & meetings,
the poet,
now producing naturally foreign unforced smiles,
better get his sponsor,
to sign his slip.

Like all of my relationships -
acquaintanceships, chumships, courtships, worships -
the connection between poetry and me
is a little queer.

Because I write when I feel like it
is going to burst out of me.
I write to get the feeling out,
throwing it out, like refuse.

So when the feeling is there sitting,
staring at me, on unblanked paper,
all that's left to read it first
is Reason...

who shows it to Judgement,
who defers to Knowledge,
who laughs it to Shame
who wears down my Ego.

And if I am a clue,
maybe that's why
there are too many poets,
and not enough poetry.

Content.
A lazy finger runs down my arm,
My curls are wild, floating up your pillowcase,
Like creeping vines entwined with dreams;
My eyes are closed.
You whisper about the brown of my skin,
The smooth earthy tones
Of fabled Aztec princesses,
The two small pyramids
You love to kiss,
The chalice of elixir
Of my thighs.
Content.
Worshipped.
Loved.
Wanted.
Your love reaches every corner in me,
My mind of metaphors,
My womanhood of wants,
My desire to be loved.
Completeness.
Sweet sugared syrupy caresses
Like Victorianesque courtships
Behind closed doors;
Courting of minds and ideas,
Two birds dancing love;
Hungry, ravenous raptures,
Nonhuman desires,
Tear me apart, want you so much.
Everything,
Everything,
Everything:
The hunger, the thirst, the sweetness,
The battle of minds, words, the challenge,
It convinces me of
Full, mature, unencumbered,
Growing, flourishing love.

smile now act like you're
happy
"You are happy"
That is a lie

Snile now act like it's not so bad
"It's not so bad"
That's so ******* hollow, dude.

I am overcome by nostalgia for experiences that occured years and decades before I was born.
I ******* hate grunge music.
I should have been a cis white male privilege zshielded ignorant beatnik
I should be tripping ***** on mescaline with Kerouac and  Cassady at this very moment.
I am overcome by many things.
By many feelings  .
Many bottles of whiskey.
Many capsules of vyvanse
Many failed put option bets
Many failed courtships
Many fleeting pursuits of soulmates and joy innate.

I choose to live.
I want to die.
Thos does jot not matter.
This may be resurrected respected from the archives one day
One day will likely statiaically probably not occur

What's going on Bunker Club?
I could make there for a rojnd or two before last call

I want to die i choose to live

I suppose there are no .ore beatniks by thos point

I wonder what Cassady Kerouac or the one dude whome I love but am too fu ked up to remember his name the ine that wrote Howl yeah that one all of th

I qonder would they qould have done given these modern soma tools
Given these fentanyl laced uppers
Given this rising tide of fascism and plasti. Refuse

I wonder...

No one cares
N o on e matter
S
Nothing is or has ever been anyth
Ing

I wonder an db I wish
And I must have lost track of the substance here

I wonder was Ginsberg, yeah that was his name, I wonder what Ginsberh would haave done hiven all that's going on.
Given all that I have amd most. Ertainly don't have.
I wonder what he would have to say about all of this then

I wonxer if he qould still Ginsberg that genius ****** HOWL as hard now as he did in rhe fu ki.g 50s.

I wonder if she ever loved me.
I wonder if I ever loved.
I woncer if any of this was genous
And I wonder if this was all jist the alcohol drug addled  futile selfindilgent ******* that it seems to neeee

Maybe it's art
Maybe it is

Maybe you should go outside
Maybe I sbould eat a meal

Maybe everyone shod just
At the very least
Ask themselves how the personally define the concept of happiness
Maybe theyvand we and i should think about tha

Maybe wr should be happy
Maybe i should be happy

Maybe this is art
Maybe this is nothing
Maybe this is sibstance abuse
Maybe when I doe they'll gind this a ccount 20 years latet and study it in text books
Maybeayyne you sho)uld go outside amd
Maybe
Maybaybe
You should ask yourself what the definition of happiness really
Is

the Gentleman three stools down shot an admiring glance her way.
She brushed away a strand of hair, a lovely silver gray.
She slipped a ring off of her left hand and felt a warmth that flushed her face.
It's not like she was unaware of the quick courtships in this place.

"Compliments of the Gentleman" the barman brought her some champagne.
Though somewhat out of practice, she still knew how to play this game.
She turned towards the gentleman with a shy smile and confident
stare.
He moved in to claim his prize and sat in the adjoining chair.

She felt a momentary pang of guilt; this act of infidelity.
Then brushed away that traitorous thought; their love was but a memory.

Simpletons sprawl across the earth benumbed by quidnuncs without substance
They prattle indiscriminately amongst their hebetude and find travesties of proper justice
Inching along their snail mice paths they get ensnared by the cheese of Grapes and Wrath
Desiccated by the vainglory of smallminded insularity they chase the definitive epitaph
A grave dug by those that conflate laziness with profligate indecency cheap is their limited math
They foist expectation and I surpass standards unsung without a winsome glib tongue
But they expect a mountain of promiscuity invariably won
Their availability heuristic is patently dumb and insensate
Because few are the courtships among the dross of obscurity that yield infinite weight
I will fence with the gainsay of a thousand fools drooling over degradation and the epitomized tool
I will vanquish there sodomized and bowdlerized histories away from the foundering traipse of coruscating ghouls
For many are those within my rapprochement and many are the victories that I win
But unheralded close encounters of the magnetic north of womankind are buried by lies and purblind perspectives
They find elation in schadenfreude clothed with the most pyrrhic pride that ever existed
A pride of dumbfounded idiots reveling in perdition and clamoring for malcontent sedition
Against the inviolable traits of respectable personage and properly worn decorum, the latest edition
I will never capitulate to phantom skeletons wanting death and dishonor
Because my compass points to a broadened life of wife, husband and father
The groveling idiots of liberalism without bounty and meretricious egalitarianism gloat over lurid degradation
They besiege the tranquility of a levelheaded space and sabotage the atmosphere with disgrace and malevolent expectation
Then they expect me to vanquish specious caricature with their obstinate immature character
They are a battalion of morons waging war against innocence, chatterboxes of nuisance acting as impetuous barrister
I always get close, but never far enough to debunk their thoughtlessness and perjury against common sense
If I leer only at women, how the **** can I be on the ******* fence
Schadenfreude is common to mice that run the rat race at every imaginable price
And that is the extent of their consciousness, they infest the vogue with busybody nonsense and have false awakenings all the time in less virtue than vice
They think it is their obligation to dredge the sunk costs of life and obtrude with crime after crime against decency and peace of mind
Crab people likely have a venereal disease that pollutes them with a false solidarity for grime, lice and yeast of sour bread they easily find
They censor the easiest avenues to happiness and then put the burden of proof on me to find the convoluted route through the discord of naysayer cacophony and tainted atmosphere to find head, tail and *****
So I politely offer a challenge to the obstinate hordes that gloat for rebarbative squalor incongruent with inner peace and outer harmony… stop being so ******* pushy
Put a leash on your rabid dogs as you waft through life clouded by the fog of congenital ignorance and predatory instinct
Many are animals that only escaped extinction as ravenous predators incapable of the chivalry of the winsome wit and think
I have contentment in my life, talent runs through my veins, I have good posture and I ooze enthusiasm even when infamy haunts my many days so fatuously profaned
But contemptible is the nosy know-nothing that makes it sport to ignore profuse signs of success to invariably defame
The brunt of denial is upon the accuser who conflates conditional reticence with complete incontinence of a life inclemently tamed
I win at life almost all of the time, I court women often and come close enough to prove I’m fine
It is your lurid, fatuous and conceited imagination refracted through the decadence of Astroturf fascinations with contemptible ****** aberration that is completely asinine

(Don't Comment on this Poem)

therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed.

From <https://biblehub.com/kjvs/malachi/3.htm>

What therefore do we claim to know, when I,
who took the text, out of context,
our text for this day between sleeps, out of the famous
tithing message, that merged with the fulfilled jubilee,

lest we forget, serving God is a business, eh, be busy
for the lord, right, be somewhere workin' for the Lord.

oh, the times we was skinned into, me and you, mortal
reader stock given freedom under a personal grace,
taken personally as true, I am in you and you in me,
mindwise, in the spirit sense, felt true, known safe bet.

True, true, word, say the little mind things,
choir of messages

serve, be used, become useful, function as intended, live
and learn uses for features included
with the bubble we live in or
as, skin-bubble, filled first sack  
pops from a forest of possible any body but yous
- the hunger game dance of the oocyte,
- one of the patch maturing each cycle,
- feel it, the tug, this is so big, this cycle,
- live and learn and share the knowing wiser
- than the children of this world, in the end
- when what we know is used to prove we knew,

watch, we, watch, we the sould-enduring coded sign-
always ready, takes a lickin', keeps on tickin'.

It's a TIMEX the working man's wrist watch, tickin'
take a look, why,
it is 11:36

May we depict this as a wave of compression
comprehension of wind in a fist, who wishes
to know
knows the price of the prize is the acceptance
of worth-ship, judged worth value on some scale
courtships on the grandest scale, balling with gods,

AppoloApollo and the gang from ele-useless, giggles, gads
& flies, so wise as we imagine flies being

swarm of us as flies
on the walls in the ****** temples,
making claims analogous to holy secret gnosishit

true wu wu wei past phoneme tagmeme detail umph
tried and true,

the joke, yoke, is on you, and in you, once the details
surface, and some good news, novelties, new things
to see and know, you know, coolshat
coming attractions,
call it what it is,
preview, taste and see, or is it, taste and know?

more the bitter or sweet color and smells, say
eat me, bees, say breathe, seem
me, seeing

systemic functional linguistics adapt to the hero
story as told, to children today,
it only happens to a few, but
if you learn to shoot, like Sgt. York, you shall, surely

buy the farm, the doentological ordered of my class,
warrior,
not servant; freebooter, taker of my share,
ancient precedent Abraham made holy, warriors
who share the battle,
take first share, before the priests of that order
take theirs.

Listen, this is the same story, as true from now
as then, eyes of flies are on the scene, first to begin
the corruption essential to the scene, naughty,
redeem the concept, naught is nada, zilch, goo'f'f'nuthi'n

naughty fruit, rotted, there is a scene like this
in the KJV, zoom, show me… boomsoft in the distance
beat of my heart, hum of the engin enginned and held
ensnared, hooked heartwise, under the aortic channel

feel the flow, rush of blood to feed a mind foaming
gnosis snot, stistical possibility
-soft land
some of us have been this far, and we came expecting
some new thing, while the reality surrounding us, a we
we are as readerwriterworderword, exactly
four ways to see what we mean from now on, awe is us,
this state, taste,
this is the promise, ah, Lou Reed, just laughed at me,

he say hey, Kaffen, you remember this trip?
it ended with hand to hand handgrenades, with Starsiak.

Living in my own peace of mind,
I can sing like Johnny Cash, and know it's mine

know this gravelly voice comes from pounding rocks
into scalpels for the surgeons who make life sacred.

Secret sorting rituals are with us as we breathe,
we can come to, awake, come and see, we breathe,
imaginary breaths, imagine those count,

weave in wind around a plaited strand of cloud,
weave spin spun spun spun runn rrrrun roar

ah, 2022, between Mira Mar and the Chocolate Mountain,
so, those are Apaches, adding to the myth of war,
Sony has a game nearing launch, The God of War,

Manichean at it's core, my bet, but for now, imagine

no? We do such constantly, we, the entertained, we
enter zones of release belief, enable unbelieving.

You participated in a group prayer,
perhaps at a funeral, but you prayed help me unbelieve

any of that ever hap-ends
and we remain, this is us, as a mind, enjoying unknown
knowns, truths veiled by Taliban-level boss-minion-slave
orders considered matters of faith, not fact,
if allah wished you to know you could have heard
the ANGEL - no vision, a word, a command
READ
thrice, read, - you, now, what do you
say,

hey, hey, hey, what
what do you say, read, or be literally powerless
to properly cast contextual spells… enthralling
coming attractions…