He was blown>>>>
>>>> away_--- from
my lace-up
Is She his blue
Mood tie set any bet
to walk the talk

At your own pace
The lustful wake up she
got the face

The edge of his rim sneaker
So prim who is proper
On the brim of ecstasy
He puts sugar on my tongue

Rumors like the "Talking Heads"
All in the bedding sneaker
Jane of the jungle wild tongue
She races Tarzan swinging sneakers
You and I tripped over dreams the sneaker?
Lip to lip disaster

The "Cyberwar" stepped on melting
Gold *** of tar
The loud blaster she moves the
Starwars so far

He could eat her up
his checkered black and white flag
Like a lobster claw his last draw

The racer mouth sponsor

She was born 2-B that way
sneakers love 3 some run
It's not unusual to have fun
with anyone
Her hands were far gone but
solid as a rock
Rollicking flying his rocket
Racing by her own clock Ms. Hornet


His sneaker loud love feud one
the detail on her sneaker
the wild bird of a bud

He shook me all night long
don't do an
A-C-D-C  on me
The sneaker he got the
Crazy eights
 No prank calls
Her hot buns and
Speaker- Frank-flirters
take me out to the
ball game demonized

The Anti Christ be born again
My sneaker group what a tank full
The Antitank no thanks
You cant always get what you want
and if you try sometimes
Charge all plastic but
sneakers like rubber soul

Visa hot runner Lisa no control
The American Express abdominal press
Shop until she drop's gum-drops
Your head was like a
Rolling Stone Jagger
Bigfoot sneaker Friday 13 size
That girl sweet pea Lea surprise
In the Hell, kitchen she snapped
That purr nightcap like Cleopatra

He's the Mantra so passionate fruit loopier
She's the Mona Lisa unfriendly sneaker
Your happy socks are quick
On his bell-hop feet
The sneaker riddle beat


That long meeting so *******
For time baby blue eyes Frank
on the mic
Like the jitterbug tight-knit
as sneaker print rug
Citron sharp eyes 5 Karat
Spicy hot Chili pepper
poem sonnet

The singer swung
Jazzy sneaker band
Dr. Who wears sneakers drinking
Dr. Pepper

The "Red Apple McIntosh" computer
Such a loud mouth hacker Josh
Jeweled Judy cultured pearls sneaker smash

Or her Stairmaster her
sneaker hotties ruffles have ridges
The juicy burgers dill pickles

Desperately sneaking Susan
sneakers to her affair finish line 
What a Lady Madonna
baby sneakers
at her breast rebel of hearts
I wonder how she manages to
sneaker speed the rest

Her best to out twin any talk
bullseye power walk
Buying the triplex sneaker
The loud talker 4 for 4 fame Wendy
Run like a fugitive your alias
name
Go International quite run
for your money I suppose
His sneakers up on her recliner
It wasn't her better rose
She's the high boot lady ever finer

On E-Bay selling your favorite sneakers
Those Australian Huskies biting sneakers
Such a Paws up against doggone heartbreaker

The in-crowd Flynn or another runner Lynn
Everybody is not a star or wedding crasher
Or even the right sneaker lover

Lady that lives in her homeless shoes
Are we all inside a video game
all commercials

Needing bifocals video begins
 Wynn at Sneaker Con
Joy to the world of the joystick
The sneaker of the Torah prayers of
the Temple
All dots and specs out of sneakers
More zits and pimples
I just want one-half cream
The changing Moon 1/2 Wolf
My man (Mr. Drakar) Howling toenail

French onion soup say cheese
her sneaker what a
no-brainer lightheaded breeze
You come so far sneaker trainer
And a grave site plot famous
brand sneaker
name

A million odds to one name in the
cemetery
****** Mary she flies in her
sneaker like Mary Poppins
Going under the influence
Heres looking at you kid umbrella

Hot Hollywood Taurus Bulldog
runner
We really don't have a name

We are writers and ****
good fighters single to mingle sneaker
Not the homewrecker more like the homemakers
Even sneaker has a voice and walks like singers
Shoeiverse sneaker race
became her living curse
The grin of the Grinch green sneakers
On his sled ride the lucky shamrock

I'm the happy heel
The tigress furry feel skip to my Lou
he ordered the
kids happy meal

Getting a ticket for reckless walking
Lights on or eyes wide shut
Are sneakers running for their life?

More fuel- time we get no alone time
Let's go shopping for the
new sneaker called
(Valentine only) sold one
day the sale
Singing her sneaker song a chip
device to talk back hot male
The 'Calvin Klein" dockers her ball of the foot
tennis sneakers It's her loud Owl ******-hoot

The farm girl Ralph Lauren corral
To rope her in lasso-like with morals
racing horse of different color fashion
I cannot hear you I have a hell
of a tinnitus reaction

  She-Devil bickering.>>> No heart like a sneaker
I am a snake too short to run the mile

I was too busy looking
at her long legs
On the Jet** Plane
The most popular lady
in her sneakers 

Viper car and strings attachments
Ms. Love lace the shoelaces
with hearts
She is tied to his ankles
like condiments
Like Sweet cherries what a
bomb kicker sneaker
The Southern Belle runner
Be the stunner the trucker roadrunner

Hail to Mary the sneaker
Queen of Sheba
Turn on the radio Country singer Reba
What a sneaker rating ratio

When she bent down the crisscross
Watch out cross my heart trainer

Cross my heart and hope to die
To get slimmer
I am the happy sneaker
all the moods hot goods
(Hey Robin Hood)
stealing a rich man and poor women
which is the witch

One string said pull me the
other one said you feel like a
Chrome lead sleepy feet go to bed

Like Beer and pretzels
What an insane sneaker hazard
Hospital beepers sneaker virus
stepped on the most expensive
Venus, I beg you to run
lips we travel bullets and stars
We just want some fun

Marathon key just one clicker
That strawberry shortcake
Versus the "Cherry Bomb"
The Prince and the Pauper
what a toad kisser
That army tanker hurry up
lunch or brunch
What a Patriot Brady bunch

My shoelaces became like a
firecracker candy bar crunch

Who is the loser lover
or the winner
The long trip almost at the end
of the race
What a rivalry those shot glasses
at random
The sneaker fandom

Smile to me if you're not
wearing anything
but sneakers
My wings the wifi cute feet just
say Hi

No, I saw a man 600 pounds
of Reebok gold way too
much belly roll fat
The Dr. Seuss cat in the hat

Nike in the air Robin
bird skydivers
Dark matter gold diggers
Movie (It) Stephen King
skateboard

Penny feet relaxer
The Wise clown got her
The sneakers comedians
Seinfeld stand up sneaker
To be dead or wed Kleinfeld
Exotic sneakers and
cars he made a home run
Hot hell ring my bell
You made me happy
I got to first base

And you all sync into
one of a kind sneaker
Mom Robin the singer
No, I saw a man-eating
out of his sneaker
His head up in the Nike air
Oh! all hell breaks footloose
computer looking
up the sneaker sales

All I am doing is clicking
with a mouse
Where is my lover
sneaker twin, my spouse

Beautiful, soothing, wavy

Lover of glancing at the sharks in the no swimming area

Who feels thrilled when I ride abwave and see many people watching

Who wonders if a shark really mistakes people for seals in the deep, daring, dangerous waters

Who fears that one day an octopus will come and its tiny teeth will shred me in half

Who would like to bring the Loch ness Monster back to life and be queen of Atlantis

Who is able to go scuba diving without getting bit by a lemon shark in its molding, melting, and magnificent lair

Who dreams to save the sharks from extinction from the throbbing and clutching fishermen...

A maniac is inside our gates
putting more words to eat on our plates
vandal of what we hold so dear
who the hell let him in here

i would put my house up for sale
but i refuse to let reality prevail
i surround myself with words of peace
with the neighbor, who's house is on lease

a new resident is on our block
it's time to change and re-key the lock
we need to keep the others out
they're not about what we're about

You almost kissed me,
and you shouldn't have.
On the gingham tablecloth in the yellow light,
you lifted me from the counter top onto my feet
putting your hat on my head and tickling my ribs.
You know it's my sweet spot,
leads straight to my heart if you're gentle enough.
I told you to stop and you walked away,
eyes lingering on my bare skin between where my top ended on my waist
and where my dark denim jeans began to hug my hips.
I flipped my hair back around, joining in some conversation too late
between a girl drunk on grape juice and a wedding crasher straggler
in a forest green flannel with camel cigarettes in the pocket.
That's when you came back over and started yelling
some story that happened to you the night before.
You told it well,
the circle captivated, me mesmerized
by how blue your eyes stayed all this time without me noticing.
You  had the whole room laughing with your wit and stupid vernacular,
but I was smiling because you looked so beautiful in those drunken
honest moments
where I recognized the person beneath the banter
where I saw you.
I was saying my goodbyes to the carhartt boys and their one night girls
when you grabbed me by the hand and spun me around
like we were dancing,
pulled me in by your hand pressed on my shoulder blades
the other around my waist
I gasped as your lips almost touched mine,
but then you looked down at me
with those same blue eyes
and took a deep breath,
slowly letting your hands glide down my back then to your sides.
I just stared back at you,
wishing you'd forget the logic and put your hands back where they were,
tracing your lips with that almost kiss,
and I could feel how much you wanted to be in this moment
desperately searching for a way to my lips
but something stopped us.
And I think it was because we knew it would only lead to something messier
than where we were at
it would be a backwards romance, reversing our ***** footsteps
in something we've tried and tried to understand
that it never works out the way either of us plans.
We were both doing so well, moving on
but in that moment we almost gave all that strength up
gave into something too tempting and too wrong.
Because we can't really stay away from each other all that long.
I mean,
you almost kissed me
and you shouldn't have,
but I swear
I wish you would have.

Climb into bed and...

Hearth embers of body heat circulate,
Tourists on self-guided walking tours,
Exploring the cabalistic eighteen chai holies of the
Human body, temple depository of spark divine.

Heat sparkles cross over the isthmus of Touching Toes,
Continental negotiators, swapping free heat for icicles,
2 X 10 interstitial connections, now land masses filled,
Global warming credit trading par excellence

Fingers, jew wandering, exiled to freedom,
Intertwined within soft-edged, graying sea grasses,
Coverlet over pounding chest,
Hands illegally mining tousled head hair,  
Nestling, nesting, without proper permits

Lick away the rumbling hoarseness
Coating a neighboring sleepy throat,
Gate crasher bringing surround-sound comfort,
Seeking to seal and still the groans,
Escaping prisoners of the ills of the wearied mind

Your favorite parts inspiring, demanding
Song, word, drawing or simple quenching,
Tonic of revival, an affirmation of self,
Existence proofs met through need

I write this for me, for her, for you.
Suckers for iron pyrite, most will skip this polemic,
What you don't know about me could be a
Hit show on prime time cable TV.

Like a cute commercial that makes you smile,
For a product you'll never buy,
I write this for me, for her, for anonymous you,
I am the voyager, you the ******.

Middle of the night envisioner,
Re-writer of The Gift of the Magi,^
If I die today, I leave this as my last
Will and Testament,
Just another love poem
You'll never read.

I crashed the gates of heaven
My guts on silk and linen
I am an astronaut

The thousands of grey hair circle my hairline
matching the wrinkle lines on my aging face
They came with pain and hardships,
and not enough love to go around;

Suddenly, an expressive emoji of my younger face
came to surface, happy yet sad, yet no crack
but this all came about when time had relapse :
so many heart-break, so many mistakes,

Like humpty the wall breaker, or was it the dream crasher?
Time has treated me like a step child.

Don John Shaughnessy
Tamer of the beast
Crasher of the party
Spoiler of the feast
Always in the gallery
Never in the dock
Don John Shaughnessy
Roller of the rock

Don John Shaughnessy
Burster of the bubble
Terror of the timid
Beginner of the trouble
And who's that conducting
Directing at the back?
Don John Shaughnessy
Leader of the pack

Don John Shaughnessy
Rouser of the mass
Thrower of the bottle-bomb
Header of the pass
Never leaves a fingerprint
Never any clue
Don John Shaughnessy
Turner of the *****

Don John Shaughnessy
Keeper of the keys
Lender of the loan shark
Breaker of the knees
Driver of the getaway
Watcher of the coast
Don John Shaughnessy
Drinker of the toast

automobile assault again
by
churchlot crasher.
departed, damage done
even
forgoing forgiveness.
grumbling gomez glowers,
haranguing
impossible immunity.
jeez! just...****!
klutzy
lot leaver!
mangled mobility machine
needs
overnight observation.
poignant payment, pending
quixotic
recompensing ravager.
supposing satisfactory salvage.
truck
under
vehicular
warranty.

I can walk
this world,
tall or short,
figure one or figure eight,
black or white
has long as my word is on everyone's lips,
has long has i top the gossip list.
              
Fame,
name
all the same.
Money,
folly
all making me naughty.
            
Pleasure,
leisure
all in my ATM treasure.
            
Screams,
dreams
all over the TV screens.
          
I vanish
and smear my ego with a gold polish.
Taking a break, i call it.
              
I could snap my fingers in an empty room
and in an instant it becomes a party room.
          
I walk
through the storm,
cloth the sun,
re-decorate the night sky.
I'm in the world
i'm breathing
and i'm famous.
        
What is the point in not bragging?
When my style isnt manual.
        
What is wrong with being sick in the head,
when ranking makes you un-stable:
most expensive car,
most craziest style,
most funkiest hair,
most hottest chick,
most coziest house,
most expensive jewelleries,
most socially active,
most drunkest driver,
most party crasher,
most grammy receiver...
        
It never stops
till your hand drops
and suddenly the light leaves your eyes
and your heart takes to retirement.
        
The flesh
forgets to carry with it
all it had acquired.
The Grave shuts the stink.

i am a party-crasher,
a spider web across the face.
around me, i hear the
chitter of birds and the
nervous giggles of people
scurrying under my wet
confetti, my glitter bomb,
as i write my graffiti
everywhere

i am a party-crasher.
though, i'm neither invited and don't
know those around me, nor
do i care about their
awkwardness or petty
concerns and desires.
i'm here to party, but more
importantly, i know how to
celebrate.

Mortality.

People fear it.
Personally,
I do not.
People despise it.
Personally,
I do not
People try to avoid it
Personally,
I accept that

No matter what
It always comes.

Mortality

It’s that party crasher
That everyone feared
Would show up
Uninvited.
It’s that proverbial snake
That you never see coming
But will always end up
Biting you.
It is that distant relative
That you don’t really like,
That winds up on
Your doorstep.

Mortality.

It is that reminder
That our time
Is limited here.
That countdown
Saying we better
Start getting productive
Before we get forgotten.
That timer that reads
Get to know your family
Get to know your friends
They might all be gone soon.
That sign that says
Road closed ahead
Detour to the beyond.

Mortality.

It happens.
End
Of
Discussions.
Either
Let it ruin your day
Or
Keep living on.

within, or rather in between, whomsoever was present.
like a good party crasher, he becomes the life of the party,
joking, dancing, womanizing (the sun so very much a man!)
singing his anthems, commencing with “Here Comes the Sun,” followed by every other  sun~song known to the celestials, concluding near around 4:00AM  with his rendition of Garth Brook’s classic:

”Ain't going down 'til the sun comes up
Ain't givin' in 'til they get enough
Going 'round the world in a pickup truck
Ain't goin' down 'til the sun comes up”

the ladies, especially Venus, all quite smitten, purring like kittens,
took that as a personal invite-ta-tion, and I swear that night many
comets were created.

If you feeling a surprising heating
in your bed tonight,
don’t be afraid,
it’s just me feeling sunny...


7/17/20

I am the destroyer of worlds the crasher of dreams the inevitable that will and always have eternally be
I am a creator the beauty of life the maker of all things the eternal clock
an infernally holy device I've caused more death and pain then any man could ever dream i've achieved the highest highs of pure ecstasy implausibly i am the only plausible because i am a force of nature of essence of your very sentient being a part of the core the root cause of all in the nether and aether but to such ignorant fickle beings i am just a double edged sword another in the arsenry of the entire complexless complexness of the universe I'am in the beginning and end both black and white

.i don't need to be believed to have to write this ****; mind you, in the past, the best things about h'america was the cultural exports, following the whole made in china "affair", but the cultural export was there... right now? socio-political commentary, which is like weilding to accomplish transversing a desert.

i can't say that my
         experience with "god"
was ever good,
          when it happened:
   hazy, 12 years ago,
it wasn't some sort of epiphany...
far from it...
if aristotle says:
philosophy begins with awe...
granted...

   then at least, whatever this is,
begins with a: fear of "god"...
it's not like you suddenly
get a cult following,
   or brand yourself
a mouthpiece...
     i heard a choir,
i had an iPod with me,
turned it on / off during
the "experience"...
then started running around
an empty church,
before hearing
   a grand wind of dispersion...
****, it could have come
from either "up" or "down"...
but it wasn't a "fun" experience...
what...
   much later...
   trying to sell the experience
off?
        conundrum crux...
false prophets,
or whatever you want to call them,
wouldn't mind bypassing
secular standards of acceptance,
amassing a throng
akin to the jonestown massacre...
i know, i know,
people need something to believe in,
i don't have that luxury...
i didn't experience a person,
that.... that wasn't some intimate
experience where i would dare
to utter a single question,
expecting an answer...
        mute...
                    that was me...
eversholt rd., st. mary's church,
opposite the royal mail group
building...

   i mean, how do you even
come up with some sort of explanation
to the, "experience",
as if it would ever be a "good" thing,
start a cult and ****...
with all the benefits:
but once you're dead...
   and then the waiting game
of life, no life,
attached to a fixation
   of theological jurisprudence,
or rather...
succumbing to:
what "sane" people take for
certainty, belief as a motivational
tool, a boost to free will...
back on earth:
peope are "confused" about
their ***, or ****** preferences...
me? i have to do a juggling act
around something,
that i find people being too comfortable
about...

      you don't get a "1st prize"
for this sort of encounter...
you get... precisely: jack ****...
you receive a momentum
to alleviate belief...
   with a doubling of doubt...
yes, after the experience...
you begin to career in doubt...
you look at the priests
and, remain, bewildered...
         trauma...
  maybe just a scenario of testing
sensitivity...
           was i lost?
was it the marijuana:
   such simple explanations had
no affect on me...
well... if only sober,
judge-strict people had that
sort of experience...

   a ******* choir descended as i lay
under a side altar of st. mary's church
wrapped in a white altar cloth...
thinking would be somehow
claustro-phobia-****** and
absolutely no freedom...
    if people are boasting...
i didn't even hear a word,
   but a menacing presence
that dispersed the choir...
back to the gavin mcinnes criticism
of Islam...
   (a) is the quran a problem
    (b) the prophet being a warlord
  (c) inbreeding...
   but there's a (d) aspect...
  why do muslims have no
fear of god?!
   muslims don't have a fear of god...
maybe reading some
of h. p. lovecraft
will be sobering...
   and i'm drunk,
while talking about sobering points...
**** me...

       muslims do not
allow themselves a fear of (their) god...
punching-bag take it all,
     the sins of the past,
up until the age of 21,
everything seemed orientating,
after the age of 21:
disorientated as if after
a tarantula bite...
              jewish-sucker-punch
or what?
             if everyone, sober,
sane,
   had the capacity to experience
"god", well, that would "somehow"
clarify things,
but it's certainly no standard
of crafting excuses,
there are still secular sensibilities
to be minded...
      i kept my mouth shut,
because i presupposed that there
would be, no chance for kudos,
free rides,
a pope-esque stature...

      then would come the atheists...
and that would take
the core reason of argument...
resembling something
akin to playing football...
without a ball...

              good riddance...
given the experience, i allowed myself
   i somehow managed to sustain it...
but the burden, the inability to
provide factual evidence,
akin to a schizophrenic experiecing
suspicious "whispers" in his "ear"...
how many stoners can you find
that experience
   these sort of "delusions"...

esp. after being indocrinated
via a catholic pedagogy?
how many paedohpile clerics of
the collar?
                carte blanche on the whole
affair of the protruding larynx?
the tonsure is in now way
elevating the concept of the kippah?
i also have a fear:
the fear of plagiarißing someone,
originality can only serve me
to find a debased stature of "sin"...
i drink to calm myself,
i visited prostitutes
   to get away from
                  the harangue of women...

best fwend (" "), a blank piece of paper,
but i see sane people making complaints
about revising the existence of
asylums,
   while i just keep thinking
about digging a hole,
  and planting a cherry tree,
     the "orthodox" madmen are
willing to experience
   a hard-on when it comes
to the mildly insane...

                 while the whole world,
eh, *****-nilly, simply, "happens"...
for someone who has seen
how his freedom,
has been translated from
a physical reality,
to a metaphysical cut-off little richard
and replaced with a strap-on...
   whatever depth i was supposed
to be given in an expansion allowance,
this is it,
  i've heard the zenith,
but now comes the nadir...
       disguised solipsism,
this whole
   self-determination lock,
mild autism,
or whatever you want to call it...
   irreplaceable
   irreplaceability complexes...
the current day-to-day theatre of
society...
     and the sobering after-thought
of having to attend a funeral...

last time i attended one,
it was my great-grandmother...
i refused to throw a rose
into her grave...
   then some funeral-crasher...
a woman,
decided it was necessary
   to speak up against me...
what was it that she said?
    right... now i remember:
'oh, isn't he generous!'
strangling her wasn't on my mind,
but now, it is...
              it's much easier
to forget egoism,
when you have phantoms of visage
                          to strangle...

of course i didn't throw that rose
into her grave,
i spent a few hours
after the drunken wake
thinking about her,
           gritting my teeth
until i managed to grind
a chip of one of the teeth,
and gently playing with a candle...
until the rose started to
turn purple,
    from its deep centered
  burgundy.

life...
            i'm seriously past
making a theological debate,
or an atheistic counter argument...
as if there's a god,
and he's a pervert...
   an existential ******...
i don't think that's how it works...
the simplest answer,
is that of an atheist,
who takes the worst
of man, and ascribes
it to a god entity... which is...
                                          alien;
as kant prescribed...
working from all the phenomena
that can be explained...
if there's only one god,
"it" is a noumenon...
                                    a per se...

i pray i can leave this place,
knowing less,
than what i arrived here with,
demanded to know more
and more, and some more...
          ****...
lapsing into a bed,
that seemingly perpetual
placebo of sleep,
   death,
                      it's no more
a haunting presence,
than having to spar
a friendship with nothing more,
than your own shadow...

            brief human interactions
will justify
   this lapse of making
      sound scrutiny of
"friendships";
   how else, to find a rare
variant of happiness...
        when stating
                              a grievance?

the toll: of the awaiting fact
of one's own mortality,
death is no more a worry
than the mortal fact -

death-locker...
    as much an original sin,
as the unoriginality
of the concept of free will...
individuation...
           then yeah...
the "original" sin is a misnomer
for the casual sprechen
of plagiarism;
but humans will not deviate
from the temptation,
of imitating others,
i guess... its a paradox...
of being indoctrinated
into a brief interlude of pedagogy.

Hope Less says to Merri Way that Frank Ly has been on her mind ever since Dana Point hooked up with Tim Id. Bea Serious, overhearing this, scoffs noting that Hy Perbole has been dissuaded from this notion.
          Enter Cliff Hanger, Adam Ant and Murray Hill who were hiding from Colin Oscocopy and Ty Lenol also following the same rumor, but they are shushed by Roman A. Clef who says he knows the real story.
          This occurs at the church social organized by Dawn Patrol. Bill Collector and Donny Brook watch from the periphery. Then comes the shouting: April Fools, Chuck Wagon, Moe Mentum and Ruth Less get into politics: it is a no-win situation. Fortunately, Benedict Ion, with the cunning Bob Cat is able to calm the situation.
          Di Alysis, new to town, chats up Peg Leg and Al Gorhythym, laughing about the antics of ***** Nilly and 2 Dollar Bill but Luke Warm is iffy about what he views.
         Rock Bottom, that sad sack, tries his luck with Miss Matched, getting nowhere and is unhappy to see Ray O’Sunshine barge into the conversation as he orders Mart Ini to join in with Lazy Susan.
         Uh oh, here comes ****** Mary with Mel N. Choley who has the nerve to tell Pete Moss he smells.
         Terri Yaki sits with Will Power who, dieting, will not eat. They sit at the same table as Rich N Glamorous, Patty Melt and Miss Quoted.
         Here’s where it gets weird --- Ben E Fit cannot get away from Polly Amorous who pursues him relentlessly while he tries to put moves on the audacious Bo Dacious.
         Hugh Tensils and the aptly named Nick Named joyously interact with Deb It and Dad Nabit, narrowly escaping a falling chandelier which is prevented from harming anyone by Nick O’Time, who is always in the right place at the right time.
         Ty ****, known for being parsimonious hangs with Corporal Punishment, an unwelcome party crasher
          Ray Gun seeks out Phil Anderer to ask about the latest concoction of his pal Al Chemy, learning that he been experimenting with Joy Ride, Long John and Phil Istine.
          Justice Delayed and Justice Denied sit at separate tables refusing to interact with each other.

The sun's back out, smiling like it knows something we don’t,  
no clouds to crowd its face,  
as if it’s finally done with yesterday’s storm  
and is ready to show off a little.  
I stand there, gazing up like a kid  
seeing the sky for the first time.  
The grass is waving, happy to be here,  
and the trees—good grief—are downright dancing,  
with birds singing along like a chorus  
that has no idea how good they sound.  
It’s like a time machine in the air,  
taking me back to those days  
when I ran through fields of grass  
as if the world could never end.  
I remember climbing trees with my best friends—  
our laughter, the only music we needed.  
Everything felt permanent then,  
as if joy lived in every pocket of the universe,  
just waiting to slip out.  
But, of course, time,  
the ultimate party crasher,  
came along, as it always does.  
And yet, isn’t it strange how  
those days still manage to sneak in?  
The memories sit there,  
like old photographs in a drawer,  
always ready to make my heart laugh  
when I pull them out.  
So, yeah, it’s not so bad,  
growing up,  
not when the past still gives me a wink  
now and then.