you’ll find
someone
who’s ****
****
and who’s
hair doesn’t
get
in the
way
maybe
she’ll play
drums as well
or
maybe not

someone
who won’t
have
an ugly
laugh
bigger ****
nicer
eyes
lips
maybe she
will
be easier to
talk to
better
to
kiss
provide company
to your cigarette
maybe she’ll
understand
you
the way I
do
but if
she won’t
then at least
she’ll have a
nicer
****

“Love: an emotion, one that, so low as to bar
From fair desire—self-righteous and self-serving
Excuse, a pretense, lyric, will not inspire.”
I detest to hear him speak—
Adulterer, why, pray tell, do you prey upon the weak?
“Simple in answer, as simple in method. No heart
Rich needs to beat for “that” emotion obsoletes.
Adults, mature, do not even think the distinction
That is kid’s table morality, what mommy
Only says after a few drinks, winking, your father
In his eyes—just where you have come, in fact—
You needn’t think mommy and daddy stayed together
After long spats, strife, and frustration for their waves
Struck the same height or the moon hits mom just right.
It is not the eternal enthrallment of Eros that keeps them in motion
Dear, friend—it is “that” emotion. In bed, hearts
Are inverted and split down the middle
The negative just drowns away in chemicals.
But how bad we’d feel, (no?) if that, the long and short?
Machinate the “thing” justify “that” feeling
Ennobling, beatifying, kindling for sonnets and odes
Fashioning morality and aesthetics onto sweating
Thrusting beasts, one on one in their dance of love.
A harlequin of truth, my friend! When it is found
In contraception, safeguarding our natural predilection.
Ha! Oh, fools! Why trouble with the rituals
When, really, ****** collocations concern capricious
Chronologies and covetous craving for **** and ****.
How ******! How crude! But, oh, but oh how true; think:
Admit the urge has primacy, the “L” emerges and
Lies emitted: of connection, intelligence, intersubjectivity.
Given its stage of farce and face, our sieves are at
Ageful capacity and then needs a bargain, more;
The office of “thing” goes unoccupied, its twin
Will gladly keep it clean and orderly, act
As it did: gentle and cordially.”
Blast it! Such ways in truth and walk, for
Repetition in faith of life
Pegs my myths with all their strife,
Strife and succor irony.

Next to me, you're tiny
so small
Compared with me? weak,
you're just a doll

But you need affection
I just want the best for you
Bad at detection (you are)
But you're good at what you do

Let's just...
Take this off so daddy can see what's there
Oh you're uncomfortable?
Well, life isn't fair.
And baby, please
I can't feel a thing
So let's just lose
This rubber thing

Don't say no
It's not polite
I won you fair
In that barfight
You're mine now
Skin, bone, and all
So open up now
You're taking the fall

(So weak, so small...)

I am not getting what I want
Persistent I will be until attainment
Come on baby, please don't be a ****
Now cry a little now for my entertainment

Bile grips the gasps of every self-centered ****
They spill the tar out of their hearts onto ****** pavement
Lifeless limbs descend hollowed rooms, to linger over dust
The passing passions left to die in fake laughs

Perhaps an introduction is in order.

We are fields of graves, bone-dust lying soft beneath the earth, footnotes in the annals of history. We are housewives, warriors, mothers, witches, healers, poets, inventors, philosophers, seekers, servants, royalty. We are young and old and middle-aged. We are the line of relentless faces in front of The White House lawn, the chaffed, frozen fingers gripping banners of purple and gold. We are wombs that hemorrhaged from the unforgiving wire of coat hangers. We are the tender and unbreakable who raised generations under the weight of our ***.  

We are legend. We are life-source. We are women.

In any case, we have something to tell you, our daughters, who are so defeated you can barely find a reason to go on. Listen.

You come from the guts of the Universe and are equipped with more power than our society knows what to do with. From cradle to coffin, you face a world which tries to snap you in two at every chance. You are branded with labels as soon as you’re old enough to attract attention. You are *****, ****, *****, ****; weak, silly, inferior, dim, useless. You are good for your body and if your body is not good enough—if your hips are too wide for **** and your ******* too small for beautiful and your hair to rough to be desirable—you aren’t worth anything.

Each time you turn on the television or computer or step outside your home, you are assaulted by what you should be, told to go to war with your sense of self. You’re something always in need of fixing and this only intensifies with time. You are naturally unclean, too wild for your own good. Men won’t touch you unless you are smooth, supple, and hairless—practically childlike. They shudder at any mention of the monthly blood flow between your legs and the way your abdomen clenches and aches, proof that you can create life.

Your most base rights and liberties are still (God, still) the source of violent political warfare, because Human does not apply to Female. You are ***** in billions of ways, stripped and stripped of your dignity, your power, and those sweet stars in your eyes. You stand in the center of a great mob, and their spears are all pointing at you.

We burn for you, are enraged to the point of combustion. We’ll never forget what it was like to be in your place. The memory of such oppression will always be imprinted within us, reverberating long after death. Our softest, deepest apologies are with you, as is our softest, deepest admiration. We hope you can feel it.

We hope you’ll put down your despair for a moment, listen to your heart drumming away, and remind yourself that your subordinance is man-made. You are crafted of the same atoms as Eve and Joan of Arc and Cleopatra, your strength is infinite. You are pure helium, rising, reviving and resurrecting, again and again, on and on.

Lift your chin, raise your eyes, and breathe from the root of your being. Don’t be frightened; we are with you. The fight goes on.

You're dead now
****** overdose
But if you were alive
I wouldn't call
You were terrible
Calling me "****" all the time
Beating me up
If there's a Mother's Day
Category
For worst of all time
I'd nominate you
And you'd win

You cheating *******
You are lower than low
You make me want to *****
Go be with that ***** **

Your **** is the alpha dog
And your hearts on a leash
Go stick it between her filthy legs
You lying ******* cheat

You thought you were sly
But you must've just been ****** high
To think that your infidelity would just slip by

She's not a success
She's not a strong woman
She's a mistress, a ****, a ***** and a *****
Family wrecker, ****, I could name a lot more

So go let your **** lead you
Its small so be careful
Your gross ***** hair
That ****, she'll get a mouthful.

My heart feels like an uncut diamond
Though it is still the same, it is not the same
Someone speaks of a bridge to be built from Tangier
to Algeciras or is it Gibraltar?
"Yes & then a highway to the stars or more likely
an elevator to the Underworld," says Yellow Turban
To White Jellaba as the exhaust fumes from the bus
engulf them, leaving behind not even a single
shadow.
Is that Mel Clay in a white jacket turning the corner?
No, it is a figment of my imagination escaped from the
asylum.
Is that Ian Sommerville walking backwards up the street
as if pulled by a giant magnet?
No, that is Wm. Burroughs making electricity
from dead cats.
Is that Tatiana glistening on Maxiton?
No, that is the sun dancing in the sugar bowl.
Is that Marc Schelfer wavering on the cliffedge?
No, it is a promontory in the wind of time
about to fall in the sea.
Is that Beethoven's 9th Symphony being played
up the street?
No, it is the sound of the breadwagons
rumbling over cobblestones
Is that George Andrews with two girls in hand
looking for bread?
No, it is an unidentified flying object about to land.
Is that One-eyed Mose hanging by his heels?
No, that is the hanged man inventing the Taro.
Are the dead really so fascinated by *******?
Yes, that is how they travel.
Is that Irving in short pants looking for trouble?
No, that's me unable to stop thinking.
Is that Kenneth Halliwell looking for Joe Orton?
Is that Jane Bowles looking for Sherifa, Rosalind looking
for her baby, Alfred searching for his lost hair?
Is that the wig of it all, the patched robe of my brain,
the wind talking to itself?
Brion is dead and Yacoubi is dead, and I am a not unhappy
ghost remembering everything, the warp & woof of memories,
her yellow slip, her shaved ****, her idiot child.
Dream shuttle makes me exist everywhere at once.
The blind beggars led by children keep coming.
"They all have many houses in the Casbah,"
chant the unbelievers ******* on sugar.
Words keep coming back like Bezezel for ****, Lictcheen
for oranges, like Mina, like Fatima, like Driss Berrada
dropping his trousers for an injection in the middle
of his shop.
The trunk is full of old sepia postcards,
barebreasted girls smoking hookahs etcetera.
We speak of the cataplana, the mist which obscures
even the cielo you cannot even see the hand in front
of your face.
We embrace, he says he thought of me only yesterday,
he says there are always nine such men who look like us
in the world and that we are the tenth.
We speak of the gold filets in the sky over Moulay Absalom.
The garbage men in rubber boots go thru the Socco pushing
wheeled drums of collected garbage.
An unveiled woman wobbles out of a taxi and heads home
before sunrise.
Paul couldn’t believe that was a Karma Street,
but I will never forget it.
And Billy Batman, who made the best hash in the world,
he dropped a loaded pistol in Kabul, shot himself in the *****,
took some ****** and lay down to die.
Now I must get up from my table in the allnight Café Central.
No more Dr. Nadal, no more window with red crosses & red
crescents.
The water thrown from buckets runs across the café floors
& over the sidewalks & I drop a dirham into the hand
of a blind beggar singing in the dark on the American stairs


From Anais Nin’s A Spy in the House of Love—"The women wear fireflies in their hair, but the fireflies stop shining when they go to sleep so now and then the women had to rub the fire- flies to keep them awake."

I’m looking at your mouth
you’re looking at me,
my fingers curled around the blunt your plug has graded as a “pearl”
we’re passing notes with her eyes and
you’re playing it cool, that is until your eyebrows give you away – springing up towards your skull.
I find an excuse to say “****”
so you’re thinking of mine as I push wet fruit between my lips, still hot from the smoldering
I sense the very moment everyone else in the room catches onto our game.
lowering my gaze as a hit goes straight to my face
the smoke clears
my fingers linger
dangling the roach over your water glass
I let it fall
Ash hisses as if to whisper
“it’sss cassshh.”

(There’s something that I keep in my pocket, a piece of dental floss, flavourless now, chewed to a white nothing by my own mouth to wring out every strand of his DNA, but now it just tastes of me and nothing else.)

My sister was wearing a black dress made of crepe. I remember it so well, the way it scrunched up in my fingers like paper, my knuckles juxtaposed against the colour, white with tension, against a bottomless backdrop of black. I held onto that dress like a terrified child. For that moment, it was the only thing that existed for me.

gotta sit here, gotta stay, gotta sit here.

(Memories of bumblebees with their innards hanging out,
“make it start mama, make it start!” it’s a common reaction amongst children so I’m told.)

I did not feel his soul sliding past me. I didn’t feel a thing, not a single thing.
Is it the same as turning off a TV? Energy dispersing into the ether? A kettle boiling, bubbles stilling? How can he have just…stopped?

He stopped.

I have felt many things in my life. The whole spectrum, from dizzing highs to drug doped ecstasies, suicidal jaunts to white-edged nothingnesses. But I had never felt abandoned before. Not truly, sincerely, abandoned. Marooned. Bitter. Desperately bitter. Terribly, terribly frightened and deeply alone.

There’s nothing like the smell of flowers to jolt the senses.

I let go of my sister’s dress and walked – not ran -  but walked out into the daylight.
I remember that I had my head held high - I could have just been going for a smoke, going to make a phone call, going to check that the sky was still up in the air and not down on the floor like a carpet of bluebells , but when I reached the door of the church I started to run.
I ran right in front of cars – **** it! – across the road to a half deserted carpark, winding through the cars like a ******, and slunk down to the floor in front of a parked white van. I thumped my head against the cool metal of the bumper and started to shake. I remember my body feeling somehow too big and too small all at once, I remember laughing at one point because it seemed like the right thing to do. My shaved head hit my knees with a thwack.
I’m not here, I’m not real, I’m a black and white thing, I’m just a black and white thing...
But I was real, and there was no escaping it. All of it was real. The carpark was real. The flowers were real. The only thing that was not real was the thing that mattered the most.
“You ****.”
I got up. I started to kick the van, kick the wall behind me, and kick the air.
You read about it in stories and you see it in films, people losing their marbles and hitting out, heroically bleeding from the knuckles, stinging, saying ‘ah, ah.’ None of that happened for me. I hit so hard I thought I’d broken my hand, but my bones are ******* stubborn. The world is ******* stubborn. My mouth felt like it was bleeding, but it was just laced in a cobweb of spit.
“You ****! You ****! You ****!”
I took off my suit jacket and draped it over my head, pulling it tight; a black ghost in a carpark in the countryside.
I felt an arm wind its way around my waist, and the rustle of crepe.
I sobbed up my grief like catarrh, the lining of my jacket wet with spit and the inevitable chawing tempest of tears that caved in my stomach like a perfect punch.
“I’m losing my mind.”
My sister grabbed onto my hand and squeezed, hard.
“No you’re not, Arthur.” She said to me, with certainty.
“No you’re not.”

captured in the psych ward

how to reform an evil hooligan



you see harry bernstine is a hooligan who is always mucking around

trying to kidnap people from their family units and send them down

deep in his dungeon below his house, and harry is best known to destroy

human lives, so much in fact, he was risking going to gaol, and pumped

full of drugs, so it wouldn’t happen very much into the future, the police say

that harry is a rotten hooligan, and isn’t mentally ill, and should be locked away

to rot in a prison cell, but ron wanted to reform harry in his HDU, and placed on medication

and he took this the board and the they argued that harry was a dangerous criminal

and the mentally ill, need protection from him, and besides which harry refuses to admit

he is mental, even if by saying he is mental, could reduce his sentence, ron said, there

is nothing wrong with admitting you have a mentally ill, there are a lot of famous people who have

a mental illness.and harry said, ‘good for them’, i am not mentally ill, i am a dangerous hooligan

who is taking revenge on the world, and if anyone like you, gets in my way, i will blow you down, to next week, ok

and ron laughed and said, ‘what from’ from in here, you must be joking and harry said, yeah, i will be nice

to everyone and take my medication, but the second you let me out, i will turn back into a hooligan again, ok

so, ron, stop your little do gooder attitude, it doesn’t work for me, and ron gave harry a shot of ****** to settle him

down and harry fell asleep and ron walked away worried that harry was just stringing them along and the nurses told

ron, to pay no attention to him, he is just a ,man with a lot of problems and ron said, we need to make sure we give him his medication

because i still think we can reform this guy.  ron gave out the dinners and harry hated his and yelled for 15 minutes and

then ron gave the evening medication including harry’s and clocked off, and retired to his couch and had leftovers

and fell asleep in from of the box.

the next morning, ron went to his usual cafe for breakfast and coffee, and when ron arrived at the HDU, he saw harry

was yelling at the nurses for 5 hours straight, saying, i can never be reformed, you see i am a hooligan who is taking

revenge on these mental health nurses and ron got a valiumj and harry said, don’t poison me with your lethal dose of nice pills

you see, i want to rob a few banks and kidnap many people especially children, yeah, i will have you quacks really concerned

because dudes, nobody helped my brother, you see my brother was shot in broad daylight, by some supposingly law abiding cop

and that nice pill, killed my brother, and it will **** me if your not careful, so stop trying to fix me up like your car, and leave me

the **** alone, ok, and ron couldn’t help trying to know more about his brother, and harry said, none of your business, so get out

of my face ya fucken dogooder and ron went back to his office to figure out a way to help harry, and  learn what illness he has got.

ron said, maybe harry has terretz syndrome, you see his good one minute and bad the other, but when ron was going to ask harry

about it, harry said, mate, it really is none of your business, and then said, mate, i told you i was a hooligan who doesn’t want to be reformed

and ron said, why don’t you want me to help, because we are treating you well here, as opposed to the prison where you are treated

like an animal, do you really want that, harry said, not if i don’t get caught.

ron said, mate, you have been caught, and it’s here being reformed to be a person, or gaol where you are treated like an animal, ok.

harry said, i told you my plan, i’ll be good and take my medication and eventually you let me out, so i can do it again, ok.

and ron said, yeah, and you will end up in here bypassing here and be placed in gaol, to be treated like an animal, would you

like that ands harry said, i got caught this time and you won’t5 get me the next time, i will be devious and cunning, and ron said

take your pick, but ya know if you keep talking like this, there will be no next time for you, because you will be confined to your room

for weeks and maybe years, ok, and this got harry angry, saying how then **** is that supposed to help me, ya fucken little **** and

ron said i was merely stating a fact putting it in black and whigte for you, and then walked away to get the lunches ready for the HDU,

and as he brought it out, charlie chaplin asked, how is our hardened criminal going and ron said, don’t worry about him and then harry

walked out and put his fist right up to charlie’s head and said, if you don’t watch out, i will do a HDU ******, oh blimie charlie and then harry said

i hated you in those silent movies anyway, and ron said to harry, that is enough, and harry asked why can’t they have sharp knives here

so he can **** charlie chaplin, and ron did the gullible man thing by dashing, harry, sharp knives are a no no in here.

then lunch was cleared away, ready for the afternoon activities to begin, and harry went back to his room, and asked ron he doesn’t want to

be interrupted till dinner, and ron said ok, but we have to check up on you, but if you are asleep, we won’t wake you.

then at 4 in the afternoon, harry woke up and started to yell and scream at the nurses because they didn’t give him an alcoholic beverage

and the nurses held him down, so ron can give him another shot of ****** to calm him down, but harry didn’t want to be calmed down, he wants

to **** the nurses, because they won’t help me, and then harry yelled out, it’s a fucken hospital for ***** sake, and ron said, life is a ***** isn’t it.

then after 1 hour of a great sleep, it was dinner, and harry walked out calmly to eat his dinner which he hated, but the ****** was still calming him to

stop his ability to yell, then harry relaxed after tea in the TV room, and when the ****** wore off, he started to yell and was dragged kicking and screaming

to his room, ron got the evening medications ready, and did his rounds, and when he came to harry’s room, harry was naked and said, you gave me

another nice pill so i can be nice at dinner, hey, ****, and that isn’t on. i will track you down, the second i get out of here and **** you right in front of your best mates

like i was being locked away from my best mates, ron slowly calmed him down and gave him his medication, and locked harry in, walked away told the nurses

to keep him under suicide watch, and clocked off, and bought a pizza hut pizza and went home to watch TV and fall asleep on the couch and thinking about ways to reform

harry from the evils that lay around him, it won’t be easy, i tell ya.

I am woman
But I am not
Where there should be flower
there's **** and rot
I should be girl
So that you can nut
I should serve you ***** but never ****
I should be smaller
I shouldn't be louder
I should nibble and never devour
I should be young
I should do that forever
I should be stupid so you can be clever
I should *******
But I should be pure
I shouldn't **** him though
that makes me a *****
I should be bald from the neck down
I shouldn't call you when I break down
I should be nice
I should be meek
I shouldn't cry and I shouldn't leak
I shouldn't scream
I shouldn't hiss
I should not explain why I still flinch
I should whisper
I shouldn't joke
Like every girl I should like being choked
I should be by design
I should be like a doll
I should know how to curl up in a ball

I was jailbreaking
almost out
until my uniform snagged
on the barbed wire of the fence
I hung there limply
until I could
be taken down
the officer
was hinting
I’d be going
to the hospital
when a trash truck
passed by
and I pointed to say
that’s what
should take me
away
the police officers
kept me
in the car
too long
in the heat
until I started yelling
you wouldn’t leave a dog
in a hot car
with the windows up
why treat me
like less
is it because I said
I was trash
or because you agree
my first ride in a cop car
felt like it wouldn’t be my last
the seats were slippery slopes
I was tumbling down
when I had found a way
to lounge back there
with handcuffs on
I told the officer
that guy’s looking at me
and laughing
the cop looked over
looked back and said
now that’s who you would
call a ****
his temple bubbled with
as many fluid ounces of sweat
as my eyes cried
for my first ride
in a cop car
for calling my mom
a ****
for digging my nails
into my arm
when she hit me
and made me remember
she used to hit me
but told me
to forget
I told a dozen people
I did not want to **** myself
until the words became chalk
on the black asphalt of my mind
my fingers were so *****
from coloring inside
the lines of the lies
while I sat on a hospital gurney
with a security guard
who told me
I couldn't be alone
in the hospital bathroom
when the police
brought me
in like this
I couldn’t wash
any of this away

I fell in love with half of you
The half i knew
The one you showed to select few
(Typically the girls you wanted to swoon)
And i loved you
So full of yourself, untouchable
Desirable
The ****** begging to be tainted
Begging for me to be the one to take it
(So i did)
And i loved you.
But the second half you hid well
And only now do i find
I wasn't the only girl
Who had come to your mind
(I wonder if they still do from time to time)
I still love you
Even if your second half's a ****

I guess you didn’t know
That I have a lost and uncomfortable soul.
She screams and shouts to overcome the pain
But without uttering a word because fear is in reign.

Is it all in my head?
Another discerning dread that she feared and left unsaid.

How did I get here?
This black funnel and clouded sphere have her trapped inside with no hope to adhere.

Like an impending doom forever encompassing everything she’d once dreamed
All the things that used to be will now never be—at least that’s how it seems.

Not knowing what to feel or how to bestow her love
All hope for that was ruined with the very first shove.

How does one proclaim the truths of their heart?
If everything they’ve ever loved always seems to get ripped apart?
Forever afraid of the what-ifs and of the worst
All because of that stupid ******* **** who immersed.

Thrusting all of her hopes and dreams into the chasm of perception
What used to make sense has now seemed to be blackened.
Happiness used to prevail inevitably, or it at least seemed attainable
But can now only be hastily found with the help of an Rx bottle.

From afar her eyes sparkle and shine like the rarest of diamonds
Cerulean blue like the water surrounding the tropical islands.
If she refuses to let you in, you’d never believe she was so sad
But even the waters of paradise conceal desolate bad.

He’s sent her on a spiraling staircase slowly down to hell
Forced to suffer one small step at a time, while he upwardly propels.

I guess you didn’t know
That I had a story to tell.

I guess you didn’t know
That my soul is not well.

I guess you didn’t know
That I have been enduring hell.

I guess you didn’t know
Because I’m trapped in a distorted and torturous shell
Desperate to find the one who holds the key to unchain me & cast away this spell.

Another dream
of the other me being
a super ****
-jellyfish hand
floating unt
ut up-

Hatred for
started strategized
conversations-
conversion converted
conviently ate up,
satiated and satisfied

i bled it and let it out of myself
wrote it and said it to be put on a shelf
now it's blazin' hot, these words are warming

why does it light my heart ablaze
like the fire in this pit.?
wish i had the answers, but i haven't thought of 'em yet.
------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­----------------
there's just too much to say
and not enough time in the day
night falls long, in her shadow i'll stay

it's just another four-letter word
that i can't get off of my tongue.
it's just another hopeless condition,
a bell to be un-rung.
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­--------------------
heart felt lines from a paperless book
notes were made over feelings shook
ripped and burned, but never really understood...

how can a word make such a phrase
express the feelings i'm missin'..?
i'm still here holding my pen, guess i haven't learned my lessons.
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­--------------------
there's just too much to say
and not enough time in the day
night falls long, in her shadow i'll pray

it's just another four-letter word
that i can't get off of my tongue.
just another four-letter word ,
like "**** - **** - **** - or ****"