The tightrope expires
And the skyscraper hollows out.
This hate is vicious and repeated,
Repeated; repeated on the news reel,
And in a Hollywood romance.

We’re skipping generations
Through faded vinyl sound
Of dust mite and crack;
I’m folding digits over chords,
Extinguishing lovers
By turning them to songs.

Oh, reality convenes, convenes
On the mind, and on the consciousness
Of fact. Don’t steal my job,
Don’t **** my land,
And never fall asleep
Under the sun.

There is poetry to mathematics,
Scaling the harmonics of the sound,
Some universal language;
Some bottled message to our brothers
Who are looking back at us
From the distance of the stars.

And, terror is called from every side,
Until we’re terrified to eat or breathe,
In the tremor of a terror
That can never come to be.

The tightrope fell down with the buildings,
But its idea, it still lives on.
We could be on the precipice of better times,
Or under the shadow of a nuclear bomb.

And, you left me all alone,
left in such a silence that
I could't even believe you are about to leave.

You left an undefined scar in my soul and
my teardrops enchanted those memories we shared together
and laughed over them hours.

You went away in such silence
that all I could do is just NOTHING
but hearing you to mourn in such dogma.

Tears just drop by my cheeks and I just
wish you to come down and tell me,
              "I am here, my darling,
               Don't you worry child....
               I can't ever leave you alone."

They said, life isn't fair, life is never trustworthy.
Now I see an feel that hard every night.
I never felt that I can't hear your voice anymore anytime sooner or later.

It all comes and goes....
what matters is the in-between time
you spend together by thick and thin holding on to each other.

You were lying on the bed when
I last saw you and there also you were fighting
to get over that period.

Remember? We laughed there too when you said
you had 26 milk pies and I strictly said,
"Get well soon Dadu. After you go home you will be having curd-rice and "Khichudi".
..... And God never wanted that to happen maybe.
After that you couldn't go back home,
you left this virtual world that very night after suffering so profusely.

You were 72 and I was 22;
but we never bothered about this algorithm.

There were healthy talks over he sunsets, over the pages of my sketchbooks.
You were my biggest inspiration and critique for every work; cause you
always questioned their existence and morality.
You always chanted honesty throughout your life and give me
strength, so that I can follow your path.

One day, you will be a proud grandfather who will be seeing my works getting recognised all around the world and then we will laugh together...

Me, from the terrace and
You, from that sky.

Come soon,
come in a disguise,
come as my soulmate,
come as my midnight friend.....
....... but come back, please.
because Payel misses your presence and laughter.

I will weep and bawl on my bed some nights,
knowing I can't see you anytime ever.

That heart-wrenching pain and undefined scar in my lotus-heart will bloom someday with your desired presence in my success and failure both....    I believe so.

I believe in you,
I believe in us.
Because, God snatched one of my biggest possession without even asking for it.
You have to come back.....
... and you will.

To those talks and platonic love,
you are being missed Dadu.

I wish, I had some digits to call you up just to ask,
if they are providing you with some spicy food or not.

LIVE FOREVER.
YOUNG HEART N SOUL.

yet another year zero
reinventing the squeaky wheel
constrained writing just for kicks
reviving a tragic hero
tabula rasa and leaky spiel
trained for fighting prickly ******
hollowing future and reticulating splines
swallowing nature then duplicating rhymes
only a blank drawing
at a bank withdrawing
funds splashing down like acid rain
workers trashing town with great disdain
fluxing bureaucracy
with ad hoc hypocrisy
go country for old zen
and then
shot glass shopping sprees
statues with haunting verdigris
from target to target
the stupid (never forget)
airport shuttles and toxic puddles
epic riddles while popping bottles
thrusting bodies and a fruity box
alternating current and topic drift
trusting hotties with shuttlecocks
baiting adherent with basic *****
eating that dog in a bar by the ditch
bar all rowdy with many shots taken
beer hall drowsy as closing time looms
far too loudly with identity mistaken
the band had us frankly and amply forsaken
awakening in a ditch as the a-bomb booms
a thousand soldiers ready for battle
at town's end with less depleted morals
worried about the deleted portals
we buried hell well without the cattle
no more long weeks of slicing ****** meat
origins about which they should not care
oh to sell knockoffs to the rich elite
hear their yells and use an odd nom de guerre
the profit and the revenue forecast
**** on the new road
the prophet and the parvenue act fast
pill for the wet load
he had dropped the load leaving pungent smells
in the dark it glowed and lit the deep wells
launching a rocket every four hours
we encounter yet more perplexing times
measuring success with fewer metrics
punching the clocks in tall black towers
changing the locks and the warning signs
altering quarters with newer ethics
cannibals watched while we profusely bled
fine forget it forget it forget it
ingest the capsule to induce the sweat
just relieve don't botch
figure figure figure
don't bereave think scotch
ticker ticker ticker
sounded like it came from someone shady
getting beat to end with some other blend
year to date murders now about eighty
yet today's statistics lie and pretend
fudging the digits to fake the assent
so what happened last week stays in last week
all of those painful jarring sights and sounds
making it all seem to look rather bleak
kept sly with pennies and kept shrewd with pounds
on alibaba we will not delete
separated heads from dark desert towns
metropolis with millions of dark souls
lighting up papers for a rapid trip
necropolis with brilliant harkening trolls
fighting the power in order to strip
their medals that they never earned at all
writing this line here and ******* the fall
straightforward message from a plain green rod
a photographer in obscure disguise
throw him into the main canal and nod
the coffee shop looks banal with just guys
losing interest quick and wanting to dip
touching that shiny pink wide-open clip
unknown underground studded with diamonds
mind-blowing trap sounds burst from the caliph
volume gets higher and heads start to ring
they came in sequence and then came silence
waking up confused in a condo lift
taking refuge in an ugly building
just invited myself into your home timeline
somewhat sublime reciting trifling rhymes
alter rhyming scheme to eschew couplets
now fully mobile and automatic
pentameter schemes and android tablets
tents and suburbs that look quite nomadic
recruited minions for the rebellions
human microphones sans inhibitions
quicken resistance to the man's big plan
invoking the crowd to buck traditions
spell that with an accent with great élan
broken mobile phone texting hexagram
a rapid drop in communication
a postal service mailing vexing spam
token for transit lost at the station
we can no longer go back to the farm
here in the city living these last days
sounding the airhorn and the fire alarm
seahorses as fish and whales as mammals
hard to keep track here of various things
went to the desert and smoked some camels
patient zero died sounding the alert
some will paint dark scenes with exigent themes
paintings so dire that your eyes avert
inverse distance decay in the network
old flags questing through the flood and tumult
of course these rhymes make them go **** berserk
losing sight of sites that house the occult
refusing to eat and wanting to drink
these words resonate with all those who think
utopia fell soon after completion
never understood humanity well
rationality ends with deletion
all the fine stuff just goes to *******
humans emitting alienating vibes
they form foul cliques like pups from putrid tribes
three ships all wrecked up in some unknown land
divulging harsh things and eating raw food
far too many times getting shunned and booed
had all my writings fully blocked and banned
still no dumb luck yet after x decades
recalled old friendships that have long decayed
more constrained writing that will make them groan
some will even see the trail left behind
writing all of this mostly in e-prime
punctuation-free zone made just for fun
lighting dark alleys with a mobile phone
some get all the love while others get none
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch
glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch
kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch
stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch
twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch
yesterday's blunt stunt went to the gutter
no regrets no threats no whatever man
just like autechre and that song flutter
forget the police just rave on til dawn
**** how darkness has lasted this **** long
ominous songs here still pumping along
exponential sneers and the obscene scene
existential fears lit up with benzine
socially-accepted narcissism
honest thoughts here treated with cynicism
forget all -isms / go back to the scheme
spending days like these sniffing naphthalene
won't dwank to the masses or kiss *****
temperamental peers can go live that myth
experimental stage done and over with
(pause)
*
* *
*
✝ gone to a higher place ✝

Regret. The act of doing something and feeling remorse later on; the act of wanting to take something back; the act of wishing something didn’t happen. I regret ever making the joke that when my sister and I fought; it was like World War 3. I regret not telling my brother how much he meant to me and how proud I was that he was serving our country. I regret falling in love with a man that would be forced to go into the military.

Ayden received the letter in the mail two weeks ago, informing him that he would be expected to be at the airport, to involuntarily serve our country. Something bad was going to happen. Something no one was prepared for. We were only eighteen, just seniors in high school since our birthdays took place in the summer. We had been dating one year. The thought of him going half way around the world to fight in a war that came out of nowhere, scared me half to death. It wasn’t just the fact that I was losing my boyfriend who I was incredibly in love with; It was the fact that all in one day, I would be losing my boyfriend, and my best friend. No one to share my secrets with, no one to wrap me in his arms and tell me that everything was going to be okay. Just like he had done the night before when he had finally worked up the courage to tell me what had happened. My jaw hit the floor, my eyes watered up, and I may or may not have started trembling. We had been sitting on the couch when he squeezed my hand a little tighter.

“I have to tell you something.” He said.

I turned toward him with a smile on my face, which quickly faded when I saw that his own eyes had started to tear up.

“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.

“In a week, I won’t see you. I don’t know for how long, I don’t know when I’ll be back.” He started to explain.

“Where are you going?” I asked impatiently.

“I don’t know.”

“You have to know.”

“There’s going to be a war.” He said. “A big one.” He whispered.

“There was a draft?”

He nodded his head slightly.

“When did you find out?” I asked.

“About a week ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how?” I whispered.

“Ava. This hurts more than if I was breaking up with you.” He said. “I’ve wanted to tell you. I have. But I didn’t know how. How do you tell someone you’re completely in love with, that you’re going off to fight in a war? That you don’t know if you’ll be coming back?”

“You certainly don’t hide it from that person.” I whispered.

“I might not be coming back.”

“Don’t say that.” I interrupted. “Don’t ever say that again.”

I let a few tears slip down the side of my cheek. He raised his hand to my face and slowly swiped them away with his thumb. He pulled me closer into his arms and kissed my forehead.

“I love you.” He whispered into my ear.

“I love you too.” I said.

Those were the last words we said to each other a week later while standing in the airport. His parents were there too .He had already hugged them and his dad had ushered his mom out to the parking lot in order to keep her from having a panic attack. Ayden and I had stood there awkwardly for a few minutes. After all, what do you say to someone when there’s a possibility you might not ever see them again? That had been when he out of nowhere grabbed me and pulled me against his chest. Wrapping me tightly in his arms, I buried my nose into the sleeve of his jacket and savored the sweet scent of his cologne.

I stood in the window of the airport, watching planes take off after he had given me a final hug and had left to board the plane. Already, I felt like I had something missing from me. Like there was a big hole in my heart. I felt empty. After some time, I decided I should probably go home.

I didn’t cry myself to sleep last night like I thought I would’ve. Instead, I just lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling, not knowing what to think. Tomorrow would be so much different than all my other days at school. No one to hold my hand while walking down the hallway, no one to go out to lunch with, and no one to look forward to so bright and early in the morning. After what seemed like forever, I drifted off to sleep, images of Ayden appearing in my dreams.

The sound of my alarm clock woke me in the morning. And all at once, it hit me, everything that I had been thinking of before drifting off to sleep the night before. Everything that had happened yesterday hadn’t been just a dream. It had been reality and it was finally starting to set in. I threw the covers off of me and started my day like any other, minus the ‘good morning beautiful’ text that I had been so used to receiving.

When I was finally ready for school, I grabbed my keys and headed out the door. The weather fit my mood perfectly. Cloudy, dark, damp, awful weather. Unlike most days that usually occurred here in California. I was used to the sun, the nice warm breeze, not this ‘Seattle like’ weather. Driving to school, I wasn’t sure if the raindrops falling on my windshield made it blurry to see, or if it was my own tears welling up in my eyes. I pretended for it to be the first option, all the while knowing it was the second. Staying strong had been one of my traits. When things got tough, I wasn’t one to run from my problems. No, I faced those dead on. Mom always said I got that from Dad.

It’d been a long time since I’d last thought about him. He was tall, strong, and stubborn. He died serving our country. Maybe that’s what scared me most about Ayden having to go fight. I’d experience death through the military too many times in my book. My grandpa had served our country and had also died in military combat, then Dad. Maybe, it was just my family. Luck just didn’t play on our side. When my brother was finally old enough to join, he surprised us all at dinner one night.

“Have you thought anymore about that business degree you want to get?” Mom had asked.

“Well, yeah. Actually, no. I’ve decided against the business degree.” Ethan had said.

“Honey, you’re almost ready to graduate. You’re changing your mind in the blink of an eye and at possibly, the last minute?”

I had sat silently, not saying a word. Ethan had told me a few months before what he’d been thinking. He knew my opinion, but didn’t know Mom’s. I wasn’t happy with what he was deciding, but I was almost willing to support him. We were close, and I didn’t want to lose him like I had lost Dad, who I’d also been so close to.

“I want to join the military.” He said quietly, and calmly.

I remember Mom’s reaction almost perfectly. She didn’t say a word at first, just looked down at her plate. When she lifted her head a minute later, tears had begun to form in her eyes, ones she blinked away quickly, not letting them spill over onto her cheeks.

“When did you, decide this?” she asked quietly.

“I’ve thought about it for a long time. My choices were either, business, or military.” He explained. “And Mom, the business thing just isn’t working out.”

“Of all things to choose.” She whispered.

She shook her head slightly and I saw a tear fall onto the table by her plate.

“Mom, things are different these days. It’s not like when Dad fought.” He explained. “Ava supports me.” He slipped.

Mom’s head snapped up and looked at me. My head bent down, looking at the spaghetti on my plate.

“You knew?” she asked quietly.

I said nothing. Absolutely nothing. Telling Mom that I had known his decision all along wasn’t part of the plan when the three of us sat down for dinner that night.

“I thought there were no secrets in this house?” she asked.

“There isn’t.” Ethan chimed in. “Anymore.” He whispered.

Mom breathed in a deep breath and let it escape.

“Ethan, I love you. And I support whatever you choose to do. You know that. But I am telling you right now, I will be ****** if I lose another important man in my life.” She said, sternly, while looking deep into his eyes.

“Dad would’ve wanted this.” Ethan said, plainly.

“I know.”

And with that, she had excused herself and left the table. Walking down the hallway, I heard her sniffle a couple times.

The fact of those two simple words stung but as the saying goes, “the truth hurts.” Mom was a runner. She was the one who would always run from her problems instead of confronting them. The one thing that she had always said and will continue to always say, she didn’t want Ethan going into the military. Ever since Dad had died, she’d stuck to her word. Even though, we all knew Dad would’ve wanted Ethan to follow in his steps and be a commanding officer, it’d be the one thing Mom would continuously disagree on. I guess you could say I was the same way. After Ayden had told me that he had been signed for the draft, my breath had caught and I had the same reaction as Mom would’ve had. I would’ve wanted him to do anything, anything, besides go into the military. But I guess it was different this time. No one really had a say in who was on the list and who was absent. My bad luck had just started to shine through.

School dragged on. As normal. But it was different now. Ayden wasn’t there to hold my hand. He wasn’t there to greet me after my classes, wasn’t there to walk me to my car, wasn’t there to just be in my presence. It was like he had died. And just the thought of that alone, brought tears to my eyes. I wasn’t the only one whose boyfriend had been called off for the draft. No, there were others, but none of those other couples had been like Ayden and I. We weren’t just a couple. We weren’t just homecoming king and queen. No, we were best friends. I’d known him since first grade when he’d transferred to my elementary school. I had been the one assigned to show him around the school. We became friends, and later on, best friends. Freshman year of high school, Ayden and I had gone to homecoming together. Not as a couple but just as friends because neither of us had a date. Sophomore year, we had gone together again. Not because we didn’t have a date, but because we wanted to go with each other. I’ll never forget that night, because that was the night Ayden had told me he wanted to be more than friends. I had never actually thought about being more than just his friend until he had brought it up. That night, I didn’t just fall in love with a guy; I fell in love with my best friend.

The final bell rang for school to be dismissed. Once again, I felt emptiness inside while walking through the hallway. Blurs of kids rushing past me kept me from allowing my tears to spill over onto my cheeks, but that was the only thing that stopped them. After getting into my car, I put the key into the ignition but didn’t start it; I didn’t even turn the key. I put my head in my hands and took a deep breath. In my head, I thought, “One day down.”

After sitting for a few minutes in my quiet car, and letting other vehicles exit the parking lot, I finally turned the key and started my car. Hearing the soft music come on the radio, I turned it down so I could only hear the engine running. Putting my car into reverse, I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going to go. I just wanted to drive. Halfway home, I changed directions and headed to what seemed like my second house, my best friend’s house.

I knew his Mom would be off work by now and would be there to let me in. I found it ironic, as I always have that when you’re in a hurry to get somewhere; you stop at every red light possible. Red lights, stop signs, and slow moving cars in general were the only obstacles in my way that afternoon. Finally, when I was out of the traffic and almost to Ayden’s house, I pushed my foot a little harder on the gas to gain some speed. Driving up over the gravel road, I could see in the distance his Mom’s small car parked in the driveway; along with Ayden’s. Just seeing it there, gave me false hope that maybe this was all a dream and he was actually at his house, waiting for me.

Pulling into the driveway, his Mom came out onto the porch. Ayden lived in a house that you see in the movies. A tall, white one with a wraparound porch, the swing out front. I loved spending time in that house. Putting the car in park, I slowly got out and walked up to the porch.

“How did it go?” his Mom asked.

I shrugged my shoulders, while walking up the stairs. She pulled me into her arms and hugged me. Rubbing my back, she whispered,

“It’ll be okay. He’ll be coming home sooner than you know it.”

“Can I just go up to his room?” I asked.

“Of course.”

She released me from her arms and I opened the screen door to head inside while she remained on the porch. I walked up the stairs and to the right. Ayden’s door was closed. That was unlikely. He never kept his door shut just for the sake of it being shut. It was always opened. I pushed it open and walked inside. All his stuff was where he had left it. His bed was unmade, his closet doors standing open. I walked to his closet and ran my hands over his shirts, His scent filled my nose and I just wanted him home. I grabbed a button down, blue and white, thin striped shirt. He had worn it to school a couple times. I put it up to my nose, taking in faint bit of cologne that you could still smell on it, even after it going through the wash. I walked over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. With his shirt still pressed close to my face, I breathed in a heavy breath and let everything go. The tears started coming and I didn’t stop them. I started sobbing but I didn’t care. It seemed like everything that I’d ever loved, was gone. Because technically, it was, for the time. Ayden leaving to go fight in a war half way across the country scared me more than life itself, and hurt more than if he had broken up with me. I felt alone, even when there were dozens of people around me. I felt as if Ayden was dead when he was actually alive and well, as far as I knew. He’d only been gone one day and it felt like three years. Losing Ayden to the war efforts showed the true meaning in the saying, “you never really know what you have until it’s gone.” But really, the truth was, I knew what I had. I knew exactly what I had. I just took it for granted and didn’t think I’d ever lose it. And now all I wanted was Ayden back in the same country as me, back in the same house as where I was. In his room, watching a movie, playing a game, anything. That’s all I wanted at that exact moment.

I jumped up out of my sleep, my heart beating faster than a race car zooming around a track. I looked at my alarm clock, the red digits glaring, 2:33 back at my face. I swallowed and took a few more deep breaths before kicking the covers off and walking to the bathroom. I turned the light on and splashed some cool water over my face. Looking up into the mirror, I took one final deep breath and walked back to my room. Grabbing my phone from my nightstand next to my bed, I unplugged it and ran my finger over the touch screen. Reaching Ayden’s name, I touched the screen where it said to call. Holding the phone up to my ear, I waited for Ayden’s voice to answer. After about five rings and silence, his voice answered through his voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Ayden. I’m a little busy at the moment, but leave a message, and I’ll make sure to get back to you.”

My tears broke out all over again, my already swollen eyes releasing more sobs. I pulled my covers up to my chest and buried my face in them. My sobs grew a bit louder, and I heard footsteps coming from outside my bedroom door. I tried to stop, and after sniffling a couple times, the white door opened slowly.

“Honey,” Mom said, coming over to the bed.

“I can’t do this, Mom.” I sobbed.

She pulled me into her arms and rested her chin on my head while softly rubbing my back.

“It gets better.” she whispered. “It gets better.” she paused. “I promise.”

“I don’t know.” I said.

“I do.” she replied. “I went through this. You seem to keep forgetting. But I went through this exact same thing.”

I took a deep breath. “How long?” I asked. “How long does this last? This loneliness, this emptiness?”

“Too long.” she whispered.

She pulled me into her arms even more, holding me tighter, until I slowly laid down on my bed, my tears falling to my pillow. She sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing my back. It reminded me of all the times when I had been sick and she’d s

mouth syncing up digital brain,
electrically bounding the physical
with the ethereal analog bond
bound up and wrapped,
in fiber optic blankets,
secrets passing layer to layer
heard only by quadraphonic
receivers echoing out
into a singularity of conciseness,
confirmed by units of two

The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me

Again.
And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your

Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.

Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right

Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say

Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.

Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to

Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.

That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.

she gave me her cell #,
in a crowded bar
inked upon my forearm,
"in case in my drunkness, I dare forget,"
a common come-on technique,
that reeks of all good things to come

but I failed to see,
in the little letters,
"@ your own peril"

a warning, poorly heeded,
inflaming my now unimaginable
needy neededs,
just a **** come on,
or a warring warning of tumult,
vampirish blood *******?

with cautious haste,
her number I did paste
into my contact list,
'in case of loss, call,'
when sudden notifications galore,
came unbidden from everywhere:

Are you really sure?

these digits seems were posted on a
Do Not Call list,
maintained by monks and bro's,
no, no, not a list of
what-rhymes-with-bro's,
but of fallen angels,
who knew the secrets of heaven

the price extracted for their revealing,
could cause you life long
arthritis of the heart,
per the Surgeon General,
for which the only cure,
endure, endure, endure...

the prize?

endless wonderful new poems, freely given,
but with one strictest of restrictions,
if published,
it meant your slow extinction!

that is why the world calls me
Poet of the Way,
forever trying to find a way,
to away these treasured glories

then one day,
he laughed and laughed,
when he first he read the magic key,
your poem, successfully saved on
Hello Poetry!

and now the poet endures,
even possibly, self-saved,
quite happily

Silk blocks my ability to see
Soft pads circle my ears shutting me into silence
Music begins to flow coursing through my body
Jumping as hands grasp slender ankles
Fur circles one then the other
Turned around and around so disoriented
A hard bump knocks at the back of my knees
Buckling and graze the chilled feeling they land upon
Gasps escape parted lips
Melodic music seems to beat forcefully with each movement
Chills flow through naked flesh

A voice reverbs in my ears
"Are you nervous ****?"
"Y-y-eees" trembles out thinking it had to have sounded like some little girl instead of the mature woman kneeling here
Morose tones begin to play
Calloused palms greet soft ones
Pulling quick and efficient succulent flesh lays across
a thick padded cushion

The drums beat frantically, I realize it is my heart beat
No music playing last the time, my breathing comes through rushed paniced
Inhaling deeply filling lungs then blowing out forcefully
Soothing frazzled nerves, repeating the breath
Hands separate, one wrapped in something unsure what
then the other, they are pulled straight out
Allowing ample globes of blush coated tips to reveal to any that watch

Crying out at the forceful pulling,  rearranging of limbs
Thoughts run rampant scrambling calm with slight fear and confusion
Body jerks as the apparatus moves beneath my spread flesh
I feel my belly tight as muscles **** and pull tight and repeats
Crying out as booming dark music explodes in my mind
The movement jerking beneath again
Unable to fathom how I look I feel a breeze slither over pale half moons
Finger run along the inside of the restraint as something pulls it further away from the other, then repeated
Chill air hits my heated moist ***** sending goosebumps all over

My body fully supported arms up with back arched exposing glorious flesh
Legs parted wide as waist is supported by the bench
"Who do you belong to"? He asks.
" No Ones"
A slice of fire then a second close by erupts pain across the backside
Teeth sink deep into my lower lip as the same words come through the headset
Senses impaired heighten every syllable
Still ******* air from the first blows as four reign down upon my  
arched back, tasting blood as teeth cut through plump skin

Thick fingers grasp the hairs upon nether lips yanking
Digits knead the skin of my *** soothing the first marks
Feeling the tug on hairs again, squirming as the moisture flows the cavern, body begins to move
Yet again "Who do you belong to?"
"Myself" I say proudly
Again heat, white hot, kisses thee skin
One, two, three, four, five
Labored breathing panics me
Fingers grtip and knead the marks, it is not pleasurable but it hurts not either

Thin pieces dance across my body
I figured out it had to be as flogger
He was an expert, especially with this contraption leaving everything but my stomach bottom of thighs urtterly exposed to the wicked implement
The tongues begin touching all over as I strain to hear and see
Nothing but blackness and morrocan drums playing tribal beats
Lightly stroking, followed by searing bolts of lightening touch silk flesh,
Breathing raggedly, gasping for air, pressure building in the pit of my stomach

As the flogger hits every piece of exposed white
Fingers massage puffy lips that swell to protect the golden pearl
Not hearing him he chuckles knowing he has me
Thump goes the flogger, chains clank as I squirm
Pressing towards his hand wanting to be touched that special way
Pleading escapes, I cringe knowing I have made that mistake
Something slides into my throbbing center, stretching my walls
I know I am soaked as I feel pinches against flogged streaked skin
"Please" I cry
Again he asks "Who do you belong to?"
I form the y sound suddenly changing to once again "Myself"

The implement is left inside my love tunnel
Vaginal walls gripping and releasing
My breath catches hard in my throat as something cool
bites hardened peak,
Breath let's out with a loud moan as the other peak is trapped in the vice grip
Hair is cinched tight pulling the upper body up more
The clamps bite harder
He turned my head towards his as lips touch I feel an excruciating heat soar through my succulent peaks
Tears flow across cheeks gliding down until we both taster the salt

His teeth sink into my lip as the hand twists the chasing, the other the chain to the clips torturing my *******
My velvet reaches out to run across the teeth
He releases the bite as our tongues clash like symbols
***** throbs as it struggles to not drop the object
Pressure still building, traitor body plays to his tune
Rejecting nothing
Balking not at all
Wanting, needing, yearning for this
Our tongues dance as he pulls and releases that murderous pleasure wreaking havoc over the numbing rosebuds
Fiery locks are released
Fingers remove the implement deeply embedded in my sweet honey
Digits slide deeply into my well
Pushing against them yearning for deeper

I feel the pumping in and out
Each ****** grows harder and goes deeper
My hair being used as an anchor
Burning the scalp as it pulls
He must be able to hear the music as each move is punctuated with the caressing noise
The headphones are removed relief flows over as I can hear

He whispers "Who do you belong to?"  He asks again
I feel his fingers pull out causing a sense of loss
Something presses sat my entrance pushing lightly
Trying to glide over the honey
Lifting on tip toes pushing back
Feeling the thick mushroom push into their tight entrance
Gasping for air as he growls loudly trying to fight plundering
Needing my answer first
The tip teasing me without mercy
Pulls and releases my hair

I feel something strange being smeared in my thick juice
The warm presses against my clenched puckered hole
Crying out as he teases both orifices
My body strains tight like a bow drawn for firing
"Please oh please **** me, take me"  
I feel both openings being pushed against more
Knowing he won't do much more unless I give in
He pushes the egg deep into my tight ***
Cries of pleasure float over the music still playing in the room
His hard length still teasing the slippery tunnel
Leaning over pressing my body hard against the contraption
Growling out "Who do you belong to?"
You! You! You!
His **** rams home plundering my overly taut well
Buried to the hilt my cries louder than the night

He begins to move in Ernest
Taking and consuming His
My body being played like a well oiled machine
Slamming into me, our bodies slapping
Skin to skin
Pressure building faster as I was already close to exploding
He knows I am close
Salt from the sweat drips into my mouth
His hand yanks the egg from my *** starting the spasms
Rippling over his rock hard length
His growl rumbles within vibrating upon my back

Pace grows faster, frenzied
I feel juices dripping down my thigh
My love tunnel overflowing with essence
Crying in frustration I scream harder
The machine moves as he pumps in and out
Loud moans flow out as the movement let's him go deeper

The music is crescendoing cannons errupt
As he plunders the chain is suddenly ****** based
A reaction like dominmos begins
Hips buck against his as sdpasms caress his ****
Floods of honey burst free coating his implement
Flowing down my thighs as the explosion rocks through my body
Riding every ****** as his teeth sink into my neck
The shooting **** hits my wall spewing until empty
Laying against my body, his sweat mixing with mine

Both breathless and satiated for a spell
Blindfold and restraints removed
Lifting me up as my legs give out like they were jello
Cradling my head to his chest
He lays me upon silk
Eyes close as lethargy begins to settle
Soothing ointment is rubbed into red stripes
"Sleep Mine". He whispered
" Yes Master" she says sleepily

A smile crosses his rugged features
Finally he had pushed past that wall
She is Mine he thinks
I won't let her forget, took way to long for her to admit
Next time perhaps he would try a cane
Moving her on through
The joys of pleasure and pain

100 mm. Here's what I want to say.
This is the burden, as in the current
case, in the form, in this case, in
the right place. Tamil is a feature
that has five and five dimensions,
up to 500 degrees. Here are the
following: Business center only,
Miss 100 mm. The Greek Culture,
Changes in the Labyrinth are dark
black shades. Good books, friends
and dogs. This number represents
Thomas in order to improve the new
system.

100 mm; The Germans differ much black kit. All this is of the heart. From the dog, the dog is more, in order to read the explanation of the reading and exegesis, friends, friendship, and friends. Seven girls from the television studio to change quickly. My dear. The temperature in the dark, and the boy in the dark, and Harry's pseudoscopy design. Concerning the wall of death, of life, of music, if the speed of the vitamin A and vitamin, there is a question about music, that whatsoever thing the new 500 is a great opportunity of idolatry, to refuse to obey. Moisture and latest story, dodge the most important in history, but in Europe, IT, Thomas Smith, mobility and Tech, but today's global marketplace. || 100 mm; Stylish necklace and German form black. All this is in the heart. Dog, Owner, Dog, Reading, Reading, 1 friend, choosing friends, being friends. Young women and seven sets, drama, including changes in the city, zigoyiniyowēii immediately in the dining room. Jessica woman. When the microphone is in the dark, children cannot stand in the dark, they will wake up, and they will challenge Superphotomic. Vitamin A and walls, music, life, death, vitamins C, poetry, poetry, males, music, and for your own reasons charity 500, fastness and idolatry. The Haile River, hotels, airports and social green water, air and the twentieth Vietnam pentecini 3. The final USS Liquid ini and throughout history, DoD is extremely important in history, but Dude is important in Europe, No, Thomas Smith, instantly and technically, but in today's world markets. || 100 mm; Stunning jewelry and German black. All this is in his heart. Dog, Owner, Dog, Reading, Reading, 1 friend, choosing friends and being friends. Young women and seven sets, TV drama, including changes in city, right in the studio. Jaki woman. When the microphone enters the darkness, the children can not stand in the dark, rise up, and test the suopetomic. Vitamin A and walls, music, life, death, vitamins, poems, poems, males, music, and generosity 500, speed and idolatry. Hoiley River, Hotels, Airport Cities and Social Green Water, Air and Twentieth Peninsula 3. The latest USS Liquid and History, Dodge is the most important in history, but Dood in Europe, Icon, Thomas Smith, fast and technically, but today in the international markets In. ||

100 mm; German left Kiki Koku is the key difference between true civilization. This abundant reading of books, friends, dogs, dogs is for many friends and friends of the results. TV studios have improved rapidly for seven women. My beautiful temperature in darkness, in the world and in the spiritual world, control of birth and legs and conquest. I have died in extraordinary mushrooms and vitamins: vitamins, music not only does not create culture but 500 new jobs. Europe and IT, Dr. Thomas Smith, in a recession and noted in the history of the international market, history is very important in history to recognize different measures. ||

100 mm; The most beautiful jewelry and German black. All this is in his heart. Dog, owner, dog, reading, reading, 1 friend, picking friends and friends. Young women and seven sets, television dramas, including changes in the city, in the studio. Lady kiss. When the microphone is in the dark, children can not stand in the dark, get up and take a spermometric test. Vitamin A and walls, music, life, death, vitamins, poems, poems, males, music and generosity 500, speed and idolatry. The latest USS Liquid and History, Dodge is the most important in history, but in Europe, Icon, Thomas Smith, Speed ​​and Tech, but in today's international markets. || 100 mm; The Germans differ much black kit. All this to heart. The dog, the dog owner, Reading, Reading, 1 friends, friends, and friends. Seven girls setting salad out in the same town of changes to the study. My dear. To macro darkness and the boy in the dark, and Harry's pseudoscopy mechanisms. Vitamin A, and the walls, music, life, death, the vitamins, songs, pamphlets that were males, 500 music and great wit, speed of idolatry, to refuse to obey. Liquid and P. In the latest story, Dodge is the most important in history, but in Europe, IT, Thomas Smith, mobility and Tech, but with today's global marketplace. || 100 mm; The Germans differ much black kit. All this is of the heart. The dog, the dog, reading the reading and Friends, friends, and friends. Seven girls on the television study change quickly. My dear. The temperature in the dark, and the boy in the dark, and Harry's pseudoscopy design. Concerning the wall of death, of life, of music, if that is a question of the speed of the music of vitamin A and vitamin 500 of the male *** of great ability have been written, the song of idolatry, to refuse to obey. Moisture and latest story, dodge the most important in history, but in Europe, IT, Thomas Smith, mobility and Tech, but today's global marketplace. |||

100 mm. Darkness and is important in life. This book is very rich, but, boy, dog, dog, dog, jugs. Seven-TV. underground clay. Star Tamini, its resources, and Western music, 500 new jobs wišenet yege. This time: Fast Trade Center does not meet NATO's MASS Smith. | 100mm; The situation in the Greek culture, you Chiki changed their Mazingu shadow. Beautiful books, friends, business and the dog. There are number seven in the car. "In this country, but agricultural Kai Thomas Smith. Shoko old-world process lojita electrical construction and development of the dark, listening to, as well as the new system is Tamini.

100 mm. Darkness and is important in life. This book is very rich, but, boy, dog, dog, dog, and jugs. The seven-TV. underground clay. Star Tamini, its resources, and Western music, 500 new jobs yege wišenet. In this way: Fast Trade Center does not meet NATO Mass Smith. | 100mm; The situation in the Greek culture, you Chiki changed their Mazingu shadow. Beautiful books, friends, business and the dog. The number seven car. "In this country, but agricultural Kai Thomas Smith, Shoko listen to the old world, in the dark lojita electrical construction and development process. Also, the new system is Tamini.
100 mm. This is very important for your nightlife. This book is not true, children, dogs, dogs, dogs and ovens. Seventh Star Tamil Earth and its western wealth and music, 500 new jobs. That's the way: The Miss Fair Trade Center, Miss. | 100 mm; Greek culture, Changes Maze gay shadow changes are lucky. Good books, friends and dogs. This figure is seven digits, but the old world is taking night farming and machinery and Thomas Smith In addition, the new system can be improved.100 mm. This is very important for your nightlife. This book is not true, children, dogs, dogs, dogs and ovens. Seventy Star Tamil Earth and wealth and western music, 500 new jobs. Here is the route: Single Trading Center, Miss 100 mm; Greek Culture, Changes The labyrinth turns a lucky gay shadow. Good books, friends and dogs. This number is seven digits, but the old world also takes nocturnal culture and machines to Thomas Smith so the new system can be improved.

Fifteen inches LCD
Electronic mouse
And bunch of scratches of sheets.

There were roof lines
Valleys and ridges
Encircling the overlapping layers
Some are frozen, some are hidden.

Estimation and calculation
Uttering numbers
With various actions.

3D walls
Inserting commands
Subtracting openings
Including doors and windows.

The formula was easy
To multiply and subdivide
Real aesthetical features
Future renovation
For firm edification.

(6/30/14 @xirlleelang)

It is snowing and death bugs me
as stubborn as insomnia.
The fierce bubbles of chalk,
the little white lesions
settle on the street outside.
It is snowing and the ninety
year old woman who was combing
out her long white wraith hair
is gone, embalmed even now,
even tonight her arms are smooth
muskets at her side and nothing
issues from her but her last word - "Oh." Surprised by death.

It is snowing. Paper spots
are falling from the punch.
Hello? Mrs. Death is here!
She suffers according to the digits
of my hate. I hear the filaments
of alabaster. I would lie down
with them and lift my madness
off like a wig. I would lie
outside in a room of wool
and let the snow cover me.
Paris white or flake white
or argentine, all in the washbasin
of my mouth, calling, "Oh."
I am empty. I am witless.
Death is here. There is no
other settlement. Snow!
See the mark, the pock, the pock!

Meanwhile you pour tea
with your handsome gentle hands.
Then you deliberately take your
forefinger and point it at my temple,
saying, "You suicide *****!
I'd like to take a corkscrew
and ***** out all your brains
and you'd never be back ever."
And I close my eyes over the steaming
tea and see God opening His teeth.
"Oh." He says.
I see the child in me writing, "Oh."
Oh, my dear, not why.

where were you when I came out?
seventeen
asleep in a Philadelphia suburb
with that man
you called
boytoy
lover
caccoon
because everyone likes to feel weeks of web
crystallized between their sweaty toes

I was an unremarkable specimen
called yoda because of the hairs
on my ears
a baby with a flawless twenty digits and
hands like a
painter’s
but love was spring
and had to wait for the grass to green
and the retrievers to shed their
winter coats
so their owners could curse
and huff
and sneeze

you
precious
Kurt Cobain fan
and all things hip/hop
with those glasses and that hair
asked to be my sister
but caught unaware
with **** in your shorts because
you never saw me coming
and
how alike we were
and
what if we met
somewhere
someday
and you said
yes
this is my brother
this is the one who I lost
in the spring

just because you have a degree it makes you no smarter then me
just because you have no ink on your skin that doesn't make you clean of sin
just because you have white skin it doesn't make you better then anyone
just because you can quote the bible your still far from a prophet
just because you wear a suit in no way are you better then a fast food worker
just because your bank account has 6 digits that doesn't make you above the law
just because your homeless with no place to sleep that doesn't make you worthless
just because you work fast food that doesn't make you unmotivated
just because of the way you look that doesn't make you evil
just because you feel empty that doesn't mean this is the end
just because you take a different path that doesn't make you a failure

My solitude comforts
Doubt, like a lover's lie.
His fickled fingered
Digits chokes my heart.

Second guessings elevated
to thirds, fifths, and sevenths.
Crippling and seducing
what ego and self reliance
I have, away.

My solitude that comforts
Doubt.  Betrays me.
I have no solemnness
nor reassurance.
I can not banish Him
I never welcome Him
But yet He stays.

Sliding fingers over alabaster shafts,
crevices and nooks catching at delving digits
as they seek between the ****** ***** of
remov-ed meat.

For before the bones the meat.
And before the meat the scalpel,
Running liquid through the tendrils
with its clever carv-ed lines in the
succulent,
decadent
dead.

The gore on the board.
Seen in rivulets of scarlet,
A tracery of cuts,
Multi-layered and exquisite.

I taste the smell of this corpulent finery.
Hands reaching into the layers,
slick with blood
pulling at the fat.
Sleek and deadly
I ply them, my tools.

For I am the butcher
And you will eat my meat.
Feast upon my carnage,
And leave me with the bones.

And leave me with the bones.

I saw the faceless youth, with hoods and hats, and weapons tucked safely
I smelt the lingering odour of apathy and the tobacco on their clothes
The sadness is a saviour, comforting on winter nights while the owls are crying
I grow tired of writing this drivel and wonder if this is the end
It's not. It never ends.

(Continuing with smatterings of self-absorbed garbage, the keyboard groans
But I persist out of habit and I think of my future, the lands I will never roam
Just roll another, perhaps a key I shall find, in my mind, that narcissistic dome.)

I care not about conventions, writing, social, spiritual, physical or otherwise
I am a free spirit, just as you are
I am weary of my words as I am sure you are
I use the pronoun "I" excessively because I am all I know
I am sad because of that
I am sad also because I feel robbed of existence, mine seems convoluted and unnecessary
I feel - as I am sure you do too - that we are broken, perhaps irreparably
I also loathe the sound of birds as they chirp in the morning haze
and I often lie

Do you,
Dear You
You
YOU, U
(Worry not about sense making, this is life, it makes sense never whence to)
Garbled signals are signals nonetheless.

Redhead on the bus, your smile seemed so pure to me
I wondered if you were married, I saw no ring (I never cared much for the patriarchal imprisonment of singular digits, perhaps you felt similarly)
Are you my soul-mate, is that even a real thing?
Your copper waterfall was radiant though, and I admit to missing my stop
I did not help you when your wheelchair became stuck
I too was stuck, the eternal cycle

Dear Mother, Dear Father, Dear Brother, Dear Brother
I don't know you. That is all.

Dear Me
Don't read this. It's destined for the trash.

Dear Me
I hope you recycle. You should brush your teeth and take a shower. I am bored of you today, do something.

1. Write the world

2. Begin again

I saw the faceless youth and I was chased down back alleys
With sticks of wood and pipes of steel
The shivs to the sides were endemic endorphins
and I cried tears of joy at the idea of feeling

Weary of words today, I stay silent and watch the world
Weary of people today I stroll the woods and find a soup can
Weary of writing today, so I wrote this.

Brown powdered litter, the brain, with ******* I love you more each day
Jumbled, sale, say shell, it's a command from me, the ******
Echo chambers and the maids that dust around the reverb
(Count the errors)

She sang to me, I decided to change
I am a woman now
He sang to me, I fell in love
I am lonely now
I abused myself
I am happy now

Asymmetric skin, a definition of life and the compulsive disorder I never could explain
The outpouring of empathy from loved-ones fills me with ice and I retire to solitude
Tear down the flag and burn it for warmth
Eat the land and smoke the desert
Don't pity her, she is happy

I saw the faceless youth in shattered remains of a black screen, reflecting my apathy from the damp cement of the street as I tore clothes from my body, screaming, wild-man, the world will never know my name for i denounce it.
And the sand fell from my ragged beard as i emerged from the dunes to the city as he burned.

there is a camping trip planned and preserved
on the reservation of our hopes and dreams and summer sweet nothings. we
retreat upon an open-toed weekend, cooler gemmed
& ready.

there is a place in the mountains
& on that wooded ridge it is waiting to be seen and witnessed. lived
upon, lit upon,
seedling.

sure, i love you.
& sure, i’ll die. and that is forever.
& forever is -
no worry. no bluffs. no sweat.
because this life is right, and right now is everything.
yolk.
to become a bloom of love more than just words and digits and plays of
time. this time
is ours.

is good beer. great beer. &
the heat. the her. her soothes and sovereigns
on this land in which we live with the whole tribe and fun days.
we are our own dreams.
good dreams.

meet her on the shore of a river.
& she is listening and speaking and sung.
with an urge
to love and let begin.
take precedent. take my nettled little heart
and crackle like fire from it the nutrient of lonesome ode.
& from the strum of that
we begin.

we end.
we cog back into the existence of small time
small town nobodies. worked little we.
service and cinema.

thus
busting gut toward town and more weekends and more movement.
there is motion to this curve of time, kids.
curve of pages expressed
& exposed here in wayward traveled poems.
truths of some sort or hallucination. here
we daydream.

With a cursory press of a key and arco of the strings,
They look at each other,
Determining when to start through what looks like telepathy,
But it is instead the subtle movement of arms and chest.

They begin.

With the movement of bows bouncing on metal,
And the dancing digits upon black and white,
Sound reverberates between the audience,
With eyes and ears in tandem absorbing the scene.

They continue.

As they pass over bridges,
And draw out waves with their hands,
I listen,
Swaying and breathing and performing as though I am beside them,
Despite being above them,
Yet feeling so below.

Becoming one with their instrument,
And bringing me along,
I smile,
As just like they pull beauty out of their tools with their soul,
They guide joy out of me,
For all of us.

They end.

Then again, they start.
With new sounds from a new person,
With new intent,
And new methods.

They change.

From haphazard joy and dance,
To somber death and confusion,
They become one with the music,
And follow in its suit.

They continue, anew.

As the sound changes,
So do I.
Listening with sharper ears,
Hoping to catch a different magic in my ears.

They continue, still.

As the cello draws honey,
The violin; its dew,
And the piano waterfalls arpeggios,
I am content.

They end.

Full of the food of life,
They stand,
To let us feast with them with our hungry hands,
Giving our own vibrations to fill our drooling souls.

They leave.
And so do I.
Both of us fed and quenched,
From the performance.

Bright buds hang precarious on their limbs. Their hundreds of digits green and supple sway as the winds try gently at first to shake them from their perches. They snap back, their ties elastic, always bending.

The wind struck harder the third time. It caught them off guard, swinging back to face the sun. It barreled over them like a train, limbs snapped like bones under tons of industrial revolutionary steel, the cracking brings tears to the eyes of passersby.

They were so green, so verdant was their exuberant friendship, covered in rosy flesh and sturdy bark, ring after ring of tribulation and triumph, but it fractured like a wish bone. She, Persephone, prosecutor of Her, Demeter, was judge of them both, prisoner of herself.

Solitary confinement.

She tugged at her half, she needed the wish, She need for Demeter to see that She needed wishes just like the rest of us.

Demeter, jury. 12.

Her crime: attempted impartiality, balancing a utilitarian ideal that we can divide our attention based on who needs it most. She cannot be tried on account of her inability to read Braille ciphers in gestures, ****** expressions, and Tumblr posts.

Demeter tugged at her half, but only enough to show the other that she was there,
but consistently there.

It wasn’t enough.

Snap.

No marrow could be found.

Where flesh was meant to be dripped rot, an odor of resentment filled their nostrils, it choked Demeter, as Persephone had been choking for years.

This resentment, this cancer, this jealousy, it grew inside of Persephone like a tumor, days from metastasizing, the spread could have killed them.

Amputate.

You two are a tree. Bright buds dangling from every limb, they are still soft and green and supple at their ends.

You two are still growing.

Persephone will cut out this cancer, and She will heal herself, scar tissues covered by broadleafs.
You will soothe them for her. And you will see past the rosy flesh what pain it may hide.

And you two will grow. Roots firm, faces braced against the wind, and limbs always turned towards the sun.

Zero.
By which nothing is divided.
No zero
no negative
no opposite
no hope
no Adam, no apple, no marriage, no morning.
No mirror
no knowledge
no God, no soul, no ear lobe, no Iliad, no Odyssey.
No universe
no black hole
no zodiac
no hero
no mission, no omission, no fission, no fusion.
No beanstalk
no tractor
no yellow
no 7:30, no wind, no window, no owl, no one.

In 773, at Al-Mansur's behest, translations were made of the Siddhantas, Indian astronomical treatises dating as far back as 425 B.C.; these versions may have been the vehicles through which the "Arabic" numerals and the zero were brought from India into China and then to the Islamic countries. In 813 the Persian mathematician Khwarizmi used the Hindu numerals in his astronomical tables; about 825 he issued a treatise known in its Latin form as Algoritmi de numero Indorum, Khwarizmi on Numerals of the Indians. After him, in 976, Muhammed ibn Ahmad in his "Keys to the Sciences," remarked that if in a calculation no number appears in the place of tens, a little circle should be used "to keep the rows." This circle the Arabs called sifr. That was the earliest mention of the name sifr that eventually became zero. Italian zefiro already meant "west wind" from Latin and Greek zephyrus. This may have influenced the spelling when transcribing Arabic sifr. The Italian mathematician Fibonacci (c. 1170-1250), who grew up in North Africa and is credited with introducing the decimal system in Europe, used the term zephyrum. This became zefiro in Italian, which was contracted to zero in Venetian.  --Wikipedia

After my father's appointment by his homeland as a state official in the customs house of Bugia for the Pisan merchants who thronged to it, he took charge; and in view of its future usefulness and convenience, had me in my boyhood come to him and there wanted me to devote myself to and be instructed in the study of calculation for some days. There, following my introduction, as a consequence of marvelous instruction in the art, to the nine digits of the Hindus, the knowledge of the art very much appealed to me before all others, and for it I realized that all its aspects were studied in Egypt, Syria, Greece, Sicily, and Provence, with their varying methods; and at these places thereafter, while on business, I pursued my study in depth and learned the give-and-take of disputation. But all this even, and the algorism, as well as the art of Pythagoras, I considered as almost a mistake in respect to the method of the Hindus (Modus Indorum). Therefore, embracing more stringently that method of the Hindus, and taking stricter pains in its study, while adding certain things from my own understanding and inserting also certain things from the niceties of Euclid's geometric art, I have striven to compose this book in its entirety as understandably as I could, dividing it into fifteen chapters. Almost everything which I have introduced I have displayed with exact proof, in order that those further seeking this knowledge, with its pre-eminent method, might be instructed, and further, in order that the Latin people might not be discovered to be without it, as they have been up to now. If I have perchance omitted anything more or less proper or necessary, I beg indulgence, since there is no one who is blameless and utterly provident in all things. The nine Indian figures are: 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1. With these nine figures, and with the sign 0 . . . any number may be written.   --Fibonacci, Leonardo of Pisa

We, the invisible reasons for your problems, blind ourselves to the
dismal inevitability that we will
suffocate because you refuse to stop
the pillaging of the future for the sake of your own ******* lineage being able to further itself and potentially give you a chance to again close your mind and scream as loud as you can when confronted with your own toxicity

We, the ones who humbly take the bludgeoning from your self-proclaimed pious hand, know these chains are only on your bleeding wrists and ankles.

We, the silent and the broken, know Santa Muerta by the nicknames she had in college and all accompanying wildness she brought in her wake.
We still will stroke your hair while you
throw your tantrums and wail about what is and isn't fair on your deathbeds.

We will burn the mattress and all while cheering you on on your flight into the night sky you ignored for a lifetime.

We, the servants of streaming digits and stewards of bottled stardust, will create stories about how it wasn't your fault and how you shouldn't be hated for bringing the world crashing into the excrement of wasted potential so our children know there was a choice to be made.

We, the overly polite pariahs pry laughs and love and lust and learning from looming catastrophe like Burroughs writing Naked Lunch with a glassy eyed stare that burned holes in the veil hiding the tide of partially coagulated blood and ******* that YOUR world preached as milk and honey.

We, the proof in the moldy pudding still finding time to rot, will burn tobacco fields in your honor just to dance while getting drunk on the breaths you'll never waste.

We, the lovers of questions and haters of creeds, let tears stream in the hope that they are not considered part of our body's 75 percent while fantasizing about your ghosts seeing them and the dehydration they may be in spite of and quiet your tired old yelling and shaking of fists at the clouds when overcome by the slight sadness that whispers "its too late" lovingly into your ear.

We, the lovers, the thieves, the reviled, the *******, the witches, the junkies, the ******, the reptiles and worms under the rocks society deems unusable and misshapen, will be the ones lifting the crowns off your corpses and throwing them high as graduates do when full of a hope only ever dashed by themselves.

We, the drooling monsters you vehemently deny anything besides the cramped closets or the space between bed and floor in childhood bedrooms, will be the Valkyries to descend onto the blood-choked battlefield you set aside for your souls to suffer on and offer you respite in the form of soggy bread and wildflower honey while  ravens and jackdaws bicker over the eyes and fingers of those that once showed us how to ride a bike or drunkenly beat us beneath our favorite trees or touched us in dark rooms in ways that would chase Love away from the shadow of our hearts until we finally climbed high enough to see it all as someone screaming of war and bravery while running from the sound of steel biting steal because their protectors talked so highly of honor and duty that it seemed as if it were God and Adam touching fingertips on the arched ceilings of youth. that, then was painted on the crumbling walls of abandoned houses they would secretly indulge on the forbidden fruit soaking pages of a faded **** magazines or up skirts of blushing  girls who put on their mother's prudishness until fingers pushed past
cotton and virtue alike to the warm center they both melted in.

We, the unsung and numb, walk in spirals while the complexity you rebuked as devil-born becomes the sigils of yet-to-be kingdoms bringing about golden age after golden age in the distant mists rolling over hills and valleys of memories of moments yet to coalesce into rigid experience.

We, the eyes weeping blood atop crumbling pyramids, have seen the walls you want to build in futures dissolved in the winds blowing dust over the dream-roads we skip down and how it resembles the one you built to keep your heart from breaking from the pressing mass of what you can't file away as noise or heresy or communist propaganda;
We drew throbbing ***** and dripping ***** on all the blueprints we came across and tucked them back into the secret compartments of wardrobes and roll-tops passed down through generations.

We, the keepers of the singing stones you traded for cheap concrete, will embrace the tiny souls you neglected out of ignorance to the existential snake oil pitch you broke every tooth biting down on all because the salesman reminded you of your drunk father or mother imposing their wills like you make shadow puppets dance on peeling wallpaper in the silence that ensued after they had passed out on creaky couches reeking of Lucky Strikes and spilled ***** while the shine of the staticky T.V. set covered them like the blanket no one ever put over their slumbering forms because of those infinite lists of excuses used to skirt the skirmishes of showing any kind compassion even if they alone were sole witness to it.

We, the pieces of self the deathbed "you" sent hurtling backwards through time to shine lights on the siege seething at the gates of what you stand for, are only holding those lanterns to show you that fleeing is futile and your death is just a hallway with a door that leads to the knowledge that life is not a cell to watch time morph into tally lines scratched into cold stone as if they were epitaphs for the seconds bet and lost at the roulette table crafted from any slave ship the ocean never swallowed.

We, the flames mimicking those dancing girls you longed to have squeal under the idea of your thrusting masculinity amidst the graffiti on the bathroom stalls in seedy dive-bars or the paupers playing prince you follow giggling with hope in hand like a bouquet of baby's breath and daisies for that one day they would stop and turn and smile so handsomely that your knees would shatter against one another and wedding chapels would bend down to tie tin cans to bumpers of beat up Buicks and Oldsmobiles your fathers give dowry and the crowd could watch "just married" poorly written in shaving cream on the back window grow small until it disappeared over the horizon.

We, the dreamers, are tired of sleeping and are in need of a old tree to swing from, to bury our dreams like beloved pets under, and watch as it lets its leaves fall to the hungry earth that is more patient then anyone closed eyed and humming ancient syllables beneath crooked branches could ever be.

All the trees you climbed and kicked and fell in love under have died from too many hearts around intials being carved into them or were used to make fascist pamphlets you yourself passed out at churchs mistaking the mask with bone structure or the river for the people it swept to sea.

We are laughing;
like a loving mother at her clumsiness on display in her cackling child and not like the crowds gazing at the sideshow stage as the curtains pull back and stage lights illuminating John Merrick's flesh and the intricate dissonance it lent to minds.
Minds that afforded only sips of bliss as monotonous stints on factory floors but were preached about like they were some heaven-sent golden cobblestones laid lovingly all the way
to the beach where Heimdall will one day sound his horn, one foot feeling the grit of the edge of the world and the other washed clean for the grave we will all step in.

So, all these words, all these images, all of it is intended to be a moon so all the stagnate tide pools that have forgotten their origin and the freedom they used to give form to lesser forms they forage forgetfulness from.

We, the ones beneath you on the climb to the summit of our collective potential, beg you to think of something beside yourself when taking a ****.

It is not just ******* in the wind if there isnt wind and we are right below you and dying of thirst.

It is not an inalienable right if someone else is deprived of the same.

It is not Heaven's gate if the brilliant gild has a melting point or if it remains latched to any soul's approach.

It is not "liberal *******" or a myth if whole flocks of birds fall from the sky or schools of fish wash up on beaches while people snap photographs for their feed.

It is not "god" if love dispels it like smoke hanging in the kitchens your great grandmother sat in and told you about a witch shapeshifting into dogs without heads to scare drunks stumbling home because she was a ******* racist.

It is not just food if someone's organs fail from starvation that even the worms and flies are free from.

You wave your banners and let your war-horns echo and you wear your ignorance as armor.

We, the eaters of life and death, will chisel a name into stone and pick your bones clean if you think we should march to the sounds of drums and trumpets just because you were stupid enough to think it was anything other than your masters convincing you to whip yourselves ****** because "at least God hath been kind enough to give you a purpose" or "he works in mysterious ways".

**** that.

Look at what it has brought out of the swirling sea of " all that could be" while you write the same song about how shiny and numerous the scales of the prize are.

We are not responsible for pillaging God's bounty.

We are the bounty and our emptiness and lack of foresight are in jeweled bowls at your feet, but in your hubris you believe it to be the slaves that come to wash the dirt from between your toes.

We are Death and She is the wet-nurse that will give us intimacy to fertilize our hearts by refusing us her breast but turning our heads to your silhouettes shambling off the edge of existence far off in the distance only a decade or less could be confused for.

[AS ONE VOICE WE SING/SANG/HOWL:
Lux amor potentia restituant propositum dei in terris.]

As if it were as easy as holding the hand of a dying tyrant afraid they cannot the luminous terminus while wearing your father's face as a mask to trick radiant angels or the contortions of gods reeking of struck matches by those trembling and their swirling black hearts closed to the breeze carrying leaves celebrating their liberation and caressing a cheek they were too ashamed to kiss when opportunity was their ally.

We shouldn't hate these piles of skulls all parroting the same axioms to those who only show up to add another or leave an empty bottle turned into a candle holder, wax dripped down the neck and froze before any trace of tallow could finally unite with the dirt it longs to become one with;
icicles hanging from the eaves of abandoned asylums.

This place was supposed to be alot of things but that is what lead THEM to drown in the sound of buzzing bees, birdsong, and abundance in all directions.

I suggest we stop trying to squeeze it into a shoebox we scribbled Promised Land on and just let it be the open armed paradise it inherently is.
Let it be the heart and home as well as the hostile territory because it is only ever that and what we wont find in any Oracle's Prophecy.

I'll end my rambling with a question and it's answer.

How do you turn a police station into a hospital and a schoolhouse?

Burn it to the ******* ground.

Air carresses porcelain skin
His firm lips press eagerly to every nook
Hands graze over pert *******
Goosebumps appear as nails dig lightly

Teeth sink ever so slightly into pouty full lips
Lithe figure squirms beneath him
Brilliant twinkling blues stare at the dent in the lip
Leaning forward svelte tongue drags across

Tasting
Teasing
Suckling

Finally sinking pearly whites into the dent
Ears perk as a hard moan escapes from deep within her
Releasing the lip leaves that wondrous mouth to catch
The sound that drives every lover wild

Gasping
Grinding
Groaning

Her body like an instrument
To be stroked, trimmed, plucked
Until that magnificent all consuming music plays out
With tender strokes, pads lightly pluck taut rose buds

Body leans back over the arm
Ample spheres of beauty push out as the back arches
Flames of spun silk kiss the floor
Aqueous tongue traces a path up the center
Veering right at the last second
Drenching tightly drawn peaks by suckling with the inferno
Inside his mouth

Insides quiver almost tossing her over ecstacy's edge
Feeling his phallus hard against trembling thigh
Blood races to the pleasure center pulsating where his rod presses
Crying out passionately, followed by begs

"Please"
"Please what?"  He asks.
Each word sending lava to her core
"I don'don't know!"  She screams frustrated

He chuckles further infuriating and confusing her
Knowing what is wanted he continues to tease
Pulling her forward with hands pinned behind her back
An exasperated sounds emits from swollen lips

"Tsk Tsk"  He admonishes
Subtlety grinding the tip of his staff against that hidden pearl
She struggles, yanking at her arms
Unable to escape the torment, trying to block it

Suddenly a door opens a soft mew fills his ears
Soft plush pillows caressed by firm ones
Mouths open as tongues greet eagerly,

Twisting
Turning
Dancing
Caressing

He feels the change the point of no return
Lush curves push against muscles
Bare mound begins to move up and down his thigh
Moisture soaking through his jeans

A fierce cry permeates the air as his teeth sink into her neck
Replaced by tongue stabbing over, suckling hard
Yet biting again
He feels her pace pick up as she grinds deeper and faster

Pain equals pleasure
Pleasure is pain
He begins to crank up the heat
Nipping the ear lobe as fingers grip and pull on tight *******

Her body responds like a well played guitar
Cries and moans spur him on
Bites become harder
Pinches become twists

The pale silk flesh suddenly covered in red welts
Mews turn to groans
Groans turn to cries
Cries turn to screams

As the screams start his thigh is flooded with her ***
Moans escape his lips in time for her kiss to catch them
His member is pulsating, he needs to take her soon
Ruby lips are devouring his

Teeth smash together
Lips split and bleed
The salty taste the only clue
He feels her lips pressing against his neck

Licking
Kissing
Nibbling
Biting

Feeling her teeth press deep into his neck is his undoing
Growling loudly as his body reacts
**** jumps up with steady spasms
Yanking the buttons off the fly

Fully engorged mushroom springs forward at the tip of
9 sleek thick inches
"Ahhhhhh" relief as the beast is let out
Unpinning her hands they immediately go for his shaft
Gripping tight

Air ***** hard like a kick to the stomach
Lips meet again
Twirling, suckling, dancing fervently
Hands everywhere no part left untouched

He slides a finger deep between silky folds
Pulling forth the sweetest nectar
Leaning forward tongue delves out suckling the heated sweetness
Her breath hot in his ear as ******* dip deep
Filling, stretching, pushing, adding a third elicits a guttural moan

Fingers curl up pressing against the soft ledge
Mouths crash together again
Hand grabs a fist of flames pulling back
Deep emeralds flash such fire stare back

Watching as her last effort to undo me occurs
Tongue glides slowly tracing her mouth lips
Fingers ease out replaced by the sword
Placing digits between her lips leaning in tasting her *** upon her lips
As his hard length slams home plundering Her tight volcanic well deep

Pushing
Pulling out
Ramming to the hilt

Mouth swallowing every sound
Allowing it to fuel musical movements
In, out, up, down
Sliding, pumping
Biting, pinching

Flesh hitting flesh the clapping sound oblivious to us
Her heated well ******* his clock deeper
Hips lifting, gyrating meeting each ******
Opening to him like no other

Sweat covers naked flesh
Bodies collide over and over
Neither giving less than the other
Feeling her vice grip upon his shaft it begins to quiver
He increases the pinching, biting, and suckling

Rocking to and fro harder, faster
Gasping as his clock twitches
Her hand reaches between them making a circle around the base
Gripping tight as he pumps in, tighter still on withdrawal

Ahhhs,  Ohhs, yeesssses!
Fill the room
Her emerald greens gaze deep into his striking blues
Arching hard her body beneath  his
Her ***** having such a grip he can't breathe
His ***** tense as he feels his own ecstasy approaching

Trying to move but wanting to hold on just a moment longer
The redhead leans up tracing his lips with her tongue
Slamming home three more times
Sacs draw up and he feels the release as it flies through his staff
Spewing deep into her red hot well

Her walls tremble, gripping and releasing after her own body
Explodes, her juices spurting forward mixing with his as spasms rock their world

Afterwards is calm and warm
Looking at her sweet flesh now a wreck, marks from his teeth, fingers and lips evidence of how hot things became

Lips meet once more in an almost chaste kiss
Bodies intertwined as they fall asleep
Each dreaming about the hours before.
Sleeping in blissful contentment