skirting the rusty rose of a brooch
dangling on canvas bodice as she leans
tightly over me; the waves of wrinkles
on her be-bangled red hands pointing to the
wrong punctuation; this is dream-building
in the fifth grade; don't end the dream
too soon, she gruffs sing-song like
a prize-winning racoon; and still applauds
the bricklaying we so clumsily feign
for our castles in the sky; tho she, too,
dies of cancer in the last year; the tubes at the
very last weaving through the canvas;
something of a final stitch to the making
of a dream; and so i think all dreams in me
they die in darkness and still i wonder
what happens to the crenellated castle
walls i abandoned scores of years and
many As ago; and still we pat our doeeyes
on their infinitile heads and **** our
cynical shacks-by-the-forest-fires back
into our heads, begging beneath the
damp light of early-onset reverie: save
us, won't you, from the stiff stillborn of
dreams our generation lost to the fantasy
of getting what the saddest, dreamless
dollared dupes decree; oh be better yet for me,
my naive sums, and take your brick-laying;
your canvas sheen; your impossible, doubtless
dreams with broach and gnarl; with gruff and
soundless trill; your soulful self metastasized  
with every beat
to the happy grave.

What is it hereby that I seeith?


Unardent archetypes,
Renege cards to swipe for fast food,
Archaic since long ago!!!!!

Aristrocratics art thou?
Greedied dollared frenzies,
A meal plus ten for thine own family?

What about thy neighbor?
The one on thine street,
Doused in fluids, puke and safekeeps,
Not enough for him?
Thou furtive frugal!!!!!!!

Yea!!!
Tuck thine own pocket back in,
Dont let him seeith all you have to giveth!!!
Unlargess you!!!!!

As this old sphere genuflects in circlet motion,
To thine loved ones all time and and thy devotion thou giveth not to thine own family,
But to slot machines?

Thou maverick!!!!
Thine phene!!!!!

Fast food havens hath become brothels of aspirin taking needed,
Once a day,
For all unclotting!!!!

Protracting thy fateful health oh invertebrate?

Trying to live to one hundred?
Afraid for thy soul to pass?
What's wrong? No god? No faith at last?

Provident to failure!!!!!

Virulent art thou,
For thine work thou has made a surplus!!!!
Skipping thy wife's needs?
For forty hours of volition and lust??????!!!!!!!!

Visionary of demonous audacity!!!!!!

Thine own path is manifest and lamenting!!!!

For art thouest not repenting of thy fast lived paradox?

I'm a cynic to thine own trust!!!!!