The worst part is
I loved you back
Adulterous affair,
Absolutely abominable!

Maybe you didn’t mean to love
Me, the girl inside
the young woman’s body,
you only thought you knew

Flirtatious banter
once hinted at thoughts

Unsayable;
Intelligible abyss once linked
unsuspecting minds;
Understanding so
Deep, so
Accidental.

Praise me, praise me.

Be careful,
Time is taking over,
How could you, you fool
You can't beat the clock!
You're in love now.
Did you intend for this?

But was it Me you sought to love?
Or was it just my body?
The thrill of the ilicit,
The power
Over a child?

Origins unknown

Grown out of your control.
Say goodbye to reason
I’m your master now.

What’s happening to you?
You’re afraid and I, well
I am the child
who will destroy you

Words, your last weapon
Escalating, no wait, stop
You’re killing yourself.

It's too late
I tried to warn you
You failed me, embarrassed
Me.

I egged you on.

I loved you back.

I’m sorry.
#MeToo

sparks of you
           lie within me
               not dormant but
            silently active
a volcano on hold
         embers in the haze
            of intensity's throb
                  and glow
my heartflames
supposedly on low
your bones are
almost molten
melding with my own
and my cells are
tiny brush fires
craving a certain water
but not just
                    any kind
I need liquids
fresh from the spring
                 icy seas
to cool my heat of soul, of ****
and gelatinous nomenclature
that clings to my tongue
I need my loops of wild light
to be egged on in the
right fluorescence
yet calmed as I spin
into your sphere

Quiet, now. Just hush up
Put your hand on my chest
          feel the beats
   calm my frenzied wires
drench my parched lingual
       expressions with your
              aqua pura
the salty sweetness
of deep desires quenched
I need soil
of the right kind
I am not a desert flower
but I have thrived
in the dry cracked
barren lands
       sunstreaks in my hair
              blooms have burst forth from
          the ******-in parchment
of my skin
making it smooth and dewy
and despite themselves,
festoons of flowers
decorate the pain.
belly deep
fill the milky white
of ******* with colors
releasing the constant,
strict tightening
pressing on my chest
and if given the
right conditions
this volcano
will
      so deliciously
erupt

His life, he’d been frequently told,

Was a stepping stone to

Something better. His growing religious convictions

Taught him about the different levels

Of god.

The innocent child, sacrificial man, distant father,

Steadfast sister and mother.

It taught him not to lust after his pretty neighbours,

Man or woman, nor to daydream

Of unlikely trysts with all the inherent dangers

Involved but to expend his energies

In religious ecstasy instead

Agonising inwardly over the beatitude

And the internal landscape of the soul.

By the time he was forty, he reckoned

He’d got a raw deal. No money, no career,

No friends, just a lot of ****** prayers.


They put her coffin gently in

And he cried, watching it disappear

Unable to think of heaven.

He was not consoled now

By thoughts of

Infinite life.

The slow sounding of a repetitious tune

Amongst cloudy vistas of

Over egged benevolence.


He’d missed the boat, through

Worshipping too much. A rotund

Middle-aged man

With a sagging mind, brown teeth

And old fashioned clothes.

All he had now were his church

And his mother’s dying friends.


He threw dust over his mother’s grave

And walked softly away.

...bobby stole a car
george jumped
through
the open back window
we tied robbie up
left him on some ones porch
were surprized when
the spainish people carried
him into the house
(so much for robbie)
we egged chamburg's parents
put a box on a porch
with john inside
rang the doorbell and
ran
across the street to hide behind a car
john jumped out
the lady screamed
the husband yelled
john ran
came back the next night
attached a long cord to
the empty box
rang the doorbell....

hang on st. Christopher

the moon
        was never fuller
and we all enjoyed
a little madness for
awhile

last night, the same woman from a previous night prior to last night, walking with shopping bags into an affluent area of the town, giving me the ultimate evil stare of all famous superstitions. the second time, last night, the same woman, the same diseased stare, and this poem - as a result of being impregnated with too much evil; call me superstitious, but not all witchery is softened by psychiatric reasoning and antidepressants.*

and then i hear of my parents meeting a friend of mine's father,
an "antique" dealer for the tourists
slander me for drinking too much and not glorifying marijuana
while insults were thrown like snowballs
before my mother and father entertaining guests from canada,
i talk a bit more with him in a pub a few weeks later,
he tells me of the topic of conspiracy to commit ******
with haemorrhage symptoms like nothing: but how do you know
he says; i offend him with courting: but how do you know
whether i'm telling the truth or lying? in silence.
i raise my hands upon parting, we part:
diana wanna hugs? no, diana wanna scrap metal.
his father made our friendship less by not including a monetary
exchange of power, i'd flex a bicep my way had i a necessary
drinking partner; but i don't: the chip man sold whole potatoes
deep fried in the shape of fabergé eggs... his father sold
traffic cones in the shape of trombones at a higher price, only
because all the buyers were tourists.
socrates was wrong though: poets are not rhetoricians
or sophists, what we are we are because we use rhetoric and sophistry
to insult people, trying to remain in tact: better that
with any army, we're more armadillo word-to-word than the hoplites
shield-to-shield; idiots never known an insult for a gimmick
unless a chess-precise knuckle is utilised on unchaining linkages;
but like the saxon i too, on the vibrant islands of celt and caramel,
the second wave of saxons came, the scot and irish celts worried
about lambs of isaac, but lessened their concerns
with the norman landing - so i too originated upon using
my tongue to a disadvantage, and it worked, for hastings and for all,
"lying" myself abrupt with a burp for the sparrow to ease lighter spacing
of the advantaged footstep.
we were poets, word-to-word tighter than the hoplites shield-to-shield
for what the gladiators called armadillos of a farm.
socrates didn't get it, since he reasoned: i to noun, equating it only
as questioning pro to the guise of inquiry, but among the native nobility of greece,
poetry survived, songs and jests supreme, park bench hollows
for the termite lisp in sounds of the multitude,
had but the termite song bore a chair to rock a baby blue,
i'd too rock a baby in suffocating termites song,
but we known nouns are not delicious "out of time"
in the adjectives, for we know nouns as static insurmountable objects,
and given the unitary subjectivity of sport statistics,
they are only worth a passive commentary of nodding and passivity
to please - i.e., never was sloth a gamble to ease a fission of gambled lessening;
but if philosophers corrects poets, then poets end up correcting furtherance
with philosophy simply plagiarised for academia's salary bogus;
wishing that socrates only took the bribe rather than the poisonous brine.

i start the night off reading *the offence of poetry, by an emeritus prof.,
hazard adams, gets me ******* to the point where i forgive the culprit
of rotten *** and jealous ****** born lute worthy out of wedlock...
why the violins i ask, chopin played a few dirges on piano,
why the sentiment to imagine Dickensian paupers?
a violin dropped from the sky with frogs & lepers didn't **** anyone,
but a piano did, once, in bad key.

i started the night off reading a book: the offence of poetry,
got *******,
walked off into the jiggle night starry for some beers,
walked past a family: mother, father plus 3, a boy and two girls,
headphones on, hushed, then my hairpiece the attention,
walked into the off-lice, picked up 8 cans,
stood there imitating conservative *******,
spotted the mother eagerly brushing shadows with me,
tilted from my eye corner into her face
and spotted a ****** up face of smiles:
girls talked about me like zoella,
i donned my pseudo self-inventive chonmage,
hair too thick;
but i egged them on in rugby, loving the tetragrammaton geometry of
two H, y for threes in dimensions and
all the tactic being: // \ for the w.
pardon me wrong but was it: eager eagle's nest the jester in clown's face paint
**** of splash in conversation?
but don't you just love a married woman with three kids
putting two wine bottles on a counter looking at you
after her children said something noticeable about you only secondary in dreams?

well... there's the rude story of a friend's father among many
to claim the accent in jealousy,
father ****** no. 2, hide his ***** in a ******* prior to the girthed birth
experience of: "rising to the top of law and commerce."
idiotic ******* the load of them;
happened in leicester sq. i have you know,
irish was blazed in ginger that day too reminiscent of celtic,
but as you know, intelligence and the irish swing into the maxim:
a man walks into a pub - they delivered the concrete!
the pub is emptied, the irish run out for hands on prayer missing -
in shakespearean metaphor of folding monks giving prayer to ****
the ***** and lips the kiss, for whatever reason was worth a rhythmic suffix as towed into -ed, -ed.

PERFECT WIFE

A perfect little wife
A perfect loving life
He slaps me in the face
I don’t feel disgrace.
As long as he comes home
And doesn’t choose to roam
Then I will toe the line
And all will be just fine.

I’m not the perfect wife
I can get out of hand
He’s the love of my life
You have to understand.
We have so much invested
In our life together.
He’s so very special
I’ll never find another.

It’s not his fault
What is going on.
It’s not his fault
I egged him on.
It’s not his fault
I burned his dinner.
It’s not his fault
I should have known better.

A perfect little wife
A perfect loving life
He slaps me in the face
I don’t feel disgrace.
As long as he comes home
And doesn’t choose to roam
Then I will toe the line
And all will be just fine.

When he’s sweet
He’s the love of my life.
He’s the perfect husband
For such a ******* up wife
When he’s angry
He’s not the same.
It’s all my fault;
He’s not to blame.

A perfect little wife
A perfect loving life
He slaps me in the face
I don’t feel disgrace.
As long as he comes home
And doesn’t choose to roam
Then I will toe the line
And all will be just fine.

Brent Kincaid
4/1/2015

she set the pumpkins out,
and decorated her house.
she got her costume ready,
she was a measly gray mouse.
the witches came riding,
and the black cats hissed.
the neighbourhood boys egged houses,
but her house they missed.
children cried out "TRICK OR TREAT,"
and parents rushed them along.
she was with her group of friends,
a place where she didn't belong.
ghosts come haunting the streets,
and the blood of vampires drip down.
superheroes run house to house,
and clowns turn their frowns upside down.
it's a night that everyone waits for,
a night where the dead roam free.
it's a night where i let myself go,
it's a night where i can be me.

Quaalude Bill I'm called
'cause to many hot ladies
I slipped a pill or two
then each lady
I shamelessly balled

I loved every one of them
in my own way
but deeply regret how
I went off the track
with my mad zest
for ***** crack

Oh, they did flash  me a bit
egged me on
but that's no excuse
for my despicable ruse

I don't ask the ladies' forgiveness
What's done is done
I rub my tired eyes and try to calm
my uncalm  heart, ask
might we not walk a little again
under the ancient blessings of the healing sun?

To impeach or not to impeach: that is the question
To bar myself against his merciless beliefs
Or to deal with a worse evil by the name of Pence
His speeches of deportation and his turning of the laws
With his tiny hands and orange face is deplorable, despicable!
The destruction by the racist himself to LGBT+’s civil rights
Has wrought havoc for the transgendered, has instilled fear into us
To impeach or to keep
Pence, a sidekick, a partner in crime to the man in question, a worse evil
Hatred of us, boiling beneath his republican skin
Conversion therapy becoming an option, scarring and scaring the youths
Homophobia on the rise after the biggest triumph for us
Laws passed in June of 2015 no longer holding meaning
This man spreading his opinions to the new generations
To keep Mr. Trump would save us from a meaner man
But what would save us from the man who helped make America racist again?
There’s misogyny, bigotry, and racism filling the office
Violence, arrogance and white supremacy filling our country
Supported by Russia, the KKK, and racist republicans
Trump has taken this land into violence, fear, and hatred of one another
He has made public shaming against those with disabilities appropriate
And his voters have accepted this America as a great one
People are beginning to revert back to their prior nativism views
But to us Pence is a worse evil
Threats, pain, and fear still running deep within our communities
Shootings, violence, and property damage are just to name a few
Running rampant in our communities, egged on by this Vice President
Though Lord Voldemort may be terrible
Behind him is a line of Red Racist Bigots to replace him
Due to this, the Evil Man will have to be kept
And impeaching cannot take place

I did errands today
and I was confused

Something was wrong, astray
I mused

I settled into the evening quiet
And my disquieted soul shouted

"The flags were not at half staff"
As the West Wing staff and Cabinet was trimmed by half

Yesterday, Congress was sieged by riff-raff
45 egged them on

Congress counted the Electoral votes
but our troubles are not all gone

Today, I needed to see that flag half-mast
My grief begged for a symbol against the bombast

And yet the flag waved, full staff, as if nothing and no one mattered
And no one has said a word

I kissed a boy,
whom I gave my heart to

I kissed a boy,
who played with my heart,
with no intention on returning it

I kissed a boy,
who thought my heart was just another everyday object
and threw it down the gutter
when he realised
he had no use of it anymore

I kissed a boy,
who threw my heart down the gutter
because it stopped beating for him
who tore me apart
drowned my lungs out with black blood
and suffocated me with the hatred
he enveloped around himself
simply because he couldn't stand the sight of himself in the mirror


I kissed a boy,
and he planted demons in my head,
egged on the voices who told me I was not worth it,
telling me daily that I was useless and a waste of space,
deafening my silent mind with their dark words,
eventually helping his hatred
consume me too
and killed me off inside
just like he had murdered himself

I kissed a boy,
and he killed slowly with the anger and self-loathing inside of him

"You been writing anything lately man?"

"Just IOUs for the government, lawyers, and people who used to call me their friends."

"Sounds rough," Berkley remarked.

Harvard did not respond back. Instead he stared past Berkley's red tipped spiked hair to the girl behind him, watching the small movements she made while dancing to the band onstage. Harvard felt hypnotized by the shake of her hips and the way her quick dye black hair swayed to the left and to the right every time one of her feet left the ground as if she were walking in place.

"...all I'm saying is that someone should do something..."

Berkley was talking. Harvard couldn't focus. He heard his voice somewhere on the peripheral of reality but could not zero in on it. His eyes remained transfixed on the dancer.

"...it's all about helping. You feel drawn to it, ****** in almost to the rush you get from..."

Clips of Berkley's voice echoed in Harvard's ears. Sound bites of a conversation he knew he was part of but couldn't join in on.

The band on stage rocketed thru their set list with the lead singer strutting around in a sequined jacket, doing his best **** Jagger impression but looking more along the lines of a **** head coming down off a high. He played out every rock n roll cliche on stage and the audience cheered him on. Egged him on. The power of rock stardom working the room.

"Thank you Come-Blow-Us Ohio! See you in the morning when we're sneaking out of your house!"

The girl quit dancing and Harvard rolled his eyes back into reality. The past fifteen minutes came flooding into his conscience and he heard entire conversations, **** rock playing, cigarettes burning, beer spilling. It all played in his mind like a slow motion film set to fast forward.

"...I've been doing some soul searching and what I've found is that I lack soul," Harvard heard his voice answering Berkley. He still stared past his friend at the girl who now sat down at one of the tables, the heat of the night stained her shirt and hung closely to the contours of her structure. She smiled at something someone at the table said and Harvard wished silently that he had said something to make her smile like that but felt his feet become anvils rooted to the hardwood floor beneath him when he tried to shift his weight closer to her.

"...There's something about a soul that begs for a creative outlet, if its not being fulfilled it enters into a state of stasis until it withers into the heart of a cynic."

"So I should be creative and my soul will flourish?"

"At the very least you'll have something to bargain with when you meet the devil."

"I've met the devil, good dude, gets a bad rap."

The next band finished setting up on stage and Harvard watched out of the corner of his eye as the girl stood up and sauntered over to the dance floor and began once again writhing in rhythm to the music on the stage. He tried not to stare but again found himself transfixed on her dance and he once again heard the real world shut out and echo around him.

"...hey man, where'd you go?" Berkley snapped his fingers in front of Harvard's face forcing him out of his trance.

"Oh hey...sorry...I...um..." Harvard couldn't forge any words and waiting for his mind to come back to him. "Sorry I don't know what happened, I just kinda zoned out I guess; say anything important?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. I solved the dilemma of world peace and everything but its cool no one really wants that."

"Yeah, you're right. Hey I need another beer, you want one?"

"Yeah, get me something hipster."

"PBR coming right up."

Harvard could hear Berkley laugh as he walked towards the bar, paid for the beers, and turned around, walking directly into the girl. He managed not to spill any beer on her and hoped that his tongue would not spill any inappropriate words as well.

"Hi, for me?" She laughed. She laughed harder when Harvard handed her one. She took it and brought it to her lips. He could see a smile hidden behind the clear plastic cup.

"I'm Harvard," he introduced himself.

"I'm Mallory but you can call me Yale. Everyone does.. My parents called me that but never told me why." She blushed at the way the words spilled out of her mouth to a complete stranger.

Harvard smiled and once again found his mind working in slow motion before he blurted out that it was nice to meet her.

"You too..." She hesitated, "I should get back to my friends..." Yale felt that sentence leave her mouth for an eternity and wished that she had not said it. She quickly added, "thank you for the beer, maybe I'll see you again?"

"Maybe," was all Harvard could muster. He felt his legs become rubber and as much as he did not want her to leave he wished she would do so quickly before he collapsed into a pile of beer and clothes.

He watched her slink away back to her group of friends as the world sped up around him. He sipped his beer and gained the strength to walk back to where Berkley stood.

"Hey man, where's mine?"

"Oh...uh...yeah sorry I forgot. Here I'll go back and get it."

"Nah it's alright. I need to go anyway, I have to be up in a few hours..."

Harvard and Berkley shook hands and said their goodbyes. Harvard stayed back and watched the headliner come on stage and start playing. He looked at Yale and smiled as she began dancing again but this time every few beats she would look back at him and a big smile would spread across her face. She did this too many times to count and Harvard suddenly found himself standing closer and closer to her, not sure if he had moved or if she had. He looked around and he was not in the same spot nor was she with her friends.

Yale turned around, happy to see the man she met at the bar behind her. She couldn't explain it but felt as if she were drawn to him and that the closer she was to him the slower the world around them moved. "Hi again," she said.

"Hi back," Harvard fumbled for words again before pulling Yale closer to him and staring at her for what felt like an eternity. She began dancing, slowly at first, pressing herself closer and closer against him.

Yale draped her arms around the shoulders and neck of Harvard and pulled herself closer, grinding herself as close as she could to him. She felt the music around her but danced to a different rhythm, one that only she and Harvard seemed to be hearing.

The world around them stopped moving but they did not notice. They danced together until after the music had stopped playing and the band got off stage. The lights came on and the bouncers and bartender announced last call.

"I think I've been waiting for you," Yale whispered.

"Sorry it's been a long wait, I got held up." Harvard tried to be smooth but failed.

Yale laughed and pulled Harvard closer. "Next time, don't keep me waiting."

She kissed him deep as her friends pulled her away and out of the bar. Their fingers holding on to each other until they could no longer.

Harvard stood in the room and stared blankly at the door. A bouncer nudged him and he started walking towards the door and outside. He got to the curb and sat down, trying to collect his thoughts and let his drunk wear off.

A car screeched to a halt somewhere across the street from him but Harvard barely noticed until the shadow of someone stood over him. He looked up to see Yale. She stared intently at him and handed him a piece of paper.

"I mean it. Next time don't keep me waiting." She said sternly with affection before turning around and getting back in the car with her friends.

Harvard unfolded the paper and looked it. It was her number. He folded it back up and put it in his pocket and started walking, vowing to himself to never let her have the agony of waiting again.

I can taste your chastity

Tipping on my tongue as I watch
Consumed by your virtue
Baffled by your grace
How?
How does one breathe with such innocence
And laugh with no worry

I heard you were sheltered

Its easy when you've been born in silence
Watch my eyes as I ponder
Egged on by your serenity
Why?
Why do you speak with white letters
And laugh with no worry

Baruch sat with Fay
on top of the concrete
bomb shelter
on the grass area

of Banks House
in early evening
looking skyward
taking in the stars

sprinkled in the dark
blue sheet of sky
and the moon quartered
as if someone

had taken a slice
out of it like cheese
the coal wharf
was closed up

the shops shut
a few stragglers walked
to the Duke of Wellington
for a drink

deserved or not
steam trains
still went over
the railway bridge

over Rockingham Street
disturbing the air
Daddy said
Jews killed Jesus

Fay said
looking side ways
at Baruch beside her
is that true?

I think the Romans
did the killing
the Jews kind of
egged them on

I suppose
Baruch said
but Jesus himself
was a Jew

he added
watching a bat
flap across the sky
catching his eye

was he?
she said frowning
he doesn't look Jewish
in the picture

in my Bible
she said
he looks
kind of unJewish

Baruch smiled
I guess they painted
the Jewishness
out of him

he said
she lay back
on the shelter roof
her hands resting

on her stomach
looking at the sky
Baruch lay beside her
the density of space

is fascinating
he said
kind of
makes you wonder

how far in it goes and on
Heaven is out there
Daddy said
Fay suggested shyly

beyond the deep dark
Baruch watched
another bat
flap by

the light of stars
reaches us
long after the star
has burnt out

and died
he said
it's like seeing
ghost stars

she laughed
and reached
for his hand
really?

she said
sure are
stars are light years away
their light takes

many years
to reach us
she held his hand
it felt warm

in the evening air
the light
from the nearest star
left there

when we
were 8 years old
and now we're 12
and seeing it

here and now
she liked to feel
his hand and skin
she dismissed

what her father said
that to touch
a Jew
was a deadly sin.

I have mastered this at a very young age
Trust me, darling, I feel no pain
You think you're cooler than me
Well I think you're strange
You think you have life figured out and that yo are going to go far
Well guess what ? I hate you now and I egged your car
Your smile is a very sweet one but when you open it to talk at me I want to delete you out of my life
He was taking photos of me and now you're trying to become his wife
You feel like an ancient queen so here's my advice
Ready for it?
Just die.

The Boxer  

  He had the saddest eyes I have ever seen
  hands trembled like drunkard's
  after a fortnight's  ****** but dipsomaniac
  could always have another drink
Ali could not Parkinson's disease saw to that
This poet of the ring a victim of success
egged on too long, just another fight my love
Honours and medal they bestowed him
it came too late his voice was but a whisper
In the glade butterflies fly as Ali once did
Not as fast as Mohammed Ali.

2020 - day 103 -- a long and winding story, fun, I re read it twice.

Wednesday, April 22, 2020
8:04 AM

Pharoah-ism is a thing.

It's in a class of words holding forms for governing,
herds of humans,
who can be fit to the form, walk this way,

like an Egyptian, indebted for all your worth

Trillions and trillions, soon enough,
the ghost of Everett Dirkson laughs at
another billion attributed to Carl Sagan,
"we ain't even thinking real money any more."

To whom does the government of, for, and by the people,
owe all the nation can invent

Some day we will learn each bit of reality, but

we, as a specie, a valued mod on the base line
must access our global brain.

China -- that is -- the military mind of China,

has egged on
the military might of the USA, offering hope

for all-out war on peace, for no reason.

War has never had a reason for which any good
could come. Never.

And I will defend to the death your right to disagree,
but not your right to fight and destroy me.

If peace and war were to meet on a distant shore,
peace might move inland, but

now, we meet here on earth as mere ideas empowered
by the codemaker; peace and war

tete a tete, cabezo y cabezo I betcha, like dos cabezos

peering ahead on I -10... on the road again...

this is a changing station stage of life...

fold down time.

monster employers, users and maintainers of
common flesh and blood eyes, ears and hands,
people of the commonest class;
some times sitting in boxes,
some times standing in lines, sometimes

watching welder robots do your dad's old job.


--- capital
= money = time.

Gotta minute?
Invest it in imagining you think, as in,

think

who holds those, no, not those,

these truths, these factions of the whole
truth
faction, not fraction,

truth
and nothing but as sworn to on tv via mirror neurons
and solidi-fied, pur-chased, caught, netted,

in plebeian pledges of allegiance from first
grade, in the sorting of useful citizens,

some may serve at the highest levels, lifted via
lessons proven learned in standard tests,

-- number two pencil, fill each box, complete-ly,

so a machine can discern your answer, and punch
through the insulating paper, to signal
each bit of evidence

coming into piles of assorted usefull knacks,

mark this one. Feed him Wattie Piper, make him
think, I can
think, I can, think, think a little think...


We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of

How did Einstein think?

AI ai ai, we know. Not in words. Einstein was taught to think

in whatification. What if I

--- nail the sun to the sky and feel the earth move me at
-- twenty-five, or so
-- thousands of miles
per fifteen three hundred and sixtieths of a day
-- and a night, one whole day...

but N D Tyson taught me that trick, not Einstein...
and not all things count as worthy,
relatively, of attention paid.

The worth of a thought's open door invitation to the curiosity we
enjoy


Semantics (from Ancient Greek: σημαντικός sēmantikós,
"significant") 
is the linguistic and philosophical study of meaning 
in language,
programming languages,
formal logics,
and semiotics.
It is concerned with the relationship between signifiers
—like 
words, phrases, signs, and symbols
—and what they stand for in reality, their denotation.

On the subject of secrecy in general,

ah, no, we've no secrets, for here we have no truely
believable lies,

the truth will out, we say.
Life ain't fair, death had no hope, that's just

the way it is.
Wait and see. We had ein kleiner Gedanke, once
upon a mythical histerical time,

ah, think of any first blood in a world of secrets, such as we

formed from, even in famine, some seed was sown
each season,

some seed remained from first story peoples, preserved
in sacred places, safe,
until the dawning on you, that this is true, life always wins.

brightly lighted stage of history

no weakness... save where the blade meets the soft flesh
beneath a noble head bowing to think


fringe brushes my gnostic-itch, son of a gun,

son of a blade, edge, point

pierce the air, no pop, no apoptosist apostasy, see

we use words with no definitive meanings, right?

significance is cast aside, who cares
that's just semantics, I don' quibble bout {sign-if-i can-sense}
significance
or sign.
I wonder did we double down on a word righting there,
did we give meaning to a barely breathing

wind born lie, some interruptions signify engagement of

a clutch, a tool to grip the wild spinning trans-
*******, while

we slip into something more comfortable.
A higher, cruising 12 to 1 gear

My neighbor from two hills north, is coming to sit a while,

the guy has been called Cowboy, as a name, since all his siblings
knew him.

He is a walking archetype. And my friend. We share some burrs,
from wild meadows ridden on sole leather,

leaving a steaming auto-mobile by the side of the road,

aaah, the interruptions {more, with Oliver gone}

any line in context, is a step past last, a first of all the nexts

Nexts?
Options. Who determined this? My will being to discover this
fringe connection to the persistence on the fringe

of string theory strangling struggling

genera general, whole sorts of hu-mongolian signif-if-if ier yous.

Yous guys includes girls and nobody makes me say,

wombed AND un-wombed, man. So yous, youse, y'all you all;
you,
samesame, okeh. Plain and subliminal, wait and see. Losers win,

when they stop fighting fair.
Die and see what happens,
or imagine
you
know some body who did die and before he did he said,

Hide, and watch. AND now, you see,

caution once cast to the wind, calming all the rage required

to oppose the forces

¿? quare, sistere, wait, feel the urge to know, a click calque

see, new old idea, an old idea studied to the point of a word
formed to signify a set of things

cal-que-able, in curios kurio terms derived

from Phoencian merchants, who set up benches in all the ports.

Users of money, milkers of the exchange, worth-ship of silver,

balanced on the craftily formed me-assuring thing,

eight silver tid-bits makes one golden one, tid-bits fit

fingers, excluding thumbs, for thumbs play a role

mechanically in holding any thing, even

steady -- com-pre-hensive press press sure...

you got it, knowledge

ex-spands into wow... did it work?

Did we make a handle? Or a tool? No pressure, guess.

And Dave Goodman, rides into the west, with a QVC Lid-Lock

full of fabulous pasta cheese and celery, with peas.

A culinary experiment conducted by the grandmother
of all my grand children,

a most mazing teacher of balance's pre care-ious role

on an inclined plane sure to flatten the curve

--- are we in historical moments a generation long,
--- with second generations arrows
--- never quivered, these shafts I shot by faith at unseen things,

for which I have reasons. Were now the war,

we all agree war always cost far more than its worth in death,
robbing life from mankind,

unaware if there ever were a gospel truth. I say don't study war with carnal weapons.

Words carry us into real contextual contests for human sanity as a whole,
we can make peace,
we all can breathe easy, loose the tight jibbs {jaws}, gritted molars, loosen up...

Historically, it seems riddles became de riguer in ifity, but plainly,

only surviving stories survive.

Science knows no story which was eaten up and troubled m'bowels and made me know

boom boom boom, montezuma's revenge

in the spirit kah-blewy con ef ef ef fectual fervent

prayer/sayer saying/praying in timeless harmony

if we can agree... no good we imagine can fail,

let chirality meet diversity and error meet ciliation

conciliate celebration,

conciliate (v.)
"overcome distrust or hostility of by soothing and pacifying," 1540s, from Latin conciliatus, past participle of conciliare "to bring together, unite in feelings, make friendly," from concilium "a meeting, a gathering of people," from assimilated form of com "together, together with" (see com-) + PIE *kal-yo-, suffixed form of root *kele- (2) "to shout" (the notion is of "a calling together"). Related: Conciliated; conciliating; conciliary. The earlier verb was Middle English concile "to reconcile" (late 14c.).

take away my anti-grace, de
ify my chance appearance,

dance, mirror neuronically, sitting your chair-saddle,

y'put y'left foot in behind your right and

boom
y'hit a but, but this, but that, but some other thing,

you got only so much mortal attention,

so when one door closes, whatever you need, is not there,

here we see the old wise man who saved a city and no one knows his name,
he say, redundancy of instruction is the way of life.

fectual per effing e fect, non sensicle semantical ice, Gibsonian ice,

no sweat, we are wrapped in white linen,

we broke on through and waited for you.

Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also.

words we remember were words
meant
to stand tall understanding all things


differently, re
reading, the scene from Night Scenes in the Bible,
that
was a level of knowns
effectually un provable but by
common movie-complex unbelief release, let it be

-- lower missing efs, finding more attention {behind the scenes}

ef-fectual is conjugolly confusin my prudent nature.

or higher, north or sout, plus or minus h

who cares. We made it. This is today.

Meek inheritance day or the spirits judged by the degree day,
a holi
day
in which they trouble their own house, and recall the point that
pierced their own soul,

so to speak,

survived hating your own self for other's sakes,

sakes meaning  goodness and graciousness which

constitute the happy bits in ever,
the treasures found,

where a man's heart is,
my diamond farm is yours now,

my gift to you... only words.

I inherited the wind, my job is to finish melting the ice.

God and sinner reconciled is a song,

does that make it less true?

For us, ever began before today,

so today is that day or it is not, we wait to see

or we wait and see, seeing if

this were the day, when all things go my way,

or come my way, in the course of human events,

I may be ready if readiness is some form of kurios

assurance, blessed, said *****, in a song,

I agree, blessed assurance,
Hey-sus is mine, find his words bring comfort

2020 paradigm shift is common parlance, Cowboy uses that
and logos regularly and he is

old, by mortal standards, for an archetype he's barely ligandary
to most receptive sub caudal imps.

they can feel

him biting the bullet,
gritting his teeth on the Gerber Bowie-wannabe blued steel
blade, re-imagined in reread instead, bullets bitten can go off,

I know a kid fired a deadly-for-a-mile bullet,
with a hammer and a rock, so, knifes are dangerous, too,
so
as a mime-ical biting down, per
haps this hero-in-forming bites

a wooden drumstick, beating now with one,
biting down on the other
boom
boomto doom boom
boom
boomto doom boom... and as the beat goes on,

fringes find loose ends and latch on...

Dirac was an early Cher fan, and she was something like dys
lexical survivor of the year,
if she can, anybody can
I think I can read faster than

hmmm, slippery *****,
speaking memes as old as I remember, then

by the time I wondered if she were real or
a con structure
I lose my footing

slip on something comfortable, this promises to be

that night, in the legends, just prior to a marked, edge of night,

ever after post. Will you still love me,

tomorrow.... deeedly violins lift away any hope

of redemption, oh, ma, it was 1963, you had to have me

to sing your blessing into,
to hide your gift in me, no one must know, oh god
bless his heart...

no part of this vision is clear, nor plain, why is this my beatrice
cockatrice

Olden day, Robinson's cowboy preacher son, sowed a saying in my
core, I sup-pose, put
his phrase formed
an ever more pleasant link to Wikenberg,
on this shelf, see, we can remember the target by re

reading... remembering never drink from the Hasayampa.
and you can tell the truth
by
aquiring point on conscience. Taking thought.

Ethos keeps insisting we are in some offensive mode.
Thus the call for concentration, we are tunable now,

on some oldies but goodies websites...
Kenpepiton.com, for one.
mytechpeople.com is possibly in the archives.

Calebland.com long left to a bland b-break lacking dash,
early urls. imaginable as answers to
either wishes or prayers,

or desires... unseen, unthinkable tools to augment a

satisfied mind, completely ******, no direction home...

here, my heart, my contentment container,

at the moment, indistinguishable from any mortal concept of heaven.

Robinson's father's saying: {remembered just in time}

some times you have to stomp your own snakes.
he may have said, you gotta stohmp yerown dam'snakes,

but never would he have said: one must stomp one's own snakes.

Stillness. There is no fire causing havoc in the forest.
There is no floodwater to wash away the dirt it rests upon,
Screaming a song. The birds are mellow.
The squirrels are hiding. My back rests against a maple tree.
Imagination is free, but bound by peaceful things.
My thoughts can wander freely, but the woods are dull.
Can you sing me a song? My plots fall flat.
Falling... though an endless void. There is only black.
This mind is useless if my tales are null.
I already drowned the rabbit hole.
Silence. I already egged the nests,
And boulders keep the bears at rest.
They're sleeping. The woods are sleeping. The trees still standing,
And I'm still humming this same old tune.

here’s to lonely nights and resounding silence,
uplifting darkness and solitude abundant,
of wandering thoughts and imprisoned dreams;
when the night is a better companion than it normally seems.

here’s to the nights you spent crying in bed:
egged on by the monsters whispering in your head,
of nightmares dreamed once upon a time;
when nonsense was reason and chaos was rhyme.

here’s to the nights you felt so alone:
only company a mute, unringing phone
soaked with and made ruin with tears -
only voice on the other line was your head full of fears.

here’s to the night when the one stepped through the door:
unexpected surprise, footsteps patter on the floor,
two silhouettes like wayward trains meet.
bodies collapsing into one, admitting defeat.

"I could never win this war without you," admitted one.
“oh baby, don’t you worry, our journey’s just begun,”
she whispered as she clutched his glove between two hands,
and together they traveled beyond the land.

the night is never forever and more.
so don’t keep looking down, stop kissing the floor.
look up at the sky for a moment and you’ll see,
a billion stars shining for the person you’ll be.

Line by line, recite my pain
Neither me, you or the world to blame
Remembering how weak I was
Forgetting how strong I am
Surrender, my talent
Giving up, never my plan

I don't want to be just another man
I want to be special and unique
Different yet the same and admirable
I want success, I want to be humble
The universe doesn't care
Nothing is planned
Since fate doesn't exist

Every day is different
Every day is the same
I make no difference to this world
I'll never make a change
If I'm honest
I myself never really liked change
Hell, I never really even liked myself

A jealous individual is me
A sad one too
"Woe is me" cliché yet true
I wake up every day and cry inside
"What am I going to do?"
Every poem I wrote sounds the same
"Oh sadness, Oh love, Oh money,
Oh baby, Oh please, Oh why"

I'm suffocated by anger
Egged on by pain
An old soul with a young face
A young man with no place
Very few friends since eighteen
All I am is a sob story
An easy to get on with drama queen

I've changed.
I'm no longer myself
what happened to me?
I've become selfish
I'm now a narcissist
what happened to me?
what pushed me?
who am I now?
what happened to me?
I'm screaming on the inside
constantly angry at myself
what happened to me?
wanting what's best for me
and yet I don't do so
what happened to me?
I used to do everything I could
I still do but do I really..
what happened to me?
why am I constantly upset?
and constantly angry?
what happened to me?
sometimes people change
I just wish I wouldn't have
what happened to me?
I'm now so irritable
what egged me on?
what happened to me?
I'm angry at myself
terrified of who I've become
what the **** happened to me..

Dormant, standing on the bow peering out with telescope in hand
Quite seas
Off in the distance,
Land
Bright sunlight piercing through closed fingers
Shielding the reflection of the ocean and sky
To no avail
Telescope still in hand
Distance drawing nearer
"Land **!" yells the lookout as dry ugly faces peer out from below deck
Grumbling voices wake from their slumber as the crew saunters their way into the day light and fresh air
They grab rope, and hooks, swords, and supplies
Captain steering towards the shore
They hop on three dinghies
Eight strong
Yo ** ** and a bottle of ***
Eyepatches, sly grins, and peg legs a plenty
No one greets them on the small island
They are there to pillage the resources and devour the meats as they reach soil
Sharp teeth and empty stomachs
Tattoos of women with large *******, and anchors, hearts, and daggers
***
Much *** will be swigged and landing in bellies come nightfall
Songs sung by fires warm light
At mornings break they shall hunt and scour the land for animals and resources
They haven't a map but smell treasure
They know it's there
They whiff at the air to determine their course
They argue their cut, their share of their findings until one man lay dead from sharp blades final judgement
More for the taking of the rest of the crew
Morning comes
Through the branches, over rocks they climb towards the peek
The summit
A cave, a cave is in sight
They throw rocks in order to draw out and living creature that may have made a home inside
No sound permeates
It is safe to enter
Fire sticks are lit and cave is entered with caution
Whispers and hushes
They stumble
Head meets rock
Blood
This is no easy life
They reach a cavernous waterhole
The first man is egged on to explore its contents
Explore its depth
The water is knee deep
Until, until he sinks out of sight and the water swallows him whole
Startled, the men scamper back to dry land
"Where has our fellow mate gone", they ask
Splashing, he reemerges
He reaches the surface and cries out
"Gold!!"

She was sitting in the corner crying
I can't do this anymore she said,
her nerves were nearly all shattered
I knelt down and hugged her
I told her the show must go on
she looked at me with make up all a running
she nodded and slowly got to her feet
just one more act and the play would be complete

I egged her on with a bums on seats gag
she smiled sweetly, which made me blush
if only we walked arm in arm
she would make my garden lush
if she knew how much I loved her
in all her delicate physique
maybe she would think of me as lover
not the person who plays so meek

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

Have you ever loved a friend?

Unbeknownst to him, waited for his words

To play havoc on your heart..



Have you ever loved a friend,

Laughed at all his silliest puns,

Cried for him your secret tears

And yet egged him on to touch the stars?



Have you ever loved a friend

Cherished his thoughts, worshipped his laughter,

Never daring to open your heart

Shared his wildest, craziest deeds?



Have you ever loved a friend

Who pried open all your secrets except one,

Silently loved him in all your lonely dreams

And yet let him free to love?



Have you ever loved a friend?

Unbeknownst to him, waited for his words

To play havoc on your heart..

I watched my love die on the sand
As blood mingled with the earth
I watched the light fade from his eyes
Sweet breath abandon his lungs
I saw him suffer to say some word
A sad way to waste the last of breath

In my hand a desperate grasp
Pale against skin, gasp against sob
A cry from lips of pain and loss
In this short eternity I was so lost

And as the staining darkness reached his eyes
The moon did break
Propelling shattering crystal across my sky

No more night would fill my life
With no more moon to light the way
Only sun filled days
No more reprieve from scorching rays
Spiteful as they burn my eyes
Already sore from things too bright

~
Even as life relinquished its hold
And the fingers of mortality would press no more upon him
I held on still
I held, I clung as if to root him
To where he should belong
I dared the earth to split beneath
Even then it would not be enough
To give up night
And surrender to sun

What should I say
Farewell
Goodbye
Soon the sun will come
And you will leave me
And you will fade

~
The dawn that broke
Brought a mournful shade
The warmth that seeped through clouds of dew
Seemed to mock me in its wake

Sounds of morning
Whispering false peace into my ear
Egged on a pain that seemed to sear
Within my chest, my bones
Every inch beneath my skin

~
I huddled beside it
The empty thing I had loved
And that had once loved me

My head lay upon his chest
Otiose against my being
I clutched closer
As if my beating heart could call him back...

All this talk about genders is a bit confusing
All emotions have been torn
But then again, I was a man trapped in a woman's body
Until the day I was born