he could play a frakkin' minuet
with his hands, this dude,
with perfect pitch and key --
and birdcalls of a timeless cult.
he'd hangglided in volcano rainbows,
had meathook *** from rafters.
reciting Shakespeare, conjured instant goosebumps, tears --
towering heartwise, intellect vast
whatever roles he played at night to model for our soul
we ripped the roof from off my fathers house, sublime,
wearing attic soot in all our pores,
asbestos grin contracting into mycophile hopes
flirting with the passing birds
in leaves and pizza parlors,
tanned and buff, shingle tar on shoulders, nails,
iron hard for her and her and her
the beating sun-breath coughing under mask
each tack an instant echo for the breeze
to take direction from a symbol core
no symbol ever truly held..
refreshing airs to bleed away the vanity,
yet halfway on the ladder there
an interrupting brag, my father's fascia beams
report card scores as if a better world they made
in money pitted recess taxing hidden filth- -
thank you,
Bach, to break up pride with existential high
new melodic rain to cover over thousands lost to sell,
settle dust,
handwind bard, aesthete
innovate human
you turn me on with tales of your amazing wife
bareshirt in your unfinished house, lusting eaves,
backyard grasshoppers on the counter,
****** as insect brains can be
to tilt their eyes with me at unreal fullness spectra-circle on a cloud
not possible the wholeness found
in wish fulfilling living roofs
of ecosystem awe and sunlamp bottles
here, and here,
under moss on backwoods skillion
or trussed on tree spread wide, open-hipped for skylove --
contentednesses missed the meaning now
of mother-art to birth anew the endless homes,
ecosophy's abundant cheer
laughter even in the nooks of dying nails
extemporaneous arcology of barefoot
ridgetop feardance raked in soffit shift
from gray to green
invulnerable vigor gained and gone
and grown again
from marginalia to universal veil
'happy evermore' no matter this or that
a swimming hole of naked sayings streamed,
inner wash of salt and sweat, an afterthought deluge
to challenge dormer crease-dive of a dogma drain
structured, learned pillage ivory still
though greensulated soon








.

here in the crumbling
of the plasterwork ceiling
the outsides fascia bandage
skin deep rot
pargeting facades
long dissolved
trying to remember
the correct way
I used to repair
them,
on edge a
soffit rotten
underneath.

Ogni giorno si arriva a caratterizzare splendido lavoro di Lindsay Madden su SMP è un buon giorno .Ma un giorno in cui si arriva a caratterizzare un intero weekend di festeggiamenti splendidamente fotografato in Turk e Caicos ?Ebbene .non vi è un aggettivo nell'intera dizionario che può descrivere questo.Ma non significa che non si può godere fino all'ultimo abiti da sposa 2014 secondo della loro ripresa amore .cena di benvenuto e matrimonio sotto - e naturalmente c'è ancora di più vi aspetta qui .Oggi è un buon giorno davvero .


Da Lindsay Madden Fotografia .. Chris \u0026Laura ha optato per un amore tiro tropicale prima del giorno delle nozze per documentare il loro tempo speso su Turks e Caicos .Questi vestiti da sposa due erano così felice .rilassato ein amore .Mi è piaciuto molto trascorrere il pomeriggio catturare il loro amore bello sulla morbida sabbia fine e le acque turchesi di Grace Bay .


Da Lindsay Madden Fotografia.Come l'azzurro del cielo ha dato rapidamente il posto a un tramonto pesca.Laura .Chris \u0026i loro ospiti si stabilirono in sul ​​ponte ovest del Seven Stars Resort per Chris e la cena di benvenuto di Laura .Lanterne appeso da una palma all'altra e gli ospiti aveva una vista mozzafiato del tramonto sulla Grace Bay .Questo è stato Chris \u0026Weekend di nozze di Laura calcio d'inizio !Dopo una deliziosa cena tutti hanno fatto la loro strada verso la spiaggia per un falò completo di smores \u0026uno dei principali dance party grazie alla fascia isole Junkanoo .abbiamo FUNK .

Condividi questa splendida galleria

Da Lindsay Madden Photography.Turks e Caicos è un posto davvero speciale per avere un matrimonio di destinazione .Laura \u0026Chris sono nativi newyorkesi e condividere il mio amore \u0026affetto per i Caraibi .Così.quando mi hanno chiesto di volare giù per il paradiso per il loro matrimonio .io .ovviamente .ha detto di sì !Hanno scelto di sposarsi presso il Seven Stars Resort che si trova proprio sulla Grace Bay .La loro cerimonia ha avuto luogo sulla sabbia calda circa un'ora prima del tramonto del sole e il loro cocktail ora / ricevimento si è tenuto in Apollo suite dell'hotel.La suite in sé era un attico con vista sull'oceano e questo ha offerto Chris e ospiti una vista mozzafiato di Laura del tramonto durante l' ora del cocktail e posti in prima fila per la loro sorpresa fuochi d'artificio alla fine della notte .Fiori per Arts ambientali decorato la suite con bellissimi fiori dell'isola \u0026candele.L'atmosfera era calda einvitante che era perfetto per la loro storia intima.Chris \u0026Laura sorrise e si mise a ridere per tutta la giornata



e ** avuto la fortuna di catturare il loro sforzo bel matrimonio di destinazione.
Fotografia : Lindsay Madden Fotografia | Event Planner : NILA Eventi - Lynne Watts | Cake: Seven Stars Resort | Inviti : Jessica Leigh Paperie | Scarpe da sposa : Nine West | Wedding abiti da sposa 2014 Bands : Cartier | Scarpe sposo : Louis Vuitton | vestito dello sposo :su ordine dalla My.Suit | Bikini : lavanderia da Shelli Segal | Dress \u0026 Velo da sposa : Cymbeline | Chris ' Swim Trunks : Vilebrequin | Fuochi d'artificio : Seven Stars Resort | Fiori \u0026 Lighting : Fiori per Arte ambientale { Turks \u0026 Caicos } | Hair \u0026Make Up : Sheque da Shenique | Pantaloni di Laura : Letarte | Località : Seven Stars Resort .Turks e Caicos | Località : West Deck .Seven Stars Resort .Turks e Caicos | Posizione : Grace Bay.Turks e Caicos | Cappello per il sole : Joe FreshLindsay Madden Fotografiaè ñ/ a> e Nila Le destinazioni sono membri del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .Lindsay Madden Fotografia vedi portfolio Nila Meta vedi
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Si può o non può avere sentito un po 'di qualcuno di nome Kelly Clarkson sono sposati lo scorso fine settimana .E il suo matrimonio?Total .TOTALE .Svenire .Le nostre LBBers talento ultra dietro Archetype Studio Inc. ha fatto gli onori di catturare il giorno e stanno dando a noi anatre poco fortunati una sbirciatina a tutti la bella .


e dire la verità .un piccolo sguardo a Tennessee fattoria matrimonio di Kelly è tutto quello che dobbiamo sapere che siamo con tutto il cuore in amore .Non siete d'accordo



?
Fotografia : Archetype Studio Inc. | Abito da sposa: " Jessamine " by Temperley London | Anelli : Johnathon Arndt | capelli: Robert Ramos | Vestito dello sposo : John Varvatos | Fascia : Maria Elena | Trucco : Ashley Donovan | Stylist : Steph Ashmore| Luogo: Blackberry Farm

Prima di testa fuori nel fine settimana .abbiamo pochi vincitori super speciale !

Emily R abiti da sposa 2014 portato a casa un paio di Wedgewood Vera **** abiti da sposa 2014 Amore Nodi tostatura flauti da Secrets abiti da sposa corti Puerto Los Cabos Golf \u0026Spa Resort !Woohoo!

E complimenti a Fiona McGregor \u0026Nick Connellan .che hanno vinto una sessione impegno libero da Adrian Tuazon Fotografia !

Buon fine settimana !xoxo SMPTemperley London è un membro del nostro Look Book .Per ulteriori informazioni su come vengono scelti i membri .fare clic qui .Archetype Studio e Adrian Tuazon Fotografia sono membri del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .Archetype Studio Inc. vedi portfolio Adrian Tuazon Fotografia VIEW
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Se devo essere completamente onesto .avrei davvero mai sentito parlare di Gotland fino ad ora.Ma venire a scoprire .è un vero gioiello al largo della costa della Svezia (grazie Google) e l'impostazione di questa pastello storditore da Sara Norrehed .Pensate capannone industriale incontra rive Beachy incontra perfetta storia d'amore con una splendida sposa e lo sposo rubare lo spettacolo .Si rompe lo stampo matrimonio nel migliore dei modi .e stiamo amando ogni secondo nella galleria qui .

Condividi questa splendida galleria ColorsSeasonsSummerSettingsWarehouseStylesCasual

Da Sposa .Quando ** incontrato la prima volta mi sono innamorato .e sorriso .perché si sapeva .Beh questo è Shakespeare .ma lui deve aver letto la mia mente !E quando la persona più bella che abbia abiti da sposa 2014 mai incontrato proposto a me su una mattina di Natale io ero la ragazza più felice del mondo !Lo sono ancora .

Prima ** incontrato Gabriele non ero mai stato a Gotland .che è la più grande isola della Svezia situata al largo della costa orientale .Egli è nato sull'isola e la prima volta che ci siamo andati insieme mi sono innamorato di questo posto magico .Così.quando era il momento di trovare il posto perfetto per il nostro matrimonio abbiamo capito che doveva essere qui .Eravamo in una ricerca di last minute per un luogo e un giorno ventoso in aprile abbiamo trovato la posizione più incredibile in un vecchio tiglio pozzo .I colori.la luce .la natura .Tutto era pura magia .Come un sogno .

L'ambiente e gli edifici di questa ri- modellato .vecchia industria chiamato Fabriken Furillen sono molto spoglio e crudo con un sacco di cemento e metallo arrugginito .Questo si è rivelato essere il perfetto contrasto con il tema romantico che avevo in mente per il matrimonio .Essendo una persona furba fai da te volevo tutti i dettagli per essere personali e fatti in casa .Molte ore e fino a tarda notte sono stati spesi per piegare rose di carta .trasformando cucchiai d'epoca in segnaposti e fare zigoli juta .Il risultato era più di quanto potessi mai potuto desiderare !Mi piace che ogni impostazione tavolo era diverso.con le vecchie sciarpe di pizzo utilizzati come runner e candelabri Usato mia



mamma aveva raccolto per me dal giorno in cui la data delle nozze è stata impostata .
La sera prima del grande giorno avevamo un barbeque e tutti i nostri amici e parenti eravamo lì a mescolarsi .vino e cenare e festeggiare.Un ottimo modo per iniziare il week-end !Sul grande giorno il tempo era fortunatamente a nostro favore .La cerimonia è stata aperta su un piccolo portico con l'oceano successivo .La cena era deliziosa con abiti da sposa 2014 prodotti locali .i nostri amici e parenti fatto alcuni discorsi indimenticabili e tutti abbiamo ballato tutta la notte.Vorrei che potessimo farlo di nuovo !Avevamo un fotografo straordinario che è riuscito a catturare tutti i momenti preziosi e mi piace come le foto si è rivelato .assolutamente bellissimo e molto artistico .L' intero matrimonio era caldo .amorevole e divertente .E la cosa migliore di tutto questo ?Sono ora sposata con l'amore della mia vita

Fotografia : Sara Norrehed Fotografia | design floreale : ! Vaxthuset Lindsay | Scarpe : Jimmy Choo | Gioielli : Tiffany \u0026 Co. | Gioielli abiti da sposa on line : Jarl Sandin | capelli: Nyans | Illuminazione: Bordodesign \u0026 Technology | Abbigliamento dello sposo : NK Stockholm | fascia per capelli : Etsy | Luogo : Fabriken Furillen | abito da sposa ( " Aglaya " ) : Elie
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In this great big world wide knitted spiders nest
I wear a medium size long sleeved silken vest

If you can't beat them join them

Interfaced with a fascia on a blank screen
crissed cross veins on my eyes in a bad dream
and it's Friday so where is the ice cream?
I'm not playing this game
anymore.

Inactive action men
Barbie murdered Ken
and then Teddy ran away
I'm not playing this game
anymore.

Captain Scarlett got old and now he's captain Blue
the Avengers have avenged
and now what can do they do?
Tom Thumb grew up
Tin-tin threw up
the peaceniks blew up the past

If I last until this morning's through
I know exactly what to do
but
I won't be playing with anyone and especially not with you.

Half of the time we are silent.




I see the tip of your tattoo--the head of an eagle
at the nape of your neck below the delicate loops of a
thin silver chain -
and the thing about skin is that is whispers and pleads
to be seen or stung or washed

to be photographed, of course
mountains and valley exist on more
than one visceral plain, the earth comes
on more than one planet, one grain, we know.

That scientific studies show water to seek
the lowest point,
the lilac crest, the thoraclumbor fascia
(are we water? are you water? am I water?)
a percentage of it is water and the rest is
heart, the rest is soul

go stand beneath the water
and take your shirt off, take
your shirt off, gentle so that
the muscle doesn't stir, so
that you feel every inch of
cloth that doesn't belong
so that you don't see me
behind the lens
so that I don't
ruin what
good can
come of
being
naked.

we                         areonly         what
          
          we                    are.    clean predators
all muscles knotted fascia grimacing in
blood. swollen violence,blackeyed
nails scrabbling dainty sanguine troth.
careful gears wild nerves crackling.
and mars only fathoms the humor
of dead skin broken smooth graves
picket the hills.
                             yet          pledge i do
my little arms to
                              a pursuit of
gently broken skulls.

                                         art

In my forty-sixth year
I have learned to stay clear
of the pitfalls which once
befell me

Lessons I've learned
as the years burned
have turned out
to warn me

the voice in my head
quells urges to tread
where once  it seemed
I ran blindly

perspectives  have changed
like  land after the rains
have rushed by and scoured
it dry

feelings have changed
as I watch with dismay
society falling around me

the lines of the past
no longer last
blurring to a grey
hazy outline

it is claimed to be
kinder and gentler to thee
but a savageness
does underlie

all that remains
of the kindness that's claimed
cheap fascia, wrecked by the rain

gentleness does apply
to those who ask why
ignorant of their surrounds

a kick in the rear
still it appears
is truly a step forward

as I have related
these feelings belated
again the changes occur

to all I must say
thank you this day
for reading the
words from my soul

what lovely bones you,ve got. sO neatly in your arms.
s
o
   christened with your muscles. and nerves. so specifically (and arrogant)
the frame, white;and stiff!suspended the correctness of your
*******. supple drops of flesh,

    in the between of my hands

corrupting. should you yes and lift it: the cotton breeding 'neath mine fascia) i w i      ll
    
     lay in you  my immutable splendor.

where the grass is crinkled suddenly under the pressure of your
            inexhaustible perfections. the tree is also, boughs spread.
some shade; for rough lovers. how sore you make me.
    these roots are hard. blistered the ***** skin.

             die
                   die

little sun. make a soft blanket. star strewn. by the graveyard.

                    it was quiet

I sift through a sea of pebbles—coarse grit and polished faces. This is how it feels to touch memories that have long faded—photographs with white edges and yellow corners. Perhaps here in this infinitesimal rivulet of cumulated sand, perhaps here I once was in hell. My skin remembers these tiny details—the claw-like pinpricks of granule and stone as they swim into the gaps of my fingers. And here come the worn but smooth edges.

Longing for the past should not be called anticipation, but it paints the back of my throat with the taste of salt and sugar and leaves. But the long winding path leading to more pebbles is masked by the ceaseless onslaught of undertow, fascia rippling as if shaken by quakes not just of the earth.

I wait for the tide to calm, for obscurity of undulation to halt. I am still waiting. I want to see what is beyond. I will touch the images from before as if they have tangible form. I can still taste the sea.

But I want to see what the rest of the river is like. I want to know the future.

Now fascinated.
This isn't really a marooned-casual, one man island, bro I'm doing fine kind of thing. (Sounds like a job, not like ~art. I tell myself stuff as if it matters.)
I chose this lonely house with the rotting fascia. I send my boyfriend information about cryopreservation, hoping to one day hoard his savagery in a deepfreezer emblazoned with scenes from the trail of tears,
so don't get me started on dysfunction. Sort of fascinated with the itsy bitsy spider, with the painted rectangle, with the street walkers and their cellulite visible from the turning lane. My ***** bullet braining radio waves and squeaking a little - it
isn't like it's warm until you step into someone's house, the carpet orange and paneling boxing up misfortune -
it's cold,
it's raining forty nine degrees of october.

Closer closer,
I can't feel you yet,
Please save me,
Come closer,

Sitting alone passing time,
Keeping it all together,
Put on a bright fascia,
Tell myself your almost home,

As minutes to to hours,
And mind running wild,
I cannot connect with you,
What could have happened,

Closer closer,
I can't feel you yet,
Please save me,
Come closer,

The phone rings across the table,
Summons me to the hospital,
Arriving to find you asleep,
Sleeping but alive,

The nurse gives us some space,
Saying you won't last long,
You turn and look,
Broken and forced you whisper,

Closer closer,
I can't feel you yet,
Please save me,
Come closer,

Never will I love again,
The pain cannot subside,
Love can only come once,
All else is hollow,

Life drags on,
Laying on my deathbed,
I can have but one thought,
Looking at you and whispering,

Closer closer,
I can't feel you yet,
Please save me,
Come closer,

i wonder what death i'll wear when the soft scalpel of flaying darkness visits the veneer of my stocky bones. i maybe think i'll touch the vale and tear an onyx breath by cleverly decaying lungs, who by swift retracting fascia i'm a pulsing ***** of health. We'll all go there, lay in her soil bed, and unmotion unfinite..
                                            .

Raise a glass and drink up til the bottle is done;
Here's to addictions unconquered
Here's to suicides attached to names not known well enough to grieve for
Here's to the burden one passes onto another when one gets too comfortable
Here's to those who cared when no one else did
Here's to those adolescent walks in the dark chasing shadows
Here's to us speaking til we fell asleep mid sentences
Here's to the lovers who kicked us out the house then kicked us in the head for leaving
Here's to walking in circles with each step painless for the first time in forever & staring out into nothing astounded
Here's to smoking for the first time in months and thinking back to one night years before and the self-inflicted concussions that followed
Here's to the faces we can't look at anymore without our chests caving inward & hating ourselves
Here's to the fascia tissue unzipped & exposed and cringed at & regretted & better left forgotten the next morning
Here's to our sorries telepathically sent & unsent
Here's to forgiveness reached in silence
Here's to time healing nothing but changing everything
Here's to first kisses and final goodbyes
Here's to when she wore his dress for the first time and he her boots
Every vice has it's versa and every versa it's vice, right? right. so
Here's to holding hands with another for another first with heart pounding and surrounding eyes staring or going out of their way not to stare the closer they'd get
Here's to saying **** everyone & everything else when you know beyond a doubt what's right is right
Here's to ugly faces made pretty up-close and seeing pretty faces turn ugly
Here's to spending those last pennies on the first pack of cigarettes in years and looking into foodbanks & catshelters incase nothing got better
Here's to laughing hysterically after getting told you were cheated on, knowing you won't be the paranoid ******* for breaking up again and the hangover-like realisation two days later when the worthlessness settled in
Here's to those lonely walks home covered in blood & punching busstops & ******* in the middle of the street undisturbed by a single soul in-passing
Here's to that hour writhing in a floored mattress screaming the same name over & over again to no answer
Here's to things not working out as planned and it being upto you for that to be for a reason,
Here's to being comatosed & frostbit in pisssoaked jeans as crying family waited for the ambulance to arrive
(surely, I'm not the only one who was supposed to die at thirteen but didn't?)
Here's to the writers who changed how we wrote, the gentle man obsessed with mud turnt muck & thunderstorms & ******* and the pretty French boy and the boundless reclusive femcel before her time
Here's to the men & women we could never become
Here's to love stated but no longer felt, and vice versa and vice versa.

And
Here's to this, the final top up of the night! -too drunk or too tired? either or- and what a night it's been, considering the weight of all those nights before;

Here's to all those loves that never worked out & all those suicidal nights alone trembling with fear of the following day & the next, all leading to you and I sharing this wonderful day together.
Honestly? I wouldn't trade it for the world

I open my lungs to the moist dirt between
sidewalk cracks.

Atoms severed  from the whole transcend
previous existence, take flight and enter my

body evaporating through tunnels, sinus
storm-drains built beneath my bones.

Particles intertwine themselves around
rooted hair shafts, excite neurons

electrical synapses, the sinew of sense
and memory ingraining fleshy shores of

my brain with cartography not yet understood.

So I too one day amputate this existence, navigate
to the peel covering concrete entombed earth

becoming dust, mud levees holding back waters
swollen by the pull of moon, slow earth thrown

to the casket. The comital of broken deadfall
in winter buried in un-named forests turned

black earth, turned home to black shelled
scarabs, turned nest.

Let the earth do this turning lament for me
let me be food for hungry worm mouths

the secret held between the hands of mice
warm within their family den, to the beak of young

howls turned night hunters, let me feed their
wingspan, nourishing fascia, the miracle

consensus between hard muscle fiber and
soft feather wherein miracle of flight is born.

Let the earth kneed me into nucleus seed
from where its hands are born,

forms sinuses from hollowed trunks and
lines its bones with me

I am in denial
of this untouchable pain
I cannot heal
Where does tenderness go
when I am not enough?
as shards of shame
pieces of this shattered soul
collect themselves in my fascia
intertwining misery around bones
and dulling my light
with their dense shadows

A collection of masks
hang neatly behind my closet door
ready to cover up vulnerability
willing to wage war
aloof, pretty, **** and sweet,
being more than enough to all I meet
rebellious, witty, charming and mean
willing to do anything
not to be seen
I’ve worn them all
they’ve all worn me out

I must be ready to heal
surrender to uncertainty
be willing to feel
nourish emotional pain
with compassion to be real
to give vulnerability
centre stage
and free my tenderness
from its desolate cage
it’s only when I unmask the concealed
will this shattered soul finally heal

Insight: Mind can't lift
its feet off solid ground
when Thinker reasons
it's better off being
sheltered by a body.

It's like a ball
of blue fish swimming
in coordinated movement,
jerking against
predatory life.

My truth watches,
regulating emotion
from outer space.
I am a goddess
beheading perception.
I strip off the fascia
to be consumed,
and the mellow
Earth seems pleased.

Sara Fielder © June 2018

The innocent social snobbery
Found impact
Brought my peace
Nebulous and capitalized for the punishment
The child is the opus of the prima fascia child's lies
Sound of silence falls like the fuschia stories that sound like lullabies
The thespian memories look like I'm moving, the music's killing me
Truth, to be there, I can't remember
Locking in the organized cell, organic and designed
The trust was built, for the organized and all elope all love
Handholding humanity brightened the cradle really, brightening the groves son
And fell asleep with the eyes on the rocket, and the living society
I believe I'm hell because I am, prodigal son what do you know of heaven
The drinks and the pleasures, that need my word are you a patient's presentation
Beezlebub, always be a poet in prose
Sounds kind of apres dinner sleep, to between the blurred drapes that match the curtains
Desperate on call and states, that meandering with Tennyson inspired
The wit thy brought cerulean skies, the drapes shuttered

in what sureness holds wife hands?

My most mundane love,
fresh in a moment
i felt your shoulders
between my fingers
the fascia binding
my soul to yours.

when took me
yours beneath
a smallest gable
of artificial flowering:

(in a peach dress
very pregnant;
i kissed the
last person).

...the fewer that die: the more the chance to chirp-and-borrow... sparrows' crown... a grand avenue of image... some detail of narrative... no boarded-up thomas mann solipsism-esque: if i too had... a bedroom cork-lined... i'd post a request: in deviating from time, predictably "lost"... and keeping with a tradition of: space, less frequented - thereby not exactly harrowed with ownership... passed from one sentiment (ladder) to the next gluttonous serpent... as much as there was a "search" and a... "lost time"... missing the train... in search of that missed-timing and open spacing... a sober nuance... a drunk's circus... time regained: all that, which encompassed not reading the book - working from bribes... that narrative so compact... it would have to shame and shun an otherwise ideally eternal: stack of brick.

at a time when so few are dying in conflicts
of known iraq...
and... will this be one of those:
grandiosity statements that leaves
everyone exasperated?
yes... people seem to find their dog's tail
their tongue waggle so freely now:
when so much seems to have gone
so terribly wrong -
            compliance to: "the good of the people"...
when iraq was...
and what it was was also something
similar to libya -
           but i hardly think i need to
pepper my words with over-politicised
statements... i'd much prefer the use
of italics - if anything...
       yes... i am reading some horace i am
reading some ovid and i'm looking
for a memorable line - even a couplet
that's... d'uh... a couplet because it rhymes...
something akin to...
the basic categories of food:
sweet, sour, salty, bitter...
              umami...
                      i need some garnish...
i guess there might be: fudgy / doughy...
why dairy is not invoked?
  i hope to never know...
       i want to forget the point where
i find myself writing and not
eating -
i know i am missing a certain category -

i was in a park today... trying to walk off
a strained plantar fascia -
bench cigarette swedish cider...
a glory to the perfumes of autumn:
finally i can test my nose
on this fine fine palette...

       an old woman approached me
as i was gesticulating with my leg outstretched...
'i was almost assured to find you
being the owner of the dog
that ran across my path...
later the field... but then again: it was
a fox... i think...'
it wasn't a memorable conversation:
except for my reply...
'oh no... i wasn't the owner of this
said dog...
i have a shadow for a dog...'
and how politely she bid me farewell...

again: it's not bungee jumping...
it's this forever unspectacular everyday...
i like this unspectacular everyday
when one can exercise language
beyond mere formality / courtesy...

i have yet to crown myself with
relish with conversation -
that i always will staging an impromptu
that leaves the conversed with
either form of tornado or
butterfly -

            it's not a familiarity it's not
unlike a face that will be lost
under the random nature of memory
being too the erasure...
flaming 2 + 2 = 4 or some other
less mathematical and more
pronounced use of letters coming
to the fore: prominent...

my past time would be summed up
with looking approachable and
dwelling in the riddle of old age...
i know it will somehow catch up with me...
but not yet...
it's this sensibly non-oratory:
plagues of verbiage: how else
to fashion congesting the experiencce:
extracting the most of the essence
allowed...

                   like so... 'mein schatten
ist meine hund' -
   no evil cat ladies 'ere...
    no piquant scenting of feline ****...
i do admire the convenience
of having no purpose for
a leash or a muzzle...
                if i could pet a crow....
i wish i could...
but what good is (a) petting
of a crow: what good is a cage
or wings: for that matter?

       i have to return to a quasi-meditation:
to endear death with a personification:
even a consciousness where
i a *****: where i a foetus -
after all: mother dear...
       i will be born into a magic
act of mortality: i will cease to make
myself "relevant"...
perhaps that's how i musst see
death: come this faking of autumn drap...
autumn is probably...
no... nay... no... autumn is when
i arrive at: believably alife -
                                          livid: concern
with variation to the letter,
i leathered - worn and torn and
a *** life among bodies that
are amiable and dough-esque
and nothing of this tyranny of porcelain
beauty...
touched would: "someday"
decide upon... shattering into
a thousand little pieces...

        i like this testimony for
the marriage to the mediocre...
my little interlude on a bench
with a sore tendon... somehow has
to find graces among so much
abundance only a sniff's distance away...
i wish i invented the burning
colours of decay: i'd want
to bask in the colours of a dying light...
i'd want: to stand statue-esque
among the trees when
they start to imitate
forest vermin...
and begin their great adventure of
foraging....
                 such pristine economics
of nature such as these here presented:
i languish for a delight in summer...
the air is gushing with
  a thickness of indistinguishable allures:
most certainly the readily concerned
with footprints on a beach:
amnesia counter memory
counter all that pedagogy acid...

                 i open a can of synthetic
imitations of blackcurrant, raspberry...
it's swedish it's not...
accustomed to... an idea that...
synthetics' must! a pairing of apple
and mint... could be turned into a cider...
less a juggling act of two bold
statements of fully-bodied extracts...

well free lunch on me:
i can actually be somewhat poo-antic friendly
should drinking be invoked...
for the world to be this instilled -
i'd require... moi: imitation
araignée...
   the bench and its vicinity the web...
comfortably old passersby my
flies... out of no ill will:
dogs and the elders approach me:
i am yet to find myself having
said something formidable...
      
                but... if it isn't that...
i have to settle on creating something...
passable - pardonable - quirky to the point
of allowing the opposite party
no counter inclination:
there is no need to stipend an
obviousness / revoke-...

             i don't want to use a language
of either impetus or... categorical narratives...
oh look... shelter me from having
spent 3 years digesting... ah'ant(K)...
well... impetus or imperative...
jurisprudence is plagued / peppered
with synonym usage: through and thorough...

i'm still thinking: well... there's no colour
to this meagre body...
there is no shape for rummage among
dough of stone sorrow settled
for the eternity of rain: and rhyming...
a borrowed journalism of sort:
an extract at best... and that's what i must
settle for...

    it can't have accent of a certainty:
arrived at... it can't be a: denotation clarity:
hey! my name's a'bob!
no... but hardly a tactic to
exfoliate in pretentiousness -
i do have to stress that:
i somehow do... drift into this variant
of impromptu -
   i allow language its own ills
that are not befitting to a linear-ality of
topic...

                to think: this world so complex
would allow an individual to...
somehow not match it...
make synchronicity with it...
        that language has to borrow:
sharpened flints and all those base
equipment leverages to...
merely appease...
  it can't! it simply can't! be this...
celebration of: a language peacocked with
when thrown into the glorification
of tongue-tied of mediocracy...

    oddity... i am starting to grow fond
of... kæ tempest -
                  "europe is lost"...
                   unless looking for lithuania
unless looking for kosovo..
unless looking for poland ukraine
unless looking for moldova...
unless looking for: work ennobles...
work is the bone the drudgery...
unless looking for post-colonialism
unless having to make
******* tongue: poet the atlas...
the nugget treat of looking
through a microscope at society...
            unless you haven't...
woken up in a little ol' england
when having to settle for flee...
              
polar bears in poland? do these people
have access to sea?
the youth of england
come 1998 when i toyed with
the cheapest of cheap jokes...
but... there weren't any jokes:
just choking...
              i came here this tongue
is... i am arrival... an... arrival at...
bigger desires for
yet another picburger...
               пицбургэр
fake-burger... no not nothing-burger...
but most certainly not:
my tongue this: mine...
this will not belong to a zeitgeist...
this will not be scratched or later
sheltered with for:
a tongue that was used as shovel
to unearth the dead from:
the already sediment membrane
riddled clay o dough...
           custard blues no smart talking
from south london...
no need to shuffle to lay on
prompt...
              
to be this pulverised by word and image....
instilled in noir and summaging
whitey -
there's the same sterile prone to
state brick: beside those that crease
plumbing gifts and grit...
the in between us people that want
to itch with words and have
insomniac thinking -

          that i haven't stolen anything:
but acquired this tongue...
from no beside this little nostalgia for
an agony aunt...
      no... recantation from a hill-top
and a grave...
   i am not prone to speak an exhaustion
from a borrowed atlas pose...
  i have this little tongue o' me...
this little cravat sort of a pedantic
  detail...
                 i want to own the echo
and the footsteps...
              politicians have been saving
society with oratory-:
            at best: kept distance...
a byproduct of niche...
             a very local sort of extraction
process that hitched a ride on
the blues...
   and left the originators in a
stateless limbo-la-la-land...
               the thieves came and...
           by a vain-glory joke accumulation...
the readied smouldering
slab of pork... was left... untouched...
i beg to wonder:
         what was the intent
and the hunger...
                                it was oh so familiar
once upon a time.

Her misty fascia appears and vanishes in a gleaming afternoon,
A melancholy darkness followed by to say! hug me, love me, lust me
Take me to eternal from the monastery through grave-yard
sand, mud, ice and storm, lives dried up funeral drums.

Staggering foot tiring hand, inept to bury the dead
Mother-nature shows no mercy in that night
Fragile resistance sweeps away everything you loved
Will you pain it to build up again?

Beloved syringe and lazy vein
White-rabbit and California sun-shine, soothed  
Joyce profound and Floyd stimulates agony
Charred and explosion…!!!  doors open, opened

(particularly when nursed at room temperature)

I learned that Kombucha
best be kept refrigerated lest
said probiotic drink
served at room temperature
(incorporating live bacteria) erupts
potentially causing
serious damage to consumer
as nearly happened to yours truly,
nonetheless patronizes company(ies),
who manufacture
aforementioned healthy beverage.

Analogous to other fermented brews,
one must cultivate an acquired taste
regarding delicately sipping Kombucha
now if you will kindly excuse
wordsmith henpecked and
away from Macbook Pro
fortunately satisfied with poem thus far.

Hello, I got back to laptop
today - December fourth 2021
after few hours elapsed
got hunger pangs
during brief hiatus
experienced relapse concerning
craving vegetarian hypocrite's delight
meat product constituted chicken sausage,
which greasy entree
invariably caused cholesterol to spike.

The missus (a plump carnivore
to the bone with plucky constitution)
vowed never to purchase
named poultry appurtenance ever again
so help me dog, cuz she
(connoisseur of gluten free foods)
attempts to promote healthy eating.

Indeed buzzfeeding body, mind and spirit
courtesy fruits and vegetables
ideally, preferably, and undeniably organic
helps me feel emotionally,
mentally and spiritually fit
able, eager and willing

to staunch the flow,
whereby yours truly
would become deceased,
thus imperative to jot obit
before that instant I exit
stage door left,

the only occasion witnessing
ala bumbling and fumbling performance
(despite unalterable fact that
life haint no dress rehearsal)
courtesy painless suicide
exhibiting true grit

regarding one generic long haired
pencil necked geek,
whose demise undermined,
when his lovely bones
deteriorated analogous to
rotted fascia and soffit.

to anonymous readers March 6th, 2021
(blustery and chilly Saturday)
reminiscing about mien kampf,
when precious irretrievable youth
frittered away within
emotional wilderness of mine.

Into lonely senescence -
three plus decades already elapsed
trepidation, hesitation, abdication... unbearably
tugging, shouldering,
remonstrating accumulation
of "baggage" thumb

of right hand ****** out
silently raving, quaking
cursing ultimatum parents
(soffit to fascia in)
saw fit to fashion
and hammer home

red hot poker rage
their singular male offspring
middle child of two sisters,
who long since vacated premises
when both young naifs
prior to attaining age of consent

deploring bing holed up
at 324 Level Road redoubt
(long since razed)
built as summer house
remote from fracas of urban bedlam
still one hundred years since Leipers
bon voyage into netherland

father and mother
imposed swiftly tailored
harried styled tough love
translated meant absolute zero value
toward offspring they begot,
and made quite clear loathing

heaped upon sundered fountainhead
good for nothing son of a...,
he whittled away precious time
reading avast among trove of material
crowdsourcing numerous bookshelves
mostly to impress intellectual visitors,

when in truth middle aged couple
thinly veiled country bumpkins,
donned with "FAKE" literacy
stereotypical "rednecks,"
inexplicably begot wunderkind
agog with inhaling literature

in tandem with liberal
magazines and newspapers
oft times whiled away countless hours
sunup to sundown
sequestered most remote nook
within local library (Evansburg)

few miles walk along country road
served as self taught schooling
since parochial educated regimen
habitually rapped knuckles
courtesy whiplike hickory stick
if pupil evinced slightest

distraction, whence schoolmaster
detected lack of attention
as crotchety curmudgeon
blankly droned monotonously
dull jabbering subjected
stone faced classmates

into instant soporific state
futilely struggling to keep eyelids
slamming shut tight
including yours truly,
who when suddenly awake
realized quite a vivid dream!

PostScript: I slightly refashioned
above crafted semi fictitious poem
(written scant years ago)
cuz poignant pathos
to plod along boulevard
of broken dreams still persists into present.