I saw you at the subway the other day
You were drinking hot chocolate
I thought about asking you for a sip
but on second thought I didn't want to burn my tongue
I chased you up the stairs and outside
I got into a taxi cab
I didn't want to see you, you were looking good
I wanted to cool off and take some time out of the busy day
I heard a knock on my door, my door
Who was there?
What are you doing here?
I'm really not sure you should be here right now
Because I'm going. It's getting a little pricey
that you should be in Sweden, my friend
because it's the only place for you
I hear they have really nice gear of sorts there.
You should be in Sweden, my friend.
Yeah, you should be in Sweden.
Get yourself to Sweden
I'll tell you what we can do

You're not bent on calling me
and we'll do lunch, I'm sure.
Your fax machine can fax my bags
and it will get in touch with your answering machine's secretary.

Your hair doesn't shine like it used to.
You're not using that conditioner I gave you last year for your birthday.
It was salon selected. I thought you would like it.
And now I'm so scared. I'm pale as white.
I would invite you to sit but I didn't want you to ruin my new sofa.
I've felt this too many times.
I just got myself back up the nerve to say, the nerve
that you should be in Sweden, my friend.
What are you doing here?
You should be in Sweden.
You can ski when you're there.
You should be in Sweden, my friend.
Yeah, get yourself to Sweden.
I don't care how you do it.
Just go to Sweden. Go to Sweden.
I'll tell you what we can do.

You're not bent on calling me,
but we'll do lunch, I'm sure.
Your fax machine can fax me back
and get in touch with my cappuccino maker.

You're not bent on calling me,
and we'll talk for a while, I'm sure.
You can get back my postcard machine
and it'll get in touch with your answering machine's secretary.

"The beggars have changed places, but the lash goes on."*

I
You probably already know, William,
that it’s pretty much all the same
as when you paced the battlements
and howled to the indifferent stars
"It seems I must bid the Muse go pack!"
, caught in Passion’s cataract –
that torrent of emotive poetic grief.

II
Though politics have changed,
there's still old men in the Senate
who stare but don’t seem to see.
They’re caught in youthful daydreams ---
the girls’ bras’ are too hard to unclasp,
even when employing that agéd charm.
(“But O that I were young again
and held her in my arms!”)
You weren't an exception;
politicians are also subject to the Human Condition.
Perhaps more than a poet,
probably more than a poet.
So I guess you got the double dose, William.
In a split second the State slips,
staggers, and reinvents foreign policies,
only to double-back on itself again and reverse.
I know you remember those you rhymed out in verse:
MacDonagh, MacBride, Connolly and Pearse;
their rifles still ring in the recesses
of the Public’s  miasmic mind –
the haze just dissipated over the Irish Sea.
And it's the spring of 2012.
Gore-Booth and Markiewicz are but marrowless bones,
Collins as well.
His still mix in the grave –
They’ve been for ninety years.
Yeah, it's pretty much the same,
Synge’s ******* is still unpopular.
In fact, plays are largely unpopular,
and playwrights work in restaurants
where sweat lingers on their brows
to eventually drip into an already-unfit meal.
It's hard to imagine a play once
brought Dublin to riot;
you couldn't start a riot now if you had
thirty drunken anarchists
with two Molotovs a piece
watch Godwin’s grave get gutted.
Though information is more accessible,
it's an age of information-apathy.
You'd **** a shotgun to your temple
if you saw the state of education today.
I'm afraid, William, it's all the same:
the gyres still run on ---
I fear they're running out of breath.

III
But it’d be imbalanced to leave you here;
at least you split on a Saturday.
Late-January trembles each year,
as the earth did the day you were consumed
in Helen(“who all living hearts has betrayed”)
’s immutable embrace;
your heart alone she could not betray.
And blind Homer who sang her betrayals
has ceased; mouths ran dry the day you died.
You left before your trade imprisoned you;
before the pen enchanted
your remaining years to a page.
You left before you couldn’t:
before the blitzkrieg;
before the world lost ten million more Robert Gregory’s
and you died from exhaustion mid-rhyme on the seventh-stanza of the five-million eight-hundred and fifty-fourth
elegy.
Regardless, it's really all the same.
Even those beggars are still playing twister with their whip.

.oh sure, just pass the mortgage payments, i might pay, when i pay off whatever life i lived, and the life i didn't... and some third-party-whatever... oh yeah... just fax me the existentialist details... overloaded with pop Darwinism for the simple answer of a complex question / mode of being... yeah... such the mode of being... give me the mean of non-being... the **** life once was, but became reduced to an epitaph... and only if, if! i am rich enough to afford a gravestone.

don't worry...
if we're just clausit instances
of humanity,
the whole closure chapter...
just wait for the Holocaust
survivors to die with the deniers...
and then you can come
after us...
i'm all up and arms for
en masse euthanasia schemes...
****... let's bypass
the ponces and cowboys...
i'm ready...
   so...
..........................................
tick tock tick tock
tick tock..........................
           missing *****?
****... they castrated you before
they gave you authority
to **** me ethically?!
the *******!
          idiots don't even understand
the whole...
   altar, sacrifice of water mammals...
a beached whale is not
a beached whale...
******* can't even allow
a whale to commit suicide...
even whales ingest a Kamikaze
mentality...
whales don't beach...
but what is the poor ******
going to do...
jump off a bridge?!
   i'm not buying it...
who needs to be saved,
if they can't even be considered
redeemable?!
how can you, "save" someone,
when you cannot provide
redemption for them?
the non-redemption clause:
can't redeem them,
subsequently can't save them...
all you're doing is
prolonging their suffering,
elevating the suffering through
the elevation of failure
in the failure of ending
the suffering...
  so... no one spotted that
the beached whales...
as mammals...
were attempting to commit suicide?
beached whales are whales suicides...
no one saw that?
it wasn't an eye-sore
staring back?
the suicide has already a conundrum
before him...
the lack of suspense,
or rather, the element of surprise...
at least homicide involves
a rush of adrenaline...
       adrenaline... surprise...
     suicide avenue...
     brave people...
                    brave because there is
no suspense of surprise...
absolutely no adrenaline...
          the aspect of consciousness,
the contradictory "choice"...
that contradicts the "choice" of
encountering esse per se,
  or qua vivo...
          i'm not about to solve
this noumenon...
i can't solve it,
because the noumenon of suicide
is already a phenomenon of
a million counter arguments
worth justification...
      but a beached whale?
a whale is a marine mammal...
a beached whale...
what is it? usually a young male...
don't you find it odd...
aren't dolphins intelligent?
aren't whales intelligent?
      so something stupid...
  couldn't exactly elborate the concept
of suicide... could it?
perhaps a stampede...
but surely not a suicide...
         god?
sure... intelligent animals came up
with with god...
but the same intelligent animals came
up with the paradoxical
contradiction, of suicide...
whales...
            beached whales?
you think they were stupid enough
to become, "beached"?
they were in the act of committing
to suicide...
and you were stupid enough
to make attempts at "saving" them...
whatever god is, within the focus of ideal...
suicide is, what god isn't,
within the basis of the inevitability of, will...
we're mortal!

Sailing in a dhow at sunset after snorkeling off Mafia island, Tanzania.
'
SPILLAGE
The tree’s don’t sleep at night
they photosynthesize , by moonlight.
Leaves drink in the cool wise light
And give off dreams of softly fading starlight

Whispers of secrets , monthly unfurl
A single blossom falls at new moon
Hurtling to the ground, awake before noon
Ever noticed? The very word has the circle
Curled up in the centre , twice to make sure we remember , two full cups , not one.

Geko’s slip off old skins
And the croaking frog adds to the din
As thunder rolls in
Triggering the dogs bark
Guardian of the stark naked couple
Asleep in their parallel worlds
Together under the umbrella of ambient lighting
Not the natural kind either
But a shameless copy of pure sunlight
That emenates when their bodies collide
On the material plane.

Astral visions lead the way to headquarters
The address? Fax? Phone number?
I’m afraid you’ll have to dial again ,
Unless you’ve meditated on the vibration of emancipation
Then you would already know, you are already there
Doors are open , for those who care to try
No lock on this baby ,
Ain’t no safe to play safe
We bask in our humble glory
Under the shores on undulating tides
Rhythmic pulsations
no where to hide
The emanations come from within,
Without , a shadow of a doubt

There is a war coming , infact we’ve already been fighting for decades
Just like the change of winds, nature knows her stuff
Tip the seeds too soon and you’ll end up with a field full of fluff
But just in time and a harvest with enough to reduce every super market shelf to dust
Even though they already stock that kinda stuff
Clean up on Aisle 4, Aisle 3 , Aisle 2 , Aisle 1
Return the purchase , we’ve discovered the ****
In the cake
And we found the frog in the salad,
At least their habitat is intact
Or did you think I was still talking about the shops?

Ok , I’ll change tact
Change of pace.
No , no I will not join the Human Race
Running to where? Why all the running?
From what? To where? From whom , to whom it seems like we run straight to our tombs, without a second glance at perhaps the chance that legs can walk…
Wanna know where I’d rather be?

I want to be on a motorbike heading 70 miles an hour down empty roads
An island paradise , holding the hips of my dearest
To arrive at another home ,
where our friends relax to the forlorne strums of the blues
Tripping on love we depart ,
not without slightly heavy hearts
Peace , friends we’ll see you anon.

Pull into the golden arches , I tell myself ‘I can’t kiss those lips now they’ve touched that burger’
then I remember you’ve been working all day
before you came out to play , I wasn’t up for a dance I was too entranced in my own madness
But. Always the **** , walk up those stairs for me, softly you moan.
I agree in a semi tone. Secrets are meant to be shared,
we quietly told each other of love in the parking lot at 4 am. The pain in your eyes still wakes me up in the middle of thunderstorms.

Awoken to sorrows from the motherland, monsters creep to the door,
peep in the keyhole.
Oh,
I forget,
your door is activated by credit card numbers that spiral from lips of z-list celebrities.
So we’ll waste away the morning in each other arms,
you watch me as I dress. No underwear no less. Put on your bra properly, suddenly you get kinda frosty.
Not far from where we sat to have a Japanese lunch , pretty close to where I walked to meet you for tea , where you held my feet and handed me a phone I left in your brothers car.
Well that’s where we have breakfast coffee and papaya whilst tourists ogle at the dog guard.
Deaf to our calls , luxuriously taking his time. He didn’t find the secret beach either.
Although the sea was good for a float, and to hear the space journey’s musical manifestation
at every crash of every wave, the magnetic pull playing her crooked beat as she bypasses our feet.
Then, there are two nights with two Amsterdam gals , one smoked lucky strikes and had scars across her wrists , the other photographed trees for a living.
Both blonde , both fair , both with their own flair.

Expect the unexpected , beach raves full of people I don’t really want to be with , so we get tequila shots instead
and stand outside a shop selling knock off clothes when the bar needs to shut.

She took a break to the bathroom , we finally let out the kisses we’d been holding in all night,  
until she got back.

Who said we couldn’t control ourselves? Although to be fair, I could feel you reaching for me wayyy back.

Why should we be selfish? Why shouldn’t we? I still went home with you that night, there really was no two ways about it.
I had *** with you, slightly drunken ***, that was by no means gentle, by no means candle lit , by no means rose petals laid out on the bed, infact , if my memory holds true, there were no flowers apart from the ones on my dress.
I’d say you were lucky , but then I cried at home.
So much pent up emotion in that one act.
Enough to propel us in into another night and untold eons beyond, I’m skipping ahead now,
Where we drank red wine on the shoreline , I used the staff bathroom and noticed all the things that could be improved – seemed like work was wearing off on me.
Still, the best part was yet to come, yeah the *** was fun but nothing compared to the games we played. Dress up and salsa ,
mysterious temples
natures tickles leading to giggles at the foolish endevours of two ***** humans., smoke a spliff , enough to unwind the mind to a new point of time. A flash of something I’ve never seen before, nor have yet to be graced with again.
I guess that was divine. Well, wouldn’t you say….
It was about time.

So , am I still talking about the shops?
Or who wore what with kate moss?
No disrespect
she’s adept at her art but i don’t wanna read about boring old farts
Lets hear about the underground collective of conscious minds who are rewinding the clock , who won’t stop ,
warriors.

Well quite frankly

How long have we sat , year after year to be told the same **** and bull story.. my ears, my ears! MY EARS!!! They yearn for the sweet serenade of the truth

behind the crumbling arcade of rigged lottery tickets and games of black jack where the house always wins.
Fortunately we’ve been coming since we were five , we know the cards without seeing the faces, we hold all the jacks and aces, we’ve got time on our side

So…that’s why they are running , finding places to hide.

We’d only be stealing from the house to give to the houseless…
With the tools the house gifted to us…doesn’t it seem ironic?

I laughed until I cried the day I discovered the universe had a sense of humor. A dark , ironic , sarcastic tone that involves  a major chord. Maybe a G or a D.

Raised to believe what you are told
sometimes they didn't get it right
Beneath the muck and mire reveal
true to life issues with consequences
Fact checks confirm what we all know
however the need to triple check remains
The CORE VALUES we poses make us
who we are and build our character
Days by day we seek to stay connected
to friends, business colleagues & family
Have we lost touch with the personal
affect of shaking hands and saying hello?
Face to face and not only by computer screen,
fax or twitter.  Keeping it real and honest,
telling it strait with confidence every time
Deep within my core, I value; GOD, family,
good friends, hard work, peace and love.

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DURING THIS VISIT

I am a layman laid up
with a very dodgy ankle

that winced about Paris
for almost a week with

every footaghhhhhhhfall.

Now it's the A&E;
for me.

The electronic noticeboard
flashes up its what nots

faster than I
can scan.

I barely catch CQC
Good( shadow )Rating.

Two wheelchairs
(peopleless)
chat about the this of that

typical wheelchair chit-chat.

A portable X-ray machine
pretends to be a giraffe.

"oooooOOOOK...we are going to get
Geoff the Giraffe to have a look at that!"

The child smiles
through the pain.

The screen peppers me
with possibilities.

Extremely likely?
Neither Likely nor Unlikely?
Etc., etc., etc.

My mind opts for
a simple I Don't Know.

"Breast." says the screen."

"Max Fax & Orthodontics."

"Re-hab shouldn't be boring!"

A questionnaire asks me
to think.

Big mistake.

I start to think.

Pain & Boredom
turns these hospitalised facts

( what ever they mean? )

into a something only
my brain can understand.

"And now, straight in at No.!
with a fantastic new single it's...

...Max Fax & The Orthodontics
with the glorious bouncy

BREAST!"

"MORTALITY by
The Upper Quartile

falls down one place to
No. 2!"

My shadow is feeling
very poorly at this

instant
in time.

Hasn't even bothered
to turn up.

There goes my good
(shadow)rating.

I think I'll switch
to silhouette instead.

I practice my Ogham.

SAT 4 APRIL
says the clock.

It's hands joined
together in prayer.

I switch
off my mind &

float
down
stream.

Its science versus religion
And cognitive thought versus deranged fantasy
Wars fought for love where loves lost and heroes are burned, cherished, forgotten
Little boys with ***** faces and sticks
Teenagers with cars
Young adults with assault rifles
Men in jail some with bars some with front doors a fax machines
Trees that reach the sky and some that wither crack and die
Burning thoughts of the afterlife a fire fueled by fear of death
The chance of being wrong
The opposite thought of being right keeping you grounded in the daylight
But fleeting in the night escaping just like the sun to comfort some other being
The loneliness of lying awake with a deranged mind running free
Clawing its way from your brain
Grandpa’s dead and dads on his way out
And moms still preaching the gospel
And gods still ******* on ashes but not putting out fires
Cities crumble and rebuild and repeat
Everything is a cycle love, hate, lust, love, hate, die, repeat
Breathe in oxygen exhale ***** and regurgitated knowledge
Of free press movements and the civil war
Fighting, sleeping, *******, eating, drinking, smoking, hurting, smiling
Fields of crops that feed nations and economies
They grow then comes harvest and their end
Just like us harvested in the end to feed nations and economies
Words that burn politicians and inspire masses
Bombs that end lives and ******* children
But prove were right and your wrong
Our god is bigger than yours he has more firepower too
Wrong side of the tracks on the wrong side of the ocean
Worms eat dirt what a pathetic existence
They eat dirt, **** dirt then die
We eat love **** love then die
We’re just worms
Bigger, intelligent, more aesthetically pleasing worms
Hateful thoughts and bold words
Worldly views from the comfort of a laptop
Medication and frozen dinners
Sick, fat and dying
Life is beautiful

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.....Electronica*
Cloudy days bring me back to who I was.
Thinking about myself, cuz no one does.
Im a lone warrior walking silently in the midst.
Trying my best to live without a balled fist.
Dont take my spiritual innocence..from me.
I am not fascinated by the dream of money.*
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.....Electronica
Take me to new dimensions.
I fly away without attention.
Theres a new world existing in my mind.
This new world is perfect..because the new world is mine.
No laws, no regulations, no taxes, no classes.
Just a place for good vibes for myself and the masses.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.....Electronica
Help me escape the cage.

House party no contact
No glasses no lenses
Isolation got no facts
Rich in hope like them benz's

Old as **** like a bold fax
Reminiscin past tenses
Action done by the fences
Have I come I to my senses?

Need to know, ask for a census
Need my own vote call for elections
Lowkey mind-broke, I need a pension
Need to think about all this affection

****..

World cold stone cold
Was told It would be like this
Aint listened to them so I fold
Now I see myself down this own road.

The me everybody used to see, erode
The me anybody could be, be sold
Sadness pull up to my corners, be shown
The one who blew y'all away be blown

Everybody leavin faster than I can say hello
People in this world so shaky like a tremolo.
People don't come and go no more.
You just save up and they go forth.

At least that's my reality
Maybe I am insanity
No sleep till 2 am
You see it visually
Can't rest till these thoughts are at ease.

Life fallin faster than dominos
This time aint as good as pizza
Not even close rate negative 10 toes
No feelings like terminator hasta la vista.

Seen a lot like a barista
More people snakes than cheetah's
Venomous like cobras.
Sad **** I got into.
Me, myself and my sorry ***.

Don't try to move
Just Be still
You must prove
It"s your will

Just be,
Quietly
Silently
Chill

No technology
No phones
No emails
No fax

Mythology
Bones
Trails
Relax

Thoughts flow through my head
like streams upon the riverbed
Constantly haunting me
Is it a plague or am I free

Wondering what it is I truly do seek
On this Hedonistic journey for pleasure
Once I finally reach the highest peak
Will I even care if there isn't any treasure

And even if there was, how much is really ever enough?
No matter how much was there I would still feel rough
The journey is over, but at least you can buy more stuff
Many toys to play with but your hands are tightly cuffed

Look a brand new thing to crave
How much money did you save?
I"ll take that secret to my grave
As a true consumer ridden slave

Everyone wants what they just can't have
Eyeing your neighbor"s prize like a vulture
Euphemise it veal instead of saying calve
Euthanized a deal, our throw away culture

I want more more more, that's mine not yours
So blessed to have our choice of each amenity
We"ve bore ourselves into consumer ******
So stressed when all we should seek is serenity

from my book 'How To Write Pro$eperly

LESSON 18: Marketing Your Product
Get outside and box.

How to Make Good Money as a Poet

Volume
Keep up the volume
Then they have to buy all the books
And go looking
For something good
Self-effacing



More How to Make Good Money as a Poet

*** angles
in relation to women’s personality gauge it
chart it
*** angles
Canadian research grant



More How to Make Good Money as a Poet

Poem-in-a-jar
Ode-in-a-jar
Rhythm-in-a-jar, and it vibrates when you pick it up
or could be handwritten
with desperate plea
send money
fax phoney part
please pleas
should colour of lid
indicate mood of poem
should label
indicate word topic theme
or what of material
metal lid or plastic
* Replace the safety seal so they have to punch cover
* Note: if freshness seal broken, do not consume

More How to Make Good Money as a Poet
dead poet cookbook
dead poet cookbook



Poem-in-a-Jar

limited edition collector poetry
signed by author
artist proof worth more
more worth more
per line $1 $5 $100 sky’s the limit
capitalism:
self-effacing charity:
give-drop poem-in-a-jar to bums to sell
use as tax write-off full retail + “costs”
have party supporting charity more tax write-off
wheee! thank you, taxpayers
mmmm! tax write-off



More How to Make Good Money as a Poet

Verse libre
Convince public that your random scratch ins
have deeper meaning social import
esoteric ****** meaning
make it plainly oblivious for them
doubletalk and doublewalk
run at them
when you recite
a poem
attack poetry
possible sales to war department
note when publishing do not include how to make money poet stuff proprietary secret
information

More How to Make Good Money as a Poet

Poetry Repair
Fix other peoples poems
Putter with their pitter-patter
Charge per word (or line) no word
Fix their lines
of poetry and charge them for it
Could franchise this idea
Have walk-in shops around the planet
Poetry Repair;
Pete's Poetry Repair; friendly sounding.
Come down to Pete’s, we'll fix what’s the matter with your pitter-patter
Could increase sales by charging for coffee and downnuts
when they bring in their poems for repair
(Making money as a poet is a joke, easy living man)
Pete’s Podium of Poetry Repair
Poetry Repair
There's gotta be money in it somehow



More How to Make Good Money as a Poet

Ads
In the backs of magazines *2007 or spam
Now you can make EASY MONEY AT HOME
With the fastest growingest gosh-**** bestest
Poetry Repair
Can you spot the error in this?:
Twinkle twaddle little star
How I wonder what you are
Yes. You saw it. Easy, wasn't it? And in no time at all
you'll being doing this to even some of the greats:
Romeo, Romeo,
Oh where for **** thou Romeo
Editors pay big bucks for this stuff
Poetry repair
do it at home
Ads

More How to Make Good Money as a Poet

1 book = poems + free towel inside
free towel inside your book of poems
poem and a free towel
could be symbolic message
something about a towel and a poem
maybe the beach
maybe the *****
something about a towel and a poem



More How to Make Good Money as a Poet

poem-in-a-casket
very goth
sort by flavour
poem-of-the-month club (with underwear)
poem *******
poem *******
******* with poems on the ***
maybe women will let me write on their pantied ***
and charge them for it
(I'm voting for poem *******)
***** Poetry
I’ll be rich
fifty bucks a toss
Painted-***** Poetry
for fifty bucks a toss
I'll come to your house
and paint a poem on your *******
We'll discuss each poem
over tea and cookies
so you'll get what you like
get what you like
poem on your pantied behind, painted
fifty bucks a toss
Call now!

In nature
speaking
lotus tea
((All Him))
coffee
((All Her))
Messaging
Texting
Managing
Breathtaking
Massaging
Palm read
guessing
Ancient footprints
reader
confessing
He needed to see her
Feet walk this earth
Meet talk Bliss Worth

Infused me

We speak the
highest form
of feet lecture

To bring love
closer
Movie feet feature
Invincible but
lovable
But the lover of

It's her lightness
guiltless
Her weight felt
like a
Hippopotamus
Her feet were
heavy duty
Rhinoceros
bag of dirt grime
That foot scrub
Love cant wait
***** Himalayas
Speak of  him 
 hearted
He started to  love
Her he stirred to be
shaved

Like the hub slaved
over candy relish

We became the
creatures
All unwanted hair
Finger waves
with flair
His baby blue eyes
wearing a bib
Women's love rib
Hand tip foot
lip to lip
The night owl
bait
like foot robbed
Please no
Tarantula
On my tip
Penisula
Her recital
In her mighty
jungle
((Coca-Cola))
Christmas foot
jingle
Paw Prints fax
me hints

Inside him
those love stunts
Viola
The best blueberry
bundt cake

Her foot pedal
all fueled
The mysterious
environment
She felt haunted by
the beast
ruled
The child
wildflowers
Arabian sea
Lovers tent Bea
Himalayas
broad-minded

"Mountain man"

Doing footsy
Tootsy
Her expedition
narrow-minded
Seeing her
marriage hand
Open loaded
Reproduction
From her feet
Pulp fiction
"Godly Holyland"
The footprint Yeti
the "Lochness"
monster swamps
(Loveland lizard)

Geico mountain
Insured foothill
Roco
Milestones the hills
whistle
Meeting the French
monsieur
Rivers of the heart
glaciers

The bear rocky crystal
The stars like
a movie
Billy Crystal
Beyond life
Above eternity
Below our love sanity

The natural estate holds

tight like a magnet

The Himalayas
needing a
craving so fit for
laughing like
Hyenas
Stepped dainty
Ballerina's
The relationship
Biggest-foot heights
The Himalayas Oh!
What a
night garden
of gardenias
What will forever
Bee
Petunia's
Do Wire the call
Your foot said
Climb but don't
Fall foothill
In my mouth

Charmed by
ankle bracelet
The sunset bare feet
all naked
Amazon jungle
my foot massage
Southern belle mirage
Having a hell twin feet
ball laughing like
hyenas
the moment in time
The sun going down
Sunset how it hit
my face waken lit
So like something
I never felt
Two heart's of the
finest soil
Starting over
indescribable
heat

We start  over
feet to feet
We were difficult but
we met
We were so ready like
Tight fitting Moms hairnet

But yet like no other
foot from the
left to her right foot
The rabbit foot
Head over someone else's
Heels of a foot  
Didn't catch her heart to the
right beat
Something in the way she knows
Whether human or creature type
We are all in heat_

The tree’s don’t sleep at night

they photosynthesize , by moonlight.

Leaves drink in the cool wise light

And give off dreams of softly fading starlight



Whispers of secrets , monthly unfurl

A single blossom falls at new moon

Hurtling to the ground, awake before noon

Ever noticed? The very word has the circle

Curled up in the centre , twice to make sure we remember , two full cups , not one.



Geko’s slip off old skins

And the croaking frog adds to the din

As thunder rolls in

Triggering the dogs bark

Guardian of the stark naked couple

Asleep in their parallel worlds

Together under the umbrella of ambient lighting

Not the natural kind either

But a shameless copy of pure sunlight

That emenates when their bodies collide

On the material plane.



Astral visions lead the way to headquarters

The address? Fax? Phone number?

I’m afraid you’ll have to dial again ,

Unless you’ve meditated on the vibration of emancipation

Then you would already know, you are already there

Doors are open , for those who care to try

No lock on this baby ,

Ain’t no safe to play safe

We bask in our humble glory

Under the shores on undulating tides

Rhythmic pulsations

no where to hide

The emanations come from within,

Without , a shadow of a doubt



There is a war coming , infact we’ve already been fighting for decades

Just like the change of winds, nature knows her stuff

Tip the seeds too soon and you’ll end up with a field full of fluff

But just in time and a harvest with enough to reduce every super market shelf to dust

Even though they already stock that kinda stuff

Clean up on Aisle 4, Aisle 3 , Aisle 2 , Aisle 1

Return the purchase , we’ve discovered the ****

In the cake

And we found the frog in the salad,

At least their habitat is intact

Or did you think I was still talking about the shops?

Trying to relax
A Mosquito bites
It's like paying tax
I do have my rights

It's not a mail or fax
I'm trying to read
Like a movie ******
A string of pearl beads

******* my blood
I spotted a Mosquito
Chennai is in flood
Big boss is not a good show


I hit , so quick
like Zapakkk,
My hand is not for picnic
Listen' o Jack.


And all the systems of
Mosquito stopped functioning.
It's confirmed , for Mosquito
No awakening.

Your aspect ratio’s wrong.
Stretching the truth
this long sows fertile ground
for artifacts, glitches,
quirks & bugs, worming
& squirming beneath pixel
shrugs. The worst kind
plump the frame to god-
awful proportions, bloating
bigger & bigger & bigger ‘til
vision’s engulfed.
Or the kind that squeeze
spaghetti confetti onto
our plates, drenched in
the Sauce of the Week
that “can’t be beat!”.
Your skewed parallax
attacks the facts at hand.
Recycle your *******
fax machine this second before
it grows smarter than
you. Yes, you—with the rolly
polly eyes & feint surprise—
quit pretending you’re dumb,
'cause you ain’t that numb
to the stings & pangs of change.
Your sloppy hacks produce
quantity @ the cost of quality
to benefit the greedy & satisfy
the needy, becoming seedy
to the logic of reason.
Correct your inputs to render
outputs worth tender & please
remember, it’s what’s within
the frame that’s important,
so get it right.

I wander from room to room
trying to pick out what to keep
What to take on to the next place
where to sit and where to sleep

I'll take the bed of course
maybe a couch or maybe two
a writing desk and oil lamp
so I've at least got stuff to do

I dont need a television
fax machine or dryer
I'll write letters for a past time
dry my clothes in front the fire

I think I leave all of my gadgets too
from the office and kitchen
that way when they break
wont be me you hear *******'

Blankets and a rocking chair
books and candles too
pots and pans and plates and stands
and cutlery for two

Of all the things around me
there's so little that I need
will be nice to simplify my life
and shed this cloak of greed

She was a dancer,
caught off beat
by a neat little stranger lurking
in the body of the womb,
where once she strayed from danger,
within a motherly costume.

After show drinks, stage
& waits in the green room,
were pipe dreams for this
Mum without a groom.
Yet still, and continuing so,
she provides for two girls,
her blonde Monroe's; be that lifts
to school or another
big shop so the nonstop
keeps from turning blue.

But how up North can you keep from the cold,
when constant frost creates the vignette
to the serviette snow out there?
Cheap beans and even cheaper bread
won't make that meal you read and said to be good,
any better than it is.
But a text, fax, pigeon post fast, to your Mum back home
wipes clean these thoughts of being alone
and underfed,
and instead; restores your faith in everything
and anything you may do in the future,
and what you said-

to me once on that walk;
will stick with me until we next talk
or, maybe quite possibly, drink
until glasses are empty and
the wine bottles clink.

*for the Carters

Please do not wake me from this sleep
leave me in this dream
for here life is perfect
unlike there where its in between

In my dream I live with you
a simple life beside the lake
we got to bed at sundown
and rise as each day breaks

No telephones, alarm clocks
pagers or fax machines.
Just books and pens and paper
filled with poems and other dreams

A stress free life I get to live
at least while I'm asleep
But that seven am wake up call
is the reality I keep

Hopefully we'll meet again
perhaps in dreams tonight
When in our old four poster bed
you'll kiss and hold me tight

Wireshell trash can sweep-brushed
by Fusion, Alero, Chrysler Something.
They’re filled to the brim like sepia-stained
skyscrapers with swivel chairs and water cooler
pow-wows. Boss’ talking fax machines
and projections for the second fiscal quarter,
flipping a stock EKG reading on its ***. We’re
all millionaires. All up like the NYSE at seven o’clock
in our living rooms watching the fireplace
playfully threaten our investments while CNN
sends money through the VCR slot. Cars, no
garbage trucks, cars, cars, scraping hubcaps off
the high sidewalks like beautiful harpsichords.
Neighbors. Suitcases and dresser drawers
packed tight with meat tape, paper towels,
and coffee mugs/fine China make heaped trash bags
seem obsolete. There’s no garbage here.
Downtown’s neon district makes enough
that they could afford a glowsign on every window,
every square inch of every lunch special, gallery opening,
or Salvation Army bell-ringer.

Forget New York,
we're the city that never sleeps.

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“Can you hear me?”  “Can you hear me?”  …. “Come-in”
Boys with “walkie-talkies”, walking and talking, squealing and squawking
The girls were chalking – on the sidewalk
Range, one quarter mile.  More over water, the box said

If all you hear is static
Run some wire in your attic
Or tie it to your gutter
“Can you hear me?”  You may utter

Copper wire strung on a fence
For Russian signals the pretense
Every beep, buzz and whistle
Was that to do with someone’s missile?

A weather fax for steaming ships,  “doodle doodle” sound
Deadly tips!

Vacuum tubes soft-lit for me
RCA, Westinghouse, and GE
Their glow-warm magic casting a spell
A hook set lightly - I could not tell

Gizmos, and gadgets, in crate after crate
Rolled into the business - helped shape my fate
War surplus it was, "truck's in" they would holler
Purchased for two-bits on the dollar

So thank you Dad – the hook you set
grew into a job, my needs were met
A needed change, a needed change

Courtesy, Machinery Exchange

O sweet baby,
it's so magical,
this technoligical-realm
of fantasy!

My apparent want of you
is fiery, so astronomical.
I succumb to your
desirous-advances,
make love to you
in the shadows.

I can taste your
"Y" in space,
rinse
the screen-dust
off my tongue & face,
but then what darling?

French kiss you in email,
whisper sweet nothings
into my cell,
finger your text,
do you with symbols,
*** you up good in jpeg,
explode together on Skype,
hammer you on Twitter,
free flow into you with a fax,
seed you with a nice
warm stream of pixels?

O my dear lady,
I miss the feel of real flesh,
the sensation of your
feminine flower-grip,
that sultry look
in your pretty-eyes,
the wanton shuddering,
nailed-fingers streaking on my back,
your hypnotizing unrecorded-vocals
& the alluring fragrance
of your raw hot-skin.

And O I feel lonelier now,
more than ever
before this modern age of science
& hi-tech communication.

How 'bout you,
do you feel the same???
Just sext me &
let me know!
:-P...

A nomadic soul blows carelessly in the wind. Winding down an untrodden path, he creates a new way for a friend. Patience again and again, will be the factor that lends, the helping hand to lost whims. Flimsy ghosts in the wind, sing freedom songs to no end. Mend a broken heart to be tended. Send a lost letter to be commended. On you travel, unrelented. Spend a moment to be splendid. Not confused to be offended. Pending goals to be achieved, you're relieved there are more answers conceived. Hidden truths be believed,  and perceive a message indeed. Seed the plant to feed the steed. Need not selfishness and greed, to enjoy the aroma of ****. Knead a knot in in your back and take a **** and relax. Tack kind words to a fax, that slips on through the small cracks. Jack and Jill with strong backs, keep traveling on down the tracks.

A city asleep is ruthlessly efficient
Dreams are distributed
Hopes exhibited
Snapshots in time briefly revisited

New lovers, children
The functionally insane
Serenely succumb to the sandman
To visions that satisfy attention spans
To nightmares that vanish with morning Raisin Bran

But poets and drunkards resist this plan
They walk through empty streets
Feeling incomplete
Taking their women ***** and their whiskey neat

Finally they too surrender to sleep
Tossed by worries into withering wind
Of dragons and fax machines
Of reality dimmed
Sunrise distorts them and they vanish as they begin
Just like tomorrow
And tomorrow again

There were black shoes, black shadows
white cuffs, white clouds
black shirt, black boards
white belt, white butterflies

You tell me, your world is black and white,
but,
I ask you,
"Is that all I saw?"
What more, my dear pessimist, you jeer,

So, I say,
Well, of course,
there were blue skies, blue scorpions
white doves, white daffodils
red roses, red blooded hooligans

You tell me, typical American -
so patriotic,
you bleed the colors you fly,
and die draped in your pride,

but I see you
in your myopia,
your dull diatribe of patriotism

I understand you

you are blind to the mind of your soul
you only see
what I tell you
you only see
what you consume
you do not see
what is between
the slats
of your window

when they shut
you do not peek

when they open,
you imagine night has turned to day
when they close
you prepare your bed for the night
despite the noonday sun
you are a prisoner of shallow waters
drowning
while ankle deep
hollering
believing no one hears you
shrieking - how the world has changed!
unaware that the shores move
in ballroom dancer rhythms
sweeping back
and forth
along the bay
because the seas are alive
but you are standing still

not even the earth
beneath your feet
is still,
despite holding your entire reality
safely,
motherly,
in the insurmountable expanse
of its grasp

Yet, should the earth shake
and rock you
should the hurricane blow
and displace you
should the mountains tumble
and smother you
should the sky open its celestial gob
and expel you
should the mother open her subterranean maw,
and swallow you deep
deep
would you, deeply, care
that the possibility of it all
was an open invitation
a sealed letter
that was never
at your behest
to open
and display its contents

I, too,
have bequeathed upon you
a sealed invitation
to the worlds I paint
with these jigsaw vignettes we call words
and all
you had to do
was open the seams

not with a file

a file to cut the purse
the bounty
of the promised speech
no
I ask you
that you but pry open my soul
with curiosity
and peer within the tattered layers of my story
my lives
unlived & overwritten
letter by letter
slip in that noodle protracted by your pineal eye
and taste the essence of the realities
you have failed to purchase
that meander about the words you,
selectively,
chose to ignore
like the milk around alphabet cereal
or the broth around alphabet soup
or the fine-grained blank spaces
the parchment
the canvas of woe
around the words that comprise
a stack of divorce papers
or an exam
or the dread of a long-awaited raise...

Imagine,
for a moment
ignoring the obvious
the letters,
the sentences and paragraphs,
the divorce papers
the exam
the pay-bump,
and just look
at the parchment - the fine-grained,
thin sheet of sophistication

touch it
taste it, maybe,

run your hand along it
the surface of it
or the edge of it
***** your finger on the corner
slice your finger on the edge
the paper has a malice that invites
your masochism
curiosity is power
but also
despair
peer deeper

turn your head about
lower it, sideways
all
the
way
down, and
press your ear,
left or right
against the parchment
the paper
the papyrus
the product
hear its screams
the CHURN-CHUG-GGGHGGHHGRRRRR!!!
that chainsaw
like a thousand hatchets
splayed out
dancing on the circumference of
a taught merry-go-round of death
cutting into the mother
the father
the child
the tree
cutting it open
that it may be cut again
again
again
tormented
pulled apart
pulverized
tenderized
pulped
poured
pushed
pressed
preened
­glossed - maybe
matte - possibly
the choice is yours
harvest the living
for the living death of your divorce
your exam
your raise
massacre those families
not just the trees
the bears, the deer, and the little fox, too!

I'm green with envy,
thinking about all that potent pulp
coming your way
the smell of it
place yourself in its abundance
the smell of industry
its factories
academies of excellence
an office
a school
a registrar, magistrate, Corporate HQ,
the Pentagon, the Taj Mahal,
Big Ben,
the daily mail of any place where
the morning paper
is LAW
and
should this be the first time
you heard the screams
just imagine being a tree
coming to pay respects to your family
smell that death
as you creep in
watch
look about you
at the carcasses
strewn about
in neat, pedantic stacks labeled, A4, A3, letter,
fax or snail mail?

My world is plenty black & white
& white & red & blue,
but it's also got screams,
and the stench,
the carcasses of the forest's children
fit for your pleasure
to tear up,
chew up,
gum up with saliva
and shoot through a straw
into the neck of a fellow butcher
and laugh
laugh and snarl and howl and cackle

Laugh
because,
you never dared to kneel down
pay reverence to the
screams
in the parchment
you let the blinds close
you dared not peek through
you let yourself rot there
in the closet
of your mind
in the dark
and when I say, I'm sad,
you say,
"That *****."
You don't ask,
what's around the sadness,
what came before and what could after,
what's in the folds of sadness,
guilt, regret, and loneliness kneaded in

no,
you look at the sadness,
the dull blue,
and you say,
"Yeah,
that's blue alright,"
then you close your coffin
and go to sleep

I always hated the color of your emotions
On these dull and rainy days
Haven't seen the sun for months
Can somebody fax me the apocalypse
Can we just go back into a Big Crunch
Don't care about time anymore it just slips
Through my fingers

I'm not perfect like you think, I'm patchwork
My design has so many flaws and quirks
I'm made of skin and bones, some tell me if I'd try to swim I'd sink
Wish I was more of a liar so maybe I could float

What a tease you are in your little floral dress
And your needle and your thread and your thimble and the little squeaky noises from your rubber sneakers tread
Thought you were so cute when you'd ask me to drink my wine and eat my bread
Who knew a sip would turn into a bag and a loaf of bread

I hated how you looked up when I would look down
And the town felt like a bell tower full of time where I never heard the bell sound
And when you would close your ears it felt like a tsunami had hit my face and turned me into a zombie walking frown
Where my brain was so angry it turned red and filled with blood until I drowned

And there you sat that afternoon playing with your alabaster Barbie that oddly represented you
And you combed her hair and gave her a personality that you could choose
And you forgot all about the needle and thread, and all my patchwork of yellow and red and blue
You forgot all about me and if you would have mixed all the colors right you wouldn't have anything to lose
But here I am with my wiry string and my patchwork bruise
I've got smoke in my lungs and oil in my stomach fueling an industrial revolution that's way past due

Art work in pencil
Peach shadows on the outline of everything
Jaw lines, good times
Trees in the park
Dinosaur tracks and Fedex Fax

Librarians don't do their job

I was talking about shadows
Then my mind was robbed

A neat and tidy life she leads
Every day the same
To keep it all under tight wraps
is her only aim


In her mind she organizes
Replace, rotate, no compromises
Every thought and every word,
They're all arranged by sizes


Every thing has its' own place
That she's made just for it
Ideas go here, memories go there,
No mess will she permit


By each night her mind-desk is cleared
No stray documents are found
Until morning comes they lay in files
Waiting safe and sound


But sometimes something new will come
In a way quite efficiently
Better known as a fax,
but to her, a facsimile


Startled by the incoming message
She rushes to give it a home
- It does not fit with any files
Registers, databases, or others of the like,
She leaves it sitting on her desk
Where it sat overnight


Without a place of its' own
The message grew and grew
Without a spot to place it in,
She didn't know what to do


As it grew out of her control,
She watched with total awe
It overtook her entire world
All she did was withdraw