The riveting heart feels
the weight of trouble
The rebel is like a watchdog
sentinel
Whats in our Bible?
Things change to make the
difference

"Like a new invention but there is interference"

The Castle you hear
a rattle wasn't a baby rattle
Minds settling or quietly dazing
No defeating over the rainbow
It's like running then you stop
You look at his watered fingers
Of the great lakes, he's admiring
your lady's fingers

Lips divine as one like us
The gold rush collection
Just a secret hush affection
A treaty concession
Picking out the candy
          Skittle
The pivoting flying shy like a sky
riddle
Him or Her piloting its time
Two sets of eyes world of exploring
Not to keen
on exploiting

Her dress movie flowing prayers to
be answered so vain
Heads Spin city flaunting
Defeats us haunting
Who loves us
Who will help us
       SOS
Like a delicacy one of a kind
She's the rebel let her guess
Such a rarity smile with
dignity dressed up doll
she is dainty
To many disguises to face the
mirror of vanity
Rebel Rebel David Bowie
He is a genius of music
Shines a world gigantic

Rebel world of cults and sanity
What was heavily Tis
To be blessed
Rebels of hearts of Madonna
Greyhound bus

Our scorched finger heats
Riding the *Porshe Red firehouse
A beat something rare but overly sweet
Robin risque I  need more clues
Braveheart Riding hood in the woods
to be saved in her rebel shoe's

Queen heads up with the Dean
 Her embossed gold letters
Of a spell, forever mean
The heats on rebels defeat over
Modern time the "Dell"

Rebel wish from a deserving well

Computer and devil decipher
Compelled to love her
The Dark Shadows mansion
Angelique scarlet fever
Dark inside her label dress
What did he deliver?
"'Who lives by the standard rule messy is ****"
Rebel rebel look at your bloodshot pupils
taking things for granted

Freakish odd things posted
Are bizarre even her brassiere
Mean as a *Manchette
We are not as one
normal read the Gazette
More rivals and feather
pen of forgery
What a hard act to follow like surgery
Every molecule being
dissected to poke
A love primal no
common ground
This isn't a joke

Everyone tantalizing tribal
Creatures not in direct sunlight
Defeats us like rebels at night
Being inconsistent rebels
lead the way but far away
distant

We are not realizing what defeats us
Endorphin releasing our energy
Lifting our orphan spirits
Moon worshipper climbers
We are the simple people
Nothing too explicit
Or razor sharp to cut us

The Messiah
Solomon Torah of Isreal
Old Testament Jerusalem
Everything is way too ****** red
Like Salem
What defeats us
Voodoo or Christmas Hoo Hoo

Santas gift got stolen and snatched
Having a fight with a door latch
Magic somehow not in our favor to match
Tragic music rock or swing jazz of a glitch
But everything defeats us
Psychic third eye
She is so tragically hurt
So Manic not the
brave rebel flirt

Like the limited edition
So many of us are uninvited
Not the VIP pass
Ressurection new rebel convention
Unique kind of communication

The last time I saw you on vacation
Relic hunters the lightning
Hells Angel rider conjuring
What mouths to feed of thunder
Nazis all  our undivided
attention pictures
They snap having a field day
of paparazzi
Priestesses devil wears the
Prada dresses were out
of designers
I wonder why to travel heretics
Such treachery and butchery
Being grilled like steaks but
not a Dynasty
Too graffitied feeling fried
How loves are taken like the fools

The business arrangements
Foreign exchange groups
Rebelling their way
through college
Time is the essence of
being mutual
beneficial much
higher potential
More spiritual rituals
We need more Gods of top
rank **Generals
General Mills cereal at least
not the serial killer

Our first date at Rise
Holding your hand at the Firehouse Theater
Eating bagels you brought back from Montreal
Having lunch at Salata
Going to the Arboretum
The way you peeked out children’s house
Cuddling on the couch
Watching Game of Thrones
When you fell asleep in my arms
Drinking Amaretto Sours
When you would be silly
The sound of your voice
The maraschino cherry stem  you tied with your tongue
The Forget Me Not Flower Kit you gave me
Exchanging texts
The sound of incoming WhatsApp messages
Diner at Howard Wangs
You wearing bunny ears during Easter
36-28-41
When you posed for me
Your blues eyes looking up at me
Seeing your smile
Touching your lips
The way you smell
The secrets you would tell
Showing how you care
Hugging me tight
Letting me take care of you
When you cook Arepas
The gluten free Clafouti
The time you had the flu
Wearing Calvin Klein underwater
Your dainty feet  
Your goddess like figure
Your cute accent
Typing in the door bell code
Hearing you answer
The emoji of puppy heart kitten

Knowing you are my Bijou
Calling you Minou

Two bottles of Southern Comfort, Black Keys on iTunes, profile picture with sister, stir-fry, 30 Rock, Gorillaz poster, pancakes at 3 am, spontaneous lunch at Barone, friends with benefits, need a hug, Columbus Day, touch my ****, too much tongue, crumpled into wall in the morning, Urban Outfitters for a t-shirt, silver medal, free Dominos, Workaholics at 12, secret sleepover #2, ******* because i thought that's all he wanted from me and i wanted him to stay, hickey on my neck, studying in a room with the round table, drew a horse on the whiteboard, fill out a police report, Redgates from Firehouse, he looks cute today. Tackled into metal, did I break my back? Jump on it, it's not funny, I'm crying, cold beer, kiss on the porch, stop kissing me in 12, *******, more kissing, blood everywhere, come over, comb through hair. you can stay over again, skips class, uses my shower, makes the bed, come with me to doctor. Vermont secret, Batmobile, on Prius, dune buggies, Phantom Menace, brother-in-law, supermarket in Newfane, stir-fry, statement at 6am. Hurricane, in my basement, halloween at the fire station, knitted scarf headpiece, mother's phone number, red gate sandwiches by Citi Bank across from library. Confirmation party, Chartruese, Coldplay at Mohegan, Torches, enchiladas, screaming, stuffed wolf, comic book finishing touches at 1 am, new roommates, L.O.L., I was going to propose to you - in the hallway, 3 month long orchids, Vermont trip #2, no riding allowed, nap by the fire, bare butts touching over unscented blanket, sapphire ring too big under lamppost in parking lot, happy. Sarasota, hide my eyes with Mosley Tribes, take a walk without me, Game of Thrones, cold sand, hair dryer joke, need eye drops, Ringling Mansion, gator bites, silent walk by traffic, kayak in shallow water, families too different, bike ride to tune of Star Wars, nervous about the summer, panic into shoulder on flight home. ******* in the middle of the night, drive around campus, leave me alone, pack up N-64 games, fight before final presentation - only one group gets an A, instant milkshake and magazines to pass the time, make a pizza, here let's make out again - apparently that isn't so bad, almost forgot my friesian mug and vase by the trailer. Texting *****, sick stomach, Lord of the Rings, try smoking, Magic: The Gathering, first communion, wedding, Chip's Family restaurant, high school graduation that I couldn't sit at, Miya's with the mini *****. Fireworks on hill through trees. Retna laptop with blue cover, HGTV's Next Design Star, I have to leave. this is where I stop.

You're sitting across a table, in the next room- and it's the month of July.
                                                                                 And as the beads of sweat chip off your forehead
                                                                                                              like a shank of butcher's meat,
                                                                                                                        your dorcel fin peaks                                                                                                         through the sand where my toes peak                                                                       through. The picnic table where I write letters; post cards.
                                                                                                   I take photos, make reservations, and
                                                                                       even after I'm canceled on for walking around
                                                              downtown in my bright neon-pink underwear, I still roll to the
              left side of the bed sit up and drop the cigarette I fell asleep on. You're just sitting, first entry:                                                                                                                                                 Stardom.

                                                                                                I don't have room for you in the corners.

                                                                                                The corners of this room, padded walls,
                                                                                           shifty vaseline sway- the white cotton stick
                                               of a sucker pointing out of your mouth, its red numero forty dye shines
                                                                                                                in the specks of light flicking
                                                                                                  out of the horizon like a carousel ride
                                                                                                                              around and around.

                                                                                        I'm getting a bit dizzy, and even less honest.

                                                                                                                 If you want to see me spring,
                                   like the silly string on my birthday, yellow silly-putty; molding the monster face,
                                                                                                     I observe you through a kaleidoscope                                                                                                                   of dexedrine and morphine.
                                                                                              Your catastrophe with Xanax, passed out
                                                            in alien-green *******, at that party in the abandoned firehouse
                                                                            on News St., how you could lay trust on me after that

                                                                                                (a daydream with sawing you called me)

                                                                                             sixteen-year-old mishap of an afternoon.
                                                                                            &

Young Liam loved Orange
and liked to wear ties.
To his firehouse friends
He was one of the guys.

He had his own locker
a slicker and hat.
He also had cancer,
and a bad one at that.

From early on in his life
he fought neuroblastoma ;
An invasive tumor
a metastatic carcinoma.

His family who loved him
labored to save
their dear little child
Prince Liam the Brave.

He faced surgery bravely,
engaged in his fight..
He endured radiation
Chemo and knife.

When many a New Yorker
complains about stress,
Prince Liam was stoic
When put to the test.

Then just before Christmas
he suffered a relapse
He became neutrapenic-
His immune system collapsed.

With blood in his *****
And a spot on his lung
Liam grew weak.
his defenses undone.




An Amethyst stone
he received from a friend
was his talisman of hope
that he held to the end.

The worst part of the journey
was when hope was gone.
Then Liam lay, still and silent
in his mother's arms.


There are brave fire fighters
Who’ll be fighting back tears
Brave Prince Liam has died,
He lived only six years

There are many old people
still avoiding the grave
Who know less about love
Than did Liam the brave

We will gather together
In St Francis’ nave
To remember the life of
Prince Liam the brave


i

If Father Mychal Judge gave you a hug, it was something you would not soon forget. It was not a burly bone crushing sort of bear hug that you could get from anybody. It was a delicate gentle hug as if he knew he was dealing with someone exquisitely fragile.
Born and raised in Brooklyn, Mychal Judge had felt called to a Priestly vocation since his days as an altar boy. He was also a celibate gay man and a recovering alcoholic. He attended A.A. meetings in the basement of Good Sheppard Episcopal Church and was as an apostle to the gay community when elements of the mainstream church often turned their backs upon them. The Franciscan priest had a special care for the New York City fire department and was one of five Catholic Chaplains assigned to the Fire Department.
His frame was small but wiry. He had a shock of white hair that stood out in a room and a lovely tenor voice that would bust into a favorite Irish air at the drop of a hat. A member of the New York Irish diaspora, he loved to spend his spare time listening to Irish and Irish American folk music in the clubs and dives of Manhattan.
Tuesday, September 11, 2001, dawned as beautiful of a fall day in New York as any would ever see. Father Mychal was up early and went to vote in the primary, then briefly stopped back at the Franciscan friary for a morning cup of coffee with the brothers. There was a radio on in the background and that was when he first heard news of a commercial jet crashing into the North tower of the world trade center. Father Mychal knew that his boys would be going in harm’s way to fight those flames and he immediately rose from the table and set out to the scene.
Even before he arrived, a second commercial jetliner came crashing into to the south tower. The flames on the upper floors were so intense that many trapped office workers chose to leap to their deaths below rather than be consumed alive by the flames like some latter day heretics.
One of Father Mychal’s firemen had been mortally injured just outside North tower by one of the leapers. Oblivious to his own safety Father Mychal knelt down beside the dying man and gave him the last rites of the church. Father then got to his feet and, in the company of several firemen, entered the lobby of the North tower. They were heading for the emergency command center on the floor above the lobby when there was an unearthly roar as the stricken south tower collapse upon the streets of Manhattan. The world inside the North tower grew dark with smoke, soot and debris. Fearful that the North tower was coming down the men scrambled for shelter in a stairwell, all except for Father Mychal. A flying shard of metal stuck the Padre just after he had been heard by some to say “Sweet Jesus, make it end now!”
In the dark and flaming ruins of the North tower command center, it was difficult to breath and impossible to see clearly. The survivors of the group emerged from the stairwell where they had taken refuge and stumble across the beloved Padre’s body on the steps. Not wanting to abandon him in death, they placed him in a plastic chair and fire strong men lifted him up and carried him out of the dying North Tower, mere minutes before it too would collapse.
On the sidewalk of Church and Vesey streets, two catholic firemen said prayers over the body of their fallen companion, for no Priest was available to give Father Mychal the last rites of the church. Then he was brought to Old Saint Peter’s church and laid upon the Altar, his fireman’s helmet placed upon his chest.
They sent an ambulance into the devastated streets to retrieve the body of their fallen comrade. They bought him back to the house at Engine 1 Ladder 24 and placed his remains in the first of over two thousand body bags that would be used in the days and weeks that followed. That is how a humble priest who never put himself first in life came to be victim 0001 of the Twin towers disaster.
Hundreds of brave firemen and police gave their lives on that tragic day, the toll in the firehouse of lower Manhattan was especially heavy as you would expect. Time passes, lives end, and eventually there will only be the films the photos and the artifacts to remind the children of our children of that beautiful, terrible day in September.

I sat beneath the old saffron
willow, crumbling leaves
to dust in my soft palms.
Autumn creeped in once again,
setting the trees on fire and carrying
their leaves away with the cool wind.
I looked across the dirt road, at the
old, blackened house, bathed in sunlight.
The peeling paint leapt out like specks of glitter into the wind.
Years of memories were still trapped within its walls.

More than the leaves caught fire.

You see after all i my mates laughed at me for being a little ****** kid

there was one friend called lyle who wanted to be my friend at school

and i at that time, thought this friend was cool, seeing i knew nobody else

but we had fun together, like a dream made me understand,that we used

to play basketball at the local courts which i thought was cool, and it would’ve

been nice, if my other school mates would join in, but we did play games

with other kids who dropped in, i just had a dream, where my mate the messiah

came in and taught me how to become respected enough to make it to hollywood

and before you say it, i know he isn’t my daddy, but i was a daddy figure to him

letting him stay at my house, you see we went to the movies and top floriade

and also to the national multi cultural festival, and the messiah said, instead of

shop food, how about you have multi cultural food, yeah, it’s tasty, hey, we also

went to each others houses, i had him sleep over, but i never slept over there,

mainly because, i have caused a lot of problems expecting to sleep over in my childhood

you see lyle came in my dream last night to show me the ***** cool kid, in the form of the messiah

he made the messiah, buy all these tickets to expensive events, like maybe a soccer game

between barcelona and ajax, yeah i used to joke with him, and we saw a stand up comedy event, and we find

that kind of thing very funny, but i heard the witch doctor who killed my previous life patrick dunbar

saying, hang on, are you the guy from the charnwood inn, and he told men to shut up, and i said

leave me alone, i am a family person, i don’t need the crazy demented witch doctor kidnapping my cool kid

the witch doctor, is trying to steal my mate patricks voice saying, i am not a cool kid, to make me too scared

and i really wanted a mate, and lyle was the only young bloke who gave a ****, like take me to bet on the footy

once we turned 18, but in school, we went to the footy and going over to each other’s houses, to play cricket or footy, and mate

lyle was a really big wild boy, he was, ya know a fast bowler and a tough footballer, and i tried to keep fit, so i can

outclass him, and i think i succeeded, but ya know, if you ******* a mate like lyle, he will get cranky, cause he has a

problem worth anger, we also slept in the backyard tent, where lyle said, i ain’t scared of the old boogie woman

but, i was wanting cool friends, as he liked the idea of going to bed early, and my family and lyles family all got together

and talked to each other, and i enjoyed my conversations with lyles mum, mind you, there were moments, where i was

scared to go over, because, i feel if i **** people off, i will have no friends, i remember me and lyle used to be big eaters

but, i don’t want to eat like that no more, because, i don’t want any blood clot, mind you i still eat a lot, but i write and do art

because i need to do things with my art, so my eating doesn’t get the better of me, there is more to brian allan than eating

too much, me and lyle were like two cool people playing bingo, and that was cool, you see,in my dream, my mum packed

a whole case of cakes, for me to share with all the young dudes at the festival, but the messiah felt uneasy and said i don’t want

to be a kid, he said he wants to fucken grow up, but i can’t understand why, he is telling me to grow up, and i hate the idea

of being treated like i am trying to be like other people, like my brother, i am like brian, just me, brian allan, i had fun with lyle

despite him being a loud mouth wild person who liked the idea of picking fights with everyone, but i have to understand

i ******* a lot of people, but this dream shows, all the fun times, i did a horrible crime, but i still think that it was my belief

of being greame thorne and pastrick diunbar in my previous life, being taken too young, was the reason of all my crazy person crimes

and dad couldn’t except i had a mental illness, and either can my old school mates, you see i ignored patrick at the st george bank

in the mall, and i heard him say get ****** brainy, like he was worried, why isn’t brian talking to me, and i said to pat, hi pat and

patrick went sarcastically hi brian, your brother isn’t around anymore, brian, we don’t have to be nice to you, i had fun with patrick

and lyle as well, in the new years eve concert to end the 1980s, me patrick and lyle went to the belconnen soccer club for the

end of the 80s nye party, and me and patrick and lyle had a few XXXX’s, and i got drunk and crashed over patricks house

and i crashed over patricks house, too much, patrick got sick of the fucken sight of me, i can understand in hindsight, that

i ****** him off, so i annoyed the mall crowd, and i was invited to a party, but because of the party i had at my house, where

my dad played taxi driver to all my drunken mates, and i wasn’t really a good host, because, i prefer the laid back lifestyle

partying out in the firehouse nightclub and the private bin in front of youtube, and i would love a televised youtube nye bash

on youtube, but they don’t, so i made my own nye bash, and it was pretty radically successful as well, i have still got my cool

jeans on, from those days, but i am a talented entertainer and actor now, and as much fun as i had with patrick and lyle,

those days are in the past, i am moving on now,

my granny took me to bingo too, my nanny watched the end of the 70s nye concert with me

i remember when jimmy barnes through beer cans at a concert at alberton oval, adelaide

yeah, totally radical dudes

the thermometer's rising red mercury,
a truest signal-fire of  the
approaching well-fated
army of summer days,
their inevitable return
prophesied and more accurately foretold by heated degree,
than any solitary red X penned,
marked upon an island's
dog-eared firehouse kitchen calendar

the imaginary sounds of their solacement
inside the heart beats louder
than any timekeeper's ticking clocking counts,
mechanical reminders of a return inevitable,
comforting but impoverished upon compare,
to the warming solace of hearty silent sun sounds
far louder in the mind, than that of measuring throbbing metal

for nigh, nigh the hour's of your carriage come hither
does near approach and laden heavy by
the long time distanced poet's exhausted hopes,
a labored long voyage, soon to be ended,
yet worthy-word laden,
promised peace, carried within it,
a steady straight forward rolling gait heard,
that, it's Paul Revered lanterned combined signaling,
one if by land, two, if by sea,
for I will come back, traversing both

"return, return poet
to where thy fellow musketeers,
wind, sun and sea
have impatiently waited,
we, your corporate grayed chair's guardians and protectors,
memorizer's of the poetry of our yellow scented,
electric conspiracy, rusted silent, now too many months,
your voice transmogrified
by sophisticate urban airs,
man's unnatural pollutions,
we woo and will you, make over"

Ah, that Adirondack throne,
my summer body's glove,
magical wooden carpet
flying the mind's eye
to places where unfriendly times,
give way to reworked words
in a refreshed world, that makes sense again,
the joy tears that layup on and in it imbedded,
know only of the comfort of a
nature's shelter never withheld

"the winter's pale thrashing has skinned
and stripped your voice of its true timbre,
you gaze only inward, obstacled your vision,
seeing only whitecap seas of internal distress

come hear the seagrasses waving windy welcome
listening rapt  to your summons of convocation,
and the celebration of your traditioned blessed evocation,
a combine of old poems, old tears, and fine oak memories,
new candles lit, new waves crashing but soul soothing,
let us cleanse the taunting taints that inhabit,
our duty to inhibit the unforgiving stale self-reproach
of winter's ugly poems and slushy fears

we are folk honest, your summer companions,
acknowledging that what haunts your interior,
to the task of cease and desist we are inferior,
but in your chair, by the bay, the old words refreshed,
and the new poems of hope and scents
of yet better days promised

of that, of that
we do not promise,
of that that we bonded guarantee
a pledge of mutual fealty

we smell you and taste you in every old recirculated breeze,
as you inhale us and exhale toiled tribulations,
we will be married-vow renewed,
a new peace of sorts imbued,
far far better, than no peace at all!"

we've met before

We took some time off work, to meet for lunch. A flight of stairs down from the sidewalk.  A basement
coffee/book shop with ubiquitous old-Seattle esprit.  Our easy conversation passed hours like minutes.

No, we met first on the sidewalk. I thought it was you because you were standing, waiting, looking at your
phone, wearing a *(why are they all?) oversized firefighter's jacket.  A man in uniform.

Actually, we met online.  I was curious, checking out the site.  Only one guy caught my interest, you
emailed me first.

But I think we've met before.  When I first saw your eyes, I recognized you from when we were infinite.
I saw the deepest, clearest water and peace, a glimpse of life in love and summer sun.

...


The picture on the cover

4 dates since we met, 9 days on the calendar, each one a surprise.
a coffee date, mt biking, (you rented the best bike for me)
***** shooting (oh, you loved the sight of me with a gun)
visiting your dad discussing books and gardens, then a surprised brother;
God, you knew the best food for dinner tucked into small funky streets.

Then today, a hike. A firehouse lookout at 10,000'- scrambling boulders, a skinny precarious
ladder to the top.  The view is epic, cliffs fours sides, miniaturized trees way down,
sun rays to this warm spot on the wrap-around porch for lunch, tucked out of the wind.
The sandwich you made just right.  You had me at avocado.

Thin air and a delicious little bottle of sake from a wooden box-cup made us giddy,
trying to figure out that Japanese label, some cartoon figure of a victorious mean Samarai?
So we named it Kick-*** Sake, and I took a picture.
Then you asked me to marry you.
And I said yes.

...

She knew

A black plastic nametag with white letters,
slightly off-white and not-so-flat from a trip or two through a bachelor's dryer.
I remove it from the bottom of the washer, lightly ******* the engraving,
and ask what's your middle name, this letter T?

From the kitchen you say, my grandmother named me,
with a private grin.
She might have been kinda drunk.
Walking behind me, your caramel-rich low voice in my ear,
TsuneoKawehiwehiokekuwahiwionouaioku'uhome.
(saying with careful pronunciation)
Tsu-nay-o-Ka-vay-hee-vay-hee-oh-kay-ku-va-hee-vee-­on-oh-vay-ee-o-ku-u-**-may
and I was just sent…

No, she wasn't drunk, she knew exactly what she meant.
Kapunawahine, holding her little mo'opuna kane,
sensed your father was restless with rock fever.
He would be moving away to the mainland with you soon, so she says to you,
*This land of water and special rainforest trees of the mountains, Hawaii, is always beloved home.

4 dates since we met, 9 days on the calendar, each one a surprise.
a coffee date, mt biking, (you rented the best bike for me)
***** shooting (oh, you loved the sight of me with a gun)
visiting your dad discussing books and gardens, then a surprised brother;
God, you knew the best food for dinner tucked into small funky streets.

Then today, a hike. A firehouse lookout at 10,000'- scrambling boulders, skinny ladder to the top, 
the view epic, cliffs fours sides, miniaturized trees way down,
sun rays to this warm spot on the wrap-around porch for lunch, tucked out of the wind
The sandwich you made just right.  You had me at avocado.

Thin air and a delicious little bottle of sake from a wooden box-cup made us giddy,
trying to figure out that Japanese label, some cartoon figure of a victorious mean Samarai?
So we named it Kick-*** Sake, and I took a picture.
Then you asked me to marry you.
And I said yes.

We are not pens, ourselves, red ink is not inside of us.
But we do have sensitive blood that is discolored, same as that utensil.
Difference is: it poisons us, gives us rashes and thoughts that we are not worthy to have. It wrecks our minds with ancient tools that were once unaccepted. Silly poppies can not
Ruin us like that. I know what can.
The things that worry us, teenagers and babies, parents and pedophiles;
Cease your worries. I pity you, teens.
"It is fun, it is fun." I know I know. But is it worth the risk?
Cease your worries parents. You don't need to stalk your own children.
They learn from their mistakes. They cry for a while and then get stronger.
Like I did, why I kept my mouth shut for so long,
I was better. Until you began to read. I couldn't go to you specifically for that reason,
Tightening your hold on me, mother. I am already a prisoner in my own mind.
I don't need another warden.
A century long breakthrough gave me something,an understanding that not all children accept
Their parents. I don't feel at home there.
It is not one. Just a house that I stay in, people I live with. They are family, by blood only.
****** ink: my savior. My hero, love, is you. You inspired me to digitalize, write with graphite.
But I am still contaminated, mind wandering,

History repeating, sounds piercing, a test is too much when I did not study.
Help me. The trials this has put me through are unfair. Give me my pen to sign a contract, but I
Poison myself instead. Only okay after after a needle enters my streams and takes it out.
A mechanical vampire, I prefer you to bit me instead of metal fangs.
And now I dream.
.
.
.
.
.

Or maybe I am not. We have lived as such long enough. But, still,
Write about it. Tell me how you feel. But be careful not to poison yourself.

I have experience with that. The pen has a hidden blade. It cuts you with every word you
Lay in front of you. May I be a word? Scratch my love into your skin?
I will not intoxicate you as it would. I will give you something else entirely.

But my dream ends. Reality steps on me and takes my breath from me, I am suffocating in this Hellhole. Give me a firehouse so I can put it out and drink away my parched lips.
They need to be soft so I can speak, but first... I need to
Sew my lips shut. If they are dry, they will rip and open. We don't want that.
Keep them shut, don't tear open and bleed; you would give ink poison to
Mockingbirds if you do. They mock me, copy me. They tell me they are jealous.

But why? They don't know they've been poisoned.
It is a cycle. Everyone will die of it in the end.

PARTY ON SAYS ME ON YOUTUBE




you see as we party all day long

in every club that you see

like the private bin and the hungry horse

just blind beggars and firehouse just for me

you see, we lift up our glasses and

toast to the world our successes yeah mate yeah

partying is our middle name

i am pretty much well-controlled, dudes

yeah, we danced to jimmy barnes, oh he is so cool

and i dance to metallica as well

i got out my head banging air guitar to twisted sister’s

we’re not going to take it, anymore, oh cool, man

ya see i am a bit of an old biddy ya see

i am caught up in the fun of the 70s and 80s, oh yeah

i want lift life back so much ya see

to **** the old hag in me

as i sit at the mall with my coke, yeah i party great

i don’t want to be shy, oh no i am a family person, oh yeah mate ****** yeah

i am a regular guy dude, i am a regular guy

i deserve to have a happy party, dude, i don’t wanna be sad

i want to write cause it makes me feel great and opens up my brain

and rid all the problems from within, to ………

PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY

i don’t want old mates meeting me when i am 79, unless their heart wants to, not their beer bottle or urge for cash

that sounds like i will be drifted backward through life unless he respects my choices

i know i like to party dude, and i can’t change who i am

ya see i am a person, yeah mate yeah, part of the YOUTUBE generation

and i think it’s fine, but we must keep the kids not tying themselves on youtube, risky business dudes

i am looking out for the kids, rather than spoil their ****** fun

someone could do them harm, oh yeah DUDES

just look at me, i am having so much on youtube, and poetry slams and plays and i want to help the HOMELESS

yeah, man i am having a ball

LET’S PARTY DUDES

YOUTUBE FOREVER, FREE TO AIR TV NEVER

Teddy bears, crosses, burnt candles,
wilted flowers, faded ribbons,
rain washed love notes to a child
taken too soon from these
city streets burdened by stray
bullets exploding on unforgiving
empire is a litter no one takes away.
It is only added upon.
Next to graffitied bus stop,
across from alarming firehouse,
in front of and attached to
weakening iron fence,
surrounding church of boarded windows where prayers have ascended too late,
is a mother on her knees,
feeling the burn of hell cooked pavement.

YO, HEY WHAT’S HAPPENING DUDE

WHY ARE YOU SAYING I AM TOO WOOSEY

TO BE A COMPUTER NERD ALL THE TIME

CAUSE YOU SEE **** SIR, IT’S OBVIOUS TO SEE

I HATE PEOPLE IN MY HEAD, TRYING TO GET THE BETTER OF ME

I AM GETTING MY WAY IN THIS WORLD

THE BIG MEN ARE TRYING TO STAY WITH ME

CAUSE I AM A YOUTTUBE ENTERTAINER AN ARTIST AND WRITER DUDE

AND THIS GUY SAYS, MR ALLAN IS DEAD

SO HE WILL BE THE DADDY FIGURE

HE PROBABLY DOESN’T GO ON MANY HOLIDAYS

I GO ON A LOT OF HOLIDAYS

HE JUST WANTS TO TREAT ME LIKE A LITTLE COOL KID TO ALL THE YOUNG DUDES, WHICH I AM

AQND HE SAYS, I WILL PLAY COOL FOR YOU

AND WE CAN GO TO A LOT OF PARTIES, YA SEE I LIKE PARTIES

I LIKE SAFE PARTIES, THAT DON’T GET GATE CRASHED

I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A TARGET TO ROB

I PREFER TO BE TREATED LIKE THE COOL KID THAT I AM

FOR I AM COOL, I AM COOL, I AM ON FACEBOOK

I LIKE PEOPLE MAKING UP THEIR OWN MIND

LIKE ME, I HAVE MY OWN MIND, I HATED WHEN EVERYONE TREATED ME LIKE A HOOLIGAN OR KIDNAPPER OR SHY PERSON

WHEN I WAS YOUNG, I WAS BEING A LITTLE FAMILY COOL KID

WHO HAS A PASSION FOR PARTYING IN THE BLIND BEGGARS INN

AND HUNGRY HORSE, AND THE PRIVATE BIN AND THE FIREHOUSE

I WANT YOUNG DUDES TO FOLLOW MY PARTY WAY

I AM NOT AN OLD FOGIE, I AM A COOL MAN, BUT I AM NOT GETTING FOUGHT

CAUSE, I SHOWED CANBERRA, HOW TO ****** PARTY

YA SEE I WRITE ABOUT DAD, CAUSE, I HATE BEING AN ADULT TO DADS POINT OF VIEW

I HATED IT, I WOULD KNOW, MY OWN FEELINGS

I WAS TRYING TO TEASE DAD WITH THE PARTY DUDES, BUT THEY WOULDN’T BUDGE

DAD USED TO GET SICK OF ME, TEASING ME, BUT I WAS SHOWING ME, I WANNA BE COOL

AND I WANNA PARTY, AND NOW, I STILL WANNA PARTY, AT COMMUNITY EVENTS

CAUSE ANY MUSIC IS PARTY MUSIC TO ME

I WAS NICE TO DAD, CAUSE HE IS A PERSON, AND HE IS THE REASON WHY I AM A INTERNET CELEBRITY

THAT IS WHY I STOPPED FIGHTING HIM, BUT I STILL CALL HIM CONSERVATIVE

WHEN I SIT DOWN ON THE CHAIR, I DO ART, AND I DANCE I FRED AISTAIRE

I HATE MY FAMILY IN MY HEAD TREATING ME LIKE A LITTLE YEAH MATE YEAH KID

I HATE WHEN THEY SAY, I AM COOL, THEY GOTTA WORK

I WANNA SIT THERE AND WORK ON BEING CREATIVE, YA SEE

DAD CAME INTO MY DREAM LAST NIGHT, AND SAID, DON’T BE LIKE ME ANYMORE BRIAN

I SEE EVIL IN PATRICK, I SAID TO HIM, NO, DAD, DON’T MAKE DAVID LUCK DO WHAT YOU USED TO DO

CAUSE, YEAH YOU CRACKED JOKES, BUT ONLY NERDS SAY THEY DON’T WANNA BE COOL

IN EVERY STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION

I LIKED DAVID, HE HELPED ME GET MY MOJO BACK, YOU SEE DAD, YOU DID SQUATT TO HELP ME BACK THEN

YOU DID MORE WHEN I WAS AN ADULT, IT’S LIKE YOU WERE SCARED OF CHRIS OR SOMETHING

YA SEE, IF I HAD THOSE FRIENDS WHEN I WAS YOUNG, I WOULD’VE GONE TO NIGHTCLUBS WITH THEM

BUT I PARTIED IN CLUBS ANYHOW

I HATE HOW, EVERYONE IS TRYING TO RUN ME RUGGED,

I HATE THIS VOICE, DADS NOT AROUND ANYMORE, CHRIS’S NOT AROUND ANYMORE

LYLE’S NOT AROUND ANYMORE, IT IS SOOOO NEGATIVE

IT’S LIKE THERE IS TRUTH IN KILLING OLD FOGIES OFF ONE BY ONE

IT ALL STARTED WHEN THESE DUDES WHO KNEW ME FROM THE RAIDERS

WANTED TO DRIVE ME HOME FROM MENTAL AS ANYTHING

BUT I WANTED TO GO OVER TO ENLIGHTEN

I LEFT PAT ON HIS OWN, AFTER HE GOT UPSET BECAUSE HE WANTED TO DO HIS HOUSEWORK IN PEACE

SO I WENT TO THE MALL INSTEAD OF GOING TO HIS HOUSE

I DON’T WANNA BE A BURDEN ON HIM OR ANYONE

I HATE HOW YOUR ALLOWING, THE VOICE SAYING SHUT UP WOOSEY

OF HIM TREATIMG ME LIKE LYLE, I ONLY LIKED LYLE’S WORDS

LIKE BLIMIE CHARLIE, HOLY MACAROLY, AND HOLY SMOKES ETC ETC

BUT ME AND PAT LAUGHED AT LYLE’S STUPID MAN

LIKE GET OFF HIM YA ****** MANLY PLAYER OR I WILL TAKE HIM TO THE ESTABLISHORY COURT

ME AND PAT CRACKED UP FOR HOURS, ABOUT THAT

I KNOW HE AIN’T MY DADDY, BUT YEAH, HE WAS FUNNILY STUPID

AND DAD, YOU NEEDED TO UNDERSTAND, I DON’T BELIEVE IN GROWING OLD

I WANT TO STAY YOUNG AND COOL FOREVER

I HATE WHEN PEOPLE SAY I LIKE AIR SUPPLY, I HATE AIR SUPPLY

I LIKE THE ANGELS DOGS ARE TALKING, AND ACCA DACCA

AND POISON, AND WE’RE NOT GOING TO TAKE IT BY TWISTED SISTER

PAT WAS A NICE FRIEND, BUT THESE VOICES INDICATE THAT PAT ONLY DID THAT FOR CHRIS

I WANT TO BE A PARTY DUDE, BUDDY, RIGHT NOW

I HATE HOW THE COSMOS IS GETTING PATRICK TO TAKE MY KID OUT OF ME

I WAS THE COOL KID AT SCHOOL, HE WAS A COOL KID TOO, BUT I WAS TOO

LYLE WAS THE ******, BUT HE WAS ******, ****** OATHE HE WAS

MY STORIES INDICATE TO ME, DAD, OF HOW I WAS AT SCHOOL

I HATE THE AFTERLIFE TREATING ME LIKE I AM TOO SHY TO BE AN ARTIST

I LIKE DOING CREATIVE THINGS LIKE ART

PLEASE, DON’T PUT YOUR TEASING INTO US, DAD

Looks down at me.
Has empathy but mistakes it for pity.
Treats me like charity and never gives.
Has a car seat but no ******* kids.

She runs us.
She runs us.
Our lady of hope.
She is the future,
She is the horoscope.

A dream of white fences,
And black  and yellow dogs.
With red hydrants and green cops.
And fires burning the logs.

Dining and romancing.
Firehouse roses and  silk beds.
Miles Davis and the sweet soul.
The jazz we burn over a bowl.
Through the city streets, through the empty malls, and vacant houses.
As we pass brothers, and sisters, and mothers, and fathers, and lovers, and many haters,  and twice as many sheep.
To find home and self medicate while I can.

The elastic squish,
Of flesh and juice,
And sheets, and sweat.
Which felt like steam when it rolled.
Smoking. OH HOW SWEET!
HOW SWEET THE DRAG!!
How it filled and thrilled.
As we ashed and smashed.

The coma, the aftermath.
The limbo of luxury.
The ***** of salutatory.
In my bed, I mean her bed.
If we were one, I mean if we’re one.
Then the bed is ours.

Death and dying,
Life and living.
Lives desperately trying.
Love it and we will buy it.

Teach  me to be.
Help me to cry.
Hold  me till I see.
You can be me, and I can be you.

Walk together, all we do.
Fights for peace.
We’ll die for hate.
Oh delusion, how sweet the escape.

The end of another instalment of this little battle of teasing dad


I am trying to tell everyone I am cool and dad says you see still getting teased, even if you if you say that
You can handle people ditching me, but the natural fact I ditched him in a way, you see I wanted to make new friends and the friend I came in with just nicked off home leaving me to party all night at the firehouse, cause I thought doing that was cool, I realise that when you drink alcohol you sometimes feel a little shy as you listen to the music that sounds a bit sad but you bounce back up when they play a fast song like La Bamba gets played you start getting down and party down really hard and even if you down real hard, and I also think they treat me like a real cool dude and some men said I was a great ugly snout and I decided to say it too dad, but that was just the start of the little instalment of teasing dad, because he sort of concentrates on trying to keep his family safe, which is cool, and I love him for it, but I want him to realise that I did it to be closer with people my own age so I could avoid being treated like real old fogie when they pass away, cause I want my brother to have a good life and I want him to sort of not be shy to be a man., even if or goes against everything he believes in because we aren't invincible and I don't want him to be treated like me really, or try and do what he wanted to mainly because you can't change the past but I want his daughters to love him for the person he is, and I know that they are saying I am not a young dude for the way I used to act but I don't want the family to say to Chris that they finally got rid of hue yeah mate yeah kid, cause sometimes in life you have to do things you don't wanna do to gain respect, I got teased but I still enjoyed myself
But this another instalment of teasing dad, I want Chris to leave the old fogies on their own big, but I am doing that anyway, but that is another chapter in the saga, I don't want to be like dad to a tease but I ain't shy because I was really cool when I was young


Sent from my iPhone

The flag still,waves, in front, of the small, town, firehouse, where, I grew up, in the key, of life, the place, of my teenage, beginning, sweet memories, my heart, is ,now feeling, for salem county, town, where I, moved on, from, so, very,long, ago,street songs, of youth, still playing, inside, my head, songs, that , carried, me, over, the bridge, of youth, to manhood, waiting, silently, in  the distance, my thoughts, are all, aglow, thinking back, on salem county, I left,behind, so very, long ago,place, where fate, gave me, my first,puppy, and the,afternoon, of , that new, discovered, soft kiss, that made, me, so, brave, and, the joining, of two, on the, the old, pink painted, house, of a salem county, porch

One day after a couple of blunts in my friends car the conversation of
"Whats the worst thing you have that you could lose?"
Someone said their eyesight cause they like colors too much, I almost agreed; I dont know how long I could last in a world with no tie dye and  where I couldnt watch the sunset dance its ****** and the sky take its curtain call.

Someone said hearing,
God this one I almost totally agreed with. My favorite songs are now only the parts I can remember.
My mom can now only yell at me with her eyes and never will you hear your love say I do in their violin voice.

Still something else seemed worse, and it might just be because im so sentimental, but I answered memory.
I REMEMBERED a friend from middle school that I rode the bus with who was usually very cheerful getting on the bus one day looking very distressed, and it was only 6:45, what couldve been wrong so soon? So I asked.

"My Grandmothers alzheimers has gotten worse,  she forgets my name sometimes."
That hurt me to hear and I could only be there for her that morning.
As time went on she returned to slight normalcy but one day she got on the bus looking more sullen than ever, I moved to her seat to talk to her about it.

"My grandmaw is in a nursing home now, and every day when she wakes up she doesnt know why shes there. She doesnt just forget my name anymore."
She. Didnt really return to any normalcy and as months went bye she was out of school for a day and when she came back she explained to me why and it still rings in my head as one of the saddest things I've heard.
"My grandmaw got worse and worse, eventually having to be reminded how to use utensils, and she forgot about my grandpaw, and eventually how to eat and drink. Her funeral was yesterday."


So when the question was asked I thought about having to visit a loved one and having to introduce yourself,
And not being able to say,
"Remember that christmas when we both over ate?" Or "remember the time you paid for our first date? Do you still remember what I ate?  Do you remember our vows? Do you remember when we hid our hickies from our parents and it didnt work? "
"Remember riding our bikes past the firehouse and scraping our knees? Do you remember the time at your birthday when you let me help you blow your candles out? Remember when we talked about how to talk to girls remember summer days spent swimming and laughing till our stomachs hurt because nothing really mattered? Do you remember?"

That would eat me alive,
Take my legs and arms,
Those things can be made fake,
But memories cant be replaced.
Make them while theyres time to be made, and write a detailed autobiography just to be alzheimers proof.

on her fiftieth birthday our alleged mother hires a driver to remain parked outside an abandoned warehouse.  she promises to pay the driver extra if he sees more than two stray beasts and promises further employment if he consciously brings the uglier of the two or more home to his children.  we hear offhandedly these things and others

     as if we are hidden inside a very large cake.  

     the driver is an hour deep into the assignment when he notices a barefoot woman flat on her belly scooting across a puddle of oil near the warehouse entrance.  the woman is swallowed by the puddle before the driver can call to her or commit her outfit to memory.  he says aloud she was feral and her ******* had to be, by then, bleeding.  it’s christmas morning when the driver comes to and his wife’s sister has this look like she could **** the red from a childhood firehouse.  his kids are crying over invisible toys.  invisible because our mother touches the future without looking.

Maybe I'll wake you up and
ask you to drive me around
Windows down
music blaring.

We'll play Beatles
Or Firehouse
Or The Smith
Classic rock bands.

We'll sing
and live our lives
and make this world adore us.
I would love this.

And I would do this
I'd like to do this
It is almost 4 in the morning and
I'm wishing, really really hard,

I'm wishing for something to fall
that will enable me
to love you again.

the whole town was in the parade.  the newer babies had a float to themselves.  at some point I was shot by a gunman so disoriented he mistook himself for my father.  I swooned as if trying to avoid landing on a board member second-guessing her proposed location for purgatory.  somewhere in the darkness the firehouse caught fire.  I followed my blood but to me it seemed a celebrity’s sadness.  my mother found me in her bed with a part of her heart.  she was bright with the rumor that my sister’s snake-bitten neck had some takers.

we’re all the same

i am like my dad

i am like my mum and siblings

i am not a dweeb or freak

i am a cool party dude

who loves to party hardy won’t stardy

i am never tardy, in fact, i am a smart a lek

i am the coolest dude in canberra

but i am an adult who really loves to party

a big man sat next to me with his big tattoos and said

hows ti going mate, you have a few great tattoos on ya, don’t ya fella

he said yeah mate i have, i am here to be tough, mate

i am here, mate to have fun, with beer coke and spirits, mate

i will mix you beloved coke with bourbon and get ******

we like to party we like to party

all day and all night

i party on and don’t wanna fight

cause, i am a nice person, a good bloke, so to speak

i never want to fall in a heap

my old best mates don’t wanna be my mates anymore

i mucked with them, cause i and they were cool, i was a little young dude

i hated the mates, who wanted me to fight, i can’t stand fighting, i am nice

my mate pat helped me, he was like a second daddy to me, i liked that dude, where is he

i asked pat to go to a nightclub, the firehouse, and blind beggars and private bin and hungry horse

i went to *** black to pl;ay a computer game, yeah i was radically awesome

look what i done, i fooled my dad and my mum, cause why do they treat me like them

get that stupid guy who nicked my lunch out of my head, unless he treats me like a little young dude

for i am reformed now, i don’t stare wrongly anymore

i still call patrick my best mate, ok, dad was weird, ok

but we’re all the same

from father, footrace, fistfight (poems, June 2014)

(available on Lulu)

duologue

we’ll start here, turtle.

this is what I say to the grey thing I’ve been talking to.

the only buffer between engagement & constant engagement
is life
during wartime.

I conceive of a dropper
but hold it empty
above my eye.

because it is the one word without a beginning

suffering
because it is the one word without a beginning
is not limited
by its
vocabulary.

we wanted a sophisticated god
but in immediate
unison
called it
god.

this is the grey cream
that gives her privacy.

I am drawn to a sort of journalism
by association, a campestral formlessness
attached
for example
to the term

carpet bombing.

how is death, here? in an orange ball of yarn

she is not ahead of?

she has to stop, turtle.

to declaw an electrocuted kitten
she didn’t
electrocute.



isochronal character

the theme of this person-to-be is footprint.  for years I hated my figure and for years I went undetected.  I had female heroes both sad and sad reboots.  for a fee one told me I was fleeting.  the fee included the thumbtack moon my heel had liberated from a schoolchild’s diorama.  we come as babies so none can ask us what we remember.  the theme of this person-as-is

is mouthpiece.  her red phone has been tapped by those my blood is filming.


impossible beast

the whole town was in the parade. the newer babies had a float to themselves. at some point I was shot by a gunman so disoriented he mistook himself for my father. I swooned as if trying to avoid landing on a board member second-guessing her proposed location for purgatory. somewhere in the darkness the firehouse caught fire. I followed my blood but to me it seemed a celebrity’s sadness. my mother found me in her bed with a part of her heart. she was bright with the rumor that my sister’s snake-bitten neck had some takers.

I want to wear a Persian shirt,
Run through meadows in a Celtic skirt--

I want to Don a Russian hat,
And plant my *** on the throne of Rome.

I want to bomb my words upon
London, Lisbon; Taipei, Taiwan

I would diffuse my fissile mind
And launch theoretical material like guided missiles

Give me this world of sand as a ball,
And children on the playground to toss against the wall--

It is a gift of thought to view the bulb
Of this time as a light in the firehouse
That ultimately dies
Only to be remembered by Liver's More.

It is a party at the station
For the word has come to say
That bobby Fred and Marcus
Partied forever and a day
They started at the firehouse
And moved to the private bin
Blind beggars was the answer
Hungry horse always wins
Dancing to great songs from jimmy Barnes and aqua and Hanson and p Diddy
But this was the day when everyone joined in the party
Yes mate it is so great
We drink sugar it can make ya sick
Yes mate yes you are a ****
I went to another night club
And boy was I a drunk
Everybody dance now
Gonna make you a dweeb
Partying is a fun way to
Show how cool you are

Hi and welcome to Jupiter moon
For this great concert of great music

40-000-000 dead beats
Living on the dark streets
North east west south
Being cool oh yeah mate
Partying all over dude
Eating lots of exciting food
Like methane smoothies mate
Yeah mate yeah
Dancing all over your house mate
Dad going yeah alright Brian
Saying he meant he loved me
Yes he did
Partying down the firehouse
Then going home trying to be as quiet as a mouse
After drinking bourbon and smoking cigs
Yes that is what you want to do
Dancing all over your house
Saying to your voices who is boss
Eating food so really messy
To prove you ain’t a problem mate
Making your voices look worried yeah
Saying you ain’t like us anymore
I have lost my friend

Next song is this
Left my heart to the club oh dude
I sold a portion of my cigarettes
To the rough people yeah
I went to the private bin
And shook my boogie on the dance floor
And I never understood why people on the street were teasing me
Then I got on the dance floor
To show people how to party
Yeah mate
I got home and my voices went crazy
Seeing everyone I know all over my head
It really drove me nuts
I danced to Duncan
And did the hokey pokey
Saying I love to have a beer with daddy
Cause he was my mate
I used to love life a lot back then
Then I remembered my brother
Called me the name brin
Showing he really loved me
And saying he took the a out of my name
Because it was good
I felt cool
Even though my original
Thought was to be tough like a fighter would be oh yeah
Oooooh yeah mate yeah dude party
Next song is this
I was a hooligan back then yeah
I realise back then it was hard to be a family person because I was scared to have *** oh yeah mate yeah
And it was the grim reaper add on the television making it hard for me to think about having *** in any way I want
I really wanted children
Not knowing how hard it is
But overall that ad really scared me off from getting with a girl
People saying it’s normal to have *** yeah
And it is normal to have thoughts
Of having *** you see even when you are scared to do it yeah
I had this girls in college
Named Anna Clare Yvonne and Tanya
Who I really wanted to do it yeah
But I was scared of the grim reaper add it really ****** frightened me
And that is the reason why mate I never had *** to this day
And looking at shows where people are having *** yeah
Or seeing people having happy families from that
Makes me feel a bit weird
Despite me wanting to watch those shows because they teach me
That I shouldn’t have been scared
I should have been careful
But now I am a writer and artist
With dreams of bringing people
To their next lives
And my soul is the kind of soul
To enjoy the beauty of ***
Ooooh yeah yeah
I hope you enjoyed that song
It is the reason why I haven’t got kids
And despite wanting to feel the happiness and love of kids
The stupid grim reaper stopped me
I don’t know why I can’t explain it
But mate I feel like a hooligan
Who is having a hard time dealing with it

The new firehouse  stands where the old
Hardshell church used to be stationed,
and across the road new houses
have replaced the once fallow field
where the Methodist tent meeting
took place when I was twelve years old,
accountable for my wanton
gaze, at the cheeks exposed by shorts
that would not have been allowed on
Sunday morning this Friday night,
if you took the freewill doctrine
unpopular now in circles
philosophical,  canted like
the hooks we used to turn sawlogs
on the carriage where I offbeared
in the summer and after school,
saving cash I would one day use
to court those long-legged ladies.