A shed, six by four, painted,
Landy green, black roof
Local fishmongers
Down by the harbor gates
Battered wooden, fish crates
Smelling of the ocean, the waves,
The spray
Weathered, worn, faded brown
Trawlers name a disappearing outline
A boy in shorts, blond hair
Tugging at his mother’s skirts
Pointing,
Spattered orange dotted flat fish
Flapping, fresh from the boat.
Propped against the side wall
A box of jade, and emerald sea jewels
Eyes frozen in time.
Chalk board hung from open door,
With names, prices , beyond understanding.
To the boy fantastical creatures  
A man in a white coat, money rattling in pocket
Scales set on a bench, ready to measure out scales
For the women of the seaside town
All the gossip, the fish, and the stories
From one little shed down by the harbor wall
A boys face mesmerized, by cod
Larger than he, caught on a wall hook
Swift knife movements, and fillets,
Laid on yesterdays newspaper
Bones, and head thrown into a bucket
Large lazy yellow eyed seagull,
Sauntering like a casual thief, eye
On the bucket…

he tells me dark secrets  
and paints colors on the shore
where the salt mist speaks to him
in voices heard no more  

along he wades, watching
the growing ground at his feet
careful to not crush creatures in the surf  
***** crawling to bed themselves
in their own tugging time
before the moon full tides  

slowly, he walks
as if one long step
might fling him into the abyss  
he does not fear the fall,  
he knows, it comes to all,
fishmongers and kings  
falcons with their mighty wings  
all share the descent, as the sea
turns from blue to black    

while I hide far inland
he paints me dark secrets
vanishing tracks in the sand,
and I long to hear his brush strokes,
to see what vast weary waves reveal,
through his teary eyes

.oh i don't know, why would i have a "problem" with christianity... where and whence it went into the new lands like some conquering reject... i'm all still hot & bothered that so few people read the counter mainstream: **** me... the atom bomb didn't wake them up, why would the discovery of the nag hammadi library wake them up? st. thomas' gospel: like... jesus playing chinese whispers with thomas, who wrote, after hey'zeus took him aside, told him something, upon returning to the other disciples they inquired, and thomas replied: if i told you what he told me, you'd stone me... back in hey'zeus' time... sure... social ostracism: b'ah b'ah black sheep says: wolf! the clown cries, the theatre burns down and everyone enjoys a night out... back to basics i guess: we're not talking about outright social ostracism... we're talking about psychological ostracicism: is it me... or has cogitans per se reached a zenith when it was to tickle the traits of calustrophobia... it's no longer ego cogito... it's... ego cogito: superego noose quasi- / semi- "thinking" and the unconscious id aspect of ego... whenever attached to "thought": short-circuits and goes into an epileptic spasm of: what to do?! what to do?! what to do?! *******: you have your new freudian pseudo christian trinity: mental gymnastics provided by the israeli co-op to teach you to count pythagoras via spaghetti curly-whirly... fun! fun fun fun! i once lived alone in my head, having only one body... now i have one body, but many paranomal "telepathic" insurgents living with me... who do not concern themselves with the concept of space... ego, head, toe, does it really matter whether a manicure is to be exacted? i don't like smoke, i don't like mirrors: i rather melt in the fire... i am the son, i am the heir... of a shyness that is criminally ******... probably the best lyrics in the world... i am human and i need to be loved, just like everybody else does... magic, par excellence... please... jesus basish died when it left europe, now a h'american resurgence... happy people happy sheep go to sleep without question... happiness is an act of levitation in terms of existentialism... and when it shatters... it's not a nervous breakdown... even on the scale of the individual... the fall of the tower of babel comes with the fifth horseman of the apocalypse... riding a ******* unicorn... well... he's actually the sixth... the fifth is already riding... ha ha... horseman... he's riding a donkey to the site of execution... who needs drungs when you can measure what the co-op convenience stores are selling as a liter of whiskey... they're actually selling 1.425 liters of whiskey... i measured the sloppy herring slitherings and salmon high jumps... see... the atom bomb was dropped... but the mainstream christian never mention my angst... the nag hammadi library is never mentioned... why isn't the unearthing of the nag hammadi library never mentioned? the hebrews are all over the discovery of the dead sea scrolls, their dissociation simulated with their 2000 year old the penance for unrightfully sentencing the prophet isaiah to be cut in half... and he was a courtesan (isaiah): so what?! did he speak truly? 2000 years of jewish history... summed up by the unjust killing of the prophet isaiah... lesson learned... the lawful killing of hey'zeus: well, 2000 years of masochism of willing converts to "appease" the god: coincidental shared "circumstances"... why am i not a christian? if love is what is and what is the cross: sorry... can i decline having a fetish for a latex ******* *** fantasy?! or... you know that story of the perverted dog? the one that is so ***** is latches onto your leg and starts to ******* you, imitating the **** of you with a curled hand to propose the **** itch-tight simulation? oh no... we hide the socially ostracised... so we wheeled out the retards for full display... and monger... the critique has become elevated... it's harder to pick-out the knitty-picky intentions of people who want to differentiate before the grand c.c.t.v. altar of the omni-unus watching via the terms: proselyte... pharisee... sadducee... baptist mongrel presbyterian... honestly... spew me all this post-atom-bomb *******... oblivious regarding the nag hammadi library... mainstream h'american christianity: honestly, with this amount of reading even atheism doesn't suffice! atheism doesn't suffice! the antithesis yet to be explored by the masses is my curriculum motus... mea motus vitae! h'america is yesterday... yesterday being late 90s early 00s... now it's a quasi-balkan paranormal export cultural affair of tarantula bit-frames of former convo... it's like watching a regurgitating boa constrictor snake rather than an ingesting boa constrictor with 2 weeks spare of waiting in smog for the next meal... why didn't i follow the catholic bureucracy and be confirmed? well... why don't mainstream h'american "christians" come out and say: yes, the emergence of the nag hammadi library is problematic for us... it's sure as **** problematic for me... and what will come later, and reach the mainstream... with be the sort of explanation associated to the clarity of depiction of a human face, as close as picasso came "close" within the framework of cubism... hellish contortions and exponential deviations... imagine how hellish the human face is depicted in cubism... now imagine that same face smiling: within cubism.

there you have it, automated phone service,
the pinnacle of the national health service,
the surgery got rated 1.7* (stars),
1 for the fact they exist, and 0.7 for the service
they provide; god almighty i hope you
don't fall ill in england these days,
it's like trying to buy a ******* turnip at
the butchers or fishmongers...
dial the number... a robot answers
'hello, thank you for calling the north street
medical centre... please note that we do
not deal with repeat prescriptions over the
telephone; please press 1 to book or cancel
a triage appointment; press 2 if you have a
query concerning a prescription...'
2...
'thank you, if you have an urgent query
concerning your prescription please press
0 to speak to a receptionist...'
0...
'hello, welcome to north street medical care
multiple choice questionnaire...'
oh for ****'s sake...
what now?
when was the battle of Hastings?!
1066                    yesterday               mm, maybe tomorrow?!
there i am with a simple need, just write
the ****** prescription and i'll be off,
it's not like i'm asking you to do 7 hours of surgery on me;
no wonder they got 1.7 stars...
there are more receptionists than actual doctors:
ooh spooky spooky ****** doo in the bag too,
ooh look at me, i am Microsoft word proficient,
i'm the cream of the crop... fair enough,
and i'm a ventriloquist in my spare time -
pour me a pint while you're at it,
my throat's dry from all the cursing...
because why the hell do you even have a contact
number for a surgery... if it just cuts you off?!
might as well return to the antiquity of using my
legs and seeing you face to face,
because that's what i seem to have to do...
go for a walk, come back with some poor somali
girl who walked 5 miles for a bucket of water.

Fishmonger's yelling--
          their tone; open, penetrating
          casting shadows with wet rubber soles
Puddles of sleet.
The first it snowed, dominoes trample, the ground shakes
        gravity forces bowing of

                             concrete ice sheets
                              that rest above raging flows
fish knew what had happened
surrounded by scales
                        weighing the blame
An addict who is crying, lashing, calling out
for an intervention

                                                               ­            finally sets a date
From here his voice still echoes in my cranial apartments
                                                      ­              spaces to rent, pets allowed under 65lbs...
$300 deposit....
the fishmongers  yelling still
                                     singing their gilled vibrato chorus
I'll learn to live by the stormy ocean
and love myself, my voices and my choices

i like fishmongers, see the fish
laid in ice, little eyes, so i went
in to sea. a small shop, cod one side,
ice creams the other, dog outside.

with a cushion, and bone, meat bone.

may i help you?

i should just like to look, unless
you have herring.? no, they
did not catch any this week.

then i am not a very good customer.

no, you need more training.

sbm.

coal and seed merchant at the top

by the turning before the fire

station

on the left going up

opposite where my brother worked on saturdays

in the fishmongers

both places had a particular aroma

you may just imagine

he brought home crab claws for tea and i did not like them

liked the seed merchant, allowed to feel and hold unlike the coal that too had names

nutty slack, briquettes and smokeless

while others remain unremembered

google reminds

&

late afternoon light beams the cabinet & mind wonders

think of granny and her ham tea with thick white fat and orange edging.

Courtesy Goofus and Gallant
who began their broadly-drawn
moral plays in the 1950s,
initially depicted as identical twins,
but later on, editors for Highlights
indicated the two were brothers,
but not twins, and by 1995,
they simply existed as two unrelated boys.

Analogously, ineptly, and uniformly juxtaposed
slipshod verse best flushed down toilet
or slid down into the behavioral sink
of garbage disposal,
yours truly presents the following
worthless trademark worded poem.

Since this then year
July first two thousand and seventeen,
tubby more precise where
with thee missus,
and I dwell amidst bucolic environs,
shuffling back where
buffalo used to roam,
one sandy randy
handy dandy chap could don
“I hate boys” underwear
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania  

trees abundant with leaves of grass spare
zip code: one nine four seven three,
unmotivated to partake of mental
exercises just sitting on me rear
this resident doth not find queer
disproportionate amount of time,
he spends never to overhear
lack of being ambulatory t'will be near
the mostly soundproof walls
inside apartment b44 assigned midyear,
one bedroom living social space

gives ample opportunity to assess linear
ratcheting kvetching asper
elderly folks inching along
chronological space/time continuum
purposefulness tis unlike to leer
that one day (fast as snap of fingers),
me haint give a rats ***
what rumor fishmongers relish,
and behind me back jeer
since old people lack
for fragile as jasperware

before each major chord din hated
since becoming housed here
and oft time cannot hear
even without television blasting away,
no doubt harboring
anticipatory anxiety sans,
frankly zaps, this dude
looks like a lady,
while making love in an elevator
cuz ah ma longish bedraggled
hydrogen peroxide tinted hair

many experience diminution
grim reaper's unannounced visit
metaphorical cog and gear
of vital sensory organs,
they capable of inducing fear
their non verbal body language
speaks volumes analogous
to a frightened deer,
when caught blindsided
within bright lights
of an automobile 'ere

unsure which way to go,
as a hollowed out existence
each precious moment 'ere
induces me to declare
to maximize utilizing
and dashing out in the thick
of evening rush hour traffic,
lacking notion, the
figurative coast not clear
when aye espy and stride-rite past,
an old lady or man riding shotgun

securely strapped in wheelchair,
or trudging to common
all purpose gathering place
subsequently doting bucks killed
upon scrutinizing what doth appear
and upon limitation in physical
functionality, aye aim to appear,
where birds of prey,
thence loftily circle gracefully
analogous to
rocketing fame of Aerosmith  
gliding within upper atmospheric air.

The finesse of Grace knows
Real Princes do not come a dime a dozen
neither do they swagger unnoticed in the pen of yokels
or sit in taverns in abandon ribaldry with the carpetbaggers  
or with haymakers and the naysayers brigade of lame affiliations

For t'is highly and lowly known
these duds merely mouth off in vacuous tirades
filling the air with the stench of uncouth notions
reeling the politics of the gutter parliaments in absentia
in the rabbles House of commons of the uncommon senses

For strewth they have to display
starved attention makes for attention seekers
the alchemy of the reprobates and fishmongers
brews elixir of stunted minds in vivid hallucinations
ungainly choristers yodeling the hangman's blase anthem

As solid as the pillars of Athens
privilege is courage bravery knowledge and truth
freedom comes in cerebral leverage not hedonistic sermons
the scale of mother Justice holds balance in equity not disrepute
we uphold the dignity not the shallow vowels of repugnant liars
in guided light we pour scorn on the johnny come lately cultural bandits