there are three kinds of people, the breakers, the fixers and the broken, the breakers cannot handle happiness in others and so they have to break those who are happy, the fixers are the ones who cannot handle others being in sadness or dispair and they do all they can to fix the broken, the broken people are the ones lost between being breakers and fixers, constantly breaking themselves down and trying to repair themselves back to normal again. /and everyone is trying to find there place between the breakers, the fixers and the broken, everyone wants to be a fixed person perfectly okay without cracks or broken pieces, but there are only three kinds of people.

-moyees

Don’t write about the dark things they said

Don’t hide from the truth I replied

Well, part of the truth anyway

Which, any which way you look at it has two sides

A sun which hides its shadow

But even the sun must sleep sometimes

Then creeps and slides the oozy woozy darkness

Of drunks and floozies and drug addicts

Thugs and gangsters, hatchet men and fixers

These nefarious predators and scavengers of the night

Shuttered sight eating victims of urban decay

Never sated in their bloodlust and greed

That need that is so deep 

You could feed it without sleep

Forever and never fill it up

This is reality in our **** city

Where effluent flows down footpaths between bars

Climbs out of cars in high heels or collared shirts

“Sorry mate, not in those shoes"

Drunken harlots beckon rapists and sadists

Transfixed in the ever-pressing lusts of the flesh

Without joy or connection

Or even satisfaction, most of the time

Am I right? Ladies, am I right?

Another wine to fill the soul’s great hole

Another devastating moment when the sun gets in

To find you weeping in your make up

Black streaks down cheeks of bloodless faces

All because nobody told you what was possible

They simply told you what not to do

Which of course you did anyway

Over and over again with the same results

That part isn’t your fault, it’s society’s

It’s religion and propriety’s

It’s dogma and denial’s

The cultural hangover of the morning after the decades before

The holier-than-thou edicts of our preachers and teachers

And leaders without leadership

We’ve cut the slip

Caught the rip

Been flipped so many times we can hardly tell what is useful anymore

The answers you seek are inside yourself

It’s like Rafiki said: “Look harder"

It’s like Sigmund said: “Unexpressed emotions will never die.

They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways.”

Our society reflects repressed attitudes to ***

And brings them forth in uglier ways

Like rapes and splays of legs to the most persistent bidder

Soulless sexuality

Stuffing ya pork sword into a drunken receptacle

Such a spectacle

You might swap names in the morning

It’s *** on a tray like a TV dinner

Forget the word “sinner"

It’s the lack of nutritional content that ills

That kills the real deal for these counterfeit thrills

This isn’t some moral crusade

There’s no need to drink the kool-aid

Throw out the gimmicks

But pay attention to the limericks

Be open, be honest

Be Eros, be Adonis

Be Venus, in furs / **** resplendence

Take lovers my dear

Make love and not fear

Turn empty lust in transcendence

liquid will swirl into the shape of it's cradle as hearts will mold to the minds of their successors. background checks?

tl;dr.

______________

­brave girls have cranberry ***** running through their veins, isn't that right? drink up, buttercup.
what's it if you and i goes on a ride? i got a paintbrush, you've got what needs to be painted. i'll paint you so good you won't even recognize yourself.
-
portraiture is dead and landscape is only dying.
let me
-make you
-in two
-into
a landscape.
you're gonna be sittin' pretty for the rest of your life, 'cause i'm not giving you any other options. open up those ankles - we're out of paint.
-
this prototype calls for one cup of honeydew, one cup of darling- stop - .
if it's on the market, how illegal could it be?
throw 'er in the ***.
the bottom drawer plays labyrinth to movers, shakers, mixers, fixers.
all those faces are too hard to tell apart, if you ask me. ten can-can dancers, please, and make it snappier than jaws on concrete!

no, not like that.
you're spending too much money on lipstick anyways. girls don't need makeup. girls will look pretty no matter what angle i've determined your elbows should be. your short-haired sister doesn't appear to be using this blood.
-
lay her on thick; and make sure you write those scars off as business expenses.

Waiting for superman
She's got everything else
Wishes like a paper plane
Throw them like hands dealt
I got all this single frames
Captures more then hell
If penny's were made for wishes
Then dollars would never fail
How desperate are our needs
Pay it forward to tell the tale
Figure how trigger words
Speak bigger towards
Little kids or mini ******
Friends like me who want to be
What is more then what we see
glimer of a Gimp liquor, trying to sniff quicker
then Sneak mixers into the bar so they can
**** they still out there looking for fixers,
taking pills to get stiffers
Sure im the one whos sicker
is this your trick here?
Right hand full of dreams
Had a hand left with ******
sinner is in misery
***** you cant even play elixer
hold my hand why i choke slam all our plans of scam blasphemy is only for man

Gods, Goddesses, Monsters and Creatures,
Beings with many unique features.

Respected, loved, hated, feared,
Some bringing joy and others tears.

Mystical, powerful, ruling with might,
Too much power causes them to fight.

Protectors, destroyers, fixers and breakers,
Good, evil, givers and takers.

Gods, Goddesses, Monsters and Creatures,
All beings with awesome power and unique features.

Our Father,

who art in heaven

Mother Earth,

who art in Hell.

Burnt to ash,

ready Armageddon

Watch the sky

where angels fell



Zipper-mouths pulled tight

as the Cross passes the way

Carnal masks shimmer light

As sludge engulfs the day.



Vicious, vicarious crows of blackened ember

Cawing and moaning; devilishly romantic

The touch of fingertips on lips I remember

Left her womanhood wet and frantic.


Unchained desires that surely are satanic.


Those hours in confessional amongst lying sycophants

Console weeping eyes and tarnished souls

Elected “Saints” stand tall with hypocritical blather  

Condemning children with eyes like burning coals



“But virgins taste sweeter,” as the angels say

With sins like spices which season raw meat

But innocence-takers hide beneath crimson beds

Sitting atop thrones as stewards to God’s seat



Will those that fall, eventually rise?

All creatures tempted by tangible discord

Would we disobey the Grand one’s design,

If we follow the path that derives from the Lord?



Samaritans run extinct in the iron fire roads

And jukebox ****** priests play The Doors

Demon-eye coffee, dark like oily foes

I sip and read about the murders in the Moors



Devil executions fuel the jungles outside

Angels Abandoning service to kids like me

Fixers and hitters of the skid south side

Shouts from the shadows, “Hey, Nothing to see!”



Violent red dresses accompanying long limb girls

Spreading legs for daddy and **** daddy do’s

Magic hallucinogens showing circles and swirls

In faces under hoods and sky-crying moods

His head lies in the sunlight
grease-paint and mascara smeared in flecks,
passed-out upon room 5's windowsill
whilst all around his friends frolic and have ***

he stinks of Michael Kors'
with his designer suit and dip-dyed hair,
he thinks the girls dig a guy in a suit
but sadly they simply don't care

for class is overrated, manners belated,
he went out looking for a bit
instead he threw up on the karaoke machine
and now he just looks like a ***

disco lights schizophrenic, blinding,
covering his face burning with embarrassment
simple childish fun curdled sour
stumbling through a crowd hurling harassment

passing by drug abusers and rich fixers
taxi cabs beep, run-down and stained,
prostitutes sell in ***** horns and bunny suits -
his need's dire but his wallet's drained

for money can buy pretty much anything
but with one tiny exception -

no amount of printed-paper notes
can buy a life of true, honest, perfection.

the installation.

an audience of two,
one helper, five minutes.

in multiples of ten, each
one six sticky fixers.

all about numbers,
until equipment depleted
there was a break in the high street.

tourists remark that
this is a beautiful place.

wonderland.

sbm.

Lights flicker,
sicker to safe
Game gets lame
Drains hold elixirs

Finished with fixers
Gut rips up chemicals
Tamed animal;
numb pill mixer

Synthetic sister
Phantom friend
Life ******* daughter
Cancerous blister

**** down the sinister
mute of my life
True face is faceless
Pull this proverbial trigger

Pine to see luster,
human free of these chains,
no chemical restraints
Reveal identity of this figure

Clouds outlined in silver
New fresh lit cheeks,
stand tall, and recall,
dark has a tricky whisper

~kb

Campers that Camp
Parkers who Park
Clampers that Clamp
Players who Play
Dampers that Damp
Breakers that Break
Stayers who Stay
Sneakers who sneak
Lovers that Love
Layers who Lay
Dreamers who Dream
Day Dreamers who Day Dream
Flouters who Flout
Shouters who shout
Pouters that pout
Wreckers who wreck
Screamers that Scream
Reamers that Ream
Redeemers who Dream and Redeem
Screamers who scream
Creamers who make cream
Streakers who streak
Readers who Read
Bleeders who Bleed
Tearers who tear
Shearers who shear
Sharers who share
Darers who dare
Carers that Care
Trenders who Trend… That’s trending
Menders who Mend... they're mending
they’re Fixers who fix!
They’re Doers who Do
Not Doubters that Don’t

Senders who send’a
a’ huh huh huh!
Thank you very much!

Patterns pleasers and pomp
Got my rockets in a romp
Going down the street
With beautiful feet
Never stopping for a comp

Givers grumblers and glib
Doing nothing for a fib
Trample down
A growing crown
Until faith becomes your bib

Tokens takers and taunts
Throwing insults for a jaunt
Always around
But not a sound
When the results return to daunt

Buyers builders and bums
Sometimes are best chums
Though when in doubt
They throw ‘em out
So all become too numb

Flexers fixers and friends
Give advice to make amends
But they can forget
And sometimes jet
Until the time of some pretends

When three beloved family members die suddenly in less than a year, and the waves of grief keep crashing on emotionally barren hearts, while the ravenous Covid reigns supreme across an upended planet, the wounds are deep and my scab over but actual healing it never happens.

Am I the only one who longs to be with kin, to gather and share sadness?  Did I miss a memo to forgo solace, to avoid interest in how everyone is holed up?  Maybe I’m captive in a dark fortress of self-disdain built by my ancestors’, a psychic prison, because once again, the familiar nonentity arises within, sporting a rusty shackle, a bygone, worthless old ma locked inside obscurity, her punishment deserved, a lifetime of solitary confinement, out of sight, out of mind, and dare I say, out of heart.

Or is my suffering a byproduct of centuries of unchecked
ancestral self-recrimination, manifested as genetic despair,
a second nature born again into each generation, a blame/shame gene, a gross cellular overload of fear-filled unforgiveness stamped onto the DNA (don’t never answer) when the olive branch is passed, as another hoped for connection, a longing for forgiveness is ****** to hell.

Certainly, clues are found in the Lahti-Riley clan of silent Finns and Irish drunks, who daily suffered remorse, regret, and never-ending regurgitation something essential is lacking like positive self-regard but ****, those Riley’s sure could put in a day’s work, men and women alike, slogged, hell, they worked their ***** off dirt poor farmers, woodsmen, maids, fixers of things broken, never lost a day, paid their way.  

It’s clear my sorely needed amends of wrongdoing never promised a happily ever after, no, my amends were and still are a fragile beginning, a hold out for hope, an appeal to begin anew, an attempt to clean up my side of the street, to own my wrongdoing while knowing I did what I knew how to do, however hear my painful confession, to be cast out, a nonentity, estranged, alone and forsaken, it seems like overkill.

******, ******
Just orders, protect borders
Justice and order, Fixers and sorters
Guts on a camcorder
**** out if you can afford her
**** hotels for the soldiers
Taped and stored in federal folders
Holes in daughters
Blood and *** drips as you hold her
Got questions, torture and water boarders
Doers, leaders, fuhrers
Child soldier bullets go pitter patter, splatter    
Colonial slavers are the industry pavers
Acceptable loss, lawyers and waivers
Watch or ignore it with entertainers
Silver screen lives and liars
Fired and dead reporters
****** in the mortar
So **** your leaders
Or live in hell forever

I

using his words
as clubs

trying to beat
down his shadows

that keep popping up

he has so many
ghosts

even the
ghostbusters
can’t save him

II

he wants you
to call him

fearless leader
but he does not know

you cannot
lead from the rear

as an a**

III

who needs
“fixers”

people who
make a lot
of “mistakes”

and don’t
want to admit it

IV

he is mean

and in the end
he will face

his biggest fear

that history
will tell him

he didn’t
mean a thing

The forlorn tree
reaches its demise
Profiting fungi to envelop
To revolutionize

Buds encompass its place
Sprouting one by one
Mounting space
Shooting, sprying
Up toward the sun
Growth abounds
Limiting none

The forest’s harmonious dance
Working together, Peacefully
Creating a world, Genially
In which each piece is paramount
Impossible to discount

I marvel At the designation
Without communication
The systems inherently
Collaborate, Integrate

The woods intrinsically
Administers
A synergy of fixers
Not resisters
Creating harmony
Conjointly

It is time that
The world Realize
And utilize The allies to civilize  
The impossible feat
Of this impossible world