Playing my cards wrong like
Jim Morrison prom night bath,
lavender and drug fixings,
we all just hope I went
missing.

Sorry I only love you
until I wake up in the
morning.
I'm on and off like
sunrise sunset.

My mind is stuffed
in a box
in the attic.
I'm a heartbreak
addict.
Don't ever let me heal.

I am shylock,
In the attic barely used,
Barren exuberant floorboards creak in exhalation,
Of your footsteps.
There you find me,
In the dust;
A wooden trunk with brass fixings,
Didn't I tell you I held a million treasures?
You breathe in the sunlight,  
From the round attic window,
Preening itself in your vision basked in gold.
I am shylock,
You moved a gilded hand,
Guided by a unknown force of union with the lock,
The air is silent around you,
The room is intrepid in its wanton stranger,
Who dares to enter this chamber of dust.
I am shylock,
You take my fingertips from the cup of a hand I had placed gently on your cheek,
The night before I had told you,
Of this room,
You gently take my fingers and place it on the lock.
I am shylock,
There is a gentle click,
That soon awashes the abated room,
That sways into a tsunami of grandeur,
Of history, emotion, silence and tears,
And it consumes the dust,
The acrid air and essence of my fears settle on your eyes and the homely mouth.
I am shylock,
You know how I came about,
Now,
You know how this room became accustomed to the dust,
And the floorboards, the dust,
And the window, the dark,
You are breathing me,
The trunk is open and waiting,
And at the bottom,
A ragdoll awaits your palm,
Your strength, your gentleness and patience,
This is my shy,
This is my lock,
And you entered the room and consumed me.
Burst through the door, cut down the labyrinth,
and found me.
Picking me up,
You,
Became me, attended me, held me,
with grace sensitive to my touch,  
with the intention of a protector to my defence,
And the brazen warrior to my battle.
Now I am entered and countered.
Protected and put together,
Unbound and in your arms;
Now I am open and free.
My ragdoll, your love, and me.
Together, unlocked,
together I and you become, we.

The Boy woke up at around a quarter to noon, and to his deep surprise, he found that he had not awoken where he had planned to the night before. Instead, he found himself in a strange bed, in a strange room, on a strange street, with a strange girl next to him. Of course, the girl was not so strange, as he had met her twice before, and the room, at least, he knew had to be somewhere in Ann Arbor, but that was certainly the extent of what he knew of his situation, basically, pretty much, that’d be what he told people later on, and would believe himself. He looked around, and he was shocked, and he remembered in a flash that this might not be very good boyfriending on his part, and in a fit of guilt, or maybe exhaustion or in forfeit, he leaned his head back once again and fell asleep for a while longer.
When the Boy woke up again, it had turned to one in the afternoon. He woke up this time with a mop sweat, and his hair stuck to his forehead and his eyes burning from the salt water. The Girl was now awake also, and she was brushing her hair quietly, on her roommate’s bed right next to where the Boy was now sitting upright.
“I should go now.” The Boy tried to say, but before he spoke the Girl smiled at him, and crawled over and kissed him softly.
“Good morning.” She said, and rested her head on his lap, looking up.
“Good morning.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Very. Thanks you. I hope you did too.”
“I did.”
The Boy touched the girl’s cheek and she touched his, and he knew he wanted to leave, but he was afraid, so instead, he and the Girl lay down together, and watched TV for a while.

I guess I made a mistake, thought the Boy. I guess this isn’t going to look too good. I should probably get back to the house, see Joe, smoke our cigar, think of a story that I can tell Melissa; but I shouldn’t tell a story, should I? It would certainly be safer. I should probably, for my safety. I should probably not for my conscience. Anyway, I’m not sure how to get back to the house. I’m not sure how I got here. I think I took a cab. I think I was at a party. I think it was last night. It may have been yesterday morning; for the football game. I think I got here without protest. I think the game was a good one. I don’t think I got in though. I don’t think we won either. My head should hurt right now. Why do I feel so good, and healthy, and spry, and energetic? This isn’t exactly just punishment for my actions. Her skin is so soft; I’d like to kiss it again. I think I will. Still, I do feel guilty. Melissa’s good to me. That was a good game, from what I can remember. I don’t think we won though. I think we lost. Ohio State won, but I got very drunk, and that was good, and then I danced, and I had fun. Then I ended up here. How did I end up here?

The Boy stroked The Girl’s hair and he kissed her again. In the light from the window she looked happy, and her smile was much whiter than his, and he liked that. She wore an oversized gray sweater, and without any makeup or any of the typical fixings she looked more beautiful than ever. Not surprisingly, this was a dilemma for the Boy, who wanted to leave so he could be done with this episode. Instead he stayed a while longer, didn’t pick up his phone when it rang, kissed the girl some more, talked about what they were going to do that day, forgot about Melissa. He felt guilty only for a moment, but more than anything, he felt proud, and that pride dug into his side and hurt him. Nevertheless, he didn’t want it to go away. It was his pride after all.
The Girl, on the other hand, seemed to feel guiltier than the Boy, but at the same time, she was tender, and welcoming, and she embraced what she had done in a sort of graceful manner that only girls with experience and class can do without seeming too self-confident. She too, had a boy back home, but she had liked the Boy, and that was that, and in the light on the day, to her, he also still seemed good to her.
Of course, what the Girl knew, and the Boy did not, was that as soon as he walked out of her room that day, that was the end of the episode in reality. There would be no more kisses, no more conversations, and when they both went home to see their others, she would stay with her boy because he loved her, and that would be that, and life would go on for the two of them as it had before; business as usual. Still, for the moment, things were as they were, and so she looked at the boy, and let him kiss her, and lay down on his lap, looking up at him and smiling.
“What are you going to tell your girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. Either the truth or a lie, I guess.”
“Don’t lie to her.”
“Won’t she be angry at me?”
“Yeah. But don’t lie to her. Trust me.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I’m going to tell the truth. But I’m going to leave some things out.”
“Isn’t that lying?”
“Not if you can justify it to yourself.”
“I feel like you’re confusing me right now.”
“You should tell your girlfriend the truth. She deserves to know everything, and if you ever want her to forgive you and stop being angry, then that’s what you need to do.”
“I know, but I’m scared.”
“I know. But you’re still here; and that says something.”
The Boy looked at the Girl, and he wanted to respond, but he had nothing. Instead he lay down next to her, and held her.
“I guess you’re right.” He said, and then rolled over with a sigh.

I got in on Saturday, right? No. Friday. Yeah, it was Friday afternoon because I didn’t have class then. I remember now. I got on the wrong bus, and I missed the stop for Ann Arbor, and I ended up near East Lansing, and I had to take a cab back. Why did I forget that? I got so drunk that night, I got lost. I remember that. I got lost and my phone went dead, and I had to have a security guard from the school help me back to Joe’s house so I could sleep again. But that wasn’t last night. That was the night before last night. That was different. That was just prep for that.
Yesterday was when it started, really. I woke up early and had a beer. Joe handed me the beer, and I drank it because, why not, it looked like it tasted good. Then I had nine more. Then I had Jell-o shots and whiskey, and some more beer. It wasn’t even nine yet, in the morning; my camera barely had enough light to expose my pictures, what was I doing? It was a lot of fun. I got really happy. I remember now.

The Boy reached for his shirt, and he pulled it on, over his head. He had to go, and he knew it, and he was taking the initiative to make it known that he intended to. He reached for his pants and he put those on too, but he put them on slowly, in the hopes that the Girl might have stopped him before he did, but she did not. Then he sat back down on the bed and he looked at her.
“Are you going to leave now?” She asked.
“Most likely.”
“Ok. Do you know where you have to go?”
“Not really.”
“I’ll show you.”
“Ok.”
The Girl grabbed a map off of her wall, and she took a marker from her desk and drew a line from one dark block to another. These were her building and Joe’s house. She explained to the Boy how to get back where he wanted to go, and she handed him the map.
“I don’t need to take this, what if you need it?”
“I already drew on it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Take it.”
The Boy felt almost embarrassed. This girl had been nothing but nice to him, and now he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay and hang out with her some more, and he wanted to forget about Melissa, and Joe, and his home, and his school. He wanted to stay, but he knew, finally, that he couldn’t. So he put on his jacket and he stood in front of the Girl, only inches away, neither of them touching the other, despite the very minimal distance separating their bodies.
“Thanks for the map then.” The Boy said, and the Girl giggled.
“Don’t worry about it, get out of here!”
“Ok then. Should we let each other know what we do?”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
They exchanged numbers.
“This *****.” The girl said.
“What?”
“Now I’m going to miss you.” The Boy’s heart broke a little bit. He smiled, but he didn’t dare say the same thing back to her. Instead, he moved his hand up to her face and stroked her cheek a little bit, then gave her a soft kiss on the forehead and opened the door behind him.
“I’ll see you.”
“Ok.”
“Let me know what you tell him.”
“I will. You let me know too.”
“Sure.”
The boy stood staring at the Girl a bit, and then he left and closed the door behind him. As he waited for the elevator to open up for him, the boy took out his phone and looked through his recent text messages. There was one from Melissa, asking him how he was doing, and if he’d been having fun in Michigan, but he deleted it reluctantly, so that it looked as if his last message had been from Joe. It read: Are you coming back to the house tonight? He answered now, a few hours later: I’m sorry. I’m coming back now.


The morning was pretty crazy. Game day, Ohio State, how could it not have been? But I was good during the morning, and I intended to be good. Didn’t I? Yes I did. I did look around, and I spoke to a few other girls, but I never intended to do anything with them. Only this one. I didn’t even get into the game. I tried to sneak in with a student ticket, and they didn’t let me in because I wasn’t a student. Instead I went back with Joe and we got ****** and watched TV and then I took a nap after we smoked a cigar together. At the parties, people stood on the roofs, and they danced around massive kegs, and I spoke to some people I had just met and flirted and danced, but I was good, and at Joe’s house, after the parties were over, we just got ****** and smoked cigars and watched the game and waited for phase two of Saturday to begin so we could rest.
Phase one was getting wasted. Phase two was rest. We built up our energy so we could go back out at night, for Phase three, and that’s when I met her, at some party Phil got us into. I had seen her before, back home, and we had spoken only a few times. Why had I been so angry at Melissa when I left New York again? Respect issues or something, wasn’t it? She had said something cruel to me while we ate dinner at that jazz club, and the lights made her soft skin glow so that she looked almost translucent. I reacted. I think it started because she had been flirting with a friend of mine. Anyway, I thought she had been. She claims she wasn’t. Then she got angry and she said something cruel to me so I got angry, and then she apologized a lot. She apologized so much, Her lips pouted. I wanted to kiss them. We had great *** that night. And I loved her. But I was still angry when I left for Michigan the next morning, and I was still angry last night, apparently. I guess that’s why I immediately gravitated towards that girl. She looked really beautiful that night also. And I always did have a crush on her. And I was still angry.

The Boy made it to Joe’s house at about a quarter to three in the afternoon that Sunday. He only had a little time left before he had to leave for his plane, but he spent it well. They smoked, and they got ******, and they smoked cigars and they talked about the night. Joe helped the Boy remember some of what had happened, like when the Girl’s friend got sick on the wall, and then the Girl had to leave to go help her, and when the Boy had broken a table by jumping on it too hard after Joe and some friends had challenged him. Joe barely remembered those things, but he remembered them better than the Boy, and the Boy was grateful for Joe then, who also reminded him of another thing:
“You cheated on Melissa, didn’t you?”
“I guess I did. I don’t feel great about it.”
“I thought you two had separated. I would have stopped you.”
“We were. We got back together about a week ago.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
The Boy thought about it. He hadn’t quite made up his mind yet.
“I suppose that would be the honorable thing to do.”
“Honor kills.”
“Not if I’d been honorable at the beginning.”
“True.”
The two sat thinking for a while, and they both could tell the other had plenty more to say, but they both waited for the other, and so neither of the two spoke a word for a little bit. Finally, the Boy took a pull from his cigar, set it down, and opened his mouth. No words came out the first few tries, but after a while, he got better, and then he spoke.
“I feel like my father.”

I couldn’t help myself I guess. It’s in my genes, this endless tail-chasing. Even though I had always thought I was the noble one, the one with honor, I’m still an animal, like my dad and his dad and his family before him. She looked so good, I don’t know how I held back for so long—she in her tight pants and that green shirt that made her eyes pop, and her long, beautiful, silky brown hair, and the way she moved her hips against me. I could almost hear her name in the music, like it was egging me on, like it was encouraging me to kiss her. I kept getting beers, just kept going to the bar, two more, one more, three more, until I was drunk enough to do it, because I wanted to because it’s in my blood. Then I kissed her, or she kissed me. I can’t remember how, but it happened, and not for a second did I feel remorseful. Not until this morning. I was too busy having fun. In a way, I kept telling myself a kiss was nothing, at least nothing to worry about.
Then I went home with her. That’s probably the part I’ll leave out in my story. Her bed was really comfortable, much better than the couch or the floor, which is where I spent the night before, and where my sides had picked up bruises from the beer cans all around me. She smiled at me funny then. She hadn’t smiled at me that way before. Her teeth were really white, and her lips were really soft.
I had seen her before, and we had always flirted before, so she made a joke about it being almost like fate that we ran into each other. I remember thinking that that was probably true, or at least that it would be my excuse for not stopping myself. Her skin was too soft, and her body was blessed with perfect curves and I couldn’t resist myself. In many ways, she felt like Melissa. I almost felt at home, like there was a comfort to it.
I, on the other hand; well I’m not sure how I got so lucky. I just had to be myself—even as goofy and as hairy and as drunk as I was, she still liked me for the night. And she didn’t make me feel like I had to earn her respect either.
But I’m being cruel. Neither does Melissa. Not often anyway; and I’m sure if I spent enough time with the Girl, she may have made me feel that way also. It may even be a girl thing, but at the moment, it felt like it was a Melissa thing, and this girl liked me very much, and I wasn’t even trying.

Now it was time for the Boy to go home. Even if he wanted to stay, even if he wanted to go back to the Girl, and spend the rest of the day with her, between her legs and in her arms, and smoke cigars with Joe whenever he wanted and get drunk Saturday mornings, and just forget about telling Melissa anything, it was time for him to go back to New York where he belonged. So he packed his bags and walked to the bus stop, and he put his hat on, and he got ****** with Joe one more time, and they both walked together, without saying a word, because they didn’t even have to.
At the bus stop, Joe turned to the Boy and said:
“Did you make a decision yet?”
“About what?”
“You know, you stooge!”
“Not yet.”
“Well let me know then.”
The Boy nodded. The two had a hug by the bus as it arrived, and then the Boy got on the bus and fell asleep on the way to DTW. The flight was short, and it was easy. Still, the Boy kept thinking about what he would do when he got to New York. Once back at Newark, he took the train, and on the way back to Penn station he sat next to a large man with hairy arms, a mustache and a trucker hat. The man wore very thick-rimmed glasses, and spoke to anyone that listened, with a heavy drawl from some unidentifiable location.
“What’s your name?” He asked the Boy.
“Johnson.” He replied, having decided not to give his real name.
“Well Johnson, let me tell you. Don’t ever travel without alcohol.”
The man reached into his jacket, and he pulled a 24-ounce can of beer out in a plastic bag. He opened it up and took a swig from it, and then proceeded to lecture the Boy about the struggles and pains of traveling and marriage. He had lost his wife only a year ago, after he’d

Do you remember
When you confessed
About the strange woman
Do you remember
How you cried and begged
For my forgiveness
Thats how I feel
Every single day
Guilty shameful
Sorry and regretful
Do you remember that feeling
Like your heart was broken
Because you hurt me
Thats what its like now
I'm broken because
My past can't be erased
And I hurt you
And I feel that shame
That heartache
Everyday
I feel like
My mistakes
Shouldn't hold us back
But its all they do
They bubble to the top
Of your unforgetting mind
And can't be washed away
Or stirred in
For the time we were together
I buried those painful memories
Because I had something new
Something real and wonderful
And now you released the memories
Like they werent three years ago
But just last week
And I stew in my shame
And I wonder
Why it feels like this
Because I was faithful
And yet that fact is so insignificant
Im sorry for my sins
Im sorry that i was lonely
And nothing and wanted
To be wanted
Im sorry I laid there instead of fought
Im sorry they never asked me
If its what I wanted
And just took
But you should know something
I made a promise to God
That I would never again
Lay there and take what I didn't want
That I'd try to be stronger
And I've kept that promise
And I plan to for the rest of my life
I told God I was sorry
And that im not who i use to be
And that I was thankful
Because I changed only when you saved me
And he started answering my prayers again
Because the reason I didnt believe in him
Once upon a time
Wasnt because I doubted him
But because I fear He saw me
And ignored me by not bringing you back
Because at first I prayed for you
And then I stopped
Because I lost faith not in Him but myself
I degraded myself into nothing
And I feared that He couldnt help
Or wouldn't after what I did
So I turned my back
And I've asked for forgiveness
And He gives it every time i breathe
And He gave me forgiveness
And showed me He was there
Because He gave me what I wanted all
Those lonely years
He gave me time with you
And I know that this wont change anything
Because nothing will
You want fairness
Even if it ruins everything
Your willing to feel that shame
Willing to commit that sin
With a soul you dont love
To take revenge
On what God forgave me for
To take revenge on a girl
That has long since been dead
And I understand
I really do
But that doesnt mean
It doesn't **** me inside
Not because what your gonna do
But because what your gonna feel
Your gonna feel that shame that I do
Every time you think about it
Or whenever its brought up
And I just dont want you to be unhappier
Because you thought it could fix things
Because I dont think thats how it'll be fixed
I think WE need to work on it
Remind each other that
We have so much together
Too many memories and dreams to just ****
I think we can fix things
Not with other people
But with each other
And with God.

Alone within my emotional wilderness

A reverie along memory lane when, this lviii sea sunned
row man (stills paddles in oarlocks and serenely quizzically,
lackadaisically, and harmoniously drifts) along the slip
stream of time. Awash on his figurative manual navigated
opportunistic prideful quintessential schooner reflects,
regales, and revisits ebbing lapsed instances (fast receding
into the past time, when psychological instability grounded
fragile my self esteem (generated venting, steaming, and
piping hot brickbats). As a newly minted harrumphing,
grubbing, and floundering dada enmeshment (analogous
to a fish caught in a net, hence quickly ricocheting, rabidly
splashing, and sloppily thrashing) predicated my foray
into das fatherhood. Aye experienced nearest approximation
Bing battered, rammed, and torpedoed from glomming
(par for the course riot ting heaps) necessarily imposed
adult responsibility. Such metaphorical motoring across
avast Battle Creek with no landfall in sight, this then nada
so Grand Turk (key in the straw) Otto man continually
snapped, cracked and popped. This human ping-pong
fitbit part player papa felt akin to subjection re: thralldom).
At this juncture in me cross currents of existence I can
harken back to those most exhausting, fatiguing, and
grueling endeavors. Hindsight offers this aging baby
boomer the luxury to cast astern. Retrospective leisurely
trawls along the shoals throes of fatherhood allow,
enable and provide and opportunity to scrutinize per
chance, where arises this on account of the empty nest
syndrome. Ordinarily the wife (i.e. missus to appear
more formal), would caw out my name nonstop….
”Matt”…”Matt”…”Matt”…, but she opted to organize
the cluster of assorted household items at the apart
ment (located in Crum Lynne – Ridley Township),
we hope to move within a fortnight. Thy spouse
volunteered her own mini reprieve by setting order
to the miscellaneous fixings gradually amassed,
appropriated, and gifted thru out the twenty plus
years of marriage, which hodgepodge of personal
possessions downsized whence circumstance dictates
evaluating goods having keepsake meaning versus
anomaly of belongings to be unloaded, repurposed
for someone else, or ordained as unworthy to schlep.
Alone asper like a very brief sabbatical from marriage
finds stillness amidst the white noise of the whirring
fan. Thus, I sit here ruminating how to dredge up
some idea for a poem,  (non) fiction or essay. This
husband became acclimated, conditioned, and em
bossed with a mate a tete for two plus decades,
whereby both thee dos delightful daughters on
Track 742 heading west. Honest to dog, I miss
the role of fatherhood when either off spring
(with an age difference of approximately twenty
five plus months) romped, scampered, and trotted
as toddlers, and upon childhood, thy little girls
found exultant excitement dashing higgledy-
piggledy, hither and yon, to and fro across the
playground as most glorious human indulgence.
Despite the plaintive wail vis a vis Juliet saying
goodnight to Romeo (…parting is such sweet
sorrow) haint pleasurable atoll. Hitherto un
known that during the most vexing, trying,
and quaking bouts when both kin of thy ****
fought like angry cats would there transpire
the occasion of sincere tearfulness ululating
vain warbling. Now a pang of nostalgia arises
when I drive past their happy go lucky stomp
ping turf, or reflect on answering the trumpet
call to chauffer one or thee other to amusement
park, play date, mall, favorite toy store such as
Fivebelow, birthday party, et cetera. Even
certain tunes recalled to mind and/or heard
being broadcast across the audio logical spec
trum a cause for moistened tear ducts. Wince
with sadness also mixed with sigh lent bundled
expostulations of joy. Both progeny metamorphosed
into able bodied, minded and spirited lasses,
whose attainment far exceeded any projections
internally forecast. Initial onset of parent role
found me all thumbs. Prior to begetting two
darling dames, this chap spent disproportionate
number of hours sequestered within some hide
away, which frequently happened to be the
designated bedroom at 324 Level Road, College
Ville, Pennsylvania, 19010. Never did thee major
rit tee days of mine life point to babysitting or
working with that chronological demographics
comprising the adoring blessed innocence,
murmuring newborn obliviousness, that bespoke
penultimate unsullied, utmost virtue necessitating
interaction with tender infants beckoning being
cradled, endearingly fondled, demonstrably easing
fondness gripping heartstrings issue jetblue kinks.
Aye felt pitched headlong into this foreign territory,
and initially experienced utmost awkwardness when
attending, pampering and pulling (albeit gently)
upsy daisy, the nascent hint of autonomy. Remembrance
and recollection of élan, joie de vivire, and yea those
ear splitting threshold of pain screaming tantrums
all boxed into tidy wholesome Zen announcing
nuggets of greater meaningfulness and absolute
value. The above long winded reverie intended and
meant tubby a semi biography, but leave hit up to
his hie n hiss, he went way overboard, and will give
a one line summarization to describe his i.e. yours truly
life sentence fate decreed. He (this Anglophile chipper
chap lived under duress of extreme anxiety, obsessive/
compulsive behavior, panic attacks and essentially
schizoid personality disorder for the greater part
of his life and hard times, which raw bits would
warrant fleshing out to extrapolate how these psychic
pitfalls represented critical factors at various and
sundry turning points in his life.

These dark red canyon walls stand in tall narrowness they are defined by disregard are they not
Inflamed in temperate conditions as a caldron pressure intensely felt with the occasional “emotional
Firestorm” that erupts with water that stands tall in this narrow straight tossing water makes the picture
Totally true how you feel emotionally undercurrents that perform devastating acts the unpleasant
Reality of dry bareness after such flood waters to taste and know love and its pleasure then have it
Removed on all levels home friends family all that you cared and shared just a sweet haunting memory
Then the lone masterful dark angel loneliness itself makes camp in your hearts devastation the one
Battle strategy left is defiance where honorable love was the most inviting host now rebellion insolence
Leads the heart that is alone you look out on the world with a course eye but all the time the heart of
Wealth and love that once was calls after you with tears and a haunting lament crying for yesterday
Those last days of autumn when even the earth is in tender moods with assistance of colors so blended
They are the materialization of peace joy nature’s love told on the grand scale come and walk under my
Wooded canopy of richest hues as they burn into this decline that speaks of hope and richest promise
This must be where you seek a refuge this power at this level will mend the most broken of hearts
Tender finger that surpass any and all surgeon’s ability to heal this healing rides on the gust of wind
In late fall it mixes with emotional heaviness it actually removes heavy hurts then takes their place and
Imperceptibly a freeing has occurred the longer these days last more mercy is found go into this wooded
Wonder follow the hill down to a peace full stream and as it carries the wayward leaf it will also carry
Some more of your wounds away the cool water will raise a temperature control heavenly designed it
Will touch your brow a morning long past will return and you will acknowledge it with a smile something
That has been a stranger for many days now these early days the harvest moon shines so golden
No one can stand under its golden beams and not thrive with serenity’s voice passing over the torn parts
Of the heart it responds by these wounds becoming healthy with healing oh gentle memory I
Remember so sweetly in September those fabulous days so again just in a small amount of time it will
Be turkey and all the fixings topped off with pumpkin pie and whip cream on top I hope you think of all
These thoughts as you stroll through pumpkin patches know this from this lonely heart of yours that
Beauty and love are the dominant truths that will win so use that as your fortress your mind protected
And secure behind these impenetrateable walls if you feel any different it is only lies that given the test
Is only like wisps of smoke no substance just a lot of empty drama that is useless when truth answers
The door there is a usurper loosed in our world he starts the problems that break the heart then as
A good devil he comes back to mistreat you some more it’s like he is trying to improve on the
Devastation already visited on your life these words for ever bind him I will stick to you closer than
A brother I will never leave you alone how would you like it if you lived in olden days and the king of the
Whole realm came and knocked on your door wouldn’t you be excited my friend there is a King at your
Door but He is the King of Kings you first would melt in His arms and all troubles would dissolve not only
Would it be honey in the rock but your heart will know sweetness beyond compare this is only a prayer
Away hurting broken one mercy as wide as the ocean and tall as Everest only awaits your voice’s cry

you hang your trimmings
on the new evergreen, might be taller
might be shorter, might be fuller
or thinner, might not even be

as fresh and pine-scent as the one before,
but nevermore you hang them there
to be adorned, the trimmings, not the fixings
you knew something was missing because

it never was enough, even
with the star on top
each one had to be replaced
dried, the needles fell to the floor

to be swept up, tossed out
to make room for the newest edition
that you watered daily until that one too
dried up on you

Oh jeez
she's
got a bolt in her ear
ah
it's not a bolt just
a silver
ear piece
but it looked like
a bolt
at first glance

an introduction to romance

I love your bolt,

chat up lines
fail many times
until you find
the right
combination
of words.

As she emerged from years of abuse,
Became aware of the ******* he'd placed,
She knew it was time to go,
Filed the papers,
Moved in with a friend,
Tried to see another end.

Love does not die easily;
Her heart yearned
Some better way,
But ends must come
When there's nothing left to say.

She left everything to him;
He'd forced his will in choosing every piece:
Furniture, fixings, knife and fork,
Appliances, decor, automobiles....
She wanted none of it anymore.

Love does find a way
To die, though the dying may be slow.

"It's good we didn't have any children,"
His mother said. "We didn't muddy up
Our pure Norwegian blood line."

Love finds a way to die.

This is the year and I know that I know
that I know as if someone has told me
you've heard it before and you doubt that it's true
saying somebody selling has sold me
I'm telling my folks and they're making the jokes
with their well-meaning words and those all-knowing pokes
I've been leaving for years but what nobody hears
is that often my fears tend to hold me

You can shout it all day, but your actions relay
more than anything else, if you mean what you say
You can stir up the salsa, while mixing the dip
but as for the chips let 'em fall where they may!

So heat up the grill and slice up the steak
green peppers and onions, fajitas we'll make
and as for life's spices,whatever you wish
we all like a kick, and chipotle's delish!
cilantro is fine, tomatoes and lime,
get the measures all wrong? No matter, they rhyme
The fixings are great, life sizzles and steams
let's have us a plate and then roll in our dreams!

You can shout it all day, but your actions relay
more than anything else, if you mean what you say
You can stir up the salsa, while mixing the dip
but as for the chips let 'em fall where they may!

This is the year and I know that I know
that I know as if someone has told me
you've heard it before and you doubt that it's true
saying somebody selling has sold me!
I'm telling my folks and they're making the jokes
with their well-meaning words and those all-knowing pokes
I've been leaving for years but what nobody hears
is that often my fears tend to hold me!

You can shout it all day, but your actions relay
more than anything else, if you mean what you say
You can stir up the salsa, while mixing the dip
but as for the chips let 'em fall where they may!

So heat up the grill and slice up the steak
green peppers and onions, fajitas we'll make
and as for life's spices,whatever you wish
we all like a kick, and chipotle's delish!
cilantro is fine, tomatoes and lime,
get the measures all wrong? No matter, they rhyme
The fixings are great, life sizzles and steams
let's have us a plate and then roll in our dreams!

You can shout it all day, but your actions relay
more than anything else, if you mean what you say
You can stir up the salsa, while mixing the dip
but as for the chips let 'em fall where they may!

She tends to rouse the men up like a fencer with a sword
cause handling meat and cheeses is her calling from the Lord

A quarter pound of turkey and a half a pound of cheese
asking which and how he liked it, he says "Any way you please"

A halfa pound of swiss gets more, if you don't care what the price is
less the holes, you'd get the same, with holes you get more slices

So if you want to spend it down, and don't care 'bout the holes
and flavor's what you're looking for, try rye with seeds, not rolls

I came in for some loose meat, (and by now he's getting flustered)
then BUY the meat, and get the ROLLS, but don't forget the mustard

The crowd grew still, all eyes were on his face, now glowing red
he came in for some loose meat, not the fixings OR the bread

A quarter pound of turkey and a half a pound of cheese
I'll take the Swiss, cut thinly Miss, in silence if you please!

Was one fine pearl, this deli girl who cut his cheese that day
for each thin slice, her sacrifice, to shut her mouth and pray

And once the meat was cut and bound in plastic with a price
she took the time to slam it down and yelled, "next up, be nice!"

She handles meats and cheeses like a fencer with a sword
but lives to serve her customer, a calling from the Lord

This is the year and I know that I know
that I know as if someone has told me
you've heard it before and you doubt that it's true
saying somebody selling has sold me
I'm telling my folks and they're making the jokes
with their well-meaning words and those all-knowing pokes
I've been leaving for years but what nobody hears
is that often my fears tend to hold me

You can shout it all day, but your actions relay
more than anything else, if you mean what you say
You can stir up the salsa, while mixing the dip
but as for the chips let 'em fall where they may!

So heat up the grill and slice up the steak
green peppers and onions, fajitas we'll make
and as for life's spices,whatever you wish
we all like a kick, and chipotle's delish!
cilantro is fine, tomatoes and lime,
get the measures all wrong? No matter, they rhyme
The fixings are great, life sizzles and steams
let's have us a plate and then roll in our dreams!

You can shout it all day, but your actions relay
more than anything else, if you mean what you say
You can stir up the salsa, while mixing the dip
but as for the chips let 'em fall where they may!

A fiery *****
She knows to trade
She wants to grow
Extreme havoc
Follows her wake
Beginning to suffuse
A relationship with honor
Sustainable fixings
An eternal gift
The purity of a partner,
With emotions
The wave of the divine
Heals

I've never liked the uncertainty of the spring
But these days keep taking me back
So accordingly - like a plan
Reminding me of the this's & the that's
(The used to be's)

I've had a list for years
Of the things I'd like to see, the people that would pick up all the broken pieces of me
And I find myself searching for you
Between the trees that keep telling me to blossom
Just blossom
They say it so loudly, over the sounds of me shouting
Don't rush me, please don't rush me

I keep thinking
If only there was a way I could tell them
That I've asked for so many things
The this's and the that's
All the fixings of my life

And then - so accordingly, like a plan  
I am reminded that it is not the uncertainty of the spring
It is the glass half empty in me

And somewhere in between my weathered walls and the sinking ships
I've started to blossom
With beauty and grace

And the trees are telling me, don't rush - please don't rush.

I thought I buried you under the green grass
in the gloomy graveyard that is my past
I thought you'd gone on
to a distant land never to be seen or heard from again
I made these assumptions and tried to press onward but...
I Lost all of what made me less awkward,
I Lost my positive out look from one too many fixings of my black hole of a heart
my ****** edge is dead, that's why my Sundays have been so dry
I can't string two words to make anybody moist... so really why do I try?
I guess it's because I gave my heart to this notebook and pen,
when I was dead inside it became my closest friend,
helping me out my problems and surpass my demons,
but then everything has a season,
I guess what I'm getting at
is if you wanna try, (which I doubt)
I'm up and down for that...
So really.. why am I not the same anymore?
I thought I knew

“Give up trying to do anything.  
                      nothing works works.”  
                From a note written by
                     Scott Allen Ostrem

If only you came to buy
another cell phone, a pen and
note card, some crayons &
paper.  Anything.  Anything
that would give you a voice.

If only you bought the
fixings for a satisfying supper,
or a gift for a lost lover.
Anything. Anything to help
you express your distress.

Anything to free your
words from the prison of
your maddness, anything
to melt your frozen tongue,
anything to return your
manhood,  other than that gun!

Anything.  Anything.   If only . . .

By:  Evelyn Augusto
For GUNS DON'T SAVE PEOPLE POETS DO 2017

“Give up trying to do anything.  
            nothing works works.”  
            From a note written by
            Scott Allen Ostrem


If only you came to buy
another cell phone, a pen and
note card, some crayons &
paper.  Anything.  Anything
that would give you a voice.

If only you bought the
fixings for a satisfying supper,
or a gift for a lost lover.
Anything. Anything to help
you express your distress.

Anything to free your
words from the prison of
your maddness, anything
to thaw your frozen tongue,
anything to return your
manhood,  other than that gun!

Anything.  Anything.   If only . . .

By:  Evelyn Augusto
For GUNS DON'T SAVE PEOPLE POETS DO 2017

Herds of motorized carts
owned and operated
by loafers and gold bricks
hoard and grovel through
the hot asphalt paved parking lots.
Impatient soccer moms
take the lives of innocent pedestrians
in exchange for parking spaces.
Automatic doors open and close
as you enter and the cool breeze
hits before you grab
the preferred size wobble wheels
and fight viciously,
through crowds of the
other consumers to forage items
on your list at the food library.
Wide variety of beer selections
have everything you want,
except for the one tasty beverage
you desire.
Seafood department lures you
in like a lunker with their
buy one get one free deals.
Half off half eaten fruits and vegetables
from the produce department.
Red alert sales on red meats and beefs
from the meat department.
Persuaded coupons clipped
in the Sunday's paper
to coax you away from the
competition.
Patrons of the golden age
super market era,
distracted by discounted priced items,
come to a grinding halt and block traffic
in the aisles of damaged goods
and all life as we know it
stops instantaneously
as we shrewdly gaze
with prying eyes
and eagerly wanting
to push them aside.
Guttersnipes roll in off
the streets and back alley ways with unscrupulous thieving eyes
to stuff and fill their pockets
with cheap fixings of
counterproductive chicken feed.
Detained by those minimum wage
retail rental cops,
who take their job way too seriously,
threaten and intimidate these derelicts
with no real authority
other than to use a roll of quarters
and a nearby payphone
to call the imperials.
As you end your journey
of consumerism and
await customer service
in the back of the longest line,
you notice that empty
miserable look on the cashiers face.
It's like a time lapse of
soul crushing creativity.
Watch others unload
their provisions and
pay astronomical prices
on low quality pabulum
refreshments
with food stamps
and WIC vouchers.
Patiently waiting for the clerk
to ring up your totals,
you can't help but to think
how you could be so privileged
to overcome these grueling obstacles
and empty your bank account
to purchase these
momentary products.

It ain’t love, kid
When you pull my hair and you kiss my neck
It ain’t love when you look me dead in the face and you give me a hug as I take that ‘walk of shame’ down your stairs
Funny how I used to cry when you’d leave but now I’m the one leaving and I still cry but the reason has changed
How I used to beg you to stay but you don’t say a word against it when I offer to leave
How the tables have turned like your back to my word
How you don’t try to wipe my tears and ignore the ones you don’t see
How I’d still give you the world if you asked on a golden platter with all the fixings of a passionate love
But what are these words to you
What is my body to you
What is my soul to you
Man, it ain’t love, kid
But it sure as hell stings like it

A meal of turkey and fixings
an afternoon of repairing her fence
making a shelf unit for their dining room
all these grand efforts
would feel good
and might get me noticed
but what about a smile to a stranger
a call to my cousin
putting away my old neighbor’s garbage can
smoothing my wife’s hair as I pass behind her easy chair
waving at the new guy on the block who doesn’t know me
bringing a cold drink to the yardman?

Going small
is better than nothing at all
when I’ve talked myself out of the big deed
due to time, tired, bruise or bleed.

As Lenny Bruce had said of Dobermans: "You feed them, you raise them, and in 10 years they **** you." Our borders remain set, our resolve solid, our moles malignant. Mexicans with power need not be feared as they'll drive the price of taco fixings down. Into basements and foundations go our beans & cornmeal; our singles and their faithlessness; our tramps, transients and hobos. [Hunger will stalk you. You must consume the fat-stores. You must eat BELOW your means.]

An alley of gum stuck to the walls.
We have each taken our turn.
To chew the spearmint, cinnamon and wintergreen well
Then stick it to the wall as our story to tell!

While the people pass by
The smells of BBQ chicken, Tri-Tip and potatoes
Baked in their skins blend on the pallet of hunger.
Stuffing our bags with almonds, veggies
A variety of fruit and black mission figs!

We could hardly wait to step into
Our favorite Thursday Night
Higuera Street Restaurant
For Sushi, Asian BBQ, and all the fixings.
To fill our hearts with laughter
And our bellies with warmth.

We loved the SLO Farmer's Market long ago.
Now we are scattered across the continent
In two countries and six states.
Who would have ever known
That these times would pass so quickly?

boar by name, inscrutable.

bit off its mouth, with its mouth--

to get to an apple seated on its

drooling tongue.

enchambered by tusks...violent

snap jaw breaks thru eyepopping

****** paralysis.

somewhere between spit & silver platter...

game & fixings.

the boar was wrenched from the terminus

of sleep--to put back to sleep the festivity

of its flesh.

once made aware of it.