.with rob zombie's: ***** liquor in the background,
a man perched on windowsill,
              one foot tapping along,
                                 the other foot folded
and sat on...

    come to think of it,
                 why am i not bothered,
   not bothered by the neighbours?
well, one ****** tried it,
complained about me smoking out
of my window,
   and that one time i was making a b.b.q.
and he said: 'you should have warned
us!'               the ****?
            all beause he had been doing
his washing and was drying his clothes
on a washing line, 20 metres from my b.b.q.,
and now they're moving house.

the english,
     they always want a house with a garden...
in the vicinity?
    you know how many times i've
seen the english use their gardens?
              roughly 5 times per year...
they rarely even attempt to switch
the garden to a ******* venture when
the one toilet is occupied by someone
taking a shower...
                      for all the wants of a garden,
i haven't seen anyone around here
take to planting a cherry tree,
            or burrying their cremated cat...
i guess i must be the odd one out...
            i mean: i'll integrate up to a point,
but then... well there's just me,
               rumours...
rumours...
      apparently donald tusk got
the job as the president of the european
council, because he mingled
   with frau kanzler
   over the position...
                     **** me...
        27 prime ministers,
    but only 1 chancellor...
                  who said the stereotype
of jews being good with money,
never made it to the stereotype of germans?
   the rumour is...
   he got the job...
       only because his father was
in the wehrmacht...
             after all, he did write
a bestseller book about the city of Danzig...
no surprise there,
  given that Danzig was reminiscent
of a city-state akin to Athens or Sparta...
mind you, better than any movie
on a friday night,
   tuning in on the 66th minute
of Liverpool vs. Southampton...
                waiting for the 1 - 1 draw...
but the genius of jürgen jürgen (klopp)
came through...
                     funny that,
people with funny surnames...
             dialect distinctions...
      klop in western slavic implies
the ******* - ide na klopa -
      i'm going to sit on a toilet...
            ****** must have been a funny surname
before its notorious prominence...
but rarely do you get to see 28 minutes
of a football match of this sort of quality...
    wolverhampton wanderers...
they're playing a very interesting piece
of football this season...
very portugese barzilian-esque...
      everybody knows that
        italian football is boring
  (too many passes),
   and german football is just too predictable...
but how the hell did Liverpool
come up with 2 goals in a period of 28 minutes...
mind-boggling...
       i'm always there for the sport per se,
i don't really feel inclined
to have a vested interest in the sport
as to pick a side,
               what once was
          religion, now becomes infused
in sports... seriously...
  count me out of this secular take
on religiosity...
            i'll pay my dues: were deserved
dues are due...
                   that's probably i much
prefer the olympics to this coming farce
of a world cup...
   how many footballers are going
to drop dead, from heat exhaustion?
we must thank our camel cockey bwovers
for cracking up the heat
          in air-conditioned stadiums...
once upon a time, the arabs had,
enviable traits...
   now? with all that wealth?
                                         take a guess;
if muhammad was raised from
the dead?
                     you'd see a forest
of pikes, on top would sit, decapitated heads
of his own people...
         but that's a wild idea,
perhaps even he, couldn't avoid
the temptation;
nonetheless, is it wrong to say that some
sports are over-represented?
   well, d'uh!
                 olympics comes,
and i always look forward to classical
wrestling matches,
    archery,
                             ha ha... ping-pong...
sure... none of the tennis allure...
  but it's a welcome break from
mainstream sports...
                                 and this whole
team religiosity influence...
                  that **** bores me to death...
clearly religion didn't die,
it just morphed...
                oh, really? it's that time of year?
the one time of the year
where i become a gambler?
   what? it's the quiche thing to do
in england, a bit like sipping
                 pimm's and eating eaton mess
at wimbledon...
       the grand national...
   betting on a horse...
                     and just to prove i'm no
gambler - why would i dream about
going to las vegas?
                   that shitshow of a town?
all the best strip-clubs in the world:
but no brothel.
      eh?!
                 tiger roll (7 to 2)
is attempting to make history,
     by clinging to: two years in a row...
i only have 4 quid to spend on the bet...
   so 2 horses...
               2 quid each...
                         hmm...
                      'further rain would help
him to step forward'
             i checked the weather forecast
(the grand national happens somewhere
south of liverpool, i think)
                     rainy...
overcast...     step back (25 to 1)...
                         now a compensation
horse...
                          i'll need a few more whiskies
before i make this blind bet lucky hope...

i'm not betting on tiger roll (7 to 2) -
the odds are not wildcard enough...

mind you, not being a gambling *****:
i do know that rolling tobacco
needs to be fresh,
   slightly moist, in order to roll it,
you can still roll the dry tobacco,
but then you'd also require
obc cigarette tubes,
         and one of those "gizmos" /
machines, to pull off
             a perfect match...
no in a millions years will you get
out a perfect rollie
with dry, pall mall tobacco...
when no golden virginia is available...
point: but you're also
not going to **** dry the filter
with dry tobacco...
harder to roll,
               but an easier smoke...

anyway...
   back to the grand national...
look, i'm no dustin hoffman
rainman hack...
         i felt like ******* away
4 quid's worth on an event, sue me...

   1             up for review (25 - 1)
         'could relish this test;
      must be a contender'

2a            folsom blue  (50 - 1)
          'mud-lover; stays well
   but at veteran stage'

2b           general principle (40 - 1)
     'best not ignore this irish
national winner'

3            ramses de telilee   (25 - 1)
             'welsh national second;
               stays well and improving'

4   ballyoptic    (28 - 1)
   'scottish national second;
                   cannot rule out'

  5a       mala beach (50 - 1)
               'fresh; could suit;
              a lively outsider'

    5b go conquer      (33 - 1)
         'bids to give his trainer
a third national'

      5c     lake view lad      (14 - 1)
             'improving steadily and
this trip should suit'

   5d jury duty    (16 - 1)
     'should relish this trip.
         could get a positive verdict'

6 vieux lion rouge             (33 - 1)
     'has tried three times in
this; fourth time lucky?'

   7       bless the wings                (66 - 1)
              'would be the oldest winner
       since 1853'

so...
      gambling, fascinating,
   how there's no objectivity argument,
and all the sort of superstitions associated
with it... a truly, magnanimous,
secular age...
   football as a religion,
   gambling on horses as the trials
of fate / luck / whatever belief...

       truly... gratifying...
   and i don't imply that in any pompous
sense, i'm about to invest 4 quid
in the whole affair!

   my pick?
              step back 25 to 1 odds
first choice...
   so it's either between
the mud-lover folsom blue... 50 to 1 odds,
ah... i'll need more wizard like
uncertainty when it comes
to gambling,
repeating to myself:
   there's no such thing as luck,
there's no such thing as luck,
gambling is only subjective,
gambling is the reiteration
of a religious experience,
        it's the sensible option,
it's the sensible option, ****...
i'll just split the 4 quid over 4 horses
rather than bet 2 quid on 2...

per quid:
                      step back
                      jury duty
                      up for review
                      go conquer / folsom blue

****...
                   no wonder i never got
into gambling...
         i never fathomed the aspect
of winning
as much as i never fathomed
the aspect of losing,
   or how they're paired up
     and consecrated on the same
altar of, "thrill"...

    that cut               /
betweeen
       go conquer  and folsom blue...

horses have the oddest names...
          dogs?
                 probably the shittest names
in the whole of the kingdom...
oscar darshan...
                            quorus...
these being cat names...
                                           go figure.

Before my uncle
Johnny "Cash"
González died,
I had already ******
my Russian girlfriend
countless times
and in several positions.
He told me about
wearing condoms,
gentle *******,
which my girl liked,
and bongs for ****.
He was against ******,
hitting women,
and spit as ****.
Because of his insistence,
I could play the guitar,
read chords,
and sing blues.
He also taught me
how to roll dice
and bluff in poker;
it was all about
tricking eyes
and ****** up hands.
Right before
he closed his eyes,
he whispered and laughed
that I was ready to make
the world cry.
I got it when he said
******* and kisses
were the kept secrets;
beer not water
was fuckingly good
for filtering smoke;
die or dice,
about surviving
in the streets of sharks;
Folsom ... Blues,
a prison song;
or man's worth,
his **** and pride.
But world crying
sounded Greek to me.
Not into poems,
flowery words,
or emotional ****,
I had no clue
until I stabbed
my girlfriend's brother
who wanted to **** out
his sister for dope.
He hurt Oksana and me
and tested my manhood.
I was prepared to go
to jail for that disrespect.
So I willingly did
to stay there for a while,
and the world cried.
My childhood buddies,
friends at work,
and even neighbors
showed up to console
my mom and dad.
I was a good kid
with a good personality
and a good job
and a good future.
My baby sister
Elena Marie
suffered from asthma,
and I made her sob;
that ******* hurt,
and her hug was tight.
The trial began,
and my lawyer argued
self-defense;
that ****** was no saint.
Eventually I received
a unanimous acquittal,
but was never the same.
I used what I learned
from my dead uncle,
preyed on anyone,
and did not really care
if the world wailed.
Last spring
it was writing poetry
in New Folsom.

I rumbled
around Folsom prison
today
& watched the water
tumble over the dam.
I saw the concertina
wrapped tightly
at the top
of the fences
& wondered if
the armed boys in the tower
would shoot me
if I took off my boots
to swim
in the cool
refreshing waters.

Then I thought to myself,
"Naw, I'd better not,
think I'll swim a mile
or two away,
it's safer that way!"

I.
leather skin
tattoos from youth that are laughable
as messy as a room gets every month
succumbing and cleaning up a mid-life crisis
a broken wind-up soldier
folsom prison's bar ‘s open every time the sheets get too cold
two year expiration date
grease
red wine at a dive bar

II.
never completely remember anything except touch
whiskey clouded brains and side-ways smiles
tongue-slinger
serpent waiting to strike
retracting and falling backwards far
slithering in during the AM
charming underneath the stairs
monotony
unwanted terms of endearment
the tea kettle will always whistle when the water gets too hot

III.
spells and red lights flicker at late hours on unseasonably warm nights
sweat and dragons both thrive from heat
smoke, from mouths and cigarettes
shakespearean scenes that melt to fingers grazing lips so effortlessly
this was all coming in due time after too many moments
spent on washing machines in an ancient haunt
falling into fictional identities when we come together
doe eyes
tears fell from poetic words spit so harshly on delicate air
a temporary home and an eternal momentary escape

On the straight
just like an arrow
to find
the straight
is very narrow.

lots of jumping off points.

I beseech of thee, deck of Seventy-Eight,
perhaps some insight, or at least a "Gee ****!"
First of three:
Five of Pentacles

Secondly:
Page of Wands

And, to conclude:
The Fool

My gut feeling:
**** yeah.
~~
I shall explicate later;
at present, I must prepare for a gig in Folsom. :D

1.
Cartoon characters
Fantasies of Superstrength
Bullied mutations.

2.
Dog-leash for bear cubs
***-less chaps for Furries' dads
Parade in Folsom

3.
Cosplay to Conmen
Dungeon to Dragon masters
Robbers at the bank...

.i can't stop being fascinated by the optics
of a relit rollie,
       esp. with one as a purse,
with dry tobacco...
                    watching the smoke escape
the room and begin its fathom
                            of the readied night.

we need more turkish barbers!
we need more turkish barbers!
        why would i trust anyone with
my beard and hair,
if he wasn't a turk?
                     they still are the most
adequate people for the job...
and i really can't stop internally giggling
at the fact that
i discovered a brothel many years prior
to having discovered a barber's parlour:
when was it ever a shop?!
    that yesterday when i left 4 quid
for a bet...
            maybe that's why i don't like
gambling,
      once a year does it for me,
those feelings of uncertainity,
while the race is staged...
          although this year wasn't so bad...
maybe 3 horses had to be put down
due to broken legs (seeing how they
sleep, standing up),
   and at least one jockey experiencing
the hooved stampede...
poor sweet *******...
                 i should have betted on
the favourite...
                i should have,
but you rarely do,
  you're always rooting for an outlier,
the odds changed from
7 - 2 from yesterday to 5 - 1...
      for the 4 quid spent,
  i would have got an extra quid back...
but, once again...
          it was never about the money...
the feelings associated
with losing don't really frighten me,
as simply make me feel
wearing a cotton sweater...
itchy as ****, and some...
                  ****, what were my choices
again?
       never mind,
i'll come back to them...
           i thought the weather forecast
implied: rain... overcast,
   so i based my judgement on that...
but lookie lookie: sunny as if it wasn't
england, but the south of france!

    up for review - ha ha... down
  on the first fence...
   folsom blue - 17th fence...
  general principle - ha ha... 19th fence
ramses de telilee - 28th fence
      ballyoptic - 26th fence...
   mala beach - 29th fence
          go conquer - 29th fence...
   lake view lad - 27th fence
jury duty - 19th fence
   vieux lion rouge - wow... 15th place
bless the wings - 13th place! devil's dozen!
step back - 25th fence.

   ah ha ha ha! maybe the bet should
have consisted of finding the horses
that "thought", **** it, i'm not jumping!
one thing to gallop on a horse
in the woods and in the fields
for both the thrill of the horse
and yourself, another for a competitive spot...

ha ha... i guess something good came
from this bet,
i managed to... "bet" on how many horses
would not follow the rules
of man...
     i guess it could be considered
hard to find a winner...
    but harder to find...
how many is that?
        10 horses that had the sort
of intelligence associated with...
           i'll plough the field...
    i'll work, i'll do all the pomp and circumstance
of a military parade...
       i do have a brain, you know,
**** this race, i'm pulling out...
       i could have betted on the winner...
the signs were there,
      esp. given last year
and this year's performance at
the cheltenham festival...
        all of the 4 quid...
  5 - 1...
                 20 quid richer,
a free bottle of whiskey...
       but why? when i have this doodle
instead?

KARAOKE NIGHT 1
Lively out of tune
Songstress with liquid courage
Croons frogs in her throat...

KARAOKE NIGHT 2
Sushi and Sake
Raw mispronunciations
Glad songs of drowning...


FANDOMS OF CON
1.
Cartoon characters
Fantasies of Super-strength.
Comic mutations.

2.
Dog-leash for bear cubs
***-less chaps for Furries' dads
Parade in Folsom

3.
Cosplay to Conmen
Dungeons to Dragon masters,
Robbers at the bank...

Fifths on the curb filth on my breath
Threats between lock-jawed teeth
Crime pays never follow laws, thief
Weak are prey in the belly of the beast

Cut with a sickle human life is wheat
Thoughts are fickle so you best leave
As wealth trickles my lungs heave
So I'll **** for a nickel long past naive

The living don't sleep at night
Thats a ending in our sight
If alls silent if alls quiet
It's violence It's a riot

Apparitions of our misery like a sister to me
Superstition is hidden history and trickery
Suspicions hysteria lead to be-witchery
Submission to superior forces and misery

Look over your shoulder sleep with one eye open
Never be bolder thats a quick order to a open coffin
Break camcorders, records fill folders in folsom
Blood is water never trust your brothers an cousins

September when it comes
And it has come near 10

Got my Johnny Cash t-shirt
In the psych ward, not Folsom Pen

Did spend a night in jail
Hope I never do that again

Mark is a wonderful person
And my oldest, truest friend

I could not write a novel
My attention not that long
Just these little poems
Poetry ping pong

Emily was a recluse
Like Billionaire Bruce Wayne
I read of Chinese hermits
But I live on a street called Main

Istanbul in photos
Quite a calling sight
She and I and honesty
One flight 3 night's delights

Solamente una hora
San Francisco Zen
The Buddha sits in silence
Johnny Cash in Folsom Pen

                    Reno!

Strength is the weakness
When sadness has the predicament of being
Comeliness
Microbes and cultured, like the brushing aside the business
The crimes and punishment, you can't save up for the love and the crass capital beating
Broken legs, break the prison humor, the convict's jungle rapping, touching the wrong towels
Breaking open skulls on the system of the broken street
Down on the hip stirring procreating street, with ******* tad adolescent folks
Never upon the crimson red, and thespian action
The resonant redacted symbol that tells you for the freedom of the lost symbols
Well, they're acting like the beats and bustards that break their necks at the shot of the bullish broken gun
Badland and Bambi could have been gladder if she were roadkill
Too bad we would be regretful and faithful
Marquis Sade and breaking the buzzing rhyme with the talk of divine tragedy
We love you pi, your irrational thinking
Got me dividing your attention, I might be grading if I start with English
Starting, the trombone blew out, the instrument was the one I was through
If I found the right hole, I'd press it better
If the fingers were wrapped and tapered, the beveled ceiling
And the pleasant mirror talks to me in my diggity
On the hollering heron on the halcyon buggying out on the funky freelance
Scarring the storms across the fire, break my bones
Serve my food to the military, break my pride
Take my mind, sell it up for tomorrow vegetables and today's debts
The droughts seem fresh in the rotten flesh, not sure if it's dehydrated
I'm blemished and pleased with my dealings, competing for the most damage
Do you wanna put a plate of food, for my last meal as a famed convict
Too bad isn't your turn to obviate all the mistakes I made in making the line before your mum
Serve it up in the Folsom prison, with the playing cons cool for their socks
Strikes and socialist assemblies turning out revolutions, like pamphlets for lost and found
We're still for freedom, I ran into the wrong neighborhood
Maybe, I followed the river where it flowed, trenchant isn't that followed a mind map
You can't move into the apartment, what kind of crap is that
Trapping me and pleasing me, and teasing me sensibly
I hope I denunciate another person on the slippery foam of frat parties
Festering droughts, freedom aborting the fedora
Hate crimes are returning the favor, in the worst possible
Tedious angst seems rather adult-like if you grow up in wrong shoes
Of your boot polishing forefather, I bet grew up in a better neighborhood
I somnambulantly place, that you want someone to talk
I talk my way out of dreams and look at faceless strife
I can't place the right word, the hurt's real honey
Humming bird like a bully underwhelmed by his tricks and traction
On the students of the same school called life

I walked the line to Folsom Prison,
took some advice from a boy named Sue.
Never found the flesh and blood that I needed,
but at least I'm not in the jailhouse now.

I remember the songs of my childhood,
When daddy always sang bass.
But these days I get so lonely, I just cry, cry, cry.
And seems like every other weekend
It's Sunday morning coming down.

So give my love to Rose. I hated to leave her.
I've done my best to let go of the hurt
and put myself back together one piece at a time.
In the end I got burned by a ring of fire,
but I still never found the Man in Black.

Steely Dan sing queen (me)
outdid himself on sixtieth anniversary
after Grahame Wood
determined to meet
the evolving needs of the community
opened the first Wawa Food Market
in Folsom, PA, on April 16, 1964.

Today marked the sixth decade
since George Wood started
the Wawa dairy in 1902,
and it quickly became
a trusted name for fresh,
quality dairy.

As an unsung Patrons of said store,
I strove to achieve mitzvah
for an incapacitated wheelchair bound
resident here at Highland Manor Apartments.

The fickle finger (hut) of fate
unknowingly planned to liquidate
honest to dog sincere intentions
to deliver said drinkable goods
(you can bet your bottom dollar)
on his sterling promise
never foreseeing disastrous
misadventure out ranking
starry eyed bespectacled klutz
comprising the heart of this poem at any rate
(nitty gritty details omitted),
but essentially and summarily
spilled contents from three
twenty ounce cups of hotly perked coffee    
scalding himself in the process,
where epithets spewed
inadequately served at X-rate.

I asked him if he liked coffee
cuz today aforementioned vendor
acknowledged the brainchild
offering buzzfeeding caffeinated brew free
American chain of convenience stores
and gas stations originating
in the Philadelphia metropolitan area,
and now located along the East Coast
of the United States,
operating in Pennsylvania, New Jersey,
Delaware, Maryland, Virginia,
Washington, D.C., and Florida.

The remaining lines of this reasonable rhyme
garnered courtesy an endeavor
attempted quite some years ago
attempt bordering on the ridiculous to the sublime.

Even when iron not red hot,
I implement non customary quirks
regarding going for broke into survivor mode  
asia foreigner rather cold as ice
namely delinquent outsize credit card debt
mandates yours truly,
a cheesy survivor who rem: members
putting freeze on
Citizens Bank World MasterCard accounts,
whose helplessness to fork over

substantial dollar figure
analogous to one of three blind mice,
who ran after the farmer's wife
She cut off tails (OUCH!)
with a carving knife
must pay the price
methinks food in the slammer (ha)
will lack sugar and spice,
nevertheless macht schnell trice.

I exhaled deep sigh of relief
after speaking over the telephone,
whereby Arcadia Recovery Bureau
(i.e. collection agency)
based in Reading, Pennsylvania
explained yours truly owed $23.21
which considerably alleviated
immediate dire straits that figuratively
grabbed me by the nuts
hash tagged self scoundrel
a day late dollar short
dollars to donuts bonafide klutz

living ****** mint procreative
seminal squirt biological reproduction,
could never conceive to abort
despite countless occasions,
I blithely admit characteristics
linkedin with being a putz
going off rails as a one man train wreck
mine impossible mission to avoid
NOT running amok imagine
bull in a china shop
whereby the hypothetical proprietor
willing, ready able to tear out my guts.

Pigeon toed, I trip over me own little feet
size nine shoe small size for grown man
leaving utter disaster in his wake
synonymous when havoc strikes
chaos theory alive and well
ensues when I walk about
and dare take even one baby step.

Ever since adept with ability to crawl,
I ofttimes tumbled down the stairs,
but never did shed tears nor bawl
e'en when taking nosedive head first did fall
out the hatch of airplane

splattered, plastered, and matted
think suddenly feeling comfortably numb
joist another brick in wall
nevertheless acquiring stunt man role
paid big bucks

as **** sapien disguised as Sasquatch
(cause unkempt harried styled hair)
more times than I can remember
fell to Earth minus parachute,
which hoop fully explains

the incomprehensible drawl
earnestly and frankly harkening language
once extant within Gaul
which reverberated inside hall
of mountain (lionized) king.

Prior to any madcap misadventure
yours truly envisions his clumsiness
plays out within my third eye blind
hilarious scenario unfolds in slow motion
whereby accidental flick of wrist,
barely brushes up against
flimsy clothes rack

(the original motive begetting poem)
knee **** involuntary reaction,
kicking obstacle clear across Compton
generating comical feedback loop
impossible mission to stop
blockchain of fateful bitcoin events.

Living amidst (amongst) disarray
courtesy the missus, whose domestic habits
never merit housekeeping seal of approval
twenty four/seven pose
a hazard to mine existence.

Clash of the cracking whips
Crashed from the ceiling above
Rise of the women dressed in black
In long laced stockings to show
Just enjoyed the show
Into the dead of night

Cars race by in the gold of lights
In Folsom
I woke up
In a prison cell
After an eternity in red blue and white
The wooden heart of L.A., they called me

Burned down the gambling house
In despair we counted time
Like watchmen of crime
Aging in frail hours
Was it a movie or a lack of power
By the midnight rambler

11:37
One for Johnny Cash

Folsom Prison Blues
Boy Named Sue to make them laugh

You and Westley
Both the Man in Black

You are gone from us now
But your music will come back!