In a broken down hut
In the middle of the wood
Nor pizza hut nor Squirrel's nut
Can calmly describe that, that could

And somewhere within thy
Lies a seemingly twisted fate
Where two old hags bye and bye
Will simultaneously copulate

It would arise my suspicion
Should there be a banana
and henceforth there be a petition
To Outlaw that Repulsive banana

For one to see into the future
Monkeys would be granted intelligence
Causing bananas to nurture
and my brain to be punctured by a fence

If you still can't see
That bananas are a fruit
Then I guess you will have to ***
While gassing toot toot

Well what can I say, he says I'm an ****,
I just told him he was just full of air..
But we were the closest of friends and were
always found close together like pees in a pod.

"So what's the plan for today windy,
"We just going to gas? or we just breathing in silence?

"I thought you were pulling the other cheek,
But all that comes out of you is crap Hahaha.....

They were always getting each other in trouble with
one thing or another, if it wasn't **** holding wind in,
it was **** whispering in a lift. But not so silently,
more like a  tiny trumpet going off for moments at a time.

There was one time were **** was letting off as usual,
but he let just a little too much out, and in that moment
he told ****.

"That was close, I was one **** away from a poo,

**** couldn't  contain himself and amusement turned
to horror as laughter had loosened both there grips.
And now Mr Poo who usually went diving in
the porcelain pools was now frequenting  upon both.

I think I'm going to be sick said ****, **** laughted and
then another friend of Poo's joined the party, cleanliness
was obsolete, now as it was like a food fight in close quarters.
Poo slipped out to freedom down the trouser leg and "SPLAT,

**** and ****, stunned by poo's lack of grace. "Could have
stayed for a while, But **** conceded that he would have
just talked crap, like he did every time he popped out
to see his friends.

Well what could be said, a wet wipe, and **** forgot poo
had even been there. But his odour still lingered gently on.
**** was gassing on and **** clenched so not to
expel to much laughter.. especially in enclosed areas.
**** was just gassing, this duo were always going
be the closest of friends.

There is a wildness still in England that will not feed
In cages; it shrinks away from the touch of the trainer's hand,
Easy to ****, not easy to tame. It will never breed
In a zoo for the public pleasure. It will not be planned.

Do not blame us too much if we that are hedgerow folk
Cannot swell the rejoicings at this new world you make -
We, hedge-hogged as Johnson or Borrow, strange to the yoke
As Landor, surly as Cobbett (that badger), birdlike as Blake.

A new scent troubles the air -- to you, friendly perhaps
But we with animal wisdom have understood that smell.
To all our kind its message is Guns, Ferrets, and Traps,
And a Ministry gassing the little holes in which we dwell.

King wing nut fancied himself a fashion savant. No one was ballsy enough to tell him "you caahnt".
                                               He sewed a nice shirt from riverbed dirt.
                                              
"Wonderful sire was the obliging blurt.
                                               He stitched a cocked hat made from rooster
                                               Fat.

"Mahvelous sire was the rat a tat tat.

                                              He sewed wooden trousers
                                              to so many wowsers !!!

                                              His stockings were crafted from gobbledygook.

Superlative sire!! and "Oh goodness look"

                                              The Vapid sot laid down on a cot for a nap.
                                               He woke at two,recharged an refreshed.
                                              
He stripped down to the skin and proceeded to sew a suit from the thinnest of air.
He stepped to his throne from the twilight zone.
bemused and with hardly a care.
                                              What say ye now said the simplified oaf.

                                              All eyes drifted skyward as he strutted about.
                                              to applause and stifled guffaws.

"Your majesty has outdone himself".
"Leave the rest of your clothes in the closets and shelves.

                                              Nothing more needs be said.
                                              Gassed up and content with an over-sized head.

I can smell the heat of the day
The off gassing of materials
The decomposition of grass
I smell the earth drying in the bake
         of this southern sky.

steel
oil
engineering
labor
converge
round a
Rocket 88
dead man’s
curve

prescient
precocious
capitalists
concoct
Edsels
Vegas
Che­velles

leaping
Impalas
leak
oil
staining
every
American
driveway

Pintos
chase
Gremlins
across
The Great Plains
gassing up
at
Rt 66
fillin
stations

scramblin
Midnight
Ramblers
detour to
take refuge
with Goats in
Big Sky
Indian
garages

440
Mustangs
nip
327
Stingrays
and
Mach IV
Cobras
get
snake bit
by Dart
wielding
Mopar
muscle
cars

long fins
chrome bumpers
and round fenders
still get bent in
Havana

but

Motor City is broke
nations outta gas
whole **** country
needs an overhaul

Ike Turner/Jackie Brenston: Rocket 88

Nelson Riddle: Route 66

7/19/13
Oakland
jbm

Still lanky dude with the long hair
Still can't tell you when, but I'm getting there.
Still the best poet you ever read.
Still don't think you'll read it till I'm dead.
Still gassing up past 3 AM
Still saying "Won't fall in love again."
Still waking up from the same dreams
Still getting air when I try and scream
Still wanna **** up a KMart
Still wanna skip to the next part
Still got a problem with some folks
Still tryna swallow and just choke
Still poor, still *****, and still tired
Still last resort if you need a ride
Still driving off of the Hairpin
Still hope the car lands in heaven

Still the one that loved you despite all of the pain
Still pulling the heart together, next is still the brain
Still the beating of it, stop it dead, leave it there to rot
Still wonder if you ever gave it a second thought

Still fighting toys in the playroom
Still saying "we're gonna move soon"
Still getting kicked out in August.
"Still this isn't breaking my promise."
Still smoking out in the same seats
Still hiding under the bedsheets
Still hit a home run in most cases
Still gotta touch all four bases
Still don't have the words for this feeling
Still tryna peel me off of the ceiling
Still chew my teeth instead of food
Still try to learn like I'm in school
Still hate the face in the mirror
Still my vision only gets clearer.
Still wanna ruin a Wal-Mart.
Still gonna race with the shopping carts.
Still scaling the shelving in home decor
Still can't go back, still banned from the store

Still gassing up past 4 AM
Still city streets, devoid of men
Still have to make wrong a few rights
Still, like a deer in headlights.

How may I introduce these people  to YOU  ,  in a way that will Not make fun of them,  but rather,  just simply Identify them !               Identified by their present achievements and Job functions..              PERHAPS,    they are always this way__.                 SO, in my studies of Mankind,     HOW to Label All those who are  "FULL OF * S __! "                               Such as the following List ! !                                                                ­                            #1=STIFLESKILLSMAN=   A person who has been highly trained to Stop you from going the direction you were trying to go !                                                          #2= STIFLECOATING=   A spray you can apply ALL over your body to keep  a "STIFLESKILLSMAN"      away!!!!                                  ­                                       # 3= SHUNHAT=  A cap you can wear on days when NO one is paying  any attention to you,,AND,,"Thats the way You want it ! ! "                                                           # 4= SEEMEEARWAX = A wax placed on the surface of both ears that GLOWS in the dark and in bright Light it changes colors every "SIX" Seconds,  SO people will really pay attention to YOU ! !  __                 *W A R N I N G_____W A R N I N G *.        "Never apply *SEEMEEARAX  when wearing a  "SHUNHAT " !                                           #5= STUNNINGLOSS=  a spray for your hair and neck,   that as it Dries,  becomes like a Rainbow  and causes People to ask__"Where's the ***?"                                                            ­                           # 6= SWORDGAS=   The odor produced by people who must have come out of the swamp Just Recently...Because it *CUTS  so Deep.....   # 7= SWORDGAS=PAIR=  *TWO people of the SWORDGAS  squad,  SHARPLY Gassing their words in unison,  uplifting one another in Endless delight!.                                                        ­                                                        # 8= SNOOZESTOMPINGER =  A Device you wear like an Engagement ring,,to Keep YOU  awake  .                                                    ­          # 9 =  SIGHTGIMMICKLENS =    Glasses that only let you SEE what has been Pre=Programmed in the Lens,,{ a PC approved}..                        # 10 = STARTERSTALLS  Like band-aids placed right under your eyes to keep you from getting out of bed before it's time.                             # 11 = SWEATTYSLIDES = SPECIAL gloves that make it appear that you are about to LOSE control   { WHEN  actually,,puts YOU in TOTAL control of all situations for a 24 hour period ! }                                 # 12 = SUDDENLYSUPER = A really fast acting Spray that on days when you are just not QUITE up to Par!    Just a fast SPRAY_ and *VOILA,    Sudden appearance of doing just fine !!                                        * WELL,   I  have a list of Seven times Seventy, to add,,                                  *(PS)  Do You know any of  *"S"  TEAM ,,?

I write to remember myself
as the gray groggy foggy world hisses static noises
the loud clouds with jagged glass edges look to shred.
Sometimes I don't even feel pieces stuck in my bleeding spirit--
leaking ancient memories of magical imagination lands
where genies, centaurs and shadowy demons threw parties
with me as as the effigy on a pyre.

I write to remind myself
of my gypsy campfire spirit of honest expression--
each written word strips away another layer of clothing
dancing, a **** psychedelic sufi with Rorschach wings
watercolor tattoos of musical grooves pour out from my throat
as the roaring noises of cult-ure's hymns billow
around with clash jangling crankling sounds.

I write to remember
echoed words from eons past
beating and breathing through me,
an infinity of laughing gasps gassing anxious neurons
screaming from the shattered  shards of surrounding glass clouds--
reminding myself I can choose the reality.

I write so I'm not in a fugue of confused pain.

Did you not take my breath away

The one gift
you can not give
and still stay

Tethered born
from belly
connect
and belly torn

Did I not thrive for life
suckling sure
gulping love
sipling strife

Were we not
all apples
before what eyes

Before the fall
of yours
and mines

Sorry apples
nuts and rut
would ***** come
poured down
the thriving throat

What is regurgitating
other longing
re urging
swallowing
submerging

To diaphram
disruptive
falsely claiming
urgent distractions

What is to liver
becomes malaise
all jibberish

Shoot me
some adrenal-ish
before i get in
or get out
of that monster
fish

Fry me
in your pan cre-ole us
to the suet of your filet
digest me
your way

Something in this burpling
will no longer
pass thee usurping

Hick upped
or gassing passing
selling poses
of the sweeter
smell of roses

No such
thing as weeds,

only wilderness
where you don't want it..

I can't help feeling when I look at your screen
That our story should be rewritten, ain't all that we seem
I'm sitting at dinner eating all the lies that you dish out
Tell me I'm a fighter but I'm on the bench, sitting out
This ain't my writing, my screenplay was written for me
Acting like a drama queen, motion picture category
Didn't need your ******* but here I am, serve me
This ain't ******* tennis, there ain't no love in you from what I see
Loving in the dark like a parked car, cliché
Forced like a *** joke made in the third grade
Wish I could go back when I didn't know what ***** are
Push it real good, ***** ******* is a fine art
Ask to see my body like my personality’s a waste
****, got the audacity to claim that he’s a ******* ace
Flush me out, yeah no way I’m losing with a full deck
Confiscate my heart to keep the cards I’m playing in check
Heart is pounding out my chest I tell you that I feel sick
You’ve got the audacity to tell me that I’m full of ****
Ask you what you’re playing at you say don’t worry bout it
Friends say that you’re ******* me and man, I don’t ******* doubt it
Been down this road too many times, a year ago
You wouldn’t even talk to me yet here we are, and I’m your **?
***** that’s a joke, man why so serious?
Gassing up this mother, light it up
Fast and Furious

A digitalized **** has been put in a toaster
Transported through pipes
Send off as holy grail bananas incorporated
Stamped 70 cents
Whipped out the door as hot air
The receiver the receiver guess who
300 watts or more
Kb's amplified to Z
The clerk awaits it with both hands
But that's just **** guessing
Or **** gassing if you like
'You like the smell?' will be a statement made with Royal grace
Pancakes will be served too
& by the way
Who said Bob Dylan was a country singer?

I stood next to this guy, today
         And had to give him props.
'Cause when I farted next to him,
         He didn't call the cops.
My death-by-smell he did ignore,
         He even had me laughing!
When he said how he enjoyed
        A truly public gassing!

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                     Fashionable Death Cults Then and Now

After the June 1941 German invasion of the Soviet Union and Einsatzgruppe mass shootings of civilians, the Nazis experimented with gas vans for mass killing…

-Gassing Operations | Holocaust Encyclopedia (ushmm.org)

Dozens of migrants were found dead in an abandoned big rig in San Antonio on Monday in what appears to be the deadliest human smuggling case in modern U.S. history.


-At least 50 migrants found dead inside a truck in San Antonio, officials say (cnbc.com)

We have our death vans too, not well-organized
But rolling down the American road
Unseen by our leaders in their personal jets
Flying to Frisco or maybe Cancun

Bombings and shootings on the street and in church
Job lots in hospitals, by the dozens in schools
For we too specialize in genocide
And may Moloch and Herod bless our AR-15s

If any children survive, we’ll call them Generation Something
And tell them each day how inadequate they are

There are lots of topper things I adore on earth,
like cats, the moon and drunken mirth
or talking, the sea and a well buttered bun,
nights drawing in or long days in the sun.
Another thing I really like is having a shower in the morning,
it’s the perfect antidote to my just awoke yawning,
the aqua blast helps remove the yearning for more bed
the watery goodness bringing vitality to my head,
the soapy woosh invigorates and vamooses my alarm’s mesh,
I exit the bathroom feeling fantastically fresh
and when I’m sat on the bus to work I think “ohh, someone smells splendidly,
oh wait a minute, yeah, it’s me!
Now although I adore gliding into employment with the fragrance of roses
I don’t always heed my cleanliness craving after dozes,
If I’ve had a alcohol drenched Sunday with lots of venturing out
my wanting for a pre work bathe goes up the spout,
sometimes I’ll awake on Monday after a drunken slumber
and feel like I’ve been covered in a ton of lumber,
and think “right it’s either get up now and scrub myself clean
or hit snooze and have another 15”
as even musing on that is making what little energy I have sap
I pull the quilt tighter and take the nap,
the tiny jot of rest doesn’t even touch the side
and before I know I’m at the bus stop awaiting a ride,
I get on and sit down still knackered as hell
and think, “what is that that stale vino smell?
Ohh I bet someone unfortunate was sat here before me,
one of those who has to choose tween getting drunk and having their tea,
someone who everyday has to have more than a few,
then the penny drops, “Jesus Si that odour is coming from you!”
I’m weary, languid, my body is sore,
and because I didn’t shower I’ve got Pound Shop wine coming out of my pores
yeah 4 for tenner cheap plonk is great to toast the end of the paid employment week
but after 24 hours without a cleanse  it pongs pretty bleak,
I’ve got eau de toillete of rotten grape reek.
I hum like I’ve slept in a pre Herculean task Stables Of Aegean that’s been dosed in a dregs of wine pump,
or stench like a on the streets Oliver Twist spliced with a wino Stig Of The Dump.
The bus pulls up to work and before I head in I think I’ll grab something greasy to eat,
ohh, congealed fat mixed with a day on the beers stink, your mates’ nostrils are in for a treat.
I slob to my desk like the unbathed thing I feel
And ponder, “that shower later better be the real deal.”
But, I don’t always rue not having a shower on a Monday because sometimes it means I don’t have the aroma of a stale wine scene,
sometimes uncleansed has me feeling serene!
I remember one unshowered Monday as I’d seen you on the Sunday I smelt of that perfume you always wear,
cos as you’re huggy and tactile it was on my clothes, some of it was even in what was left of my hair,
and as that scent reminded me of you what swirled around me was your awesome breeze,
suffice to say that day of employment passed with ease,
as whenever I got bored of pretending to look at that work thing on Excel
i’d get a hint of your fragrance and my thoughts would propel
with,
your easy wisdom and penchant for a chats
how you like Amaretto and how you love cats,
how you help out animals when they’re feeling brittle
with the tender coo of a Dr Doolittle.
You can take a piece of junk that was discarded at leisure,
decorate it with aplomb and turn it into a treasure,
you’re a burst of energy, a buzzing sprite,
a pleasure to be around, a total delight,
you’re interested in the world, and quantum theory,
talking to you is never dreary,
you bounce around the pub fabulously gassing with the many folk you see,
opening conversations with your splendid key,
**** you seem as popular as me!
Ahh, your joyful demeanour and fantastic soar,
how could anyone fail to hear your wonderful caw;
Emma every time I see you I like you more!
And on those your perfume days when I do get home, hit the shower and feel cleanliness envelop my face
I think, “you know for a ***** day you turned out pretty ace!”!

You do it a
little at a time.
You start a holocaust at
5:30 am, over your
sausage and instant
coffee.

You do it with
your small hatred
and your snide
comments--your prideful
looks at the ***** man
with no shoes.

You do it in
one moment, by not
calling your dying
brother
over childhood
trivialities.
You do it by gassing
the goldfish, flushing love
down the toilet;
clogging the sewers with
your hatred and
malevolence.

You watch the green
grass die and the ants
drown, while you
smile over your
newspaper, and plot
your next hostile
takeover.
You did it when
you punched the
dog, and pinched
the child.
You do it when
you smile.

You're a mean
one Mr. Finch,
Mrs. Jones,
Mr. Smith.
But guess what?
You are dying alone.
Every day, every second,
and the moon and the
sun and the stars
celebrate your demise
and so do I.
You've never lost
any thing.
To loose, you must be
found.
You have to have a
bit of gamble in you.
You don't.
You're as useless
as an eel in
a quiche.

Our God has forgotten our world
But we would rather float alone
We would rather own this home

No renting from judgment
Hypocritical clockwork
Every six minutes
Another empty phrase

This isn't just a warning
About the empty globe
This is a promise

Truly an apocalyptic nostalgia
Nebulae will fill the skies
The clouds will dissolve into green madness
It will be the most beautiful night of our lives

Souls have vacated all mankind
Only a few remain in right mind
We're the last to drift alive
But it won't matter by the end of night

The final hour is upon us

It's 3 in the afternoon

Trees all bearing fruit laughing
Gassing animals with broken hulks
Rusted on the roadside

The grass goes on and splits the mountains
The temperature begins to build
My hand and your hand
My glass and your sand

A broken mirror in the rocks
A final breath before it stops

Yet again I sit on the cold floor, in the dark
And I fill my head in darkness.

But I’m at peace with the loneliness.
In fact it fuels me, gassing me like cars before a long journey into the abyss of loneliness.

And I think it’s time I hit the road.

Here's Odense
Dalya says
looks OK

the driver
parks the bus
(mini bus)
and we all
disembark

an hour
and be back
the driver
informs us

so we all
go our ways

I walk on
with Dalya
she gassing
about things
as she does

that Yank girl
in my tent
always on
about men
who she's had
what they've done
small details
about ***
makes me sick
Dalya says

what do you
say to her?
I ask her
as we sit
in a street
side café

don't say much
just listen
Dalya says
I don't know
what to say

I order
two coffees
the waitress
a young dame
writes it down
then goes off
I watch her
walk away
lovely ***
I’m thinking

why not tell
the Yank girl
about your
**** life?
I tell her

I don't have
a *** life
not like hers
Dalya says
anyway
I couldn't
just tell her

she tells you
about hers

I couldn’t
not details
not each part
like she does

our coffees
are brought out
to us both
the waitress
smiles at me
and walks off

what details?
what's she say?

can't tell you
Dalya says

you spoilsport

it's not that

tell me then

Dalya sips
her coffee
I sip mine
watching her
her dark hair
the stern gaze
her thin lips

she did say
something odd
I remember
Dalya says

what was that?

M&S;

M&S;

yes that's right
don't know what
it stands for
Dalya says
but she says
she likes it

Dalya sips
more coffee

I give her
my famous
Elvis smile

what's that for?
she asks me

whips and chains
and leather
and whipping
I inform
is what her
M&S;
is about

Dalya sits
open mouthed

***** cow
she remarks
who does she
chain and whip?

maybe she's
chained and whipped
by some guy
I suggest

God how gross
how could she?
how *****
and the fact
we share tents
Dalya says
quite concerned
I couldn't
she remarks

I guess not
I reply
recalling
an old flame
much older
who liked it
before ***

Dalya sips
her coffee
in silence
in deep thought

I sip mine
savouring
each mouthful

recalling
the old flame's
preference
of spanking
before ***
and the sound
like applause
in those small
concert halls.

Seems like Putin
Has put in
Got everyone
Over a barrel
There is
No fuel
Like
An old fuel.......

by Jemia

Heavy foot steps and lead laeden words.
Trying to create sense of this emergancy of birds.
Predators hiding lurking in the laminate
sealed in with a kiss the layers are feeling permanant.
Clear obsidion mixed with volcanic ash.
Crushing down on me, im gasping for breath.
Shaking like a mountain just before the eruption
trying to remove myself from this plastic corruption.
Daisies die in feilds..
Deers burn as the air horns call out the catastrophy.

You all need to run from me.

Silence in my self, I am no longer seeking
i need to break free and sing just as birds sing.
Calling out the warning; shaking up the evergreens.
its all interconnected.
Hyperspatail turbulance im screaming in my bed
im worried
im afraid
im trying
its working
i think that the plastic might just be burning
the toxic
the posion
its all gassing off from me
dont breath me
i feel like its something.


I could just be werid. Relaxing in turbines, i think im just trying and poems lead to calm minds.

Make sense of me. Make sense of you.
And you.
And you.
Im caought up in the subterfuge.  Capracioisly grapsing
for what im not sure.

Cattawompus canyons are cut into my heart. Im so confused information on piecharts
, the values dont match
the legend is misleading.
God seems to be warrenting this healing.
Kicking in the door
creating a dizzy storm.
Cyclopeon rage
stolen from days of yore..

Its time to let go.
Its time to grow.

Just understand me . just for a breif moment. I am harmless. I am less. I am lost. I need rest..

A bunch more words too honest too painful. I write poems to unleash all that is shameful.

This hurts.

This is needed.

I am bleeding.

Just so I am.

Just living.

Just leaving.

Just kidding.

Just bidding.

Betting.
On when its all ganna explode.
On when the subroutiunes will need a defrag machine when the bios gets corrupted when the system wears down when i will stand in the light looking like a ******* clown.
Because i trusted.

Why is this so hard?
I am 24 years old and cant drive a mother ******* car.
Fear is a disease that i can not squah on my own
a whole battallion of star ships need to warp into my home and disrupt the radio frequencies that speak to me
in dreams the nightmares unending the face grips and rending my cheek bones are tensing my teeth are condensing milkbones and raw tones

This excitment inside me
burns out the live feed
darkness envolopes mailed sent by trumpet
these echos of my thoughts
repeat the words taought
like liar and loser you dumb ******* ****** acomplish not nothing but your something is ******* just so god ****** worthless they all wait for your face to turn to a frowning grimice of you drowning you floundering ****** you sociatial ****** you cautious cat crawling as dogs get the tasties of life while your wasting your time just complainging this echo echo chamber needs to be ******* obliterated. A star dust deconstruction and rebuilding of the most primitive functions.

Take me from my own head.
I made my bed.
Id lie in it. But. Its made of my own meat and guts.

Friends
.. I need your ******* help.

Just.
Be you. Perfect.

I trust you. Despite what these echos say bouncing in my brain.

Just.

This is too much.

Just.

I think im just werid..

Just.

Please dont run.

come on in to what is real and I will make a nice hot meal
you can turn the TV on, sit back and watch the game that's on
put your feet up on the chair and grab that blanket over there
I'll light a fire, stir the ***, don't get me wrong, it's what it's not

it's not that you are all that great but good enough, the hour is late
it's not that you are all that cold, but last I checked we're getting old
it's not that I am in the need of someone here to bathe and feed
a homeless, worse,  an invalid, a chatty friend or someone's kid

so come on in to what is real and I will make a nice hot meal and
you can turn the TV on, sit back watch the game that's on
put your feet up on the chair and grab that blanket over there
I'll light a fire, stir the ***, don't get me wrong, it's what it's  not

It's not that I invite your gassing, true we've seen our best years passing
Frankly I have much preferred one's tendencies like those deferred
and even though I'm not the type to get involved with TV hype
it's not that I'd could really care or even stare were you not there

so come on in to what is real, and I will make a nice hot meal and
you can put the TV on, sit back and watch game that's on
put your feet up on the chair and grab that blanket over there
I'll light a fire and stir the ***, don't get me wrong, it's what it's not

It's not that I am tired of being here alone, and never seeing
anyone of any kind, I might be lonely, but you'll find
that I am good at making due and if you think you have a clue
then any time you want the best of what it's not, please be my guest!

Gassing the esoteric
with toxins
and drugs
while attempting to keep grounded
but this thing in my soul
keeps puncturing nerves
and my brain may not be the same
since I saw you last
and these words seem empty
on an online forum
but I'm trying.

Let me try,

oil's running dry and yet you're gassing to me about mass immigration and the lack of community,
The desert's expanding, the ocean's contracting, we're backed into corners and you think we're all acting in some soap on TV and you gas to me about oil.
There's a change in the climate, is it warming or cooling and who's fooling who here?
More tax on the beer, an erosion on freedom and the right to a voice, they're taking away choice and you gas to me about mass immigration,
you give me a serious case of indigestion, my question to you is what are you going to do about it?
sit on your fat **** and whine?
tell me one more time about immigration, about the masses and  your speculation that the end is nigh and I'll tell you why you're a ****.

Look...
Its been some long days followed by some short nights,
These days are just some short rounds in a long fight,
There's been mad short comings - come complete with long suffering,
Some **** rips and a spliff got my brain buffering,
I refuse to stand in place - Imma forever have past due posture fees,
I guess all my earnings come at the end - like an apostrophe.
See I'm trying to turn all my "soon"s  into "finally's,
Despite Mfs speaking spitefully privately,
I'm trying to be an icon -
Loved and hated like Guy Fieri,
I'm a Ferrari, but I been gassing me with the wrong oil,
I wanted to blow, but the fire was too loo for my water to boil,
I wanted to grow, but I was kicking it in the wrong soil,
I was too busy confusing movement with motion,
I was stepping out of line, parading feelings as emotions,
I was cashing in, mistaking value with pricing,
I was crapping out, was venting with my vices,
I been salivating for my salvation,
I been gravitating towards gratitude, and delayed gratification,
I been avoiding altercations, and elevating towards elation,

Cause listen..

I been off my mission,
I been consistently inconsistent,
I been reminiscing,
Been making **** the opposite of simplistic,
I been in-opportunistic,
I been devastated and dilapidated,
I been a lil faded and I been feeling ill-fated,
I been a victim of ill-will and I'm feelin irritated,
I been reaching to be featured,
I been over dozing.
I been living for the moment.
Been under pressure and my fears be over-reaching,
**** be unprecedented, I be leaning towards impeachment.
It might not change **** but it sure does help to talk about it,
All them nights I sat up in my bed and thought bout it,
Ring around the Rhonda Rousey to all them bouts i fought bout it,
I'm Jerry Rice but lousy, to all the flack i caught bout it,
Frequent failure miles for all the flack I caught bout it,
They telling me I'm Black then why i feel Golden?
They telling me its cap - is that why i feel goated?
Hardly ever pressed - is that why i never folded?
Wake me from this nap- its time i smelled the Folgers.
I wanna be filled the same way that i be pourin'..
Rich spirit with the survival skills of a poor man,
I been getting grilled and knocked the **** out like George Foreman,
And It gotta be skills the way that i be poor man,
I'm in the business of building,
****** keep ******* up my floor plans,
Can't let **** pass me by or am i destined to be a doorman?
I'm at the right address but its safe to say I'm on the far  side,
I need to see the real , not just mirages and facades..

Last years' cherry tree is quivering bare.
Her leaves undressed, we stop and stare.
The cold is chewing at her bark, gnarling and twisting at her.
She mourns the skylark passing by.
Upon the wings of summer lost, those magical summer days.
The flowers of springtime they once lived beneath the safety of her roots.
Now, in a strange retraction they creep back in their bulbs and corms.
Hiding safely,  they're all secure from the  forthcoming storms.

The sullen eccentric female, wears her moth-eaten fur coat.
Just to beat the cold outside but, she's hiding inside.
Spying out the window.
In the corner at the back of the room, her resting husband met his doom.
She can't bear to let him go.
How long has he been there?
Nobody knows.
She goes about her business, chattering incessantly.
She's gassing about the weather, the price of fish.
In front of him his meal, remains untouched upon his dish.
It's getting dark, she feels the chill.
After parking a kiss on his icy lips.
Off to bed she creeps.
He's sitting there, still.
A blanket resting on his lap, to keep him nice and snug.
Cold coffee, complete with a film of congealed milk.
Cosy as a bug in a rug.
(C) Livvi

You told me you were an abandoned building
Left rotting in the sun
Elements creeping in
On your walls and foundation
Tearing down your roof and structure
I am not so
Come with me
I will show you myself

In the skeleton of my head
Ceramic figures sit
Silent, sentient
On cobweb shelves
Pictures of you hang on the walls
Nailed into a flesh colored wallpaper
*****, coffee stained carpeting
Leading from the attic of my mind
Down the back of my skull
Vertebrae circular staircases
Winding down and around
Through floors and floors
Of keratin wainscoting
Dusty shelves overcrowded with books and trinkets
Plastic dinosaurs and matchbox cars
A room full of doll houses
Plastic mommies and daddies
Driving four seater lithium battery powered doll cars
Cooking over two burner stoves with imitation heat
Playing pretend, I know this game best

Rooms with filing cabinets stacked up to the ceiling
When you pull out the drawers
Files and paperwork going back and back and back
Blue crayon bills of sale
Newspapers and emails color coded for different emotional reactions
Red folders with locks, chains, and warning signs
CAUTION FLAMABLE

Rooms empty of windows
***** of string for dust bunny cats
Baby teeth still tethered to the end
Strung between doorknobs and skeletons
The last flight of stairs
Leads straight down to a flooded basement
Salt water filling up cracks in the concrete
Bulkhead door latched shut
A femur stuck between the handles
You'd have to break a bone to escape

You follow your nose down passages
With markings saying 'connect here'
Finding comfort
In the smell of sage burning in between hip bones
Incense rising through chimney stacked ribs
Puffing out through a nasal passage

A few levels above
Curtains and blinds piled on top of each other
Trying to block out light
Pouring in through two blue tinted windows
Hollowed out, stained glass eyes

Mute little birds fly around in a tiny menagerie
Tiny parchment paper scrolls attached to their ankles
House arrest thoughts
Sometimes little rivers over flow
Down a façade of brick walls into little wells
To dry to hold wishes

In the right wing
Traveling down the arm
Little passage ways with doors
Swinging open and shut
Little electric trains blowing stops and whistles
Running around and around
Five little engines
Puffing out coal and smoke
Until they hole themselves up
In tunnels at night

In the left wing
Plates and dishes smashed on the floor
Ceramic shards rearrange themselves
Into mosaics and pictographs
Sliding around on metal tiles
Until they grind themselves into a fine powder
Slipping though the floor
Little skin cells flaking off the siding

Dry scratching noises echo through the tunnel
Back to the skull
At the very crown of the building
Rope makers work tirelessly every day
Stitching brown threads into the ceiling
Packing insulation tight in perfect rows
Until the rain comes in and washes them out
Trying to weatherproof roofing shingles
That act as if they are no thicker than coffee filters

Sometimes the power surges to quickly
Everything goes dark
Batteries overheat
Unable to remember which switch to flip
Which circuit breaker to fix
Which wires to cut, splice, and fuse the ends
Where to put the band-aids so they will stick
Until they get wet
A four battery chamber transformer
Inducting molecules, protons, electrons
Gassing up to restart
Not knowing which end goes to which side
How to get the cover back on
So I don't electrocute myself
Fry the circuits, start a fire

I end up
Sitting in the dark, alarm blaring
Emergency sprinkler system going off
Making puddles of tears
To drown out my fears
All wired up
Overloading and burning out
Turn the wind turbines on
Let them dry up the mess
Blowing fresh air through stale lung chambers

The ache in my stomach refuses to part with me
Empty shelves in the pantry
Don't cry over spilled milk
Tear up, when there is none to spill
Empty glass jars sitting in boiling water
All jammed up
Refusing to cook
Because one time
The gas was, accidentally
Left running, on the burner
Fear is a smell I would prefer die without tasting
A tasteless life no sweeter

I close the doors.
Oaken ribcage of my halls swing shut.
Hinges creaking under the strain
I remember why
I don't let anyone in
It's to cold in here for me
To quiet for them
Hating how I feel
When left lonely
Without a friend
If the dark is all I now how can I fear it
I am not near it
Becoming what I always knew I was
Not a single cut above, or below
Not a mark uncounted
I am the one who makes flowers grow
On the inside of the earth
Down below
Down I go
To dance after death

Library

You lacked grandeur, no city hall portal,
with the footprint of a chapter book face up
on the lawn, spine a rule for tomes of cars

shameless with chrome.  A nameless perfume
bathed us in the foyer, a lure to place our heads
in your open oven, greedy for another gassing.  

Landscape of sturdy oak plain and canyon
buttered in light from a flotilla of hovering
saucers, the wind swept butte topped with glare

ice where my finger skated titles and my dog-
eared card toward a woman with cats eye glasses
lashed lightly on thrilling swell by the thinnest whip

of lanyard, yellow Ticonderoga number
two at the ready in the perfect quiver
of her platinum French twist, pert pink bud

eraser bobbing up and down with every
delicate toggle of the fat rubber
date stamp, so mesmerizing to a dewy reader

brought to his toes, straining for a whiff
of subtext, your memory a mist rising from this book
cracked wide, lolling fragrant in my lap.