Original Title: the Haunting

I feel lost remembering looking at you in tears
heartache at the memory
Why do I torture myself by listening to the last song
that had you sobbing
and it broke my heart to see?
I can still picture the color of the walls dark orange
the hot humid night in Honduras
on the front patio of the orphanage

I remember the morning you were laying in bed
when you told me you had had enough
We had sold or given away everything
Returning home to the States with $1000 in my bank account
Thank God, for my stepdad..still had a place to stay

Tears stream down my face
Hard to see the notepad as I write

****.

I look up at the sky..first full moon night
Who, exactly up there decide I should be born human?
I thought you were supposed to be a Good God...
What curse did I deserve for you to let me feel this pain?

In the background:
Roette: "Yeah, it must have been love but it's over now.
It was all that I wanted, now I'm living without.
It must have been love but it's over now,
It's where the water flows, it's where the wind blows."

and yes the wind blows...well more like it *****!

Broken, did i break you?
Was I so cruel?
Never meant to hurt you but the road to hell is paved with good intentions

Was it my silence or..
the burning lust I could never quell
..which I wonder at times if it will not lead me to hell...
and worse to a hypocritical Christian..the judgement on those who know the truth
is much more severe than those who have not heard.

Martika sings in the background:
  "when you tear temptation call..
    it's your heart that takes the fall"

The irony of it is
it started as a dream for us
one to share for the rest of our lives
I cared about you...listened to you
You were there to hold me in my dark moments
wipe away the tears
We danced, we had fun...
Years later when you were telling me how much I had changed...
you reminded me that when we first met..I sang to you at the beach on a starry night
Trapped in the romance and I was so far gone
Funny how different we were then almost twenty years ago
You had such high hopes for me
I changed from telling you I would never darken the doorway of another church to a full-time missionary
--15 years later I realized who you needed was a man I could never be

The wolf tattoo I got after the divorce
was because I never wanted to be so nice
or vulnerable again

You were so beautiful in that wedding dress
the way your eye shone
at the moment we were happy and it all looked like a promise

It's hard lesson when heartache becomes real enough
that it is an burning ache in the center of your chest  

This is an open wound
It feels like the pen should be writing gangrenous vile dark grey/green ink
as it lets the poison out

**** it.
   Time for another **** and a sip of wine
   Enough of this romantic ****

J Geils Band...singing about how love stinks..
music to my ears

Does make me wonder why
I let this internal drama play out
or worse get the better of me

And the songs go on
Brett Michaels - Love *****
Lily Allen sings smile - along with a video of her paying some guys to beat up her boyfriend

Not entirely sure..and maybe it's because it's one of the first times I have done this
But listening to other peoples anger and misery damnably helps
--and it amuses me that she got the cheating *******'s *** kicked

Cheating is the one thing I never did
though my ex would argue the point and call **** my mistress

Strangely, I will always admire her for giving so much
and how truly she was committed
Though it stings when she said she did it for God and not me

I know how deeply I hurt her
Yet I don't know if she will ever undertand the sacrifices I made and just how hard I tried

Somehow at the moment
Getting ******* is more fun that whiny assed *******
...and there's something to be said for some good **** and two buck Chuck

Love for  a human (and yes there are times I wish I was an alien..god knows that is how I got treated all the way through high school)
Reminds me how you make a statue
Simply carve away all that is not the statue

So it is with us
   what we must learn about love is as much what it is not
   as it is what we think it is
or what we think it should be...

I so want to write something deep and profound to impress everyone
Which it is the best time the write the last line and to...
           STOP

We once wore tie dyes,
smoked herbage,
all styles, all kinds,
it blew our minds.

Swirls & waves,
Colombian & Mexican,
a little bit of Thai,
the stick.

We were walking
kaleidoscopes,
amateur-gurus,
electric experts,
explosive flames,
so vibrant,
so vivid,
energetic & dreamy.

And when coupled
with some Zeppelin,
the Stones or Geils,
we were
the
coolest humans on Earth.

Lisas and Cheryls in halter tops walk the
Halls of Stoughton High full
Throttle, coiffed fleece fiercely feathered,
Tonys and Tims trawling in tow, toting
Texts.

Tims and Tonys slip
Slyly away, skip shop, talk
****, **** a doob behind
Bob’s Baitshop’s garbage dunes, tunes of
Geils and Seeger and Stones, applaud
Lisas and Cheryls, laud deserving
Donnas and Dianes (but dude, don’t
Let on!)

See,
A solitary Tony takes to one shapely
Cheryl’s sultry swagger, staggers, blathers
His rathers, turning her hair’s fair feathers
A-flair, she helping his hand higher up her hip, her
Cup, her concupiscent luscious lower lemon-lacquered lip, he agog, a *****
Dog with a bone.  And a libidinous loner
Lisa prefers a particular turgid Tim, digs
His Doors tee tucked
In to tight tan cords, affords
Herself a longer linger as his fingers
Dangle, thick thumbs hooked in belt. Looked at,
Felt, ***** his hip, flips a nod, draws a
Sneer, paws her rear, she his
Haunch, he steady and
Staunch, Steady and
Staunch
Not gonna
Launch
Steady
gawdamnsunuvabitch!
Thaws the sneer
Right there.
High gears it outta here.

Every where you look their are signs
on the billboards to grandmas evening shawl
Dazzling encounter with a super Nerf ball,
on every occasion we meet in passing counter staffing
or to face the nightmare fall into between each other;
Sign to the left of me sings to the right

enormous display of a tremendous body display wrapped in the music display
each encounter safe in between,
such as the J. Geils band..,

there are posters salute the oven
crushed tomatoes in the cellar
with butter suffer in silence,
come across tax men why should we complain yet again
the mere notion of the past brings us to a near future whispers in the window stand out very credible roasted as if a turkey basin in the oven the water lies beneath a brook under a bridge their are frogs under the embankment among the marsh there's a sloppy mess twisted chords of ivory line the trussle i stand alone frightened but yet alive intact this is the dream I had among fallen elf drop soup bowls filled with the residue of cheddar in its taste as we listen close to the river we stand still &deliver Poindexter the black cat comes out in heat to neck reflections in the pale woman with a shawl bristled in her hair and in the lining of her teeth

just reading it makes me quizzical in a queasy sort
of way...
                it's about teenage girls and their
  internet interaction...
                         frenzies and tornadoes...
earthquakes and tsunamis make more sense -
         this constant beehive drone buzzing:
what's obsolete, what isn't...
                  7:45 - 10 minutes scrolling through
Snapchat and Instagram -
                            24:00 - the phone gets a breather -
it's funny how quickly we've aged -
             we were born before the internet
was synonymous with mobility -
                          i'm used to the internet being
stationary - in one place, the radio is there,
and i'm here: you can write a lot of history with
just enough of nostalgic condensation -
j. geils band - centrefold -
                                              it's there,
a back-catalogue that merges with relations to the
d.n.a. - primarily cultural -
                after a year or so you realise you've become
obsolete in the microscope of other people's lives:
their children -
                            but like that ******* matters...
what matters? the closest any philosopher came to
utilising grammar was Aristotle,
but he only nibbled at the idea of nouns: proper names,
that's what he called them...
           he never really tried to encompass any
sorting words of grammar, other than deliberating
nouns (or proper names) -
                                               then comes Kant:
how strange to get so much by adding a merger of
two n squiggly zigzags - misnomerism -
yes, an -ism,              i'm tired of using exact words,
sometimes you just place the wrong words in
the place of the place of what probably exist, but is
too obscure to be kept - like a wristwatch in the times
of digital watches on the phones -
              i dare you to write the hammer into
obscurity, i dare you to write the television into obscurity,
i dare you to write alcohol into obscurity...
         no, i doubly dare you...
               but never mind that...
the antidote to the phenomenon: Kant's noumenon -
one and a half of an n later - generation photograph
       not welcome -
                                    i need pedants! i need pedantic
       behaviours!
                                the aversion - which never never about
listing such a word as dissection worthy:
         it's not clearly a-               (without)
                   a     -version     (example),                like
you might clearly state: apathy: lacking the germination
of all forms of pathology -
                                                     or atheism -
  the etymology of this word (aversion) can be tricky -
averted is already more plausible in the grammatical
allocation as counter-etymological -
                     grammar is like a post office of words:
this goes here, that goes there...
                                                      bu­t only
Aristotle alluded to it, only briefly, concerned with only
nouns, dealing with a indefinite / improper
                   and the definite / proper             names / nouns...
odd, isn't it?
                                  i like the notion that i'll write
a book very few people will read... it just means
i'lll generate very smug readers, and hopefully writers,
which means i can carve out a variation on the notion
of privacy: the privacy debate will just write itself -
to make writing something akin to a fisher's netting -
automated filtering process -
                                                    pretty funny...
like today, on my usual walkabout the labyrinth of
English suburbia... cigarette in hand, can of beer in the other,
a car pulls up, two girls in it, one jumps out of the car,
and asks me to put on a baseball cap on my head
and says to me: can you put it on your head,
it's a prank for our friend... so i comply...
i put the baseball cap on my head, she takes a picture...
jumps back into the car, bids me goodnight and they drive off...
                                        the ****?
                 am i an oddity, an Essex hipster?
no, i get celebrity culture, but i was just walking with
a cigarette and a beer... i'll probably trend as some sort of joke
on the internet: east London hipster making it ****** in
Essex... bearded *** takes the crowd by storm...
          self-deprecating humour transcends comedy or tragedy...
   it's just there for the taking...
                  ever get a drive-by: put on this baseball cap
   so i can take a picture of you to send it to a friend as prank
done by two girls?               well, there's always a first time.