The ghost boys howled like loons. The ghost boys
had bodies that twisted away without warning, bodies
that forgot to root themselves down anywhere,
unless they were rooting their hands down onto skin
without warning. When I was younger I scraped my hand
onto my pronounced clavicle. My initial reaction was to bleed.

You loved the girls that lined the public bathrooms. They had
brown hair that reached down to their jawlines and they
filled the gaps and the gums of their teeth with orange juice,
to raise their blood sugar, after they vomited, after the cuts
appeared on their faces (doctors’ orders). Their cuts
curved outwards like fields of orchids. Back then, standing with them,
my stomach was sharp as a state I’d never been to.

I’d never been to Georgia, with its strong heat.

Your face in a dramatic bed is not without heat. I am not cold. I was born
in the state far north of here, the state with the birds (flycatchers, kingbirds,
vireos) and the gas station. The gas station never caught on fire, although
I had a dream of you in my bed: in it you were on fire,

the fire mixed with heartburn. Quickly you turned into my grandfather.
My grandfather liked to sit in his brown wool armchair
and smoke pipes and eat black currant pie and listen to Merle Haggard
on the record player, in the wooden house, next to the lake that in late
December rippled with waves. Grandfather died in December.

I still don’t know how to have dreams in black and white.
I don’t know how to lucid dream, either.

Your body, no matter what, mixes with shadow.

There is no glory in bloodshed
No honor is death and decay
But in a little town near Georgia
From away from this bloodied land

A girl by the name of Linda
Has my son in her arms
And a hand on her hip
And planting little vinca's

Is waiting for me.

There is no glory in bloodshed
No honor in death and decay
But my husband is waiting for me
In Petticoat, Maine.

And even though we fought before I left
He's expecting me home
A kiss
And for my head on his chest

There is no glory in bloodshed
No glory in death and decay
But I'd give my very life for you
For I Have grown to love living
In the US of A

It shook me.
Like the buzzing of an early morning alarm, I was awoken from my sleep.
Into reality, I was thrown, and into the mini-van, I was packed away.
I didn’t want to leave, but I left with my family
And, by the grace of God, a fourteen hour drive landed us safely in Georgia.
Georgia… Ah, Georgia.
It had been a while since my last visit, though every previous time was voluntary.
In Georgia, they cancel school over a little rain,
While the eye of the storm hovers its dreadful head over my home,
As if to see what it could devour.
But it didn’t.
It didn’t succeed.
It didn’t quench its thirst.
It couldn’t devour.
It barely left a mark on my home, but the mark on the community was much larger.
This was a wake-up call to that community to commune, to partake in its purpose.
It was a call to me to partake in mine.
My calling, like a dream from a deep sleep,
Was awoken… and
It shook me.

Silence,
There’s nothing around for miles, and miles,
The light breeze tangling her long golden brown hair
As she sits in the grass, hugging her knees to her chest; she’s waiting.
The cool breeze ripples her dress,
As the soft, low murmur of an old truck rumbles down the old dirt road off to her left,
She gently raises her head to acknowledge its passing,
And suddenly, she’s flooded with memories…
Fears and tears that are long gone.

Off in the distance she hears the bells,
Calling her back to her childhood hell,
Hidden out in the open,
So far from somewhere that no one can hear her calls, her screams,
As her daddy magnifies the scene…

His strength over powers her ten to one and the fights already begun,
She’s scared; she doesn’t know how to get out, or where to run.
But there’s nothing left out here for her,
Nothing but memories and fears…

She takes off, the wind whipping her face,
Her dress lost in tangles behind her.
She has to get out but how?
There’s nothing around for miles and miles…

She’s running,
Her bare-feet picking up speed, one foot in front of the other.
This is her escape, leaving the place she’s lived all her life…
The sound of her daddy’s shot gun fires in the distance,
Adrenaline joins with rage; she knows this is her last chance…
If he catches up, she’s dead.
She cuts through the tress, her childhood memories flying past her…
Tears fill her eyes, she crying, she doesn’t want to run anymore,
She can’t leave the only place she’s ever loved,
But she’s already started running, she can’t give up….

Her chest tightens, wincing in pain,
Her muscles can’t keep up with her mind…
She’s been running through these trees for hours, and

Silence,
Nothing but the sounds of her labored footsteps on the ground,
Alone in her memory, lost in her fear,
Tears sweep down her cheeks like summer rain on hot Georgia hills,
Leaving is wrong but it’s never felt so right,
She can’t stop running, not tonight….

The rumbling motorcycle pulled in
The Cowboy entered the luncheonette
And Doctor Boss was sitting there waiting
They licked their lips, shook hands and that was it
This is the Legend of The Cowboy and Doctor Boss
Two stones untouched by complacent moss
Together they made a deal
His satin suit and His Cuban heeled boots
This is how it began

Doctor Boss was a respected physician
Shaved, shampooed and conditioned
Wore a stethoscope, had tongue depressors in jars
The Doctor had a gold tooth and fancy cars
But he was crooked as the day was long
Had no regards for right and wrong
Just as long as he was making a buck
He had connections to the cartel down in Mexico
And they lined his pockets with rising dough

Back in 1955 he was peddling dope in med school
Made the junkies line up and the women drool
Until he was challenged to a switchblade duel
Got his right ring finger sliced off and throw into a pool
He turned around and killed that man
Slashed him in the face and punctured his gut
He packed his trunk and headed north and ran
Darted toward the Jersey Horizon
On the way he picked up gun and a phony medical license

You would think a ****** would weigh on a man’s conscience
But not the Doc his mind was on motel options
He got a room and went to a local hole in the wall
A smoky, run down biker bar
“Dewar’s and water” said a pretty little thing
Boss looked at her, downed his drink and suffered whiskey sting
“Hey there beautiful, what’s your name?” “Lillian” she said
“What’s yours?” “Well, Lillian that’s not important but I’ll tell you what is”
“I got a motel room all to myself and I need some company”

Paper thin walls and a moaning women
The mattress squeaks as the vacancy signs flashing
The next morning Lillian awoke
Just to see The Boss had hit the road
She got dressed and went on her way
The motel bill remained unpaid
She wished he would have stayed awhile
But he was miles away by then
And starting a new life
This was the origin of Doctor boss
Wayward bound and identity lost
How a boy became a man
From check ups to drug trafficking now
This is how it all began

Now The Cowboy thought life was a game
A wild child that wouldn’t be tamed
He lived his life against the grain
Behind his aviators was repressed pain
He never knew his dear old dad
And his mother, run over by a drunken cab
Broken home launching pad
The kid went mad and hopped on his bike
He began his quest to quench his thirst for an exciting life

He raced and robbed from Cali to Michigan
He broke every law from Dallas to Vermont and back again
Until the day when he wasn’t fast enough
They tackled him down and put him in cuffs
He was charged and sentenced to five years in Cook County
An extensive criminal record by the age of twenty
But as soon as he was behind bars he busted out before anyone knew
Off to continue his life of debauchery
Of freedom and existential ecstasy

He was an escaped convict with a bounty on his head
The warden of Cook County didn’t want him alive but dead
But The Cowboy went on his merry way, making deals and getting laid
Getting ******, kicking *** and taking names
He was just looking for a good time
He was searching for a new trail to ride
All he wanted to do was live
Do everything in the world there was to do
To him every day brought something new

On a faithful day, The Cowboy came to Hacketts
The city where Doctor Boss opened up his practice
The tired traveler went to go get drunk
Over in the corner of the bar he was slumped
The Doc strolled in and everyone paid their respects
But there was something The Cowboy didn’t get
“Why are they kissing the ring of this nine fingered quack?”
He pulled out a knife on The Doc and a bottle went smash!
Over the poor Cowboy’s head and he blacked out

“Now, son I know that’s not how you say hello”
“And you seem to be a nice young fellow”
“So how bout I cut you a break”
“And we’ll go over to my office and I’ll clean up these scrapes”
The Cowboy agreed and got to his feet
They walked to Boss’s office just down the street
And The Doc sewed up his head
“Say, boy where you from I never seen you around here”
“It doesn’t matter you three piece suite wearing queer”

Doctor Boss chucked then pushed The Cowboy down by the throat
Pulled out his gun ,“I can **** you now but I won’t”
“No, you’re gonna do me a favor you little ****”
The Cowboy couldn’t breathe but Boss wouldn’t quit
“I got a package that needs to go to Georgia”
“If you take it there , they’ll be four grand waiting here for ya”
Now how could The Cowboy resist such an adventure?
Not to mention the grip Doctor Boss had on his Adam’s apple
He let him go and began to cackle

“Now around here, I run things”
“I’m free to do as I please”
The Cowboy was amazed at this man, he was right
He owned a gun and  got involved in a bar fight
Could this man be in the mob?
“Boy, you can call me Doctor Boss”
“Well Doc, they call me The Cowboy”
“So tell me, where am I going?

Doc Boss loaded up The Cowboy’s bike
With Mexican white powdered dynamite
“Now that’s four kilos, you got there”
“You get the money and bring it back here”
“You got it Boss, I’ll be back by Tuesday night”
And off went The Cowboy out of sight
The Doc new he could trust him
He had that look in his eye the he did those years ago
The one when you yearn to search for the unknown

This was the origin of The Cowboy and Doctor Boss
They paid no attention to consequence or cost
They saw themselves in each other
Just trying to reach one height after another
Cowboy respected a man so free
And Boss saw his prodigy
Together they became filthy rich
They shook hands and that was it

Saturday is back

for you and Jack

So hurry and pack

Nothing to lack

Or forget something on a rack

Or in a sack

Eat Big Mac

Get some nicknack

Sleep in a shack

When it is black


Sam





Today is Saturday, Oct. 4,the 276th day of 2014 with 89 to follow.

The moon is waning. Morning stars are Jupiter, Mars and Uranus. Evening starsare Mercury, Neptune, Saturn and Venus.



In 1922, Rebecca Felton, a Georgia Democrat, became thefirst woman to serve in the U.S. Senate.





A thought for the day:



It's hard to beat a person who never gives up. -- Babe Ruth



QUOTES FOR THE DAY:



Avarice is the vice of declining years.

------------------------

Beauty is but the sensible image of the Infinite. Like truth and justice it liveswithin us; like virtue and the moral law it is a companion of the soul.

------------------------

By common consent gray hairs are a crown of glory; the only object of respectthat can never excite envy.



George Bancroft





Fortunately,psychoanalysis is not the only way to resolve inner conflicts. Life itselfremains a very effective therapist.



Karen Horney



"If you always do what interestsyou, at least one person is pleased."



Katharine Hepburn



"Keep love in yourheart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.The consciousness of loving and being loved brings a warmth and richness tolife that nothing else can bring."



Oscar Wilde



POETRY



Last Night



Michael Broder





Idreamt of making sense,
parts of speech caught up in sheets
and blankets, long strips of fabric
wrapped loosely around shoulders,
goblets, urns, cups with unmatched saucers.

You were there, and the past seemed important,
what was said, what was done,
feelings felt but maybe not expressed,
signs randomly connected
yet vital to what comes next,
to a coming season,
next year's trip to Nauset Beach.

I woke up wanting to read a poem by that name,
and I found one with a lifeguard's chair,
a broken shell, gulls watching egrets,
home an ocean away.


About this poem


"I wanted the poem to enact the dream it purports to recount. If dreamsare wish fulfillment, then this dreamer yearns for some kind of cognitivecoherence. The s ense the dreamer seeks turns out to be nonsense, and yetpoetry finds a way of making it s ensible after all."
-Michael Broder

About Michael Broder


Michael Broder is the author of "This Life Now" (A Midsummer Night'sPress, 2014). He is a freelance writer and lives in Brooklyn, N.Y.

*
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization,whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience.


(c) 2014 Michael Broder.
Distributed by King Features Syndicate





HEALTH and BEAUTY TIP



Applying Moisturizer

When applying moisturizer as part of your daily routine,make sure not to use it directly around your eyes -- this skin is more likelyto retain fluid, and moisturizer will make the under-eye area appear puffier.But do remember to use some on your neck and throat; skin can become dry there,too.



JOKES



Lawyer Joke



An American attorney had just finished a guest lecture at a lawschool in Italy when an Italian lawyer approached him and asked, "Is ittrue that a person can fall down on a sidewalk in your county and then sue thelandowners for lots of money?"

Told that it was true, the lawyer turned to his partner and started speakingrapidly in Italian. When they stopped, the American attorney asked if theywanted to go to America to practice law.

"No, no," one replied. "We want to go to America and fall downon sidewalks."



Pregnant



Seven months pregnant, my hand on my aching back, I stood inline at the post office for what seemed an eternity.

"Honey," said a woman behind me, "I had back pain during mypregnancy. I was bedridden for four months because my baby was sitting on anerve."

Then the man in front of me piped up....

"You'd better get used to it now. Once those kids get on your nerves, theycan stay there till they're 18."





Parole Board

The Bureau of prisons just announced the release of a serialbank robber who had looted over 30 banks before his capture.

The parole board says he is completely rehabilitated and has found employmentat his home in Prague.

Yes, that is correct...

They were able to right a bad czech.



Quick Funny or not so funny



I went to buy some camouflage trousers the other day but Icouldn't find any.



Bad Timing



A parish priest, Father O'Brien, was being honored at adinner on the 25th anniversary of his arrival in that parish.

A leading local politician, who was a member of the congregation, was chosen tomake the presentation and give a little speech at the dinner, but he wasdelayed in traffic.

Sooo.....Father O'Briend decides to say his own few words while they await thepolitician's arrival......

"You will understand," he said, "the seal of the confessional,can never be broken. What is confessed in there to me, is never repeated on theoutside. However, I got my first impressions of this parish from the firstconfession I ever heard here.

Realize, please, that I can only hint vaguely about this, but when I came here25 years ago, I thought I had been assigned to a terrible place.

The very first chap who entered my confessional told me how he had stolen atelevision set and, when stopped by the police, had almost murdered theofficer. Further, he told me he had embezzled money from his place of businessand had an affair with his boss's wife. I was appalled. But as the days went onI knew that my people at this congregation were not all like that, and I had,indeed come to, a fine parish full of understanding and loving people."

Just as the priest finished his talk, the politician arrived, apologized forhis tardiness and then started in on his speech.

"I want to thank you all for letting me say a few words this evening inhonor of Father O'Brien. 25 Years is a long time. In fact, when he arrivedhere, I had the honor of being the first confession he heard at thiscongregation."

Now that is bad timing.



Have a very niceSaturday!

With Georgia on my mind,
and coastlines tailored
upon the brim of my sun hat,
I take to the road in canvas shoes,
a crescendo of black man blues
and the song of kissing beer bottles
in my camping bag.

I know I have a soul.
I have a soul and
the promise everything is fine.
No more to the tune of modern frets,
instead the strings on which he sets
our raison d'être, our healing scope,
and parallel joys.

‘Neath London’s rain soaked skies,
shadowed reflections
combine footsteps over pavement,
and to the pigeon’s deep throated call,
under frequency of footfall,
I hear the passing of this empire,
so hurriedly built.

So with hitchhiker’s thumb,
I rise up like steam.
A lightness of living and the
true rejection of security;
my sins become my purity,
and time becomes naught but the measure
of what I have done.

summer is so hot and lonely
and sometimes i wonder
if the skin i am in
betrays me to the world.

i forget without forgiving,
i remember without wanting to
and yet
i want to remember
deep breaths,
georgia,
driving with the top down while
going eighty miles per hour
on a no-name/
dead end
road.

please.
remind me:
why can’t i just fly into the sun
and
feel the heat melt away my flesh
until i am no longer a body?
until i am just soul?
until i am freed?

the starlight/sunlight/pale light
keeping me alive has the power
to tear the life away from me.
do you believe it?

wherever god is,
i think she is crying,
but she’s laughing as well.
she’s laughing at pain, she’s
crying for love, and
somewhere there’s a sun shower.
children are playing and dancing in it,
and a mother tells her son
that “the devil is
beating his wife.”
a son tells his mother,
“this feels
too much like love
to be an act of violence”

and so it goes.

In- transit housekeeper with a-
beautiful name
Suspicious College Park subway-
people , waking replays
Telltale inhabitants , blustery November-
commuter stations , screaming trains
Lawyers carpool south , caretakers charge-
north in ***** rain
Kinetic Georgia peonage channeled-
through a "City too busy to Hate" ..

THE KNIGHT IN THE PANTHER’S SKIN

***** Rustaveli (c. 1160-1250), often called simply Rustaveli, was a Georgian poet who is generally considered to be the preeminent poet of the Georgian Golden Age. “The Knight in the Panther's Skin” or “The Man in the Panther’s Skin” is considered to be Georgia’s national epic poem and until the 20th century it was part of every Georgian bride’s dowry. It is believed that Rustaveli served Queen Tamar as a treasurer or finance minister and that he may have traveled widely and been involved in military campaigns. Little else is known about his life except through folk tradition and legend.

The Knight in the Panther's Skin
by ***** Rustaveli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

excerpts from the PROLOGUE

I sing of the lion whose image adorns the lances, shields and swords
of our Queen of Queens: Tamar, the ruby-throated and ebon-haired.
How dare I not sing Her Excellency’s manifold praises
when those who attend her must bring her the sweets she craves?

My tears flow profusely like blood as I extol our Queen Tamar,
whose praises I sing in these not ill-chosen words.
For ink I have employed jet-black lakes and for a pen, a flexible reed.
Whoever hears will have his heart pierced by the sharpest spears!

She bade me laud her in stately, sweet-sounding verses,
to praise her eyebrows, her hair, her lips and her teeth:
those rubies and crystals arrayed in bright, even ranks!
A leaden anvil can shatter even the strongest stone.

Kindle my mind and tongue! Fill me with skill and eloquence!
Aid my understanding for this composition!
Thus Tariel will be tenderly remembered,
one of three star-like heroes who always remained faithful.

Come, let us mourn Tariel with undrying tears
because we are men born under similar stars.
I, Rustaveli, whose heart has been pierced through by many sorrows,
have threaded this tale like a necklace of pearls.

Keywords/Tags: ***** Rustaveli, Georgia, Georgian, epic, knight, panther, skin, queen, Tamar, praise, praises, Tariel, Avtandil, Nestan-Darejan

---Fireflies and all manner of insect , frog and crepuscular creature on this night in heavenly chorus ,  bioluminescence and static dance against the humid , dark Georgia nights give the impression of the heavenly host descending upon Earth , working miracles , spreading gospel , joy and light upon mankind  , have no fear , for the Angels are among us !

"I'd sell my soul just to see your face
And I'd break my bones just to heal your pain
In these times, I need a saving grace
Time is running out and I'm starting to lose faith."

These lyrics by Florida Georgia Line stand out to me.
I would do anything for this girl I like.
I've been in love with her for a year.
But sometimes, I think she's mad at me
When most of the time, it's me overreacting
Everything is fine
I try to tell myself that
I bleed out my heart for her
This puts me at my lowest point to know she could potentially be mad at me
It kills every nerve inside of me
I feel like she isn't paying attention to me
And the worst part of liking someone
Is pretending to be okay when they don't pay attention to you
I post really good testimonies sometimes and most of the time, she likes them
But lately, I feel like it's been dead
And so has our relationship
But just the other day, she liked something of mine
So am I just an overreacter?
I want us to be together more than anything
Anything.
ANYTHING.
In the beginning, it seemed so right
Because we had a lot of things in common
We are both Christians
We worship Jesus
We both love country music
There is only one thing:
She is the same gender as me
And there's no way she would date a girl
Which is normal
I know a lot of people like that
That makes her human
I haven't hidden the fact that I'm gay to a lot of people
But there is one secret I have hidden
I'm about to let it out
Because I'm at my lowest point
And I'm extremely vulnerable
When I graduate high school
I want to get gender re-assignment surgery
Not for her
Well I guess you could say that's a tiny part of it
I've always liked girls since I was in like first grade
Had no idea there was a name for it
I have a fear though
My church is such a big part of my life and who I am
I'm scared to death that they won't want me to or let me serve if I change
It scares me to the point where I make myself sick
And yeah I feel like a hypocrite
Because I teach kids every single week
That they should be who God created them to be
And yet I can't even do that
But I love what I do at church
If I didn't care about it, I wouldn't, excuse my language, make such a **** effort to go
If I couldn't serve, I don't know what I'd do
I don't care if people judge me
This is my life
Let me live it
This girl knows about it
Actually, most of my friends know about it
Sometimes I think I made a mistake doing that
Because that is just another way for her to think I like her
I don't want that.
I try not to hang around her too much
Don't want to make it obvious
She has gotten me through a lot of stuff
Honestly.
I told her and she said she'd support me
Although, it was awkward
Like she doesn't agree with it
I get this feeling all the time that she knows about me liking her
And just the mere thought of her being with someone else sickens me
I can make myself feel like I just spun around in a chair fifty times by thinking about it.
It kills.
What am I supposed to do?!
It's not like I can ask her if she's mad because she's probably not and that just makes me seem like a worried idiot
That makes me seem like I really care what people think about me
When I don't
I am my own self
Not perfect
But who is?
God, send me a sign that things are okay.
Please.
Because I really need it
And when it gets like this, I think back to suicide
I don't know
Do I really want to go that far?
After I've come this far?
I am an overcomer
I want to defeat this
And when I'm a guy someday
I'm going to be the happiest I've ever been
With or without her in my arms
But I prefer that she would be



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Georgia you are so beautiful to me
Don't you know
When you smile the whole world smile with you
When you are sad I cry with you
Georgia I know that you just can't be happy all the time
Georgia you are never alone in this world
Because God is looking after you
God feeds you every day
And you won't ever starve
Georgia you will never be thirsty
Because God gives you water to drink every day
Georgia God gave you clothes to wear every day
And I know that you wear the clothes that God gave you
Georgia I know that you are always praying to God
And God is always answering your prayers
Georgia God loves you also
And Georgia I know that you love God also
Georgia are you grateful for the things you have?
Georgia you have health
Georgia you are rich in spirit only
But not in money
Georgia you need to go out and make friends
Because you can't live without friends
Also it is not good to live in Isolation
Georgia you need to love people
And also people will love you
Georgia you need to respect people
Georgia you will not past away today
Georgia you still have a life to live here on earth

You cornered me between the book case and the wall,
And whispered something like...
"Wordstastebestfollowedbyakiss."
I thought the same thing about cigarettes.
About Georgia, about falling.

.... And then I thought about the jammed arm on the record player.
And if the dog needed to go for a walk.
And how I really don't want to clean the bathroom at work.
Or any bathroom, ever, really.

Thought after thought came and left my mind...
And now I only think about going back.

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See, first, the letter. The world is passing Streptium
paint painting and Walker, obesity will become effective
on the face of the earth beneath the snake Hallucinated
Blackburn Mountain Snake: Preferred name: World
Health Bath Last dying character, Mark has some eye
injury of Guardia that is not completely empty. Jack,
the money machine, the broken license, starts the area
in the income group, planet *****, drunk, smell, killed.
The general high monster is hiding a high birth,
Marcus began to get wet with a gun until a stupid cat,
chubby, gypsy, a vehicle, young, stripper, white, fresh,
*******, people smoking. buried in the corner, in the
place where the sermon of the case is found, was sent
by the wife of another and washes, Decapante Hills,
where the thing is; when they came to the desert, in
the image, then I will cut myself off in the middle of
the burning, put it to meet the holy God, and delivered
the ghost the youngest to the hole where is the base
out of this world full of cold Pyihonissam that I
wanted, I'm a **** sign of change, lately it's on the
board with the bars, T, along with the home name of -a
is he who should be reduced from, not meat had been
the highest in Georgia, Mark, a very thin dish
of infected and had brought it to the table
and in book 1 you can love. The police removed
the ark from the flames in the city. Ladies, some guys
to talk about what is absolutely dance and cartoonists
while talking, children, mom eating prostitutes
who may be against our sister repeatedly choosing
a prize for rejected games.

My lifeblood is set adrift from the foreshore bottom land of Camp Creek .. To mingle with her fauna , patiently transfixed with the finality of life
giving sea ...Bound for the salted waters of coastal Georgia  , longing for the surety of the Atlantic's welcome embrace , for the solace of shrieking gulls , the camaraderie of sea oat and white sands , for the first rays of her morning Sun ...

(Georgia election Senryus)

Yeah, we're going
to give America the
democratic win.

'Cause that's how we roll.
We'll show you how to toss out
republican crooks.

We'll give the bird to
lying Donald Trump and his
criminal cohorts.

Long live America,
long live The Constitution,
long live blue Georgia.

Why?
It's a painful memory that appears to be settling in for life rather than preparing to leave,
It's been heard by countless millions, and none of them can understand how it sounds to me,
I haven’t been as happy since hearing it as I was when I heard it,
It's symbolic of the most significant turning point in my life to date,
The lyrics are so perfectly foreshadowing of a problem that I couldn't fathom that I’d have,
It has a stronger connection to memory than any other song,
It represents the perpetual unhappiness that I refuse to believe controls me.
I'm unhappy.

Where?
A car that I haven’t seen in years,
On a street I barely saw enough of,
In a town I wish I could visit again.
A happier place that I can see but can never return to,
Personified by a face that's disappeared from here.
Somewhere I miss, yet somewhere I hate;
Somewhere that needed the version of me that died in that very place;
A cemetery.

When?
Happier times;
A collection of moments which are infinite from within,
Yet minute from without.
A time when I could define myself,
Through the vice of another person;
Albeit vicariously, it was the last time
I was able to define myself.
I was everything; I was the world.
And then the world ended.
Happier times that I can't and won't return to.

What?
A song;
A memory;
A beautiful beat,
In a story that nobody's telling.
A soundtrack to a movie nobody wants to see,
A composition that will fall on deaf ears;
Yet still be heard by the world at large, call it irony.
Something nobody can take away from me;
Despite how tenaciously I've tried to get rid of it.
A succession of noises that would be meaningless to me,
Were it not for the memory.
The memory.

Who?
She, I, and the drivers of some road in Georgia;
Drivers that didn't notice then and don't notice now.
She, driving, demonstrating, performing;
Has driven on, failing to notice.
Me, her, and the songwriter, I suppose;
Me, a person I don't know,
Replaced by a person I can't.
The songwriter, collecting her checks and trophies,
Probably not a **** to give about the troubles
Of some ******* who heard her song.
Us, a concept foreign to me;
Unbeknownst then, well studied now;
Still as foreign as that state,
That city,
That road,
That car,
That place that I can revisit,
But never go back;
Her.

The Song?
Because I'm unhappy;
In a cemetery,
During happier times that I can't and won't return to;
A memory
With her.
I need more words.

Words
Nevermind, I'll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you.
Don't forget me, I beg.
I remember you said:
Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead.

But that's not right.
I won't find someone like you;
There was no you.
I wish anything but the best for you;
You selfish child.
Please forget me;
I'm nothing worth remembering.
I've forgotten everything you said.
It rarely, if ever, lasts in love.
It always hurts.
Laughable,
The things I tell myself to bandage
A wound that doesn't appear.
The clichés I give meaning to are

******* pitiful.
Just about two years and counting.
Two psychiatrists,
Two half-assed ******* suicide attempts,
Dozens of classes,
Legions of friends,
A handful of people so much like you that they'd failed to notice there is no you,
And you're still talking about this
Pile of ****.
Who's talking about it?
Me? You?
Nobody.
It's white noise;
Habituation at play.
A memory not worth remembering.
Three years of piano lessons,
The lines of my scripts,
The best films throughout history,
Even the Eagles game from last week is

Worth remembering
This,
This moment in time occupied by just another pop song,
Time spent with a person no longer there,
Family member after family member, anecdote after anecdote,
Things not to say or do in front of her hulking ******* of a brother,
Approval of people I wound up discarding.
What now?

I need more words.

Where were we?
Fresh year, fresh start, and the Eagles were still a winning team○;
A dorm, a drunken haze, a bed, a city unparalleled;
Untested grounds for a young idiot
Like me. She certainly did
And wasn't afraid to show it.
Independence, experience, maturity,
And a stunning mutual lack thereof.
Problems, buried like the worst ******* time capsule ever.
Happiness (unsustainable)
Love (attachment)
Future ()
A candle burning down to its last wax can’t relight,
And a pile of wax won't help me see in the dark.

But who needs candles anyway?
I'm better off without candles,
Playing with fire can get me burnt.
And besides, lightbulbs are brighter and more efficient.
I’ll install lightbulbs all over the apartment,
Once I can figure out how to turn the power back on.
Oh, there aren't power lines running to this apartment.
(sure wish I had a candle right about now)
Maybe the light from this cigarette will help.
And I could sure use a cigarette right now
Because they’re playing that song again.
Surely I can find some better music than this.
This station seems nice, let's see what she can offer.
They're playing that song again.
Over and over again.
Is it just me, or are they always playing that song?
It's always that song, no matter what.
It's all I ever hear.
Pop radio sure is terrible these days, right?
Sure is.
Can't walk down the street to class without hearing

That ******* ******* song.*

(
Nobody else is hearing it.
I'm the one singing it.
My life's a ******* joke, isn't it?
)

○The Philadelphia Eagles were 10-6 in 2010, 8-8 in 2011, and 4-12 last year. And during the ‘still friends’ period, we watched the division rival Giants win the Super Bowl together. I ******* hated it.

I go to Greece and go to the Amity south. The European Commission, especially the daughter of Venus, the Armenian women's court and the Armenian women. Eric, born in Kenya and the United States was born
in a red and red horse. Search Engine Engineer: In the city of Arctale,
USA, a missile shield will be used, which will use two dual US soldiers
and American logos each time. United States, Kenya, Near East, Justin
Yu Galilee 4, 200, Cancer Study. Georgia, the United States, Green Nine, Douglas Canton, the United States, Great Britain, Australia, Ireland, and four southern countries. Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canadian Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Venice, Venice, Canada Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada,
Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Red and Red Horses.
The names of the competitions concentrate on the central research
center, soldiers and US $ 200 million explosions.
I will go to Greece and head for Amit in the south.
The palace of Europe, especially the son of Venus,
the tower of Islam is the love of Armenian women
and Armenian women in Spain. Born in Kenya
and the United States, Eric was born in red and red horses.
Search engineer research system: legal UUU for US
warrior and generalized rocket rally in Armenia
when using two languages ​​in USGP Luxembourg.
USA, Kenya, the Middle East, Justin UU Galileo 4, 200,
cancer research. George in the United States, Green Noah,
Douglas Canary, United Nations, the UK, the UK,
Australia, Ireland, the four countries in the south.
Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada Canada Canada
Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada Canada
Children of Venus, Armenian Women and Armenian
Spain. Born in Kenya and the US including DSL,
Eric was born in red and raised with red horses.
The name of the competition is the Central Research
Center, soldiers and the US GPU have 200 billion frets.

I will apply your benevolent nature to my own grandchildren the remainder of my days
Instill your wonderful insight on Early Girl tomatoes ,
Sassafras Sun tea , love of family , Fig and Apple
trees
How a smile can say so much , a perfect word with -
a timely , gentle touch
The first week of July in the Blackberry thickets ,
bumper crops of sweet Georgia peaches , homemade -
ice cream and Watermelon evenings
Weekends filled with wonder and love of the natural world
Homemade kites , fried Sweet potato pies , picnic lunches
at Jackson Lake
For country music Saturdays , 'Tall Tales' , hometown Honey and Cathead biscuits

Ma tu continua e perditi, mia vita,
per le rosse città dei cani afosi
convessi sopra i fiumi arsi dal vento.
Le danzatrici scuotono l'oriente
appassionato, effondono i metalli
del sole le veementi baiadere.
Un passero profondo si dispiuma
sul golfo ov'io sognai la Georgia:
dal mare (una viola trafelata
nella memoria bianca di vestigia)
un vento desolato s'appoggiava
ai tuoi vetri con una piuma grigia
e se volevi accoglierlo una bruna
solitudine offesa la tua mano
premeva nei suoi limbi odorosi
d'inattuate rose di lontano.

1866 Big Nose Kate ran away from foster home age 16 stowed away on Mississippi riverboat bound for St. Louis then headed west to Dodge City she rolled the dice with many men played her cards close to her chest poker faced until she met Doc Holliday for him she laid open her hand he a year younger Big Nose Kate was Hungarian long fingers toes lust for life food *** a fiery inquisitive engaging soul who enthralled Doc Holliday with intellectually equal wit affection loyalty hairs that grew from tiny mole on her arm she didn’t believe in politics or the law solely in Doc Holliday his quick temper failing health lightning quick draw of his gun did not worry her she offered up the world to him Big Nose Kate was a beauty large green gray eyes small ******* furry brown mound perversely devoted to Doc Holliday she followed through thick and thin his ash blond hair unassuming Georgia cadence classical education convulsive cough her lips could not resist even when he had nothing left she wanted no other man Big Nose Kate drank Irish whiskey neat ate steak and potatoes stood 5’8” lean as a rail stubbornly stuck by Doc’s side even when he got hot-headed muttering harsh drunken curses



BIG NOSE KATE you seem all twisted up inside want me to give you some relief right now (her hand reaches between his thighs)

DOC HOLLIDAY i got too much on my mind woman blackjack in Prescott didn’t exactly pan out that was bad enough what the hell are we doing here in Tucson San Augustin Feasto and Fair my *** (coughs) i ran into Morgan Earp in the hotel lobby

BIG NOSE KATE Morgan Earp huh what does he want trouble is my guess dang you promised we were heading north to Colorado

DOC HOLLIDAY promises (coughs) promises there’s problems ahead i got business with Wyatt and his brothers in Tombstone need to ride down tomorrow (taps walking stick to floor) i fear for your safety Kate it’s best you remain behind

BIG NOSE KATE i’m staying right here with you ain’t leaving your side wherever you go

DOC HOLLIDAY ok fine (coughs) we’ll get a room you lock the door and stay clear of the windows until this mess is done



lying in a bed looking out open window late October breeze full moon in starry night sky Prescott 1940 Big Nose Kate feels heaviness in her heart stirring in her stomach remembers a day 59 years ago in a room at Fly’s Boarding House a man sitting at corner edge of bed with his hands covering wet eyes in a choked raspy voice whispering that was awful just awful she gently placed her hands on his shoulders this man she so completely loved then reassuring spoke it’ll be alright we still got each other

Echos from the distant past
Hide out in dusty stations
Waiting for the Midnight train to Georgia.

Feet ******* with burning cramps
Stumble through the buttercups
That always used to turn chins yellow.

But my-oh-my there’s cherry pie
Baking in the oven
That used to cook on Douglas Street.

Good grief never did exist,
I’m sorry Charlie Brown-
You need to find a new phrase.

The Ferris wheel goes up and down
Without a sound except for all
The children screaming as they fall.

Why did my Daddy **** his hand off of my leg
When Mom walked past the bedroom door.
Why can’t I manage to forget

That I have nothing to remember.
            ljm

On July the 4th in 1976, the bicentennial of our great nation.  I awoke at 3am in Lakeside, Ohio to start a journey to Plant City, Florida. I was to pick up a leased car in Kent, Ohio and take it to Greenwich, Connecticut. Where I joined several others to make the trek to the Sunshine State.  When I crossed the George Washington Bridge over the Hudson River in New York City, off to my right I saw the tall ships heading out to the harbor for the day's celebrations. The radio played every version of God Bless America in their archive. I sang every one of them. We traveled all day and into the night where we saw fireworks in at least 4 states. We reached our destination in Plant City very early in the morning on the 5th of July. But
I Larry Dean Goodwin on July 4th, 1976 in a brand new American made Red Chevrolet Monti Carlo sedan traveled through Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, Washington D.C., North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida.
God Bless America, God Bless Us All.

and to the holy faces that surround me always (the artists)

To these rooms-
always in double-standard disarray
and bearing witness to my beginning of life crisis
with borders of brilliant rectangular windows, never left open,
captured closed by the boy with the stolen necklaces
(it’s a shame, but I’ve never known how to ask for light on my face or for help)

To the memory of Ginsberg until 4 in the morning,
poetry and Moloch eating our five warm and open minds

To the nail hole badges our walls wear in honor of creation, the abandonment and the constant new order of
art and art and clean art and bad art
and genius; my words are their brain children

To the conversely barren walls (they make me nauseous),
the daily scrubbings of the kitchen counters,
fears manifested in ***** bathrooms
and the oppressive blue and ‘Turbulent Indigo’
of the speakers in my bedroom
where I lay my head in contemplation of the boy I share a bed with,
watching him- reading the freckles on his back into novels,
thick with tear stains, I put my eyes right up to the pages
because who doesn’t love the smell of an old book?
(and so everything is grey and illegible now)

To the all-over ceramics:
ashtrays pregnant with vice and the relief of night,
that Jordan molded with her own two hands
and the endless owls in all our cupboards
that Caleb made before he crawled back,
tail between his legs,
to the porches and whiskey of South Georgia

This is for all I have come to know in the mad house:
that our love is as inconsistent as the arrangements of blankets in the living room,
that we should all be leery of the color blue
and computers and computers and, for that matter,
technology as a whole-
especially when we are together

I have come to know what it is to live in a commune of pitiful couches leaking ***** of sad cotton,  
of concoctions of vegetables (never pure enough)
and dishes in the kitchen sink and white carpets thick with cat hair,
which is why we sing those words, absentmindedly,
when we fold clothes or put on our pajamas.
(The air in this house is stuffy with all that we don’t know how phrase just right)

And yet, the sun licks the morning off of Dallas
and all that carved a hole in my middle yesterday becomes irrelevant and untrue
as I toast the day in honor of these people and this shelter-
the glory of a canvass, a picture frame, a blanket from Colorado,  and screws in dry wall

So, I write
because of the homemade pillows, because of marijuana, because all life is an attachment and I am glad to be attached to all of you
I write out of gratefulness, out of understanding
I write because I’m with you
(with all of you)
in Rockland.

teaching a wild creature to feed from your hand is a feat maybe maybe not Mom taught me from a young age then never let go in June 2013 the estate will cease all the coats hats shoes scarves skirts dresses blouses belts purses from Ultimo Saks Neimans wherever steaks from Gene and Georgetti’s Gibsons whatever will be consumed and she will be forced by the bank to resign her condo on lake shore drive and go live with her sister and i will be left with nothing

nothing feels better than fighting back gathering the strength courage to do that to fight until there is no daylight

the world is a mysterious place it is Sunday December 26th 2010 6AM pitch dark outside in several months daybreak will come earlier a remarkable surprise yet always been this way in several minutes firmament turns light i open eyes stretch legs look out window pink blue gray blue morning skies tree tops mountains watch flock of birds maybe 30 or 40 flying back and forth east west why do they do that how would you like to be one of those birds flapping around searching from above at the earth hmmm what if everyone had a ***** and ****** feathered wings fin distinctive tail floppy or pointed ears what if you could share breakfast or lunch with Kim Gordon Patti Smith work on poem with e. e. cummings James Joyce William Faulkner paint with Mark Rothko Anselm Kiefer play football with Payton Manning Drew Breeze jam with Jimi Hendrix Keith Richards race with Secretariat sniff with Lassie mix with Max Ernst Georgia O'Keefe Donald Judd meet with Gandhi and J.F.K. make love with Charlotte Gainsbourg Kate Moss dinner with John Lennon Friedrich Nietzsche dance with Albert Einstein Isadora Duncan share a smoke with Sam Clemens (Mark Twain) Sam Shepard last drink with Sylvia Plath Virginia Woolf then go to sleep next to Sphinx Pyramids wake with Cleopatra Mata Hari on Bali beach look up at tiny puffy clouds that resemble strange script do you understand the possibilities mysteries of everything

old is lecherous but i’m still trapped in childhood hurting wanting to be grown-up

i think i said i don’t know how to talk i was speaking to this **** greedy landlord trying to negotiate between 2 different spaces long distance and i meant to say i can’t talk right now i’m in a restaurant or shop but instead what came out was i don’t know how to talk he was insulting me bullying hollering at me on cell phone accusing me of dickering about price lease and it slipped out my terror from Dad my childhood fears repression inability to negotiate i froze fumbled finally uttering i don’t know how to talk then disconnected

i’m running scared gasping for breath heart pounding yearning praying crying for love beauty happiness success i’m smart creative powerful yet inept too shy or fearful to know how to properly spontaneously speak in person

what if consumerism is realized as a mental disorder a method to suppress genuine hunger with fetish products

what if money is identified as disease actual legal tender found to source fatal viruses

what if humanity is discovered to belong to an alien predatory race independent from Adam and Eve or monkeys

what if all knowledge is found to be deceptive invention concealing real world truth

what if existence is a chess game or trial enacted by higher forces and your every thought feeling recorded in eternity

what if progress is the enemy and primitivism the remedy

my whole life i’ve learned about infidelity my mom sister dad uncle i don’t understand i’ve never been unfaithful to a girlfriend (one is enough one is more than i can handle) why do people speak those vows then get married only to violate themselves their mates maybe that’s why i am afraid to ever get married infidelity is the most painful betrayal to find out your partner with all your shared secrets compromises them with someone else oh god

April 19th 1995 a bomb explodes in Federal building in Oklahoma City killing 168 people injuring 759 what are Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols thinking did they act alone there are so many lunatics running around out there so much misunderstanding disenfranchisement in America

Arlington Street Asheville North Carolina June 1995 Odysseus and his dog Farina keep mostly to themselves something is wrong with his voice he sounds hoarse when he speaks it is uncomfortable to talk he goes to free clinic and waits half a day elderly doctor attempts to stick long metal instrument down Odysseus’s throat Odysseus gags coughs elderly doctor becomes irritable he warns Odysseus to quit smoking Odysseus wonders what it would be like to be loved possibly married in loving positive relationship to know all the endearing enduring connections between caring couples other people manage it why can’t he? he thinks i’ve never been a good provider nor placed enough value in money i believe in freedom and love i chose to make art and pursue a life of self-discovery experiment dang i am wrong from the moment one’s work hangs in a gallery the artist’s integrity is compromised individuality becomes commodity typically people who buy paintings have so much money they scatter a trifle on art the artwork provides the consumer with a look of ‘soul’ to be shown off to their envious friends the artist becomes needy pet of dealer and client maybe converting one’s spirituality into commercial merchandise is like making deals with the devil he thinks about Native American artists whose work is immediately esteemed and utilized in their culture he has spent his whole life seeking validation in art world he wonders how many other unknown artists feel similarly useless discarded he considers i’m forty-five years old now and i don’t have a penny to show for all my troubles i still believe i have much to give insights to reveal but no practical plan for survival i don’t know how i’m going to get through this existence the world wants young promising talent not some older painter striving for another chance women want nothing to do with an impoverished aging dreamer my dog loves me she knows who feeds her i’ve got academic degrees a long resume of legitimate shows i know how to use a computer solve problems fix toilets sinks strip and paint serve food and liquor but i can’t land a decent job i never learned how to properly market or barter my work and i’m not interested in the position of sacrificial lamb i want a home and female partner like other men have i want to be needed respected loved a creative member of a community instead of an expendable outsider working menial jobs for minimum wage what good are paintings if no one looks at them what good are noble values in a corrupt society the world runs on money and greed not freedom and love