Glamorous night. Dark knight
Knocking on my door. On the floor
I step. Sleepy. Looking for a candle
To light. Still: it’s a glamorous night,
Though it’s a time of the fight...
Another knock on the oaken door.
I shout: “Hey there! Can’t wait anymore?”
Having found a light, I greet the stranger.
Am I in danger? “Enter, good knight!”
-What a glamorous night!
-How can I help you in this hour of late?
-I’ll free Castilla and Le;n.
With destiny this is my date!
...These words! I recognise him:
It’s El Cid.
A man of arms - still man of wit.
-My good Sayid, you’d better
Have some sleep.
-You’re in the right, good master.
It’s very nice to have a friend like you
In times of such disaster...
Morning light - straight in my face.
‘Twas a glamorous night! Warm embrace
Given by my wife... Wait!
I’m married not! I do not know
This lady. She’s not completely
Of my sort!.. This man - Rodrigo Diaz?
I finally wake up - it’s midnight.
Snow now is falling down.
It rarely snows in Spain,
As you might know.
’Twas just a dream...

6.2.2002

Admirable, Blissful, Bewildered, Curious, Capable, Compassionate, Determined, Daring, Delighted, Dazzling, Eagar, Edgy, Enlightening Enthusiastic, Elegant, Fabulous, Fantastic, Forgiving, Fictitious, Fancy, Feminist, Glamourous, Gorgeous, Glowing, Guarded, Greatful, Generous, Gloomy, Happy, Honest, Hopeful, Humourous, Humble, Humane, Heartiest, Heavenly, Imaginative, Interesting, Inspiring, Intellegent, Incredible, Impressive, Important, Indecisive, Invisible, Jinxed, Joyous, Judicious, Justified, Jobless, Jiggish, Jimp, Jittery, Jazzy, Jaunty, Kindhearted, Keen, Knowledgable, Kiddish, Knavish, Knockout, Kempt, Kween, Kin, Kittens, Kinder, Lazy, Luxurious, Lively, Loyal, Limit, Laminated, Lawless, Lightning, Lushious, Luminous, Lovesick, Logical, Modest, Marvelous, Motivated, Music, Momentous, Mindful, Magical, Memories, Merciful, Mellow, Mesmerizing, Malicious, Mannered, Noble, Nervous, Night, Naive, Noted, Natural, Nifty, Nurturing, Never-ending, Noteworthy, Neglected, Narnia, Native, Number 1, ***, Openhearted, O Canada, Obviously, Obidient, Obsessions, Open-minded, Oriented, O.K., Observing, OUT-OF-THIS-WORLD, Omnicient, Outshining, Obliged, Obsticles, Passionate, Personally, Poetry, Picture-Perfect, Positivity, Pulse, Painful, Physic, Power, Protagnist, People-Person, Pros, and Cons, Purity, Purpose, Pleasant, Pieces, Quiet, Quality, Quick, Quoted, Queen, Quirky, Quintessentially, Quest, Quick-Minded, Questionable, Quarter, Quiver, Quiddity, Quiescent, Qui vive, Quip, Quantity, Ravishing, Rapport, Reliving, Reassuring, Rebal, Rainbows, Reckless, Relaxing, Respect, Remedy, Regrets, Right, Relatable, Reliable, Rad, Ready, Responsible, Rainy days, Sagacious, Salutary, Sassy, Secure, Self-assured, Self-reliant, Self-confident, Self-disciplined, Selfless, Sensational, Sensitive, Stars, Shawn Mendes, Sénorita, Sentimental, Set, Serene, Seamless, Significant, Sightly, Trustworthy, Talented, Tender-hearted, Thriving, Thankful, Titanic, Touché, Touchy, Transparent, True, True-blue, Traveller, Transpicuous, Titillating, Timeless,Tidy, Teasing, Tender, Terrific, Thorough, Thrilling, Unarguable, Ultimate, Undefining, Under-the-weather, Unalloyed, Unassuming, Uncommon, Understandable, Undivided, Unique, Unlimited, Unstoppable, Uplifting, Upbeat, Uber, Unconvensional, Uhuh, Unbelieveable, Under control, Unquestionable, Utter amazment, Valiant, Valuable, Valid, Veridical, Valiant, Vibrant, Vigorous, Vigilant, Victorious, Visions, Vivid, Voluptuous, Vulnerary, Vulnerable, Venust, Veracious, Vestal, Violen, Vroom Vroom, Victory, Vows, Wake me up, Wise, Welsome, Well-behaved, Welcoming, Well-grounded, Woke, Whimsical, Whistler, Wholesome, Wired, Witty, Wondrous, Whilst, Winter, Wonderful, Wide-Awake, Walk it like I take it, ****-bang, Wishful, Wellness, Worth it, World-Class, Xo, Yolo, Zero

I'm a little, little teapot, full of secrets.
I'm a girl, all wet eyed and this morning's
careful ministrations are now my
vengeful war paint - dark eyes
like I haven't slept in days.

Slept till noon in a blue T shirt - it's
so much harder to wake up to an empty bed
even with all my sheets exactly where they belong
Me-*******-ticulous, perfect, all mine, stellar.

I'm a normal girl, a girl, a girl,
a twenty-something brunette who
just doesn't know how to turn off
her ****-off attitude. I'm all flesh
and bone and I just spent 30 minutes
ODing on my own adrenaline,
martyring myself secretly like some
glorified, glamourous ******
trying to stick it to the world that
hasn't done me any favors!
But I don't really believe that.

These days I'm dancing like I fight:
all tight fists and closed, wet eyes.
I'm rage and *** and I'm ****** as ****
and you don't know anything about me.

I'm a girl, a ****** *****, a
twenty-something brunette with
no excuses. I'm sad and I'm angry
and I'm so sick of having absolutely
no reasons why.

glamourous indie rock n' roll
orbited our tiny kitchen as i kissed
the nape of her neck.

lauren sliced the avocados.
i prepped the pasta.
our neat little domestic life.

her eyes would ignite mine,
as she spoke of reinventing
the world with her love.

every word rang with perfect truth,
for she had dissolved my callused heart,
and focused my idiot head.

and that night i lied in blankets of her
mercy.
as she licked the wicked wounds
of complacent cruelty.

i've never missed her more.

Finger in holes
they don't belong
mouths sharing space
crevices unexplored.
Glamorous,
but what does it all mean?

There’s an Indian restaurant down the road,
And the owners have a beautiful daughter,
But she’s the apple of her daddy’s eye,
So I really don’t think I oughta.

There was a Chinese takeaway next door,
That did the best fried-rice,
But the authorities came and shut ‘em down,
For infestation of rats and lice.

There’s a newsagents further along,
But it doesn’t do much to dazzle,
Unless you want overpriced cigarettes,
And back issues of Razzle.

The Arab café across the road,
Does the best cappuccinos around,
The sound of Algerian pensioners laughing
Is such a beautiful sound.

There’s a Working Men’s around the corner,
Where the Guinness is dirt cheap,
And in it I’ve had drunken nights,
And memories I’d fight to keep.

There’s a chicken shop on the way back home,
Which I must say is pretty useful,
When I’m staggering home, ****** as a ****,
The chicken burgers taste ******* beautiful.

There’s also a chippy down the way,
That does an excellent saveloy,
It got burnt down, and I can’t help but suspect,
It was a sneaky insurance ploy.

There’s an Irish pub next door to that,
Full of drunken, singing Micks,
The Dubliners on the jukebox,
It’s where I get my fix.

But I’m always drawn to the Indian restaurant,
Where the owners have a beautiful daughter,
She’s witty, glamourous, the same age as me,
And I really think that I oughta.

I walk into my office/abode, closing the door behind me. It's 9:00 PM. Well, 9:03 PM. I sit down at my desk and open my laptop, placing a tall glass of diet cola on the mouse pad next to the computer as a make-shift coaster. Three ice cubes float in the bubbling blackness. I've found two ice cubes won't make your beverage cold quickly enough, while four ice cubes will overpower it — water it down. You can't have that. It's got to be three ice cubes.

I open up my word processor to a new document. I've got to write something — this blank rectangular expanse has haunted me for long enough. I type some gibberish, then delete it. What do I want to write? I remember reading somewhere you're supposed to write what you like.

I minimize the page and open the Internet. No new emails. I could watch **** for a bit. I've always preferred the "amateur" videos because the people in them resemble actual people. You know, the guy's a little overweight, and the girl's got excessive arm hair, or a weird mole. He mounts her from behind, sweating profusely. Their bodies jiggle for ten or fifteen minutes. There's no eye contact, but you can tell they're in love. The TV's on. The guy looks up at it sporadically. Maybe makes a face at the cell phone he's filming his ******* on. The picture quality is low, and the audio is pretty tinny, but you can usually make it out all right. I saw this one video of a guy and a girl getting it on and some other dude was there filming it. You could tell it was an amateur video because she was kind of weird-looking. But, like, did he ask his buddy to come back to the motel with this chick he picked up and film them *******?

No, I can't get behind all that glossy, glamourous, professional ****. There's too much Botox and plastic surgery. They look too good. And it's all fake, too. These people have *** for a living. Watching them go at it, it just feels empty. They're not really into it. And I don't know if seeing guys with twelve-packs and ten inch ***** invokes a certain inferiority complex in me or what it is, but I know I just don't care for it.

Okay. Back to the writing. Now, what do I like to write? I like action movies, so... how about... a serial killer. No, a contract killer. So it's a serial, contract killer who... but there has to be some sort of conflict. Okay, a serial contract killer who falls in love with... but there needs to be something that makes it unique. Something unique that sets it apart. So how about he... or she?... she falls in love with...

I wonder if I have any new messages on Plenty of Fish. Maybe that cute brown-haired Asian-looking girl responded to me. What does "D2F" mean?

No, she hasn't. Well, when did I send the message? Yesterday night? Let's see when she was last online...

Today, at 4:13 PM.

Ah.

Well, maybe she just didn't notice it.

Yeah. That's it.

Maybe the target falls in love with the killer. Maybe they meet early on and they hit it off or something at some swanky soirée. And then... she's hired to **** him. Or her. Yeah, that could be interesting: a lesbian contract killer. Never seen that before. But she's got to be hot. Yeah. Not like the monster Cameron Diaz played in that movie... Monster. But who hires her? Her husband? Yeah, that might work. But would he **** her for being a *****? Or maybe... she stole something from him. Some money. Or she found out he's a criminal, and she's gonna squeal.

Lesbian **** is interesting. Especially when they use the strap-on thing. But I don't know why they **** on it first. I mean, it's just plastic. Maybe they know it's mostly going to be guys watching it. Who knows.

But seriously, why would that cute Asian girl not respond to my message? Her profile did say "msg me :)", after all. Her profile said her favourite book is Fight Club. I think she meant the movie. I wrote "haha ya brad pitt is the shiiit". I don't know. I never know what to write in those messages. I always feel obligated to say something about their profile so they know I didn't just look at their pictures.

I'm good-looking, aren't I? I've had girlfriends. I've had *** a bunch of times. I haven't had *** in a while, but... okay, so I don't have a six-pack, but I go to the gym. I just get so anxious with all those muscly dudes walking around. Maybe I should get a private trainer.

I need more diet cola. No, wait — no more soda. Maybe all that aspartame is messing with my head. Anyway. Back to the contract killer. How many pages do I have? Six. Well, the average movie is about a hundred minutes, and if one page equals one minute in screen time, I'm only... oh look, I got a new email.

Stef341 has responded to your message.

"not my type, sorry"

Huh.

Well, whatever. Fight Club is a stupid movie anyway. How are Brad Pitt and that other guy supposed to be the same guy? That doesn't make any sense.

Back to the script. I need a title. Every good movie has a good title. How about The Lesbian Killer? No, that's too risqué. Nothing with lesbians in the title. This is a serious movie. With a lot of passion. Maybe a *** scene or two. Whatever, I'll just call it The Contract Killer. Starring Cameron Diaz.

A** pple pie, freshly baked from the oven. I don't wait for it to cool, I want it hot, with a big greedy scoop of vanilla ice creams melting next to it.

B oys. Cute, querky, gross, crazy, but amazing. You can't stand them, but for some reason you need them in your life.

C ookies. Warm, fresh-out-the-oven, gooey choclate chip cookies.

D  is for dancing. Dancing in the rain with my eyes shut, screaming at the top of my lungs and not caring what anyone thinks. Just dancing.

E lephants. Strong, old, smart and beautiful creatures. Harmless yet protective.

F stands for foxes. More specifically fennec foxes. Adorable, small, cunning, cute and most of all, want by me!

G iving. Not just material items, but hope. Giving hugs, and smiles to those who need one. Also, For-giving.... letting go of the past and moving forward

H eartbreak. The feeling of no being able to breathe, not being able to speak, or make sense of everything without your "other half." Moving forward slowly, cautiously, because there are more around the corner.

I Me. The broken, yet strong; beautiful, yet self concious; smart, yet lazy teenager.

J is for Jenna, my first best friend. We aren't best friends anymore, but we still talk, and enjoy catching  up in eachothers lives.

K issing. I love kissing. I mean come on.... everyone does ;)

L ove. A strong, complex emotion which many guys lie about, and which I do too. I think I've only ever once loved my partner... all the rest I enjoyed...

M om. My mother, the woman who decided "I'm going to take the qwerky, adorable girl home to America with me and make her part of my life."

N is the first letter in my name. Natalka Hannah Evangeline Kmiotek.

O veracheivers. The people who make fun of me, because they can do things better then me, and everyone else. ******* all.

P erfection. Skinny girls with perfect *******, and big *****. No scars, and white teeth. the opposite of me.

Q uiet, as in I have to stay quiet or they'll hear me. Who? My demons of course. If I'm too loud, they will come for me and drag me back to hell.

R stands for two things. The first is **** A horrible word describing a nightmare you wish you could forget. It's being robbed of your first touch by selfish men, and being back into a corner against your will, forced to stay silent.

S is for strength. The strength to overcome, the strength to live, the strength to move on.

T hank you. To everyone who has ever been there and listened to me...

U nderstand why I cut myself. Why I hurt myself. It's easier to deal with physical pain, then the emotional kind. The emotional pain rots and festers inside me, destroying everything. It shuts my lungs down, forcing me to gasp for air.

V acations. Small escapes from your daily life, into something glamourous and relaxing. The warm sand between your toes, as the hot sun beats down on you. The cool ocean kiss the tips of your toes, cooling your thirst.

W hen will pain end? When will people stop being mean to eachother? When can I expect my child to be able to go to school and not be afraid of the other students? When will I be able to walk outside, and finally be able to say "I am safe," not having to lie.

X plain to me why people put others down? Why are there perfect models and barbies, telling us how we must look, how it's acceptable in society.

Y es please. Thank you. Simple manner, dying out, almost extinct. What happen to being nice? Or do we now, just take what we want? Expect everything, like the world owes us.

Z ach. He was my first love and my first heart break. With him, when he left, the floor caved under me. We were one of those couples that would break up, and get back together then next week. I guess you sould say we were crazy for eachother, but when he left, I guess I was the only one crazy. I was crazy enough to think he was ever mine.

We were a beleaguered bard born,
a chief in chatoyant charms charged with
the principle petrichor of passionate paramours;
to drive the dainty dalliances
of incipient ingénues immured in
glamourous gossamer gowns;
lilting, lead lissome lads 'long labyrinthine love;
mischeiviously make mellifluous mondegreens;
sing of such serendipity: surreptitiously susurrous sessions
scintillas of Spring's sempiternal sentiments!

But fetching fugues fade fast, felicity's fated to fly. For
penumbral poets, it portends a pyrrhic pay.
We wander woebegone, waiting wistfully.
Lovers leave lyricists to languish in lonely lassitude.
The halcyon heyday has harbingered
inbroglio in the inured inventor of infatuation.
Why? With what wherewithal?
Often our offerings off us, opposite of, obviously, obtaining, or,
lucidly: lyrical lacers of Love likewise lack its livening lagniappe.

stupid boy,
i hope you know what you're getting into
because by uttering those three simple words,
you have managed to own me 
you were able to take the guitar from my hands
and make me the one to listen 

stupid boy,
I hope you are gentle and careful
because by making me feel secure in your arms,
my world is now situated in your hands
and one wrong twitch of your fingers
may touch a crack
which will break me even more

stupid boy,
i hope you're ready to be awoken from your deep slumbers
and know how to comfort a crying girl
because you'll have to hold me,
as I shake and sob at 2 am 
from the nightmares 
caused by the monsters in my head

stupid boy,
i hope you're ready to listen
because with the way you can make me sway with your words,
poetry will be flowing out of my mouth
like a waterfall of letters 
a whirlpool of emotions in every phrase 

stupid boy,
i hope you won't have second thoughts
or just simply run away
because when you strip me of all the glamourous facades
you'll see fresh battle wounds 
the body of your beloved is a warzone scattered with bullets

stupid boy,
i hope you're not easily disgusted by grime
because the skin that you want your lips upon is filth
and the cracks on my body may be bleeding
please clean these patches of dirt 
and fill the emptiness which is my whole being

stupid boy,
i hope you know that you fell in love with a broken girl
because I'm not like those pretty ones in the movies
my skin is blood-stained and my face is tear-soaked
i have no idea on what love feels like 
and to give it back in return
so please give me time to learn

stupid boy,
i hope you're good with words
because every day i am going to ask you
"why me?"
and i need you to make me understand
explain to me in detail
why you settled for a girl like me
when you could have gone for so many others
the ones who don't need fixing 
or assurance that they are beautiful
unlike how i am

stupid boy,
i hope you know that this stupid girl loves you too
even though i'll never really understand
why you chose me
or how i can return back the same amount of love that you make me feel,
i want you to know 
that if the only reason we're together
is because we're stupid,
then we'll be idiots forever

self harm is not beautiful.
it is not wonderful to be saved
it makes you feel weak
and it makes you feel sick.

carving his name into your skin
is not poetry
and is not romance

mental illness is not glamourous
or fascinating
or graceful

mental illness is sickness
anger, disgust

stop romanticizing something
that destroys life itself

from the nest in the eaves
of the great house,
the little bird
could see.
a sky, blue and flannel grey,
a big ball of sun,

the tips of the tree tops,
down through the branches
and trunks
down, down, to the ground.
where they are bound
to the earth,
by knotty rope roots.

she, the little bird,
could watch the people,
hustle and bustle and
sometimes, but not often dawdle, on the street.
all chirupping and chirking
away.

she could see the horses
and the carriages, going
this and that way.
the dogs that, bark as they
play

she could see all,
the neighborhood cats
as the well-fed,
basked away the day
and the mangy old stray,
hunted for rats..
yes, she kept a close eye,
on all those sneaky cats.

but, what she liked
to watch, best,
what piqued her curiousity,
as she sat on her nest.

was the interior of the bedroom, across the way.

for in there, was a fascinating sight, of
a glamourous lady who had all manner of
wonderful things,
gloves of velvet and
lace and calfskin leather,
fans of painted paper
or finely carved wood,
corsets with whalebone stays
and finest linen underwear
buttons and baubles,
trinkets and geegaws...
strings of pearls and
glittering things..
a parasol, peach-pink satin
to shade her face from sunlight.

but for all of this...
the glamourous lady
came often undone
and sat weeping
on the window seat.

the little bird who lived
in the eaves,
did not envy the lady,
who for all her things
so pretty, was unhappy.
and who so often, grieved.

for the little bird,
knew how to be
content with her lot.
with her nest of straw,
her two little eggs.
she needed no more
than that...and a
view of the street....
so she could see
all those sneaky n' sly cats

perhaps there is a lesson
just there, in that.

Haiku -
Ariel is my angel.
Kindred spirits.
Escape our cursed fate.
Our future together has been an 8 year courthouse debate.
The kidnapper belongs in a 6 feet underground crate.
A date she need not be late.
When are we supposed to be reunited?
At heaven's gate?
This world I hate.
Our souls it what it ate.

-Model -
Acrylic french tip nails, highlighted streaked hair. Glamourous vanity.
Thin as a rail.
Fabulous flair. New fashion to wear.
In admiration all eyes stare.
Posing for ******* is too transparent & bare.

I lean to the side of the world          where  my wound is
burst, this is the surface of madness
called reality.
You ask me what my name is
I answer you with yours.

The last of music drips onto my left arm
Leaves me cold.
A cold I do not remember.
Maybe I have not left the realm of death
where my mother comes from.

Unless today has become tomorrow
Unless your promises have come true
I will not see
I will not taste
My memories
Under the wind that swept by my nostrils

Who are you talking to?
Does he suffer from the same realization as I?
Life has left my fingertips
I no longer decipher the truth behind our words

All I do is dance.
Dance through the alphabet of the human beauty
an eternal misery.
Nothing is worth as much to me as the familiar warmth of your kisses on my eyes
bringing all the colors of life to my sight.
Nothing has the magic your hand has upon my skin
All the wounds from knowing and not knowing are healed.

Just love.
Love is what I have concluded by you.
Find it,
find the way we want to go
through the path of my smile sliding down your face.

Open me to the territory you have never entered yourself.
For me you will not cry.
Every moment gives birth to another.
We are children who fall in love – always at the verge of growing up
and contented with just that – lying on the sea to see
how the clouds have been here always
so we know they have never once come back.
Neither will we, but we laugh and cry, and the days and nights
open into a million stars that light up whenever I look at you,
whenever I turn away to feel you on the back of my neck.

Our tranquil jest
No need to explain any sadness - it is our friend.
Just like happiness of a glamourous day
When you take me to the cliff and we both jump
to fall upon the wide blue sky
Never have I seen anything so blue
Never have I seen anything like you
Cold and smiling and so incredibly beautiful

I think
[we are still falling]
I really do
Love you

I wonder if she knows,
that when she speaks
with a voice
low and smooth,
I become ashamed of my own.

I wonder if she knows
I watch her sometimes
and envy each breath.
I admire everything about her...
her poetry is simple but stunning
her laugh infectious
her smile is kind
and her eyes are bright.

I heard about her,
years before,
and had a picture in my mind.
I know her now
and the picture has not changed
if only to make it better.

I envy her confidence
I admire her every movement.
If she were famous I'd own all her movies
and do what I do now,
watch and learn
and try to be as great as she.
Her talent is unwasted
as all who know her love her.
How is it she's so grand?

The boys, they look,
they see,
they know she is the most beautiful girl in the room
they know they want her
they know,
as I know,
that she's worth it.
that she deserves it.
that she should be happy.

I wonder if she knows,
this poem is about her.
I wonder if she knows
I wish I could be even an inch similar to her.
It's not cruel envy and jealousy I hold for her,
but complete admiration for the way she carries herself.
She speaks her mind
and shows emotion
clever and funny,
she walks with regality
and is oh so gorgeous.

How is it she seems so perfect?
So poised and gentle and witty-
in not the most poetic terms
I basically think she's really cool,
and wish I could carry myself
in the profound,
glamourous,
respectable,
admirable way in which she does.

How is it she'd ever care to be my friend?
Oh the way she walks,
the way she speaks,
the way the other girls envy
the way the boys look
the way the teachers admire,
she's unafraid to announce her sorrows and fears,
she enters a room with a fierce glamour
and makes her presence known,
as, for her, it should be.

Oh, she is glorious.

and I admire her so.

Peter once asked: which things make you feel something?

And the truth is I’ve been play pretending since quarentine
When I started to believe in a glamourous life

Lillies of the valley, meditation
Behind sunrise filters there’s someone unhappy, black and white
With a dull and wrinkled skin, she hates the sun
She always thought about her vocations
House decorator but she never could do it right
Just like singing, or dancing or even flerting but not like holding a gun

She lives in a small and warm house
Which she always wished the old roof to cave in
No garden, no breath, but death
Never met the green but fell in love with violence
And by that I mean - her mother talks about the path

God, unfriend of mine
Please, let me d-die

I’ve been play pretending since quarentine
When I started to believe in a fitness life

*** with cellulite but not like Jupiter
Curves all over the body but not like the ones on the road
There is hair, but not long enough and strong enough like Rapunzel's - for her men to entrust her with the climb
There are big arms, but not like Anette's because no one would stay in it for that long
There’s no art on her

November 1st 2021, she noticed that she was thinner but she couldn't wear her high waisted pants like she always wanted
Her mother would **** her if she did
So she prayed one more time

God, unfriend of mine
Please, let me d-die

I’ve been play pretending since quarentine
When I started to hide in the night life

‘Don’t trust the moon, she’s always changing’

Peter once asked: which things make you feel something?

So she prayed one more time

God, unfriend of mine
Please, let me d-die

Fear sleeping for with it my ideas might be gone
By either dying or reverting to where they were born
I hold each piece of memory like slides up a microscope
Nursing them tenderly so that they don't lose hope
And I walk my little fingers over my phone screen
While words from all corners of my mind scream
Can't risk the cacophony in my head turning into a maze
'Cause my mental universe is a cow I must always graze
Sleep tries to have her finger pressing my eyes
I fight back because I can't stand watching my good as it dies
Drowning into hours of foolish immobility
Losing a time I could have maximized my ability
So I keep scribbling a pen when I tire of tapping
Satisfying my ***** obsession so it doesn't think about eloping
I think I'm not a poet but an addict to glamourous words
Probably hoping to come across one that will glue the shards
I'm playing with the hand fate's delt and the cards
Can we blame them for soaring when they were given wings,the birds?*,

I have no urge to care
Being pushed off, why should I
I'm cast off to the side,
but I still have feet to walk on
and hands in which to march.

The answer to rejection is apathy
if you don't care for someone
they can't hurt you.

The answer to never finding a soul mate
is to stop searching.

I used to dream of a glamourous wedding
of a love that could not be compared.
I once wanted things that were good
and solid.

Now all that structure I wanted
is just a dream, a fruitless dream
who could ever be with someone so insubstantial as me.
ever evolving.

So no, you can push me
but I won't fall
you can cut me,
but I won't bleed.

I bled enough.

I suspend disbelief, I do
Pretend for glamour’s sake,
That I’m standing in line, not walking down
Legging capri utopia, but style,
Books, Asian fusion,
And I open my window to outside fire trucks,
Sometimes voices, to pretend I’m not in small-town
Southeastern Ohio.
I close my eyes to a new, non self-conscious,
Self-aware vision.
Well, it was once a real moment:
In a studio apartment, nervous about my mom
Downstairs, outside, below me
Smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk.
Afraid she’d get jumped when I was eleven, or twelve, or thirteen.
Forgetting she’d lived in New York City
in the 1980s when she was
Eighteen.
I didn’t have any fears for her then.
I didn’t have anything for anyone.
I didn’t exist, and I wasn’t afraid
All the time, of something.
I exist now and I watch my back in small town USA,
But I still make wonder visions,
Beautiful, rhetorical, hypothetical
Walks in October five ‘o clock sunshine.
Me, and a book, and take out food walking back to work,
Where my work will be to write this down,
To try my ****-dest to convey what I felt
Out there, on the street.
That self-importance, comfort of the light
In my eyes, and my dark pants, too, they mattered,
And an imaginary cigarette from the ether,
The sun-ray concoction.
It’s almost the exact feeling of sitting on couches,
Next to my aunt’s bubblegum pink ceramics in Brooklyn.
Thinking—how glamourous.
Pretending the one room apartment was mine.
Pretending I could live in such close proximity to a stranger.
Another person, who I may or may not find strange.
Pretending I wasn’t made uncomfortable by the women
Wearing hot dog and hamburger bun bikinis dancing
In kiddie-pools in broad daylight.
How bizarre. While my brother and I played war
Upstairs. “That’s art,” someone probably said, in a
Fenced in small grassy plot in a neighborhood in Chicago.
Later in college, I’d say “the best art makes
us uncomfortable,” and my professor who loves
young adult fiction will applaud me for my incite.

An inherent desire for brass,
And fire escapes, and being
Consumed by tall buildings, and bars
On rooftops is not…
Natural.
It must be media-induced.
I consumed a fair amount of media
That glamourized and shined up and cultured
Cities for me.
Then I went there and saw that I was fearful,
Yet wanted to feel important inside of something vast.
I want to talk to curators of museums about
Everything I’ve learned and haven’t learned.
I want to impress myself with knowledge of streets,
And towns, and maps.
Out of my element, maybe I am finally ready.
Out of mostly whiteness, most of the time,
Into people I’ve never met, people I never thought
I’d know well, into hoping that I can sit in a different
Kind of circle, in a new conversation,
Restoring, transforming,
Wanting to say some sincere things, and
Make some observations in earnest.

she looked worn out and wrinkly.

her date in comparison was wearing a beige suit, but under the dusk light he looked like he was the same color as the building paint. he could almost pass as presentable.

he was a business graduate, and he recently had some sort of corporate deal that would grant him some sort of something.

she didn't care for it at all, whatever happened with him and such.
all he is to her was some old college friend of a friend, who happened to approach her a few weeks back.

it had been a while since she had talked to anyone from her old school, and she was almost bewildered that chuck asked to take her to dinner. she couldn't refuse; despite of what she thinks of him, or what he would think of her, she was not one to refuse activity.

all she is expecting now is company, and a good talk and a good dinner. she expects that from him, but not from herself.

taking her seat, she felt a bit lightheaded.

the restaurant was glamourous. it looked liked the insides of a department store furniture section. hardwood beams and hardwood posts and matte black stools with velvet cushions. the lights were incandescent; the type of light she loved, that reminded her of four o'clock sunshine and reflections upon amber fall leaves.

𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, she pondered. her mind began to wander.

"𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆
𝒎𝒂𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒏 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕...--

"Hey, are you alright?"

she was staring at the lightbulbs. she was startled

"Oh, sorry. Long day. Can we have some water?"

they gestured to the waiter. chuck had the flair of a high class yuppie. all around her were upper middle class couples and well dressed demoiselles drinking brightly colored cocktails. she felt small.

the waiter gave them a pitcher of cucumber water and their menus.

𝘦𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘤𝘶𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥.

"Order anything you'd like" said chuck. "I'm not afraid to spend tonight."

"Are you sure? We can split this later, I got paid and all-"

"Please, it'd be rude of me to make you pay. Especially now."

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯?

she looked at the menu. it had all sorts of cuisines, european and exotic. she could order something from spain and eat her way through the mediterranean and the alps and end up eating desert from japan.

𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵

she hadn't eaten for hours. shame went out of the window.

"I'll have the fillet. And the mushroom soup. And the swordfish. And this. And this... how do you say this? Yeah that..."

chuck was stone faced. he ordered the same steak. he then asked about the wine selection. the waiter asked her the same.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I don't drink. Maybe the iced tea."

the waiter went off with their menus.

"You don't drink? I thought in college you were a connoisseur of sorts." chuck asked.

"I don't drink now. College was ancient history."

"It's been a while, huh. Do you still talk to the other guys? Your old dorm mates? Mel?"

she shuddered at the thought of mel. she hadn't even thought of that name for years.

"No, I haven't talked to them. I barely talk to anyone these days, other than work."

"Oh, okay."

their appetizers arrived. a basket of italian bread was on the side; she immediately went for a piece.

"I've been working with my old mates." said chuck. "We were part of a merger of our company and that really was a stepping stone for us-"

"Yeah, yeah, mhm." she wasn't paying any attention. she was busy buttering her bread stick.

"And that gave me a lot of opportunities and stuff. I got a new house, new car, first class on business trips..."

chuck went on clamoring about his mcmansion and second hand ferrari. it went on for a few minutes.

"Yeah, that's great." she mumbled, with bread in her mouth.

she went for the last two pieces of foccacia on the basket.

"Aren't you going to try the bread?" she asked. whether it was out of shame or politeness she did not know.

"No. You're emptying it anyways. Don't fill up."

she looked up and saw chuck with an expression of mild annoyance. she sat straight and offered him a bread stick.

"It's fine." chuck went to have a sip of his wine. "How about you, what have you been up to these days?"

somehow, she didn't expect to be asked that.

"I'm doing good. Stable office job."

"Yeah. Mhm."

there is a silence within the hubbub of diners. the bread she was eating tasted like it suddenly turned cold.

𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺.

"Soooo..." she mumbled. "The food here good?"

"You must be hungry." chuck tensed.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I was just tired the entire day and I didn't get to eat lunch..."

"Don't apologize. This is a dinner. We're here to eat."

"Yeah, and to get together."

"Yes."

𝘺𝘦𝘱, 𝘯𝘰, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘱. 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦.

"You did order quite a lot." chuck finished his wine.

"We'll share."

"It's fine. I'm trying to reduce, actually. Been working out and all."

"Oh, are you? Back in college you were quite big."

"...yes. Yes I was."

𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

"Anyways..."

"Oh, excuse me." chuck had a phone call.

she looked around. everyone looked like they were enjoying themselves. she could see herself in one of the bar mirrors, with a pallid expression and subpar hair. she looked at chuck. he looked busy and executive. she could not deny that he looked well and good, but in her eyes she still sees a plump frat boy with badly oiled hair and spots painted with acne cream.

chuck's call ended as their order arrived. as it was all set she immediately started on her mushroom soup.

"Enjoy." chuck had another glass of wine.

she ate quickly. she ate her soup before it cooled down and ate her steak before it lost all of its red. she topped her italian swordfish with an orange mash potato and ate it with her salad. she downed three cups of iced tea and ordered another pitcher of it.

chuck ate his steak quietly, sipping his wine occasionally.

"You really are hungry." chuck finished his plate.

"Mhm, yes I am." she said, while admiring a piece of arugula.

chuck stared at her. she kept eating. this went on for several minutes.

"You know, I didn't expect this night to be like this." chuck leaned back.

that set her aback. she looked to see chuck looking slightly displeased.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I have to leave in about thirty or forty five minutes. My boss needs me. Can we check out early?"

"Oh, yes, of course." she dropped her fork. chuck called for the waiter.

her lightheadedness returned. the food did not help

"What did you mean you didn't expect the night to be like this?" she asked.

"Oh, it's nothing."

"No, come on, please. I'd like to know what you mean."

chuck swirled his wine around. "It's just that it's been a while, and I thought-" chuck paused for a moment. he took a sip.

"I thought you'd be different. I mean I don't mean different but you're different in a way I didn't expect."

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵. "I don't get it."

"No, I mean- you're not whom I expected. You know, I thought you'd be that old talk from college, you know-"

she was beginning to get it. "Did you talk to Geo before?"

"Yeah, I did." he finished his wine. the bottle had two more inches left.

that ruined it for her.

"I remember you being cheerful and chatty back then." said chuck. "You know, back in the old days, you were the girl who everyone looked up to, loud scholar and activist and all. Geo and your dorm mates had a lot to say about you."

𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥.

"And they always say, 'you were a mean drunk, you always wanted to talk, always had something to talk about.' Nothing that happened in your day was uninteresting for you, they say."

she pushed her plate away. "Well it's been a while, Chuck. It's not college anymore. Not that I agree with you, just- ugh, I dont know..."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I didn't mean to ruin this date."

"Oh, yeah. It's a date." she feels like she needs to run away.

"But I hope you're doing well. I hope you enjoyed the food, at least."

"Okay." she said.

they sat in silence for a minute. chuck's eyes were still at her. she checked her phone. no charge.

the waiter came and went with the bill. they sat in silence as chuck finished the bottle of wine. she felt the need to say something.

"You know... I saw a weird hat earlier." she blurted.

"Hm?"

"It was round, and made of plastic. It was like a bowl..."

"You mean a hardhat?"

𝘰𝘩, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦... "Yeah, something like that."

more silence. it was beginning to turn unbearable.

she had to think of more things to say. she looked around, looked at chuck. she remembered. "What's in the bag?" she had to ask.

"Oh, nothing. Just my stuff." he raised it up. it looked like a fresh shopping bag.

𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘨...

"Anyways, I have to go." chuck stood. it was barely thirty minutes

"Oh, I'll come with you." she stood and went. it is raining outside.

his car was parked in the back, they had to run to the shade.

"Can I have a ride?" she asked, worriedly.

"No, I'm sorry, I have to go." chuck went and left on his rip off supercar. she was left on the sidewalk, in the pouring rain.

...

she arrived home, soaking.

she went straight to the bathroom. the rain was cold on her head, and gave her shivers. the lightheadedness turned into a headache.

she kneeled on the can. she threw up steak, and swordfish, and iced tea.

she took off all of her clothes and dried herself. she went to her living room and laid down on the carpet.

𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵, she thought. 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵.

she sat and took her pen from the clothes bin. she opened her notebook.

"𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔
𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔...

𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘪𝘵. 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯.

she ripped the page off and wrote on a new one.

"𝒄𝒉𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒌.

𝒈𝒆𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒐

𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒕."

she closed her notebook. she stared at the ceiling once more.

𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘩𝘶𝘩. 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘥.

she closed her eyes and slept.

I hate you 'cause you're skinny
and I hate you 'cause you're pretty
and I hate you 'cause you're clever
and you're nothing oh but better

I hate you 'cause you're perfect
in every which way
I hate you 'cause you're magnanimous
and quite simply glamourous.
I hate you 'cause you have it all
and if you don't, you can get it.
I hate you,
cause you are
and you have
everything I've ever wanted
everything I'll never have,
I hate you for being born blessed
and great
and sultry
and fine
and somewhere down the line,
you'll be perfectly content.
I hate you for being happy
I hate you for being you.
I hate you
because I won't say
that it's me I really hate.

To the limits!
And the heaves are harmed, in our lungs
and arms. Tendons flexed on their utmost,
and breath at play in the drowned coast.

To the shores!
And the leaves are left as specks of colour,
from the moors.
and vacations left the hinterlands
of the decayed, breathless holler.

For the greater good we stood as imagined heroes,
Yet for happenstance to lend a chance in our woes,
required a great many motifs
to clamour and climb
In glamourous time
to the raised butte
of a finishing sublime.

Modulate the past and harmonize the future.
Together tapestry'd, akin to patchwork suture.

We weren't raised this way.
To remain forever at play, workhorses neigh.
And sawing brilliance and sawdust eyes,
rapier wit with no equal.
But together a two-parter,
to the shores to see the sea quell.

Wildfire lick like lit flame.
Burn it all down and give me the blame.
It's a carried burden worth the worry.

In mountains some exist as prideful barons.
Barring the loss of their barren,
their smiles turn smirks of heathen carrions.
Which is fine, and the motif licks again.
And the motive is sublime; it's only sin.

Cherish the children and their rue of thresher-born,
Thomas Ligotti and his party of philosophy,
but I'm too caught in histrionics to allow the matter
to matter.
Beyond the kicking feet of the mirthful pitter-patter,
pitted against the coming solstice of time saving;
forward and back and ouroboros we may.
Hold on tight to this singular day.
Ignorant of the causes of our own decay.
Lost during summers covered in spittle and seaspray.
Only to mount a return, a loss,
to the area most unaccepting of the cost.

To the mountaintops!
**** what you see, and reap what you sow.
Push the mountains down into the crow,
and call out for the all the denizens below,
"Here's another landslide." As you call; Heave, and **.
Pile them neat and plant a seed,
of a tree that hasn't belonged or had a chirped song
in a placidity.

to recite something
to let it be in your bones
to let it exist outside of yourself
to let it mulch to let it dwindle to let it begin
and to let it roll over
and to let it slip
and to let it die
and to let it roll around in a ditch
and to swim and scream and roundabout
and to control and to gag and to conquer
and to mistake and to make gate and to stand on the top of the curb
to be ahead of the game
to be moxy, merry, maybe just stay the same
imbicile working for a penny a day
while another man in the corner makes marmalade
I’m bouncing, happy, glamourous gratitude
going on around the stratosphere making my own career out of solitude
masked in a gag of reddened retina on display with buddah
large intensinal malfunction on the way towards the retina
the eye, the eye, the eye, the eye
and some may type as quickly as I
and I do dare to challenge them to a duel
as I will take them into the second round
away from it all, away from it all
and down the dark ages crawl, crawl, crawl
and make it work for others to do the draw, to do the draw, to do the draw
and make copies of music on top of another musical entrance music entrance music, entrance, music
make a case out of stereotypes and continue on your own way
inventive and invigorating and invested and afraid
loving and simplifying and hating the mystery
the beauty
the absolute majesty
keep me in check and keep me more for the moon
and I’ll go along to the race track with old hank
and swoon and swoon and swoon
ride the horses
on the way to nowhere
and they will glisten
in the evening sun
and lay out on their own
and lay out on their own
and become what has never been done
and become what has never been done
the ****** is full and perfect
and then the fall is back down
and laughter is part of the question
and it all goes down like that
boom, boom, boom boom
and then peace
easy thought process
a deep breath
growls
beautiful growls
and laughter

Your face feels different when it showcases a swipe of lipstick.
Your hands feel different when they clutch a tube of lipstick.
You are a different woman,
Now a lady, in fact.
Instantly more beautiful, more glamourous;
A classic with added dignity, enhanced elegance.
You become the paragon of femininity,
Join the beauty icons in the lipsticked hall of fame.
You become a force to be reckoned with in the glory of womanly arts.
You become the dream of so many people, young and old, around the world.
You are the symbol of a lady, any era, any nation- you are a queen now.
You have become an artist of the highest, boldest, most powerful caliber.

Flying down hills on our bikes
Wind in our lemon streaked hair
Whooping through
Lips slicked with cherry smackers

We imagined the glamourous
Lives we would lead some day
The world was ours
For the summer

So sitting across my drunk friend,
I decided to give happy a chance.
A chance on my paper,
A chance on the brim of my creativity.
A chance in my mind because,
I already gave a chance to my heart.
So sitting across my drunk friend,
I talk about how am I going to write happy?
Would I write about smiles or,
Would I write about the hypocrisy of nature?
Where the rains depict sadness but they fill my body with joy.
My emotions are so black in hindsight,
For them maybe happiness is just a toy.
So sitting across my now tipsy friend,
I ask her, how should I convey my notion?
Taking the last shot of whiskey and juice
She ,herself with a taint sorrow, laughed at my face and my motion.
My infrences were way too philosophical for her taste.
It's difficult to express, easy to feel.
This capital letter H is shown to be so glamourous in reel.
Maybe happiness is fairy dust scattered over a few lands.
I guess, when I am happy and I know it, I'll just clap my hands.

trains have always been
so utterly fascinating
to my existence

the noise they make
to prove their own existence
the sturdy build of their exterior
the glamourous or depressed build
in the inside

all drives to a strong symbol
one that means escape
and beauty
old
and gold

disney made them fascinating
in one way
though upon dsicovery
yet again
a writer has proved them to
be a symbol of yet another
emotion deep inside
of escape
and sorrow

A few stray pennies,
A nickel, and a dime-
That's all I'll ever need
To have a good time.

I want no glamourous phone
Or the newest fashion trends.
I only need some crackers-
Just enough to meet ends.

I'm a self-made, messy,
Gay *******.
I don't need any help
But a roadside ditch.

I'm a lonesome self-starter
In search of better days,
But all the good times
Just keep running away.

I just want a few quarters
To start me off right
And a piece of stale bread
To get me through the night.

I want to live in a van,
A ******* tent.
I want a ragged, old RV
I don't even have to rent.

I guess what I'm saying is
You don't have to hold me here,
Trapped against my will
Living in pools of rotten fear.

I can live all on my own
In the middle of the woods.
You can forget about me now
I'll be in the past for good.

I'll leave you alone,
Or I can keep escaping free.
What I'm saying is that
You have no real grasp on me.

I've run away before
I'll run away again.
I will keep on running
'Til I get away in the end.

I don't need you
Or anybody else.
All I need is my mind
My bones, and my ugly self.

I'll leave you for good.
I'm no use to you.
Just set me free already
You will forget about me soon.

Dear America, I watch your movies
Not really yours,but ones your citizens make
I see so much, through the glasses they give us
The potential to grow there,the opportunities
The success others get there,the prosperity
The freedom you give people,to say just anything
The high standards that is the way of life
The wonderful life that's not so wonderful
And of course the vices,the pronounced vices

I want to visit America, to see the vices
I want to see the epidemics
The opioids that plague low income neighbourhoods
The teenage pregnancies,the many single moms
The runaway baby daddies owing child support
The anti vax campaigns causing more deaths
The racism,the police brutality that never ends
The gun violence,the schools that were shot at
The corruption that impedes crime reduction
Maybe see the jails that look so nice in movies

I want to visit America,to see the life
The hard work,the 80 hour weeks
The hard life,the two and three job workers
The posh life,the rich and famous entrepreneurs
The wanna be life,the glamourous famous celebs
The fake life,the not so famous influencers
The tough life,the expensive parenting options
The long school life,the lifetime student loan debt

I want to visit America,experience the government
The tough,manifesto or is party driven elections
The many legislative houses with all the power
The complicated levels of government
The many types and divisions of police
The thousands of investigative bodies
The powerful uniformed and  ununiformed forces
The well trained millitary and intelligence agencies
With others that don't work inside the country

I want to visit America,to see the law
To experience the precious 1787 constitution
To see the thousands of Acts of parliament
To see the high,or is it low,taxation rate
To see the ease,or is it difficulty,in doing business
To see the rights that y'all keep talking about
Maybe even get to say 'I know my rights' too
See the liberal,or is it conservative, court system
The just jury system, the courtroom theatrics
Maybe even get to sit and watch

I want to visit America, see the healthcare system
The huge well equiped hospitals,
The well oiled health insurance machine
See the doctors who spent a decade to be an MD
The many specialist professionals in healthcare
Maybe even get what y'all call a physical
The exuberant cost of getting treated
Maybe understand Medicare and Medicaid
The strong powers of the medical boards
Maybe even see the need for malpractice insurance

I want to visit America,see American products
Feel the prestige y'all place on labels
The one word labels that say it all
The extensive creative marketing culture
The brands  that don't need an explanation
Target. Mcdonalds. Macy's. Prada. Walmart.
The pricing that's always exclusive of tax

I want to feel American life
The good looking, desirable social amenities
The importance of zip codes and school districts
The restaurant,swipe right, smart devices culture
The borrowing, property ownership loan culture
The credit card,cashless freeing bill payment culture
The creditworthiness of good credit
The judgements on criminal record holders

I want to experience
The feeling your actors exude so well
Someday. Maybe.

before marital savings bond matured
as a then quinquagenarian.

Courtesy gerontologists medical practitioners
allowing, enabling, and providing
the elderly population to live
longer and healthier lives.

Linkedin with longevity loosely translates
to resurgent libido spurring
older folks predilection
to participate in ****** intimacy.

The downside (if such be the proper word)
regarding senior citizens
becoming or remaining flush
with embodied physical attraction
Gerontophilia barely alive
as buzzfeeding colloquialism,
nevertheless advertently, intermittently,
and unwittingly received
jump/kick starting excitement

here at Highland Manor,
especially scooter bound population
looking to spice her/his life
courtesy young stud or hottie
(stepping out pages of some
**** glamourous magazine)
secretly strategizing how to entice
lure, and understand "grandma"
or "grandpa" as ideal bed fellow.

An old geezer like yours truly,
would roll out his Scottish welcome mat
(comprised of Harris tweed material)
readily and willingly
welcoming respite from
a young gal responsive
to such juvenile, ******,
material devoid of absolute zero
with neither, pride and prejudice
apropos of maturity,
sense and sensibility,
nor wit and wisdom
as the following banal folderol
nominal representative sample exemplifies
what he frequently posted
on the fledgling Internet
back during the heyday

of electronic chat rooms.
COMPAQ PRESARIO
desktop (little tower - revolutionary
computer back in 1999 -)
chugged along (think the engine that could
exhaustively repeating the mantra
"I think I can, I think I can"
in order to facilitate
wheels that go round n around
like a twirling clown
or a psychedelic school bus

while painted ponies go up and down...
optimally operating like well greased levers
to reverse a frown
analogous to gingerbread man
happy as a clam
satisfactorily baked to perfection
a colorful character uniformly imbrown
similar to persons of color
found within outer limits
along edge of night
of twilight zone in the heart of motown.

No harem meant by the following
excerpts amalgamated, doctored, hewn,
linkedin, and sanitized version from outdated
prefabricated plundered digital broadcasts
talentless dearth as profundity
and/or qualifying as reasonable rhyme,
I do forthrightly bewail
paucity of thought provoking perspective
dill liver rd by Clyde S Dale
whimsical wordy zesty email

nothing ventured equates
to no gain nor any cause to fail
searching far and wide
for something akin to a holy grail
in the guise of a femme fatale
wherever she may hale
even if my search
finds me ferreting out jail
masterfully baited ...ha...ha...hmm...
this steely irony male

merely Joe King riddler,
one lone ranger high
in his blazing saddle
exclaiming "Hi-yo Silver"
cuz tis a violation of pure innocence
to ****** Vestal ******
before age of consent,
and also ill eagle,
whar *** may n daze existence
locked behind iron rail

bars with razor wire
in n attempt to scale
the bulwarks n escape -
bush whacking a trail
only to return to bedlam
and discover vis-à-vis
a  perspicacious wife
who did bemoan and wail
yours truly his indiscretion.

Fingers property handsome beau
thrum while poetic feet quiver
like fingers on a taut bow
with anticipation to hear soft
sure footed white or black crow
sitting on telephone wire talons didst flow
and crackle with electricity

thru wired connection
courtesy smooth bore little arquebus
and spindleshanks characterized bozo
weird friendship can grow
like a super fresh field
viz organic olive garden
of eat'n plump with organic food
betwixt yar thatch n my lil ***
property of common Joe

fully cognizant and in the know
scheming to experience
whet dreams are made
analogous to tightly, lovingly, and
exquisitely fit together
game pieces manufactured by lego
finished product resembling mistletoe
illicit affair indubitably,
ineluctably, invariably causing woe.

After primal desire fired away
I returned home
to the missus without delay
the scorned wife mine hide she did flay
when divorce sought, she did nay say.