After the milking's done,
Farmer gone to house and bed,
Rag-tag tabbies, half-breed furs,
Assemble by the milking stool
Yowl a bit, then settle down to purrs.
Rosined up, a straw-***** bow
Emits a violinic fiddle's skirl,
And one by one the mousers
Stand on twos to take a matted floor.

Come, let us see you pirouette,
You puissant pouncers.
Lightly spin those furry toes;
Sheath deep those claws to put
Perfection in your prances;
Balance on your tails, and spin;
Exercise or exorcise in cattish dances
The feline feelings you are in.

Dance happily and furiously...
Or sinuously and slow...
Whatever moods mouse-
Murderers can feel or know.
Enjoy the dance, ye half-breed cats.
Never mind the jealous schemes of mice,
Nor terroristic plots of leagues of rats.

Electra-girl gyrates desperately.
Daddy is away on business.
The house practically empty,
Desolate winds rattle windows,
Stomach twists with craving.

Electra-girl squeals,
“**** Mommy! Get her out of the picture.”
Little Miss teacup wants everything just right,
When daddy gets home.
Electra-girl vomits hairball,

shaves thighs belly armpits,
Plucks neck chin nostrils,
Applies lipstick moderately,
Puckers (finger pushes hemorrhoid in).
She denies everything.

Imagines he is showering,
She enters **** giggling big grin,
Gaze scampering between his face and genitals,
Her approaching young body edging nearer.
He hesitates standing under waterspout,

Waiting to see what she will do,
Fearing his own desire,
Knowing it is wrong so wrong.
After what seems a long time,
Mom steps in,

Eyes firing rage and sanction.
She asks her daughter, “You think you’ll win?”
Electra-girl answers without hesitation,
“Why wouldn’t I.”
No question.

Your **** stains on carpet,
Your *** stains on everything,
Your breath smells,
Odor of rotting flowers.
Smile for the camera.

Electra-girl raises arms and taunts,
“I win! I win!
Who’s going to be my next daddy?”
A deep heavy silence follows.
She holds herself in mirrors of her past.

It catches in my throat
I try to scald it down
with a nonfat latte- no foam, please
but a resilient hairball like this
is latched on tightly-
a gila monster attached to the
sweetest ****.

My sentences are choked and can't-
the stares beat my face, I lower
my eyes only to feel the eyewounds
lash my back and a striped cardigan
offers no protection.

I curl up and twitch just like
that dog I once (or twice) kicked
dark in a closet or under a bed
and wait for salvation but no one ever
comes and eventually
I have to deal before the SWAT
team catches me with tear gas
and I cough up lizard after lizard.

I'll remember her jumping from the airplane to
only disintegrate into billions
of peppered flakes. I'll remember the way she sang
the blues, soft strong, sweet and true.  
I'll remember how they mimicked, how
they tangled language with my soul. I'll
remember the images, turning conniving, clashing and
rushing. The feeling of love in the heart after
carelessly putting yourself together. What does order matter?  
I'll remember Umberto and all he keeps, secret exposed,
rounded and squared.  I'll remember the woman from
the 19th century who haunts me to this day, the
magnitude of the final words of the last zombie.  
I'll remember the glass hairball I couldn't quite hack up,
choking pain, sharp and small.  Knowing I'll never
be stuck in latin translation when Mariana's around is
the greatest relief. I'll remember how she plugged the moon in
so I wouldn't get lost in the rain, graceful purpose, poise and calm.
Her love poems that sent shivers down all our spines. I'll remember
how I drank from her wine glass form and I lost my wits.  
I'll remember when she read my tarot; I felt like Macbeth,
informed mistake, crowned and *******. She only knew that the people
of Hortor would invade.  I'll remember how she won class
the day she pointed out the irony.  The thing I won't remember
is when it all stops going and there's just a room of empty chairs.

Horrf, my friend, don't keep it in,
Horrf, the sound eternal !
For, soon, what once adorned your skin,
Shall be, once more,
External...

My dog its name is Gizmo with a capital G, he isn't
very tall and not very long. He's very playful doesn't
always listen to what he's ever told. But it's like his name,
as others have said so. If somethings missing the blame
would always be on him, to this hairball this is just a game.

His favorite season for walks is when autumn comes to call.
The puddles on the floor and the leaves on the ground, all
he wants to do is be playful in the heaps of color and crawl.
Beneath them playing hide and seek, but he is always so
easy to find, following his lead a tail-wagging to and fro.

He never misses a puddle, his hair soaked, and has very
muddy little toes, chasing all the birds, but he's not scary
at all. They fly away squawking and he just looks at me
then runs around again chasing nothing at all. We see
in the distance home letting off the lead, he runs in glee.

Towel now around him, drying him quickly off. As his wetter
than a puddle. Shivering we give him a cuddle, feeling better
he now falls asleep upon his bed. Five minutes of peace before
he gets his energy back, and then a zoomy around the floor,
and then I'm like, has anyone seen my sock?      Gizmo!!

it's tuesday again,
and the clouds are rolling in,
and the boss wants his paperwork,
and the cat left a hairball on my pillow,
and the car's making a funny noise,
and the gas bill is due,
and the trash has to go out,
and my friend cancelled our appointment,
and i want to go on a date or something,
and i didn't get to finish my coffee,
and my ankle hurts,
and today just ***** because there are
a million things wrong with it
and only a few of them are my fault
but i have to deal with them anyway
and why can't i just relax
and get through this day,
go home and have a drink
and sit on the porch watching when the rain finally hits -
and then i see her,
and i know that what she's going through
is so much worse than these petty things,
and she smiles through it.
so i smile, too.
on a tuesday,
as the clouds are rolling in.

well she could sit around all day
and rot her poetry this way
just put it all rot down and say
"I've done my rotten duty"
done let the cat out of the bag
done with the hairball that old nag
all gutsy green this rotten queen
just rode a rotten beauty.

she'll change the word to what it's not
and that ain't wrong, but it ain't rot
and just like garbage turns to ***  
and get's all down trodden
then long the rod, like rodeo
these words are ridden, time to go
so get the horse and don't be slow
you're right in time with ridin'!

We're ridin' errors then all day
poetic license paves the way
don't know quite where but that's okay,
cause it's our rot to ramble
and what this rutted road has got
is what the dusty novel's not
the long and short of every rot
is pure poetic bramble.

..this a little odd words
from these lips..oditary
2 myself 2..well..maybe u can see it..
maybe not..
       ..i don't give flyin' ****..

..cleaning..OK..it's easy
if you can start it..
          
           ..then u even wanna clean your neighbor house at
                                  the same  cost..

..but starting..

         ..every fu**in' thing is like invitation to **** yourself..

..but after it all you feel so fukin' fantastic..
                  ..top of the world..

but there's a point too in here..
                    ..but the hairball's are like people
        ..fighting back with every living soul
                        2 not 2 go at  the dumster..sewer..etc..
  
        ..so that's why i'm all most certain of divinity..
             ..The Big Book says: GOD made man to his image..

                         ..so there it is in black and white..

                                          ..divine germs..

( i just washed and cleaned my bathroom and SAUNA..6
it all came to me from this hairball going to the sewer
in stream..)

..yeah..i know..

.

White Cliffs of Dover now sponsored in daydreams
Reading each billboard that rusts on the sky
Checking a map though it’s for the wrong city
She sends a smile to the wink of his eye

Overhead cords hang to signal a stopping
Pulled like a kite that is fighting a breeze
Setting his watch as if time is most urgent
Tiny the gesture to put her at ease

Anxious she strums atop metal and leather
Songs in her head dance at half past the price
Suddenly yanks as the trees are enormous
Grabbing her bag she does not ask him twice

****, screams the brakes and some passengers flying
Coffee and biscuits collide in the aisle
Fixing her hair like a debutante princess
Waits on the door and then exits in style

A tip of his hat to the fatherly captain
Treading deliberate, the stairs leading down
Adjusting his jacket lapels till they’re even
Spun, is her skirt as a fine evening gown

Coughing a hairball, the old engine rumbles
Sigh, moan the bi-folds directed to close
Noticing now that her left hand is empty
Lifting a stone from the shoulder, she throws

Causing a crack in the bug spattered windshield
The bus driver digs for his insurance card
Grumbles a curse word, his bible forsaken
Just a small pebble and not tossed so hard

She stands at the portal awaiting admission
Watches each eye as she fumbles about
Cheers to herself when her fingers meet plaster
Knows all too well it is no time to shout

Apologies gifted like Christmas in August
Promising beer with a head made of foam
When she appears on the exit step lower
In her left hand she now clutches her gnome

Into the lobby of lemon cake ceilings
Chandeliers glisten like ***** champagne
A tap on the bell wakes the concierge sleeping
“That was my dream!” comes his groggy complain

Currency shoveled the counter of granite
Not yet a bride nor a non-shaven groom
Still it is felt like a pink feathered boa
Lovebirds want cages, these two need a room

Holding his hand as they shuffle the staircase
Ornate the copper reflecting her grace
Wearing a smile that is sheepish and woolen
What waits the night paints the look on her face

He calls the bed, fears his ankles are swollen
She shuts the door to their quarters superb
Then slightly opened for placard replacement
Written in English reads, Do Not Disturb

well she could sit around all day
and rot her poetry this way
just put it all rot down and say
"I've done my duty"
done let the cat out of the bag
done with the hairball that old nag
all gutsy green this rotten queen
just cut a cutie.

she'll change the word to what it's not
and that ain't wrong, it's all she's got
but just like garbage turns to rot  
the road untrodden
she'll long the rod, like rodeo
these words are ridden, time to go
so get the horse and don't be slow
it's time we're ridin'!

We're ridin' errors then all day
poetic license paves the way
don't know quite where but that's okay
our rot to ramble
and what this rutted road has got
is what the dusty novel's not
the long and short of every rot
poetic bramble.

Do not be disturbed
If I lack the ability
To sugar-coat
The beautifully human
The tragically human
Or
If I refuse to try rewrite
The book of life

Do not be disturbed
By us
Mad mischief-makers
Us
Multi colored misfits
Who wander the market place
All dressed up
With nowhere to go
But here

Do not be disturbed
By us frenetically tainted
Us
Silly sprouted beings
Who speed the highways
On a wild goose chase
To wherever


Dearest do not be disturbed
If I regurgitate
Some heavenly-scented hairball
From some holy rap sheet
From some wasted wobbling wino
Do not be disturbed
If I smell a rat and show my teeth

Do not be disturbed
By the impending days ahead
When some grizzly goon
Some long-clawed nimbat
Some long-forgotten ghost
Coughs  up and spits in your face

Of course be disturbed if you must
But the days are short and the hour is nigh
The time for braggards and barbies
Monsters and missionaries
For mystery and myth
Will soon quietly pass away
And you wont be able
To hear a pin drop
Dearest
Do not be disturbed.

Today is the day
National mental health day
One of the many days I regret

I should speak out
I want to
But my mental illness has me chained
So instead I pull
Pull my way closer
But the chains keep me back

Closer to the truth
Closer to the hesitation

For me, pulling is my release
I read online that the rough ones-
With black bulbs were bad ones
The “wicked witch” ones
So I started

Pulling out my fears,
Doubts,
Insecurities
From my head- one by one

Until I laid there helpless
In a cloud of my mistakes
Somehow seeing all my worries in front of me didn’t make them go away

Instead, I became more aware
More aware of my failures
For the unknown future that lies in store
One by one

October 23, 2016
I kept the receipts
A friend- not a close one, more of those friends of friends
She chose me to tell her story to
She was *****
By a guy we all knew and trusted
A “good guy”
I lent her an ear, or rather a willing text
I thanked her for her bravery
For allowing me to be a small fraction of her story of overcoming
I might be one of twenty she told, or maybe just two

I don’t know. I may never know.
But what she may not know is that night
She became my one
Someone I knew almost nothing about
I told her my story and asked how she told her first

I hoped of getting some of her strength through some sort of Twitter DM telepathy
Alas you can’t gift strength like that
Oh God, I wish you could
I go back and read those messages all the time trying

I read my TimeHop every day
Sometimes for the memories
But more often than not they bring back the nightmares
I do it for the relief
The streak number tick ticking higher
Counting the days that have gone by
Or the hairs I’ve pulled

Tomorrow is National Coming Out Day
Is there a day like this for those who came out to their loved ones about their mental illness?
I will also not be participating.
My mental illness is keeping me from doing so
I am buried deep in my closet, hiding under clothes and forgotten tags
My fingers raking through the carpet
Finding that momentary release
The glorious relief lasting a moment
I run my fingers through the rough fibers searching for more

My family doesn’t know
Or if they do, they don’t want to break our perfect mold
I pull discretely
Around my head, just a receding hairline, no bald patches
Yet

I never get my haircut
At least, by a professional
The last time I went, my stylist said it was new growth
Not my past coming to haunt me.
She pulls at them showing me, calling them baby hairs
How do I tell her that each one represents shame, frustration, guilt
Each one represents one party, one good time with friends I’ve missed
Hiding behind those fears, covered in guilt
Back in my closeted mind

Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I cut myself open
Would blood run out or the words I meant to say?
When it’s a bad day, I pull at large sections of my hair
Wondering what it would be like to rip it all out in two sections
It makes me cry in pain, but the voices tell me about the sweet relief it may bring
I almost give in

What hurts me the most is noticing the people around me who have it
Does the girl sitting in front of me know
One day she may have to get surgery
To remove the hairball in her stomach from eating at her hair?
I see her run it through her lips, feeling the same texture.

Does the boy, scratching away at his knuckles
Understand what’s underneath his skin?
I wonder what his blood would say
Would it tell my story?
Would it tell ours?

another tree frog
pushes its luck on my porch
dislodges hairball

Immaculate Reception

Oh No! that rare call family saying they will drop by after the mall

Sudden rush begins to brush away that dust appearance of neatness is a must

No time for detail stick to retail don't go wholesale, reduce the clutter so they won't whisper or mutter, just throw loose linens in the closet in the hall

Give that mop a quick romp dance the broom around the room ,toilet bowl needs a bit of bleach to at least whiten the rust

Always keep a clean kitchen helps with quickness and reduces sickness, open a door a window for the air so new freshness isn't just aerosol

Begin to brighten instead of frighten lift the gloom with a twirl of a vacuum, straighten a mess just for the guest not the naval white gloved

Little messy not to dressy merely a side effect of bachelor life, now in a hurry to arrange in a flurry make the tornado appear as a minor squall

Swiftly swiffer  wiping the upper along with lower,  lift loose lint sets my mind at ease, giving it all a fast pass to not appear over scrubbed

Fast and furious dust a thon to not appear to be living life to soft and luxurious, wash not wax is not lax ,minor buffing not the complete overhaul

Shake the rugs loosen the linens rearrange the many pillows, make haste no time to waste room already appeared chaste, pillows from the dryer will pass for fluffed

Last minute set the music for a fresh vibe coffee and cookies to welcome the tribe,stage is set they won't judge for that stray hairball

Glad that didn't drive me mad, not much fuss over a little dust or hub bub for a fast scrub, it won't truly matter if it was clutter or spatter, I just realized I am still in my pajamas and my hair is not brushed. R.C.

Blood flooded my cheeks at 5 am. A frozen farewell kiss from Saint Joe while I’m scraping snow from my window. Shield me from the crushing pain, I think to myself. My brother waves.

And off I go.

In this new chapter, a stranger is singing in the shower. His cat shedding everywhere. The beasts of the southern wild are howling at the fireworks outside. Because they just want to crawl into a quiet corner and die. Peacefully. Like little bodies in sleeping bags. These makeshift beds were the beginning of the end.

I digress.

I’m a roommate now. A divorcee. And when he’s out working I’m alt-j laundry loading and making a snack. As if some chèvre and crackers could ever muster the gusto to drop-kick this depression attack. Can’t afford the meds so I grab a coffee with a philosopher. That should do the trick.

Nope. I got Žižeked to death.
What a mess.

I drive back home just to have you put your back N 2 it. And when you try to tongue and groove me, I recoil. Your ******* cat coughs up a hairball when you kick me out. Then he looks up with cloudy eyes and I realize: OkCupid is a terrible place to find a housemate.

Beginners mistake.

I’m gay.
But don’t worry.
I’m not so gay I make your eyes hurt
I wear leggings and t shirts three times a week
so my outfits aren’t so hard to swallow
Oh I’m sorry I hope my short hair isn’t too much for you to digest
Don’t let that hairball keep you coughing
Or at least try to keep yourself from choking untill you see the girl I held hands with last week
She was wearing fish net tights
Do you need some water with that?
Don’t worry her parents make her go to church on Sunday
How about some salad?
She makes the best salad.
Oh I’m sorry is it hard to chew with your mouth so far open?

Pick me apart like food in front of you.
After all it’s purpose is only to be consumed
Eat up.
I hope I made it easy for you to clean your plate.