You were one of those boys
Who I'd known since I was 4,
And who got confirmed in the
Christian faith
Six weeks ago.

One of those boys
Who joked around in class
In a way that made the tescher smile.

One of those boys
Who I was happy to have in my squad
For gym
Because I knew we would win
Team Handball.

He was a guy
Who was completely comfortable
If I referanced second grade,
Even if my memory
Embarrassed him.

Someone who was so happy
To go to highschool
And be on the football team,
And who had already made friends
With all the players.

And he was one of those boys
Who we all knew
Would be the one to score the winning goal.

I thought that he would always be there.
Because boys like Bennett Rill are rare.

sample size excavation:

urbanity forsake the village-metality
of the undisclosed biological
credo...
                     urbanity became
a pawn & pauper in a "clues",
which replaced facts...
                         i am more mushroom
than reptile or genital mutilation
grammar asking...

              finally! cricket has come home!
well... in between watching
roland garros,
and the ICC?
             even i can agree...
of all the h'american sports?
  baseball... sure...
ice hockey... sure...
     basketball... sure...
   h'american football?
esp. when watching rugby?
  i don't get it...
         scuffling in the middle...
pass back... one throw forward...
a decent runner...
         ball hits the deck...
"regroup"...
      reinforced rugby-esque scrum
drama...
    play-stop-play-stop...
ad. revenue interlude...
   start-stop-start-stop...
             doesn't it get boring, ever?!

i had to turn to cricket!
oh i'm enjoying the cricket...
it's like chess + braille + bridge
dynamic of tactic... sure...
it's not baseball...
       it's cricket!

   international test matches...
50 overs...
         50 x 6 = 300 throws of the ball...
1 over = 6 throws...
no other sport was so much
beautiful jargon,
so much stat.,

             and so many idiosyncratic
terms...
what do they call english
cricketers? tourists...
west indies (the carribean team?)
the windies...
          
          349-8 (349 runs...
         8 wickets)...
              
                   imagine a sport...
where it lasts so long that it errodes
your attention span like
a Tolstoy novel...
      come morning,
it finishes in the early hours of
the evening...

                cricket... quintessential
Dickensian replacement narrative...
and i've never seen more
laid back referees (umpires)...
what's a 4 to a 6
in terms of body language?

you have tactic akin to bowlers
throwing spin-accents...
so there's a minimum of a 1-2 1-2
runs... rather than 4 or 6 worth
of smackers...

            cricket isn't the worst
of games... by far h'american football...
that's the worst game, ever...
then, golf...
             **** me... table tennis
beats those two games,
even without all the glamour...
but itching chinese pretending
to be fast paced insect-esque
reaction time automatons...

                 i mean two female sport
events make complete sense...
tennis and gymnastics...

i don't even know why i enjoy cricket...
after all,
i am not exactly english "born and bred"...
bred from the age of 8...
hybrid mongrel...
i would still like to appreciate
the sports celebrated by the land
of my birth...
        żużel (speedway) and
(szczyptarze... almost a googlewhack...
2 results)...
                 hand-ball... and volley-ball...
greek wrestling...
      archery...
             sport is so under-represented
these days...
        only the major sports...
and at times, the monopoly associated
with their funding, their subsequent
traction of spectator numbers...
  it's so boring!
             it becomes too tribal!
totteham hotspur f.c.: born and bred!
there are so many other sports...
that do not entertain tribal ergonomics!
most of the olympic sports, for starters!

  today i was watching pakistan take
on england in the ICC world cup...
             ****- beauties all round...
      and then... for some "weird" reason...
the shadow of Rotherham...
     the cube didn't fit into the square
hole a gorilla was supposed
to push the prism through...
            
       there are just so many underrated
sports! it's not even worth criticising
sports per se...
         it's the sports that appeal to
the masses, that elevate the sport beyond
the sport per se, and craft trivial and
tribal affiliations that bothers me!

           i still think h'american football
is the dumbest sport available...
considering it as, rugby: devolved.
there's as much sense of passing the ball
backwards, imitating a charging wave
against a coastline of defence...
as there will ever be any sense found...
in scuffling in the middle
like some pretend boxing match...
allowing only one pass backwards...
and one runner maneuvering past the pointless
scuffle in the middle...
pass back, one throw, one catch...
                       run Forest! run!

o.k. even i found cricket a bit *******...
asparagus... ****... asperger syndrome
with its overt analysis...
   but even cricket looks better
than that ******* irish pub brawl
take on boxing that h'american football
represents...

bloated egos in armour...
           sorry, even ping pong looks
more appealing...
the ******* sumo diet worthwhile
to compete with...
        it's the cricket world cup...
and the time it takes to play out
100 overs?
    maybe chance upon a 6 run...
   8 wickets...
                      elsewhere
handball is pop, as is volleyball...
ski-jumping...
          
        sport per se isn't the problem...
it becomes a problem when
sport becomes tribal,
and the initial per se pleasure
of the spectacle of a sport is drained...
when people have to take sides...
when the sport per se cannot
be appreciated...
            hence the "concept" of the sport,
the logic of behind the sport is lost,
lost in the fact that it is lost to
it being monetized...

              when sport, resembles....
the kind of live performance,
akin to Heilung - Alfadhirhaiti...
while i am left, bound to the greater desires,
of moving to Greenland...
or the Faroe Islands...
        because even the English summers...
are starting to resemble
Indian summers more and more...
**** being your atypical English
sun-worshipper who "miraculously"
moved outside of London...

                         not, far, enough!
give me Greenland, give me the Faroe Islands,
give me Alaska!
    i can't stand this surge in
the creeping Summer heat about
to grind England to a halt!
                   however long it will take,
i wish to plan my escape to these lands...
i don't want a year's worth more,
in this little saudi land of the north,
with pubescent saudi ******* racers
bragging their diesel lamborghini *******
down Knightsbridge!

Jupiter moon v Saturn Methane


Today Javk Dyer and Chris Mainwaring are having a fun day at Jupiter Moon oval, to celebrate the after life UFL tournament, and Jack Dyer started the ball rolling with two space kickers, Daniel Morecmbe and Graham Thorne, and Graham Thorne kicked about 2 goals and 17 behinds and he beat Daniel Morecambe who just kicked 1 goal and no behinds and after they was over we went to the handball competition run by Tony Campbell, and we had some great participants like Don Bradman and Tony Grieg, and Zara Baker came in and was the first to get a bulls eye, and she got it twice, and also Peter Sargent handballed two through the bullseye and him and Zara were looking like winning, untill Blske came in and scored a superb bulls eye three times and he won the hand ball competition, there were two more entries, who were Peter Harvey and graham Kennedy, but neither of them got bulls eyes, so Peter Sargent won the prize, the next thing was the tie up footy game, you see if you miss a goal you get a part of your body ******* and if you get a goal, you don't, so the aim is to not get it wrong, because you will find it hard to get free to kick your next attempted goal, so the first was Naomi Innes, and she kicked a behind and Ted Bundy tied her legs together, and then Brett Eggins kicked a great goal, and he yelled put, boys are better, your going down little girlie, and then Zara Baker kicked a goal and she went over to Brett and said, girl's are smarter than you, na, nani, na na, then Scott Macdonald came up and kicked a goal and went up to Zara Baker and said boys rule the afterlife, chicks rule the bed afterwards, and then Marilyn Monroe came over and kicked a behind and the boys tied her legs together and both Naomi and Marilyn were trying to be free the next time, and then River Phoenix had a shot and he scored a behind and he disgraced the boys when Ted Bundy came out and tied his legs together, yes Ted felt good and the final person was Micheal Jackson, and he scored a beautiful goal, and now for the second and last series, and first Naomi with her legs tied together, tried to push her legs up, and because it was tbe afterlife, Naomi pushed her legs and showed us her skills she learnt in death, then Brett Eggins, kicked another goal, and Brett said I am the ruler of this afterlife, no one will beat me, no way no chance no hope and then Zara Baker, who requested to run with the ball with defenders trying to stop her, but that was a trick, because little Zara Baker was too fast as she swung around everyone and scored her second goal, and she said, go Zara, go Zara, I am the greatest in the afterlife, oh yeah I am and then Marilyn Monroe came to magically kick with her feet tied together, and she tried a full somersault over the top of Jupiter moon and scored a great goal and Marilyn said, I am the greatest kicker in the after life, and seeing I don't know much about Aussie rules, I seem alright, dudes, River Phoenis had the next kick and he wasn't too lucky and Ted Bundy tied his hands together as well as gag his mouth, and he is the loser, so he is going to burn in hell or get burnt by the methane, whatever came first, Micheal Jackson came in next to score a great goal,  and Zara, Brett and Micheal Jackson were our winners, congratulations to you 3 dudes, yes this was a great day at Jupiter moon, and everybody had fun.

What are the odds of finding someone -
who can finish your sentences -
who will let you cut in line -
who knows not to just lend a hand, or an ear when you need them to give you their spine -
who will keep every secret, save every letter, tell you how you really look
who will remember every single one of your birthdays -
without checking Facebook?
What are the odds of finding someone who knows your poetry by heart ?
I will always see you for the alley-oop.
I will always save you a seat.
I will always pick you to be my partner even though you are terrible at handball.
When the fire takes all you have, my home will be your home.
When you are old and can no longer remember my face, I will meet you for the first time again and again.
When they make fun of your accent, I will take you swimming because we all sound the same underwater.
When Ellis Island tries to erase your past, I will call you by your real name.
When they call your number for the draft, I will enlist to fight beside you.
And I will march with you from Selma to Montgomery and back as many times as it takes.
We will stand together against the horses and the dogs -
They could tell you how rare this is.
But they could tell you how rare this always is.
The chances are slim.
The cards are always stacked against you, the odds are always low.
But I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you, and I choose both.
I want to share every single one of your sunshines and save some for later.
I will tuck them into my pockets so I can give them back to you when the rains fall hard.
Love-
I want to be the mirror that reminds you to love yourself.
I want to be air in your lungs that reminds you to breathe easy.
When the walls come down -
when the thunder rumbles -
when nobody else is home, hold my hand -
and I promise -
I won't let go.




alarm clock set for early morning
wails and peels without fair warning
rub my eyes in an effort to see
surprised to wake up in the state of VT

what is this, where did it go
whats a po’ boy doing far from buff’lo
where be the park, the lake and da’ strip
where are the people with the stiff upper lip
why leave the breeze, the squalls, the kimmelweck
the taverns where gran’pa drank anisette
that sycamore growin’ on Franklin street
the angst that consumed a community beat
the grimy grey skies to summers impossibly
what happened to lead me to the state of VT?

{not right to accuse others of conceit
   why play handball with self deceit?
    far better to accept the things that be
     and apply my emotions, stoically}

for one place is much like the other
careers are for greenbacks, that’s why the bother
of numbers and lawyers, of panels of priests
up north, out west, down south and back east
I am dissolved in a prelude that leads to eternity
with so many points available, might as well be VT

She dribbles up and down the driveway
A red handball that bounces up
With the same vivacity as her heart.
“Come on, Grandpa!” she will say,
When she realizes I'm smiling over my coffee cup,
And I'll get up to join her in my soul's old art.

With a rather new stiffness I'll throw toward the net,
And my mind goes to what was and what's not yet:
From dunking with friends in schoolyard courts
To each banana bread breakfast and protein shake snack,
To the luxuries of life and vacation resorts
Of stardom and fame before the injury of my back...
But she will be the most famous star,
I'll buy her a basketball for Christmas this year.
She'll pass me up, be better by far,
And she'll see something glorious when she looks in the mirror...

The ball hits the roof, seems I aimed too high
And I wonder, again, that cursed question: why?
I put my arms down and let out a sigh
As she chases after the ball.

I turn to sit back down, get back to my chair
When she runs up and pulls the back of my hair,
She pouts a little, saying, “No, that's not fair!”
It begins to dawn, I haven't lived since that fall...

The fall that broke my back,
The fall that broke it all,
The fall that took me from riches to lack,
The fall that keeps me from standing tall...

“Shoot it, Grandpa!” she calls to me
And what can I really do but comply,
I shoot and hit the roof, missing very clearly,
But she breaks into applause, and I begin to cry:

For she is my biggest fan,
Though the smallest in stature of them all,
And her applause is all I need
To look again in the mirror, first time since the fall.
She shows me I am worthy
Of affection, I am my granddaughter's glory.


Lake Erie Blues

alarm clock set for early morning
wails and peels without fair warning
rub my eyes in an effort to see
surprised to wake up in the state of VT

what is this, where did it go
whats a po’ boy doing far from buff’lo
where be the park, the lake and da’ strip
where are the people with the stiff upper lip
why leave the breeze, the squalls, the kimmelweck
the taverns where gran’pa drank anisette
that sycamore growin’ on Franklin street
the angst that consumed a community beat
the grimy grey skies to summers impossibly
what happened to lead me to the state of VT?

{not right to accuse others of conceit
   why play handball with self deceit?
    far better to accept the things that be
     and apply my emotions, stoically}

for one place is much like the other
careers are for greenbacks, that’s why the bother
of numbers and lawyers, of panels of priests
up north, out west, down south and back east
I am dissolved in a prelude that leads to eternity
with so many points available, might as well be VT

The future that we bought into has ******* us, all
due to those weevils in the counting houses playing handball with our cash.Give 'em all three strokes with the cat o nine tails,let's hear them moan and send their wails across the land so others of this thieving band may listen and take heed.
I'm sick of being bled bone dry so they can feed,I need to take a stand and start an anti weevil band but that takes cash and dash it all,it's all being counted down in county hall.

I have counted many lucky stars while laid out on the floors in several bars and then have counted several more when making it out of the door into those spaces where I know the sad and lonely people go
but I'm not one of them thank God,I've always been a little odd like that,the flat sound and Elliot knew it too,the wasteland of the tasteless,few will guess how I digress and each day more becomes the mess I make,this jiggery pokery keeps on poking me as if I could be anything other than the skullduggery I partake in.

I have spun my sin into this shawl I wear and call to some greater being to help me bear the shame but it seems like '*******' is my name I hear it often cited by the counting men who couldn't count the Viscounts in a biscuit barrel,
and so I do a barrel roll and bowl along my merry way which I do quite nicely every day and if tomorrow is another day
when do we start the war?

I was circling seeing the symbol at
the square like great ***** of fire
Making his move the checkmate
The overcrowded City all sharked Inn
Persian cats  the parade of top hats
The women with her furry-coat
She has some woofing bark
The time to be happy but sulking

Dark, what? (Dr. Seuss Square Hats)
what happens when no one listens

Eyes far away masquerade to glisten
Holy water so purified  this earthly planet
A give or take got terrified all flatten
linked face and body invasion of the body
snatchers those crazy cats like a
A boy to the crunch snicker
were squeaking someone saw
something squealing card dealing

What the (Bobcats) cat napping
Stray cats ***** pack City rats
Were stinking up the alleyway
The whole nightclub was a square
the Disco ball have it your way
What time is it anyway 
 his hangover jerky

  Eggs Benedict Times Square the
formula of love project what did I do
for the next subject

What I did_ go daddy so diddy I was his lady
And he was so___square toast Arnold
So  dorm dorky was a big ball Porky
Pig glob New York Times all I read was What I did
The girl has to have ***** but the Victorian doll face
Christmas red glitter ***** came to be a disgrace

He's such firecracker handball the soccer ball he wasn't
showing up and what I did I met the Canadian Cups
I met someone else named  Rob what a dip drip dribble

He was fixated on the TV square rabbit ear antennas
Feeling like a round bubble brain chit chat yentas
In his RV square cell phone apps laying their sedated
Twins overlapped taking naps

Archer Ball hotel Archie what a "Bunkbed"
  outside in the lobby 'Talking heads' group,
they could see you talking in your sleep
that sleepytime tea Vampy crime
with his beat-up square chair
the doorknob speckled all dotted polka dot 
 Magnifying glass ball someone will fall

Itzy ritzy French bikini he fantasized
Into her curves, he needed
better ***** going firm up
The New Year was germ cup
To many Apple computers like
Jumping Jack more apple phones
it's the New Year you hear
So many serial murderers here's
(Jumping Jack)
he got trashed
Such a comic Jughead so bushed
He was outdated so Square he didn't
have one square in his head I was in the mood
making  round's
With celebration drinks ball twister looking
inside my crystal ball

New light counting 1-2-3-4 waiting without a
care 5-6-7-8 my head is pounding for the
New Year, everything is a number
People are like lemons
square cakes
All we do is have a fight to
the nearest rounding
A perfect round stone
Diamond why exchange silly name
Diamond Exchange
You know what I did for
Times Square right?
Don't go back tumbling in the past
Tumblr no one has time to check
your pictures all science and physics

Why does everyone want your birth number
Getting dimmer adding right dress
The ball did go up or what I did put a lid on it
  Holy hot tamales stick to the
new year priorities
Did I have a kiss or another year to miss?

The ball going down I need him to get up
Basket-Ball Hoop Snoop Dog
The concert felt like Ms. Betty Boop
New York necklace of fruit loops
  Please allow me to introduce
myself symphony
of the devil
I am a man I will do anything for my lover
When our time is right I will just leave her
Foreign Cat tongue milking let's be personal
Times Square New York New York
The Billboards and mural "Marilyn Monroe"
names of Doe look at her new legs
Her white dress flew away
with her money
gold bonds
She's the love talker he's savvy
(New Yorker)
New day, every hour, every time
Times Square
Jailbird meeting the blue square tie bird boss
He was the show wicked crime light cross
Is it really such a waste of time?
College teens of frats scholars

No one cared to have principles
What will I do for twin double
Eyes coupled
What I saw multiple personalities
what will be the resolution?

Singing in the New Year
he takes a New Year ***** Diva
her one of a kind glass
Someone threw it in the grass
Hum, Hum, Hum singing
He's downtown going forty-second street
Are you kidding me this is
Times Square
Do you have square curved
into your bone body
Go home and get some sleep
on your *****
This squares it up no extra rounds
That's what I did 4 Times Square
No love circles just being
you Square
Married diamonds square
shape worth it.
Kiss the whole earth lit

for i am a young dude

and i do my art and my writing

and i can get you a root

with anyone in this world

elle macpherson would be nice you say

i can get you a root with her any day

kylie minogue would be pretty rad ya see

i can get you a root with her yeseree

what about lisa wilkinson from the today show

i can get you a root with her any day, buddy

don’t call me buddy for it’s so downgrading

cause if you call me buddy i won’t get you a woman

do you want a woman

i can get ya one

i can find a beautiful woman

so i can ****** my way in

for i am a ******

i have the prefect woman in my data base

that you’ll be interested in

so do you wanna see the woman

i have lined up for you

or do you wanna be square

cause if you are square

you won’t be able to get there

cause with my kind of woman mate,

you’ll be happy

**** beautiful tremendous women

see i am a little young dude

just put your head in my lap

and i will handball it back to you, dudes

cause i am a cool young dude who has a lot of fun

i can find ya a woman and then

i will give  ya a kick up the ***

for i am a young dude a little young dude

who loves life a lot

with a dad that wants to stay in my life

by getting in my ****** way

yeah mate yeah mate, i am the coolest dude around

cool people don’t fight

cool people find women for less fortunate people

i give women to people in reference they will leave me alone

i am a young dude little young dude, i am a little young dude

****** oath i am a guy, cause i wanna be young all my life

want a woman, i can get you one RIGHT NOW

everybody hates chris hums on the television.
during commercial breaks, i stare at the ceiling,
feeling bed rest marooned.
cocooned in sweat-soaked blankets
dotted with crumpled kleenex
i ask myself for the first time:
“why am i alive?”

and it’s not that i want to die
although the strep throat
swelling up my lymph nodes
is hardly worth staying for,
but rather i ask what it means to be 10
and not able to see far beyond then
and where i fit into the hopscotch
criss-cross applesauce chaos
that is the world beyond the playground fence.

once im well again i ask my friends.
matthew strokes his hairless chin, then shrugs,
he doesn’t have time for existentialism,
he’s running late for cello lessons
so the question bounces off him like a
handball off a wall:
with a slap and a thump back down.

i ask tyler now.
he cares about me, but girls are gross.
he has a reputation to uphold,
which he won't if he tells me so.
he grasps for an answer,
not heartless, but manhunt tough,
“well, you make me laugh,
i think that’s good enough.”

that summer, he moved to texas.
facebook says he works at 7-11
and i wonder if on the night shift
when customers stop trickling in
and he’s mopping up puddles of slurpee
he remembers wrestling me on black top,
arms tangled in impossible knots,
fifth grade love and skinned knee blood
flowing between blows
and still laughs.

The Harbor freeway was without the congestion and the gridlock that made this highway famous.
Empty freeways demand speed and in Los Angeles everyone's in a hurry with somewhere to go.

It was a rare sight in a city full of men and their machines
A rare sight that was quietly becoming normal.

The lack of cars made the otherwise thick layer of ***** brown smog become a minor smear on an otherwise beautiful blue Southern California day.
With the changing of the guard the nameless planes with their exaggerated white lines across our skies magically returned.

There's more of us noticing things today than any other time before.

To the far West Venice is dying and the beach has become a refugee camp full of tents and blue tarps all wasting in the wind.
Handball courts now occupied by old bikes, tents and an array of useless garbage someone calls their property.
And the California girls' no longer come here to tan.

The girls on Figueroa stand half naked on 64th street waving like debutants at the lonely men as they window shop for *** from the safety of their vehicles.
The girls here never tell you their real name and all the men are called John.

The Gang members in the Hoods on the West side and in the Varrios and the Projects on the East all use Graffiti as a way to convey their threats to one another.
The Taggers bright, bold pieces bring colors to the otherwise grey concrete freeways.

Downtown is nowhere you want to be without a million dollars or a side arm and a reason.
They gave Skid Row up to the people and the graffiti then watched in horror as it grew into what it has become today.

South Central continues to bleed red, brown, blue and black.
Curbside motive candles dot the city corners like mile markers along the highway.
There's been far too much death to ever mention peace here.

Hollywood is slowly dying and Melrose is at 50% capacity with robberies happening almost everyday on Rodeo.

The Cranes along the Harbor stand like giant monuments to a God no one prays to anymore.
And there's a lot less Cargo trucks on the road today then any other time before.

Yet we are told to "Stay home ,we'll pay you to do so".
While outside our city is dying and there is no where to spend the money we're given anyway.

Goodbye, addiction, my killer vice
I've come to realise it destroys ones life
Because a little starts a web of lies
As your true inner self slowly dies
And the person inside hides from itself
Blaming the cards you were dealt
Coming from within the drug of deception

In my search for meaning I just couldn’t wait
Took a gamble with an old schoolmate
Behind the now derelict, but once busy hardware shop
I blew it all up, until my head was about to pop
Then my heart felt like it was jumping out of my skin
That’ll be the last time, never again
Until my mind craved the drug of deception

And while in a crazy trance I saw
Three headed creatures, six eyes or more
Creatures stalking without a cause
Creatures nearing without a pause
Creatures appearing from nowhere on my trip
My mouth tight lipped
Caused by the drug of deception

"Help" said I, "I want them to go
Caused by a lost souls woes
Take notice my friends, save yourselves
Take my advice for it could help yourselves."
But my addiction like so many in life
All fall into the drug of deception

All of us in society at times have troubles
Try and find a way out of your mystery puzzle
The choice is yours alone, so never ever handball
All of us in some way, are marooned on an island
Wandering around trying to contact the mainland
But it’s free to move to another thinking way
So instead live every moment, of every single day
Better than being lost to the drug of deception.

"Hey! I'm not an uptight
I caved in cowardly
I truly never mind
What people whisper behind
Believe you me"

"Oh poor! Is this why you burst into tears?
And still scorching and blazing
With red eyes and firm fists
Glaring glowing sweats and *******
You're an uptight
Believe you me" never mind"

Uh..That's none of your business
Why don't you just agree?
I never freak me out to people
Whom I'll never ever talk or meet

"Playing handball might cause serious injury
What I shouldn't..I should believe
You're honest and candid
Cowardly I'm caving in"

"Hey..wait a while..hello??
Oh..you're gone
Let me confess
To be honest
I'm uptight
I always seriously sternly mind
What people whisper behind
Believe you me"...

We used to run around the streets in Elmhurst. Play football and bounce the ***** off windshields. Get into tussles and act like tough guys. Somebody on the block always opened the hydrant when things got too hot.

There wasn't a lot of running inside the walls of my high school. It was a train to a bus ride away from home. But it felt a world away.

I'd meet the homeys after school, out on the handball courts in Broadway. Sometimes I didn't bother going to school. I'd skip straight into acing fools on serves.

It's a habit I've kept with me over time. I've had trouble seeing the opportunity right in front of me because I've believed things had to be a certain way. I believed new relationships couldn't be formed as strong as old ones. But I was wrong.

I made it through high school. First kid in the fam to graduate out of college. First generation middle class man from the streets of a lower class upbringing. I don't get to bare that too often. And I don't get to speak my speak all time. Often times I've had to change tongues, dig outside my element to feel a part of something. More often I've chosen not to do so. Out of pride? Out of principal? I probably know as much as you. And that's nothing. But wherever I am, there are places that I came from, people I have met, things that I have been. And without them I'd have no words for you.

it's June###

(if you lie awake,

trying to pronounce June,

in NYC).

****-whacked by flies.

a handball court taking

pains to paint both wall to ball--

black and white.

halved in cold heat on impact.

with a glop of grey.

sparing players with a stroke.

as the backs of blue buses melt

and bumble, into a wealth of streets.

sanitation blowing those types of kisses.

with wheels going round and round,

de-ranged with reup and rot.

We used to play footsies back in the third grade under our desk while the teacher talked about division and words we would never use like "nonchalant" and "prosperity"
We would lay in the benches together during recess and look at the clouds move when we were supposed to be playing handball
We would run off to the library to help put away books to get away from everybody
You were there when I first developed my love for books and the beauty of poetry
I would help you with your homework because I was better at math than you even though I never paid attention, and you probably only pretended to need help
We would share my snacks because sometimes you didn't have any
You were there when I lost 30 pounds because my mom was so obsessed with me being the perfect little girl she dreamed of
You were there when I first started developing my bulimia, even though you didn't know it was even going on You sometimes hung out with your other friends and you would ask me to tag along because you didn't want me to be alone
You didn't come from a good family and you had many problems
You started to disappear bit by bit and I started making up excuses saying I was helping the nurse or reading in the library and didn't even notice your lack of absence
You weren't there on the last day of school and I'm sure I'm the only one that noticed your absence
But you came back a couple of months later and acted like you didn't know me
And soon again you were gone
But I still have the memory of you in my mind, and I think of you sometimes
And even though you wouldn't recognize me if you saw me again, I know for a fact that I could recognize you from a mile away

I need a Bleh Book

Somewhere to dump the random cacaphony of **** ricocheting against
the thinning vault of my skull like a prison yard handball

Nowhere to go but in perpetual motion nonetheless

Drolly counting a cadence without the revelry of enlightenment or the hope of release

What should be pearls of wisdom precipitously condensed by the weight of time within an elegant carapace formed under the irradescent glow of a witches moon are just chili seeds gathering dust
in an old septic tank rusting under a dimming streetlight in an Albuquerque back alley

Hard kernel remnants of rellenos long since evacuated

Maybe this is it
My book

So
Bleh *******

You
are
welcome

Dante, the Inferno's here baby,
Look up and down the avenue sweetheart, Ain't
Nothing but chicken ***** and chicken hearts,
Lining the gutters and grocery stores, While I Got
My pincer moves down to mechanics,
It's like an art form baby,
Machines that drum dumb dull all day, As frenzied housewives Fight over toliet paper,
I tear up the avenue,
Spitting hellcat North,
Looking for the remnants
Of a once great civilization,
Red balloons and bicycles ribbons Float by my intoxicated eyes.
And Mozart plays handball
Off the prison wall.
And politicians line they're pockets,
And poet's reside in madhouses, And the wealthy
Rig the game,
And birds fall from the sky.
And it's just like clockwork baby, And canned beets
Are the main course,
And hands raise
To a silent sky.
And Dante baby,
You hit the nail on the head.
And nothing calms my ******* heart, And the sun screams
At the blood of the day,
As fans whir in ghetto windows,
We throw up the last of the day.
And the walls come crashing
And never make a sound,
And it's a one way ticket,
And never look down.
And Dante sports wings in Heaven, and I have two feet
On the ground,
And I guess it draws even,
And the best laid plans
Are no plans at all.

Syria, my lovely

Asma al-Assad, the wife of the president in Syria
  her crime is to be married to Bashir al- Assad.
Since the president of Syria is sitting pretty, they had to find a softer target hence his wife.
Hadn´t she defended the Syrian army, said they were brave
they must be after ten years of war?
Remove her British citizenship, and we shiver by the thought.
There was an insurrection, and it was crushed.
It could have stopped there if the west had not meddled and
American bombs terrorized the civilian population.
This endless war many Syrians fled, who can blame them?
NATO, too, got involved, this dangerous beast full of generals looking for a fight.
any action, as long it has a pre-fix, “democracy.”
Assad´s chemical attack on the civilian population, surely a war crime.
A Canadian reporter said it didn´t happen, it staged by the white helmets, and no one was reported dead.
The lady reporter had upset the narrative, was sent home in disgrace and now covers handball matches in Seven Rivers.
I Denmark they are sending the Syrians back they say it is safe, they will be safe if the west will stop interfering

What happens when you run out of things to see?
No more
'I Spy' when your eyes have seen it all
no more football on the pitch,
but there's always one more stitch to drop
one more handball at the 'Kop'
all's not lost
or not lost yet?

I bet there are other games to play when stuck indoors on any day and Thursday is an any day so let's find some more games to play,

Games like:
indoor volleyball
jousting
scuba diving in the bath
I'd say hide and seek
(we played that game last week and
I'm still looking)
read a book a day
make a film
stage a play
lost of games to do today, tomorrow, next week
more hide and seek
more volleyball
and
back to 'I Spy'
name them all.