The antique shop,
a cauldron where memories
from far and near boil and froth,
where chronological order
didn't matter, time stood still,
part real, as much magic,
different lives from distant lands and time
rolled in to one.
Here they met, by chance,a man
and a mysterious woman,with an eye for unusual,
among what was  on display were
things a conman would seek
and also favorite stuff fit for  kings,
artifacts and articles they must have used
or hankered after.

Past uses these museum pieces
as baits for us, secretly preparing us
to surrender before future,
unkind and rude in mind;
he changed roles as both con and king,
there was a constant yes,
she was the mate in each
he couldn't take  eyes  off her,
and she asked what he looks for,

"The famous ****** quilt,
that was to be mine twice before,
I missed making it mine,
narrowly every time"
He wondered how did he
make up that story so quick.
"I can take you to the quilt,
but it isn't here" she said
not a bit  hesitant
He was flabbergasted by
the turn of events,as if
a hidden scripted move shows the way
They left by her car,
she was eloquent about
the effects of the ****** quilt.

As they stood near the ****** quilt,
in this room he thought was part
of an antique shop, the place looked deserted,
and her eyes shone when she suggestively said
"Want to test the effect? Don't be disappointed"
It wasn't. How could one  imagine, that
the quilt can be so voluptuous.

That secret shook him out of his shell,
she had  nothing to do  with antique of any kind,
just another visitor like him, and the quilt
was an ingenious plot she hatched
in keeping with my sudden flourish,
the quilt, was a new addition in her bed
patch worked in silk, light weight,
it wasn't a blanket, but ****** in its very touch
it was them, the moment of adventure they found
had brought the rapture,who would regret?

© 2009 (Jim Sularz)

Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, by wagon, train or foot.
Days not all that long ago, in tall ships made of wood.

“A gold rush struck in’49, all quite by accident.
A burning fever that cut men to bone, in a sea of dingy tents.
Day and night, they toiled and tolled, many headed home without a cent.
But some packed out bags of glistening gold, and made a stop at "Buzzard’s Breath."

"The town’s mud logged street, deep with horse manure, bubbled like a shallow grave.
With a Sheriff’s office, a livery stable, and a church for souls to save.
And a fancy house, on a grassy knoll – sign read, “Madam Lil la ****.”
With soft, curvaceous ladies who mined for hearts – and gold of a different sort.

Didn’t take long before easy gold, was extremely hard to find.
And burly miners, tough as steel, moved in to hard rock mine.
With bloodied knuckles, dented hats, they blasted at a furious pace.
To find the gold, called the Mother Lode, yellow blood coursing through their veins!

The mine they worked was called “Long Shot”, the men thought that name a curse.
But the miners hankered for the handle, "Buzzard’s Breath”, and the mine’s name was reversed.
As luck would say, they held a royal flush, when they hit that horse-wide vein.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found, this side of the Pearly Gates.

Eyes wide as saucers, they were all in awe, everyone was filthy rich.
The miners should have all retired and should have cashed in all their chips.
But a man’s hard to figure, when his blood is yellow, and he’s stricken with a gold fever.
“Eureka! Boys, *** the dynamite and a whole lot more mining timbers!”

They mined that vein to the bowels of the Earth, and the heat increased by day.
"Buzzard’s Breath" became the hottest place, to Hell – the shortest way.
And then one day, the men never came back. – Hell must have jumped that claim.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found – that’s where the Devil mines today!”

Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, died a slow and quiet death.
Along with days of tall wooden ships, and the ghosts of Buzzard’s Breath.

When I rang in the morning, amma asked ‘who is it?’

‘who is it’
In the same voice that she used in the olden days
Worried that she would have to serve coffee and snacks
When Jinu, Pradeep, Riyaz came calling

Amma, it is not the nair boy nor Pradeep from pallippuram, nor the Muslim boy Riyaz,
It is your son

‘who is it’

Amma, this is me,
What else shall I say?
Your son.

What other title do I have

Your Youngest
Born in old age
One who is supposed to look after his amma
Who left home
Who lived as he pleased
Who married without consent from those at home
Who failed many exams
Who used to wander around with strangers
Who used to drink and shout obscenities at the clergy

The butcher knife in amma’s chest

When again the question ‘who is it’
Falls in my ears,
Amma, what should I say?

The dark one of yesteryears became fair
Because of not going in the sun, amma
I cannot become dark even if I pretend, amma

I drank and drank and got all swollen up, amma
I smoked and smoked and became tired, amma
I shouted and shouted and became hoarse, amma
I read and read poems and overflowed, amma..

When amma asks again ‘who is it’
As though she didn’t know anything

I felt like answering I have become Thadiyantavida Naseer, having read too much news
I felt like answering that I have become A P Abdullakkutti  having hankered after whatever I heard and saw
I felt like answering that I have become MA Yusuf Ali, tallying accounts again and again
I felt like answering I have become Kunjhalikkutty, having lusted after everyone I saw
Who is it, who is it, when the voice cracks asking, what more am I to say

Amma, who are you?

Why do you start as though you heard the question ‘who is the father?”

Do crows still visit the breadfruit tree on the northern side, amma?
Do you still scold, ‘hey breadfruit tree, you little minx, do not fall before you are grown enough!’, amma?

Is amma listening?
Do you understand?

What about Biran?
After his girl got married,
After his boy went to the gulf,
Biran doesn’t come
He is prosperous now,
Good fish are not available nowadays..

…

Was the tamarind tree fruitful this year, amma?
Did you dry the tamarind to make it into cakes to preserve it, amma?

Cannot down a morsel without buttermilk
In the morning, when I looked, all sourness was lost
moreover, the milk got curdled
…
Amma, wont you get up fast
Don’t we have to go to church?

There are lots of people there
There are lots of people there

I have taken the matchbox
Buy two candles (small, cheap ones)
Come, I will be here
It has been long since you lighted a candle for your father

…

I wrote my name
At the tip of a huge tree in our genealogy

It sways in a gentle wind

Brethren with whom I grew up
Say that it is because
Of  intoxication

People say it is acting the fool
Some say that all that is needed is a beating

…

On the roots of a huge tree in the genealogy, amma,
You sprout little greens of new awareness

Still even in heavy winds

Your children, fruits of your womb, who knew the labour you went through
say it is because  you are not in your right mind

People say it is acting the fool
Those who watch recommend tying up

Amma,
for me
and you,
what is consciousness,

of recent days
the solar panels
and wind turbines
couldn't ALLEVIATE
the cold indoor climes

thereby causing the folks
of Texas to freeze
under the many inches
of thick snow

how they all hankered
for that old fashioned
coal generated
electricity
which would ALLEVIATE
the boreal conditions
atrocity

She purchased a Trilby hat in lieu of a Stetson
Her shoulders seemed to stoop
whenever she lit her famous Sobranie.
The rolling countryside always felt like despair
more bramble than Strawberry Fair
She found herself in New Brighton, bracing the sea air
a sought job in a Mobile Fish and Chip Van
was assuredly the Lisa Presley way.
But her heart hankered for Hull, the dare was brazen
to  partake in a  Photography class
to record civil disobedience.
Perhaps a suitable hat
would be a beret
for that inveighed look
our dear Sandra McClain.

Their sacrifice a forgotten story
Their braveries are fables untold
In lives they hankered not for glory
In their graves they won't be old.
Lines of them lying under stone
No medal they won no star
In end they've found a silence zone
Where their memories the soils blur.
Someone was too young to die
Still dreaming a life of bloom
Yearning to reach the blue sky
Now sleeping in the casket room.
Youth so cruelly deceived them
Little was written on the white page
Blown away with the war game
Years cannot make them age.
Out of focus, out of lens
On unknown memorial just a name
Let's bow our head in silence
Lest we forget them.

I know you would never love me
I know perhaps there would be someone else who loves me truly
Yet the future does not concern me now
When I know you will never be in it
Could you spare me a loving touch
even though I postulate nothing more than a passing glance

How does attraction work
the unknown machinations of the fragile cage
and the weeping bird inside it
singing of sorrow coursing through mauve streams
inundating the body whilst weakening the mind

Once I hankered after the thought of love
but now I just think about you.

Though among the chosen,
Judah opted to cross floor,
Out of his way
Heading to the path of the fallen!

In a spectacular way
Breaking loose from
The tight grip of the fallen,
Mary Magdalene braved
The ardours track of the chosen!

Heedless to a heavenly
Crown at hand,
Judah  hankered
For a monetary reward.
Giving attention
To soul's worth,
While Mary Magdalene
Gave a red card
To her cherished perfume,
Though to procure it
She saved hard.

It was with a kiss
"This is He
You should not miss!
Now, mission accomplished,
Give me the 30 Birr please!"
Judah betrayed Christ.
Repentan, while
Mary  Magdalene
Washed Christ's feet
With tears.

Regretful Judah
Put a noose around his neck,
While ,Mary Magdalene happily
Saw the resurrection of
Christ before a daybreak!

I am swiss cheese I am somebody who is trying to relocate their shoulders, thrown about in a misty sin of congratulations
I am a sipless vulture attempting to be pure but coming out vinegar
juniper berries and sickly **** of packaged rawhide
inescapable landslide
unexcused, for what its worth
an imaginging roller coaster disaster, so far from my fathers, mad from too much beer and wine
hankered down by mood stabilizing pills
jipless, jockeyed, jiving to bizzare melodies
a sipter esphicator, ready to lunge into the excesses of butter beer
singing jollies with dumbeldore and other queers
misplelled, misplaced, outcast, on the bench with other pupils
and the carnivore sinks its teeth into its kills
shanking and shaking, singing in the bathtub with katy perry
muse the blues with cherub rock, loathing dylan, asking for more cohen
juxtaposed on top of everest and demanding a double feature
dickless angels
turnabout, shout, the end is near, abstract, understand the notion, the fear
and scream helpless hopless empty bottles of beer
nectar and graham the hector, a mellon bunnie with rabbid ears
run for your life!  the fires of eternal flowers and bounds of life
seem sophisticated at the time
Turnabout, the beats are out
and the real madness, the real madness, is here

A single pebble
crushes;

do not minimise
destruction.

Pellets hold
the small, squeezed grain of bone –
a startling nakedness erodes
it, scars the air
it lies in;

frail and suffering
hung flowers
that hankered after warmth
ooze still their stilled perfections;

and
the innocent beetle
suffers mortally.

Grandiose, magniloquent,
the pebble forfeits nothing.

We are naked, Anne, and caught.

Inside ourselves a pitiless resilience
remains, bounds up, is shot.

The orchid in the spring
still sees it here:
as cruel as me,
as loving and perennial as you.

this cautious man (bobby jean) born in the u.s.a.

grownin’ up in the badlands of atlantic city

bonded with blood brothers

felt born to run along backstreets

in brilliant disguise that did cover me

frequently blinded by the light

of the full moon



casting silhouettes against darkness on the edge of town

which lunar shafts pierced candy’s room

while immersed in book of dreams

describing better days on a Cadillac ranch


where devils & dust - visible dancing in the dark

celebrating like calendar showered 4th of july

or other glory days in darlington county

even though I ain’t got you.



livin’ in the future

mine hungry heart hankered and felt like I’m on fire

for you, this fire in me craved human touch

desire - roaring into the ole factory fire

because I wanna marry you

because the night populated



with girls in their summer clothes

each dazzling like 57 channels (and nothin’ on)

in imagination of my american skin

descended from when adam raised a cain

before last to die forecasting kingdom of days

now dwelling in celestial mansion on the hill.



now rightfully claim status of I’m a rocker/

local hero and I’m goin’ down

meeting across the river

if I should fall behind



on the downbound train as living proof

within light of day magic jungleland

policed by highway patrolman i.e. johnny 99

alias johnny bye bye – held up without a gun

defending this lucky town



established on Matamoras banks

from an incident on 57th street

thus celebrated as local hero every independence day

when with ****** incorporated



firing point blank out in the street

that staccato new york city serenade

from no surrender outlaw pete

originally from nebraska.



it’s hard to be a saint in the city open all night

within my hometown

once my father’s house, now my city of ruins

where tis moot to ask does this bus stop at 82nd street?



one step up

into the pink Cadillac

hops the ramrod queen of the supermarket

teasing audio dials sans radio nowhere

a red headed woman



racing in the street toward secret garden

to save my love – with thee

angel rosalita (come out tonight)

offering reason to believe

roll of the dice real world



and to prove it all night

from spare parts – shards of roulette wheel

housing souls of the departed

please save my love and stolen car

for sherry darling – that spirit in the night



she’s the one among souls of the departed

no longer stopped by state trooper

precinct based along streets of philadelphia

some crackling like streets of fire

straight time mandate for those armed to the teeth

along tenth avenue freeze-out.



requiem per terry’s song – what love can do

accompanied by e street shuffle

performed in somber tones

rumbling down thunder road

for souls of used cars



two hearts crushed

along this hard land

for: the ghost of tom joad

the last carnival homage


to wild billy’s circus story

the price you pay when you’re alone

working on a dream

now wreck on the highway.



we take care of our own from youngstown

when heading of to the promised land

the rising distant mystical eden

where you can look (but you’d better not touch)

espying the river of salvation



joining eternally the ties that bind

a tunnel of love

or like the wrestler

pinning opponent tougher than the rest

like laborers working on the highway

chiseled like this hard land!

He opened my limbs, slowly he poured his warm breath between me, so warm that it felt like a candle wax. Hankered so he could stroke in one of his fingers. Derided I was that I wanted to sink my teeth into him. Rainy his tongue was,that the drops felt like glaciers, moved by the tongue delicately that couldn’t move my corpse. Pricking every sense that I had left..... Ou he was divine

Devine that I splattered his image with my sap, finally he gave me a savor taste of my encephalon .

Bruce Frederick Joseph Springsteen
born at Monmouth Medical Center
in Long Branch, New Jersey,
on September 23, 1949.

His nationalities include hodgepodge
of Dutch, Irish, and Italian descent.

He grew up Catholic in Freehold, New Jersey.

I dedicate the following poem
to aforementioned musician,
whose figurative guitar finger
kept on the throbbing pulse
resoundingly reverberating
across American heartland.

this cautious man (bobby jean) born in the u.s.a.
grownin’ up in the badlands of atlantic city
bonded with blood brothers
felt born to run along backstreets
in brilliant disguise that did cover me
frequently blinded by the light
of the full moon
casting silhouettes against darkness
on the edge of town
which lunar shafts pierced candy’s room,
while immersed in book of dreams
describing better days on a Cadillac ranch
where devils & dust - visible dancing in the dark
celebrating like calendar showered 4th of july
or other glory days in darlington county
even though I ain’t got you.

livin’ in the future
mine hungry heart hankered
and felt like I’m on fire
for you, this fire in me craved human touch
desire - roaring into the ole factory fire
because I wanna marry you
because the night populated
with girls in their summer clothes
each dazzling like 57 channels (and nothin’ on)
in imagination of my american skin
descended from when adam raised a cain
before last to die forecasting kingdom of days
now dwelling in celestial mansion on the hill.

now rightfully claim status of I’m a rocker/
local hero and I’m goin’ down
meeting across the river
if I should fall behind
on the downbound train as living proof
within light of day magic jungleland
policed by highway patrolman i.e. johnny 99
alias johnny bye bye – held up without a gun
defending this lucky town
established on Matamoras banks
from an incident on 57th street
thus celebrated
as local hero every independence day
when, with ****** incorporated
firing point blank out in the street
that staccato new york city serenade
from no surrender outlaw pete
originally from nebraska.

it’s hard to be a saint in the city open all night
within my hometown
once my father’s house, now my city of ruins
where tis moot to ask
does this bus stop at 82nd street?

one step up
into the pink Cadillac
hops the ramrod queen of the supermarket
teasing audio dials sans radio nowhere
a red headed woman
racing in the street toward secret garden
to save my love –
with thee angel rosalita (come out tonight)
offering reason

to believe roll of the dice real world
and to prove it all night
from spare parts – shards of roulette wheel
housing souls of the departed
please save my love and stolen car
for sherry darling – that spirit in the night
she’s the one among souls of the departed
no longer stopped by state trooper
precinct based along streets of philadelphia
some crackling like streets of fire
straight time mandate
for those armed to the teeth
along tenth avenue freeze-out.

requiem per terry’s song – what love can do
accompanied by e street shuffle
performed in somber tones
rumbling down thunder road
for souls of used cars
two hearts crushed
along this hard land
for: the ghost of tom joad
the last carnival homage
to wild billy’s circus story
the price you pay when you’re alone
working on a dream
now wreck on the highway.

we take care of our own from youngstown
when heading of to the promised land
the rising distant mystical eden
where you can look,
(but you’d better not touch)
espying the river of salvation
joining eternally the ties that bind
a tunnel of love
or like the wrestler
pinning opponent tougher than the rest
like laborers working on the highway
chiseled like this hard land!

Black and white and sepia tone
Clear distinctions to classify emotion
Passing moments, unclarified commotion
I'm sad to watch it fade away
Though I didn't feel much today
Tomorrow I'll find the filter
And I'll be sad today will wilter
Classify it with surroundings
A specific period sounding
Tie it to a visual anchor
Cars and clothing which we hankered
Markers now invisible
With these memories be indivisible
And I'll love those filters then
For the emotions they lend

The wrecking ball long since
demolished boyhood house zen
located at 324 Level Road,
a once nonagricultural,
pastoral, rural residence,
which soulful yen
I called home while
veritably sequestered, quarantined, positioned...
sprawled atop spaciously shingled roof
countless years (B)efore (C)ovid-19
scanning distant horizon
for unsuspecting barenaked lady,
perhaps said goo goo doll sunbathing

catching rays while maybe listening
courtesy iPod to WXPN
one among several favorite stations of mine
one hotmail (male) buzzfeeding
avast fancy feast
home sweet home
since February 28th, 1968, when
Boyce and Harriet Harris
deceased parents then at their prime
both transplanted Brooklyn
Borough citified folks,
hankered to escape urban jungle
quickly acclimated livingsocial in the country.

Aforesaid domain didst span,
once assumed, encompassed, incorporated
one hundred plus acre wooded estate
(analogous to fictional land inhabited
by Winnie-the-Pooh and his friends)
listed in national register
as "Glen Elm", where ran
woodland surrounding a golden pond
favored by Canadian Geese,
but under game plan
of commercial developer Donald Neilson
(a tall lumbering
"all business no play doh" man.

Soon after aforementioned builder/realtor
bought expansive land
blueprints soon drafted for
an army of vinyl city
exemplifying Little boxes
on the hillside ditty
Little boxes made of ticky tacky...gritty
material upending wildlife refuge,
ah...what a pity.

Impossible mission to stop industrialization,
the das capital way
spurring thy preferential longing
for nature preservation oye vey,
and to make a million bucks in USA
if land left off limits
for propertied class today
then in the near future,
an aggressive builder will sashay
confirming prophecy
scooping up gobs of profit
out maneuvering competition

analogous to a marathon relay
race quickly witnessing little boxes
to sprout all the same
by construction workers,
hired brawny hands to maximize
American middle class dream
asper buying affordable home
nailing steady income,
viz all work and no play,
after acquiring a mortgage to outlay
which prospective homeowner
doth figuratively hammer away.

Their choices limited indeed
maybe there's a green one and a pink one
and a blue one and yellow one, how zing
free enterprise, and they're
all made out of ticky tacky
held together on a wing
and prayer they all look
just the same sporting lawn
anticipating family with young children
ready to play kiddy game
such as: Ring-a-ring-a-rosies
A pocketful of posies
A tissue, a tissue

We all fall down
The king has sent his daughter
To fetch a pail of water
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down
The robin on the steeple
Is singing to the people
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down
The wedding bells are ringing
The boys and girls are singing
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down.

A diabolical, inimical, piratical,
and venal worm,
whose cut throat devious shenanigans
found yours truly to squirm;
his addiction to money (mine)
sated until he ****** me dry
analogous to nicoderm,
yet impossible mission
to smoke out the most minute germ
converting life savings of mine
into bitcoin cyber currency.

Horrible reality of being hoodwinked,
preyed upon human vermin
immediately upended high jinxed mien
floundering ten thousand leagues
under the cyber sea
analogous to Titanic submersible.

I always feel myself surprised
to what length con artists (scammers)
expend themselves, when they
(he, she) could be
productive citizens of society.

In plain English,
yours truly got blindsided, extorted
interrogated, needled,
tricked, and frankly zapped
courtesy fobbing off
honest to goodness verity
springing from computer malware
kickstarting me to be virtually robbed
in broad daylight
with the fullest consent of
self anointed aspiring poet,
(steeled against irony

as if liberating money
in both saving
and checking accounts – two of each
emptied out as if expunged funds
belonged to somebody else),
when delivering a sucker punch
that cost me more than
thirteen thousand dollars
inviting such thoughts
to overdose on prescription medication.

Hence, the shonda rhyme
of utter literal pennilessness
decries hatred linkedin
proclaiming scathing wretchedness
upon the talking head
(with a clipped dialect)
ensnaring unsuspecting victims
(lower case in point -
writer of these words),
when Macbook Pro laptop
got rendered non functionally disabled
thank you ghost in the machine,
wherein reigned indubitable chaos.

Hence, loss of nest egg
(found me cracked up)
regarding resultant monetary liquidation
fall of the crowded house ushered
disquisition without hesitation
briefly describing my death
originally due to fetal positioned
congenital psychological affliction
and today's painful aggravation,
when countless Benjamins
gussied up as hobgoblins

joined human league
averse to plaintive benediction
thence, this with mine jetblue
skinny legs like a chicken
his (mein kampf) got dealt mortal
(who gives a hoot) blowfish
rem mains disintegrated
by mailer daemons usurped dereliction,
whereby sanity given eviction
in the subsequent fiction

that makes feeble attempt
to evoke stricken gumption,
where eons ago nihilistic thoughts rode
roughshod to wreak humiliation
upon prepubescent initiation,
whereby the antithesis of jubilation
kept the author (yes, yours truly)
like a trapped mouse
in a cat protected kitchen,
where no cheeses cur heist
could rectify or bring libation.

Noah hide dee ya what mailer daemon
possessed this earthlinked
live nada so hotmail
to splutter so much persiflage
as evidenced above and in the following.

Ye might well categorize
the palaver as pure llama
heaped dung attempting
to sneak into yar consciousness
as some esoteric badinage aspiring
to convey that this doodler
with words adroit
with the english language.

Temptation to bid fare thee well
bah humbug anguish
cuz down the gullet goes lethal drug
e'en without any farewell hug
after smacking lips polished
off deadly drink from mug.

Within reverie long fostered hankered freedom
at last attained to exit silently
terrestrial real estate oblate spheroid
during hulu heralded century 21,
which would deliver
(ants sir) rectifying eternal senescent deliverance.

Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness
and goodwill toward men/women
served as a mere pretense
extant the global arcade.

Nothing boot charade, enfilade
(albeit with limp poetic/
prosaic pugnacious), facade,
gilded hilariously inside *******.

Ever since he kickstarted lifelessly,
his noggin oddly plunged quietly
resting as a deceased shutterfly
tonight under vaporous wisps
as somber mood prevailed
amidst the cloistered silence imposed from
the shunted cremated preference
re: symbolic (logical)
figurative burial of Matthew Harris
subsequently reincarnated as soft dust.

Potter's field here I come,
one harried styled swiftly tailored
faceless book earthworm member
joined the rank n file
of his slimy brethren n cistern
when a mortal male
(crushed courtesy cruel
cockamamie crime) ceased
to live June twenty first
two thousand twenty three.

I foresaw how miserable fate worse than death
resolved, albeit at loss to kith and kin
of beloved brother, father to deux
darling grown daughters and husband
since July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
now left destitute and widowed.

Immune to antics of scallywags,
the grim reaper undertook requisite business
and swung a his scythe with effortless breath
and started coffin.

He exhaled little billows of cold air
while awaiting the hearst
carrying lifeless body
of none other than me doppelganger.

Prior to imagined demise, I took special pains
to select an ideal piloted kamikaze pilot plot.

A mossy glen with a mill by the pond
of my boyhood swimming hole
served like the ideal welcome mat
for the return of this native son
long gone from his family estate of Glen Elm.

At pinnacle of storied fame
death struck (with welcome arms) unexpectedly
while dodging the madding crowd
off hucksters, punsters,
and xenophobic bummers
jostling to get a glimpse of renown author,
where paparazzi seemed
destined to track me down.

As the advocate of countless essays
on inalienable rights
for all creatures large and small,
no pause from the hounding
local populace offered peace of mind.

Until now!

The prospect of dying
never scared this non-believer.

Cessation of consciousness
essentially served completion of life
in corporeal form
and reconstituted physical being
into grist for other organisms to flourish.

Karma and glorious unique characteristics
comprising each of our respective charisma,
dogma, and persona
(generally comprising an enigma
to the world) absorbed
after contract with cosmic creator lapsed.

Brief occupancy on this terrafirma
as inscribed in genetic code
(merely a blink of an eye
in the universal schema)
gave this now deceased dreamer
notion to maximize enjoyment of each day.

One need not globe trot
(and boast of espying exotic places),
but could experience inner harmony
by imbibing the present.

Simple pleasures that abounded
in the wild or evoked via creative imagination
of august writers supplied
ample sustenance for satisfaction.

Contemplative and introspective mien
prompted Eros to be discerned
in the grand canyon of Mother Nature
in tandem with personal motive
to indulge like-minded thinkers
since the beginning of time.

Any given day frequently found thoughts
turning over every figurative
jagged rolling stone
when the veiled, shrouded, cloaked...
characterization invoking angel of death
might silently spring a surprise visit,
which metaphysical thought
interestingly enough gave sigh of relief.

Why?

Upon termination of enjoying existence
in living color, the eradication
of this pet peeve of mine i.e.
anxiety/ panic attacks
interwoven with inxs
of obsessive compulsive behavior
would dissolve into basic elements
of earth, wind and fire.

No iota amount of matter
marshaled the non-entity dimension
would assume command.

Those former psychological trials
would thence be relinquished
from their parasite role
and recompose cells
of one mortal man (me)
into matter to be recycled
into raw materiel
for other organisms to feast upon.

Basic constituent cells
of **** sapien in question
would become necessary seeds
for some other manifestation
for plant or animal development.

Godaddy maggots sans fancy feast,
a best buy per this former
foo fighting beastie boy,
whose nihilistic outlook
promulgated within his in utero psyche.

Gestation as an embryonic fetus,
the potential live, googly eyed,
earth-linked, wannabe hotmail prodigy
harbored no oshkosh bug gosh
pinterest to remain
in the world wide web of bad company.

Hence, nothing could mollify measly
mumbling linkedin kibitzer,
albeit progressive matchless
who unwittingly opened
the red box of Pandora.

Molecular features
would assume novel combinations
thru said degradation of flesh,
yet improvisation of biology
would wield wasted corpse
that once epitomized an articulate,
civil, enumerate, glib, invertebrate,
kind male into novel marvels
of unpredictable genus and species.

Written three years ago tomorrow,
yet superimposed (likened to
emotional palimpsest) upon
mental state of yore
recent post traumatic stress
triggered courtesy war
torn legally tendered greenbacks,
where enemy bonded, heisted, and netted
mine life savings, he
(who fabricated conspiracy
implicating Citizens Bank employees,
whereby I fell for
hook, line and sinker)

unfailingly didst surrender
willingly (figuratively suctioned)
hand over fist funds galore
at my expense did score
leaving me dirt poor
subsequently inducing scribe
of Schwenksville to be more
assertive and contact attorney general
in an effort to restore
forfeited cash confidence man wrested,
plucked, and extracted banknotes
wrenched stashed nest egg
tucked within secret hideaway under floor.

Psyche still particularly riven
upon heels of liquidated change
spurring yours truly
to rattle his virtual tin can
since series of unfortunate events
doomed harried luckless
Perkiomen Valley troubadour reincarnate
begging (he gently seeketh
financial succor viz gofundme) for largesse.

Even before scamming imbroglio,
I experienced disillusionment
regarding mein kampf and hard times
getting older and just scraping by
courtesy skin of my false teeth.

Impossible mission to avoid senescence,
nevertheless, yours truly sought
to hold back hands of time,
when pubescent metamorphosis occurred
(two and a half score years ago)
aging petrified me, and imposed
(Uriah) heap of great expectations
and unwanted responsibilities.

In short, I did not want to grow up
forced to don mantle of adulthood
instead hankered and hungered
for fictionally nostalgic boyhood,
whereby every day
in make believe webbed wide world
exemplified hunky dory nirvana.

Aside from experiencing adolescent depression
demeanor of yours truly,
said Lilliputian severely withdrawn.

Scapegoat my middle name
bullies identified perfect bullseye
analogous to trumpeting antagonists
me as carnival barker calls out:
step right up draw an arrow from quiver
take aim at mine plainly affixed target.

Deplorable basket case loathed adult role
idealized mythical boyhood
refrained eating - courtesy anorexia nervosa
deprived growing body necessary sustenance
scores of Earth orbitz
round sun since puberty,
now vehemently decry
growth process sabotaged
self stigmatized stunt(ed) man
I stand on tippy toes,
(with nails that grow askew),
a pygmy among giants.

Sadness ofttimes eclipses
hijacked and jackknifed joy
aware emotional faculty
thru conscious facilitated meditation
can jar infinitesimally
long log jammed **** friggin
invisible obstruction along battle creek.

Linkedin with recovery coach,
I experienced then
(that day being July 20th, 2020)
around high noon cathartic enlightenment,
which revelation heightened awareness
how when just a lil lad yours truly
exhibited socially withdrawn mean mien
mollycoddled by overprotective parents
placed no demands upon their

sole contemplative introspective,
and ruminative non prodigal son,
yet upon edging into adulthood
(and magical age of eighteen)
self same idiosyncratic person (i.e. me)
faulted for supposed antipathy
toward those who conceived yours truly;
I honestly confess lack of genuine interest
exhibited toward other family members.

Absent marginal positive self image
infinitesimal if ever present
within grown docile scaredy cat,
his informal assignment
gently suggested and accepted
with little objection
courtesy Maggie Jaramillo
brainchild social services
Creative Health employee.

Daily repeated self affirmations
(ideally more than once)
rapidly jotted down
ennobling exercise prompted
by aforementioned magnificent therapist
strongly suggested technique
to seed empowerment
fostering joie de vivre.

These waning days of
mein kampf and hard times
flicker with cautious optimism to wax poetic
versus referencing anecdotal
personal gloom frequently cited
sprung from raw bits
since powder milk biscuits
unknown to yours truly;
thee focus of disproportionate
maternal and paternal affections

unwittingly, unmistakably, and understandably
triggered sibling resentment
no matter brother where art thou
among self and two sisters
not deliberately, but inadvertently
created, fomented, incited, loosed...  
genies of envy, jealousy, ornery... out the bottle
an immediately recalled realization
during my formative years
never known to yours truly then
only recounted decades
ex post facto courtesy mother
some months prior to her death.

more difficult than
threading a camel
through the eye of a needle.

If unable to maintain contractual obligation
(meaning being delinquent
with timely monthly payments)
our 2020 Hyundai Elantra
will be repossessed.

Though totally aware
when ghost in the machine
a MacBook Pro (Retina, 15-inch, Mid 2015)
rendered said laptop locked courtesy malware,
which unfortunate circumstance
launched an avoidable fiasco,
I foolishly erred and dialed
the number that flashed
with unbeknownst sinister implications.

Lemme preface details of scoundrels who preyed on obliviousness blindly ensnared in scam by informing thee dear reader of the fact that I take nine prescription medications (for severe social anxiety, mild depression, and palmar hyperhidrosis), and often feel (dazed and confused) in a heavily drugged stupor.

The following summary presents the scenario copied/pasted when details initially whipsawed psyche of mine with horrible feeling of being duped, and utterly reckless and absent at oblivious to red flags.

All sense and sensibility went out the window on what began as an ordinary Tuesday, where writer of these thought of death wish.

I already filed a police report after being bilked for above mentioned funds, which incident occurred encompassing the dates June 20th and 21st 2023, whereby an Apple tech impersonator scared the dickens out of me by claiming Macbook Pro replete with countless Trojan Horses, computer viruses, malware, et cetera, and mislead me to withdraw cash out checking and savings accounts then going to the nearest ATM to convert cash into bitcoin cyber currency vis a vis courtesy creating easy to pluck virtual pursestrings thru My Wallet.com. Said funds siphoned immediately into the coffers of hucksters.

Effusiveness coursed thru my every pore regarding glimmer of optimism recouping all or part of the monies adroit bamboozler (scammer) finagled courtesy prestidigitation. He wove a fabrication, whereby Citizens Bank employees supposedly schemed (courtesy stealth me) to scoop up rightful capital constituting checking and savings of yours truly.

Matthew Harris courteously, imploringly, and quiveringly asked divine omniscient wizard if he could initiate a line of communication with your head honcho to present synopsis (see following paragraphs), whereby obliviousness to being exploited (to extract life savings - like taking candy from a child) predicated and linkedin to mindset on the date of June 20th, 2023.

Unsure how Macbook Pro (the computer utilized here and now) got hacked, but while perusing innocuous poetry website, a ghost in the machine suddenly, and unexpectedly disallowed me to proceed with any further activity. A warning message and contact number showed up which specific details no longer recalled. Even after turning off the laptop, and then turning said trusty Apple product (par excellence) back on, the same ominous warning reappeared.

After hesitantly dialing the number (out of service at this juncture), the following ruse coalesced.

We initially spoke late morning on the former aforementioned date after Macbook Pro rendered inoperable. As mentioned, no matter I turned off computer then turned machine back on again, an ominous message with contact number appeared to flicker on the screen rendering any processing impossible.

Fingers nervously dialed 331-307- 4900 (as iterated above number no longer in service) what supposedly fronted as Apple Technical facility. A alternate number (559-421-6744 also now no longer in service) also utilized.

Nevertheless, upon answering at the other end, said impatient impersonator, and impious imposter reeled off an immediate recitation of countless Trojan Horses, computer viruses, malware, et cetera supposed populated Macbook Pro, which prognosis scared the dickens out of me lest all private date compromised.

In order to resolve computer issues (in retrospect those **** bugs most likely planted, when he or his cohorts hacked laptop - I thought safe and sound with relevant protection) then convincing con artist barked out the following commands.

As directed (as if figurative gun held to my head), I drove to two separate Citizens Bank branches; one in Limerick, Pennsylvania and another Trappe, Pennsylvania roamed across riches and took out goodly sums; $ MMMC, $ MMMMCM, and $ IXD at either former or the latter site over the course of two days.

Said key player employing artifice repeatedly warned me to be attentive (keeping cell phone of mine turned on (cuz clerks might exhibit over friendly behaviour regarding said plan extorting money as a mode to distract me), and thus wise to keep mum lest tellers become privy to getting nabbed.

Truth be told, I take nine prescription medications (for severe social anxiety, mild depression, and palmar hyperhidrosis), and often feel (dazed and confused) in a heavily drugged stupor, which state of mind being comfortably numb rapaciously, necessarily, and hopefully helps explain how said drugs contributed to submissive foggy mental health condition.

A short time after stepping out the door (here at apartment b44 - highland manor apartments to track whether I happened to be following instructions), his calling on landline (to keep tabs on me) location showed Comerica Bank (1-800-266-3742) in Michigan.

After exiting the first and subsequent second Citizens bank branch (June 21st, 2023), I maintained regular dialogue (using cell phone 267-643-7315) with "Harvey Specter," who then instructed his thoroughly conquered, connived, and convinced subject (me) to drive to MP gas station; location 125 Gravel Pike, Collegeville, PA 19426.

Once there, whereat ATM machine accessed, and all the cash converted into bitcoin cryptocurrency, and virtually stored in MyWallet.com, which process (for reasons that seemed logical and believable at the time) also entailed scanning/photographing my license.

Upon returning to said man cave, an uneasy non peaceful feeling arose. Hunch validated after dialing Crypto currency toll free number 888-897-9792, and got told all monies liquidated, hence I filed a police report despite capturing culprit an exercise in futility.

Fingers and toes crossed (to no avail) after professionalism sought to affect a desirable outcome, and since that fateful fiasco finances never bounced back to a satisfactory dollar figure.

I now append a poetic endeavor that did recaptcha dire emotional straits linkedin to the unconscionable spectre of Harvey Specter or so he falsely called himself.

A diabolical, inimical, piratical,
and venal worm,
whose cut throat devious shenanigans
found yours truly to squirm;
his addiction to money (mine)
sated until he ****** me dry
analogous to nicoderm,
yet impossible mission
to smoke out the most minute germ
converting life savings of mine
into bitcoin cyber currency.

Horrible reality of being hoodwinked,
preyed upon human vermin
immediately upended high jinxed mien
floundering ten thousand leagues
under the cyber sea
analogous to Titanic submersible.

I always feel myself surprised
to what length con artists (scammers)
expend themselves, when they
(he, she) could be
productive citizens of society.

In plain English,
yours truly got blindsided, extorted
interrogated, needled,
tricked, and frankly zapped
courtesy fobbing off
honest to goodness verity
springing from computer malware
kickstarting me to be virtually robbed
in broad daylight
with the fullest consent of
self anointed aspiring poet,
(steeled against irony

as if liberating money
in both saving
and checking accounts – two of each
emptied out as if expunged funds
belonged to somebody else),
when delivering a sucker punch
that cost me more than
thirteen thousand dollars
inviting such thoughts
to overdose on prescription medication.

Hence, the shonda rhyme
of utter literal pennilessness
decries hatred linkedin
proclaiming scathing wretchedness
upon the talking head
(with a clipped dialect)
ensnaring unsuspecting victims
(lower case in point -
writer of these words),
when Macbook Pro laptop
got rendered non functionally disabled
thank you ghost in the machine,
wherein reigned indubitable chaos.

Hence, loss of nest egg
(found me cracked up)
regarding resultant monetary liquidation
fall of the crowded house ushered
disquisition without hesitation
briefly describing my death
originally due to fetal positioned
congenital psychological affliction
and today's painful aggravation,
when countless Benjamins
gussied up as hobgoblins

joined human league
averse to plaintive benediction
thence, this with mine jetblue
skinny legs like a chicken
his (mein kampf) got dealt mortal
(who gives a hoot) blowfish
rem mains disintegrated
by mailer daemons usurped dereliction,
whereby sanity given eviction
in the subsequent fiction

that makes feeble attempt
to evoke stricken gumption,
where eons ago nihilistic thoughts rode
roughshod to wreak humiliation
upon prepubescent initiation,
whereby the antithesis of jubilation
kept the author (yes, yours truly)
like a trapped mouse
in a cat protected kitchen,
where no cheeses cur heist
could rectify or bring libation.

Noah hide dee ya what mailer daemon
possessed this earthlinked
live nada so hotmail
to splutter so much persiflage
as evidenced above and in the following.

Ye might well categorize
the palaver as pure llama
heaped dung attempting
to sneak into yar consciousness
as some esoteric badinage aspiring
to convey that this doodler
with words adroit
with the english language.

Temptation to bid fare thee well
bah humbug anguish
cuz down the gullet goes lethal drug
e'en without any farewell hug
after smacking lips polished
off deadly drink from mug.

Within reverie long fostered hankered freedom
at last attained to exit silently
terrestrial real estate oblate spheroid
during hulu heralded century 21,
which would deliver
(ants sir) rectifying eternal senescent deliverance.

Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness
and goodwill toward men/women
served as a mere pretense
extant the global arcade.

Nothing boot charade, enfilade
(albeit with limp poetic/
prosaic pugnacious), facade,
gilded hilariously inside *******.

Ever since he kickstarted lifelessly,
his noggin oddly plunged quietly
resting as a deceased shutterfly
tonight under vaporous wisps
as somber mood prevailed
amidst the cloistered silence imposed from
the shunted cremated preference
re: symbolic (logical)
figurative burial of Matthew Harris
subsequently reincarnated as soft dust.

Potter's field here I come,
one harried styled swiftly tailored
faceless book earthworm member
joined the rank n file
of his slimy brethren n cistern
when a mortal male
(crushed courtesy cruel
cockamamie crime) ceased
to live June twenty first
two thousand twenty three.

I foresaw how miserable fate worse than death
resolved, albeit at loss to kith and kin
of beloved brother, father to deux
darling grown daughters and husband
since July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
now left destitute and widowed.

Immune to antics of scallywags,
the grim reaper undertook requisite business
and swung a his scythe with effortless breath
and started coffin.

He exhaled little billows of cold air
while awaiting the hearst
carrying lifeless body
of none other than me doppelganger.

Prior to imagined demise, I took special pains
to select an ideal piloted kamikaze pilot plot.

A mossy glen with a mill by the pond
of my boyhood swimming hole
served like the ideal welcome mat
for the return of this native son
long gone from his family estate of Glen Elm.

At pinnacle of storied fame
death struck (with welcome arms) unexpectedly
while dodging the madding crowd
off hucksters, punsters,
and xenophobic bummers
jostling to get a glimpse of renown author,
where paparazzi seemed
destined to track me down.

As the advocate of countless essays
on inalienable rights
for all creatures large and small,
no pause from the hounding
local populace offered peace of mind.

Until now!

The prospect of dying
never scared this non-believer.

Cessation of consciousness
essentially served completion of life
in corporeal form
and reconstituted physical being
into grist for other organisms to flourish.

Karma and glorious unique characteristics
comprising each of our respective charisma,
dogma, and persona
(generally comprising an enigma
to the world) absorbed
after contract with cosmic creator lapsed.

Brief occupancy on this terrafirma
as inscribed in genetic code
(merely a blink of an eye
in the universal schema)
gave this now deceased dreamer
notion to maximize enjoyment of each day.

One need not globe trot
(and boast of espying exotic places),
but could experience inner harmony
by imbibing the present.

Simple pleasures that abounded
in the wild or evoked via creative imagination
of august writers supplied
ample sustenance for satisfaction.

Contemplative and introspective mien
prompted Eros to be discerned
in the grand canyon of Mother Nature
in tandem with personal motive
to indulge like-minded thinkers
since the beginning of time.

Any given day frequently found thoughts
turning over every figurative
jagged rolling stone
when the veiled, shrouded, cloaked...
characterization invoking angel of death
might silently spring a surprise visit,
which metaphysical thought
interestingly enough gave sigh of relief.

Why?

Upon termination of enjoying existence
in living color, the eradication
of this pet peeve of mine i.e.
anxiety/ panic attacks
interwoven with inxs
of obsessive compulsive behavior
would dissolve into basic elements
of earth, wind and fire.

No iota amount of matter
marshaled the non-entity dimension
would assume command.

Those former psychological trials
would thence be relinquished
from their parasite role
and recompose cells
of one mortal man (me)
into matter to be recycled
into raw materiel
for other organisms to feast upon.

Basic constituent cells
of **** sapien in question
would become necessary seeds
for some other manifestation
for plant or animal development.

Godaddy maggots sans fancy feast,
a best buy per this former
foo fighting beastie boy,
whose nihilistic outlook
promulgated within his in utero psyche.

Gestation as an embryonic fetus,
the potential live, googly eyed,
earth-linked, wannabe hotmail prodigy
harbored no oshkosh bug gosh
pinterest to remain
in the world wide web of bad company.

Hence, nothing could mollify measly
mumbling linkedin kibitzer,
albeit progressive matchless
who unwittingly opened
the red box of Pandora.

Molecular features
would assume novel combinations
thru said degradation of flesh,
yet improvisation of biology
would wield wasted corpse
that once epitomized an articulate,
civil, enumerate, glib, invertebrate,
kind male into novel marvels
of unpredictable genus and species.