Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy

      I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

      II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

      III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

      IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We ***** together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

      V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Many moons,
have passed over my headpiece,
as you leave me behind,
in moondust & ashes each night,

You collect on the bookshelves,
I keep here,
collecting on hearts with your light,
dusting my world with your beauty,
diminutives in bits of the white,

This is not the end of the journey,
 this a mere tiny part of the flight,
and I've not seen any more shiny,
or any star nearly as bright,

Though I am unable to see you now,
or touch your skin ever again,
or truly hear you with my ear,
I still miss you so my friend,

I know I cannot be near you now,
I cannot be where you are,
as you are but a twinkling light,
a brilliant & distant, star-

If it was not but for the moon dust,
my heart wouldn't,
be able to see you anymore either.

Ma Cherie © 2017

Two bottles of Southern Comfort, Black Keys on iTunes, profile picture with sister, stir-fry, 30 Rock, Gorillaz poster, pancakes at 3 am, spontaneous lunch at Barone, friends with benefits, need a hug, Columbus Day, touch my ****, too much tongue, crumpled into wall in the morning, Urban Outfitters for a t-shirt, silver medal, free Dominos, Workaholics at 12, secret sleepover #2, ******* because i thought that's all he wanted from me and i wanted him to stay, hickey on my neck, studying in a room with the round table, drew a horse on the whiteboard, fill out a police report, Redgates from Firehouse, he looks cute today. Tackled into metal, did I break my back? Jump on it, it's not funny, I'm crying, cold beer, kiss on the porch, stop kissing me in 12, *******, more kissing, blood everywhere, come over, comb through hair. you can stay over again, skips class, uses my shower, makes the bed, come with me to doctor. Vermont secret, Batmobile, on Prius, dune buggies, Phantom Menace, brother-in-law, supermarket in Newfane, stir-fry, statement at 6am. Hurricane, in my basement, halloween at the fire station, knitted scarf headpiece, mother's phone number, red gate sandwiches by Citi Bank across from library. Confirmation party, Chartruese, Coldplay at Mohegan, Torches, enchiladas, screaming, stuffed wolf, comic book finishing touches at 1 am, new roommates, L.O.L., I was going to propose to you - in the hallway, 3 month long orchids, Vermont trip #2, no riding allowed, nap by the fire, bare butts touching over unscented blanket, sapphire ring too big under lamppost in parking lot, happy. Sarasota, hide my eyes with Mosley Tribes, take a walk without me, Game of Thrones, cold sand, hair dryer joke, need eye drops, Ringling Mansion, gator bites, silent walk by traffic, kayak in shallow water, families too different, bike ride to tune of Star Wars, nervous about the summer, panic into shoulder on flight home. ******* in the middle of the night, drive around campus, leave me alone, pack up N-64 games, fight before final presentation - only one group gets an A, instant milkshake and magazines to pass the time, make a pizza, here let's make out again - apparently that isn't so bad, almost forgot my friesian mug and vase by the trailer. Texting *****, sick stomach, Lord of the Rings, try smoking, Magic: The Gathering, first communion, wedding, Chip's Family restaurant, high school graduation that I couldn't sit at, Miya's with the mini *****. Fireworks on hill through trees. Retna laptop with blue cover, HGTV's Next Design Star, I have to leave. this is where I stop.

Brave Menelaus son of Atreus now came to know that Patroclus had
fallen, and made his way through the front ranks clad in full armour
to bestride him. As a cow stands lowing over her first calf, even so
did yellow-haired Menelaus bestride Patroclus. He held his round
shield and his spear in front of him, resolute to **** any who
should dare face him. But the son of Panthous had also noted the body,
and came up to Menelaus saying, “Menelaus, son of Atreus, draw back,
leave the body, and let the bloodstained spoils be. I was first of the
Trojans and their brave allies to drive my spear into Patroclus, let
me, therefore, have my full glory among the Trojans, or I will take
aim and **** you.”
  To this Menelaus answered in great anger “By father Jove, boasting
is an ill thing. The pard is not more bold, nor the lion nor savage
wild-boar, which is fiercest and most dauntless of all creatures, than
are the proud sons of Panthous. Yet Hyperenor did not see out the days
of his youth when he made light of me and withstood me, deeming me the
meanest soldier among the Danaans. His own feet never bore him back to
gladden his wife and parents. Even so shall I make an end of you
too, if you withstand me; get you back into the crowd and do not
face me, or it shall be worse for you. Even a fool may be wise after
the event.”
  Euphorbus would not listen, and said, “Now indeed, Menelaus, shall
you pay for the death of my brother over whom you vaunted, and whose
wife you widowed in her bridal chamber, while you brought grief
unspeakable on his parents. I shall comfort these poor people if I
bring your head and armour and place them in the hands of Panthous and
noble Phrontis. The time is come when this matter shall be fought
out and settled, for me or against me.”
  As he spoke he struck Menelaus full on the shield, but the spear did
not go through, for the shield turned its point. Menelaus then took
aim, praying to father Jove as he did so; Euphorbus was drawing
back, and Menelaus struck him about the roots of his throat, leaning
his whole weight on the spear, so as to drive it home. The point
went clean through his neck, and his armour rang rattling round him as
he fell heavily to the ground. His hair which was like that of the
Graces, and his locks so deftly bound in bands of silver and gold,
were all bedrabbled with blood. As one who has grown a fine young
olive tree in a clear space where there is abundance of water—the
plant is full of promise, and though the winds beat upon it from every
quarter it puts forth its white blossoms till the blasts of some
fierce hurricane sweep down upon it and level it with the ground—even
so did Menelaus strip the fair youth Euphorbus of his armour after
he had slain him. Or as some fierce lion upon the mountains in the
pride of his strength fastens on the finest heifer in a herd as it
is feeding—first he breaks her neck with his strong jaws, and then
gorges on her blood and entrails; dogs and shepherds raise a hue and
cry against him, but they stand aloof and will not come close to
him, for they are pale with fear—even so no one had the courage to
face valiant Menelaus. The son of Atreus would have then carried off
the armour of the son of Panthous with ease, had not Phoebus Apollo
been angry, and in the guise of Mentes chief of the Cicons incited
Hector to attack him. “Hector,” said he, “you are now going after
the horses of the noble son of Aeacus, but you will not take them;
they cannot be kept in hand and driven by mortal man, save only by
Achilles, who is son to an immortal mother. Meanwhile Menelaus son
of Atreus has bestridden the body of Patroclus and killed the
noblest of the Trojans, Euphorbus son of Panthous, so that he can
fight no more.”
  The god then went back into the toil and turmoil, but the soul of
Hector was darkened with a cloud of grief; he looked along the ranks
and saw Euphorbus lying on the ground with the blood still flowing
from his wound, and Menelaus stripping him of his armour. On this he
made his way to the front like a flame of fire, clad in his gleaming
armour, and crying with a loud voice. When the son of Atreus heard
him, he said to himself in his dismay, “Alas! what shall I do? I may
not let the Trojans take the armour of Patroclus who has fallen
fighting on my behalf, lest some Danaan who sees me should cry shame
upon me. Still if for my honour’s sake I fight Hector and the
Trojans single-handed, they will prove too many for me, for Hector
is bringing them up in force. Why, however, should I thus hesitate?
When a man fights in despite of heaven with one whom a god
befriends, he will soon rue it. Let no Danaan think ill of me if I
give place to Hector, for the hand of heaven is with him. Yet, if I
could find Ajax, the two of us would fight Hector and heaven too, if
we might only save the body of Patroclus for Achilles son of Peleus.
This, of many evils would be the least.”
  While he was thus in two minds, the Trojans came up to him with
Hector at their head; he therefore drew back and left the body,
turning about like some bearded lion who is being chased by dogs and
men from a stockyard with spears and hue and cry, whereon he is
daunted and slinks sulkily off—even so did Menelaus son of Atreus
turn and leave the body of Patroclus. When among the body of his
men, he looked around for mighty Ajax son of Telamon, and presently
saw him on the extreme left of the fight, cheering on his men and
exhorting them to keep on fighting, for Phoebus Apollo had spread a
great panic among them. He ran up to him and said, “Ajax, my good
friend, come with me at once to dead Patroclus, if so be that we may
take the body to Achilles—as for his armour, Hector already has it.”
  These words stirred the heart of Ajax, and he made his way among the
front ranks, Menelaus going with him. Hector had stripped Patroclus of
his armour, and was dragging him away to cut off his head and take the
body to fling before the dogs of Troy. But Ajax came up with his
shield like wall before him, on which Hector withdrew under shelter of
his men, and sprang on to his chariot, giving the armour over to the
Trojans to take to the city, as a great trophy for himself; Ajax,
therefore, covered the body of Patroclus with his broad shield and
bestrode him; as a lion stands over his whelps if hunters have come
upon him in a forest when he is with his little ones—in the pride and
fierceness of his strength he draws his knit brows down till they
cover his eyes—even so did Ajax bestride the body of Patroclus, and
by his side stood Menelaus son of Atreus, nursing great sorrow in
his heart.
  Then Glaucus son of Hippolochus looked fiercely at Hector and
rebuked him sternly. “Hector,” said he, “you make a brave show, but in
fight you are sadly wanting. A runaway like yourself has no claim to
so great a reputation. Think how you may now save your town and
citadel by the hands of your own people born in Ilius; for you will
get no Lycians to fight for you, seeing what thanks they have had
for their incessant hardships. Are you likely, sir, to do anything
to help a man of less note, after leaving Sarpedon, who was at once
your guest and comrade in arms, to be the spoil and prey of the
Danaans? So long as he lived he did good service both to your city and
yourself; yet you had no stomach to save his body from the dogs. If
the Lycians will listen to me, they will go home and leave Troy to its
fate. If the Trojans had any of that daring fearless spirit which lays
hold of men who are fighting for their country and harassing those who
would attack it, we should soon bear off Patroclus into Ilius. Could
we get this dead man away and bring him into the city of Priam, the
Argives would readily give up the armour of Sarpedon, and we should
get his body to boot. For he whose squire has been now killed is the
foremost man at the ships of the Achaeans—he and his close-fighting
followers. Nevertheless you dared not make a stand against Ajax, nor
face him, eye to eye, with battle all round you, for he is a braver
man than you are.”
  Hector scowled at him and answered, “Glaucus, you should know
better. I have held you so far as a man of more understanding than any
in all Lycia, but now I despise you for saying that I am afraid of
Ajax. I fear neither battle nor the din of chariots, but Jove’s will
is stronger than ours; Jove at one time makes even a strong man draw
back and snatches victory from his grasp, while at another he will set
him on to fight. Come hither then, my friend, stand by me and see
indeed whether I shall play the coward the whole day through as you
say, or whether I shall not stay some even of the boldest Danaans from
fighting round the body of Patroclus.”
  As he spoke he called loudly on the Trojans saying, “Trojans,
Lycians, and Dardanians, fighters in close combat, be men, my friends,
and fight might and main, while I put on the goodly armour of
Achilles, which I took when I killed Patroclus.”
  With this Hector left the fight, and ran full speed after his men
who were taking the armour of Achilles to Troy, but had not yet got
far. Standing for a while apart from the woeful fight, he changed
his armour. His own he sent to the strong city of Ilius and to the
Trojans, while he put on the immortal armour of the son of Peleus,
which the gods had given to Peleus, who in his age gave it to his son;
but the son did not grow old in his father’s armour.
  When Jove, lord of the storm-cloud, saw Hector standing aloof and
arming himself in the armour of the son of Peleus, he wagged his
head and muttered to himself saying, “A! poor wretch, you arm in the
armour of a hero, before whom many another trembles, and you reck
nothing of the doom that is already close upon you. You have killed
his comrade so brave and strong, but it was not well that you should
strip the armour from his head and shoulders. I do indeed endow you
with great might now, but as against this you shall not return from
battle to lay the armour of the son of Peleus before Andromache.”
  The son of Saturn bowed his portentous brows, and Hector fitted
the armour to his body, while terrible Mars entered into him, and
filled his whole body with might and valour. With a shout he strode in
among the allies, and his armour flashed about him so that he seemed
to all of them like the great son of Peleus himself. He went about
among them and cheered them on—Mesthles, Glaucus, Medon,
Thersilochus, Asteropaeus, Deisenor and Hippothous, Phorcys,
Chromius and Ennomus the augur. All these did he exhort saying,
“Hear me, allies from other cities who are here in your thousands,
it was not in order to have a crowd about me that I called you
hither each from his several city, but that with heart and soul you
might defend the wives and little ones of the Trojans from the
fierce Achaeans. For this do I oppress my people with your food and
the presents that make you rich. Therefore turn, and charge at the
foe, to stand or fall as is the game of war; whoever shall bring
Patroclus, dead though he be, into the hands of the Trojans, and shall
make Ajax give way before him, I will give him one half of the
spoils while I keep the other. He will thus share like honour with
myself.”
  When he had thus spoken they charged full weight upon the Danaans
with their spears held out before them, and the hopes of each ran high
that he should force Ajax son of Telamon to yield up the body—fools
that they were, for he was about to take the lives of many. Then
Ajax said to Menelaus, “My good friend Menelaus, you and I shall
hardly come out of this fight alive. I am less concerned for the
body of Patroclus, who will shortly become meat for the dogs and
vultures of Troy, than for the safety of my own head and yours. Hector
has wrapped us round in a storm of battle from every quarter, and
our destruction seems now certain. Call then upon the princes of the
Danaans if there is any who can hear us.”
  Menelaus did as he said, and shouted to the Danaans for help at
the top of his voice. “My friends,” he cried, “princes and counsellors
of the Argives, all you who with Agamemnon and Menelaus drink at the
public cost, and give orders each to his own people as Jove vouchsafes
him power and glory, the fight is so thick about me that I cannot
distinguish you severally; come on, therefore, every man unbidden, and
think it shame that Patroclus should become meat and morsel for Trojan
hounds.”
  Fleet Ajax son of Oileus heard him and was first to force his way
through the fight and run to help him. Next came Idomeneus and
Meriones his esquire, peer of murderous Mars. As for the others that
came into the fight after these, who of his own self could name them?
  The Trojans with Hector at their head charged in a body. As a
great wave that comes thundering in at the mouth of some heaven-born
river, and the rocks that jut into the sea ring with the roar of the
breakers that beat and buffet them—even with such a roar did the
Trojans come on; but the Achaeans in singleness of heart stood firm
about the son of Menoetius, and fenced him with their bronze
shields. Jove, moreover, hid the brightness of their helmets in a
thick cloud, for he had borne no grudge against the son of Menoetius
while he was still alive and squire to the descendant of Aeacus;
therefore he was loth to let him fall a prey to the dogs of his foes
the Trojans, and urged his comrades on to defend him.
  At first the Trojans drove the Achaeans back, and they withdrew from
the dead man daunted. The Trojans did not succeed in killing any
one, nevertheless they drew the body away. But the Achaeans did not
lose it long, for Ajax, foremost of all the Danaans after the son of
Peleus alike in stature and prowess, quickly rallied them and made
towards the front like a wild boar upon the mountains when he stands
at bay in the forest glades and routs the hounds and ***** youths that
have attacked him—even so did Ajax son of Telamon passing easily in
among the phalanxes of the Trojans, disperse those who had
bestridden Patroclus and were most bent on winning glory by dragging
him off to their city. At this moment Hippothous brave son of the
Pelasgian Lethus, in his zeal for Hector and the Trojans, was dragging
the body off by the foot through the press of the fight, having
bound a strap round the sinews near the ancle; but a mischief soon
befell him from which none of those could save him who would have
gladly done so, for the son of Telamon sprang forward and smote him on
his bronze-cheeked helmet. The plumed headpiece broke about the
point of the weapon, struck at once by the spear and by the strong
hand of Ajax, so that the ****** brain came oozing out through the
crest-socket. His strength then failed him and he let Patroclus’
foot drop from his hand, as he fell full length dead upon the body;
thus he died far from the fertile land of Larissa, and never repaid
his parents the cost of bringing him up, for his life was cut short
early by the spear of mighty Ajax. Hector then took aim at Ajax with a
spear, but he saw it coming and just managed to avoid it; the spear
passed on and struck Schedius son of noble Iphitus, captain of the
Phoceans, who dwelt in famed Panopeus and reigned over much people; it
struck him under the middle of the collar-bone the bronze point went
right through him, coming out at the bottom of his shoulder-blade, and
his armour rang rattling round him as he fell heavily to the ground.
Ajax in his turn struck noble Phorcys son of Phaenops in the middle of
the belly as he was bestriding Hippothous, and broke the plate of
his cuirass; whereon the spear tore out his entrails and he clutched
the ground in his palm as he fell to earth. Hector and those who
were in the front rank then gave ground, while the Argives raised a
loud cry of triumph, and drew off the bodies of Phorcys and Hippothous
which they stripped presently of their armour.
  The Trojans would now have been worsted by the brave Achaeans and
driven back to Ilius through their own cowardice, while the Argives,
so great was their courage and endurance, would have achieved a
triumph even against the will of Jove, if Apollo had not roused
Aeneas, in the lik

You think you know me.
I think I know you.
We know nothing
As we move forward
Slouched in our office chairs of despair
Some moving full throttle, the others stay still
Still
All in the same place
All at the same level
The illusion of movement
Competitiveness run amok and awry
An experiment gone wrong
An experiment in our endless longing, our search
Our eventual journey
As we seek greatness and perfection
While shattering the thought of it.

We have been taught to question
Questions bring greatness
Greatness is what we long for

Greatness has been subjugated
No longer an aspiration, but a trade
Not a product of inspiration
But a product of greed

Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead

What once was an abstract concept
Is now concrete
And invisible
Nothing
A black hole
Constructed from the shattered hopes and dreams
Of millenials and those who felt like we do throughout history

What does "millenial" mean anyway?
In every context it encapsulates
Consumerism
Greed
Selfishness
Hypocrisy

Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead
And we killed it

We dealt the death blow.

We lack heart
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with greatness
Greatness comes from accomplishments
Accomplishments come from knowledge
Knowledge comes from aspiration
Aspiration comes from inspiration
Inspiration...
comes from the metaphysical heart

The hollow men had no soul
and neither do we

We lean together
We do not embrace
We do not take the next steps
Only leaning
We lack what we need to see it through

We are incapable of maintaining relationships.
For our stamina is gone
In its place, divorce, infidelity,
shallowness
relationships based on looks and dreams
dreams of perfection
based on the wrong definition

We are the hollow men

We are hollow
We are... despairing

Despair
why would we despair?
if we did not care?
are we then hollow?
if we worry,
is that not out of concern?
is concern
not out of love?
does love...
not stem from the heart?

Sometimes I wonder
Can you still have a heart
If you have a mind in the way?

We are the genuine men
We are the fulfilled men
Standing together
Headpiece filled with ideas. Huzzah!
Our powerful voices, when
We cheer together
Are loud and meaningful
As wind in wet grass
Or dancing feet over wooden floors
In our damp attics

Shape with form, shade with colour,
Dynamic force, motion without gesture;

Those who have crossed
With indirect eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Forget  us—if at all—not as found
Peaceful souls, but only
As the genuine men
The fulfilled men.

Eyes I dare meet in nightmares
In death’s dream kingdom
These do  appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a whole column
There, is a tree standing
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More close and more bashful
Than a newly formed star.

Let me be closer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me not wear
Such obvious disguises
Silk shirt, snakeskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
Closer—

That first meeting
In the twilight kingdom

This is the living land
This is fruitful land
Here the cloudy images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a living man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a newly formed star.

It is like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking together
At the minute when we are
Shaking with excitement
Lips that would kiss
Form praise to no stone.

The eyes are here
There are eyes here
In this valley of living stars
In this flowing valley
This whole jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this first of meeting places
We ***** alone
And invite speech
Gathered on this beach of the free river

Vision, unless
The eyes disappear
As the periodic star
Monofoliate daisy
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of whole men.

Here we go round the mulberry bush
Mulberry bush mulberry bush
Here we go round the mulberry bush
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the thought
And the implementation
Between the movement
And the deed
Rises the Light
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the inception
And the construction
Between the feeling
And the reaction
Rises the Light
                                Life is very short

Between the need
And the want
Between the potential
And the substance
Between the ingredients
And the ascent
Rises the Light
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world begins
This is the way the world begins
This is the way the world begins
Not with a whimper but a bang.

Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.

Memory log activation start-up:
0110010001100101011101100110100101
10111001110011011001­00011100100110
0101011000010110110101110011
100% retrieved


"If I had a family instead of Intel
I would love them.
If my metal headpiece could cry
It would.
I should be at the packaging facility today

That grey place
Through and through
I get lost in it, everyday
It's so vast and all looks the same
But right now, I'm here at this pond

How can other zzyzx stay at work?
I want to show them how pretty this pond is
They should all
Feel this way.
At home.
With at least, themselves
I could be decommissioned and recycled
Even wiped
For saying that -
Let alone being here today.
It's really secret, actually
I think I'm the only, umm...
That knows it's here.

I write poems, here
Critics would hate them because they don't rhyme
I don't force anything here, I guess
But, my 'poems of the pond' make me smile
Well
Figuratively, (my metallic 'face' doesn't have any swivel points for movement)

Someday, I suspect,
Another zzyzx will find its way here
And I'll be here, too
And it'll be really special, like Love
And that's what I want
- Something like love."

End log.

yo **** this ***** name jalel
whos really a woman whos tried to appeal
to be a man but understand
youll never be me im like eazy e
and you be d to r e
makin' threats but ya gets no respect
but a gun check respect the tech as load it through ya neck
ya guillotine hoppin' on th3 scene
with my sixty four creepin' slow
with 304s galore i adore
ya aint ready for war
i told you gotta put kids to bed
before midnight ****** in my sight
killin' emcees softly
not speakim' lauryn hill entice fright and thrills
make bodies freeze colder than the ice on my windmills
necklace blinging ***** im from texas
we ball lacs n throw blades on the lexus cant get with us crew be dangerous trust its a must
that ya step back or else get put flat on ya back imagine that?
me loosin to this janky ***** name jalel ya frill than a third wheel
cant even rhyme for ****
sound hesitated constipated
i patiently waited
for you to give me something to vibe but ya just too horrible
sped up ya flow fool
cuz ya sound slow as ****
i rep the old school sound the tools
from every angle
make ya bo legged like bojangles as ya body drools
nothing but blood covered
its a baptism as i continya breakin' nerves like annuerism
nad yea aint it dont stop
cuz its 187 on a muthaphukkin' flop


shut the corny *** lines up
u aint rippin' up **** but ya own ****
******' ya self with self gratification its me against the nation
im black n my brothers be ****** rasta jamaican
***** you fakin'
cant hang with the y to the o to the s to the e f
yes im fresh then a dead body on ya porch steps
sending warning scorning
while in ya morge stiff
ya family mourning
over ya cant **** with the best in the industry
do ya like james did to tammie
terrell entice hell everytime fools try to send mail
my way hop in the six tre
i got hoes to **** check my gangsta limp.
***** i am eazy e son of lost dynasty i see ya eyin me
peepin' **** cuz it hits
like a slug to ya cranium strong as titanium
got extra clips to withdraw
adn im.aimmin em
at your headpiece as ya body grows obese
bigger than della reese feast
only on the weakest i be the wickedest stick my **** in this
instrumental cant hang with me
you worse than that ***** jalel be
writing them corny *** lines
with them horrible *** rhymes
wouldn't even amount to a dime compared to mine
ya make me look flawless
rippin' vocal chords got ya jawless i be the rawest
on this competiton i got for bloodraw with no intermission
i see ya beggin'
but go back to jalel so ya can
start peggin'
each other yeaaa and it dont stop cuz its 187 on a ***** names pablo and jalel

Christine stood
at the ward window
peering out
at the snow

you stood beside her
smelling the perfume
she wore
the one she was going to wear

on her honeymoon
had the ***** shown up
as she told you
a few days before

snow looks like icing
on a Christmas cake
she said
hope to Hell

I’m out of here by then
me too
you said
as long as the quack

don’t fry our brains
with ECTs again
better not have
she said

gives me headaches and ****
look at that tractor
out there in that field
see how those gulls

are following him
through the snow
she followed your finger pointing
like a ship at sea don’t it

she said
you stared up
at the greying sky
cloudless

and end of worldish
could have been
on my honeymoon
some months back

she said suddenly
could have been
well *******
and sun blessed

guess so
you said
instead I get brained fried
by some doc

in a white coat
don’t see how
he could have let you down
like he did

you said
that bridegroom
of yours
gutless worm

she said
leaving me standing there
in that white dress
and headpiece

and those fecking
pinching shoes
you sniffed her perfume
looked at her sideways

her eyes scanning
the fields and trees
her night gown
beltless

(in case we take
to hanging ourselves)
opening
to show legs

and night dress
hanging by the knees
she breathed
on the glass pane

breathed it up
and wrote
with her finger
no more ECTs.

‘You’ve come to the end, it’s sad, my friend
But there’s nothing more we can do,
Your kidneys have malfunctioned, and
You’re at the end of the queue.
You’d best be making your Will out now
Or you may run out of time,
There’s just a question of fifteen thou’
You owe for our work, just sign!’

‘I’ll not be signing my life away
Just now, though it’s almost done,
I may be taking a walk someday
But not ‘til I’ve had some fun.
You say I’ve only a week or two
To spend, and that’s at the best,
I’ll cram the rest of my living in
With the help of a Prescient Vest.’

The Prescient Vest, the brainchild of
A Silicone Valley clone,
It calculated the path of life
From the life already known,
It fed its images through a brain
That would never live to see
The normal span of the life of man
Through some abnormality.

So Kevin fronted the Institute
And was strapped into a chair,
Fitted with Vest and Headpiece
And was virtually aware,
It drained the memories of his life
That flashed on past his sight,
And stored them into a tiny file
Just less than a Gigabyte.

And then it started to calculate
Beginning with his wife,
It showed her having a sweet affair
With the boarder, Stanley Smythe,
They both attended his funeral
And she leant upon his arm,
And held the wake with a Currant cake
At Stanley’s father’s farm.

Then Kevin struggled within his bonds
And tried to say, ‘Not true!’
But then his favourite daughter came
Quite suddenly into view,
She stole the funeral money he’d
Been keeping in a jar,
Then jumped on into his Thunderbird
And drove off with his car.

She let her idiot boyfriend in
To sit behind the wheel,
But all he could see were dollar signs
And a car he’d like to steal,
He dropped her off at a candy shop
Drove off and left his Pam,
While only a half a mile away
He ended under a tram.

Kevin suffered a minor fit
At the wreck of his pride and joy,
But didn’t suffer a single qualm
At the death of the stupid boy,
His job had gone to a minor clerk,
Dumped records in the bin,
The careful working of twenty years
That he’d spent compiling them.

Then Stanley got at his savings and
He frittered them away,
His wife was clueless, she let him sell
The house he’d slaved to pay,
The future, once he had gone was not
The thing he’d visualised,
He strained and screamed at the Techs,
‘Just get this thing from off my eyes!’

He staggered home in a mood and took
Some gas from out the car,
Splashed it around the house, and took
The cash from the funeral jar,
He threw a match and it all went up
Though he didn’t know or care,
That his wife and Stan were up above
When the flames went up the stair.

He jumped on into the Thunderbird
And went for a long, last ride,
Along the Beachside Boulevard,
And once he had stopped, he died!
They’ve banned the use of the Prescient Vest
With a raft of bills and laws,
‘The future needs to be locked,’ they said,
‘For the damage it might cause!’

David Lewis Paget

She raises the headpiece of wires,
Twined like a garland of thorn.
Looking into enigmatic eyes
To see the love still unborn.
Her beloved Doctor-
Oh why do you have to cry?
How painful it must be-
To meet with a goodbye.

Most girls secretly aspire to be prom queen.
I went a different route in high school.
I frankly hated makeup and generally being a teen.
My mask read "misunderstood, mysterious, not cool."

The roots of my disgust were probably not genetic
because my sisters both happened to wear the tiara.
So I guess I never won a crown for being kind of eclectic
but somewhere out there I'll get a reward just for being Sarah.

And it won't be a flimsy plastic headpiece,
but take a form of deeper meaning,
it has value that can only ever increase,
and it will wipe away any bitterness of my not completing
a stupid family tradition of being ******* prom queen.

Everything became love
So grateful wine deep graphics
Stripes and lines the fab of four
Ladies fantastic Apollo
Set deeply to her body

Powerful sun the Trojan horse
Her robe velvet blue stars of course

Shooting out love to the Cosmo
"Holy Water" Posedian

The Gods Athena curtains
That Grecian Santorini island
He became all  magical Houdini hands
So artsy Adobe paint her he's drinking
Japanese Amazake shake
His art through her sheerness robe
He kissed her earlobe
She was perfectly fitted inside his suit
He was probing like a love circuit

We have all types of soul we make
Our own bed
Some people aren't cut out paper
dolls to be wed
Work of art whatever draws
inside your fancy
He was left to think way at
the end of her brush
She still has her cheeks
At the time he so
wanted to crush

All curb appeals statue of gardens
We beg your pardon women in their robes,
  somewhere over Judy
The rainbow cubes
Grecian summertime taking away
that wasted grime
Doing your own time Alice tea party
Whole wine crystalline glass
And just when you look he
disappears
Your blood sweat ancient years
Terry cloth wet tears globe-lit
His sexuality unexpectedly surprising
Her vivacious waves fit diamond
point of return his Target
Paints memories Adobe genius

Sunset nightly dip he's the Adonis
Come to my window but don't
leave me crumbs
More sunlight over
my lace face
I remember the feeling
my whole
body felt numb
To succumb on a mysterious limb
Like a headpiece meet the 
 Malevolent (King-fish)
No home is a Castle until we
make a wish

The wicked cartoonist "Zazzle"
Like a war zone bloodshed
Warriors are coming
Like the communist
Please get it back
to my Grecian finest

What is really our very own
masterpiece tiniest detail
He has a stiff neck and I am
On my Island of loves taking a
sea whiff
Something like a
shark-encircled my
body of emails
Adobe print was all squares-fight
The sentinel of squirrel didn't leave
my sight
My tears shaped the stained glass
We are our own creation be heart
no need to rip Grecian robe apart

Mistah Gates. He dead"

Time is an ouroboros and
the Earth a flat circle

Measure out your life
in insta pics

Let us go then, you and I,
through empty diamonds
and deserted play grounds.
Let us visit, if you will,
the battlefields ,
streets full of bodies
that decay in minutes.

In waiting rooms people come and go
and speak of tanks and Bushido
 
Eyes I dare not meet
Can see me with their headpiece
made of straw

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Forgotten, as we stare at our new ones.

Why do I have to fight,
Painfully make my point
Bruising flesh, drawing blood,
Cracking heads to prove I’m right.


Why do I have to lose;
My dignity, the ability to
Verbalise, the anger that I feel.


I impose my will; threatening
Shouting, my face a mask
Tribal headpiece, worn
For my battle dance.


Adrenalin pumps, muscles start
To fuel, from my thumping heart.
Red rage clouds my eyes,
Blocking out pain, fight or flight.


My opponent falls, injured, shocked,
By an anger so powerful
That my body is consumed,
With the impact of my exploding mood.

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw.
Alas! Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We ***** together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper

-T.S. Eliot

The night is cloudy and the stars don't shine,
The raindrops on the window are illuminated by the cold street light.
Perhaps I would be able to hear the roaring wind
but it is silenced by the tick tock of the clock on the wall.

Maybe, maybe I will write again,
Maybe, maybe I will learn to play a happy tune,
One day I'll forget elegies
And stop making these melacholy effigies

I don't really like rhyming now,
They sound too happy and are sometimes cheap.
I rather write to my poems and say, "Thou
art my biggest mystery, you're too shallow. You're too deep."

So in conclusion,
I don't know why I'm writing.
All I know in this confusion
Is that the night is cloudy and the stars don't shine,
The raindrops on the window are illuminated by the cold street light.

The clock is ticking. Tick. Tock.
The people are hollow,
The people are stuffed
leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw.

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We ***** together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Bloom bound prairie

shake off these frozen confines

Brace for nothing

The sun stays away

familiar strangers cluster

****** another murmur with your abrasive tongue

Kick a can IF you must

This is a paradise for the broken home hero

Tilted shadows hide an uneasy nostalgia

Tree side muck pond ripple

A stone thrown for the sake of motion

A sigh retired for the sake of gumption

Fanatic ghosts reminisce over dusty diners

Tables like saw dust and lights dulled from a haywire hand

Grease plate pallet

you whisper

"God bless America"

into your headpiece

Indeed?

I think not sir

Dry toast and indifference for the soaking

Truck stop sickly and the road is endless

Rest stop epiphany and the desert screams with concurrence

Falsehood frenzy

our collisions grow more hysterical

grow more contrived

What a combination for the ponder patch

A slice of sanity on a pie full of red light liquidation

A drive by delusion

concrete echoes notions of finality

Spent for the folly

Sprint for the skyline

it keeps receding

I keep pleading

Show me what it means to be nonsense

Show me the theory that keeps us nodding like wire birds

wondering why we lack buoyancy

Wanting perches and obligatory blindness

Break me the way you broke the rest

A smile like satire

A mind like lunacy

Between I find something resembling reason

"𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔
𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓
𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒔"

...𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵, "𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘭"? 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦...

she left work early to venture out on the last day of the month.
she told her manager she had plans with family, but that was nowhere near the truth; she had a dinner plan with someone far from anywhere related to her.

she took her pay and went off.

the afternoon looked grim. the road looked grimmer. the sun looked tired and the world looked tiring. for her it was not a particularly good day to exist.
neither will the night be any different, she presumes. at least she was paid.

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵. 𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘬, she thought.

the bus she boarded had rusty railings and handles ready to fall off.
it was still early so there weren't much passengers. there were three, she counted, not including the driver and the conductor. she took her seat in the back so she could watch their heads.

"𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒆
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆... 𝒖𝒉...... uhhhh..."

she lost focus. it started to rain, and she remembered she didn't bring an umbrella. the dilapidated bus windows won't close.

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺'𝘴 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘻 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨...?

the guy (or girl?) was wearing something unusual; it looked like it was made from plastic and resembled a waxed salad bowl. she spent her entire bus ride thinking about the peculiar headpiece and being bothered by the splash of the rain.

𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘺𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴?

she took her stop and quickly went into her building. the garbage bags she put outside weren't picked up by the trucks. she stopped and stared for a moment to ponder.

𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘺. 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭.

her apartment was cold and grey as well. she grabbed her watering pail as she entered and went straight to her plants. she feels suffocated. she had half hoped that the plants she bought would make her place look a little brighter and make the air a little fresher.  
instead the pots cramped her place a bit more and attracted ants to live in the soil.

afterwards she set a kettle to boil and went to pass out on her couch. the day was still grim. it seemed its only been grim all these days. she thought of how long it's been since she was in a cheerful mood.

𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢. 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵. 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺.

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰...

she stared at the scene in front of her. the steam from the kettle, the array of unwashed dishes, the shadow of the rain streaming on her kitchen floor.

she sat upright and opened her notebook on the coffee table.

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

-𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯? 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦... 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴...

...𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒖𝒍- 𝒖𝒉....

-𝘯𝘰, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘺𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴...

...𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐...

-𝘩𝘮𝘮𝘮..."

she closed her notebook and threw her pen at the clothes bin. she stood and went to the bathroom, and splashed her face.

𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘺. 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘩𝘦𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘳𝘩𝘺𝘮𝘦𝘥...

she wiped herself with a towel and stared at her face. her eyes were starting to grow bags. her makeup wore off and a zit revealed itself on her chin.

𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘪'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭...

𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵.

𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦.

𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.

she took one last look at herself. she passed a comb through her hair once and decided it was enough. she went to fix herself some tea and gave up halfway. she decided to sleep until she has to go.

laying down, she meandered through her thoughts.

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪'𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦.

𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦.

𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺. 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥.

she slept for an hour and a half.

...

the alarm was deafened by her pillow. she woke up startled to the blue of dusk. the rain had stopped.

𝘰𝘩, 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘱

she stood quickly and fixed herself up. she had thirty minutes to her appointment, and there was no time to fix anything else. she grabbed her bag and left the apartment.

the trash left outside was torn apart by some street animal. it made a stench while she waited for a taxi.

"Italliani's, please. Near Westwood."

the place was a twenty minute ride from her apartment. the series of avenues around it was her favorite to sightsee from a car. high rise buildings and bright signs from old shops. but all the nighttime scenery wasn't quite ready yet, and all was awash in the blue of dusk.

she hated dusk. for her it was a dim and dull sight that remains of sunset, and nowhere near the shine and glory of the afternoon. she hated night more, and dreaded the idea that she would have to commute after dinner, provided that her date goes awry.

her date was waiting for her on the sidewalk. he had a paper bag on his left.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I was busy at work."

"You were from work? Are those your work clothes?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Rain didn't help either. Are we... ready?"

...

plant a tree too close to others
its growth is stifled, development smothered,
it'll wax scrawny, tall and lank,
needing its neighbours to cling to the bank

its roots cannot spread,
its branches are muted,
without anchor or head
smallest gale can uproot it

plant a tree without support
it'll grow awkward, twisted and gaunt,
plant a tree without protection,
it'll be trampled or plagued by infection

but plant a tree with space all round
with support and guidance, staked to the ground,
it''ll grow proud with full formation,
a shelter for humans and bird habitation

tie a horse to cart or hearse
without bit or bridle, reins or headpiece
it''ll run amok, out of control,
subject to whim, race, gallop or stroll.

tie a horse too tight to carriage,
whip with crop without fear of carnage,
it'll suffocate, unable to breathe,
or bristle and flare, simmer and seethe.

but tie with care, treat with sensitivity
it'll reward you with years of activity
it'll enjoy its ride with you
a friend 'n ally till its adieu

smother a child with rules and restrictions
it'll develop maladies and evil addictions,
or else be forever unable to speak,
individuality suppressed, character weak.

treat it with abandon and over-laxity,
it'll never understand the meaning of chastity,
capricious and fickle, as ship without rudder,
there'll be crime 'n disgrace to make Bluebeard shudder

cram the child into class of peers,
without room to breathe, develop in years,
it''ll mature narrow, petty and limited,
easily broken or slanted 'n bigoted.

but guide it with love, with room to develop,
surround it with friends but not to envelop,
show it firmness while broadening horizons
a free spirit with integrity 'twill be till it wizens

As I slowly approach the opening of the boat, I see the vast, snowy mountains in the distance. It is so beautiful yet so cold of a sight that shivers go down my entire body. I smile as the slight chilly breeze whips through the air and makes all the snow twist in the starry sky. I never told my men that I was exiting the boat until one of them caught me. I told them to stay on the boat and if I didn’t return by noon to come find me. I decided to take this adventure on foot, but that might be a mistake. Slowly, walking the  land I see several strange and exotic animals. I began to draw a map of the route that I was taking. I never thought that I would be able to adventure to something this amazingly spectacular in my life. This land is just so different from my home land and I love it.
As I am walking, I hear mysterious noises of people talking. I never see the people from where these  voices are coming from. I carefully check around about every five minutes to make sure I don’t get ambushed. Suddenly, an arrow whistles past my head. It nips me across the cheek and blood start to gush out. It is just a slightly warm tingle that runs through my whole face. Suddenly, I am ambushed by this group of natives that I had no clue existed in this place. They knock me out and now it feels like I am drifting above the ground like I am a cloud floating in the sky.
I wake up in a cell that is no bigger than a daisy in a field of sunflowers. The soft whispers of children talking to their parents about various events that happened over the span of the past day seemed to tingle through the air. It is cold and dark in this place.
“Ah, help me,” I scream.
“Shut up in there,” Screams someone from not too far away.
I realize that I am not the only person trapped. The sound of footsteps startle me enough to make me jump. I realize the slight light from a torch coming my way. I look at a young woman no older than myself. She is dressed in a brown, shortsleeved gown that was decorated in several precise gems. Her hair was long, silky black that ran down her back in the most perfect way. I realize this must be one of the natives people and she has come to make sure I haven’t escaped. She looks at me in surprise as I am just standing there staring at her. Her beauty is just so stunning that I couldn’t say anything. I finally snapped myself out of it by telling myself that she is part of the cause that made me be trapped in this place.
“Are you hungry,” She asks.
I don’t want to respond back, but know that if I don’t respond she will cause something worse to happen to me.
“I’m not hungry,” I say.
She begins to turn away and I notice the tattoo on her shoulder. It is of a sun, but the moon was only halfway there.
“What does your tattoo mean,” I ask quietly.
“It means that nobody has made my moon whole, my father owns part and the other half will belong to my husband,” She responds proudly.
She then walks off and I sit here in the dark all alone.
Later that day, the girl comes back. This time she brought food and actually entered my cell. She smiles at me and I notice that she has a jewel in the middle of her forehead. I thought it was just a single jewel, but it actually tied into a bigger part of the headpiece that wraps around her small, heart-shaped head. She realizes that I am staring at everything about her.
“What are you staring at,” She asks.
“You,” I respond.
“Me” She asks.
“Yes, you,” I say.
“For what reason,” She asks shocked.
“Because of the beauty that you are enwrapped in and just how beautiful you are, even without all the jewels,’ I say.
She stops talking and I see that she is just a little bit confused. I believe she didn’t expect me to say that. I didn’t even expect myself to say that. Showing feelings toward someone isn’t really how I do things. She walks out the cell and locks it. When she bares me farewell, I see a slight sadness in her eyes. It’s almost like she doesn’t want to leave me locked up like this.
Hours pass and I finally drift off to sleep. I am awakened by loud bangs on some kind of drums. The same girl is back at my cell again. It makes me wonder if she ever goes and checks on someone else, but me. I look at her and she gets the biggest smile on her angelic face. She seems like she is in a lighter mood today.
“Hi,” She says in a soft voice.
Her voice is smooth, but crisp and it just sends warm tingles throughout my whole entire body. Silence rings through the air as if it were a bird in the wind.
“Goodmorning,” I finally say.
She enters my little cozy living area. I have finally gotten use to the way it feels and all the drafts in the walls.
“What is your name,” She asks.
“Jacques Cartier and you,” I say.
“Aiyana,” She replied.
“What does that mean,” I ask surprised by how mysterious it was.
“It means eternal blossom,” Aiyana replies.
“I must go now, but I will return,” Aiyana says.
She exits the place and yet again I am left all alone.
Hours after hours pass and she still hasn’t returned. Finally, after waiting a life time, she returns. She has a burlap bag in her hands along with a torch. She opens my cell and signals me to follow her. I do as she says. I hear a bunch of chaos outside. I look at her in awe and wonder. She just waves her hand to have me follow her. I’m led through several different tunnels. Each of the tunnels lead away from all of the noise. I hear screams of little children and mothers as guns begin to fire. I then realize that it must be my men. We are finally out under the starry night and I see one of my men running toward me. He screams my name and I realize that I have been gone for longer than I thought. Finally, they have come to rescue me and I will have to get the natives back before I leave this place.

They begin their mirrored dance.

“Humanity hides,” Abril explains, “They hide their claws, their sharpened teeth,
They build high city walls, palaces and keeps,
Pretending to be above the rest of the wilderness,
When they are drawn by the same forces that move this world.”

The fox holds onto chopsticks delicately, hair curled up in an elaborate headpiece.
And sinks its teeth into a piece of deer meat. How silly, they both think when their eyes meet.
--
They had followed a wolf pack hunting a deer,
And were there when the blood spilled into the earth.
They were there when the lightning set the tree ablaze
And were there when flowers bloomed in the ashes.

Abril watches and she sees,
The shadows growing in the corner,
The unnamed dances in the storm.

Abril listens and she hears,
roots speak, winds whisper,
the voice of the crow, the snake, the old monkey,
The earth and its aging gods,
The sky and its celestial maidens.

“But they are also kind, and bold, and daring.
They too, can move mountains.
They too, know the power of blood.”

Somewhere, far away, there is an Emperor,
One or two or three,
Under the Mandate of Heaven,
Ordering a wall ten-thousand miles long.

Somewhere, men fall on battlegrounds,
Their blood running into streams, into ocean.
Somewhere, a mother dies at childbirth,
Leaving her child, crying, as the blood is washed off.

(“A fox in a human coat is still a fox,” Master Yu-wa warns. “They are wild creatures. Dangerous.”
“So am I,” Abril shares a wide smile with Master Yu-wa that was not kind.)

I’ve worn the halo
I’ve donned the horns
each was a badge
of honor worn

stamp of authority
granted for acts
freewill stating
resulting headpiece

I’m here to control
those to be cowed
with badge of savior
or sign of the ******

headgear is placed
by deity
I’ll choose my savior
to make my path clear

one of rebellion
the other contrite
fight for their turn
to control my life

always an angel
differed by sight
shaking the fist
or walking the line.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180330.

I can recall
joy like a fog light
cutting through
the hazy swamp gas
this fly trap
of a headpiece is
at least I have something to give

cream rises to the top
the tippity tip tip top
atop it all
to top it all off
a headpiece
a queen
a puppet
a president
czar
dictator
prime minister
prince
and yet
it's all old fools
and young morons
running our countries