Crows and corn chips, Squirrels and beer sips…
Lazy hammock and Hemming-way,
our rabbits mowing the grass today...
A nap under the advancing stars,

A Paradise in our Backyard!

Raccoons love the chicken bones,
everynight, a fox visits our home,
Fish guts and crab-leg shells,
opossum out there giving-‘em-Hell,
Casting corn and some bird seed,
for Mother Nature everything she needs,
God’s aces and a Wild Card!

A Paradise in our Backyard!

Ohhh! In summer a Bar-be-que,
and you the prettiest girl I ever Knew!
Couple ‘o kids and a swimming pool,
mini-van and Cadillac-cool,
Love the beaches and mountains,
of Carolina and my country-kin,
Wouldn’t trade it for the whole of Mars,

A Paradise in our Backyard!

You and me under the stars,
our home, children and a dream of ours,
Leo, Virgo, Aries and Mars,
I thank the Lord for your tender heart.
Our life amazing, though a, rough start,

A Paradise in our Backyard!

Oo-oh -a paradise in our Backyard!
You and me under the stars,
Our home and children; a dream of ours,
Leo, Virgo, Aries and Mars,
I thank the Lord for your tender heart...
...a Paradise in our Backyard!

Some people say it’s just a yard,
...this paradise under the stars,
Leo, Virgo, Aries and Mars,
you, me, children of ours.

Our home, children, a dream of ours,
I thank you Jesus for your tender heart;
Paradise in our Backyard!

A Paradise in our Backyard!

Oooh -a paradise in our Backyard!
You and me under the stars,
Our home and children a dream of ours,
Leo and Virgo, Aries and Mars,
A Paradise in our Backyard!
Praise Jesus and NAS-CAR!
You and me under the stars,
our home and children a dream of ours,
Leo and Virgo, Aries and Mars,
some people say it’s just a yard?
You and me under the stars
-and a Paradise in our Backyard!

A Paradise in our Backyard!
A Paradise in our Backyard!
A Paradise in our Backyard!

<musical break>

I love you,

heaven: Hea Anna

I swear
somebody is following my inner footprint
recording and analyzing
hemming and coughing and clearing their throat
assessing my
"situation"

Stalking stalking stalking me

and filling my fortune cookies with relevant words
to psyche me out



i swear

He quietly appears so many years have passed smelling the amazing greener then life grass a potent filled with magic the invisible man he passed.
Splendor in the grass

Ehh Oh yuck someone
abandoned you
On the runway
He Grilled walked in
fashionable late
The head of his
mansion

You needed to
tolerate
Oh! Chuck
Full of gas
shattered_
her mind
with scars coming
toward her
like glass

The wake-up call
The lady of
all envy
Winning
an Emmy
Adelle
We could
of had it all
Another name
Amy
For the love,
Of a ghost
Like the
Candy Man
Invisible man
from
Ireland

Something got posted
seductively
Blindfolded hosted
Designed into his
Money hand
Powdered substance
poisoned her

Invisible man
Her eyes got
Smoked like
Poison Ivy
In the Army now
Please too much
Attention of green
Arabian in the Nile
Miles and miles
Navy to be seen
He was colored blind
Different eye
Brown in one and blue
Something hatched

Matchmaker  Ghost rider
Fiddler on the roof
We need a story writer
Like a horse
without a hoof
To neigh the right
stuff

I Sir "Infinitely" so
"Existentially"
Remarkably
Divinely
Ghostwriter
Her words were
blank
She is so genuine
Every other day
He was mine
The quiet man
Super shy
Another try
Valentine's day +*

Writing but not seeing
I love you until this day
Quiescently being forced
he entered emerged
I love you let's get
engaged
Beg your pardon
was not her
To be loved so sorry to be
changed
Like a stale piece

Her niece vintage
furniture more love
and peace
Quietly operation
tugged
Someone got flagged
That blind man
faced
And looked into
the  quiet man
On someone's 
body
The smells
like Moms
perfume her
exact tune
New Jersey Patch reader
"The Catcher in the Rye"
To weird the movie
Carrie
School can be strange
A bucket list of water
down your head
She walked

The Quiet man lips
No small talk
Ghost post bed
Not even one star
could be heard
The gas lamp
she tripped
Out of sight

She saw a face not to
be described

So inhibited like
endangered
species

The invisible man
loved her
But got his
vengeance on
anyone
that was too near her
People wanted so
much to
be her
Her force
indescribable

When someone was
clear to see
Extremely well visible
she didn't care to
know them

Her nose on the tip
baking with flour
Ghostly the hostess
of the most
But feeling his
energy the invisible
the man was
courting her so challenging

New flame "Procreating"

Hemming her long skirt
Her diary innocence
Being on her side
but scheming
Disguise home staging
From the ridiculous to the
subline

Her address
Send forget me knots
street
Only blind
people are the kind
you want to find

SOS  surrender or out
The other S Soulmate
Ghost
Hailed the Mary
The Quiet Man
John Wayne

The laundromat
Mack the knife
Invisible man
Inked his whole life
Waynes world
Born to be wild

The other man
Hit the metal
heavy music
fan
Drenched so humid
He was the Murad

Triangle mess
Shopping at London
Harrods
Let's hear it for
the girls or ((Gods))
The magical channeling
TV on the blink
Went right on his computer
All the quiet man linked

He finger waved by the world
Guinness drinking Heineken
beer
The ghost rider
Got grilled called upon
By Ron
College kid playing
Rugby
The good bad and
the Ugly
Clint Eastwood
stretched them out
like Gumby
Western gunshot slinger
He couldn't see the
Ghost rider
the
blank stares
Perky Rabbit Hares
All the negatives got
burned
Exorcist's heads twist
and shout eyes healed
about

Climbing the Jacks
of the shinning
Nowhere in the beauty of
Her heart gleaming

Took a blindfold call felt
somewhere but where?
But I couldn't see blinded
by stars
Over the rainbow, the skies
weren't blue
Being stalked by
someone you know

By the greater impossible
love
To be silent like she was
invisible
So naive at time feeble

Without an honorable
love of fee
Gone with the winding
shopping spree
Disworthy and sneaky
but for being
who or answers
Doctor Who?
Invisible man what
could he do

He was so flavorful
well balanced
strong nursed her well
and sturdy
Quiet man thinking in his
beloved study

She was no goodie
magical shoes
The Ghostwriter
left invisible
clues
More Quiet time
Lemonade time affair of a
Ghost man
Like Hannah and her sisters
Woody if he could
But he is a **** good writer
The Movies of NewYork
I am proud to say
I come from
Brooklyn NY

If lips could talk
pouty
Sensing something but why?
Hans Christian Anderson
Quiet man playing softly but
Killing me easily through the
Blind sighted window

The widows
War Veterans
True Hero My dad
World War 2
Wifes lies and fibs
Quiet leads to invisible
Heller Keller was so
fortunate
Like Fate, she was
the real
Mccoy, she could light
anyone's smile
with joy
The barbecue next season
So many years to reason
More gun control
Be more visible to others
Mothers and brothers
Have a heart of soul


Only the strong keep the
  fight
Just keep on trucking
Grill them show them
What you could write
Perhaps it's cool to be the
Ghostwriter
Not everyone likes
To see the clear picture
What is really taken

So what if people cannot read us
Somehow we are all blind that's
OK its a miracle how other people
Can make it the beautiful day


Of the next groundhog day
He was loving to be invisible
He wanted to keep it that way
So deep set her eyes
to die
Somehow talk could be cheap
And the shepherd of love loads

of sheep, silence is the best sleep

All in someones head so lovingly deep

Invisible but remarkable to be the person
you want to be or let's really look closer
it's not always rosier.

He's singing
Bergdorf Blonde
Conde Nast Traveller
Rude or ****
Explode Bombshells.
He's singing I'm getting
married
Such a Pushover puppet?

Slave over the silken magnet
Oh so swift and swell let
the show begins

Those ritual love sin's
Miss Polly String smile say cheese
He's the Maneater enticing grins
His Trump Tower bell?
Oh! Hello Poetry
People like twin packing
Playgirl smooching
her lips pillow talk

The puppet stalk
their suitcases, but surprisingly
she falls down and trips
Play up your string's
Love act of rings
Her killer lace went into his face.
They all had a puppet inside.

A daredevil ride
Nowhere to hide
Las Vegas Nevada,
Like no other place.
She was in her prime
Diva,
Donna so Dollie, he had
a craving bank her they all
had to thank him
The foursome the Follie's
Do him
Torn to be so trendy
Such a spendy

Walmart of walnuts
Two amazing dollies
She's the magazine of
Italian Fendi.
Pulling her hair more flair
The whole shebang cashew's
Pushed by his split so
picky pecans.
How it went to her
Big little liar nephew's.
Like puppet curfews
  Hello, Poetry New.
The white wedding blue's
Magnifying big lip's.
He needed a Holly-doll
The next clue?
Silk strings taped up
That puppet took a mighty
long trip...

Did I say plastic puppet is real porcelain skin faces?

Playgirl's cries needed
a dominating diet
Hefner smoking jacket suit

What a demonstration,
pulling on hemming mini
skirt trims chances
dangerously slim
So condemning
caused a riot.
The other crowd what
Oscar Meyer Wiener.
Going to the Vet doggie collar he
was tied to be fit silk suit
Las Vegas show trainers.
Who got caught with the puppet
Honey tricked peanut butter playgirl
Puppet show went all hobbit
over "Twitter" mixed whirl
        
What a nut sometimes you feel
like a nut
sometimes you won't and she
knows you don't

The rest going to H---.
Must I B dreaming?

He's singing I'm your puppet man,
Elephant nose cleaned out the planter's
Such a big spender and tipper.
Brooklyn his name Lucas @ the circus!

Like a physic knows your inner thoughts,
hanging on a string.
Everything that comes out of his mouth is two!

I have a puppet surfing the internet
wrapped her around
Felt an undercurrent_ it was
like pieces of glass
soundproof,
his crafty fingers.

Is he doing the best he can?

He's pulling her madly
Puppet computer search
Penny the dreadful
He expects us to jump when
he's oversexed active
looking for his puppet chair,
in the back.
A ****-day puppet!
He's the pig face twilight zone
muppet's
Well doing the can-can two
Playgirl's
hit the fan
The puppets became
the Gentleman

  Playgirl's shuffling "Rose" deck
   Hollywood screen bedding
    Puppets skillful  making

        The Poem Day.
         Puppets pray
         String cheese display

Obsessed stories Puppets.

Playgirl's color gypsy Rose Leah  
Miss Natalie from the woods preach
Silken Marionette.  
So wrapped like someone's gift
But used thrifty bed
He's in his red-hot Corvette.
Instead of roses, his thing french brie
Stock market up and away tie
I rather have my pasta bow-ties
Swiss, the air she's the playgirl
  Swiss Alp's skiing
he ripped his pant's Swiss Alps hole.
Marilyn Monroe playgirl presidential
dancing on the Christmas pole
Love tropic Pineapple dole
  The bed red hot Corvette. console

Instead of roses, his thing was cheese.
"So Swiss" with holes of lace my face
I hate to burst your cheese,
He dragged his shirt open

Twice the fun playgirl she eloped
I became his string cheese pet!!
I'm not your string cheese.
Hello Godzilla, puppet collection
Bella bella Genie mozzarella

"Puppet overpriced sales
All your friends are a puppet male.
Make a wish blowfish

In all the year how I tracked men's nuts,
she had to string together nut job's,
eat a string cheese.
Polly didn't want animal crackers,
Groucho became like a ******.

The puppet master showing
his game piece
and pull on someone else's

But why did I **** him? Why? Why?
In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
My ears rack and throb with his cry,
And his eyes goggle under his hair,
As my fingers sink into the fair
White skin of his throat. It was I!

I killed him! My God! Don't you hear?
I shook him until his red tongue
Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung
With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
The loose, heavy body in fear.

Fear lest he should still not be dead.
I was drunk with the lust of his life.
The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
And dabbled a chair. And our strife
Lasted one reeling second, his knife
Lay and winked in the lights overhead.

And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
And the wail of the violins stirred
My brute anger with visions of her.
As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.

I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
With that music, an infernal din,
Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark!
One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in
To his flesh when the violins, thin
And straining with passion, grow stark.

One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound!
While she danced I was crushing his throat.
He had tasted the joy of her, wound
Round her body, and I heard him gloat
On the favour. That instant I smote.
One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round!

He is here in the room, in my arm,
His limp body hangs on the spin
Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin
Is red like his tongue lolling warm.

One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell.
He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
As I drag him about in the swell
Of the waltz. With a menacing roar,
The trumpets crash in through the door.
One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell.

One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space
Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
Of death! And so cramped is this place,
I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three!
Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me!
He has covered my mouth with his face!

And his blood has dripped into my heart!
And my heart beats and labours. One! Two!
Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part
Of my body in tentacles. Through
My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue
His dead body holds me athwart.

One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God!
One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime!
One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod,
Beats me into a jelly! The chime,
One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time.
Air! Give me air! Air! My God!

Have you ever had a moment when you were
right where you should be?

     I've just had a day.

Not quite lost, but wandering.
In the fog between two truths.
On the right is fortitude,
My only love for years.
And on the left,
Is all things new.
Perhaps a sunny day...
This or that to choose.

The mechanics of my mind,
Have never worked that way.
Decisions are not mine to make,
For they make me,
Eventually.

Limbo of contentment. In between.
Where I spend the day.
Until right or left makes me
Magnetized their way.

There was a song,
I recall like a drug.
From my childhood,
yet faintly lost at sea.

It was a sweet song.
A whistle?
A sweet song indeed.
It was a humming,
and a hemming.
And I sway to the long,
for that old sweet song.

The song that shut
sweet child eyes.
The song that could
disguise bad times.
The song filled with warmth,
to soften my ice.
The song that calmed pain,
proving the existence of 'truly nice.'

This song from way low,
to the day I now know,
is my..heart
my..sky
my lu-lu-lullaby

Through my lungs to my heart , smoked you like a volatile joint ,
Your love proposition , holding my impotent life at gunpoint.
As you embroided my life with lacerate scars of pain and deceit,
Which I merely clothed myself hemming my love pleat by pleat .
Stripping me down you flung me like half smoked cigarette ****,
That’s when I knew you created that crater deep till my gut
                                 But life is a drama backstaged with chances,
Once again it would rain on you a downpour of judgement,
Then ill be the sky to judge with a turbulent temperament.
I want the thunder to clap in approval and gain ,
The darkness to blanket my self inflicted pain .

But again you breathe I love you into the air …and I melt my life once again before you  .. because   simply I love you.

It has been so long since I have had any sort of physical contact with someone,
that,
when the little, fragile woman
hemming my pants,
accidentally grazed my ankle,
while placing the pins,
I had almost mistaken it for some sort of affection.

Oh us silly girls,
Always dancing around.
Oh us silly girls,
Wearing our crowns.
Oh us silly girls,
Writing love poems.
Oh us silly girls,
Wanting to grow up.
Oh us silly girls,
Living through dreams.
Oh us silly girls,
Hemming the seams.
Oh us silly girls,
Falling in love.
Oh us girls,
How we need our love.

I should go to sleep but the mind wants to keep me awake
it is shunting along and I tell it
it's wrong to go on,
but go on it will until the still of the night and the absence of light weighs down my eyes.

Tomorrow lies heavy upon this old man and today can do as it likes,and it likes to harass me with memory upon memory and if I close my eyes is it then that I can't see?
can't be still
got no will to resist that look through the gather of mist that is hemming me in.

The needles and pins that stick where nobody wins and they always seem to be sticking in me,
or perhaps that's just a memory.

Either way
today has to go
I know I need sleep
I need to keep myself well and as the ref rings the bell for the third and final round.
I've finally found
a rest

A jump rope lisping
Through loose gravel and rhymes.
Resembling orchestras and rapidly
Scratched-out novels,
Evolution of an indifferent ******.

Delicate lacework stitched
Beneath the youthful
And frail. Disintegrating
Like a bird’s nest, once
Air conditioning expires.

Scampering between markets,
Wavering while waiting
In redundant lines, as you
Carelessly caress outerwear that you
Waited in line for yesterday.

Placing yourself professionally
On seats, beside plainly colored
Briefcases. Quivering arms
Tingle, as the blood
Relinquishes.

Wordless entities fill
Empty rooms, as pressure
Builds from the exterior and in.
Tarnished sneakers sink and slip,
Amidst cunning quicksand.

Mangled and thrashed,
Fabrics that used to be
Accustom to merry-go-rounds, and dry
Eyes. Gently laced hemming,
Lacerated at the seams.

Stroll down whimpering sidewalks
That sting for vibrations, fixed
By a stranger’s oblivious feet.
Jerking outerwear closer
As no emotions pass.

Synthetic joy overcomes
You, when droning
Minds think alike.
Wriggling and skulking
To cease the crunching of time.

One of the more ambitious ventures in Irish fashion is taking place inWaterford at the Lismore Atelier. A social enterprise project that began a year ago to help revive manufacturing skills in Ireland, it is located in a former library building in the historic town. The workshop is now humming with state-of-the-art machines assembling clothes – cutting, sewing, overlocking, buttonholing, hemming, pressing and finishing.

Training in production and sewing skills is also given thanks to a €80,000 investment from the local council and the education and training board (ETB). Managing all this activity is Limerick School of Art and Design graduate Maggie Danaher, who lives locally.

The results can be seen in Mary Gregory’s 34-piece autumn/winter collection which has impressed all who see it for the quality, not just of its fabrics but its finish and attention to detail. An international Irish stylist based in Italy could not believe the collection had been made in Ireland, when viewing it on a recent visit.

Even calling it an “atelier”, the French word for workshop or studio, attests to its commitment to be as good internationally as any sought-after facilities inFrance or Italy. Gregory and her husband, Aidan McCarthy, a skilled tailor who worked for the fashion designer Patrick Howard in Dublin for 10 years in the 1970s, researched methods and machinery used by the top Italian companies who make for brands such as Gucci and Stella McCartney, with the aim of reproducing them in Ireland.

“I wanted to prove it could be done here,” says Gregory. “We can make clothes to this standard but it takes time, skill and investment,” she says. The plan is to attract other Irish designers to the facility which they hope will be ready by next year when a skilled production manager and sample and production machinists can provide the requisite top class service – presumably at competitive prices.

Currently Lismore Atelier has a tailor who samples for Victoria Beckham and Comme des Garçons who is brought in on a contract basis along with a production machinist. Gregory describes Lismore as the perfect place for a designer to be completely focussed and more accessible than places in Italy.

Gregory, who started making clothes at the age of six and developed a successful career in the 1980s and 1990s, was known for the strong visual effect of her designs. She moved with McCarthy to Lismore more than a decade ago and concentrated on rearing their two sons, restoring a 19th-century house in Villierstown while also working as visual and design director of the Maison & Chateau group. Her new collections remain true to her aesthetic of form and fabric with an emphasis on architectural shapes with embellishment and detail. The fabrics are luxurious and include grosgrain, double crepe, wool and silks with notable finesse of finish.

The collection is now in the International Designer Rooms in Brown Thomas where Gregory will be on hand on Saturdays to show it or by appointment.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

Dandelions thrash to the opening chorus of rattle clank by the chain links
yellow heads bobbing
tussled mops of white ****** back defiantly into the wind
until they lean against one another
exhausted and bald

Foxtails sway
feathered limbs thrumming
raised in the air like they just don't care
drumming to the beat of highway traffic
never alone
but gathered together in tight clusters
wary of outside influence

Thistles nod to smoother tunes
the conservative hemming in the edges
seeming almost out of place
until they throw down with their true colors
sporting mohawks in ever shade of purple

The show ends with deep shades of night
falling like a curtain to quiet the floral concert

Until dawn when the show goes on

Dawn's golden notes stream
across barn's yellow beams
supporting stables hemming horses
cavorting cows sagging udders
melding with yellow hay
bouncing glistening pitchforks prongs
as the song begins.

Dust, glittering as if a nebula, each speck of it freed of
ground, twittering around like birds wading sound.
Spread out, as if a picture, dots of bright ethereal
in their luminescence lightened blinking out
as if frightened, but then heaving about
in the barn's barren air circulating redoubt,
sparkle yet again,
and again,
until they are drowned dark black out
by the opening of a barn door.

Little of moment's loves
Transform our precious
Frail pleasures
Into eternal loves
Unless there is a decision
to greet the old and mundane as
new,
as if dust were stars.

Up on the HILLS we are!
Standing naked the youth to FALL!
Naked breathing with a literary remembrance
That breathes not us
But something altogether UNJUST
To tell the scroll of KEROUAC GINSBERG
A metamorphised aftermath of a place to go from there
We are too connected to fake to be connected
We just don't choose to
SPEAKE
At last we are standing face to face
And yet we would rather choose
DEATH
We would rather choose to say a closeted
HELLO
Stones bury themselves so they do not see the
Sun shine
Sand worries as it spits on itself again & again
Just to tell itself it is SANE
Mr. D stays an outlaw as He's always believed He's been
Much like Jesus
Who's running
From supposed
Judas
My heroes are hemming their jeans
Just to stay safe
From a labeled faith
At last the skies are open an music'
Oh' music
Shows its true tragic face
At last the flower
With all its power
Reveals the teal
That has always shown itself to me
So real
Illuminations
Dear Rimbaud
In your commerced grave
That you once thought was naive'
Spins as fast as you wish it
Rolls even quicker
Unless you can pin it
Neither I nor I can tell where the world will hold itself tomorrow
For the future
Can never be justly sold or
Told

words   what   more  than  silence,    criminal
    shaded    meanings   plump like   the  mien  of   a night-strewn    beast.

words   what    more   than   sounding for   it
  the   night   hemming   into,   less  than   a fugitive   by definition

   words   do   I   deny   the   static  of   soul    when   quiet then
          places      the    cholera   in    our  abdomens ?

to   say   when   the   nature  of   the tangent   is   a   voyage
     of   the   story   you’re  telling,    masked   behind  a non-sequitur


  that     does   not   intersect   elsewhere   issued   by
     a   lack.     where    else   are   we   only   slightly   connected

                       when    we    move     to   break   a   point,   or  to   distract

a   face     once   again   foreign, your   name   emerging   as   whimper.
       coming    out   denied.

   words   what   more   than    revenge,    your   sound   less   than an alternative
            bandwidth    confusing      its     meaning

coming     out    undisguised.

Bee line in the beach lane
on to a resourceful resort
Of styles, shorts and sorts
in search of freedom
from enforced routine

Bales of barren clouds
Mushroomed the sky line
Set a merry mood in motion
of the touting tots n' lots

The band of souls pitched
hand in hand on sand
Gay was the day at bay
All and sundry fielded the day

Bask and bath
Rock and roll
Fun and frolic
Wind and weather
Hoot and beat
Hip hip hurray
soaked in the sea of ecstasy

Slim shut swim suit
hemming here and there
Bikini blonde bouncing
Spicy curves and colors
pushed up passions
Of the passers by

Sand sipping sea
Sea slipping sand
Land and sea lip to lip
A great fun to run around

Why is all the world light, and I am small underneath?
Just a black bottom under this apple tree?
Why am I in the limelight, the foreground?
The light pours no citrus drink, but a cyanide fruit pit pound!

The over-saturated curtains tail my frail feet.
Much busier than a yellow-black bee, bumping till its stinger gets caught in a fabric hemming
and it dies with no one noticing.
The girl who reads, the tree that sifts its rotten leaves;
they care less, less for a discoloration that unfortunately eats at me.

Even when the elders waltz the foxtrot dance so that even my dwarf legs can follow suit,
I will never be quite slow, or fast enough? for all of you.
I disintegrate daily into almost nothing.
I stare, but no one stares at me.

Oh, haven’t I written a piece about shadows and light?
What’s with me! I use the same machine work!
Metaphors, imageries, diction, diction mutating to a deeper fiction. Unoriginal it is!
The masses cling onto clichès with their pointed teeth;
why can’t I, I lodge into that all-inclusion?
Why do I repeat my own themes? Have I never learned critical thinking?
I depend on repetition: same old, same old (did I mention the old ‘same’?)
thing to grasp any new concept!

Maladaptive daydreamer
who cannot conjure up any ink
of fresh difference! What purpose do I hold
in this awful, spineless world?
I am too awfully, awfully simple and dumb
to succeed in any other playing field!
Reality, what foreign entity is she?
Maybe a solemn quiet would do it for me.
(So maybe I’ll have an extended vacation,
and revisit my only talent some other day.)

What do the (sappy) honey-loving poets write on?
The (sawdust) stardust in eye pupils, and
igniting our hearts alight (till it guzzles that red stream and we become only such, and the carpet gets a free dye job).
Apparently, everything pure and worthy is atomized into
(carbolic soap I allow carbonation of its soda acid in my eyes) diamonds.

On the subject of atomic level substances,
let's rehearse the Compton effect:
Heat me up to a hundred keV
like cheap microwave dinner, so that I propel—
whoosh!— tink against metallic beings
till I decrease, and I am powerless.
Each new orbit of opportunity I seize,
I result with less, and the opportunity snatches from me.
Glistening shoe shiner whose price tag appeals to the average Joe,
then I swipe: scuffing up my rounded toe.

She tattooed those other girls’ arrow on herself because:
“I’m pulled back to soar farther,”
yet this stretching has lasted for… months?
Compare this not to a crossbow, but to that of a
medieval rack, that gruesome torture device!
My tissue is tearing asunder, but this is polar from breaking bread!
I ache, I ache, I ache! Isn’t yoga supposed to tranquilize you to a grounded state, not death?

Why is the world so light when I am so heavy?
Why must I “lust for a life” that lusts not for me?

If Dawkins were right
And faith is a farce
A human construct
If Nietzsche were right
And man has outgrown God
As a child outgrows his toy
Then all this
Hemming
And
Hawing
Would have all been in vain
All ****** folly
And this time could have been put
To better use
Courting you
And we would be
So very happy
Together.

~

Yet if the scriptures were right
And we are spirits made flesh
Having appointments with divine destiny
Then you are but a thought
A temptation
Testing me
An exaltation against His knowledge.
A boon you are not
But a bane.
And I am to nail it all
To the foot of the cross
Just as how I am to nail my flesh,
My sinful nature,
To this altar.
And in Him
Shall I find all-transcendent peace.
For putting the Kingdom first,
Shall I receive His best.

~

That is,
If.

Let’s  begin
When you left  you were shaking off resentment from your skin like
what's creeping up the wrong sill like worms deciding too many things
Left footed thoughts, swinging right in the outfield, me
you up to
bat and ready to
swing  but

let’s rearrange, compose, like a symphony
no like
geometry, because there must be proof in sides

so
Falling to time,
a narrative begins between peeling walls and moldy carpets
here, this is
where, we fell into the hole you hide in the back of your closet
us, American kids, falling in love over fuzz free tv
and candy
coating our clean tongues with ****
playing with our time in-between friction and when time
comes for our tongues to throw pitches against the midfield of your mouth

Fast Forward
you’re carving out your tonsils in the kitchen
with plastic spoons cause us,
poor and unready, for grow up things except diners
silver stained spoons, when all we needed was a god
**** knife,
for two years we get at it like kids do
loving the can opener that rides our back, twisting our spine  

Rewind
up to the neck, wring like a rodeo
but all in good fun,  
cause you only saw it on the television set
and there’s no harm in that television set for now,
no harm in "for now", but only
for right now  for
us,
Purchase kids, writhing for the championship
of the some sea that
diminishes the second we ride the ground
spun, no longer won anything

Pause
sythentically sealed
and hemming like led
us, babies of the land stretching
his back waiting to wash us up to a home,
our silken thoughts snag on the line

This dimension of living is endlessly shrouded in mystery.
We are the midwives to our own platform of living and we have the authority to liquidate it and start upon a new tier at any moment.
I know but only what my eyes have unrobed  to show me.
All around us isolated winsome lives of their own fabric and hemming are kerneled into the crust of our worlds existence.
We are so distinctly separate yet intrinsically connected.
We tend to weave our lives in a way to circumvent the albatross that is free-floating and searching for a host.
It is so simple to sector yourself away from the things that pose fluster to your character.  
But we infallibly need each other, we must uncloak ourselves from the throttling labels.
Once you make peace with the construction of this world you are unfettered and free.
All of these sumptuous luminescent minds quarantined away serve no good.  Live your life with decorum and ease and let this light scintillate to invigorate others. This revolution is not rooted in vociferous speeches and affronts, but by merely emitting your unadulterated authentic self. Excavate yourself of the toxic of society and you will become the voltaic entity.
Make haimish comfort with the idea of uncertainty and live life simplistically.

My Aunt was hemming my
     skirt for school today.
              And as I stood on the chair
        To try it on,
     I realized the hook on the
        Ceiling could easily
     Fit a rope,
  Then I could tie
A noose and
   Put my head in
And kick
    The chair
                                                    Away.

Each year
they seem to die,
winter
beneath scarred wood
transforming in the dark.

Pale buds
return, fingertip
the air,
unclench fistfuls
of layered cream

I balance
against my hands,
relinquish
to day, night,
sunlight and rainfall

showering petals
across the lawn,
hemming
my garden path
with summer silks

Bee line in the beach lane
on to a resourceful resort
Of styles, shorts and sorts
in search of freedom
from enforced routine

Bales of barren clouds
Mushroomed the sky line
Set a merry mood in motion
of the touting tots n' lots

The band of souls pitched
hand in hand on sand
Gay was the day at bay
All and sundry fielded the day

Bask and bath
Rock and roll
Fun and frolic
Wind and weather
Hoot and beat
Hip hip hurray
soaked in the sea of ecstasy

Slim shut swim suit
hemming here and there
Bikini blonde bouncing
Spicy curves and colors
pushed up passions
Of the passers by

Sand sipping sea
Sea slipping sand
Land and sea lip to lip
A great fun to run around

Bee line in the beach lane
on to a resourceful resort
Of styles, shorts and sorts
in search of freedom
from enforced routine

Bales of barren clouds
Mushroomed the sky line
Set a merry mood in motion
of the touting tots n' lots

The band of souls pitched
hand in hand on sand
Gay was the day at bay
All and sundry fielded the day

Bask and bath
Rock and roll
Fun and frolic
Wind and weather
Hoot and beat
Hip hip hurray
soaked in the sea of ecstasy

Slim shut swim suit
hemming here and there
Bikini blonde bouncing
Spicy curves and colors
pushed up passions
Of the passers by

Sand sipping sea
Sea slipping sand
Land and sea lip to lip
A great fun to run around

Bee line in the beach lane
on to a resourceful resort
Of styles, shorts and sorts
in search of freedom
from enforced routine

Bales of barren clouds
Mushroomed the sky line
Set a merry mood in motion
of the touting tots n' lots

The band of souls pitched
hand in hand on sand
Gay was the day at bay
All and sundry fielded the day

Bask and bath
Rock and roll
Fun and frolic
Wind and weather
Hoot and beat
Hip hip hurray
soaked in the sea of ecstasy

Slim shut swim suit
hemming here and there
Bikini blonde bouncing
Spicy curves and colors
pushed up passions
Of the passers by

Sand sipping sea
Sea slipping sand
Land and sea lip to lip
A great fun to run around

From the point of my true comprehension of the idea of existence in this deep dark ocean of unexplored territory that we call Earth, I began to face a strange, persistant shadow that clung to my shoulders like an eternally stifling trench coat that it felt as if I came into the world wearing it. Day by day, strange seeds of instability stuck to my subconscious, magnets on steroids, caught one by one. Random places, it seemed, bore these irritants, perhaps caught like a cold from a passing conversation on ebola, woven inside a seemingly innocuous *** poster at the doctors office, buried deep inside the depths of a history book, the story of the plague jumping from within the pages like an ancient mummy released from its tomb free to run rampant. Slowly but surely, a ****** of gahstly crows coalesqued around my mind, each a unique individual, peck peck pecking my brain to shine a spotlight on its favorite seed, tending lovingly to the garden of insanity in my skull that fed them night and night again. Growing and growing, the number of birds grew to be so great, the weight of their talloned claws sunken into my shoulders so heavy, a hairline crack at the base of my solidity spread like a rash, until for three days straight, the atmosphere decided to hold oxygen hostage from my desperate lungs, and my secret spilled out to the world, splattering my family with cold raindrops of confusion and disbelief. Silly girl, they laughed, such a creative imagination. Just remember that crows and seeds dont exist, and you won't see them anymore. Crows are only for needy girls who want attention, of course,  they reassured me lovingly. Subdued and chained to my fate to ignore the crows, I do what I'm told, and endure the daily peck peck peck of my brain with the dignified endurance only one who has lost all hope of freedom can manage.

Left arm sore today? A seed snaps to my brain, and peck peck peck, a crow caws "cardiac arrest" for the remainder of the day.

Leg cramping at four in the morning? A planted thought prompts the eerie call "blood clot". Who needs sleep any way.

Back pain and heartburn? I sigh, accepting the prognosis of two collapsed lungs and scoliosis from the ***** birds hemming and hawing inside.

Some days, there are more seeds than others, and some days, the crows picking my brain feel hungrier and louder than ever. One day, perhaps I'll be able to dump those pesky seeds on a city side walk, and run far far away as the crows remain to fight the worry pigions that sometimes tag along for scraps, and I'll finally starve them all of their power over me.

I had a dream
that your love for me was deemed authentic
it was suddenly real and possible
I watched your affection for her fade like a summer sunset
when the day was feeling too long
We yearned for stars but were only fed clouds
I had a dream
that my feet did not trip over themselves at the sound of her name
because it was followed by the sound of mine
leaping up above it
I had a dream
that your hands opened up, fingers intertwining with mine
letting not even the evening breeze separate this immaculate fantasy
I had a dream
that you held me like the hemming in a backyard hammock
the crackling of a forest fires romance
the peak of midnight hit my body
like a hammer hitting a nail
with no intention to hit it again
I know that this was only a dream
because reality was standing in my doorway this morning
looking me in the face
I had a dream that you loved me
But I woke up knowing that you stilled loved her

Bee line in the beach lane
on to a resourceful resort
Of styles, shorts and sorts
in search of freedom
from enforced routine

Bales of barren clouds
Mushroomed the sky line
Set a merry mood in motion
of the touting tots n' lots

The band of souls pitched
hand in hand on sand
Gay was the day at bay
All and sundry fielded the day

Bask and bath
Rock and roll
Fun and frolic
Wind and weather
Hoot and beat
Hip hip hurray
soaked in the sea of ecstasy

Slim shut swim suit
hemming here and there
Bikini blonde bouncing
Spicy curves and colors
pushed up passions
Of the passers by

Sand sipping sea
Sea slipping sand
Land and sea lip to lip
A great fun to run around