i used to cradle her bleach-cracked hands in mine
and decode the stardust resting within her fingerprints
     up until the day that i lost touch with the art of reading braille
     and she stopped slinging tall-tales for me to fetch
and rest the plot-twist at her feet

often in the post-script
i'd find my train of thought highjacked by the sunlight illuminating the rainbow of earth-tones ablaze
in her frizz-ridden curls
as if she'd been washing her hair with the damaged case of beer
she'd gotten for half-price at liqour depot
     she never did quit drinking
          but neither did i

at least we tried

though sometimes
in the middle of the night when nothing was alright
and we'd barely survived another fight
her face would catch my glance
cast aglow by a flood of lava-lamp light
    
     the sea of freckles resting at the crest of her cheeks
     rose lips perma-pursed in half tilt
     her resting heart-rate so high that i could almost see it
          pirouetting within her chest

it was then that i'd love her best
     amidst the ruins of who we were
     just moments before

in a room of love woven words
I listened to freedom calling
and calling to Humanity
betwixt the words of politicians
who spoke of love on one hand
and a viable nuclear deterrent
on the other

On September 9-11 the Twin Towers were smashed, into by two planes that were destined to crash.

New York City was attacked, causing camotion and panic.
The people tried to deal with the madness, and cope with the sadness, but the number one consensus is the impact was tragic.

Fire men ran in, with the hope to save some lives. Not knowing for their courageous effort, that this would be the day they die. True Hero's showed their colors, as they rushed the stairs that day. Fire fighters turned fear to courage, as their sacrifice was made.

The burning towers collapsed, as people were crushed by the structures metal beams. Clouds of dust consumed the sky, with smoke and loose debris. While screams for help went unheard and bodies lined the street.

The action of two highjacked planes, as they were guided and used against us. Caused a collision course and loss of life, that was undoubtedly tremendous.

Hate against our country, was shown by disregard for human life. These cowards couldn't die alone, they needed passengers on their final flight.

feeling burdened—it tends to happen
particularly when meddling impressions run rampant
swarm circles in my hefty head, ignore the next exit ramp, and
let devils' advocates covet the cove i donned my dome once upon never

although i know this may be chalked up to intelligence
and subsequent ignorant claims that swear it's heaven sent
i swear it’s not for me. so tell all the hell-bent docents to leave
and let live my cognizance dim—to do what i can’t. to let it be.

it is what it is
and what it is
is it’s
excessive

i don’t need no informants
playing mentee won’t mend me
i’m torn sufficiently
far as i can see, it seems

don’t mentor she who beseeches
by way of screams and screeches
me and my strings are beat
by ****** and needless needles’
stitches and ventures heedless

i’m piecing my torn fabric
it’s grown so thick
it’s a feat, recognition
when simple addition alters
fact into fabrication

like my elation
in inebriation
guards sorrow
from knocking at my door
knocks my guard down
and has me floored

it hits my inhibition too
and i’m home-free
no guilt signaling
and i pull singles
i switch with tickets
i use to ticket my skin

no appointment
nor disappointment
walking in walk-in clinics
and sketchy shops
flickering the light
it sheds on both
my faces. i can face them
only with this double vision

i watch mark
as his sketches mark me
like stretch marks,
remarkably

in hopes of realizing on the double
the vision i envision into reality
he lets me let him put his hands on me
seemingly steadily
and we feel as our arms stretch

he draws me in
fills me ink
and vibrant me pends
his vibrating steel
and sharp pens
as they liven
my limp existence
reincarnating me instantly  

after sweet sleep
i wake bitter for some reason
feel dull but also sharp-ied
peeping the nonsense i let seep steeply
into my skin last night when i was peaking

now i can reminisce
on the pain of squirming
wallow over it instead, and
not the overflown gore of streams

and catastrophic waterfalls
that break through my largest *****'s walls
they leave what makes me, me,
with breakthroughs of which it can only dream

if only i can fall like the tears asleep
that crash and wave and overshadow my role
in turn leaving without desire
to turn over no stone
nor use any for stepping on
like the ones more close to normal
do coax

i do it all wrong
like they did me
i walk on coal
though from here
it appears
as though i'm an anomaly
only my sole seethes

when on the rocks
my walker, he makes me so strong
he lets me drink him from dusk to dawn  
he says he’d **** for me from here on
i love how foreign i am to him like heron

not the bird though it’s true
us three often see hues blue
we soar blue skies when our hearts fume blue
and they feel too sore like brews do
when they're too soft to heal each bruise or
make room for pain to grow and strength to bloom
so i walk on water as walker

kills me
he’s to die for
imploring in notes low
that i not stop, so i hop on
and once it’s well thought over
he can tell
overthinking’s my problem

i stand alone in the corner,
my core knows
all my o’s and woes
can be all gone
once one o centerfolds corner
and in comes the
coroner

who walks and rear-ends me
and e-r lose hope and leave me
when he cores me from his soul
and i let my breath roam

but he sends me
soaring over the moon
soon as he shows how he listens
and soon we both know
blinding luminescence

my eyes when they glisten
make all my mourning go missing
like the overthinking overkill
i hit when morning rays missile

and he curtails them at curtains
blacker than the blacklist
my man drenched
my nemesis in
deep sleep
with the fishes  

eventually, however
again and against my will, i endeavor
on reading the biography i penned
block my own writing
and let writers block lock me in
i get stuck on the same page
thought no force impedes
the power i home in my palms
nor my thumb's ability to thumb
through the page
yet i somehow flip it
and become my own victim

i did it.
it tells the history of tears
now extinct due to me overbearing
leading to drainage that came as
the very last bead beat me
for forbidding fibs
and calling dibs on *******

still, ringing in my ears
leaks empathy
for crocodile tears
trickling
as they salivate
over their next meal,
me

i swallow my tongue
not realizing fully
i’d just had my last meal
because they consumed me
quietly
with quibbles
and plots of consuming me
openly

ignorance is less so whats lacks
and with no inkling of doubt
worse in terms of that
which the mind keeps
then refuses to release
when need be
hence: me

after i head over
obvious traps
i let flash
atop my head

like clouds overcast
i’m convinced i tripped
on my own heels
like thunder that strikes
one man down twice
out of spite

but in spite
of everything, now that i know,
my eyes and i are drained no more
see, we’ve ever since grown more so
and metamorphosed
beyond words morbid

like those i anticipate
my gravestone
will go on
to hold

this is the reality of being kept cold-cut as meat
that heads *******, idiots, dunces, cons, and so on
those who bring forth obstacles that spurt in growth
inch by inch quicker than their thickening skulls

each time
the sage i pick thinks
my life needs spicing up, either
my screams of agony are mistaken
and my inseams nipped at the bud

or my spirits appear uplifted
and mistaken are my sorrow-filled tears
with joy-plagued wails,
each time
deep-seated sage seeds **** my green

lord knows that while i understand—to some degree
the world can’t come close or know what brews
in the disorganized chaos that is me intrinsically
i don’t fib when i allege that my angle isn’t deceit

nor right, necessarily
just dense as these
basins, wrinkles and dents
my tense cortex insists on heaving  

it would be obtuse of me
to anticipate that anybody
would watch my back
if not mine and me

it's all only a tactic
and i may feign obliviousness
to support this spinelessness
and keep it all in tact

insects fester
i feel each tentacle
extend incessantly
like these rants

they all ax my lumbar
no one's barred from my club
lumberjacks and jack’s slumber
i only lust after the latter

and jack's not all bad
he’s why my caps rested
soon as he hands it to me,
expressing the extent to which

i impress him
granted
my hands-off approach
that manages
to get hard jobs done
better than jills before

he’s a mild nuisance
when one of us isn’t speaking
but he promotes my irritability
with his attempts at weaving
our fingers together

it offends me
and all i long for
is knocking him out
like him and my neck's heart

or my kneecaps’ kneepads
the cap that’s my hat
can at last roll fast,
though no one should ask

i can’t say if i’m ok
jack ko’d my voice box
and i feel highjacked
but i insist, they insist
on the charm of the third

one i get him
like the lights, off,
that’s when i go on to hop off
tip toe off his tip top to get off
on the silence my mind writes off

none of it matters to me
mankind ramps up my love for luxury
the ivory warmth Mr. Browns rain
all over my cold windshield
puts me where i love to be

without them,
antidepressants
would depress and hail on
but their chocolate depressants
elevate me and i hail mary
when they hail hope on me
and i'm newly merry

when it’s all over,
i seek refuge and rush down
and on to the one and only John
where rest can be found
he’s bold as kohl and cold
as his marble floors call for

it's he who keeps my thoughts snowed in
and spares my teeth cracks no dentures can fix
suppresses my urge to purge like Snowden honing in
on how not one man cares less for one careless node in
systems nor the cancerous danger of no protests nor dents

it’s tasteless, the rice that is humanity
so i dine solitarily
in solemn grief
seeing the uselessness we
as crumbs and morsels have come to be

individuals in division
invincible in coalescence
bound to form solid solidarity
likely as the moment

satan and saint agree
to raise their satin
black and white flags,
respectively

to enwrap
two into
one
fabric. silky, smooth, seamless
as is the cocoon
          i once was foolish enough to assume
    would secure the very same wholesome skin
                         it would later go on
to help me consume.

cannibalism.

If you could see life in my terms,

The song in my heart

over precarious waters

we two mad cap ruffians of love

Plucking the strings of Eros

From guitars that are not our own

And the song plays regardless

Lifting our love higher and higher

What wonderous sound the vibrato

Upon catching the thrum in the air

To kiss upon that half beat

A stolen moment from a highjacked concerto

Pulsing through our hearts

In beauteous trothes of midnight madness

When all the world is sleeping

And we dance together

Ethereal in our dreams

Our pirated fates

Aligned by birthright,

Forged in opposite directions

We at least have one small mercy,

Appeasing our guiding stars

through the thrum on the wind

Aligning in love upon our sails insignia of pain

of each scar in the fabric of our being

stretching across the seas of uncertainty

Let us ever meet in songs of love

By our agreement to the symphonia

of our hearts,

Through the ever winding

winds of love.

Don't get thorn-pricked by roses when they're prickly because queer*
*Peter O'Toole was surrounded by sickly ghouls & cremated quickly

If you could see life in my terms,
The song in my heart
over precarious waters
we two mad cap ruffians of love
Plucking the strings of Eros
From guitars that are not our own
And the song plays regardless
Lifting our love higher and higher
What wonderous sound the vibrato
Upon catching the thrum in the air
To kiss upon that half beat
A stolen moment form a highjacked concerto
Pulsing through our hearts
In beauteous trothes of midnight madness
When all the world is sleeping
And we dance together
Ethereal in our dreams
Our pirated fates
Aligned by birthright,
Forged in opposite directions
We at least have one small mercy,
Appeasing our guiding stars
through the thrum on the wind
Aligning in love upon the sails of pain
each scar knitted in the fabric of our being
Let us ever meet in songs of love
Shipwrecked by our agreement to the symphonia
of our hearts,
Through the ever winding
winds of love.

Could paint a picture with words,
Writing verses yawl never heard.
Take some time to observe.
Cause you’ll never know what you’ll learn.
Whether yawl stay grounded like an ant,
Or soaring through the air like a bird.
Taking steps forward is like watering a plant.
In order to grow,
It’s not about where you’ve been,
But where you’re at.
And I ain’t gonna lie,
Sometimes you might hit a set back,
But as they say life ain’t always gift wrapped.
Got to know when to take a break, and have a Kit Kat.
For stress, anxiety and depression, will only leave you trapped.
In a cycle of been there, done that.
Which can become a toxic habitat.
And trust me when I say,
It’s really hard to overcome that.
Especially when ones mind has been highjacked.
By the words of others,
That can pin you down to the mat.
For the one, two, three.
Where is that referee?
That be trying to **** on me?
Like I’m Ted Dibiase!
But seriously,
How do we,
Start cleaning up the debris,
That is taking up free,
Space within our minds, thoughts and dreams?
Well the answer will differ for both you and me.
Depending on what healing means.

The meaning of Christmas
In our multi-religious world and lack of Christian faith
I no longer call Christmas by its name but prefer
to call the festive season “The festivities.”
The meaning of “Christmas” was to celebrate the birth of Jesus
but commerce has highjacked the season
we are pressured into buying presents for family and friends.
The JUL is a good word that was celebrated long before Jesus was born
it is on the day the sun turns; spring will soon arrive.
The Jews have their day, so has the Muslims we
are not suggesting they should change this.
We in the west should not be ashamed of our cultural heritage
where our Christian faith places a big part.

Don't touch my lunch box because I walk 90 miles after every meal
to lessen chances of havin' my plane highjacked flyin' at a standstill
in view of Stockholm, Sweden syndrome-loving, shrimp-eatin' krill

Propaganda
  
It is a cold day, no more sitting on the terrace
watching ships sailing by and dreaming of the old days.
With little to do, I watched on Netflix about the making of the **** party.
Time was hard in Germany people were looking for a saviour
****** and his henchmen came.
Sig Heil.
Peoples’ stupidity never amazes me, believed the propaganda
the promises of a better time.
Millions followed him, this man without charisma, but he promised
to make the country great and the people unthinkably followed
to the bitter end.
71, million people in the USA voted for Trump his lies didn´t matter
people preferred lies even when confronted with the truth
they still believe he could lead them into a great America.  
Now we have Biden.
The new president has promised many sane things, yet he
is regarded as weak
He lacks the panache of the liar.
And he, being a member of the political establishment, is not able to cut
the head of the snake
because he is a part of what is wrong with America.
Only groundbreaking revolution of what ails the USA, but it must
come from the people and not highjacked by oratory charlatan, can remedy
this sickness of the soul.
No single person is a god;
we have to turn to the Christian faith, with all its fault finding
the compass to rectitude.

Don't touch my lunch box because I walk 90 miles after every meal
to lessen chances of havin' my plane highjacked flyin' at a standstill

tentacles and tendrils
words highjack the wind.

a great silence speaks
into ears deaf;

worn out from noise
from the highjacked wind.

It's **** time! Join up! Join in! Your slot for ***** is slotted! O Lord (God of Hosts), Jeova's arrived on an Earth-en plane! Jehovah-Jireh, so everything's A-O.K.!

Don't touch my lunch box because I walk 90 miles after every meal
to lessen chances of havin' my plane highjacked flyin' at a standstill
in view of Stockholm, Sweden syndrome-loving, shrimp-eatin' krill
while liking the Everly Brothers more when Don sings without Phil
I mail fresh stool samples to the strangest women via mail man Bill
who hated the brothers mucho más mejor when Don sang over Phil
even though acrobats in prison export an ugly, plasma-filtered refill
they still let out the unholy, freely-masonic-baby-bloodletting shrill,
as 1 trial of the auld Scottish Rites include an apron-wearing ordeal