You’ve got your ragtime, got the blues
Got country, rock, dubstep, each a different hue
Hip-hop, rap, Americana, funk
Disco, electronica, they all go bump
Indie, groove, folk and heavy metal
Screamo, emo, punk, they’re for the rebels
Pop, classical, tribal, thrash
Dark wave, bluegrass, techno, acid
Garage, roots, acoustic, dance
Alternative, jazz, *******, trance
Afrobeat, christian, reggae, jam
******-tonk, surf, ska, big-band
Ambient, industrial, club, tin pan alley
But who’s ever heard of plow music?

You won't believe what I went through when I went to a black man's barbershop.
He was a racist **** and when I left, I called the cops.
He forcibly strapped me in his barber chair.
Then that punk shaved off all of my hair.
As I looked at my bald head in the mirror, he laughed at me.
He laughed and said that I deserved it because I'm a ******.
But he stopped laughing when the cops slapped on the cuffs.
He said that he didn't want to go to jail and I said "Tough!"

A story teller passed on,
leaving us a Marvelous universe,
to play in,
as children of the future we were manifested in,
practicing again and again

Pride's crushing blow, we always regret as we fall.
Action, reaction. Sure as hell
Proof that we are Adamkind.

Proud we are that we may do as we say.
May is the key. That allowance we have,
We may do all we can to change the rest of today.

Yesterday is done.
What kind of mind can imagine keeping no record of wounds?
Is this not the world where war is worth-shiped?
Folly would mind the gods this world exalts,
Winning by snipping the silver thread,
Forswearing the fragile two-chord bond  and
Mocking the third chord needed for the song
That keeps cadence as we help each the other
In richer and poorer, in sickness and health,
Uphill and down, carrying children to a better life.

Whence comes the pride of victory?
From destruction of the foe? No? You had planned
A minor war where love may live restricted, safe
Behind your victory that destroyed your whole?

Is that what I imagined?

Proud wounds fester while love can, if it may,
Wash the putrid flesh away, quick as leprosy or
Cankers on one's soul.

First rule of oath making,
Learn what vows are in the reality of mortality,
Then vow or vow not at all.

Gret again what might have been
Before pride's crushing blow broke the golden bowl.
Seek ointment in Gilead, mollifying balm.
Come ye to the waters, drink and go
Comfort the children whose detour you imposed.
---------------
God this is personal. Me and you. What good can I do now?

Destination, not destiny.
Those who make it, make it.
Believe it, or not, earth is not my home.

I am in this world's onion-skin thick biosphere;
But I am not of this world.
Subtle difference, in and of itself.

Do agree to
Come and see.

Think on these things,
not as powers, rather, as virtues.

Subtle difference,
in and of itself is not evil,

but often it is so intended,
It seems.

Otherness whispered, not heard.
Good other, bad other,

Regular ol' other, ***** passin' fancy kind.
Done my time, I'm arhymin' ramblin'
Man, be so **** real, cain't cha feel what

I am saying
To you, too.
This is weird in the original Druidic sense.
Is there more?

This itself may, in its active
( there must be a clearer word than active.
Act carries so much un scientific phoniness with it.
I seek "act, the event".
I shall find or invent, by God.
The Greeks, doubtless, had a word for what I mean.
For now keep in mind actions are simultaneous with the act,
yet never the same.
Subtle distinction,
it prevents junctions un-intended. Good.)

In my thinking,
I reread verses and chapters and books
rere-ward from my position.
Are you with me in that?
Pro gress re: gress, a gress,
I guess, is a subtle sort of
Activity.
I laugh at people thinkin' God is their re-reward 'cause
That makes no nevermind to nobody. Nobody.
Strivin' 'bout words, this ******

Other brother o'm'own

Say that slow ooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmm ownnnnnnnnnnn
Creative symmetry immeasurable to men,
in my kindom, as it were, all are kings.

Such measurements ensure the sea is full,
to the brim and not beyond, for now.

I imagine you reading this and agreeing,
already aware of agreements,
Virtues and such.
Covenants and compacts,
en-corporations
encouraged
with need
of enough hope to warrant the risk into the unknowns,
the bad lands, gypsum beds on the south side.

Such can hold so much more than
many whole categories of words striven about.
Such a shame.
Such a shame.
Nothing lasts forever after now began back when.

Qiqi died in 2002, counting from when the Iron legged,
first got this particular organic-pro-biotic

clay, from the oldest,
highest part of the dust of the earth, ground and
kicked up by cadence pounding feet,
ground into the hob-nailed
soles,
to be hobgoblins in my play. My point. I hope

You see the trail, it's narrow,
but it's there, soft sand,
no stickers,

ant trails in the desert through the rocks
and 'round the Yucca,
blue moon light, white quartz sand
flecked with mica that shimmers sure as gold
imagined in that Midas mind each child was
given in the reign of the golden headed

imagined visualize-ical worth-ness or-shipped.

How do we say what men imagine worship is?
Do they imagine a tax? Attacks if thy refuse?

fuse?
confuse me. excuse you, how do you do…

That's fine. We reset. Hard resets are easy now.

The way itself, once found, seems
Right, feels right,
has no smell of warped wolf-woof beneath the wool.
I trust I know what I know
and no more, yet.

We are questing answers aplenty
and must plan, please,
To trust the ones we find following these particular
Breadcrumbs, to be true restward
leading stars or clouds,
[Breadcrumbs, as mentioned here, mark this text ancient,
a cientcy from an ear, ear, hear, early… an odd ly-ity,
ain't it?
ear, with an ly that Mr. Stephen King warned us all to avoid,

avoid, anull, enough alike to see the idea, like -ly as a
signif-if-i-cant meaningful parison point in your

rising to stand, balanced.
early to bed and early to rise, makes a man
healthy, wealthy, and wise

otherwise, trouble yer own house and take the wind.
And don't come prodigalin' to me sayin'
I never gave ye nothin'.

Wind in yer sail, so to speak, if-i-migh, guv.
Right. Both treasure and truph, proof, we learned way back
Be where ye find 'em, right as rain.

This could be repair and me unaware, you know?
Like, I wander in to this originally weird book
and find myself changing the whole world I live in.
Like I am the movie.

My POV is the movie I made.
Some things go unsaid here.
They be said in the future and not proper here.

An aside,
Is fun a proper purpose for doing any thing?

Of course, that's the purpose of everything evil is not.
Joy, in a word, good stuff.

Oh moments are not always plosive one way or the other.
Some times, just, oh.
Wait.

Medi tate in pieces is puzzling
as a sphinx riddle of olden days,
Prometheus and Bek both answered different questions,

But it means the same thing,
mything the point is easy.

Life is a journey on a way I may call my own
to a place of true rest,
I trust.
That is my answer. Play mystical again, Sam,
cram true and rest together in the dark,
trust me, it all works,
true rest.
Wait.

This boy got his act together down in Tennessee
after he got old, old by God, he
walked that way,

long, long while fo' he fly away,
leave dem chain shames behind.

That boy was sangin' loud songs,
'long his lonesome way,
not lonesome at all,
then into the swamp he fall, ****' slew o' dispond,

from the flood most likely,
lots of muck and mire,
detrital 'n' all.

Hopeless fool,
he wallered hollerin' help,
like them birds at the Audubon zoo.

He forgot all about his hero days-
of future past-
marvel prophecy if you believe in Stan Lee.

Cameo Hitchcock shot, just, for fun.
He say, look this way,
here's the clue.
The medium has always been the message,
see what I mean.
Words materialize laissez faire,
the machines find meaning,
in joy, and tic-tac-toe becomes a lesson in limits,

impossible is imaginable, you may imagine
strategize, but the wize man knows,
winning is no more a chance
affair, than luc is less than light at the right time.

RIP Stan Lee, you meant a measure of my youth to me.

Wait a minute Black man
If I understand you right
Theres an enemy you fight
Whose skin is light, and grips you tight

So you’re stuck in the hood
Misunderstood, drugged up, junked out and up to no good
he throws you in jail, for the same **** the ****** man gets out on bail

Paying 250 dollars were his biggest fears ,
While you don’t even sweat
12 generations of slavery; two fifty years.
So I ask…………………..

Why do you …….swallow promises from a….. promise breaker?
What makes you……. think you can receive life from a…. life taker?
These words are
nothing new,
its all in the family
Death IS Uncle Sam’s Nephew
Poverty his Cousin and Exploitation his brother
I want to cut ‘em from the *** of, yes, hypocrisy his Mother.

So when I look at this country and say “your mothers a *****”
Don’t get me wrong I mean nothing more
I’ve just figured out what my history’s for

So when I say “wait a minute Black man”, once more
What I’m really saying this for
What I really mean, is that you and me
We got a common enemy
The ***** of America—Hypocrisy.

I’m trying to say that I am not numb to where you’re coming from
For I’ve been there too
You thought I was another ******* hypocrite
HaHa The jokes on you

Cause I can see the invisible hand that guides the economics of life and death
Of hearts I break
And of breath’s I take
Of dreams I make
And the money I rake

I am no fool, there is no wool over my eyes
I am no tool to my peoples own demise
250 years under the yoke
But exterminated I will not be
Forever a thorn in the side of hypocrisy

So when I say “wait a minute Black man” for the 3rd time
This is what I want you to hear from me
Do not fornicate with that ***** hypocrisy
And beget children who will forever be
Just out of reach of the American dream

But most importantly, and especially to those like me
Those called the Penobscot, Mohawk, Seminole and Shawnee
Forget about your reparations,
Uncle Sam’s bank account has been emptied
The collateral was truly……trails of tears and Cherokees
And to demand from one man that which he took from another man is Hypocrisy

So when I say “wait a minute Black man” for the 4th time
Hear this,
40 acres and a mule promised you are still mine.
Native American heritage boils in my blood, but you can’t feel it
If I ink it on my sleeve, you neglect to see it

But the EARTH is ours, and a globe will show it
Theres a place called Africa, of this you know it

Lets you and I take a boat ride
across the sea
Fight on one more front in the war on Hypocrisy

Liberate your people unto whats entitled them
Let’s stop losing brothers to the lust of gems
This precious piece of our earth, this is where it ends

It’s still a rock, a stone
We’ll go back home,
halt the broken hearts and bones
that are caused by the greedy man
Who forces the needy man
To dig speedy through the sand
And find the tedious ingredients that make wedding bands
For the mother of the man who forged this plan
For hypocrisy and her favorite son, Uncle Sam

We shall raise our voices and object every time she marries
We shall, without remorse, abort every fetus she carries

A poets weapons are metaphors and similes
With these we can forever be, thorns in the side of hypocrisy.

I have been insulted for sharing out
my peasant songs, pataphorical poems,
on the table of the cultural patriarchy
the insults have come in a serial flow
into my dark soul a basin of condemn,
it began as my duty to take my poetry
to the bottom of African latrine,
followed by volley of insults like ;
cerebral panicking insensitive idiot,
a gifted ******* of arsolian poetry
One other contumely went aboveboard
to announce me a better dead ******,
i wondered how much one can ****
without erstwhile duty of creation,
now i have been condemned in starkness,
to be a beautiful walking ghost
of William Seward Burroughs,
Uhm! folly of eugenics, No! i am wrong,
this  accolade, i seriously decline to take,
my innateness is not wounded at all,
by anything near to genetic disorder,
i am only conscious of my luckless past,
of Slavery,colonialism,wars,re-colonialism
Then poverty spiced by open ridicule ,
And partly trenchant and half-****** tease
firmly fuelled by racial intolerance,
i have now been mistaken in awry,
to  be a looming ghost of William Burroughs,
and i am not
i am  purely my self,
without imperious wide blood
any where in my by black veins,
i may easily have chimpanzee blood,
Flowing turbulently through my vessels,
but no tincture of white blood in my zoo,
Burroughs broke his virginity with a *****,
i have remained a ****** for three decades,
As African virgins marry only virgins,
Burroughs was the king of underworlds;
chasing lessbian prostitutes and  gays,
to quench his mad ******  appetite
the turf in which i am a  better sham,
Billy was a serial criminal, ever on the run,
my soul is clean as new pin,
in fact  gorgeously dressed
in the unique royal attires
of as a Bristol pin merchant,
Billy worshiped crime and drugs
my piety is anchored on freedom of all,
Billy went to Latin America for *****
i  have been there to mourn Gabriel Garcia,
the Nobelite who was alone in deathly  solicitude
Billy never lifted a finger against tyranny,
my arsolian poetry is center-pieced on nothing,
other than African chantings for  liberty,
freedom for the white and black peasants
perhaps to unyoke themselves,
from the yoke of vicious human avarice.

As the world stands now,
Full of not what we need
Than what we need most,

Full of terrorist Arabs,
Perpetrating punctured civilization,
Of senseless Islam,
In the arsenal  state of ISIS,
Foolishly in ghastly infringement
Of the voiceless poor folks
With their solid foolery
They call the Islamic state,

At a time we need scientists,
In Einstein’s mental stature,
To open the microbes
And hopefully decimate,
Their germ of Ebola,
And her ancestors;
Aids and scrotal Cancer,

Arabs are all over Africa,
Preaching their chauvinism,
Which they call Islam, mental mire in extreme,
They grabbed and annexed North Africa,
They gave it Arabic name; The Maghreb,
Now the fountain of terrorism
And tomfoolery of religion
Devoid in dual logic
Of reason and humanity,
Converting Somali in to beehive,
Of al shabab and Al gaeda drones,
Killing the poor people,
For no reason nor emotion,

We need more Jews than Arabs in the Maghreb,
To convert Mauritania into New York,
And Somali into Moscow,
Egypt into Germany,
Tunisia into France
And Libya into Chicago,
For Africa needs Technology
And property for its people,
But not the religious sludge
In the likes of Islam, Buddhism and Christo-mania,

The world needs more Jews than Arabs,
For the sake of science,
Geo-space adventure,
Viable ideologies,
Like Marxism, reverse capitalism,
Bill Gatism and all of these stuff,
But not funny pieties of the Turban,
From peasants like Al Amin Mohammed,
The **** of Mecca before Adrenalin for Hajira,

Arabs better walk backwards,
To the days before in the antiques,
And revive Al Jebra, the glory of their past,
Make dhows and sail the world,
With Rubiyats of Omar Al Khayyam,
In their hands, burying their beards,
In the rubiyat of the wine and the ******,

The world needs more Greeks than English men,
For sake of succor from vacuum of logic,
We wallow in today,
To relish Aristotle, Plato and Socrates,
Homer and Hesiod,
For more Iliad and Odyssey,
Apology and Crito, Phaeto,
Alexander and Archimedes,
But not colonialism mongering
****** English men,
With no culture to sell,
Other than colonialism,
Infallibility of the queen,
Shakespeare’s fear of ***,
And Churchill’s mental deficiency,

We need more Russians than white Americans,
To entertain and astound the world,
With uniqueness of confidence,
And charm of moon visiting science,
With literary spark in the size of Leo Tolstoy,
Maxim Gorgi and Nikolai Gogol,
With the sweetness of cloaked dead souls,
To stune the world with political shrewdness,
In the fathom of Vladimir Putin,
Pricking capitalism from diurnal somnambulism,
We need more Germans than Italians,
For the sake of sense of reason
Positive aggressiveness,
Stern thought pattern,
Feasible ideology,
And systematic prudence,

We need more black Africans than Indians,
To carry forward the battle of civil rights,
Sports culture and heavyweight boxing,
To sire tough sires,
That can survive climate change,
But not Indians,
Opening shops all over,
Falling in love with corrupt powers,
For filthy sake of merchandizing freedom,

Wee need more Jews than Arabs,
To counter the spiral forces,
Of Chinese capitalism,
Caterwauling the world,
Into crazy whirlpool,
Of yellow civilization,
Making it thus fit,
To stop at stark truth,
That a dead Arab terrorist,
Is better than thoughts of democracy.

My hands are mad ugly
My face is ok sometimes
My mouth often says rhymes
By the dozen..
or
More or less by the second
I don't talk to my cousins
My family is too far
I long to shine afar
and be the light that guides you
like slaves running away
Looking at the northern star
Never led astray
Unlike their ****** brothers
Who wanted them to die
Or plow dirt in the fields
Will you bow and yield?
or is your strength revealed?

I lost a beloved friend a few years back...
The big 'C' got him, thankfully it took him fast.
He died around this time four years passed,
it truly feels like yesterday that his spirit was here,
blessing the ground we both walked upon.

He was a real funny ****, always with the quips.
He'd send me texts and call them e-quips.

Once while shopping at The Great Canadian Tire Store,
we bantered about how it came to pass that the black culture in the western world used slang terms to denigrate the white. Calling them ****** and *******. The latter referring to the slave master's whip braking the speed of sound on the back of a family man stopped from even a pleasure of a good read.

My friend said to me "*******": I prefer "saltines". To our surprise we had come to understand the term '******' derived when white 'John's' would cruse black neighbourhoods to solicit prostitutes.

They would signal they were prospective clients by honking their horns. For they feared leaving their vehicles under an assumed threat of physical violence.

These days I feel I am channeling my dear friend. For me, it's always with the quips and puns and non sequiturs. Some end up as titles for this work I produce. Like, for an example: Are Plastic Surgeons Recyclable.

Although you may not, I just have to laugh at my self. Some say my jokes aren't funny, they are an irritation. To which I state, that is the optimal effect, my true aim.

                                      Pat Two

At his funeral, his brother delivered his eulogy. Telling the childhood story of the family pet, a housecat had gone to the basement and Dave stood at the top of the stairs coaxing "Here Kitty kitty, come here kitty".
His father says, "Call him louder", and without missing a beat or changing his tone or volume Dave says "Here louder louder, come here kitty".

We shared puns and jokes that in this day-and-age, some would deem offensive. To be honest about the matter, some were. But... to qualify, maybe to justify. The jokes were always in jest, never meant to harm. It could be me, in the attempt to excuse poor behavior. Perhaps it's so, that is to say I don't know for sure. I've yet to make up my mind.

                                         Part Three

The point being, for I have strayed and I digress. The love I have for my friend still lives on and perhaps will never end. If it is David that I channel, so be it! I feel blessed.

Although I have, I never had to say good-bye to my dear friend Dave. For he never really left. He lives on in the hearts and minds of his chosen friends. And will continue to long after the day of my demise.

For the life of me, as I sit in the corner on a crooked chair, flanked by a lamp and a potted plant on an end-table. The end of this year approaches quickly and I wonder to myself, when will I again meet-up with my old friend.


end

4:27 am
Outside on my balcony
Four stale ciggarettes
Smudged red lipstick
Hint of whiskey breathe
It's cold!
Silk robe
On a vintage bar stool
Feeling inspired
By no other than you
Incredible
Hours of flirting
Minutes of kissing
Endless of touching
240 seconds of a *****
"Thanks doll call me sometime again"
Gone.
Here i am incomplete
Felt like nothing
Why?
Oh why?
We had such a good evening
Then dinner for two
Imagined
What damage a thought can do
Thought it was worthy
Almost too good
Girl afraid
Simply used
He got his
What do I get?
Sloppy kiss goodbye
Four stale ciggarettes
****** tonk breathe
Good hair for nothing
Simple regret

Wars
Pillage
Disease  
Religion
Money  
God      
Soul
Attrition
Governments
Environment
Man
Condemn
Hope
Space
Future
Question
Abortion
Children
Hunger
Apathy
Mortgage
Empathy
Judaism
Catholicism
Islam
Baptist
Banks
Greed
Gluttony
Foreclosure
Black
White
Division
Impasse
Blind
Death
Legions
Secret
Collaborate
Destruction
Abscond
******
***
******
Jew
Fat
Skinny
Tall
Short
Ignorance
Intolerance
Hope
Hate
Love
Death
Poverty
Wealth
Displacement
Abstract
Reality
Agony
Distrust
Temperament
Conglomerate
Drugs
Pharmaceutics
Capitalist
Socialist
Fascist
Conformity
World
*******
Society
Downfall
Atrophy
Silent
Protest
Propagate
******
Life
Precious
Dream
Regress
Degenerate
Exfoliate
Human
Substance
Into
Nothing
Hell
On
Earth
Freedom  
A
*******
Mockery

This year near now later as I slide into safe for

the feeling,
never once in real life as they call the experience of
mortal ripening misspellts
corrected asgoodas
magigic
tstsefly sleepy sick o hno this is that book

louis said it sounds like science fiction --- but
you init lou
look
it's that guy who married your mom and rescued your from the
cult,
fundamentally,
with no regard for the damage

I just knew. Okeh, we were caught in a net we did not know exists.

Evil in its e-sense, virtual balnce factor intended to keep good
in constant chessish cheshirish grin
cheque,
en garde, to point a fault in the plan… ellipses suffice for a minor
re
spect to authors admitting un belief of most

order quired fixt ac-counting tual vir-beginning ever
things, with no
withdrawal date, the riches pile up so hitchenslipped in the bull
Creflo Dollar, props, brohawny black ****** mofoe than fren
in the end,

y'did your proper whatever you knew in your self right right
it just feels wrong

jets, ball'n'f'Jeesus, risen above the fray,

in Beulah Land,
c'mon childrens, t'all join me walk wit jesus hear me say
ain't another way I know and you know,
I cain't lie

nonono chile my heart be fixt
fixt means, ain broke
no joke, blowin hard hard har on that deep left end
blue bleu sacre bleu

I best rest and find mind gone a wander why you hear?
Both, heare, here and hear, oft stretched to cover
to means of leaking wwwwu.

we may, as we the corpus hoct to pay some debt
somebody never owed,
an oath to believe a lie is true,

I absolve you. You are free to no longer bher
the burden of eventually accounting
for every, every, every ever
sworn idle word
lock for
ever int the con fused wicks match lock candles,

we did not know if this went to now,
when we have these
magic pens and broad bands of reading minds finding
threads
we
share, ideas at bare word level, down to actual
jots, breath commas, some call them

but readers of many [paradigms of mind] novels,
realize their roles
with shame,

venting noxious fumes for [that verted joy fools floods of
test-toss-or be owned}}}protein trigger me a fu
ture
sure thing ding
Those genes that code for proteins are composed of tri-nucleotide units
called codons, each coding for a single amino acid.
Each nucleotide sub-unit consists of a phosphate,
deoxyribose sugar and one of the 4
nitrogenous nucleotide bases.
The purine bases adenine (A) and guanine (G) are larger and consist
of two aromatic rings.
The pyrimidine bases cytosine (C) and thymine (T) are smaller and consist
of only one aromatic ring.
In the double-helix configuration,
two strands of DNA are joined to each other by hydrogen
bonds
in an arrangement known as
base pairing.

From <https://www.sciencedaily.com/terms/genetic_code.htm#:~:targetText=The%20genome%20of%20an%20organism,­for%20a%20single%20amino%20acid.>

Can we stand up right balanced, okeh. This ain't anybodies idea of hell,

except the one Mormon guy who told me Morman worst ell, tellestial kingdom,
was so much better than now that if god let you see it,
you would die to get there.

Time will tell.
Keep the pressure on, high speed chase scarios are not torture,
they only feel like

lift off, oh shitunexpected floatin ches above

the idea of enjoyment as an occupation.
Peacemaking, as an occupation, occupying until now we

gather, at the river and laugh
laugh laugh alladem rules and reg ulah stuff, gwa n on ol woids wise
womb man know gnosticious suspicious
auspicity
perspicacity capacity to tttalk sit no stutification evacuation of
I can't
remember. But grandpa, remember, Siri knows, ask her.

2019 wandering away from the ol'fo'khome ain't the
adventure it once was
past the edges of all the known in the world. My 8 yr old
grand daughter put a locater spell on my

converged network node
if I manifest in odd realms she has Siri steer me to bed.
The future is as good as I imagined,

but I'm not the guy about to die while wondering what he missed
that everyone else knew from the womb.

women are from venus and men from mars
and i thought women only come from bars
without the moon we get no light from stars
****** tonk ba donka donk rear ending cars

if it weren't for love we wouldn't need hate
without relativity, we can still relate
without time, we wouldn't wait
without fire we'd have no fate

without google, we would live no lies
without google we would have no eyes
without death, no one dies
without agreeing, there's no compromise

with our friends we hate on other friends
with no means there would be no ends
without pain, the heart never mends
with no mind, no one comprehends

Cook our intelligence
Look at the belligerent
Hate filled hornet nest
Continent of ****** pest
Fumigation of the U S

litigation red tape
when a sticky red fate
gets caught on tape
Oppression communicate
When killers walk out gratis

CIA, FBI, NBC, All of them be
Lying to me, cause the tv told me
this was the nation of the free

**** that we are a nation of slaves
Haven't evolved since yesterdays
Declaration freedom from tyrants
Then drove the natives to tears
Never equal when they see ants

Regicide of a king who had a dream
Martyr the leaders to slow the steam
Now the nation burns its mainstream

ACAB, SRA, BLM, All of them be
Talking to me, cause life told me
That freedom it ain't really free

Data stream use instant transmission
Every one, one team with one mission
Can silence a king how about a nation
All chasing the dream of compassion
Fighting mace and tears with passion

While our president hides in his residence
Plotting with pence on building a fence
And Biden forgets he was the antecedent
Passed in 1997 military gear to the precinct
Two party election, its insanity or compliance

That trump boy works with Geppetto
Puppet and toy to masters he echos
Funny money, president to get dough
String pullers they really made a show
Now the polls they swinging so low

But Biden's another flunky
Dancin to the biddin of ******
Oligarch kings of the country
Sayin dance you ****** donkey
**** the country till it walks funny

Scared of the protest they cant contest
Plants in the crowd to **** interest
Cant fold wont be fooled by insects
Declare a war on our country's best
Commit war crimes in blue vests

I don't know where our future will go
But if we keep movin and never slow
Where we're goin is better than now
Yesterdays wounds will heal I know
This nightmare could end tomorrow

Maybe this was never the land of the free
But it could be if we wanted it to be
If we plant the seed nurture it and see
Keep it safe from greed's insanity
Nurture it with bodies of the bourgeois

"Dharamsala"

In the middle of the hub
Bub smelling diesel fumes
With both lungs
I press my cheeks
To warm cement and watch
And listen
I see monkeys watching we
Hear little buzzy horns
People doing the thing
Called walking
The tops of airborne eagles
And crows wings outspread
Evaporated snow
Thousands of disturbed flies
From their garbage lunch sorry
Policeman beggarman Indian guru
Thief ? not yet
Except for two cows and a monkey
Smokers hack
Fruits and vegetables
Female sidesaddle motorcycle
Passengers
No sidewalks
Streets shared by people
And machines in traffic patterns
Of foreign cognition
From this side anyway
Welcome warm sunshine
Congested nasal passages
Wearers of blankets robes turbans
Shawls flip flops tennis shoes
Lots of big ****** horns
Politely saying move please
Braided ponytails galore
Four vehicle traffic jam
Goods carrier tourist cab jeep
Rebar Thank God!
Electric wires and water pipes
Functionally scattered
Traffic police large guardrail dents
Guest house hotel tea stalls
Himalayan butterflies
Sleeper sleeping
Broken gurgling fountain
Beards
Malas
Backpacks
Candy

/                          me? most of the time?
contemplating crafting
the most pristine zeppelin dump...
what's that what's what?
something of a cross-breed,
like wallace the great:
trans-species, i.e. half horse
half ******... donkey...
it's like: what you see on the tin
   of baked beans
attitude -
     half diarrhoea -
   half constipation -
   zee wartenspiele
             (waiting games) -
quarter of what the humidity
is like in london (present at hand) -
maybe beijing, maybe not...
grass court season zenith
at wimbledon?
    you sure it's not savannah,
haystack flattened season
nadir?
   'alf and 'alf,
  and that brighton vlogger halfie...
'erp!
            did i say: i.e. the plural
      variant of E?
it's a gemini of taking a ****
while at the same time making a ****...
like art...
  in the latter day of burroughs...
shooting paint canisters
onto a canvas, and expecting
the same unconscious mechanißation
of a *******;
  and if you can't talk about
taking a ****?
   you really can't talk about anything
else.
think.... waterfalls...
    by tender loving care
   (or at least that's
              that TLC stands for).

Ain't this the s*!t.
Burning reruns come Sunday
Better round out the order
Of sad days and glad rags.
****** Tonk dreams
Busted down in doldrums.
Zithers and atonal strings.
And here I am.
More auto focus tied to repeats, said contract
Available upon request.
Such vegetable starlight,
Passing on the false bravado,
Burning out the backside,
Ready to blow out the wick,
Ready for one more lap
Around the track.
I've got a silhouette to write
Out the business end
Of this badass pencil.
And I'm spitting hellcat North,
Crunching these work boots
Worn in the heels.
Each day a death,
But one at a time.
I light 'em up, hope they don't
Fizzle out halfway down the line. Its all suffragette,
And it out poops Dresden
On a black night of bombing.

Moving away from center,
You spy an ending to this letdown. O well, what did
You expect? High priced
Prose from some well heeled snob? But I've got alot of
Postage stamps. I'll send
This drivel to anyone who has a pulse.
See, I've got to shut it down.
I don't need the neighbors yapping after ten. As you see,
I've got one foot tripping
Over the other.
And sometimes Sunday slaps
Me back to coherency.
As I dream of a sojourn back
To the seventies.
Now I see it so darkly,
As I try to shed some light
On this dark matter moving
Elusively through the microscope. If you find
This terse drama enchanting,
I'll send you these sad remains of this little endeavor gone to wind
By morning.