Integrity: adherene to moral principles, honesty..and the quality or condition of being whole..undivided.

Cheating:  to deprive someone of something valuable by use of deceit.

         Most, if not all of us, need, and very much desire physical intimacy (yes, sx).  Can I say sx  on here? ...I'm not sure. Sx is like the greatest thing ever invented. It's right up there with eating and sleeping.  Everybody likes it..everybody wants it. But when someone is in an exclusive relationship with another, married or not, you don't get to have sx with whoever you want anymore. True, everyone makes mistakes sometimes, no one is perfect, and at times we are weak, for one reason or another. But an honorable man or woman...a person with integrity and inner discipline...recovers..and learns from the mistake...and doesn't repeat it.  That is not what cheaters do.  Cheaters are habitual. That means repeat offenders.  Cheaters talk about things like honor and will power and integrity, but they don't practice it in the place it counts the most, with their beloved.  With cheaters, it isn't about a "mistake".... a one time thing they feel horrible about afterward and promise themselves never to repeat.  Cheaters simply don't care. It's not that they don't care about the girlfriend/boyfriend, or fiance or spouse that they have made a promise of committment to. They do care...they just care more about themselves. It is the promise of faithfulness itself that is meaningless to them...it is simply empty of any real sincerity.  But the problem is that the promise is accepted by the loved one as sincere.  That promise is relied upon and as important as though it were tangible.  So irrespective of how much the cheater spits upon the promise everytime he or she cheats...that promise is HOLY.  Yes, that's right..HOLY.  What does that mean...holy?  Like church holy..or holy water holy?  How is a promise holy?  Well, really one could argue that any promise is holy, but how much more so when a person believes and loves and trusts another...putting all of their faith and future hope on a promise of real love and commitment.  That trust and love make the promise holy.  It is not the hollow promise itself, but that loving reliance upon the promise that creates the holiness...the pure beauty of love... and the faith that it is returned exclusively to the beloved.

          The true sadness is that the beloved will eventually find out about the cheater and then the house of cards will come tumbling down.  Not only is the relationship destroyed, but the trust, faith, and love is destroyed as well, and it may be difficult to ever trust again, in any relationship.  Such immense pain can be caused.  It is amazing that cheaters don't seem to care or think about the consequences of these indiscretions.  Do any of them think ahead of time about the people and/or god forbid, children that will be left lying in the wake of their utterly selfish acts?  The people that will be left trying to pick of the pieces of their hearts, and try to rationalize whether anything that they had believed in was actually real.

          The question is, what and who does the cheater value?? What does the cheater respect?  Do they even value their own selves?  Does a person who thinks nothing of cheating on a regular basis, or every chance they get on their loved one value and respect anything?  Clearly there is no respect for the promise made. There is no respect for the one whom the cheater purports to love.  There is no respect for the man or woman the cheater is doing the cheating with...because clearly that person is just being used to fulfill a carnal desire..and arguably the cheater doesn't even respect him or herself, because a person with an inner moral compass respects him or herself enough not to do things that will cause pain to others, especially those who love him or her.

          So maybe the cheater does not have any real understanding of what is holy..the meaning of a promise...an understanding of integrity...of sacrifice...of the pure beauty of love.  If a man or a woman is in a relationship and can't keep their **** legs closed...then that person has no business being in a relationship.  Its just that simple.  You can't have your cake and eat it too, and then want to eat someone else's cake as well.  If you are so selfish and deceitful that you can't be honest and faithful to the one you profess to love...then do that person a favor and either agree with them to have an open relationship, or let them go.  Because the act of cheating is entirely selfish in every way.  Cheaters want the security and benefits of an ongoing relationship with their significant other, and they want to mess around on the side as well because then they have the best of both worlds.

          But you don't have to go to church or believe in any particular religion to know that cheating is wrong.  It is a hurtful despicable act made even more vicious because it is intentional and hurts the person who loves the perpetrator.  How many crimes are like that?  ....the most heinous.

          So, if you are a cheater..don't ever talk about honor and integrity and code of conduct.  You have no right to utter those words.  Because when you live by  principles of ethical behavior, you don't pick and choose when to apply those principles.  You don't decide that they apply in some areas of your life, on some days, but not on others.  Think before you act..think about who will suffer from your actions...think about the destruction you will cause...do not believe that you can get away with it forever, because eventually the law of the universe will catch up to you.  There is retribution for every act in which we inflict pain on another...for every time we make a promise and then break it..whether anyone ever knows about it or not...just some food for thought

Ours was like fireworks
in the mid-summer sky
Radiant,
       Iridescent,
                   Incredulous,
                              Alive
but the finale came suddenly, unexpectedly soon,
& the band played on,
as if nothing had changed,
as if a fountain of sparkling embers and flame
had not just erupted mere inches away.
And now,
where explosions once seared summer's sky with crackling thunderous incandescent delight
Only whispers and wisps of smoke remain,
Scattered by the breeze,
Whithered, then, by rain.
And of the evening's reveries precious little can be found:
some soured beer in crumpled cans, discarded haphazardly
surrounding a threadbare picnic bedspread
rumpled beneath the branches of an ancient live oak tree.
Dew now wet where lovers once had lain,
staring up into the night
in wonder, ignorant of such banal things
like: masquerading lust in love's robes, declaring,
"I've never loved a love as deep as the love I have for you,"
and truly being unaware of the uncanny substitute;
Or the unbridled disenchantment unleashed by abandonment
and the inevitable transience of an insufferable pain.

We ****** on bar balcony balustrades, over looking city streets.
We ditched tampons into trees rather than wait to satisfy our needs.
We left your ******* in a planter
on a patio under an eve
On purpose, So that some poor, unassuming shop-keep
Would find them
(along with cigarette butts and an empty bag of ****)
and have no choice but think to themselves,
"Did someone **** here?"
and then immediately understand the answer is
"Yes. Exuberantly!"

We defiled. every. place. we went;
giggling with glee at all of our indiscretions.

Oh how many indiscretions could there possibly be?
We shall know;
All of them!

And so we did,

And we were free.



On new years eve I carried you piggyback in your peacock blue sequined gown through the streets of our ****-soaked-gutter-of-a-town.
You were barefoot, drunk, and refusing to be told what to do,
that you had to wear your shoes,
that the streets were far to ***** and dangerous for your tender little feet- you said "Just let me be, It's fine. It wont **** me..."
then, looking at the gutter, continued,
"probably.
And these shoes already are, so..." sticking out your tongue
But I couldn't put you down.
Not in that place, not at that time.
Nor did I even want to. I could have carried you all night
(which was fortunate, because for most of itI did.)
We were declared the city's cutest couple by a stranger on the sidewalk whom we passed while galloping down the street, you, giggling, alight upon my back, running at full speed. This declaration was reaffirmed by everyone met.

A pixie, you know, will always trip you up
(they're natural pranksters you see).
Their magic is undeniable, but oh what trouble they can be.

- My toothsome little faerie - You meant trouble for me;
but what a beautiful, beguiling mess you turned out to be,

You snuck pixie dust into everywhere we went, and
Dispensed it with abandon-
Spread it like caution to the wind.
Sanctifying everything and everyone we met.
That poor city was baptized in our joy.
It's sins washed into glittering gutters,
where we lay sparkling, genuine and loved.


We broke the records that night,
all of them, known and not.

We loved harder than diamond,
than a trailer-hitch to the shin,
Deeper than the fathoms of the trenches at the bottom of the sea.

We made soulmates seem like strangers.
We spoke nonsense fluently.
We shared mind and body, food and drink,
and careless wanton play.

It was

The most
     *******
          Fun
   I've ever had
       in my life...

Probably the most that I ever will.


Every moment I was with you had
the sizzle and the tease
of a bottle-rocket, lit
and held between my teeth.

I knew that I'd get burned
If I held it to the end,
But I did it just to prove I could;
To prove to me
That I was brave enough
To be unashamed
  To be unafraid
   To be.

I don't ask you to be faithful - you're beautiful, after all -
but just that I be spared the pain of knowing.
I make no stringent demands that you should really be chaste,
but only that you try to cover up.
If a girl can claim to be pure, it's the same as being pure:
it's only admitted vice that makes for scandal.
What madness, to confess by day what's wrapped in night,
and what you've done in secret, openly tell!
The ******, about to bed some Roman off the street
still locks her door first, keeping out the crowd:
will you yourself then make your sins notorious,
accusing and prosecuting your own crime?
Be wise, and learn at least to imitate chaste girls,
and let me believe you're good, though you are not.
Do what you do, but simply deny you ever did:
there's nothing wrong with public modesty.
There is a proper place for looseness: fill it up
with all voluptuousness, and banish shame;
but when you're done there, then put off all playfulness
and leave your indiscretions in your bed.
There, don't be ashamed to lay your gown aside
and press your thigh against a pressing thigh;
there take and give deep kisses with your crimson lips;
let love contrive a thousand ways of passion;
there let delighted words and moans come ceaselessly,
and make the mattress quiver with playful motion.
But put on with your clothes a face that's all discretion,
and let Shame disavow your shocking deeds.
Trick everyone, trick me: leave me in ignorance;
let me enjoy the life of a happy fool.
Why must I see so often notes received - and sent?
Why must I see two imprints on your bed,
or your hair disarrayed much more than sleep could do?
Why must I notice love bites on your neck?
You all but flaunt your indiscretions in my face.
Think of me, if not of your reputation.
I lose my mind, I die, when you confess you've sinned;
I break out in cold sweat from hand to foot;
I love you then, and hate you - in vain, since I must love you;
I wish then I were dead - and you were too!
I won't investigate or check whatever you try
to hide: I will be thankful to be deceived.
But even if I catch you in the very act
and look on your disgrace with my own eyes,
deny that I have seen what I have clearly seen,
and my eyes will agree with what you claim.
You'll win an easy prize from a man who wants to lose,
only remember to say, 'I didn't do it.'
Since you can gain your victory with one short phrase,
win on account of your judge, if not your case.

a)  i am the mortar incurring blow after blow
     from the abrasive quality of your negligence.
      no, i am herb between pestle and mortar
      the full realization of 'rock and a hard place'

b)  i am the mortar between each brick you lay,
     in blue collar glory, or rock star slumming,
     to bind shaky corridors of past serenity
     and bear indiscretions on my limestone shoulders

c)  i am the mortar you fire before crawling under covers
     for inexpensive *** and trashier beer
     by a lake on a camping trip where tents trump love
     like the queen of spades in a hand of hearts
      
d)  in fact, these are false, merely possibilities --
     actuality: you were never enough
      to make me spew homonyms in metaphor
      because you were nothing like them,
      always appearing changed but monotonous in meaning,
      and if you're so into contraposition,
      are we not but names for each other?

Thoughts of you
swirl in my mind,
and remain stagnant in my heart.
Oh, how they haunt me so.
There are so many words
left unsaid by me;
words that may
never reach your ears.

These words would bring
to me much needed solace.
Simply said, they would dissipate
the shadow that
follows me everywhere;
this same dark shadow that makes me
question every step I have made,
and every step I am about to make.

My words left unsaid
will remain as such,
as time is needed
to heal the loss I now feel,
before I can face you and say,
word by word, what I feel -
what I will always feel.
“I love you, I miss you,
and I need you.
I want you in my life.
I am sorry for my indiscretions.”

When these words
have finally been said,
I hope, we both find comfort
in knowing that as your friend,
I will always be there,
wishing you well and
hoping that life fulfills you.

Vicki A. Zinn
2008

White hot Flash
Drums of Vibrato
Echo down the Spine
Cold and Sticky
In the Chest
Pulling an Aching
Mind down to
Recollections of Oleander
And Saltwater-
Bloodshot belladonna Eyes
Poppy seed Vision
A loose-lipped Smile
Blurred hands
Violet fingertips
Pale white Translucent
Blue veins dark Stained
Iced concrete and Jasmine
Be still my Soul
Long enough
To Comprehend
The Nymphet Tragedy
Of timid Thorns
And soft strums on Steel Strings
Written longways
Read sideways
Neglected underneath
Rocky steps
Buried deep
In the salted Soil
And mossy Tress

The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
                                                     collected in lyrical a doggy bag.

I will not fall on a sword of those that ignore my verse
that fall on the page, do you know why I write in diverse
motions? Do you know my demons the voices that verse
inwards on the white of my skull? my reflections reverse.

The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
                                                     collected in lyrical a doggy bag.

But excrement can be rhymed in free verse, I'm doing this
for me but I don't linger to impress! I word for my emotions
are a hurricane and I'm the eye calm but I swim in the abyss.

The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
                                                     collected in lyrical a doggy bag.

I'm vocalized to those that don't sniff the arses of poor vocals
linger on excellence not the excrement of poorly woven yokels.
Lyrics of verse are meant to move not stagnate silently,
they are meant to be lyrics that move the emotion violently.

*"Weave the best version of you, not the diluted verse,

I hate people
and their mouths
especially when my indiscretions
come bumbling out
and now they know
how much
you loved my mouth
last night.

Tell me about the Ace of Wands!
Tell me about the Ace of Wands!

This has been poorly imagined I admit:
The sunny penthouse
Open to the breeze
which presses and sways
through the sliding glass doors

Upturned champagne bottles
set in buckets of melting ice
A crystalline view of the Pacific
Or dusky Vegas lights

Strewn silken sheets
A **** carpet you can grab on to
The myriad of variations under a rising Moon

Yet Leather and Ecstasy are no where to be seen.
And though I wasn’t thinking of Sardinia
or of the Amalfi
That is a great idea

ROMP
noun
1. a spell of rough, energetic play.
2. a farce.

Eventually
(An earth-sign cusp is slow no matter how much air)
Eventually
creeping into my mind’s eye
(Thank you Time)
was my dodging of the slow-moving bullet
Alas, the lumpy bed in Hollywood awaits
with serviceable sheets
Encased in variations on a theme of
brown everything
A soul death in faux wood paneling
Someone else’s earring on a
grubby carpet floor
that offers you
burns for your back that won’t heal so fast
if that’s what you want
There’s the opening of the door
on the purring refrigerator
to look at cold nothing
And think nothing
Cystitis is on its way
And yes,
Too much dust

Don’t get me wrong
I have no real issues with dust
I have stood
Alone in the semi darkness before
In such a living room
Staring at this luminous particulate
On album covers
and in the glare of backlit windows
Floating in a beam from
a ceramic thrift store table-lamp

I was on my way to find the bathroom
Where a pair of pink ******* lay
drying
in wait for
me

Bachelor dust
Is old
I can write my name with my finger
in that which rests
upon the turntable’s hinged cover
In case you don’t remember
What they call me

As I’ve said
I’ve got nothing against it
Ask the dust
Go ahead
Ask it
Resting quite comfortably
on the bookshelves
If there are bookshelves
As if it had
something to do.
I ask it why?

my invading molecules subdivide
and grow more comfortable

Dust?
Why do I smell the stench of
chaste virgins and ***?
The intoxicating odor of foxed letters from an epistolary exchange regarding:
One Fair Maiden and the Devilish Pursuits to  Compromise Her Virtue?
The Opinions and Observations of Fallen Fruit
Here: The woman and her only true
possession
And Here: The sticky absconder who smells of fish.
They meet.
She blinks.

The dust replies
It’s a simple plan:
The Dear Lady is to be led
Astray
by pretty words and unspoken indiscretions
her dowry in the end, useless
She’ll be banished to the counties
To be a governess
or the
Bored companion
of the only living relative who will
Admit her services
Unpaid in silver coins
He is Blind and his Cook has left
Dyspeptic
Disagreeable
Cheap
and Mean.

She is Ruined.
Perhaps she will escape
to Italy
and die
Alone
in the sunshine.

The dust tells me another story
The same century still
This time, a miscreant princeling
surrounded by Trifles
Picking up one bob and then another
Preoccupied by uselessness
Perhaps a strawberry
Perhaps more claret and his mistress’s left breast
Tonight will be the scullery maid
Who will lose more in the end
Than she could ever possibly imagine
Tossed out of the kitchens
to Providence.
God bless Her.

The dust tells me
It’s mercantile, my dear
It’s all transactional
But look at me
I’m here for a time but am easily
Agitated and
Airborne
Aeolian driven
Ever blossoming fugitive clouds of swirling devils
Interstellar Reflection Nebulae
As you can see
I’m never in one place
So I say keep it movin’.

Note; this is for all to read everyone .... Everyone involved in HP war of words with another, , everyone on this site... This isn't singling out anyone, this is truth, that no one will say. Though I choose no sides, I stand for god, and god told us to love one another.... So here's a message for all to read. Note; this message isn't to boost wolf by any means, this message isn't to boost me. This message isn't to cut down anyone, or hurt anyone. I support all of you equally. And love wolf just as much as all involved in war with wolf,as wolf wars with you!!!...,read first, and see truth. As there's a war here over words between all. So this goes for all... I'll tell you before you read this, after I found out Gary originally unblocked wolf first. Mine heart spoke to me to unblock wolf and write him. And wolf was humble enough to write me kind message, and the message is from a hurting but real and open heart... As everyone knows me and wolf had throughout the time I've been here been dealing with our own conflict. Though who am I to scorn this man? And judge him? Being a sinner mine self, and a man whose done wrong a lot in life... Please read, if I loose support from even those I support, so be it, but truth is, I stand with god, and the reason why were here is to love one another, and forgive. No matter what the actions or words said. Please read,this goes for wolf,and all in a battle with wolf, and wolf in battle with these others who I love just the same as wolf, no partisan ways meaning not choosing sides, just speaking truth to each of you so please listen and read.

(Wolf Spirit  5 days ago)
thanks for the unblock and friendliness, B..i know you have seen some viscera from me....i apologize for that...seems some folks have ways of making all look bad in the wrong light. i wont use names...please accept my whole hearted apologies for any misdirections.....and indiscretions....if you prefer, i will post a public apology. HP is no longer a viable option for my poetry, and i am sorry that this came at this time......you really are, and have turned out to be, a stand up guy. may your travels be fruitful and your days be many and most jubilant. bless you, good sir poet.

(brandon cory nagley  4 days ago)
Hey thank you friend wolf!!! Glad you wrote friend , I wanted to yet didn't feel the time was yet right , not knowing all to say right asap, lol. Glad to see you hanging in their Wolfie. As you see I try to stay away from others who still cut you down so on and don't like poems that cut you down.. I have no hard feelings against you like so many others do, though I respect the ones who don't like you much , though I respect you a lot to, and stand like you just to write poetry. Not here to hate or **** with words another,.. But to learn from each other, show love to another, as I have seen you do give love to so many despite many fights on here with others.,,I've seen and see your beautiful soul wolf... You are a man whose humble, and has much influence!!! Use thy influence to the good brother, when others attack you like I've been attacked.. forgive them no matter if they keep attacking, forgive them. When one cheeks slapped, let them slap the other,,, the fact is you win with love wolf..hatred and anger as you well know, as any human knows burdens our souls, not just in this living physical world. But the next spiritual world. The next reality that's more real as you know then this one. So while here we need most to love another... Forgive always! Even when people keep attacking you and backstabbing you and all other hating speeches, or defaming, and ones murdering us with words, or physically, however the case, yes as you know we must stand up against it. Though while doing it, showing the one killing us love, forgiveness, maybe just maybe to change their hearts in the process of that love, friend wolf I don't expect no apology to the public lol you are a good soul, yet with burdens like me and everyone else...I've seen you wrote you had a stroke? Many say that's quote ( a lie) though I don't know whether you have had stroke or not? I can't judge you and I also can't assume you didn't... If you did friend I pray you will heal wolf... You want to know something? Since I first joined hp I've always respected you as a soul... The one behind the flesh and bones....... I've always respected your soul is bright, many as you know hate bright lights.,. And like me friend. You have many spiritual demons you are battiling as I have ( literally) battled them with proof, not just in the head lol... As I see you battle very real ones, though wolf you can and we can overcome them, and part of that is trading love from your heart, to those of hatred, and when darkness comes... Light it up with light... Your a true light wolf not just a poetic one, but a true spirit of light and yes everyone deals with struggles, depression at times! And literally demons that attack us on a regular basis, attacking both me and you, not speaking of people actually speaking ( demons forces) and real demons, we can overcome them. Though you must have faith to do so, it took a lot for you to write me I know, and its taking me some courage,,, I have no hard feelings for you friend!!! As I said, I respect your real soul wolf. I take no sides with no one.., as I friend I tell you this, I love all people, you, everyone including others who have all written bad about one another,,, I love each and every one of you equally, not just because your all flesh blood and bone like me. But because god put us here to love another, not judge another's skin. Or look, or life... But to help one another... And as you know in poetry especially a site like this, we can learn from another, if we choose not to learn from another and hate another, what help does that give another soul? And our soul? NONE help... So friend, I take no sides,., I stand for gods love to others, what we were sent here to do, love another.., and wolf I see you have love in you. I don't hate you nor any others, the fact is I'll say this as a friend ( I've seen you attack others, though the other truth, I've seen others attack you) and a person who wants to show love, and not give into hatred I step out of the bounds beyond the hatred that was spewed out on this site..,, but I love each and every one of you all equally... Now you all must do the same.., mine Christ I believe in spoke this... As a christian this is what I do, even if I didn't believe in jesus I'd still do it,,,
John 13:34-35

34 “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. 35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

1 john chapter 3-
13Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. 14We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren. He that loveth not his brother abideth in death. 15Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer: and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him.

One who hates another god considers same as being a murderer, and no life will abide in him, and he won't have life, our goal here is to love and forgive always friend..
Verse 23-same chapter and john...
23And this is his commandment, That we should believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ, and love one another, as he gave us commandment.



Just as peter the disciple of christ spoke and asked jesus he said ( lord how many times shall I forgive a man? 7 times lord,).....
Jesus replied to him( I tell you forgive him 77 times) he was trying to teach peter,, there is no limit on how many times you forgive, you always
ALWAYS forgive, no matter what friend wolf. always,
As I forgive you Wolfie... As I hope as well if there was anything in the past I don't remember saying if maybe I did wrong to, you may forgive me.,, thank you for your letter wolf, you ever need a friend... Please write ok(:: anytime wolf...

Your friend, Brandon Cory Nagley

(Wolf Spirit  4 days ago)
thank you for that....hang in there

brandon cory nagley  4 days ago
No thank you friend wolf like I said friend write anytime you want, and you ever need anything just write (:::

Wolf Spirit  4 days ago
thanks, B

Donald Trump's presidency
Is one of the greatest achievements in art I have ever experienced
And Trump is a true artist
He takes words from the page
Like corruption, disenfranchisement, xenophobia
And brings them to life
Highlighting fear and paranoia so clearly
Contrasting the blacks and whites
Emphasizing anger
While reminding us we're mere infants
In the digital age
And warning us of our seniority
And capitalism's

We all like to think life has meaning
Until we hit an animal with our car
Then that's just the way things are
And I'm staring at an absurdist painting
Of a child driving a car
Through a herd of sheep
As I watch a heist film
Where the robbers turn their guns over
To the mentally unstable guy in the group

Trump is a national artist
Placing riots on the map
And drawing infernos on the Internet
His art forces an opinion
Everybody has something to say about him
And it's all true
Even the pages he ripped from his own cabinet
Tried to villainize him in their script
But he was already an anti-hero
The humor is that the mud slung onto him
Is dirt kicked up from his own tires
I guess if you surround yourself with hateful people
You're surrounding yourself with people who probably hate you

Trump's art is deeply conflicting
He reminds me of the people who want me to live in shame
Yet he embodies the individuality that separates me from that shame
His insecurities remind me of myself
High school is the White House in the eyes of a kid
And I had secrets I wanted to share
But felt I couldn't
I learned things
That changed my entire perspective
And didn't think people would understand
Afraid of being assaulted for my indiscretions
I hid behind a boisterous personality
And a nonchalant attitude
Trump's art evokes sympathy and hatred that feels so strong
When he holds a mirror defining our worst qualities
To a man viscerally opposed to his own reflection
The confliction of emotions
Is the hallmark of great art

We are all artists
The lines we write or the strokes we brush
Are in our actions
And Trump's canvas displays
A life filled with accomplishment
Inspiring me to live my own life
But I still wake up in cold sweats
From the American dream
That anybody can be president

I plan on sleeping into oblivion into Armageddon into the end of the world.  
The earth shakes all around me as the sky falls in brimstone and rains sulfur and right now I think I see the angel of death in the distance.
I am not sure what it would look like though this vision is chilling me to the core.  
The molten core of this rock of life now death is rising up and overtaking the trees yet somehow I remain alive somehow I am not engulfed in the holy and divine flame of this apocalypse but I am sweating like a pig.  

I think I smell bacon.  

The sizzling of the flesh of those around me reminds me of bacon.
I think that’s why Hashem is ******.  
I know the smell of bacon.
I am not religious but the death and chaos around me and the angel of death above me and the burning sky and charred trees and buildings and bodies around me have given me a slight change of heart.  

Help me holy one!

I renounce my sins and blasphemy and beg forgiveness at Your all-powerful feet staring at Your omnipotent toenails and noticing a little fungus and thinking that we all have our flaws, even the Alpha and the Omega, the Almighty God that is prayed to day and night.  

If I could hear all the prayers in the world right now as we crumble into oblivion what
would they say?
I’m sorry Lord for what I have done Forgive me Lord for my indiscretions I was good, God, why have you done this to me what is Your plan Almighty tell me ******, why must I, your humble servant die at your hand because of the evils of others!  and I hear the reversal of fortunes.
The pious screaming at You for answers and the blasphemous like myself whimpering for forgiveness and the strong become weak and the weak become weaker and the terrible whine of hot steel bending and the crackling of flesh that reminds me of bacon and I remember now that I shouldn’t know that smell but forget among the cries of flesh and steel and concrete wood plastic explosions cacophony chaos bliss finality the end of days is on a
Tuesday

and I love it because I have always loathed
Tuesdays.  

Tuesdays
have always had a putrid green sky and a certain unpleasant odor lingering in the thick juicy air an odor not unlike fertilizer that has somehow gone bad and I wonder how **** goes bad because fertilizer is just that, ****, right?  
And that smell begins to flood my nose again as I hear the sizzle of flesh burning again this time
closer and louder and real and I begin to feel the heat all around me and my time for epiphany is now over.  
That fertilizer smell, that rancid **** demonic hellish smell is none other than my own burning flesh, none other than a warning sign that the end would come on a
Tuesday,
that most loathsome and evil of days, the worst of the week.
Tuesday.  
Insufferable intolerable
Tuesday
with your rancid **** burning flesh hell spawn demon smell, a smell only found in the bowels of the underworld and gym locker rooms, your rancid green brown sky, a color to match your smell in the thick sticky juicy air that never leaves.

Tuesday,
you evil being you devil you lost soul you destructor I hate you now more than ever as the sizzle crawls up my body and engulfs my nose and for that I am thankful because I can no longer smell that evil putrid narcotic smell of death but it stops before my eyes so I can bear witness to the end of days to the last whimper of the earth as it is consumed by fire and hear with what is left of my ears the eternal silence of this beautiful Apocalypse and begin only slightly as the bacon sizzle crawls up my forehead
in silent reverie
to love

Tuesday.

Slam that, thy Pen,
if thou doth so please,
in protest to earnest catharses;

Slam that, thy Pen!
Let it all out,
tell them of unfairness brought about
in a mutual way,
as if you are the Victim of outrageous Circumstances
and as if the Past vindicates more recent indiscretions.
-
Slam that, thy Pen,
in the face of yourself;
leave not thy rotting feelings
upon thy mental shelves.

Slam that, thy Pen,
that it may help you overcome.
Slam that, thy Pen,
lest ye be overrun.

Slam that, thy Pen,
in the face of your Pain.
Slam that, thy Pen,
into cathartic gain.

Slam that, thy Pen,
as I know I've done.
Slam thy ******* Pen
It's cathartic and fun.

Thus I implore;
Slam that, thy ******* Pen!
That's what the **** it's for.

Under alcohol umbrellas
We'll seek shelter from the snow
This street is icing over
Sliding sleet beneath our toes.

This place keeps getting colder,
They predicted our bad luck
But the globe is growing warmer
Choke me down, I'll get choked up.

It's like Wharton is your neighbor
And McCarthy shares her bed--
     We've got plenty Pretty Horses
     But no Room, here, for Old Men

Tickers spit out headlines
Half of us can't even read.
But the other half's no better,
     We're cannibals eating dreams.

So you'll keep your smoke and mirrors.
And, reflecting, stifle coughs.
Operate under assumptions:
Overrated's good enough.

But I'm taking bets, suggestions,
And donations, West to East.
So, from minor indiscretions,
     I might try to beg release.

Gun metal and asbestos
The tundra of your father’s eyes
His heart left in London after the war
Stubborn, your mother clung to the lie
Hide the shameful sight
Your hands left over right
Roll a crochet ****** under your blanket
Picture perfect mask the missing
Digits and appendages
“That child’s not mine…Ma”
Shoulda put ya in a home

Whispered sins and indiscretions
You slept with your sister in silent rooms
Peed in a porcelain ***
Defiant, Old Nellie in her witch gray wool
She won’t latch the outhouse again
Keep that abomination strapped to your thigh
Crossed and awake at night
You came out swinging when he touched you
"Shoulda put ya in a home…."

Pick the rock salt from your hide
And never cry
Secrets sting more than saline bullets
You bared those knees in a hand made dress
And fled…newly wed
Birthed that ten toed baby girl
Relegated yourself to the drain of domesticity
Brownstones and picket fences
When did you cast the first thread
Spiderwebs and pyrite
Whispered sins and indiscretions
Broken dishes…
Broken bones…
Broken vows…
You lied so much better than you lived

That crave for validation in your fathers’ eyes
Drift away over his open grave
You played Taps in the shadows
One last time
I was an open wound in a house of pain
You couldn’t love your child
And swallow the shame
That little redhead down the street
Baby boy you couldn’t give
Fed your shattered ego with fear
In my eyes
Notch your bedpost with ticks for lovers and fools
Man eater never sated
**** point met….She’s not your daughter
You left him in an empty room
Payback is a jade eyed snake coiled up in your marriage bed

That High school Knight
Greasy hands and milk toast breath
You fled again
Tell me you’re happy
When he’s gone from dawn to dusk
Catching crappies* and suckin Pabst in a can
While you pickle yourself with cheap *****
And soap operas
Buried your crazy mother, your Witch of a sister
And the **** you married first….
No ripples of remorse
In the cement of your soul

We only speak across miles
Unreconciled
You will never apologize
Little dreams strangled
Wet ******* around my neck
Soap in my mouth
Welts and belts,
Wire brushes and hangers
Fitting discipline
Can’t leave my own alone with you
Drown your grandchild in the toilet bowl
Rather than ask for the truth
From a terrified child
Who had only begun to adore you
Now I can’t love his scars away
The truth is bitter, cold and lonely
Love cannot grow in a heart of stone
Chiseled bitter by the sins of a mother
A father and another
You never had a chance to be
Complete….
02/24/10
For Barbara....
*crappies are a pan fish.

I wrote a tragedy with my lips
the story of our love
the pages of your hands across my skin
paragraphs of our hidden desire
our stolen kisses written in-between the lines of the public eye
the ******
metaphors to mask our immorality
chapters filled with indiscretions
the leatherbound catastrophe of your infidelity
the bookends were our lips
and between them was the story of our tragic love

Dearest Britni,

I was warmed by your thermal tub, the belly of your indiscretions and the way you held those mule-hearts
in plastic jars beneath the cupboard where your favorite cups and coins were kept.  The magic beat of your fingertips made my skin jump crazy out of my shirt and pants.  I wonder if the turnover has always been this way for you, meaning to say, when the trips always ended did you take back the second pillow into the other room, where your ivory curtains opened, and did you feel the need to lock the door to your bedroom.

The word, 'house guest' implies less visitation privileges than actually took place.  I believe it was more of an involved visit.  There were certainly visitation privileges but there was also visitation writ.  I had to keep my jeans clean.  There were no shoes allowed in the bed.  And extracurricular activities were kept to their time tables-- that is to stay that spontaneity occurred only when it fit into the time table.  I was never much for making you lunch in the morning.  It has always been difficult for me to think of the meals before they happened, though I knew what was in every drawer, every closet, every cabinet.  The insides and outs of a decade of dreams.

In short time I became mesmerized with the perfect patterns in your arms and on your legs.  I could crook my head in a way to look at the sunset from under your arm or stand on a chair to look down at the top of your head.  And then one day you told me I was weird.

This time I wanted to be fulfilled.  I did not want to miss a thing.  I made sure to slide my fingers in between your toes, I squeezed the bottoms of your feet with the bottoms of my feet.  There are many recitals, many performances, and even more personal encounters that cannot be recalled to mind, but I am sure they happened.  If I had the opportunity I would attempt to pick your nose again.  Something I did every chance I had though you abhorred it.  To lick the side of your face, the bottom of your chin, the interior of your armpit, the lengths of your legs, and the rims of your lips-- I lived our life to the fullest.

All interactions were encouraged.  We played in sunlight, in nightlight, during day showers, and ate by the seaside.  We traveled to four states, two lakes, and two oceans.  We drove in excess of 20,000 miles, received fifty-seven parking tickets, five speeding tickets, thirty-five thousand two hundred eighty four compliments, fifty-two salutations, fifteen, "you're an adorable couple," three hundred complimentary access, two free tickets to a museum exhibition, took over one hundred fifty flights between the two of us, and received your father's permission.  We slept in showers, swam in baths, and drank from swimming pools.  We shared the bathroom, the bed, and the kitchen sink.  I memorized how many times you rolled over when sleeping, and you told me what I talked about in my sleep.  I knew the five places you lived at and the four places you wanted to.  We danced in nightclubs, in bars, in schoolyards, in back seats and bedrooms, and ballrooms.  There were fifteen black tie events, one wedding, and over two hundred concerts.  I wrote over fifty thousand poems made over three hundred paintings, and took somewhere around twenty-eight thousand pictures.  I once took you to breakfast every morning for a week and dinner every night.  I bought you one hundred twenty six cups of coffee, fifty-two cocktails, and one Shirley Temple.  I only had to help you change clothes thrice, but I helped you undress over a thousand.  I always remembered to lift up you hair if I helped you put on a jacket, and never made you walk on the street side.

There were over 2,000 bands and artists I introduced you too.  You taught me about fashion, about photography, about being a good person.  We sang in the shower, sang in the car, whispered before falling asleep.  I sent you dozens of flowers and you watered them all.

In my favorite yellow chair I do not have any regrets or any wants.  I fulfilled a life time in two years.  I was an upstanding gentleman, always.  And then out of the blue you didn't want me to touch you anymore.  One time in an airport in DC we ran 48 terminals to see each other again.  You taught me not to be afraid of flying, that it's important to be myself.  And when it ended the first time I wrote you two letters a day for three months.

Tomorrow when I wake up I will make the bed, put the music on, smoke a cigarette, then take a shower.  Afterwards I will get dressed, grab my belongings and go get four shots of espresso like I have been doing every day for the past five years.  Everything will be the same.  At the end of the day, after work, after listening to a plethora of music, talking to a plethora of people, I will not talk to you.  After two years two years and 2,163 phone calls, I will not talk to you for two days in a row.  I will lay in my bed and count the mews, but I miss the weight on the mattress, the heat of your whole, the temperature of your voice, and the redolence of your perfume, but I will have no regrets when I rollover thrice, to the right, to the left, and to the right.

Siddhartha sat steady on a the hearth of an apartment, eyes closed
mouth closed, mind open and enchanted
Zen-man lingers in a dark park starting,
to realise indiscretions of his past lives avatar

(but don't for a second believe the lies you've been fed by the brother of your brother and the father's of the jingoist mafia because eyes blink often and the accumulative effect is a life of temporary blindness and in that blindness it's not possible to be enlightened)

Your mantras are a lie but the belief remains still
and so rolling over wild green hills in some Welsh country village it dawns on the spirits of the ether that humanity is struggling

to find absolution of even the most relative peace
- but so, and Siddhartha still sits, cross-legged and barely breathing
Emaciated; fast, faster
Losing her nerve

Zen-man died a few months back but you always live again and so a beetle on a hot car hood scampers in some intrinsic folly, semi-aware of being something or being at all

     Towards the walls of weather-beaten towns the levee finally bursts and all life ends -
until a gathering mist pulls absurd faces in the simpatico rays of a third-eye sun over the bayou of some forgotten rock in the cosmos
and the ethereal temptress of existence rolls the next dice on a green matted board
and our unified oneness speaks a solitudinal greeting to the sky.

Truly, we are wonderful creatures,
drawn to light's undulating swells,
Sailors enthralled by the pushing sea's great shuddering
We honor these bright particles by our  presence

Yet we burrow away, mole men and women for
Our most primal act, instinctual to the muscle
But still insulted by vanities.
(The consequence of consciousness,
I suppose) you instructed, "Turn off the last light"

Do you not wish to admire me?
The tender swell of brain and breast sloping to meet
Crags of hipbone jutting promiscuously below
the natural waist, natural beauty
Wasted by electricity's end

I want to take delight in your body, your ****** tongue
Quell the minor indiscretions of the day and
Give willingly to honesty
My ******* two moon over campus, your hand the sky.
If the peering leaves won't judge,
The least you can do is look me in the eye.

She thinks if she travels to foreign lands- even if
it is only by dating an ethnic man- that she can
scale the high walls of the borders between what she
was taught and who she hopes she is.

Having followed blindly her predestination programmed life
she can’t resist taking squinted peeks through the
tiny open slits of vision, hoping to find her true self.

“You are losing the faith!” her anxious mother warns
as though to do so would be an inherent flaw,
not a conscious choice.

But Mother’s own faith
has been slipping through her hands for the past
30 years, and only that promised salvation can save
her from the indiscretions that fill the non-rapturous void
left-behind by mister Christian-right-wing-man.

Taught well by mother, father, and god, that men
must be assessed in a purely logical fashion,
“Agree on finances and childrearing and you will
have happily ever.”

But she feels fake, and does not know how
to peel the plastic wrap off her personality.
You can see its bindings in the way her eyes implore you
and how she clasps her hands on her lap by rote.

She is the pink peg in the Hasbro Game of Life car
with guilt trip road blocks, detours and poorly folded
directional maps. Spinning the wheel in search of tour guides:
What should I read? What should I think?

But that only gives her new mind instructors.
Perhaps instead of foreign languages and foreign lands,
the verity lies in the realization that mother
probably feels fake too.

Paralyxzations of the worn spandex, still early
Pizza and beer on a comfy couch
And the crunchy old leaves
That decorate the walls of my house
Glimpses of nature in an urban world.
I think a bit, I feel my quads
As they burn with lactic acid pain
That never leaves an athlete in season.
The greasy cheeseboard and brown dried leaves
Reflect the feelings of sweat and drained
Emotions and motivations, sleep is near.
The night is young, but sleep is near.
Parties call to me with voices loud
Over my tired and disabled carcass
The incessant fight between body and mind begins

Why should I venture out into the world?
What is fun if it can come
Only through grinding my *** in someone’s crotch?
Shall I not find the comfort in my bed,
The warmth of blankets that smell like me, or else
The shared cup of tea with roommates and friends
Not the bedroom tussle with muscled men
I am whole within myself.
Climbing trees or dreaming of oceans
Running up hills and conquering waters
All are my fun; my life is full remembering
The past adventures with inebriation and indiscretions  
It is now time for soul and body to heal.

Men in the bars had their inhuman strength
To down the pitchers and pints of beer
Loud mouth ******* who seem so compelling
Move as kings among the tittering ******
Magnificent in their swarthy confidence
Until their blood alcohol level reaches a new high
Creating a beast without inhibitions
Till no doesn’t mean no, but an invitation to come
Shall my voice fail? Or shall it come to be
The voice of a victim? And shall my quads
Have the strength to run, or the foresight to
Begin in a place much friendlier than now
A part of the brain and a part of the heart
And next is the knowledge of things to come
Not the dulled senses of an exhausted drunk.

I say, “But Saturday is my only night
When morning practice is not imminent”
Parties are the basis for college fun; hence my wish
Together with people and dancing and drink
Shall I finally reach the effervescent image.
Although sleep is upon my weary bones,
The path of fun is clearly wrought with dangers, and love.
The triumph of conquest blows the ringing horns
Until my sparkled dress comes down from the hanger
And uggs are rejected for heels of blue
I cause boys to pile orders for beer and ***** tonics
On their max-out cards. I taste the metallic twang
Of future mistakes and regrets.

I'm a nighttime lover, a day time wanderer
I'd bathe in the light of the moon
and turn my back to the suns rays.
In the filthy haze of the morning, last
nights sins are tattled on by the light
of day and if I had my way i'd sleep
through the dawn til dusk and i'd laugh
at the idea of ever needing the sun. I'd
kiss my mates lips and we'd lie side by side
til he slipped away and i'd retire for the day
and nobody would ever cast a judging glance
because my indiscretions wouldn't be laid
out before the world they'd still be in the
dark, with me. I'd be free to do whatever
I wanted with whomever I pleased. I'd be
free to talk to the man on the moon and tell
him i'd wish he'd been my first, to tell him I
wish i'd never told a lie, and I wished I had
said goodbye after the first punch, the first
time. I wish i had a clear mind and not bogged
down all the time. I'd call him a stranger and
tell him all about my life and he'd hold me and
say it will all be alright. And maybe then i'd
hope less for it all to end...I'm a nighttime lover
a day time wanderer stuck in the shadows of
weak kneed plunder and sometimes i'd be happy
to be alive though most of the times, i'd wish
i'd just died.

My Grandmère and I have long, gossipy conversations,
where we fall into our own chatty, slumber party rhythms.

She’s met or knows everyone important, and people tell her things.

They DM her or whisper secrets of lives ordered but loveless,
of careers choked by excesses and indiscretions.

She gets stealthy, leaked business reports of purported fortunes gambled and lost or of innocence wasted in bittersweet embrace - delicious, tangled narratives that expose the gaps between facades and realities that can’t be purchased.

Sometimes we pop popcorn on our private ends of the Atlantic,
watch Netflix, share secrets and laugh conspiratorially.
.
.
Songs for this:
Us by Regina Spektor
Young And Dumb by The Bird and the Bee

I laugh
    when I hear
conservatives talk about,
the sanctity of marriage,
and No Adam and Steve,

        when I couldnt count
                the number
  of extramarital indiscretions
        committed by them,
if I was a centipede,
      with five toes on each leg.

             I laugh
        when I hear
progressives talk about
Conservative fear mongerin tactics.

Have you seen any of these
anti cigarette comercials lately?
Who thought it would be a good Idea
to put a ****** arterial cleanin surgery video

on Comedy Central?  :)

     I laugh
when I hear
conservatives say
they are going to do
everythin possible to keep
Obama from servin a second term...

and yet they nominate
Mitt Romney as their man to do it.

Who's gonna vote for a robot? :p

    I laugh
when I hear progressives
call conservatives ****'s,
and then tell me
I shouldn't be

    doin this,
               or that,
or I should belive in somethin I can't see...

like change. :D

Vote Ron Paul!

because those other
douchbags
don't know
what they're talkin about.

A...

Body and title.
Benevolent temple.
Brevity to misconstrue.
Beseeching is ample.

Coarse line drawn.
Completion marked for a later day.
Complacency made eyes blind.
Conception vague, I'm led astray.

Define by showing.
Deplete the art of talk.
Distraught by nature.
Dashed, the outline: chalk.

Erroneous calculation.
Every rhythm wrong.
Expect a hand for help.
Effronteries made for song.

Freedom fought for.
Frivolous attitude displayed.
Feeble attempt concerning unity.
Frightened, we kneel, we pray.

Gullible we've become.
Gregarious while holding motive.
Greed is behind our movement.
Genocide is holy solace.

Hark the herald,
Humans sing.
Habitual enemy of one's self.
Humility stings.

Insecurities overpower our decisions.
Indiscretions aren't seen as shame.
Instability is welcomed.
Idiosyncrasies are left to blame.

Juxtaposed loser.
Jovial perception placed.
Jealousy never apparent.
Just relationships - never disgraced.

Sometimes


Sometimes I lie awake staring at time.
As if at one point you were crying at the impact of birth.
and then you finish
and you're in tears over anything
A man would blow his brains out for.
And the trigger mechanisms are simple

So it closes in.
The crinkling stares of so many children
Who can't even imagine themselves in me.
And it is I,
I'm the one in make-believe,
Only dreaming and dreading of the future.
Like a heavy wool blanket bedding with you in a heat-wave.
My own until it becomes the crucifix;

The point of martyrdom of the heretic's soul.

And somewhere I have dreams of catching lost time
Of an existence of perfect contentment,
A life without waste or remorse.

time flows like mercury…

Breaking and gliding away
Rushing with unforeseeable motion
Into a horizon that breaks
into sunrise to sunset
In the shortest, disbelieving , stunted, stutters of breath.

The times you find when you're malleable.
When you look far enough back in time.
When you try and find that breaking point.
Where your idealistic self broke down.

Like a body collapsing over a sleeping foot.

the point where disillusion became a new ******* eating hyperreality
Where the idea became a living stain swathed in a sheet of toilet paper you stole because you couldn't afford to buy your own. Where living and eating, filling the fridge, became the maniacal obsession. When it began to devour all the space the Truth was taking up,

like an orca charging a shoreline,

like a bad piece of art you bought for cheap to fill a void in the room.

Your liver fills with beer and your lungs are lit by a six dollar pack of nooses.

day in day out.

You find where you got yourself all chewed up.
When you're laying in bed with all your prized possessions
***** laundry filling the floors like empty husks, shed skin
deflated costumes of the person you've always wanted to be.
When you realize that hour glass needs turning over
But you've already done the deed and the *** end of the vial is burying the best of you in dirt.

Where selling soul for *** comes easy.

too afraid of the becoming
too comfortable with the being.

Cowardice comes easy.



That's where it all comes together to fall apart.

To sell your soul
You don't need a prayer
You don't need to be offered the world
You don't need the love of your life in the fold


You


Just need an illusion of certainty
A moment, a shadow
Of doubtless prospect
Just the belief that what you think is coming around the corner
is around the corner

You sell your soul
You sell your heart,
your *****,
your spine,
your genius,
your brain,
your sanity

Just to feel at home.

Sell it for a guarantee on cigarettes,
***** and a couch to meditate your guilt on.
A bed to sleep in where remorse is a dance done tossing and turning.

A bone dance.

A roof over heads.

Rent in pockets.


Zen

in a hovel hole of holy indiscretions.

The devil was an empty fridge and a stomach eating us thin!
We walk the streets as Concubines of wandering flesh
Paid and obliged,
obligated and pained
Marching with an anemic braggadocio, and a wounded dignity
Everyone's on their knees swallowing pride in gulps.

We wake up young and tired, vice-ridden, punched-in and broke.
waged into hypocrisy with all of our valiant and cumbersome notions of ancient virtue. Read to us in bed time fantasies and fairy-tales of things dreamed not meant to be.
And wagered into all that nothingness of essence, where
Vividly ****** in the violet haze of nightmares entranced in the violence and fury of the guillotine mind,
We converse in the language of our new and violent times.

It's become that Dream and Dread sit one letter off.
Dreaming and dreading, dressing as drunks draped in the dreary.

That's it there.

There's my poetry.

The extinction of the New Romantics.
The blood drenched fist harnessed in the beguiling, gilded, golden tapestry

the smearing of the ink upon the neon lights.
The weight.

My ribcage shatters apart to expose 
Splintering fragments of brittle bone
I scrape them up into a pile 
Offer them to you with a smile
Carving into this sordid heart of mine
With ink spilled from the grip of your fingertips
It spells the words I've never heard
Uttered from the sinister curls of your lips
And the lusting lick of your desire across my death bed of wilted roses
I feel your hunger devouring what's left of mine to give
Your kisses I repress with my tongue
But I'll give in until you're done 
I'll beg for more down on knees with prayers 
when our course has had its run into the immolation of the sun
We'll end our affairs and leave it unrepaired 
dwelling in the darkness that we've built upstairs
I fall into your black tracing scars upon your attack
I feel the bones break in your back
When we collapse our arms around ourselves
Holding tight into a mendacious night
seething with tumultuous roars 
Our bellies hungrily ache for each others' taste
We satiate ourselves until the early whisper of dawn 
Leaving our scars in scraps of flesh and song
The bite of your bitterness sings along

So tattered I leave beside you
So shattered I break inside you 
So torn to be reborn without you

We mourn the morning of our scorn
Pressing it into the palms of our hands
Pushing deeper this belly ache of rotten thoughts and perceptions
Those secret discretions buried clear in our deceptions and flatlined intentions
We have lived this life we give with smoldered chances rendered
Not a moment to spare for the tired or mentored
Guided by the guilty jilted mistakes of our indiscretions
Our hands are bathed in the blood of our love 
It takes every ounce of me not to give in to reminiscing of missing what we're dismissing
We're lost searching with no profound calling to take hold of our hands and lead us into the light
just speechless apparitions given into desperations of heartache and failure 
seeking a savior to release this pressure building inside the beating of our entwined hearts

conquered cities 
reduced to dirt, then
sown with salt so nothing grows. ever. 
assaulted senses bring fevered dreams of
caeser's dying breath escaping when I exhale. 

fate breathes as well; 

a single, ragged, pep-o-mint tickle on my neck 
so I know she's there... 
just behind me. 

I'm finding it difficult 
to keep the salt from my wound- 
to keep the sea from my door- 
to keep the plank from my eye- 
to keep off the moors at night 
  when the moon is blind to my indiscretions.

There's a hearse next door,
but I don't know who its for.
The driver is wearing a midnight black derby,
and a midnight black sports coat.
Its plain to see, he's not in a hurry i
I hope its not my fault.

There's an officer at my door,
he has a warrant,
my house he'd like to explore.
There's a goat's head in the tub.
Luckily,
it's invisible.

The rats are building bombs in the walls,
I can hear eggtimers ticking, as I walk through the halls,
sinister squeaking, and cracks in the plaster,
from "The Seventeen dead!" M-80 disaster.
The exterminator says I'm bonkers,
but he runs a white slave ring in Yonkers.

You call me paranoid,
from collected chemical indiscretions,
and laugh as I keep peeking out the blinds,
but even if you don't see them,
they're coming from all directions.
They will get you too, in time.

Maniacs are Golden,
that's why God loves them so much,
they're the only ones that keep in touch,
with both him,
and the Devil.
Maniacs are Golden.
Cut them open and see.