Check back soon to resume and consume
every tight-lipped, slack-jawed fool in the room.

See, it's all what you know
as the fires start to grow
and the future burns slow.

Keep your eyes on the ceiling,
and your antenna feelers feelin',
for when your senses stop reeling,
you will finally start believing.

Kick-back to the basics,
not too far from the basement,
and close enough to show
that **** really isn't basic.

It's another mid-west, ******,
******-up freak show.
Another evening drinking whiskey
with the seedling's peep-show.

So, it's time to relax and relapse
into acidified broken synapse.

The lights keep flickering
and the couples keep bickering:
“*****, I am not above homicidal snickering.”

I steer clear of these diversions,
and wander past the sermons,
just to chew up all the crooked talk
and spittle out inversions.

I shovel mockery to hypocrisy,
pin-***** the empty *****
whose passions lack predicates,

and in the background, I'll be complexifying my medic-kit:
ketamine, morphine, ecstasy;
marijuana, mushrooms, LSD.

Watch those ******* jitter-bug college *****
procreate while sloppy drunk,
but keep an honest eye
on the flies that will rise above –

then fall back down in existential angst, like:
“Dear God, why must I be free?
Oh, God! Why is every universal eye on me?
I'm just another acid war veteran,
sneakin' through these gutters
with pestilence and bitter sin.
When they reach the promised land
of golden clouds and holding hands,
I'll be underground with the slugs and the spider band.”

Yet here I sit, sick of sippin' poisons with illiterates.
So, let the skies fall and the buildings crash,
as you stand on the wall with a fist full of cash.

I'll be on the front lawn,
picketing for dawn,
while the night around me slowly ambles on.

The ice cream van
Has today reached
The melancholic realisation
That the only kids who
Chase clocks for Mr Whippy
And lick the exhaust fumes
In nostalgia
Are the kids who are not kids
But who prematurely aged themselves
With lipstick kisses
And cigarettes
Lowered themselves into nooses
Of sweet-sixteenths
From the age of six

We are a generation of
Peter Pan inversions
We ran ashore
And beached ourselves
Beyond the lure
Of Neverland
We are a generation of
Failed cloud-catchers
Aspiring rainbow-clinchers
Secretly slipping our hands
Back into a dead air
Of former innocence
In the hope we’ll be able to
Retrieve the pieces we left there
We queue and scramble
Like gulls for
Inches we can claw back
Preserving our age in
Wafer cones
And bleeding snows
That glue between our fingers
Each 99 flake
Is a time machine
Which we spin like a music box
And wait for the rewind
Copper coins and sea stains
And we hope we’ll find
Some of the things we lost
But we cannot predict or realign
The atoms or twist ourselves
Back into them
So we sit and watch
The incorruptibility we once possessed
Perished
Sexualised
Corrupted
Pool in the March drizzle
Someone once said
That youth was a process
Of being torn in half
By the past that pulls you back
And the future that tempts you
Being too big and yet too small
Longing but fearing
But an ice cream van tells me
That youth is a process
Of trying not to drown yourself
In what you’ve never had
And when that ice cream van tells me to
MIND THAT CHILD
I can’t help projecting echoes
Of its wisdom
On to all who pass me by
Mind that childhood
Before there’s nothing left to mind

The maniac , manic depressive walking city streets , world inverted , diving head first into the blue separation where night verses day , darkness at war with the light of the world . Gray day inversions , deprivations , tainted perception , misconception and miscalculations .. Bright eyes remit their focus ! The child loses his way . Incapacitated . Confused . Yet intent , focused on the garden of good and bad , temptation , righteousness ! Sexuality . Lasciviousness . Piety surrounded by Lucifers minions ! Crocodiles await the migration of wildebeest , rainbow trout tread turbid water for their afternoon meal , mourning dove to field of millet ! Bewildered sweet spirit reduced to crying in supplication , misunderstood , longing for the path by the light ! Traversing mean streets like the rat , the security of a structure to one side , on a high state of alert ! Pawn of the citizenry , cardboard empire and the bottom feeders . Catfish pawning for dung , corruption amidst the sea of inequity . Images flying point blank , a thousand miles an hour ! Shoot him dead ! Continue killing him long after his last breath . Send him back to the blue , where Angels await !

The wicker chair on the porch
it’s bent
the leg that is
bent sort of brokenly in
which reminds her of
inversions,
how they turned in
and found darkness,
ineffability,
space.

Even though the mind is never,
at rest,
Expounding upon itslef ambiguously,
Even though we are stopped; at the end,
we are racing!
At this moment,
we all understand ourselves,
with little flaws, faults and fallacies,
About what we're all about,
Even though it all makes sense,
the next turn, corner, windowsill,
Threshold doors float.
flow,
Our consciousness is infallable,
The hubiris of this satire,
That all persons,
At this moment,
Even though the brain constantly perceives,
In our little grandiose heads,
We have it all figured out,
The system of environment has,
been analyzed,
The results were,
inconclusive,
Yet we persist,
even though,
at the flip of a switch,
after all is said and done,
even though we knew our
Ultimate Truth,
sought after,
strived and toiled for,
even understanding chiral inversions,
fractal combustion,
The makeshift mind,
Never failing,
The unbending will,
gleefully wisping,
singing and swaying,
Sunlight beaming,
Booming,
Across the faces,
Flashing on scattered specks,
even though our ugliness,
is beauty,
even though,
love conquers all,
even though,
Truth,
Is malleable,
Our stubborn straight-forwardness,
Makes that realization rigid.

of all the things you overthink
let it be me this time
I wanna saturate your brain waves
even if only in black and white
dreamy inversions that make you think twice
because sometimes I do...
lost wondering if I fell in love with you...
the city is lonely tonight
and I'm feeling brave
while nothing feels right
I'm afraid of leaving my shell
I'm afraid of emotional hells
and everything else unwell
& I hate what you've done to me
I feel like a cheap thrill
while you stare at me with your looks that ****
I've never been so angry
as I was that night I thought you ignored me
because I jump the gun ***
and you know it
that's why you chose to ******* run
and I don't blame you at all
deciding my worth to you is not my call
and I wouldn't want it to be anyway
speaking what I really think
is the wrong thing to say...
I'm a little on the downside
meet me on the south side

Blustery , midnight blue and black
We go way back
Inversions in the key of life and
mute hopelessness at times
We're 'old hat' , you and I* ........

When a heart's rhythm is out of rhyme
drastic measures are oft applied.
Two Cardiac inversions in one week
were needed to give her heart a tweak.
After that an I.V. Drip
to ensure no need for a third trip.
Now my sister is home
but feeling weak,
having died twice, so to speak.
My sister cheated the Reaper twice!
"Play the lotto!" is my advice.

The bridge is one of many
away from walls hung with chains
restricting natures that will vary
by something more than standard
partitions of the measured
these boxes set to manage
suffocating the imprisoned
seeking escape to arches

a span built from spectrums
diversions of the binate
contrasting two inversions
some cannot imagine
the steps echo loudly
distracting those who relish
the passage now discredits
order based on standards

somewhere towards the middle
we’ll dally at that moment
relish the found oneness
discovery as a bonus
by gender or attraction
these spans on which to travel
stride the rainbow aura
to find where souls are valid.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181103.

slightly expectant--
loosely hopeful,
investing in process.
slow.
hopes indefinite.
inversions--in heart.
reflection--in motion.
the  core--in a
     passing smile.
future is had.
raindrops.
evening walk.
lone self.
imaginings.
her exact look?
... heavenly eyes?
a world in balance.
thoughtfulness.
patience.
waiting, but why?
open hand,
a palm in need!
on my own, what?
love, and thought.
                -by
        HakimKassim.

With eyes dead to magic, Barbara Bush threw a hag sheet over the rat guts & mailed a letter to someone from the motel across the street. Nobody was going to *** up wads without her input. It couldn't have been fewer than several years ago since her final stroke that would've killed an elephant had she loved an African with the intensity that such inversions defame.

Canvases and caverns
Concave inversions
Humid ontologies
Reside in reverse order
It's all imperfect
This i’m certain of
All is becoming
For total recovery
Is but a blind man’s fortune
And a soul is no surgeon
A thousand years later
And still no progress
Worth speaking of
What’s the matter with your heart
Is it a faulty circuit
Or did a fuse blow in the dark
We are all targets of uncertainty
Fallen upon piles of confusion
Still i am grateful
To be ruined by your love

With eyes dead to magic, Barbara Bush threw a hag sheet over the rat guts & mailed a letter to someone from the motel across the street. Nobody was going to *** up wads without her input. It couldn't have been fewer than several years ago since her final stroke that would've killed an elephant had she loved an African with the intensity that such inversions defame.
   1963's week-long John Kennedy burial affair was burdened with grieving grievances, fraught with palace intrigue & inauthenticated by unpained mourners painlessly mourning.

Nobody was going to *** up wads without her input. It couldn't have been fewer than several years ago since her final stroke that would've killed an elephant had she loved an African with the intensity that such inversions defame.