~
Overcome with discomfort
like doing the Truffle Shuffle
on a cold day in the rain
belly exposed and wet
frantically jiggling
as if too much Ambrosia salad was
piled on a silver tray –
green Cool Whip slopping over the side
sticky fingers sliding
until it finally drops
and some new access is granted.  /

A spider web of support is forming around me.
All sticky
I'm part of it too.
A strand or two
Joined to other crazy amazing strands
I wonder who the spider is
I hope it's not trying to spell
I hope it's binding us with its strongest of web

We hold each other.
We hurt each other:
But we nurse it back
We pull the pieces together
And lift each other up
Shine shine shine

I have an abundance
Friends, creativity, excitement,
Jiggling beside me there is joy
And sorrow
And today I woke up feeling happier
So maybe things are on the rise

There is hope.
There is something.

All the bugs
That attack this web
Spoiling our architectural brilliance
Will be eaten in pay-back
And cruel resentment
And we shall carry-a-on
A spinning along

we mortgage the unspeakable. we fit small bowls into big ones and speak on misdeeds
that rhyme with chrysanthemum without the letter ' M '.
from an upside-down star

weaving cauldrons of unguarded hope
jiggling in the gelatinous yammering
of a misguided baby god's night terrors  

and you still gotta go to work in the morning.

and for sleep. what's that ?

I could feel him staring, his eyes piercing the flame whilst clenching the head of a bottle. I looked up from twisting the new Flemish string I was making. “Will” I said with a sneering lift in my cheek and keeping my tongue stiff to force back a chuckle. He kept staring, I guess it was amazingly beautiful, the warming fire we had. The travel we had endured from the south had been long and challenging. Rain to fill god’s own goblet had been upon us for days and the wind was no maiden of help. I let him stare just a while longer because this part of the land we were in was damp, and not from the rain, it was damp with people like me. “William, behind you!” I shouted with such the ferocity of a lone wolf fighting of it's own pack from the **** that the stumpy boy shot awake his eyes, coming back into this world of living and stood abruptly to his feet, spinning on his heel and slicing with a dagger that he unsheathed in one simple motion. Before his arm could fully extend he kept turning and stopped looking straight at me. Just watching how fast he did all of that was impressive, but his dancing was even more of a show. “No need to laugh, old man. I didn't know you were lying”. He said sharply in a rough welsh filled with annoyance after I made him wake from his fiery gem. Once my shoulders stopped jiggling up and down from laughter, I came back to crafting my string whilst giving him my reason. “Look around boy, or don’t, you just did a perfect spin for me, I do say it was a perfect motion that even the princess of the eastern lands would be jealous
of”. His eyes tensed with a stabbing look and sat on his **** next to the great oak that sheltered us from the rain. I knew he would listen to me now as I had made his face turn redder than his hair.

To be continued..

1

he looks into her eyes she into his stretching between is thread fragile as string of pearls if either moves too fast pulls too hard strand will snap pearls slip away who dares to charm rattlesnake take it by nape tie ends wear it as necklace love is reckless

2

first time he saw her he lost control heart spun like pinwheel  forgot what he know light burst into dungeon of dreary soul oasis in middle of desert bowl

3

he wishes there was way to get her to want him catch her heart pervade her fantasies he wonders if ever there was such power potion some ancient incantation arouse wild pangs of desire must be some secret place within her tendon to be touched causing her to tremble swoon lie down call out for him

4

i surrender i’m yours take me teach me shape me to be what you want need let me be your main squeeze most valuable player devoted confidante perfect compliment constant companion wildest fantasy life long lover volley your serve adjust to your moods make mistakes into masterpieces race you home to see who starts dinner do anything for you alone fulfill me trust believe in you we belong to each other give you confidence support inspire delight you lay great fortunes at your feet some men choose gold some men choose God i choose you may they find our bodies embraced together still warm after thousand years oh my love you are there like wild swan dragging wing across water take me as jumping fish take me as howling wolf take me as grizzly bear take me as wild stallion

5

it is hidden between them feeling around stirring nearer exploring along secret paths in early morning dew he scouts ahead skimming lightly over landscape finding area discerning scent following trail growing aroused stalking in grassy protrusion leaping across gushing stream treading in undergrowth probing spreading open folded wrap deeper into denseness she is slower drowsy yet playful coming up step by step lingering at each plateau meandering in hollow picking berries handfuls rolling them in her palms putting them in basket humming to herself she hears wolf howl she runs basket swinging jiggling berries dropping some her rhythms drifts across meadow root pulls slams him hard he prods in frenzy entwined as branches knot quiver knot forest spins around him over his head dizzy he collapses she shivers tingles whispers laid out in flowery moss resting beside tree basket spilled crushed berries all around her

Oprah, Winfrey, pilled up  fat, grotesque, painted, eyes bulging so far out they’re almost leaving their  unbearable  bloated sockets,
twitching in orgasmically ***-deprived, relished childhood trauma convulsions.
Her  toneless limbs jiggling independently, marionette-style,
puppeteered by the corporate machine that let her birth Dr. Phil. Right there on the stage in all of its grotesque, ******, umbilical glory.
The doped up  brainless sock puppet she is, shrieking again
into the mic, goes gobs of  spittle
flying onto the front row , veins pulsing, trying to warn America about
these supposedly pandemic-level
teenage *** acts.
Every day some new hallucinatory contrivance
based on underage ****** needs
(the needs of the audience, not the supposed perpetrators).

The "rainbow parties" that never happened.
Alleged lipstick “epidemic” she’s describing is projected on the set like a grotesque, fluorescent slideshow.
Kids with rainbow-stained lipstick-smattered penises,
PTA moms wet and shrieking in jealousy,
moral panic levels off the charts.
Checking under their seats for free *** toy goodies.

The children!
Oh, the children!
Whoever shall save them? The poor innocent oversexualized children !

Wait, what? What are they doing now?
Cut to kids eating Tide pods, huffing ****** fluids, peeing in Jenkum bottles,    Cutting freon lines, riding elevators on top,
dying of meningitis ,   satanic panic repacked church lies.

As if the Tiger mom world itself were actually collapsing under her hysterical, warped, unrealistic, and utterly sensationalized quasi-conservative lens.

After all, her opening act was straight out of The Dark Crystal.

The grand     doilied skeksi         decrepit animated skeleton queen                                           ................................      (fanfare blares)

                                Judge Judy!               (  Rises from the deep)
her crypt desecrated...

   Unholy powers erupt.     Gavel lightning apocalypse raging beside her. ( Notice how like a Skeksi  she doesn't have any ears, but she obviously doesn't use them anyway. Her mind's already made up before the whole show begins.)  

                      And now  a  word from our heartless corporate sponsors .    Bass Pro Shops  ads play , followed by catheter adds and gun show spots...  The show fades back in  and  the  living room darkens  into abyssal sad lonely silence . The T,V, god flickers  on brainwashing away all thought and individuality .

Fat greasy shameless Walrus mustache of projection now known as Oprah's baby...

                        Dr. Phil,
... well, he unctuously slides across the set in his stolen Scarecrow used car salesman polyester Frankenstein suit,
repeating the grotesque ritual lines.
Behind the scenes, Rush Limbaugh masturbates his mental pull string.
And of course, out spews his catchphrase:

"Yer   fat!
You  are  ugly!
Yur stupid!
And yer gay!
And that's why NOBODY  loves  you !
Admit it!
Admit that yer gay and you hate yourself!!"

And in the moment of ******, IT transmorphs,
spinal ridges straining and cracking,
human form melts,
face elongates,
eyes bulge,
skin wrinkles into leathery, vulture-like textures.
His torso hunches,
ribs jutting grotesquely,
spine contorting like a broken marionette string.
Limbs wiggle independently
like he’s got a dozen "Grand Ole Party" puppeteers fighting for control,
except he’s still tethered to Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh’s umbilical cord as it runs back into Oprah's unused, abandoned ******.
Ghostly, corpulent waggling hands behind the curtain, twisting him into submission, laughing with their hollow, gassy whispers.

Suddenly, Dr. Phil melts completely and rears up as Judge Judy—but not the human one. This is the skeksi-Judge hybrid: ****-backed, beak-faced, leather-skin gleaming, clawed fingers gripping the gavel
like it’s the source of all earthly justice and bile.
Her eyes burn like a thousand angry American flags on the 4th of July, grease-fried hate dripping from her every twitch. Back it turns into doily-adorned, hairsprayed perfection, nightmare desiccation... that could only dominate as... *** *** ***

Judge Judy-skeksi!

The seemingly ageless, eternal, hate-filled windbag of injustice. ****-backed, vulture-faced, robes fluttering, crackling with electric American ***** housewife wrath,
striking lightning into the pastel Sunday school conversation sky.
Praise her lord; he speaks to her directly, and, well, apparently
"W" Bush too... remember... it was God that told him, he said.

Behind the curtains, unseen yet omnipotent, the two-headed hate blob that is
Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh, waggles a wet-slapping colonialist ******* of capitalist greed.
A now corpulent wraith of power and self-righteous, uneducated spite,
it squelches, turning knobs,
ashing its cheap cigar, it continues to pull strings, gurneys creaking,
laughter a vacuous shitstorm across the stage.
America cheers, unaware of the puppeteer,
and the nation, hypnotized, bows still,
loving, worshipping, repeating her hysteria,
while the gavel strikes, the lightning arcs.

Remember, it's all
"for the children!"
"Oh, the poor children!"
Whom all they want is to be left the fu@# alone by these twisted, sadistic, effed-up garbage human beings that simultaneously claim to cherish and love them, yet blame them for unreal atrocities they never even committed.

Idiot home ec drunken hollow  moms pilled up useless abandoned and  brainwashed into  her  slaves.  Blathering Rush Limbaugh  hate  . Same message   repackaged as grotesque, capitalist soap opera formula Oprah perfected — it’s a ritual of emotional vampirism:

Step one: coax the gruesome confession — “Tell me your sad story, your deepest hurt, your shame your *** crimes.”

Step two: perform feigned empathy — she leans in, nods, tilts her head, makes you  and Tom Cruise think she cares, while the cameras roll and the audience licks its lips and looks under its seat.
Presents, ? !  black  mommy ?

Step three: unleash the moralistic or panic-inducing lash — “How could you let this happen? You failed! You’re broken!”  Enter Dr. Phil for the  final  suicide  inducing push.

Step four: monetize more  misery — ratings spike, sponsors grin, Dr. Phil slithers across the set, and somewhere, Rush Limbaugh-esque whispering strings pull the emotional cord. While  Judge  Judy  cackles  in  high road  delight

It’s emotional cannibalism wrapped in velvet and toothpaste smiles. You’re not just sharing  their story; it's lives as raw meat for the machine, and the more shame, fear, or outrage they squeeze out of you, the fatter the profits get. The greater the  grip  of  unfounded panic, fear and  shame.

And the kicker: American  drop  out  jobless  clown car vaginas thinks it’s entertainment, not exploitation. They love to gasp at the horror while secretly watching themselves in the mirror of shame. That’s why the Skeksi-Judge Judy apocalypse scene fits perfectly — it’s the cartoon grotesque version of the real-world emotional slaughterhouse.  Now  court sanctioned and  final  !

<>

reversed a verse from “Like a Rolling Stone;
~complements to Mr. B. Dylan, a Nobel man~

you, me, hear what you’re hearing, feeling it,
you, me, hear what you’re thinking, feeling that,
regenerating, excising, pinching a single word of Bobby’s
lyricizing, knowing, you’ve just handbag-snatched a poem full.

the rolling stone sings of next meal scrounging,
he’s talking to you, knowing you, you customizing
his lyrics modifying-jiggering, for your purposeful brain,
emotional crazed notions, your monsanto seed of needs and strains.

nah, I’m fibbing, polite-ly lying,
like clover waves springing up
overnight after a night’s soaking,
raining, picking up hints, misdirections, clues,
***, poem titles dripping from my glassy eyes!

des idées for the next poem, the one, in the garden hereafter,
now called thereafter, all arriving in tranches, backyard bunches,
just to write down the titles fast enough, sometimes, trouble,
oft easy, sometimes rough, but always a fast rush jiggling job.

yeah, I’m liking that word, scrounging,
got character, internal noises aclashing,

so I’m scrounging
while lounging , it’s so ******* easy,

it’s getting borrowed till you! steal
it out from under me,
like an ill reputed
good poet should...


P.S. don’t keep me waiting!
let the scrounging commencin’

tw36

I cried at the breakfast table this morning
my father carefully explained,
"wives must be submissive to their husbands"
"housecleaning is the domain of the woman"
"God created woman because man asked for a partner"

This past semester I wrote two papers

One, a fire and brimstone sermon
          I quoted Anais Nin
          sending the creators of sexist commercials to eternal suffering
          "**** them!" I said. "May they burn in hell."
          For the women they portrayed were doormats
          Misconceptions
          Monsters

The other, the role of women in the 1920s,
           No longer confined to the kitchen
           they dropped ballots with their new freedom
           they wore short dresses and short tresses
           fingers wrapped around cigs
           they quoted Wilde instead of Alcott
           they danced until their feet hurt
       
I read of Anais Nin's "new woman,"
her partnership, not submission to man,

I craved a room of my own, neigh demanded it
For sheep stayed in the kitchen,
The Woolf had a study.

I read poetry
Sexton,
Plath,
I wept for their starved, depressed selves
caged, suffocating inside the clasped hands of a man.
Loved like rib-cage jails.

Adrienne Rich made me angry,
her daughter-in-law
forever trying to fit into a box
she was always too big for, spilling
at the edges, her shaved
legs like "white mammoth tusks"

I was finally
happy with my womanhood.

******, ******, *****, *******
they are mine.
******* free to move unrestrained,
jiggling under my shirt.
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
they are mine.

mine.

I am not ashamed of what I am
because there is no shame.

I am woman,
I am girl,
I am lady.
I am a creature
with a voice
a mind.

a creature who endured much abuse,
continue to endure.

I am woman

and I don't have to be wife or mother
unless I want to be.
I was not created for man;
I was created for the same reason he was,
to serve the same great purpose on this tiny blue dot.

I am not rib.

I am ******, ******, *****, *******
******* free, unrestrained,
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,

I am a per.
I am a wo.
I am a hu.

Man and son need to back down,
collaborate not dominate,
speak not command,

for when less are forced into silence,
the maddening scream
hidden inside skin and bones and muscle-meat
becomes song.

this world of car horns and tire screeches
crying and wailing from raw throats
angry protests of indignation

could use a little music.

Imperative perception
It was all far fetched, a time when I searched myself in others
No one can ever give me the moment of clarity and serenity
An eternity of peace within oneself, an embody of higher self
This place of ultimate truth and surreal objectification
A reflection of timeless lapses, the laps of completeness
The storms were a taboo, the recurrent flying unquietness
The un-resolving trips and flares of unpolarised magnetic currents
The escape to pristine moments, prestige throughs and peaks
A vision from the drowning sea, me sinking in the whirlpool
I mirrored my own reflection to yours, my 'I' to "you", your 'I" to "me"

Melodious Creeks
The moment called now is my only lullaby I can hear
A whisper so harmonised and crystallised deep in the seabed
A candle light of moment of truth in a rotating crystal ball
The chaos in the jungle have escaped to the peaks of the mountain
Uninformed lands with uniformed pebbles, the shattered glasses
Demons that stood ***** as they pierced and taunted a being

Why did it take so long?**
Lets go the springs and streams of pain, the unending past
It's not a feeling, or logic, its a way of human existence
An entwinement of anthems embellished with peace

Presentiment
***** the barred barricades for me to see your pastures
I can feel the darkness that embodies your soul and mind
A thunder in the unending jungle, jiggling in kingdoms
Reject my sharp vision, I cry your tears as you do mine
I stare at your blur as you submerge in the deep waters
The blackening tunnels with no escape reject my eyes
The icy layers squeezing to escape in your sorrows
The narrowed aisles have become the only island you cruise
The trajectory of our blood realigned in our future sins

Found self?
Listen to the strings adjoining in the basements of the cliffs
The line balancing on the centrifugal pump as it impels to shrouds

Of choices?
Predetermination and judgment of other as I lost a piece of my time
In this territory, I stand at the borderline of my devotion in battle
Holding my rifle and connecting to life and all; me a solider of love
Parading in the landscapes of inhibitions and thought processes
A soul I hold is my only liberation to live fully and autonomously
Eyes wide open, mouth wide ajar as we rise and survive doing our best!

Today is repost day
it's official
I'm reading and posting at a furious pace
I will share your words until your name is all I see
the ones I loved, the ones you hate, the ones I missed.
Each one a blessing to my eyes and heart.
I do this, not for you but for me.
Me, your friend
sat in disbelief that your name will be no more
that you will no longer sing the words of your heart into my eager soul.
This campaign of hate that has brought about the end, I will **** it's author to hell.
I hope they read this and smile, it will not linger, trust me.
They may hide behind walls and throw stones at your heart, their yellow bellies jiggling with laughter while your tears stain your skin, your light dimmed by their spite.
There is such cruelty in this place of beauty and love.
So today will be filled with you, in the hope that you see that you are so much better than they say you are, in every way. You are loved. You belong here. They do not.

We are all addicted to something that's killing us, but makes our pain go away,
and when I helped you stumble from parking garage into the dewey moon speckled asphalt, you swam out into the street like you didn’t notice your waterlogged chest was leaking.
I followed you to the hidden brook.
We crashed into each other and fell onto the wet grass
and I secretly asked it to drink us up.
But your fingertips swallowed my palm like a parched fish, and I wondered how you could still be so thirsty.
The stars bathed your pale skin in a gleaming light show,
so I traced my own constellations and named them after your smile.
The way you kissed me, it was like you were afraid of breaking me.
But baby, you tasted like explosives,
and later, you drove me home with burns in my cheeks.
Through the window, the watery red moonlight plastered your face in speckled crimson.

You left a somber sound below my brain,
deep enough that whales have called back to me through the dark.
You are the gravity that swings blood through the blue highways under my skin
and floods my flushed cheeks when I’m pulled into your arms.
Your hands have long since graced my back
or cheek,
or wrists,
but your fingertips wrote love letters on the surface of my skin
which I admire every night after my head goes quiet;
When my thoughts rest on your charming lips, and hands;
when they whip through your hair like the wind of my breath
to find your eyes,
tongue,
and teeth,
and guide your waist with the sway of the sea.

And now I find myself missing the nights when you'd kiss self worth into my skin under the glowing canopy of red christmas lights and cinnamon whiskey, when I’d write stories on your back and pull the sky around your shoulders and pretend that I didn’t notice that your thighs are smaller than mine.
I’d ignore the fact that I could feel every gram of fat on my body rubbing up against itself, shifting under my stretching skin,
my jiggling oily layers caked in something more shameful than sin.
Because at the time, your kisses were my only testaments to the fact that I deserved to take up space.
And I know that you’ve held somebody who hates themselves in your arms before
because when I tell you that you’re beautiful, her echo chokes out “No I’m not”.
So I tell you that you better learn to love yourself like I do,
because I never. want. to hear. her. voice. again.
I don’t tell you that sometimes, it feels like there is a living breathing monster tucked in the corners of my mirrors and underneath my toilet seat,
because I never want you to think that its your responsibility to save me when you’re still drowning.

.

*I opened the rusted iron gateway
bound in chain and wire, to find a landing
caked in muddied footprints, scattered about like roaches
Magpie shadows course the rain soaked streets
and puddle patterns reflect temptation as light flickers
from second floor moan filled parlors, painted nails scratching

Navigating the fog entrenched alley, garbage bins fallen
create a maze of skinned shins and bloodied lips
when I come to an arched opening, only hinges remain
The staircase up is dark, creaking under my weight
I count the holes collected in plaster walls yawning,
prior frustrations showing no mercy

The stench of tar and factory waste wallows,
catching me stumbling through the opening to the roof,
gasping in the ever thinning air
Dark clouds retaliate for earlier lost days
when stale bread pudding was a treat
served to those of less fortunate standing

What life is this to lead anyway, empty pockets
and hand me down promises, watching shadows below
taking chances and knocking up opportunities
Red door, black door, be careful which you choose,
for one color leads to the lower city,
the underground where ***** flows like crazed sewage

The other holds within ****** fantasies
and red lipstick smudges,
but beware when jiggling those tarnished handles
with your best foolish grin,
the cost is what you can't afford to lose

Swine roam the busy square freely,
splurging on last night’s tossed garbage,
grunting approval in an off key symphony
of stringless digestion, slobering regurgitation
beyond the blinded eyes of the others
lost indefinitely within themselves

Street lamps spit hot oil through fractured glass
dripping onto the formal evening wear
and diamond brooches worn by the elite,
making their way to the opera house where marble steps
are lined with evergreen topiaries
losing needles to the addicts of the night

A carriage passes, glazed eyes peer from lace curtains,
hidden hands roam freely the velvet seats and occupants,
as painted wheels follow ruts in the worn cobblestone
Smoke spews from stained brick chimneys and cracking mortar
discoloring the moon and choking stars
with a filth to be reckoned with

I sit on this rooftop alone, looking down,
scarred legs dangling over the edge four flights up,
wondering if anyone would care if I jumped
When startled by a noise behind me, footsteps perhaps
I turn to see the beautiful silhouette of a woman, flowing hair,
hand extended, "I would," she whispers...

mounds profounds
deep thoughts of your *******.
the big ones, the best ones
but never itty-bitties.

a handful, a mouthful
i love to touch.
all day, every day
is never too much.

pleading and pleading
don't tell me no.
pleasing and pleasing
rub fast and rub slow.

your *****, your bust
your ******, your ****.
the jiggling and wiggling
is always a treat.

your front, your fun-pillows
your melons, your chest.
the shaking and quaking
is always the best.

you are causing a tremor
an earthquake in my pants.
come a little closer
because mr. happy needs a chance.

My whirligig giggling and jiggling in an ever gyroscopic balancing act of spotting the to and fro, does sometimes wobble recklessly, even falls down.  Revealing, revolving, evolving windy patterns and magnetism that spin pointedly upon an axis of gender nonspecific intention, it gets back up and twirls again. Whirls again, girls again, boys again, toys again, an accelerator from beginning to end, how can I be propellant and then, marry, tie it down? Letting loose these inhibitions of how such a perfect plaything may be too perfect, too divine a contraption is scary whirlwind to put my head around. Yet, this desire to go with it, oscillate and make rounds seems truer than any boxed in version of wooden wouldn't I rathers.  So there it is, to grace a pirouette with stable partner, might be a portion of the dance, picturesque, but more ensemble pieces may follow. These too add to the brilliant ballet, and we are in it together.

The jelly-jiggling slop first had to flop
before it could waddle
ashore into this muddle of last gasps
and becoming
where middling deaths swaddled in gauzy breaths
emit a consonant-rich sussuro:

If you don’t recall the swirl-swept depths
where we furled it,
can you keep that promise in shallows pocketed?

So we began, and with the begetting
a rosy cloud plumed forth from our two
terraformed lips,
its delicately distinct petals mushrooming out
with a thorn-less, serif-soft voice
to bestow this frothy font of atomic confusion:

Let the forgetful sea rinse over now-handy fins
to hard-edge etch
their starfish straight lines in a slurp of soggy sand.

The mothering molecules haven’t lost
their smothering ache to forgive
our thickened skins
and they still cling to us, cooing about a lulled drift
past bye when we’ll climb the thinning links
back to homes cloaked in a sifted light:

*The loves of your heart-filled heads, no matter
how starkly pled,
all waste away to join us in our timeless waiting.

Sits at the grand piano.
Listens to the music dancing in circles.
Jiggling and tinkling.
Twisting and whirling
Staccato.
Vibrato.
Fortissimo.
Picking up tunes.
Straight from the air
She's playing by ear again.
Music's feeding her soul.
(c)LIVVI MMXV

I refuse to be thin.
It isn't where I belong.
I would be different, unhappy,
Focused on the image of me.
Now, with my wide thighs
Jiggling belly...
Others see me, and I don't care.

Billy's hand lay on his hips,
Little honey swaying,
Twirling his string of pearls, puckering his lips,
Winking for blue jeans on James Dean,
Stomping in his neon green pumps,
Giggling, jiggling his belly lumps,
Chelsea Hotel #2 playing ov'r Old Gran's radio,
Over the rain outside.
Little honey swaying,
All drssed up,
Sweetly, innocently, wonderfully distracted,
From careful; from fear.
Billy was alone, and this is what happens,
Except for this one time, Daddy came home,
Afflicted by *****,
Saw Billy and screamed,
Squeezed his very bones,
Dragged him down the stairs,
His missing strap he mourned,
Knuckles rejoice; curses slurred.
Billy was ****** and crumpled in a corner,
Daddy passed out over the hall toilet,
*** staining his pants,
When momma came home.
She saw her boy, her little ***** baby and screamed,
Mother ran outside,
Rain adorning her skin,
As her mind facing every sin.
Billy could no longer cry,
He now wanders as another,
All but his true self, his heart is dry.
It hurts, it tears, it bleeds,
Once was enough,
Was all it took.
Masks! Liars! Liars! Fools.....

Historic Hightstown wrapped porch
in New Jersey,
Open the book page speaks lifeless
Her uniqueness tea shirt stand tall,
but she's sitting says
Aging for me for him Hello age
Don't wrinkle my page I am

Ageless Fly Robin Fly

She didn’t care about her lines
and wrinkles, she was up in the sky
she was always
the performer, mid-life laugh, the poet
Love's the water, drinking Moet
ice cream her  love NY serendipity

Life is the way to should be
If your short of time make your time
be savvy cool
Be a good sport the "City"
No lines here it, not a pity
Hello Poetry
Never waiting on lines, you could
write your poems
with many lines, she was thankful,
happy for her
Aging wisdom
Hello Age roars out
the whole kingdom

Moving on the straight line of dignity.
The woman angelic- turning flight
smiling and partying all night
Aging it’s her time but her
turning point don't point the finger
It's not polite
I don't care about numbers
How the time went my own movie
doing Robin stunt's

Quaint walk through the Town
of Cranbury egg hunt
The rose blossoms, hair of the sun-berry
aged perfection tree.
Going shopping Freehold Mall
Laughing designed for me
NJ feeling free like a Robin bird. I am the singer
Saying hello age, I'm just getting better.
Walking on sunshine, not golden years
or reacting to someone's words like a
I am tough no tears, not the farm girl
of cattle, I will be ******* up to Skittles
   But he moved me closer to
the Monmouth State Park NJ
So slender rising more love admiring such
ripeness strawberry fields Beatlemania

  The "D" speaks delicious. love vitamin "E"
Exotic, or erotically divine younger
gorgeously slim Queen of Forst Hills
was once me
Homes, distressed, like the woman
aging people
engaging "Hello" please God
Or Hell dirt creepy cemetery
I will take my pick
Beautiful foliage opened up a memory.
Recreation, Scrapbook, Facebook collage
old the modern
thinking new pictures stay true.

Ripe apple computer age modern
technology blue 
Earthly Mom,  holding plants, seeing,
laugh lines.

Mirror on the fall, Mommy
not so dearest. My Mom was the best
She's Laughing and glowing she will be
gleaming over me Judy Garland singing
No worry fees
No senior citizen age with coupons
Queen killer bee's Groupons
Enjoying my life to the fullest
Flower *** inpatient’s love runs-out
screaming
impatient

  Hanging over her deck sun
bring's luck, sipping more stars
No dreams just my Starbucks
But something else starts hanging out?
*****

Feeling the body spiritual change,
Laugh line’s imperfect but hold’s proud.
So drenched like a mid-cycle love of ray.

"Those Hormones"
kick in
Like laughing became the sin
like the time just pray
So deeply in
body sweat's cold flashes.

Thinking how nice, when you
had fullest lashes.
Walking in the crowd.
People don't look @ you the
way they used too.
Time is on the recession.
Pretty picture window anticipation.

Hello, the world it's time to bloom**
Robin needs  more  spacious divine room
So attached like a love with such intense
Virtue and lots of patience, love seeds of
miracle maturely Turner-Classic your
wine became
"Copeland" Laughing gas wine.

Getting cards of modern art,
Modern Robin writer
and singer and so much
farther from  Modern Millie.
Hello, let's have a heart.
Tumble back, Genie eye,
the glimpse.
The top of the moon bottled into his wine
I love to dine just laugh things off
Changing leaves falling or
friends running,
and jumping

She’s the Robin  on her Pogo stick,
Robotically on  my computer click,
click but is it clicking.
My brain feels like its shrinking.

Play video games its all in the betting
and smooth talk of tricking popular cool
with flames my joystick.

Maybe I will turn into a witch broomstick.
I should try Google click...The book
**** & Jane & spot.
What do we really C turn -out 2-B in
this old age?
Warrior with heirloom sword
Is this what I could
afford swordfish.

Forest Gump say's "What you're going to get in the box"
old  dying chocolate but Trump's get's specially made
chocolate
Maybe at my age, I need to find
the hot construction
worker bring your *** tool
Just go with the flow
Walking up the step's, with your cane, sweet candy
Laughing by the New Jersey shore swift sandy.
Feeling French, Moulin Rouge.

You looked in the mirror putting more rouge on.
Looking older wickedly grunge you see whole's
in your sponge

The picture frame, eye's of magnifying glass large
Wishing you were younger, the ghost of the
holiday past made everything worthwhile to last
Eyes line's and the bag's your nose like a snout,
screaming let me out! I look much better than that
LOL

No designer bag's 4 U I want 2 B young again.
The bags crow feet it's coming  on your eye's
using tea bag's Kleenex puffiness but you
are the godliness
Net Flix

What happens is this your life in
your NJ town?
Drinking over fifty "Grey Shades" my Earl tea.
Saying my sunglasses looking ****
Mama Mia! seeing him in my text
What next?

Magic Mike dancer throwing my cane
So its Christmas tree jiggling heart plea.
Oh my dancing like  Cleopatra's eye's
purple but I am
feeling blue ned Prince the purple rain
falling 4 Autumn leaves I am sagging.
Who care's no-one on this earth has a clue.
this is no time for "B" bragging.

Rigid, unlike, softly, more like, she's coming a rough god riding the stocks of
bobbing withers robed in music. she's quick static spark sore tips of fingers
  just meeting with my tips of fingers just with grooves barely braying over
  one or the others me we sweetly are tumults of sparks raking ***** nails
   over backs pinions extend fully kissing free air and up into shaking
    clouds her minute jiggling abdomen i'm home there in between the beads
     of startling clarity and rush of sudden acute blissful angles (more like
      delightful swirling clutter, her hips are like) turning back and forward
       back and forward writhing sails of pleasure billowed skin her
        ultimate final tongue that staggers magnificently like a doe in the striped
         coat of furious tigers she has fanged jaws gently stabbing young
          blades my neck (a short column of stuttering electrons flickering
           against her blazing article of so unpure purely purring muscles
            slick and sinuously bound limbs an angelic fist's arm on my
             teeth suddenly flush with blood.
              
                         she is many
                     she is one
                   she is a multitude
                   she is a slight twist
                    to the hairs on the
                     the back neck   (of my)           .                  A
                                                                            neck meekly
                                                                           scratched with
                                                                              nails abruptly
                                                                        slaughtering quiet
                                                                       disheveled minutes
                                                                      in her merry cavern
                                                                                               wails

Anyway, Anaplasmata act aptly and abstractly
Backhands ******* balky baklava
Caractal chasm chant "Catty cavalry can't"
Dactyl dada dawns Djakarta drab

Larva ask dab-tap shabby knack lad
"Ever elect effete experts elsewhere?"
A clad daddy wants a dark jab dart
Fleece fleets flee flecked flyspecks

Cleft feet eve expels three resew eres
Gentle germs gelde grebe's geyser
Cede effects leek fell pecks self lyfes
Hellbent helmsmen helped hexed herders hence

Glen's remelted eggs be Serge-Grey
It insistingly implys impish ipsissimis insipidity
He held next her belched sender heel
Jiggling jibs jinx jimmy's jill jig

Its smilingly spiny impish mississippi I-I-I Is It dinty?
Kidding kibitz kick killing kings kitsch
sigil sign jimmy jib jingling jil
Livid linitis limits limbs limp

Big **** kid kicks thinking gill's zit kink
Midriffs mimics Mis's minimizing mistypings
Slim villi distils it, mini blimp
nil ninhydrin nihilists nicks nyxis nightly

Ms Mmisty's zip disc, if firm, is miming mining
ontology on top of oophoron ostomy.
Hindi hint silly lynchings. Skinny nix I stir
phonology 'pon phytol plywood poops polyglots pompons.

Polygon hoof-moon on poor toys toot
qophs
phony thong ploy loops monolog poppy.  Woody plop! Psst!
Rooks romp rootstock rods

"Posh" - Q
Schoolroom scoffs scoop shockproof snort stools
Mock stork pro or door toss
Thyrotomy 'top torpor tot's torso

So-so rooftop honk slots. Morocco sloops off
Usufruct tu upchucks
Stormy troops root to tot trothy
Vulgus vult vults

**** such curt cut ups
Wrung wctu
Vulgus vult vults
Xu

Wrung WCTU
Yummy yurts
Xu
Zulu zymurgy

Yummy! Try us!
Lawman scandal any pay at a scab yap tat tartly
Zulu zymurgy
Almanac-scratch that-clay tract vacancy

Sometimes it'd be nice if a lot of things would happen
I am not the not sleeping I am not the
Clamoring silence I am not the
Wanting a favor I am not the
Needing anything I can thrive on a breath of stale air a
Heat stroke a
Hollow apple

Watch me

I am not the jiggling ***
The unending winter the
Viola body the half-laden death thoughts the
Disappearing heart murmur the
University applications I can
Fall apart at the 60% in red pen on
Creamy white paper, thick, expensive, sickening

Watch me

Now I've been sitting on this piece for a bit of time
Because sometimes it's hard to organize exactly what's crossed your mind
But that's fine because good rhymes take time to piece together like rays of sunshine
And I find that in my mind thickness is simply divine
Those stretch marks that you hide are tiger stripes in my eyes
Those jiggling thighs, made of thunder that could split the skies are visions of perfection that are simply sublime
Your belly that you think is what drives them away is more than enough to make anyone stay...

"The little girl could not sleep, for her thoughts where way to deep. The little girl, gone for a stroll, had fallen down the rabbit hole..."

Further and further, the girl screamed as she fell, till she finally landed, in what appeared to be the bottom of a well.

the little girl, clutching her shall, felt along the muddy wall. Keeping calm, occupied by her thoughts, found a door, of course, its locked.

No. She did not kick, she did not cry, for her mind led her to wonder why..

Why is it locked?
What things lay inside?
Is it a way out?
Is it where the wild things hide?

Feeling her hair, she felt for a pin.

In it went, jiggling the lock, till it let her in.

So, if your mind runs wild too, be wary where it wanders too, for the hole is still here today, and is where the now not so little me plays....

Career politicians, who cluck
as they strut with an impotent pluck
make me sick with the season
befouling all reason:
they're less of a **** than a cuck.

That gobbler and turkey-neck Mitch
makes me furious—so mad that I twitch.
He obstructs every battle
while jiggling his wattle;
unpardoned, unworthy (but rich).

The patrician political class
is a party that speaks through its ***.
They are lacking in guts
with no ifs, ands, or buts
but I swear: they produce enough gas.



HAPPY THANXGIVING, Fellow Poets☺

Weak.
Weak is surrendering
To the alluring voice of chocolate
And devouring rice by the spoonful.
Weak.
Weak is.
Adipose dangling from your armpits
And jiggling thighs each step
Strong is
Perfection.
Inhaling ash and smoke while
The mortals simply gorge
Wispy arms and jutting ribs
Empty inside. Pills.
Strength is weakness.
Too weak to stand
Waking up from hunger pains
Blackened vision.
This is how you become perfect.

Last year i visited one of my friends home in Siaya their homestead was surrounded with graves .
**** was Scary and Weird.

I've never believed in ghost or spirit until I lived in that homestead for a week.

At night things were always moving falling off shelves. I constantly felt like I was being watched. The only time I ever experienced sleep paralysis was in that house i was sleeping in.

And in the morning i jokingly said to my friend "If there is a ghost here, it better leave because I'm a christian and i don't entertain demons in my niche!"
At this time my friend didn't take any of it seriously).

One evening as we were walking around the compound making stories;
A dog started coming towards us aggressively. As the dog got near us barking facing the main house, a finger suddenly appears and closed the opened bedroom window in our mind we thought Becky(my friend's sister)was the one who closed the window shockingly Becky was in the kitchen cooking.

My friend thought it was just a evening phobias and day tiredness is trying to prank us.

A few days later I was doing laundry in the basement and My daughter and her friend, who lived across the fence were playing outside;
It was six in the evening,suddenly strong wind started blowing and one of the cemented grave cracked i ignored the scenario and continued with my work.

That night i stayed late to read poetry suddenly a shadow slowly move past the door, at which I immediately turn off my reading light and freeze like a deer in headlights.
My friend and my daughter were dead a sleep.
I sat their unable to move or even think about what to do other than be absolutely still. That is, until I heard another sound, the sound of someone trying to open a glass door.
"Omera Omwanda nitiere gik mawuotho ka,chung! Chung!",as i tried to wake my friend.
The shadow was still jiggling the glass door handle, but it sounded like the doors was not opening.
I heard light foot steps move back along the balcony to my set of glass doors the shadow stop directly in front of me.
Omwanda didn't woke up,i was terrified and chills all over my body.

Next night i wanted to sleep early so i said my daily prayer immediately i said Amen the lid to a glass jar fell off the bookcase, and a picture with glass in the frame just smashes to the floor and breaks into a thousand splinters!
Have you been scared ? I was scared and is the night i said this is too much early morning i must leave.

Following day we left to Eldoret i hated the experience i had in Siaya;
The **** spooked me .
BASED ON TRUE STORY.