They set off from white rocks,
red geraniums, blue tile,
and let the green sea
lift and drop their ships far above the white foam waves.

The stony islands that were home
were swallowed in minutes by the hungry Atlantic
but they hunted the big fish,
the giant whales  with human eyes
who rolled and sang and swam
in oceans a continent away.

They came from Sao Jorge, Sao Miguel
Faial, Pico, Terceira, Horta -
Nine island emeralds set in a black volcanic chain,
neither of the old country nor the new:
Halfway there and halfway gone -
secret jewels of the Portuguese sailors.

They sailed into unknown waters,
south around tropical shores
where dragons smoked and writhed on the rocks
and birds with brilliant red and yellow plumage
rose in clouds around their heads.

Then north, and north, north again
to colder waters
where sea lions barked and lunged
at the strange massive wooden beast
that coursed the waters,
strung with brown bodies swaying
on the lines and cursing the sails.

North still they swept
casting contemptuous eyes on
the cheap turquoise waters and monstrous slow turtles
of the Sea of Cortez.
Coming up from the desert, past the palms and the yucca,
the Joshua tree and Spanish daggers,
they chased their smooth grey prey,
riding the vast Pacific on their wooden island,
herding the leviathans onto their spears,
adventurers with an audience of only
gulls and sky and seal.

Until they sailed too close one day
to a rock-strewn shoreline
and saw the golden hills.
Gnarled oaks like grandmothers from home
with orange poppy jewels at their feet,
missions strung like beads in a ruby marked rosary.

The boats slowed, ****** in by a Scylla of soil
rich and brown and loamy
waiting to be seeded with grapes and apricots
peaches, avocados, lettuce, alfalfa,
fertile and heavy with sweet promise.
And the whales sang and the lions barked and the gulls cried
but the sailors were entranced, encharmed, ensorcelled.
The treacherous sea, the mysterious deep, the stony jewels of home,
called and wept
and waited in vain for the sailors 
 - beached and grounded -
cutting not waves but earth,
tracking seasons not whales,

seduced by dirt.

.
                                J o h n
                              Dillinger
                       ­    "P retty Boy"
                           F l oyd "Baby
                          Face"    Nelson
                 ­          Al   "Scarface"
                           Capone  "Ma
                           c h i ne   Gun"
                           Kelly  Charles
                          "Lucky" Lucia
                           no     B u g s y
                           Siegel    Carlo
                           Gambino Jack
                           Diamond Tom
                           Devaney Jame
                           s Coonan  D a
          wood Ibrahcan       Kray  Brothers
        Demetrius Flenory  Joaquin Guzman
          James  Burke           Meyer Lansky
             Bonnie                         Clyde

I found my old journal.
I didn't write in it a lot,
Only when I could think to do it.
Only when it felt necessary.
So I wrote about a lot of the same things.
Heartbreak mostly.
A 9th grader so terribly in love
Again.

Everything is remarkably depressing
At that age.
Or so my journal would have you believe.

Here are some excerpts I found noteworthy

November 19th, 2014.

"I just hope she finally decides my head is no safe resting place for any kind of love."

December 16th, 2014.

"I feel like death, and all I want is for her to hold my dead body until I feel like breathing again."



Heavy,
I know.


Believe me,
I know.



I'd be dishonest if I didn't mention
That there are a lot more of those.
And I'd be dishonest if I didn't mention
That I'm best friends with that girl now.
I laughed when I read these.
The pain read so real
Yet I don't remember what it feels like
To miss her like that.

Then I found another passage
From a year ago.
A riper wound.

September 23rd, 2016. (The day I found out she didn't love me, and might be dating my older, douchier cousin)

"I cried for the first time in awhile, but it doesn't feel as good as I remember."

And then I realize
I've been watching the same Ferris wheel
Go around
My whole life,
Just with different people
Playing the same role.
And it all feels the same.

If love was for sale
I'd empty my pockets.

I still pick the scab.
I'm still the same kid.

For whose License must your Coppered Mouth sing
Which the Lamb and the Owl compose for you
This - define such Friend - thumb your nickered strings,
Then delve Innocence perform those Tidbits true
Perhaps my Finger - or Eye then about
Point to where your Righteous Heart should belong
As you praise your Job; Past Excellence stout
Play your Hidden Muse in search for a Song
Which Customers, their likely Music spell
Helled or Heavened Clefs you both pacify
That this Foundry should acclaim Managers well
As their War-Torn Throats win your satisfy.
Still it was just a Day; As such Day did pass
Back to your Reward; And Reward it was.

And here you are
Child, come to me.
This. What it used to be.
The entrance to your
Marble home.

The pillars.
the four corners that held
your baby clothes, old toys.
Like a wicker basket
In flames, now blackened
And covered
With the thick vines
And mired in green.

Nothing withstanded
The once and Great war.
The nights lit up
like fire-flowers blooming
in summer. Every thing
Burned away. Nothing
sacred was left. Doors and
Walls no longer stand.

You touch what is left
Grazing your fingers
On the roughness of
This old, old skin. Tired.

Now.

Only the stairway
Is  left.
The only portion left
Clothed with marble
Not carved away
by scavengers.
It looks sad
now that it leads
nowhere.

It led only to sadness
If you try to remember
What is no longer there.

With finality
You pick up your things
And go.
Content with the past
That it once held you
In its brown,
But now white and bony arms.

For Nick Joaquin

(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / Augsut 12, 2014 – Bulacan)

Still
Killing mayhem edges more to the center taking on the excepted reality and inches forward as the new
Norm another Idol in the form of a celebrity goes over the edge but we still hang on every word they

Speak now a best seller and block buster film about children killing each other it’s alright we still hunger
We are war like at our core it was once called barbarism through listening and being groomed from high

Moral ground we advanced combat and conflict was made the last resort of civilized man nobility of
Spirit was celebrated it was evidenced by the spires of churches and synagogues that pierce the sky

Their proclamation faith has vanquished ignorance and thoughts that were riddled with disease were
Routed although they still assailed the heathen in far off dominions that at first were given little thought

But truth is relentless its roots it would still be hard to prove in today’s environment that moral
Uprightness is stronger and more reasonable than the curse of evil that contends for the heart and soul

Of all who inhabit earth I made this argument in disgrace when I first started writing seriously twenty
Years ago I add it here

Disgrace


This land void of devotion gone is the church steeples
Replaced by voices and shadows of drug dealers on each corner
Now they are the keepers, lost cities, death stalks its peoples
Nothing is sacred in this polluted and diffused land
No longer hallowed be thy name, it’s as if he never came
Forgotten is any standard of moral excellence
The once high ideals only represent a fool’s parlance
Man declares I throw off these restraints only to find darker chains
The book that once guided this great land
We now betray with each waking day
Our hearts and mind it did ignite, now it’s word we can’t stand
Powerless and feeble we stumble, anxious ever moment
Just to remember is not enough, best confess our pride
Make sacrifice with our lips, to burn on altars on high
There is a short season for all to make amends to regain our stride
March on to glory with it burning on the inside
You don’t have to be astute in business to see the sound investment
Bring your poverty of spirit leave with the riches of his last testament
It offers the greatest rate of exchange
Light for darkness, life for death, selfless love for selfishness

Still it is like taking straw to a windblown bare bluff and you spell this and warning out dire
Circumstances that our action are bringing in themselves and then in the larger reality already

Evil after being reduced from the glory and its law that was the supreme order of Heaven was
Dismissed as unworthy unfit at that level their removal was described in the dramatic allegory

As lighting they were discharged as lighting is a charge it would also indicate the white pure
Fiery indignation pure cleansing occurred as they were a stain now that disgust is everywhere

It besieges our world in great and small matters they are swayed by its continual assaults
Its rampant hunger is devouring man wholly the wind if studied would reveal it is being bared

Upon the wind it stench and burning reaches to the end of time and the ghastly smell of
Human flesh that burns continuously in the lake of fire the second death if you are not born again

You are dead in your sins and the second death will be pronounced at the great white
Throne all ages will stand before the lamb once the lamb of sacrifice now the judge for them that

Through it all Still resist and make mockery of his suffering God said ones such as this will not escape
His righteous wrath over the ages tears have dropped at altars continuity from the eyes of the faithful

They form a stream that has reached ever life with true love how ugly and cruel does his death have to
Be told the only way to know he was human was his physical form otherwise he was just a bloodied

Animal mauled beyond recognition but still you remain lost it is your fault and this fact still wearies
And makes all of us who love bleed and we shamelessly pursue you to the final day that is nearer than
Any think                                          

                                                                       STILL THERE IS TIME

Who can fathom the deep water of his love I recounted how in the most broken place of my life with
News that my older sister died you would have to know my life to understand the loss because of

A family that did what you’re doing they left the safety of His fold and for dad it was drink a man called
To preach first a drinker then a drunk then a wino where life was liquid and filled with untold torment

That was his confused disgusted shameful end my mother followed him out of the life giving sustenance
Of holy living her first stop was she moved in with one of the richer men in our community good trade

Right how long did the prize last a few dismal months and then the real good life began she sent her
Daughter into bars to get money so they could live some would call that pimping don’t worry a *****

Doesn’t miss a trick no there isn’t one despicable thing she wouldn’t stoop to her last words were it was
Wrong but I loved it spoken like a true idiot you think heaven will be opened to any of us that practices

Sin of any kind we deserve flames that will never purify but will contend for that end forever I missed
That life by to Godly grandmas who lived and died in the faith but I have had moments that I failed

I caught up with my parents if only for a short time and it scared me to think I could live like that all the
Time but again to restate my sister died oh at her funeral she had her last say the songs were defiant

And mildly vile in that setting but at least she was truthful as she was in life she was the devil’s daughter
A hell raiser to the end and beyond but the savior met me I was twenty five hundred miles away I

Calculated the time difference while she was driving back from delivery Christmas presents and they
Say most likely an enlarged heart caused the accident she drove hell bent for leather any way and add

The beers always close by her inheritance from father and she would love this she hit the main power
Pole and knocked all of electricity out for a nearby town for hours finishing by tearing the guys fence
Down and coming to a final rest in two senses of the world God bless her mom and dad had to be proud

The little girl from Sunday school gad been dead for years they saw to that for me my wife and I were
Returning from a Disney Christmas I was in the San Joaquin valley when this ominous dark came up

With a wind that carried weeds and debris in front of my car I felt an eerie unsettling feeling
Rush into my heart later as spoken it was at the time she left this world I felt its effects that far

Away but when we stopped for the night at familiar lodgings to break the trip up getting back to the bay
Area when we checked in some one was waiting for us such a peace pervaded the place folks I had been

There hundreds of times had great fun every time but this was different my wife verbalized it she is
Reserved to the point when she laughs at something I know it is really funny I laugh at any thing

But she made a point how peaceful it was I described it back a few pieces ago as luxuriant bliss we
Stayed an extra day it felt so great this was my cushion when I got home to a blinking answering

Machine I Was in a sense pulled into a haven of spiritual proportions built up for the blast that was
Coming that is your privilege and your status in life as his child yes all suffer like sorrows but one he

Comforts the other one pushes such care and love away as a parent God walks back into the shadows
My piece Night Thoughts was called hard to read and disturbing but it shows what and how Jesus even

Today handles Impending death of his wayward children this is one more road block God has put in your
Way to prevent you from going onto your destructive end Hell is just ahead

~

there is a lighthouse churning
in the fury of the storm,
thirty-three for land are yearning,
loved ones waiting news at home;
a captain and his crew a'fight
brave souls that never cease to hope,
to bring their ship to port a'right
all pray for dawn that never comes.

fifty feet from trough to crest
she drops with groan to valley low,
to rise again with frothing peak,
her wild plunge from stern to bow
she is no place for wearied souls,
provides no quarter for the weak;
no port in sight, for thee no rest,
yet braver souls we need not seek.

her vessel old is wearing thin,
her searchers all but losing hope;
as only remnants one by one,
in bits and pieces still afloat
leaves watching world a sense of dread;
alone remains a sheen of grief,
these waters won’t release their dead;
El Faro won't you speak?

did you break apart in final hours?
or did you roll into the deep?
listing near the Crooked isle,
your precious cargo now we seek;
even one to tell your tale,
are all now lost; is all forlorn?
of those that stepped aboard to sail
will no one living come ashore?

though wreckage lost into the deep,
though family arms now torn apart,
in waves awash the mem’ries heap,
your tale lives on in untold hearts!
your souls cannot the ocean keep,
for fathers, sons, daughters, lovers,
unknown eyes for you now weep,
your names in prayer a world now utters!

all that to these waves go down.
you that ply this furied sea;
you, the brave, though lost have found
a harbor’s safety from the storm,
a port that offers welcome,
hope from strife forevermore,
safe in everlasting arms,
now rest eternal; peaceful be!

~

*post script.

this news story has increasingly gripped my attention since first breaking early last week. i began putting thoughts together earlier this week, but had hopes of publishing instead a writ ending on a joyous note.  with the Coast Guard calling off their six-day search this evening, all are now being declared lost at sea on Oct. 1st, 2015.  no joyous ending, no happy reunions... only sadness, like a sheen of grief over the Atlantic.

she was  just shy of 800 feet in length, El Faro (the Lighthouse), a US flagged cargo vessel, en route from Jacksonville to San Juan; she carried 28 Americans and five Poles, to the depths near Crooked Island, Bahamas; her last transmission- “propulsion lost, listing 15 degrees”.  

her tragic end, succumbing to the fifty foot seas of Hurricane Joaquin, leaving no survivors, none to tell her final hours; only one life ring and a body of broken evidence amongst the flotsam midst the waves.

rest in peace you brave souls thirty and three!
with your families we grieve!

This always was an acoustic gig;
A wood and wire affair
Steeped in the fresh folklore
And worn wool
Of our little streetlamp operas.

Our voices would ring rustic
(And rusted like tarnished brass)
Out open windows,
Through the rustling of haloed leaves,
And down into the streambeds of romantic recollection.

Our coffee was stiff;
Mixed with chicory
And spiked with shots
Of sure-footed tomfoolery—
But richer than our years should have allowed.

All the goodhearted ladies
And all the rye bottle boys
Would smile warm, backs reclining,
And sing out for all the years.
And we knew our songs well;

Our highways west blacktop ballads—
Our San Joaquin sunset sonnets--
Our arms-around-you-till-the-end tunes—
Our songs for new companions—
Our eulogies for our dearly departed.

Yes, this always was an acoustic gig.
But there’s no sense in penning an epilogue
To a story that’s still alive (though wounded).
So let’s continue the tale, friends,
And usher in another folk revival.

Today,
Hurricane Joaquin
hammered the central bahamas
with torrents
that flooded foreclosed homes.
The forecasters warned us of this.

Same day,
ten kids get
assassinated by another one
bringing torment
to Oregon, no order found.
The forecasters warned us of this.

On that day,
every monster
forged a face as we all grieved,
as is our nature,
absorbing blows by no one's order.
The forecasters warmed up to this.

With winter and awards shows upon us, the celebrity-obsessed wonder, "What are they wearing?" When it's fur, you wonder, "Why are they wearing it?"

Fur makes the shapeliest star look like a pudgy cave-dweller. Kim and Kanye become dumpy mall rats when they pile on the pelts. The matter of animals by the dozen being electrocuted for a single coat is of no interest to the self-absorbed duo.

Fortunately, the most admired and articulate personalities are speaking out. After winning a Golden Globe last month, Taraji P. Henson said, "I love clothes and to dress up, but no fur. Stella McCartney laced me with all these incredible faux furs." Taraji's ex-con character Cookie on Empire may have a fur fetish, but Taraji ditched the fur from her closets after seeing raccoon dogs skinned alive for fashion in a PETA documentary on HBO. She then ditched all of her clothes to star in a "Rather Go Naked Than Wear Fur" ad, which she unveiled at PETA's Fashion Week party with fellow animal advocate Tim Gunn.

Another dynamo who removed the unsightly hair from her back — I'm talking about fur — is the fabulous Wendy Williams. In addition to her daily talk show, Williams now hosts Wendy's Style Squad to cover red carpet fashions. "Fur is not the mark of success anymore," she said at the photo shoot for her PETA campaign, which she unveiled live on her show.

Sia led the charge this winter, with this imaginative computer-generated spot in which animal models strut down the catwalk in human skin.

And then there's Pink. "I would like to say I've always been fur-free so I could be proud of myself," says the pop icon. "Unfortunately, I went through a selfish phase and wore fur on a couple of occasions. But I wised up and now boycott fur completely. I wish everyone was forced to learn the horrors that these animals go through for fashion trends. I hope fur wearers get bitten in the *** by the same kind of animal they wear on their back." She took this message to the masses on a PETA billboard in New York's Times Square and stars with Ricky Gervais in avideo about fur and exotic skins.

Who else is fur-free? Lena Dunham, Rooney Mara, Jessica Chastain, Angelina Jolie, Kristen Stewart, Charlize Theron, and Natalie Portman, to name only a few.

Sharon Osbourne, who won a People's Choice Award last month for The Talk, says, "The reasons I stopped wearing fur were because I was educating myself through documentaries on what goes into actually making these fur coats and fur scarves that I was wearing, and when I realized how it was done I was sickened." Sharon hosts PETA's newest video showing how hundreds of chinchillas have their necks snapped for just one fur coat.

Many of you may be thinking, OK — gross — but I don't wear fur. Terrific! I'll end by suggesting you take another evolutionary step by visiting PETA.org to watch Joaquin Phoenix, Eva Mendes, and Pamela Anderson reveal how less-furry animals live and die before ending up in someone's closet.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015

i am never travailed
by all afternoons
goading me
to

the door of poetry.

all of them sleeping heavily
shelves, these gods
where i imagine my fates
far-fetched,
perched atop an illusory cypress
like a dove oblivious of home,

Villa
 de   Ungria
        Joaquin
            Gonzales
  ­    Tiempo
  Dalisay
       Abad
          Lumbera
     Gamalinda

  these imperious tyrannies
   sovereign in speech casting
   my storms to drizzle alone,

  where all these words go
  where all these fates wander

  i know not.

     all i know is continuing.

Wednesday, 14th of February 2018, 7.00pm,
" breaking news, a mass-shooting happened today in Florida, American authorities are calling this the worst school shooting in U.S.A's history "
6 minutes and 20 seconds,
That's all it took,
17 confirmed dead,
15 injured,
Countless more lives ruined,
All in under 10 minutes,
No parent should ever have to hug their child,
So tight,
Just because it might be the last time they'll ever say goodbye,
No kid should ever have to be afraid of their school hallway,
Or be afraid of who's standing in the classroom doorway,
No kid should ever wonder if this day will be their last,
And no parent should ever have to bury their kid,
Six feet out of their reach,
So this is for Scott,
And for Alyssa,
For Martin,
And for Nicholas,
Not forgetting Aaron,
This goes to Chris,
And Luke,
For Cara,
And for Gina,
Joaquin and Alaina,
Meadow, Helena, and Alex,
Carmen and Peter,
You are all in our hearts,
Let's face it,
The Floridian community of Douglas,
Will never go back to " normal "
So, Washington? Trump?
Riddle us this?
When is this going to be added to your list of " proud American traditions "?
There are too many heavy hearts,
Too many dark days,
Too much chaos and confusion,
For this to be swept under the carpet again,
Just like the last time,
We aren't even a quarter of the way into 2018,
Yet there has been over 30 mass-shootings since the beginning of January,
So here's to the people who aren't accepting the truth,
Who are too " confused " to realize what's going on,
For the people who haven't woken up to the fact,
That there were unidentified bodies,
Sitting cold in that school for over 24-hours,
And do not tell me I am too young to know what I'm talking to you about,
I stand alongside Emma Gonzalez, and the hundreds of young people across the globe,
This isn't just for our lives,
This is for everyone's lives,
Since when did " don't shoot nice people " become such a controversial statement?
Since when did school safety become a debatable, two-sided matter?
So I will join my fellow marchers,
And yell loudly and unapologetically,
Until they hear our voices,
In the words of Emma Gonzalez,
Adults like it when we have strong test scores,
But not when we have strong opinions,
We are Marching For Our Lives,
And this is our legacy.

No!
Shout their names
Let high winds carry them
to all corners of the world

Nicholas Dworet
Gina Montalto
Jamie Guttenberg
Alyssa Alhadeff
Joaquin Oliver
Meadow Pollack
Martin Duque
Luke Hoyer
Alex Schachter
Peter ****
Alaina Petty
Helena Ramsey
Cara Loughran
Carmen Schentrup

Scholars, athletes,
musicians,
community volunteers,

Chris Hixon
Aaron Feis
Scott Beigel

Teachers,
mentors,
leaders

All seventeen
caring, strong,
determined,
thoughtful

inspirations

Shout their names
Let high winds carry them
Honor their memory

Show their young vibrant faces
Look!
Really look!

Look in their eyes
Can you not see their hopes?
hopes that fell and
crumpled with their limp bodies,
destroyed in mere seconds

Can you not see their dreams?
dreams shattered,
turned to nightmares?
destroyed in mere seconds

Can you not see their plans?
Plans for their future,
a future wrenched from them
destroyed in mere seconds,

Mere seconds
of violence

That’s all it took

Congress persons,
Members of NRA,
Gun sellers
are your children,
grandchildren,
those you care about
shielded from this same fate?

Or
will it take their demise
before you can see?

Don’t you know that,
in truth, we are all
the same family?

The children who died
are your children!
The teachers who died
are your brothers!

Their blood courses
through your body, too

it courses through all of us.

To Joaquin Phoenix

The waves today are old techniques,
Inserted here is an emotion
The end of this poem will be one long sentence.

You are angry at me
because I am ugly.

Gladly I masturbated to several months.

I wished him success.

I'm friendless and once knew a philosophy major. I
I wrote all day yesterday and then got sad.
My favorite book shops remind me of the Bronx. Sometimes books are expensive.
A smelly bar. Would you marry my father? I left your large New York apartment. My
father grew up as a migrant farm worker, what college did you go to?
Last night I opened the window for my cat, I know he realized how large the world is.
People know my name & women want me - my father went to Cancun for his honeymoon
My mother's never been to the sistine chapel. She has a good book on Michelangelo.  
The docent's at the Blanton ignore me. We should **** them. On November 9th 7:49PM I am
looking at my computer screen trying to be honest. I've put on women's clothes and got called gay.
- We went grocery shopping. You were angry at me but had sympathy. Son you wrote me a letter.
Father I wrote you a letter. Allen I'm finally writing letters. Joaquin I knew better. Let me prove it.

Seventeen minutes of silence;
Seventeen balloons released;
Seventeen roses in loving
Remembrance of those now deceased.

Tens of thousands of students in schools
Across the country expressed their grief
And solidarity together
In what has become a recurring motif.

Americans by the millions
Increasingly are finding their voices--
Speaking out, demanding change,
Reminding us that we have choices.

Do we choose to do nothing
And cower before the NRA,
Or do we say enough is enough
And get this change underway?

Speak up: no more mass shootings
Or ****** bodies covered with sheets.
Demand real solutions and keep
Assault-style weapons off our streets.

In the age of never-ending wars,
Political chaos, corporate greed,
And out-of-control gun violence,
Our youth are planting a hopeful seed.

May that seed grow and flourish!
Meanwhile, read the names below--
The names of those who lost their lives
At a school in Florida one month ago:

Alyssa Alhadeff, 14
Scott Beigel, 35
Martin Duque, 14
Nicholas Dworet, 17
Aaron Feis, 37
Jaime Guttenberg, 14
Chris Hixon, 49
Luke Hoyer, 15
Cara Loughran, 14
Gina Montalto, 14
Joaquin Oliver, 17
Alaina Petty, 14
Meadow Pollack, 18
Helena Ramsay, 17
Alex Schachter, 14
Carmen Schentrup, 16
Peter ****, 15

-by Bob B (3-14-18)

We’re screaming now.
Can you hear us?
Beating down doors.
Spikes through heads.

Not.

We rally.
We vigil.
We scream
Through the silence.

We’re together.
A united force.
You can’t take us down
With the names from before.

A knife through the heart
Will **** a man
But a knife through a wall
Is impossible

We stand for those
Who stand no more
Alyssa, Scott, Martin, Nicholas, Aaron, Jaime,
Chris, Luke, Cara, Gina, Joaquin, Alaina,
Meadow, Helena, Alex, Carmen, Peter

We sing when we speak of them
We scream when we speak of fate
Not fate
Not them

A brother, a sister, a daughter, a son
An uncle, an aunt, a nephew, a niece
Grandparents to come
Grandchildren once was
Never again

We fight against what killed them
And scream to you “No more”
In hopes that all our efforts won’t turn into a **** war
Again

i can't help but run parallels
   between the joaquin phoenix
film her and watching
jaclyn glenn video extracts
of an autobiography...

   eclectic?
            connoisseur of excesses?
sure as ****
             my drinking helps...

which brings me to the following
recommendation...

  i rarely visit the english ales
section of a supermarket array
of shelves...

      lucky me:

            THEAKSTON
             pale ale...

(unpasteurised,
    cold filtered) -

          beau!
              a complete and utter beau!
    über-beer,
                                  ja!

unlike a syringe this one has
an impersonal story:
     brewed in masham,
    using el dorado & summit
hops...
       among the "trivial"
local, north yorkshire malted barley;

can't explain it
if you haven't tasted it,
   off goes the taj mahal into the distance...
and the almost subversive
palette of a budweiser...
        subversive as in:
with a hint of ***. drinking habits...

beer and extracting alcohol
from rice?
            too...
                       like any german
might:
        not enough... gorycz'ka(h)...
budweiser is just too bland
           a beer to be dubbed: "king"...

i'm not even going to press the matter
further...

  about the two women who slapped
me in the face,
  and the hand that punched me
twenty times emerging with a plum
sketch beneath my eye-socket...

   i told you:
    you need to punch something
with more: consistency prior to applying
the make-up machine of a fist
onto the canvas...

     punching a wall allows you to invite
a... somehow... "oddly" enough
hidden 4th knuckle...
          can't exactly punch your own
face not having punched a wall first,
which allows the 4th knuckle protrusion....

you'll just hurt yourself
without the protruding 4th head
of the cerberus...

           still can't explain the arabic
death-fantasy...
          i can't exactly bypass the 72 rottweilers
and me wrestling with them naked;

since i can't exactly forget that
angry yet frivolous,
               panting breath of a dog,
with open jaws...
    and me wanting to return
the desire to take a bite...

                    THEAKSTON's pale english ale...
great beer...
               certainly smoother than
that subversive h'american
                south korean rice extract ****.

It’s getting serious
We’re all ordered to stay in place
Not to go out
Over half the population of California could be infected in 8 weeks
I hope none of us in this house gets it
I want us to see this thing from a distant
As a spectator a sport
Watching this horrific moment in time pass us
Unscathed

I want that for my family
But you never know what the future will hold
The most minute detail can change the course of an entire life

I don’t want to go outside
I’m scared to
What if I get it
I’m not like these youngsters that go about like everythings fine
Seems like that there’s just a disconnect of some kind

My daughter
My daughter fly’s to Washington D.C. to visit her boyfriend
In the midst of a pandemic
She takes a flight
A flight where there are other people
A whole airport with all these people
What the hell was she thinking
She wasn’t
She’s not supposed to
She’s twenty years old

Hunker in place
That’s what I’m going to do
As supplies last
We have enough food for about a month
Got five pounds of flour today
Another ten pounds coming tomorrow
Dropped off by friends brave enough to venture out
Risk themselves for the rest
As soon as I received the groceries I walked straight to the bathroom and washed my hands

The worst is yet to come
I’m hoping it doesn’t hit Bakersfield too hard
I don’t think it will
We don’t have a major airport
No major port from sea
Our city is kind of isolated from the rest of California
Conserative
Republican leaning
The tail end of the Bible Belt

What I saw once as a vice
I now see as a benefit
Out here in the San Joaquin Valley
Our rural and isolated ways
Ways which we were criticized by real city folk
Los Angeles
San Diego
San Francisco
These ways could help keep us alive

Wednesday, 14th of February 2018, 7.00 pm,
" breaking news, a mass-shooting happened today in Florida, American authorities are calling this the worst school shooting in U.S.A's history "
6 minutes and 20 seconds,
That's all it took,
17 confirmed dead,
15 injured,
Countless more lives ruined,
All in under 10 minutes,
No parent should ever have to hug their child,
So tight,
Just because it might be the last time they'll ever say goodbye,
No kid should ever have to be afraid of their school hallway,
Or be afraid of who's standing in the classroom doorway,
No kid should ever wonder if this day will be their last,
And no parent should ever have to bury their kid,
Six feet out of their reach,
So this is for Scott,
And for Alyssa,
For Martin,
And for Nicholas,
Not forgetting Aaron,
This goes to Chris,
And Luke,
For Cara,
And for Gina,
Joaquin and Alaina,
Meadow, Helena, and Alex,
Carmen and Peter,
You are all in our hearts,
Let's face it,
The Floridian community of Douglas,
Will never go back to " normal "
So, Washington? Trump?
Riddle us this?
When is this going to be added to your list of " proud American traditions "?
There are too many heavy hearts,
Too many dark days,
Too much chaos and confusion,
For this to be swept under the carpet again,
Just like the last time,
We weren't even a quarter of the way into 2018,
Yet there had already been over 30 mass-shootings since the beginning of January,
So here's to the people who aren't accepting the truth,
Who are too " confused " to realize what's going on,
For the people who haven't woken up to the fact,
That there were unidentified bodies,
Sitting cold in that school for over 24-hours,
And do not tell me I am too young to know what I'm talking to you about,
I stand alongside Emma Gonzalez and the hundreds of young people across the globe,
This isn't just for our lives,
This is for everyone's lives,
Since when did " don't shoot children " become such a controversial statement?
Since when did school safety become a debatable, two-sided matter?
So I will join my fellow marchers,
And yell loudly and unapologetically,
Until they hear our voices,
In the words of Emma Gonzalez,
Adults like it when we have strong test scores,
But not when we have strong opinions,
We are Marching For Our Lives,
And this is our legacy.