Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Glenn McCrary Apr 2014
"Striking the match across my thumbnail, it's too slow of an action to me. The sparks stay in the air for too long and I haven't taken a breath in what feels like hours. Snow White couldn't have done it better, she paved the way. You sleep with the enemy, you sleep with the rich, you tear your way in with a calming, sweet smile and they let you in, they always do. The match falls on the heap of limbs. 'Here comes the sun.' ~ Jade Day


DR. NIGHTMARE: Hello? Mr. Nino?

[Dr. Nightmare whistles and snaps his fingers twice]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Are you ready for the procedure?

DO: It’s not like I have a choice now do I?

DR. NIGHTMARE: You always have a choice Mr. Nino. Your very future lies within the consciousness of every decision you may or may not make. With that being said which choice do you think will effectively see that you are better off?

DO: Well neither you or I can predict the future so we might as well continue playing and see what happens.

[Dr. Nightmare chuckles]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Not bad for a young man such as yourself, Mr Nino.

DO: I try. Let us carry on with the procedure now shall we sir?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, yes right. Please fill out these papers to ensure that we have your full consent to conduct any and/or all events of this procedure.

DO: How can I possibly fill out these papers if I am still restrained by this straight jacket?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, how foolish of me to have forgotten.

[Dr. Nightmare then begins unbuckling Do’s straight jacket. He then removes the jacket and passes Do a check pad and a pen with multiple documents. Do then begins to sign them. Dr. Nightmare closely reviews the papers as Do is signing them]

DO: Okay, I’m done.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Great now if you’ll just initial here, here and here we will be ready to go.

[Do finishes initialing his papers and passes them back to Dr. Nightmare.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Thank you Mr. Nino. I’ll give you a couple of minutes to relax while I run and grab my list of questions. You may talk to AnaÏs while she performs a brief blood test on you.

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Dr. Nightmare.

[AnaÏs blushes with a slight smile as she twists both of her knees inward. She then walks over to sit in the chair directly across from Do. She pulls out her first aid kit and opens it. She takes out a lancet, some sanitary wipes and some gauze.]

NURSE YUCKI: Hello, Mr. Nino. How are you doing today?

[Anaïs opens a pack of sanitary wipes and begins wiping Do’s right ring finger. She then ****** his finger with the lancet drawing forth small droplets of blood. Do slightly winces in pain. Anaïs then places a small test tube to the test site in which his finger was pricked in order to draw blood.]

DO: Please just call me Do. I’m doing alright I suppose. How about yourself?

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Do. I am doing okay though I am quite tired. I have been here since five this morning and it is now a quarter to one.

DO: I can understand how that may be ******* you. Not everyone is a morning person.

NURSE YUCKI: Yeah, you’re right. The pay is great here though so I suppose it is worth dealing with.

DO: Yeah but is that ever really enough? Is that truly all that you want?

NURSE YUCKI: No, of course not. I have dreams just like everybody else. This job exists as just an in the moment thing for me. It is a means to get me by or as most people say “a leg up” in the industry.

DO: Those times are always the most trying.

NURSE YUCKI: You can say that again.

[Anaïs eventually finishes drawing blood from Do’s finger and places a couple of pieces of gauze to it and wrapped a band-aid around it. She then pours the blood sample into a slightly bigger and wider test tube and then places a top over it placing it along with the lancet back into her first aid kit.]

DO: Those times are always the most trying.

[Anaïs laughs. Do slightly smiles in return.]

NURSE YUCKI: I didn’t mean literally silly ha ha.

DO: Hey a little humor never hurt anyone ha ha.

NURSE YUCKI: If that were the case this place would cease to be a business.

[Anaïs and Do both laughed.]

NURSE YUCKI: I don’t mean to be a creep but I think you have really pretty eyes.

[Do was an African-American man with short, curly black hair. He also had dark brown eyes with his skin being the shade of chocolate chip cookie brown. He had a goatee as well.]

DO: Thank you, Anaïs. You’re honestly a lot funnier than I thought plus you are very beautiful.

[Anaïs was a white British woman with long, jet black hair and winter blue eyes. She had fairly tan skin along with a nice figure. She also wore black lipstick and had various tattoos.

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Do. So do you ha—

[The door to Do’s padded cell abruptly opens.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Okay, I’m back. Thank you for keeping my patient company Anaïs.

NURSE YUCKI: Oh, you’re welcome, Archie.

[Anaïs stomped very loudly as she walked away.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: I told that ***** I don’t like when people call me Archie in public.

DO: Well, that is your birth name is it not? Besides Anaïs is a really nice woman.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That’s like saying a ****** is a teething ring.

DO: So are you saying you have been sexless for six months or are you asexual?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Hey, who is the doctor here?

DO: I’m just saying. You may be inserting your tongue incorrectly.

[Dr. Nightmare ignores Do’s comments blushing out of embarrassment.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well, if you are done fooling around we can begin.

DO: Let’s do it.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Okay, Mr Nino. Your first name is Do, correct?

DO: Yes, sir.

DR. NIGHTMARE: We already know your last name so on to the next question. What is your date of birth?

DO: August 2, 1990

DR. NIGHTMARE: Ah, so you’re twenty-three years old eh?? I thought you were like sixteen.

DO: Ha ha nope but I get that a lot so it’s nothing I’m not used to.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where are you from?

DO: Springfield, Illinois

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where were you currently living before you came here?

DO: Cordova, Tennessee

DR. NIGHTMARE: Did you like it there?

DO: No, not really. I actually hate it there and am desperate to get away from there and move to a bigger city.

DR NIGHTMARE: Oh? What for may I ask?

DO: To take advantage of more career opportunities to achieve my dreams.

DR. NIGHTMARE: I really like where your head is at kid. Who were you currently living with before you came here?

DO: My mother along with three of my siblings, niece and nephew.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you get along with them at all?

DO: When I want to but even then it is just a feigned interest.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where were you working before you came to this institution?

DO: I was working as a dishwasher and prep cook at my local pancake joint and bakery. The name of the restaurant is Love 'N’ Lust.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That title sounds intriguing. What kind of food do they make there? Do they pay you well for your services?

DO: We make all kinds of foods in the shape and/or imagery of sexually provocative thought patterns. Basically we make cakes in the shapes of genitals, *******, ***, etc… We do this for breakfast, lunch and dinner around the clock. They pay me $7.25 an hour.

DR. NIGHTMARE: I got to take my girlfriend some time soon. You get paid more to do that here. I believe the maximum is $15 an hour in translation from Euro dollars to American dollars.

DO: You won’t regret it sir. There are actually some of restaurants located throughout France.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Thank you, Mr. Nino. I’ll keep that in mind.

DO: You’re welcome, sir.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you have any passions, Mr. Nino?

DO: Yes, I do. As a matter of fact I have two passions. They are poetry and disc jockeying.

DR. NIGHTMARE: How long have you been writing poetry and disc jockeying?

DO: I have been writing poetry since November of 2008. I am only just beginning within the disc jockeying field.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What were you like in school, Mr. Nino?

DO: I’ve been to many schools doctor. I require that you be more specific

DR. NIGHTMARE: What was life like for you in high school?

DO: Well, I never actively made the effort to socialize with anyone outside of school simply because I was disinterested. When people would take part in extracurricular activities I would just ignore them and go home. I never even went to my own prom.

DR. NIGHTMARE: And why didn’t you go to your prom?

DO: Because I never had a date nor did I have the courage to ask one of the girls out

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well, I would tell you that I understand but I have no idea what that is like. In my day I was a ****. Everybody knew me. All the girls wanted to talk to me.

DO: Yeah, you’re not helping.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Nino

DO: It’s alright, doctor.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Moving on, what was your life like as you were growing up?

DO: There was lots of domestic violence and unwanted sheriff visits because my mother would always feel the urge to call the police every time I voiced an opinion that she did not agree with. I have even been in physical fights with her, my father, brother, sister and grandmother. I even splashed orange juice in my grandmother's face one time because she was ******* me the *******. There was the occasional use and profiting of the most popular drug at the time by a parent because my father smoked and sold drugs. He hung out with the wrong people a lot of the times mostly people who desired to buy drugs from him. Day in and day out deep down I feel that there are still some grudges floating around. My family won’t let me move past them nor will they let me forget about them. They always like to bring them up every chance that they get. I was also expelled from middle school at the age of fourteen for tossing my gym shorts at the assistant principal when she told me to shut up while I was talking. I felt disrespected and it ****** me off. I didn’t know what else to do. I also took antidepressants at the age of sixteen for crying out loud and when I was twenty I was mugged only just one week shy of my twenty-first birthday. It was a late night and I was walking home.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Sounds like you have had a rather rough life

DO: Yeah, well my life is not as bad compared to others.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That doesn’t matter Mr. Nino. It still counts. What was the name of the antidepressant medication that you were taking for you depression?

DO: I honestly don’t remember. That was so long ago. I’m twenty-three now. I’ll be twenty-four in the summer so that was nearly eight years ago. I do remember my mother making me take medications such as Stratera and Adderall for Attention Deficit Hyper Disorder.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What is your relationship with your family like now?

DO: I only talk to them when I want or need something like most people, but other than that I steer clear of them to avoid confrontation and drama. Drama never falls short in the Nino family.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Why do you think that is, Mr. Nino?

DO: Well, it’s just that when me and my immediate family members are in the same room together I can feel a significant amount of tension, hatred and anger coursing throughout the room. It makes me feel very uncomfortable so I just leave.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What do you fear the most, Mr. Nino?

DO: Abandonment and death

DR. NIGHTMARE: All of which are very powerful and reasonable things to be in fear of. What is your attitude toward the opposite ***? What was it in childhood and later years?

DO: I always took notice of the hot girls and the unbearably **** girls. I just never made the effort to talk to them because most of them ignored me or were stuck up and thought they were higher and mightier than me. In later and considerably more recent years my patience for the opposite *** has lessened greatly with each passing day. It has gotten to the point where I hate romantic relationships leading me to believe that they are a complete waste of time. Marriages are pointless as well. I would operate just fine in a No Strings Attached, Friends With Benefits or a One Night Stand type of deal. At least with those types of relationships an emotional connection is not at all required. I like *****. End of story. I get enough emotional connection through bowel movements.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Are you ambitious, sensitive, inclined to outbursts of temper, domineering, shy, or impatient?

DO: Yes, sir. I am very ambitious. I’m a poet so there is no doubt that I am sensitive. Yes, I do tend to have short, mild outbursts concerning my temper. I get mad when people cut me off or talk over me when I am speaking. I hate when people ignore me and I hate when I try to join a conversation and everyone acts like I am not there. It’s like can’t they see that I am trying to be apart of the conversation. I mean even when I try to socialize and make friends they fail to realize it. It is all alright though. I have learned not to give a **** anymore. Honestly, it is the best way to avoid any drama in life.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What sort of people did you physically allow yourself to be around you prior to arriving at this institution? Were they impatient, bad-tempered, or affectionate?

DO: Affection was far from the equation, doctor. I was around a lot of impatient and bad-tempered people. When I speak of these people I speak mainly about my family, but also some of my co-workers as well. They drove me incredibly insane. I would often go home depressed and dreading the next work day.

DR. NIGHTMARE: How do you sleep?

DO: Most of the time I find it difficult to sleep. I frequently watch Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response or (ASMR) videos to aid in me that and so far it has worked exceedingly well.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What dreams do you have?

DO: I rarely have any happy dreams I’ll tell you that. Most of the dreams I have are of running down dark hallways, chasing shadows, jumping off of cliffs and being unexpectedly attacked by random strangers whether it be physically or verbally. I also tend to have a lot of dreams where I am screaming my head off at the people surrounding me in the dream. I even go so far as to push their heads back a little with the palm of my hand. I was really mad in those dreams. I have a lot of mildly terrifying as well as psychotically depressing dreams. I also tend to have dreams about abandonment.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What illnesses are there in your family background?

DO: Well both of my grandmas are diabetic however one of them has been deceased for six and a half years now. She was English plus she had struggled with breast cancer for years. One of my sisters has been diagnosed as bipolar. I believe I may be bipolar, but just undiagnosed. I am allergic to penicillin. Both of my little brothers have asthma. One of my brothers is allergic to peanut butter.That’s about it. My father has problems with digesting solid foods. I don’t really know all that much about the history of my family’s mental health. There was one time when my mom called the cops on me when I was sixteen. The cop although unlicensed said that he thinks I may be schizophrenic. I didn’t believe a word that he said back then, but eight years later I am now starting to realize the justness of what he said and even starting to believe it.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Have you ever had ***, Mr. Nino?

DO: No, sir. I have not. I do think about it very often though.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you watch any **** at all?

DO: Every night.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What kind of **** do you like to watch? Do you have any fetishes?

DO: I like to watch female bodybuilders workout in the ****, I also like to watch regular girls fool around in the **** as do most men. I also enjoy watching lesbian **** as well. My fetishes are women with muscle. I’m talking large muscle mass from the neck down. It just gets me so hot. Another fetish of mine and don’t tell anyone this, but I like to watch women take dumps in the toilet. I don’t however like actually seeing the feces. I only like to see them sitting on the toilet while doing it and hearing the sounds. I do not like seeing what is going on underneath. Other fetishes of mine include women with tattoos, tall women, and also slightly psychotic women though intelligent women.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What are you hoping to get out of these sessions and procedures?

DO: I just seek to be happy again. That is all I ask. That is all I want.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well this concludes our interview, Mr. Nino. I will run to the lab and decipher you
Robert Zanfad Feb 2010
The flesh may still be fine...
One must just pare bruised
And bad spots away,
As a razor once excised mine.
A blurred mind mused
At the slowness of life
When it oozed,
Crimson's contrast
On pale skin,
Like paint
Escaped my palette,
Or red roses on canvas,
Mute shouts of color
Wasted in slick puddles
On the floor.
Red too soon fades sepia;
Wounds become scars,
Their hardness protects,
Forever reminds.
Though grown timid
Of assaults from steel,
Old psyche still yields
To lancet's probing,
Words released fall,
Now as drops to paper.
Copyright 2010, Robert Zanfad
L T Winter Sep 2014
I've always itched
For perfect mahogany
Chimera doubles.

Cavorting into her,
Psychologies
Fullest emptiness.

Drastic is the
...Vow...

One which
Most perceive.

I let it
Palpate
My sheathing...

And my entrails
Lay open...
As she played cello.

With intestines of mine,
Her smile planted
In mist.

Painted on sawmill
Hinges...
It began.

To sieve serrating
..Arms...
Back to my tissues
Within.

My bones; refused
Seeping aqueducts.

Only to quail from sin.

We wetted; our contour
Tongues on....
O-negative streams.

So animalistic,
I dwindled upon
Her lancet...

And we let our
Collage begin.
Soraya Carpenito Nov 2011
In the morgue, the aseptic light
Was flickering upon it;
The livid, bruised, black and blue
Lying body of Love.

-Honey, It's dead, you see!
-Yes, sweetheart, but how did we
Come to this?
-Pass me the lancet and
Then we'll see.

A sharp cut was made on
The right temporal lobe of the brain;
The synaptic membranes were
Damaged, the reciprocal nerve-racking
Jealousy had made the brain collapse.

A big incision was made upon
The ribs: into the lungs no more
The vital breath of Love, only water
And mud were clogging the alveoli.
Love had drowned in the sea of adultery.

The last deep cut was made upon
The heart: the still valves and
Ventricles hadn't pumped
Blood and passion for long.
So, there's nothing else to do,
My dead love!
Robert Zanfad Apr 2010
i've come here to commit the quivering weak,
feeding scurrying beasts more reeking fodder
sentimental flesh no match for their razor sharp teeth
banging *** lids, stomping feet
hoping that rats near, feasting
on scraps and detritus will scatter amid bluster
before eyes dare to open - perhaps catch sight of things
that might scare us
our cans, never closed -
left always ajar, an offering of communion
lest they grow too hungry
gnaw through walls and come inside,
share foie gras with guests I'd hoped to impress
now seated and dining behind;
disgust them in sights of sins best hidden out back in the darkness
and leave fine linens soiled with meals yet digested

his body's been disposed before,
innocent specter resurrected by morning to fog up the mirror
reciting novenas as beads of his rosary roll in counts down its surface
never suspecting fate that awaits as night falls once more
daytime is easier, drowning sound
from his voice in symphonies of piano and strings
Mozart's or Mahler's  -
other things of distraction...
that aren't there to hide in when
sun fades and sleep, again, tries to invade
his figure repudiated, extracted
from a psyche dissected years ago, like a tumor threatening to grow
swallow the Now from which time's made.
in pretense of conversion for the moment,  i take his hand and lead him -
more fresh meat for the rodents
(even saints sometimes lie when they don't like the answers - they atone deception later)
he still cries when I leave him alone at the altar

once
a shaman shaking dried heads tied to a stick with palm leaves
promised mysterious potions that would strengthen the weak
reciting magical incantations expected to exorcise spirits within
for all those who believed
practicing his science of faith or faith in his science
for clients lined up at the door,
seeking doses of hope that he sold them -  returning each week for some more
but for those apostate, left to stare in the glare of florescent
humors never found balance in bloodletting
lancet nor leaches
the weakness of faithless was in never tasting the cure
or trusting tears could ever be wiped away by ice picks
he ****** deep in eye sockets, the sweet lies he told us
holes left in the soul could never filled by blue pills -
they couldn't reach there

missionaries positioned their ways
through that breach,
preaching a new theology requiring surrender
of my reliquary of cherished memories
as precondition for salvation,
discarding polished bones i'd kissed and prayed over:

Her precious pink t-shirt, coil of hair still stuck there,
though having no root it could never be proved
from whom it was groomed,
it was article of faith - who could dare question it;

the used ticket stub with date imprinted
indicating temporal evidence that
once something true existed
that i, too, felt part of;

words bound in a covenant sent by saints
in small pieces of lavender-scented mail
though having waited so long
faith in The Coming had wasted
and perfume, long ago, faded to imagination

and so, a soul abandoned all hope of redemption

a red rose rendered in oils
expressing devotion for eternity lost meaning
when it withered
watered by hope, as it was and forgotten;
our castle built on clouds came tumbling to the ground
when we looked up, stared at the sky;
the permanent brilliance of diamonds become mere stones in the garden
when sown from a window on high -
wealth for worms to covet and fight over,
though the fool still knelt to sift soil through his fingers
in search of lost sacrament
finally planting his hope
in the many graves that he'd made
otherwise, for forsaken,
faith is just hope not yet ready to die

then, there's the weak one i'll face in the morning,
likely still worshiping old bones and reciting from memory his ancient liturgy
when i let it, a cacophony of questions
can echo about paths never taken, and why some vows, not others;
and i wonder if there's a heaven for heathens when clocks cease their ticking
off nows that i try to live in
For the stout of heart who have made it to this end, wondering why they've wasted their time with obscurity and lunatic rant,  my apologies... the outburst felt good in its writing.
Birth is by two ways:
labour and lancet.
Nope,--three.
Pierce not my skin,
Thou lancet of horror,
Which is terribly akin
To the blade of terror;

Touch nay me at all,
You dark being;
Mind, be not on call
At the bay of loony bin;

Mortality's debt is
Paid by death's acquisiton--
It's the end of business,
The final liquidation;

The assets of sanctity
Offset and save as well
Many a toxic liability
Of the soul from hell;

Weak, weary and bored
By unbroken quietus fear.
Life is unassured
By a doctor's gear.
I'm seated across from my stomachache.
The diner mutates into a morgue.
The tables are gurneys with checkerboard shrouds.
Is this conversation  -  or autopsy?

I explore an intriguing potential corpse
-unflinching under my lancet eyes
-numb as my curious scalpel pries
as I try to dissect what this means to me.

It might mean a great deal
(perhaps too much).

With delicate pressure cracks appear
STOP!
Questions cause fragile things to break...

Relationships all die premature deaths.
I am maladroit when I handle hearts.
Then I wait for the last breath,
"Let's keep in touch,"
and watch as my wounded friend departs,
sanguine about the mess I've made
of my latest stab at intimacy
when I dropped my guard like a flensing blade
and opened myself up  as well.
Mistake!
Fizza Abbas May 2015
Butchery of emotions
through a lancet of
eyes,
cost a lot; promise me
that you'll never
pay the cost!
boy.

those caveman days were brutish, nasty, short and rough.

     ear splitting cacophony felt like listening to partying beastie boys with smashed face on a vampire weekend competing with deafening leopards roar rin n rush shin version of hells bells, inxs of pulp fiction sung backwards by cold play, or a brutally nasty yet thankfully short version per youtube video drowning out beach boys winking in the hood.

     loud quiet rioting !@#$ growls shook bats overhead when this grizzled papa bear disturbed (like twittering angry birds), and forced to wake prematurely from hibernation set his seething animal anger to boil, and smoke to issue from his jack rabbit *** nine looking don Quixote ears.

     argh.

     the gumption from this then profoundly gap toothed, high browed, red necked ursine, viperous spouse getting  one swiftly tailored kick in the bony **** sent me flying like a twisted sister careening forward into out of the summer time sadness air back to the future.
     right then n tha hair, earth, wind and fire convinced this **** sapiens he became gratefully dead.

     upon immediate and most unwelcome exposure therapy to the arctic blast, this mama’s and papa’s boy (by george) was in no mood to tangle nor play footsie with mother nature.

    i  wanted to whip the hide when needles of miniature aeroplane shaped snow white slippery buckshot elements of style kissed, pierced and smashed against his face from those shoddily made flimsy animal clothes that barely kept him warm. lucky for that vat of midnight oil, which shrouded me in n wispy pearl jam pelt.

     tears for fears spilt like pearl jam (like 10,000 maniacs bursting from a soundgarden or highly revved motorhead during a black sabbath)
     stop crying bellowed.

     wah.

     without a shadow of a doubt, these beatle browed monkeys (strewn by denim dog gone hooligans), who cawed like sum Cajun gumbo baboons for a banana split Sunday.

     anyway, i practically froze off mine scrawny ****.
     dang! ooh!
     how purty!
     my oh my!
     a cute deer!
     out came the bow and arrow.

      the feathered lancet described a nike arc with a nike swoosh.
      bulls’ eye!

     upon uttering "hey lucy i am home", the little beasts tore their sharp nine inch long nails into the soft raw doe!

     now compare the above paragraphs to this technological age.

     no way, no how does this domesticated simian relish expending any ounce of energy.

     without the need to leave the comfort of my warm bed, a click of the remote can provide immediate needs at these fingertips.

     why dress (perhaps just a coat of armor), when breakfast, lunch or dinner delivered via robot.

     bathe?
     this waterbed doubles up as a washbasin.

     ah.

     how in the name of judas priest could our ancestors enjoy feeling like a beast of burden? who says you cannot always get what you want? alice cooper in chains? beastie boy george cinderella? eddie money? freddy mercury? iron maiden? lana del rey? madonna? pink floyd? quiet riot? soundgarden? yes! the entire motley crue!

     yeah! obvious, I aint no luddite period! this creature of habit would never give up his pad (shaped like an oversize ipod) and forego any of his labor saving devices the only way to take away these cherished, idolized, prized possessions? you would have to pry these buzzing, flying, whirring gizmos loose from my cold dead fingers!

     don’t get your doggies with dimples hopes up!
     i aint planning to cross the river styx anytime soon.
     maybe not even in this lifetime!
     ha!
     so there!
     nor best ye *** any ideas to boot me from this tear rest trial plane, and put me six feet under.
     capisce?
     comprende?
Satsih Verma Sep 2021
How would you fill my
void? No one should come between
us. The lancet brings human nature.

The conscience creates
a meme. What was doable, the carnage
or a bouquet of roses for the invisible?

After the fall of the moon
in the night, something hides behind
your eyes. Who had made the god?
so u real???
Warning! The following choppy, batty,
*****: elegy = flaky, goofy, history: iffy,
jumpy, kooky: loopy, matty, *****, nippy,
sketchy material prone to find the reader
dazed and bewildered, yet comfortably numb.

Modern Roam Min Times – mesh
THERE IS NO RELATION WITH THE
EPIC OF GILGAMESH (abridged from
brook land) AND THIS VIGNETTE – in ma Englesh.

thank a u faux sis
this married sexagenarian
encloses his poetic opus
the smooching this celibate
(sleep as a cellar dweller) chap doth miss
shaw wish i could give hew a kiss
though ye might rip ply with a hiss
that would usher inxs of x2c Noah obliging bliss.

while perched within mine
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania aerie
this totally mishmash, succotash, n trash -
hoopfully finds ya cheery
so...hallo n greetings ma dearie
just faw bean help ming this fool

i.e. myself who haint no fairy,
boot possibly the missing humankind link
cuz o be yin - head to feet - completely as hairy
Siamese twins with names Tom n Jerry
'though ye might disbelieve moi n feel leery
n doubt every word written -

but try 2 feign b ying merry
while i pose the following philosophical query...
to make sense = deciphering billy shakes perry
now take a mooch needed break cuz,
the following gibberish might beak comb quite weary.

Is society a better world to live in with less or more?
boy! those Everclear caveman days were brutish,
nasty, short and rough. that aside, though
no Culture Club, Fancyfeast, nor Iggy Pop
the Flintstone era a bit raucous, riotous, and
yabba dabba with Doobie Brothers rubble ye us.

Def Jam, ear splitting cacophony felt like
listening to partying beastie boys on a vampire
weekend competing with Def Leopards roar
n rush shin version of hells bells, Inxs of pulp
fiction sung backwards by cold play, or a brutally
nasty, yet thankfully short version per youtube
video drowning out beach boys straight out ta

Compton winking in the hood while loud Quiet
Riot !@#$ growls shook B52 sized bats overhead,
when this grizzled papa bear disturbed (like
twittering angry birds), and forced to wake
prematurely from hibernation set his seething
animal anger to boil, and smoke to issue from
jack rabbit *** nine looking Don Quixote ears.

argh! go. whar art thou Cello Yo Yo Ma?

the gumption from this then profoundly gap toothed,
high browed, red necked ursine, viperous spouse getting
one swiftly tailored kick in the bony **** sent me flying
like a twisted sister careening forward out of summer time
sadness air back to the future. right then n tha hair, earth,
wind and fire convinced this **** sapiens he became
another Grateful Dead Foo Fighter.

upon immediate and most unwelcome exposure therapy
to the Avast arctic blast (complete with Arctic Monkey),
this Mama’s and Papa’s Boy (by George) was in no mood
to neither tangle nor play footsie with Mother Nature.

Analogous to The Idler Wheel Is Wiser than the Driver
of the ***** and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More
than Ropes Will Ever Do, I wanted to whip the hide,
when needles of miniature aeroplane shaped snow white
slippery buckshot elements of style kissed, pierced and
smashed against his face from those shoddily made flimsy
animal clothes that barely kept him warm.
Lucky for vat of midnight oil, which shrouded me
in n wispy pearl jam pelt.

Tears for Fears spilled in One Direction (like 10,000
Maniacs bursting from a Soundgarden or highly
revved Motorhead emulating a Quiet Riot).

Wah. Stop crying bellowed the Queen Scorpion
(Poison ing the Air Supply).

Without - dark shadows of a doubt slunk N’Sync
with the twilight zone along the edge of night, these
beatle browed Monkeys (strewn by denim dog gone
hooligans), who cawed like sum Cajun gumbo baboons
as proto Partridge Family for a banana split Sunday
closing out Vampire Weeknd packing a full house
at the Tokyo Hotel.

Anyway, I practically froze off mine scrawny ****.

Dang!

Ooh, how purty, a cute deer.

Out came the bow and arrow.

the feathered lancet described a Nike arc with
Nike like swoosh bulls’ eye.

Upon uttering "hey Lucy i am home", the little
beasts tore their sharp nine-inch long nails into soft raw doe.

Bathe? The (Puddle Of Mud battled crippled creek),
when a dry riverbed doubles up as a mud bed or
washbasin after the springtime flood.

How in the name of judas priest could our ancestors
enjoy feeling like a beast of burden?

who says you cannot always get what you want? Alice
coop er in chains? Beastie boy George Cinderella? Eddie
money? Freddie Mercury? Iron Maiden? Lana del rey?
Jane’s addiction? Pink Floyd? Yes! the entire Motley Crue?
Odd Odyssey Poet Oct 2023
Church bell ears;
I've heard the holy ring of an unwritten hymn in a minor key
Their piercing eyes, are bites of bullets, all pointed guns
as hands;  pointing out my immoral acts; three shots back
at them and one pointing up to discredit a God

A wrinkled heart,
by the irony of a preach; a church's lancet window,
Stained in sin of an unwritten scripture, and a scripted faith
On top of an unholy pedestal, all ready to cast their first stone,
alongside their own boulders of sin

Oh Lord, even if I don't believe in a God,
I'd believe in a better place than here
So my only prayer is being seen by your eyes,
as one saved from the desiring eye of the world


                                                   Amen.

— The End —