i.

heretofore bygone week's
Tis I was layden in mine outgoing's;
Incapacitated, mine feet's step's unknowing.

ii.

Dolor rolled as Boulder's
Down mine emptied innard's;
Jinn filled with hate and sin, tooketh over.

iii.

They tried to possesseth me
And diluteth me by their fear's;
They scratched, and bit, all didst spit
Yet mien reine reigned in by chariot flares.

iv.

Mount Mayon, in southern Luzon
Volcanoe's surround her citadel;
She snatched me from the barbarian's
In heaven, whence in hell.

v.

Manila in the concentrate
Between the thickness of it all;
Is where mine rose, her face didst gloweth
Her virtue's were one, of the prophet's and high law.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/Reyna/hari/soulmates

you know that time,
when you
drink... beer...
and you attain insight...
into paraphrasing
the void...
         and you're
not the bust-driver?
but you want
           to be a bus-driver...
how many times
am i to absolve,
cite a mea culpa mantra?
the world
needs someone to
"dumb-down"
their i.q.,
          to become,
less trained, less parrot...
i needed an outlet
to dumb my
i.q.,
           alcohol...
well... before you start
singing irish,
i think the scotch
will do just fine...
   with hands
that have a potential
to
crush...
                  a macaque
skull
   (given enough time,
and plenty of reserved
fiddly bits)...
i decided...
         jack never came
up... visit a *******...
and...
         like...
being involved in
experiecing...
   spreading butter
on toasted bred...
  what?
                  christianity
was already highly
invested
in metaphor ***
                imagery...
so i moved from
beneath the iron curtain...
and moved into...
disney (i wish)...
no, i've move into
some more itchy...
                   (e-ch-ee)...
   chatter...
peel....
           guess
the next word
ought to be, pérfect

gueß...
         a german... quasi-
pseudo-,
            it's not a diacritical
marker, it's a letter...
    in english
it implies an inclusive
interchange
of           S               and Z...
in english it also
implies                  SS: of guess...
for aesthetic reaons...

but then...
                    it's also Š
(caron)...
               a "hybrid"...

            a hiding of H in
S that amounts to SH...
or where the caron crown on
the S originates from... SZ...
learned a new noun:
                           grapheme...
       sharp...
                       shit...
                              šit.
  
curiosity of the pedantic
sort,

              i stopped
to make myself,
less focused on the geometry
of the "a priori" (the given)
and focus
on the "geometry"
of...
          is omicron
an "oh", O, or 0?
   doughnut-who-done-it?

we have moved beyond
a stage where...
polyglots are...
encouraged...
     entrenched bilinguals
are becoming the
intrinsic norm...
    
not: sized...
                  systamatic...
you can also taste
the tip of your tongue
experiencing
           a sanft: soft S...
    piquant pedantry...
it's not for someone to speak
"better" english...

i've been met with pedatry,
i reply: with pedantry...

   hush...
     could be written as
    huš...
                cheap...
could be written as
         čeap...
       ah...
  right...
         the aesthetic "question"...
hebrew missing vowels
"question"...
           you know...
i've never heard of dyslexia,
to be, evident,
outside of the anglophonic
world...
  but i'm pretty sure
  it exists in the francophonic
world...

   i'll agree...
  čeap = cheap,
           looks aesthetically
unppealing...
   as does chemistry...
  with a KAPPA in italics...

i didn't write sit...
i wrote šit...
             i almost pretend...
**** it, i always pretend
to teach a cat to roar...
like i might teach
           a lion to meow...

i'm entrenched...
you spend enough time
in set "segregation"...
you'll pick-up
nuances...
     basic tics...
                          misnomers...

what with christianity
beind over-laden
with metaphor...
      (ladden, or layden?)

     forget about me speaking...
l'ah d
          d'
               en

                                     layden...

well if people moved away
from being literate,
and literacy isn't a "thing"
and tuxedo
   is back in play,
    for the norm...

             layden or ladden,
i know it's laden...

                    imagine greek,
where letters are nouns,
and...
               there is no curiosity
regarding
          the syllable splinter,
or A, as in atom...
           hides both breath
and laughter,
subsequently ejects itself
to a status of pillar...
with a sigh...

                 giggle...
    where's the G for giggle
in sigh?
                hyper-literacy...
   i speak a word,
write "another"...
     and then pretend to...
   "laugh": lāφ
                            /             lāθ
                   laaf...

for me? literacy imploded...
       surd
                gnostic...
or gnome...
also a G...
             but the same G...
  prominent
                      in diagnostics...

never give a would-be
"blind-man"
access to the *******
alphabet...
   he just might
to squirm, itch,
squint...
              and pour out...
        idle observations!

    à...
              làden...
    not ladden...
               although with
a "missing" Y...
                       the Ęgliš language
isn't immune
   to...
              being
hijacked...
            graffiti...
                    it was gagging
for a reinterpretation...
              it was a blank canvas
of a Σ of 26 letters...
   what could possibly go wrong?

me? being denied access...
   to a phonetic-encoding
i was given a pass to,
use...
                    minding
the little revisions,
nuances...
                             and...
    let it reign free,
                                above me?
  never mind
the IN
     in either INN or
the INGLEESH
                               zunge:
**** me...
                         IN'GLE'H;

that's as bad as asking
the French to drop the hark
on the R...
       and return to trill;

forget the English...
tongue-numb...
tawantula R numb...
  can't trill,
      beside scootland...
get's the idea
of a momentum
of a circle...
and omicron...
      i guess...
that's the new variety
                 of twoll.

As a young man lies diying, fallen victm of mindless gangs
One more stagers the night layden with spirt of an acholic kind
As one more small child has lost thier trust to a sickned guardian
One more has ceased their life from mankind’s ability to starve

As one more women is forced to submit love she has not offered
One more is lost to the domestic hell of enraged beasts, called man
As one brave soldier falls to the sands giving his all for our freedom
One more crawls home to be forgotten, his disabilities seen as weak

I think to my self what a wonderful world

He had, when it became clear
The dog was on his last legs,
Went to a canine memorial concern,
One of those somewhat well-intentioned marketing brainstorms
Which operated under the assumption
That what was good enough for master was good enough for Fido,
And the folks who ran the place dressed in dark suits
Which accentuated the notion that what they did
Was no different than going through the paces
Of sending Grandma to her final reward
(Though the whole thing carried out
With a wink and a nod,
All of which by no means bringing credit to man nor dog.)
He'd been put off by the whole fol-de-rol,
Though he'd sat dutifully through the videos and brochures,
Being possessed of the same damnable politeness
Which made a place like this possible if not necessary,
And he'd ignored the two or three follow-up inquiries.
The dog finally came to his rest
On one of those gray silent November days
Which were the harbinger of the locking season,
And he'd taken him down to the back part of his property
Where he'd had the soybeans in this year,
A spot where three or four of his dogs already resided,
And though there was no markers or such on the spot,
He reckoned that the fact it was a good patch of growing land
Was sufficient testament to their standing.

The night was not odd...
It was still .....
And warm.....
There were rumours ...
Then again
When aren't they?
I walked briskly
Down the dark alley way
In the heart of the dragon
It smelled of strong whisky..........
And ******.  
A little risky..... ya......
Maybe ..........
Brave?...........idk
Foolish? ........
Definitely.
Some rules I could take.
This was a path I refused
Not to take!
The irony lies within the fact that I only took this journey after a good come-up ...
And carried a fat stack.....
Was I testing fate?
Or testing faith?
On these things........
I thought not .....
For I knew someone
Who didn't need me....
Depended on me......
And in truth ........
I loved him.......
An old janky  man in his
Mr goodwrench overalls fast asleep .....
On a Mac creeper ..
Under his jacked up chevelle.
Began to slowly roll
Towards the busy intersection below...
Like clockwork .
as I turnt the corner....
He was feet from disaster
Head first .....
I had to run faster
Than I thought I could go....
And dove
.......grasped his ankle.
My face cracked the pavement
Ill never forget it.  
Tires screeched .....
I lost consciousness ....
When I came to.....
The creeper mangled under a  car...
Which turned out had been stolen by a tweaker...
And the old blackman
I tried with my life to save.......
I still had a death grip on
One ankle...........
His body convulsing,
His eyes wide open .....
As if bewildered and fixed on me.....
Laughing hysterically .
Sitting on the sidewalk......
Saying ooooohwee bo
I thought fo shor
Yous gonna let me ta die...
Dammm you needs go to the gym or sumpin ..
Whoo....... I bouts  had a heart attack.........
I couldnt help but to cry...
I said you mean ....
You were awake?    
You "f"-n faker......
This is how we met ..
So many years ago....
I remember every detail...his response?
Unexpected.......yes ....
Brilliant ?
In the moment ...probably not....
Over time still dont know
But the impact.......
Epic .....immense.....
Absolutely  ...
Life changing.......
Maybe not for him ?
Maybe not to you ..
I guess it's a point of view
Zen puzzling piece of psyco-induced subliminal
Implanted military experimental type of thing .......
Maybe I was the Manchurian candidate and or Charles Bronson...
I had miles to go before I sleep.......... Yah?
No?
But maybe.......
Anyway he said ...
"Course I was awake ..
But I needed your attention.
And  bo........
you gonna do anything
THEN YOU GOTT TA
COMMIT ....! "
As he continued on ....
The words echoing off in my mind  ..
Drowned out his laughter
Sirens getting closer ....
The lumps of dividends
Bulging my pockets
Coming from some opportunistic origins.  
Gave me a genuine angst ...and the gangsta style side of me leant over gave him a firm brother shake
Looked him hard in the eyes .......
One nod .....
Said , cn you walk ?'
He said " course .I.
The rest.of his words faded quickly   something caught my periphery
The tweeker running from the sceen......
Leaving an overstuffed backpack.  I said good
pulled him up said
Wait !
but be ready !
As the cars caught fire
I was in the puddle  
Picked up the pack......
And .......barely....
It was heavy.....
The orange glow behind
Kicking my heels felt charming and the coral and peachy colors painted this experience with such a beautifully
Bizarre hue
It was simply an unexplainable feeling.
Well except the fire on my feet that had tossed upp to the heavy layden
Backpack.....
That was uncomfortable..

,



You could trace the