“Thank You Jesus and blessed-be God,
…you have my prayers, my wink, salute and a nod!”

Can’t go wrong if you at least try,
in the future your dreams will make you fly,
and every fork in the road will make you sigh,
but keep on *truckin’ cause you’ll get by,
and end up happy before you die-eye...

When I sailed off the world from the Keys,
Janus and Cybele didn’t bother me,
the river of pain and hate you see,
-angry Charon screaming for his fee.
The moon his eyes, his gaze you see,
the crescent his boat they call a fer-ry,
the three-headed dog, it barked at me,
thunderous clouds, they rocked the sea,
I prayed for Jesus to comfort me,
reaching heaven at the shores of 'Gal-Li-Lee-e...'

At the top of the Tower we all spoke the same 'langa-guage' you see?
and Jesus said, “You know we just call it 'spirit-tual-lity','
I turned to him and said,

“Old friend, you ain’t gotta waste no time on me.”
I’m just gonna kick back here a bit, and stare out at that sea!”

And he replied just as quick,

“Remember the Beast and stormy seas and that angry captain who yelled at thee?”

“It wasn’t yet time for you to go, you left something undone didn’t you know?”

Just then I heard the cries and wails,
I jumped back in my boat and loosed the sails,
the winds picked-up and drove my ark,
as I set sail out in to the dark...
And Jesus called out, beckoned me,

“Fare thee well on your jour-ney!”

I had gotten everything I wanted in life,
a home, three kids and a beautiful wife...
I felt I was fulfilled inside and it was proper if I died!

But Father made me 'real-a-lize' it was not about me but what I’d left behind.

That journey back was harder than I’d thought,
fraught with peril and that ****** dog!

I must make it back to my 'fam-mil-ly' and this **** storm won’t be the end of me!

I saw them there out on the beach,
as Charon’s ship slammed into me,
his Dragon-dog’s flames burned my ship
-so I jumped overboard and swam for it,
I woke up to my wife staring down at me,
-our three little Indians peaceful and fast asleep,

“Thank You Jesus and blessed-be God!
My prayers, my wink, salute and my nod,"

“I know there’s more to life than what I got and I’ll do better if you gimme a shot. What I have and my own strife, wife and children and the family life in this journey it was never about me and that’s the thing I didn’t ever see.”

Wife and kids and 'fam-mil-ly,'
trials, tribulations and stormy seas,
the book and faith, 'spirit-tual-lity,'
are what a man’s life, -is supposed to be,

“Thank You Jesus and blessed-be God!
You have my prayers, my wink, salute and my nod!
Thank You Jesus and blessed-be God,
…for my family, my life and all I’ve got.”

“Thank You Jesus and blessed-be God!”

“Thank You Jesus and blessed-be God!”

“Thank You Jesus and blessed-be God!”

*“Thank You Jesus and blessed-be God!”

Going back
is a Fool's
Paradise

Its un-
truth is
its
Per
Fec
Tion

the delicate
bead
of your kiss

A tongue
enunciating
what the
present
Can Be

makes
it all

So Clear
Worth
while
Good
night

but not
Good
bye

to us
maybe
but
You and I

still stand
strong
think
clear-
ly

have twisting
desires
guns
in our backs

for some tattered
and tear-stained
piece of Truth

We cannot
be
Con
Tained

within the realm
of
Re
Collec
Tion

Let us bleed
out
into the
frightening
cold

of our stark
Day
Light
Dreams

Jesus, I own
thoughts that
align me
with you!

You are
a confusing cup
of cigarette tea

And we
are working
to let

our meat
be malleable
our minds
supple and
our tongues
agile

in the warm
embrace of
the other's

Mouth
Heart
Eyes
Another

universe
of dangerous
Pos
Si
Bi
Lity

To hell
with Duality!

The past
is Simplicity!

**** what is
wrong
Know what is
Right

and live to see
the probability
of Tonight

I feel as if I got punched in the face and kicked down a flight of stairs
I can feel your hate as you look down upon my face
It's evident that you don't care and that I have misinterpreted all those stares
My soul is broken, but my hope is stronger than ever
You might have treated me like a joke today
But the faith I have in myself will never fade away

Parody of "l(a" by e. e. cummings

e(               j(               a(
me             de             pr
di               ad             op
af               bla            ert
air              ck             yd
ne              bo            am
ss)             ys)           age)
qua            ust           tten
lity              ice           tion

Initially
        he thought to
        bring sight to the Blind
                       Desiring OsIris or
                       Evoke E(see)kiel
        
        But he looked in a mirror
               and couldn't see
                                      his self
         His mirror
         betrayed him
         transparent, anti-Narcissus
         he was

         Now
         he feels he has
         too              much
                    V  i  s  i  o  N
                                            his (soughts) self(s)
                     go in one             (thoughts)
                        eye and             (oughts)
                               out
                               the other
he, So Self-Aware, scares his mirror
                               wHEre
                               Who
                              (did) you see            then
                               Do                             now
                                                                 becoming
                                                                 tomorrow . . . ?

The ancillary argument is an asclepion which is anaphoric to anathema, anointing anecdotal evidences as an asymptomatic astonishment, assumptive of an averring the verbiage unwavering used to auxesis an auxiliary found aiding the circular back to an autonomy, assuaged in its entirety, appendant to an irony, giving appurtenance to astronomy yet astringent to all company of asters in the wovenry.

  A sweetened ingredient in life’s vermouth, is a lesser known but still common truth, resounding voice a sound so routh and unforgiving of jockeying jocose uncouth but the greatest parts of life we know are sorely wasted on the youth and so fundamental is this truth or verities vivacious muse that some might say we light a fuse when using such verbose abuse that angry are they who find our use an anathema to amuse?

  To wit so that I must abjure the painful notion there is a cure to a playful mind’s language of slur not meant as such but thus obscured the difficulties so inured on my ment-al-lity of thought a crime, a retching twist of someone’s time thus wasted on a poem blurred, a freedom though has just occurred; my mind a paradise, my thoughts a bird...

You wonder why I wrote this po-em,
Think on your life and about your **-eme,
Look back at youth’s wondrous days,
When life was new and full of plays,
And ask yourself is this a maze?

i cant
                                                         tell the
              difference
                                                                                               between
                                               rea
                                                                                      lity
         and dreams
                                                        any more?
                                                                                                    ?

usually
watching trash TV for thirty or forty
minutes refreshes my brain for the seriousness
that boggles it
the an-
xieties of money and va-
nity and my place as an im-
migrant and the fears
and confusions
of being a woman

but on this day i
tried to hollow out my heavy heart with the kar-
dashians
realizing, in seconds
how monstrous this culture has become

it is not a break from reality, it is watching it
and it is no longer funny
and it is no longer passive
because reality tv is a reflection of rea-
lity and the brainlessness with which we want
to interact with it

while I have no hate towards the new joneses
they are from the same consequence
and same principles
that now frighten our existence

Morrow, morrow, city of dreams
Turpentine, slowly sifting
Invades here in sashes of silk
Sounds through bone, bone
Fluid, lures the brain:
It follows coy, curious
Shuffling its thoughts, like one
With fingers, like you
with seasons— blue, and then bold—

The crows shift on the wall
Linseed a moment, and then acetone
I can only overhang and see
The stretches of the city
Forever overspill, overkill— overt
And covert— sounding through
Its buz-busses and snorts; crickets,
Cats, night, white, night
An ox-y-mo-ron, you
Are an orchestra, a tryst

Sweet mo-no-to-ny, a
Platform in a plaza
A plaque on a platform in a plaza
I ransack the dictionary in search of you
The road to lead to the relic of you—
Feed the retrospect’s imagery away
Then the crows look at me
Like I killed their maa
Lit up a June solstice in the beautiful light
Pollution and sound pollution, you
Are homecoming, I say
I say, nothing blinds like home, I say
And I cough the air out like a slang
Your city is ****, a skullduggery
To last the brazen evening
And sag by the night, you are slant
Static, ruthless to the stone come for moss
A slap on the face
Of my sentimentality
How I love to draw you: this way,
This, however I like, since you
Are sightless like a TV, hive of bee
You jig like rain, like sun, woe to me
Like sen-su-a-lity
A satin city, itty bitty pretty
Silly, let me study!

I felt you, through your
words. Tight and
crisp. But you remained untouchable.

For thousand of years
a lity of valley
cried, to get a dove's cooing voice.

The musk deer will not
leave its domain. Some
poems were hungery of its hideout.

An ordinary day of fall
starts the inferno. Syllable
by syllable in colors.

The dilemma of drinking
the hemlock at one go.
How would I describe the ascending paralysis?