The Miss, Misters and Mrs.,
And the St. Joseph's Sisters,
Made me a Bluejay,
Jay- jaying and soaring
Over Wrens and Robins
Below in five rows.
Teeth marks on Ticondarogas,
Initialed pink rubbers,
Toothpicks and fingers
Solved all those problems.

Sister Lucille showed me Sarnia
On the Neilson Wall Map,
With the Malted Milk,
Crispy Crunch bars staring back.
They looked too delicious,
Her reprimand was contritious,
I'm doing time during recess,
Ninety minutes til lunch.

We stood in a crooked line,
Like a snake, to get marked,
With her drawer a crack open
We'd get a peek at her strap.
Black or red, correctively cold;
Sister Roseangela, we'd heard,
Cried, Quid Pro Quo.

We had football baseball,
And hockey dreams,
Volleyball, basketball,
And funeral teams;
Field Days, Holy Days,
Days needed at home;
Teachers were coaches,
With little time to complain;
But the kids back then
Just weren't the same.
There were skirmishes, fouls,
Strike outs and time outs;
We were sliced white bread,
No rye or whole grain.

We'd march double file
Once a week to the Church,
To genuflect and reflect
At the Stations and Cross.
To confess, get redress,
Display penitent remorse,
Though keeping a secret
From the Confessional box,
A comfort and curse.

Their objective succeeded,
The lessons went deep;
Using the three Rs,
The ABCs, 1, 2, 3s,
To impart and ingraine
How to carry one's cross.

I remember by name
The Miss,  Misters and Mrs.
And St. Joseph's Sisters
Who gave their all,
Each day, and always.
They've gone or retired,
But recalled in tranquility
For the life-lessons I admire.

As I look around my home,
In my garden,  I see gnomes,
Sitting on their little domes,
Do they think, these gnomes?
Are they philosophical, I wonder,
As garden weeds I plunder,
What are you guys staring at?
I'm gardening, okay, that's that!
Consider the garden gnomes,
Sitting there on their little domes,
Cute, but ugly, little misters,
I find them a trifle sinister............

it was suggested
that there be no nexus
between texas and your pal-
omino - tagging the alamo, **?

en el barrio, yo(u)-
and your gringa  homecoming
queen in tight-assed jeans
-running with ms-13?

-playing twister with your hipster
sisters misters smith & wesson
oiled up and and ready to go
- new mexico?

i found you in tres piedras
at a place called ortega's
eating huevos rancheros
- shooting jose cuervo?

-muthafucka mara salvatruchas
in a red camaro and two bruthas
on a burro with bow and arrows
-stole your palomino?

-they shoot horses
don't they?

riding the black el camino
-on the blue mesa.

r ~ 9/30/14

.                     i was ******* when the earthquake hit.
                      i’d say it was the best ****** i ever had.

an animal!
a multicellular eukaryotic organism of the kingdom ingesting other organisms to progress!
a well-organized kid of chaos strutting his stuff and puffing his puff.
rifle, duffel, falafel, phil.
fully blessed and stressed to strum forward for the sun, or fun
and fandango.

we are the people,
and the people are merely material,
and the material breathed and breached the darkness, for more.
we are man and woman and dog,
beasts screeching in a field over nothing, over everything, over ant-mounds and the sounds
of seasons meeting.
we think.

eat, drink, wine, woman, song.

he thinks
of nothing but her.
and so in the name of her, he acts, he reacts, he attacks the momentum of weekends into weekends into rhythm. he rolls
out and the words roll off and the days roll by, but this is the unfolding of life,
right?
strife upon strife upon struggle to eat,
and repeat,
and eat her *****.

he was a well-spoken yet savage young buck,
evolving to confide and subside with these friends or enemies and imbibe the night away.
repeat/
he was a rise and shine early type with a mug of hot brew.
or the dream and shine late type with a bottle of cold cider.
repeat/
his blind date is a troll woman digging through the dumpster across the street.
he is a goblin boy gritting his fangs toward a girl, on a dancefloor, in a club, and bubble go the texts.
his texts are long and resolute.
she doesn’t respond.
she does respond.
she is seeing someone else. others
from a tall tree or lineage of men with strength and material.
a tall line of men and misters and teachers and tongues, all men obsessed with death &/or glory.
and by rite i obsess with death &/or glory.
and the dog, i want the dog there with me.
and the girl.

Paris, France
October 12, 1889

It's been nearly a week now since the Le Premier Palais des Femmes has opened. I gander about, and see all the free faces. Misters in their best outfits slobbed themselves over the glories of an actual woman that was not their wife. They saw beauty and an opportunity for a feeling of strength and masculine power. Different attire worn by the women reveled much skin. The men gathered two or three mistresses and a bucket of *** and went off to their homes. I was disgusted and delighted to be here. I recently resigned the Misses just to do this tonight. It's 21:47. I look around for faces that I would be delighted in claiming my own for a night and two. Nothing caught my eye. I started to gather my stuff and leave, but suddenly a face I hadn't seen appeared in front of me. Her breath smelt of mint leaves and joy. She spoke to me and asked me for the night. Asked me! Such a remark from a woman of that low should earn a punishment, but she seemed like she was innocent. As rude as it was, I took her offer since I had no other plans for that night. She took me back to her home where she had set up a fire and food. It was as if she had planned it for me. It was so beautifully laid out. I looked around her home, it was astonishing. She then leaded me to her bedroom, where she left rose pedals on the floor and one candle lit. She grabbed me. That's when I met my Mistress from the Moulin Rouge.

relation devolved:
a walk to a crawl?
relation evolved:
adapted free-fall
to death
or to life,
in the wake
is a funnel
in disrepair:
a lost time
after ma’am’s,
after misters;
no need
for callous,
just blisters.
raw puppy eyes
converge
in the sky
as our lids
slowly close
over waste.

Note: This is a spoken word poem. Read aloud for best affect. Poem will read with a natural flow.

When life hands you lemons
You make lemonade
Remember when that was one of those little phrases made
When your best friend's smile would fade
Out on the playground
And you wanted nothing more than to see them smile
So you took their hand and jumped in the leaf pile
Because lesson number one was about friendship
And your best friend meant more to you than that
Bus ride home sitting next to that cute boy from school
Back when charm bracelets were cool
And a date was a playdate was a trip to the pool
And there you learned lesson number two
Loyalty
Because when your best friend couldn't swim, suddenly
Neither could you
And you sat and splashed
And had a lot of fun all the same
And it was just the beginning
Because you learned that being loyal was better than winning
That schoolyard competition of hoop-spinning
Even if you didn't know what loyalty meant
You  knew that seeing your friend win
And seeing them happy
Was much better than winning yourself
Sometimes
And lesson number three came on your very first
Friend's-only shopping spree
And you finally felt free
Because you had fifty bucks and, I mean,
How much more money could there possibly be?
And you walked into that store your big sis had been in
And your tomboy best friend tried on her very first dress
And that was when you learned that beauty comes in all shapes and sizes
'Cause you knew it would have been a major lie
To tell her that she didn't look absolutely beautiful
But lesson number four wasn't like the ones before
Because this one smashed down your door
And you vowed never to be friends with your BFF anymore
Because she texted that guy you like...
...Or so was the rumor that spread through your school
And this lesson was about trust
You learned to believe those who mattered
And ignore those who didn't
And not long after, the saying "Honesty is the best policy" came true
When you lied to your mother about what you were gonna do
After school
And when she found out, like all moms know how to
You sobbed and you cried
You felt like you'd died
Needing one thing and only one thing
Needing it more than food to eat
Or water to drink
Or air to breathe
You just needed Mom to believe you again
And so you discovered lesson number five: Honesty
And you picked up a few things along the way
Like always look both way when you cross the street
Like always turn in your homework on time
Like sisters before misters
Whatever that would mean
You were only fourteen
And like knowing which way to go
Like knowing to tell people when you were going
Like knowing that someone would always want to know where  you were going
Because someone would always need you to come home
Because someone would always love you
Even if you felt like the most worthless person alive
Because you had been left behind
You'd been cast aside
Even when you cried for days on end
Felt like you'd never live again
Like everything had been pretend
Like you didn't have a single, solitary friend
That was when *your best friend learned lesson number six
The one about being there for each other
And even when it stung
Still tighter you hung
Thinking nothing would ever get better
Not wanting to hear that things would
Even when you knew that things could
And eventually, the years went by
The time did fly
And the painful memories faded
And there you stand on the first day of freshman year
Filled with fear
But feeling triumphant, knowing the past was past
The pain wouldn't last
High school would fly by fast
And as you walk through those halls
Sticking to the walls
Hearing your friends' calls
You think, "Huh. Isn't it funny, the stuff my parents said I'd find
All in due time
Are all things that I've dealt with before?"

Snap, crackle, pop, *******, maybe one day our way of life will match up, maybe someday you’ll shake the sad and sick way you sound with your face buried in the ground, snap crackle and pop, snap, crackle and pop.
Snap, like snap dragon, like fire breathing flower beating pollen from bee stings, letting you insert your syringe in, snap, my neck to keep me stagnate, snap your tongue as I walk but, cackle and cat call, call me something derogative, like *****, snap, my negotiative nature has me nearly kneeling on my knees screaming at the stars, snap, because I’m snapping out of this phase, faking it until I’ve made it am I manly enough yet? Binding my breast, walking with my legs apart holding inside the pains of a broken heart until it leaks from my pores, shorter hair and it’ll seem like I don’t have a care in the world, snap crackle pop *******, maybe one day your say won’t matter, maybe someday I’ll shake off the need to impress you when all you’ve done is oppress me. Impressively I’m openly opinionated still, despite your
Crackle, like cackle, like a catapult of insults, like injury that has no bruises, like being lost and found and the sound of your voice, is crackling. Caressing my nape with knives, making the demons inside harder and harder to hide from when they hide inside your hide, your skin, which you stick to me like crackle, snap crackle pop *******, maybe one day your opinions will be shattered by someone who’s louder. Maybe someday someone will smother your power. Maybe someday your soap box will be lit on fire. Snap, crackle, pop.
Pop, like gun shots, like self-entitled macho misters, mysteriously gliding into plain sight, entitling themselves heros where the title terrorist is more fitting, letting themselves let loose and losing themselves in the blood bath created by a society which values machismo over women saying “no” pop, like people placing bets on how many lip stick rings they can get around their *****, pop, like men making markers holding us down with words which pop our ear drums and drum us silent, like silently held hand guns hidden in plain sight, like women lined up to be killed where men should be lined up to learn, where girls are hurled under the bus because our skirts are too short and our voices too shrill, where we **** ambition that grows like snap, like a snap dragon, a fire breathing flower found beautiful but dangerous, like crackle, the cackle of your cat calls and like pop, like gun shots sounding into the streets, like the silence of the women we never knew we needed to heed. Snap, crackle, pop. Stop, holding your tongue and stay your hand, take a silent stand.
Snap crackle and pop *******, because today I can’t afford to let your words matter.

the moon is near white after being lowly yellow
for a spell, some random is acting out
a werewolf incantation on a windowsill
air-drumming - honestly, i thought that air-drumming
would always be more entertaining than
that ******* of air-guitar - you get the groove man,
you improvise your own rhythm, you
rip the ******* heart out and tell it to be rhythmic
to your own choosing - but no, you had to get the
elongated imaginary ***** out fiddle it like
a flute you'd never blow into - makes sense,
entertainment comes dirt cheap these these in Las Vegas,
the sombreros are out and the jig misters of
forgotten jazz are playing a speedy version of
Miles Davies' kind of glued blue - oddly enough
i liked the abstract corn-on-the-cob *******' brew,
don't ask me why i think what i think, certain music
just makes me think - but in the case of the doors' L.A. woman?
nope, no clue, i get the spontaneity jitters all over me
like goosebumps at a horror movie screening -
i start singing, i start air-drumming,, July 3, 1971 in Paris
never happened - they still put make-up on the cemetery
bust while the Spanish leave a joint (which some
*** probably picks up, smokes it and giggles)
but the point is, i can hum the bass-line, the guitar solos do not
deviate that much from the rhythm, they're more tweaks
than solos, accents, when guitar and vocals combine,
the vocals give cue to the guitar to do a sly elevation from
the rhythm, jazz rock, man, that's what the doors invented,
jazz rock, never heard that before, it's not prog rock
with too much elaboration on either drums or guitar,
guitars of Mahler or Penderecki can hide in the dungeons,
i mean slick ****, so many years on and i'm reinventing
the ****** thing, it's not even psychedelic rock,
fair enough Manzarek playing the cowboy harpsichord
of the saloon with some odd drinking buddy (like me)
flipping the score pages and pouring liquor into his gob,
but all the instruments get a chance to breathe,
the vocals aren't exactly Meat Loaf and thank **** for that,
it's like clicking your fingers or whistling -
i can hum the bass line, i can air-drum the beat,
the guitar solos compliment the rhythm / rhyme -
jazzy rock, it's a fluid composition...
by the way... please, someone tell me that Val Kilmer
isn't playing the position of defensive midfielder for
Grzegorz Krychowiak... a doppelgänger if i ever saw one;
i must be ******, i'm seeing double; uh.

She smiled through the unease
And accepted too much
She was eager to please
Took the unwanted touch
Until her skin grew blisters
And she cried out with shame
Too boisterous for Misters
She takes on the blame

[This piece is a grower, one of my lengthier poems, but don't worry - just enjoy the journey on my ride.]


Craigs Schindler's
the Personals, VIP - Invite
Lists
Of "A" Listers on the DL
Haters D-Listing us...

So yeah, I got on
Craig's Intersection on Chrome,
and this what I read...

[MEN Seeking Men]
"Amen and good luck on finding the One in here"

Cyber-ly here,
We Seekers seeking Sick seas
to feel pleased,

Should of made a quick sticky
Note - "It's like looking through a filth mag."
with a mouse to turn the page
No need to feel shame.

Let's give us a chance,
Cyber here be
like - click - pics - clack
opens where we view
at that - a close up of a Mr.'s

**** Slong Johnson Peter Pecker Wood
(Don't ****)

Mushroom tops / Low sagging sacs...
The next pic - *click click is also Member only.
Who's ads dare say
self-description / Promo / Sales' Pitch
A one-liner catch phrase

Hook  Line  And  Sinker.

**** Pleasures.  All your needs.
Age : 26 / Location : Strip.
His pic is also ****.

Where's my Cub? Top seeks Bttm
Bottom of the list
but still - It's Equal Opportunity Miss.

Late Night ******* looking for a Regular
(You know like how dogs keep going back
   to the same spot he ******)

Want a *******--22

Nips and JO (You know J for Jack and then Off)

Busco Chavito Activo M4M
Muchacho's Quatro Mi'cha-chos

All-American for encounters with the Same - discreet

Pages on pages of this place
Cyber Ether Web
And the address for such sites
     No longer a conversation chat room to connect
its business of exchanges
no one likes wasting time
getting nothing
     No one cares for a walk in quick-sand sludge
drowning in mud

In excess we numb our selves
from the heavy absence of Life
but I dare say :
     "Self-Respect is Love -Self - Love"
I stop flipping through the pages
of **** upon **** pics
a few body and **** shots
not one of a face
     without shade, beanies, hoods, photo-shopped
"disguise" - is the same as "hide"
so not to be recognized
so ridiculed with embarrassed shame
where they respect you at work

Must not end up like **** on Craig's list.
And without a pic, I place my own post

Yearning for Mr.'s **** Slong Johnson / Peter Pecker Wood
(Just for kicks--curiosity--what kind responds replies)
It's a gamble on here
Cyber-ly in there - with lists raining
*** and **** and misters (its hot in Sin city).

What's cookin'--who's lookin' -- Sookies
****** and Chance
perchance ...

To dream and in that dream, Feel...
when all I feel is blue
**** Slong Johnson Peter Pecker Wood
wit deez ... nuts
Family Jewels
Nothing but wanting for nutting

Don't be a ****
and go look for some kind of kindness
some kind of beautiful
life of a Love Life
back then when in the back of an '80's
pink station wagon...

Howling at the moon as all dogs do,
And no sign of a ******

Thank goodness thanks to She
All
Mothers love
my Juliet's
with sincerest respect

Don't forget to look for Love
now
**"I bow to the Divine in You"

Liar Liar,
you're pants are on fire.
Something something something, hanging on a telephone wire.

Liar liar,
the only thing that rhymes,
it's a shame we take such pride in things, that waste our precious times.
Let's hear the truth, spoken from our lips,
in fact lets say it form our soul,
let it emanate from our head and even past our hips.

The Truth is,
Jesus is the way, the truth, the light,
you want to disagree? I"m not going to fight.
I'll give you my love, and blessings upon you,
may peace and forgiveness follow, and be with whatever you do.
Just let me keep my Faith, and allow me to pass it to you.
I won't force it, know that's recipe to take a fall,
I just wanted to plant a small little seed, one little seed, that's all.

So forgive me if I came out brash,
I just rather prefer word-of mouth, than than the tag-of hash.
G'night my friends, my brothers and sisters,
all of you from all the other mothers and misters.

Liar Liar
pants on fire,
burns up slow, but heats up fast,
soon it's nothing more, than memory in the past.

The truth stays forever,
forever and always, like love,
so rightfully naive.
Because Love and us, we have the right to believe.

Adam4's acquaintances who frequent
Foxholes as salivary soliloquy,
Usually suspected no second helpings

A dim ambience for an active bedroom
On battery powered candles
Concorde lighting
The carpet's edges chewed thin
Receding hairlines
And he uses me as bait..?

Our neglected puppy's teething
Nesting under California
King Mojo's hollowed cushions
Keeps him gnawing these nights
Misters and oil burners

I was mistaken, there are those
That revisit--reacquainted with him,
Must of shared a Starbucks,
As his Sasquatch hands
Rub wet platinum on his old fellow
Bears and their Cubs

Silicon smooth pets, house boys
Fished from the deep web,
Plagiarizing with their eyes the pleasures
Of Eurocreme
Bare back dreams, hours heave
The subtitled felatio scenes

I tell the old man, they only ***
After and mostly when
Most of the guest leave,
There is one hovering quick
To accommodate his
Ginger manly girth

I'll be out in the smoking section
At the side of the house
Through the slider door
From off the kitchen dining area
Where he had once
Replaced the table with billiards
For a Lenny and his troop...

His Samsung vibrates every time
I take a five to breathe
Chain smoke and self defocations grief
He posts another ad.

If only you heard
The vagrant shout
A banchee in my skull
For these off the street urchins
Plugged in to the internet's latest
For a place to squat
For winter will be cold
For them to just
****** off

And here I go again,
Assuming that these were decent folk
Come for the holidays
Between taint and pocket rocket
Wallets drain
When one lets the desperate
Indigents
Free range...
"What's there for dinner?"  

**** chicken heads again?
*Same ole same old dope...

Turvy-topsy,
Windwhirl
Up-down through the rabbit hole.

Mushroom tea-gardens,
"Eat me," "Drink me,"
The world is downside-up.

Clusterfucks of growing and shrinking,
Dum-Tweedle and Dee-Tweedle guide/block;
Cheshire's smile mocks from above.

Twisters, misters, no sisters.
Confusion reigns supreme.
OFF WITH HER HEAD!

I CAN'T BELIVE IT.
NO, BETTER YET, I CHOOSE NOT TO BELIVE IT.
I... CHOOSE NOT TO BELIVE THAT THE GIRLS I CALL MY SISTERS BE TURNING TRICKS ON SOME MISTERS.
I... CHOOSE NOT TO BELIVE THAT MY STRONG, SWEET COCA BUTTER TREATS ARE JUST FREE COOKIES FOR A BROTHER TO EAT.

SEE, UNLIKE SOME, I STAY AWAY FROM TEMPTATION AND THE LUST FOR DRAMA,
BECAUSE WHEN I LOOK AT MY SOUL SISTERS I SEE A VISION OF MY MOMMA...
A STRONG SWEET COCA BUTTER QUEEN.
WITH MORE POWER AND WIT THEN I'VE EVER SEEN.
A QUEEN THAT WENT FROM BABY TO GIRL TO LADY TO WOMAN.
AND NEVER EVER SOLD OUT THE FOOD IN HER OVEN.

... WHAT A SHAME NOW...

TO THINK THAT JUST AWHILE BACK WHEN WOMEN WERE SLAVES... HOW,
THEY FOUGHT BACK SLAVEMASTERS AND TRAINED HOUNDS.
MY OLDER SISTERS STRUGGLED AND EVOLVED.
BUT MY SHORTY'S GAVE UP AND DEVOLVED,
OR SHOULD I SAY DISSOLVED
INTO DEFAULT,
FREE FOR ALLS
IN A COMPETITION TO STAY BLINGIN' FROM WALL TO WALL.

BUT WHO'S TO BLAME?
THE MEDIA? THE FAME?
OR THE TWO THAT GAVE HER HER NAME?
I SAY IF A SISTER IS OLD ENOUGH TO BE RESPONSIBLE, THAN SHES OLD ENOUGH TO GET IN TROUBLE.

... BUT THAT'S JUST ME...

AND YES I KNOW I SOUND A LITTLE OLD SCHOOL AND THAT IM CROSSING THE LINE BETWEEN SOULFUL AND CYNICAL.
BUT I GOT LOVE FOR MY SISTERS,
I'D SHED BLOOD FOR MY SISTERS.
TAKE THE TIME TO GET THINGS RIGHT AND LEARN FROM MY SISTERS.

BUT THAT'S JUST ME!

ANOTHER BROTHER TRYING TO GET BY
IN A WORLD THAT NEVER TEACHES YOU HOW TO FLY.
I GO FROM HARD TIMES TO TOUGH TIMES TO RAW TIME TO WRONG TIMES.
BUT THAT'S JUST ME.

... THAT'S JUST ME! ...

NOW, WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF A YOUNGER SISTER FAKING THE FUNK STEPPED TO ME AND SAID:
"BUT THAT'S JUST ME."

ID TELL HER; "GIRL, THE REAL YOU IS YOU,
AND NOT THE YOU THAT SOME OTHER FOOLS TOLD YOU WAS YOU."

YOU SEE, PAYING ATTENTION TO SOME LEADS YOU DOWN A ROAD CALLED NEGLECT.
THAT'S THAT LEFT TURN YOU TOOK IN THE INTERSECT OF RESPECT.
WHERE THE BROTHERS WERE MEN AND THEIR MANHOOD WASN'T *****.
DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER?
OR HAS IT BEEN TOO LONG?

YOU'VE BEEN CASUALLY STROLLING DOWN A BOULAVARD WHERE EVEN BROKEN DREAMS ARE A BONUS.
WHERE ALL BLING BLING IS BOGUS
AND WHERE EVEN THE CLOSEST PEOPLE SEEM OUT OF FOCUS.

THAT'S THE YOU YOU LET THEM CHOOSE FOR YOU.
THE YOU YOU WENT AND LOST FOR YOU.
AIN'T NO RESTART IN THESE PARTS BOO BOO.
JUST ASK THE BLIND MAN...
MAYBE I'LL TELL YOU...

Any word never so softly spoken
never words ever so stately joking . . .
hopeless without dope
the whole world tokes--
just don't choke
and swallow smoke so toxic.

I've had it with this rock ****,
wanting women to go *******.
knock THIS with fists clenched to bliss
never was there ever so sinister a kiss.
don't miss this chance to be missed for misters miss's listless jist of this.


sound is forever
ever heard of white noise
its the sound of people fighting across the world forever ever for letters between a girl and a boy.
are you sure?
do you really want this?
can you bomb it, not drop it
to **** meaningless fetuses?
why are you reading this?
you can't beat this.
Eat this slowly trying to depleat this.
guess what?


everhing you've been reading is meaningless.

tick tock; only time can make
things grow
but if you attempt to fiddle
with father time
you will not reap what you sew
one could even consider the
travel of time a mere simplistic
crime

but even our brothers and sisters
often live in the past
just like our mothers and their misters
marriage does not last
just a piece of paper, and
two bands around a finger
and sooner before later a lust
for touch will linger
so gather the material objects to
create a raging fire
becareful of each splinter
that will do everything to conspire
against you like the cold cold winter

I've already begun to feed
the flame with each document
just like the seed that grows
into an argument
the wickedness is in our bloodstream
and we can never repent
so try to wake up from this dream
that holds you hostage
and your speeding down lifes road
on empty, and your low on milage

Children are dying...
I'm kicking back, with nothing to complain about, yet complaining.
While *children are dying
I'm dancing
to my favourite song with my pals and sisters.

While they bleed because of the blisters
caused by the wood of their broken homes.
Unheard screams and groans
Getting ***** by strange misters.
Bombs and grenades fall like raindrops from the sky

BOOM BOOM BOOM! The soundtrack of their lives
An endless lullaby
And they cry
and cry.
But I can't hear them,
for the music in my room is too loud.


                                    Children are dying*.

There’s an uneven contempt for hipsters
–those ephemeral horn-rimmed misters–
who gallup through life
quite undaunted by strife
peddling style to both monsters & tricksters

Oh the laughing sisters
And mustached misters
Clad in diamonds that
Glare as I stare
Out on the diamond ocean
Saying I never loved a lady
Like the one that got away
She said she could not obey
But the praying ministers
With their naked chuckling
Alright I see through this sky
I am alone without myself here
And I am free to live as live can be
Without itself I am nothing but you
Torn apart without money or a face
And is this part of the story too hard
To bear?
I ask not in question but in query of
Where we have no permission to lie
Cornered by the man in yellow who
Dances without smile or frown
And here in this hotel room where
The window is cracked and the
Waiter is crowned and gone
Neither night is clear or morning sincere
I mention this for her and not for me or
You in sight the kite's string is tight
Tell me love how long I can live for
Please I beg I plead and I realize that
In this place for truth fortune mentions not
Dictionary definitions for love and
For hate and for
Nonsensical bottom feeding trash heaps where
Art is put on the heads of the ones that
Only will to create for this land is too
Heavy in heat and fire and brimstone and
The prophet chuckles in a breathy beurocratic way
Telling everything that shouldn't have been said
On the death of Him He was released from himself
I had left him for another time, another place
Withholding the help nature had given him
Chaos had plagued Him with
People had forced Him to live up too
Cadence in the most convaluted form
Lonesome hard times in Old New York Town where
I never been but I soon wish to see where
Dreams sail through the air like ol' Fall leaves and
Ghosts of Christmas Eve in sorrowful moves
The ones where we used to whisper and see and been
So I see no heart when they eyes are broken and
The mention of the ear ache where the Baron paid
His last debt and saw too much war and the women
With their braids, their whiskey, and their beads told
Out to the God that said would save them that He
Lied and He pried into their children's minds wherein
I saw fate and death and life all wrapped into one
Infinite lines scribbled long with a fine young four year old
Eyes of an angel and the hands of million year old man
Genius in the crowd and genius in hell
Longing for a fate different from their own
Alone with a tomb of stone white water drowning and alone
Underneath the near farewell in a kiss that stings like a bee
That carries you through life like having your own pair of wings
And the hotel you mention is not where I been
The place where I'm going ain't death or buried or the least bit scary
I tell the place where I'm going for her and her only
So at the station praise all that is here and in life where she hast been
History mentions the victors as the piano screams and yells
But lo' the man that shows fear in the eye
In heart through itself heat praises poor for more
She envelopes each note from the piano that falls from the sky
A kiss where envious jealousy once did reside
Know not where the bullet came from
Know not where absence is obsessed with itself
Hard as a rock in the souls of the highest bidder
Longing for purpose and reason and sentence
Trusting that this is not the life you were supposed to lead
And in that you see the truth where it is vile and
Covered in the stink of rotten war torn vermin
Linking the past to the future and the future to the present
Sinister in the melancholia of us men and us women
We present the unpresentable as the need for going on
Where gone nature would continue all the more blissful and
Peaceful and meaningful
Terror in the hearts of man like a firecracker in the mouth of a frog
Each minute races through the thicket dumb waiter
Franz reveals the trick behind the pen
Bob behind the song
Aching for a salvation that will only come in death
Just for the blues and only for it
Telling the last tale of man that will never be heard
Pushing through your shell of a body a cage
A barracks filled with no faced soldiers
Men and women without names
People without purpose
A light at the end of the tunnel
But in the ruins of the mind of man forgotten
Dreams of double temper tantrums re-awake in
Time each tick of the clock of the ever glade
So serene in the eyes of the ones we wish not to be
Crowded dreams in desire for the work is there
But the hard nosed preachers predict the death of man kind
And God with his ticket that shines in the sun
Tells himself the world was meant and created for fun
Wrapped in the down turning world that spirals fast
For it knows that love and life cannot infinitely last
So in the turning of the hour each night I ee I let go
Cornered by mans imagination that boxes even the largest
Hardest roughest toughest ******* with the mall type
Insurance that says if you live to this point you are then granted worthiness
Caught in the block of tepid eyes that frollock in the wake of midnight
Diamonds on the streets of the city but everyone is too busy
To mention their desire for another kind of life
The dice has fallen and we sit around waiting to see where it will land
But its Ok I see now why you have to go
I am blind in the heart but I'll know soon where to start

What is family?
I know that it is any one related to you,
you know,
second cousin twice removed and all that.
I love all my family dearly,
my aunts and uncles,
brother and sister,
cousins,
grandparents,
great aunts,
great uncles etc.

But I also have another family,
My best friends who are like brothers and sister to me,
Emme Shoup,
Frances Calvin,
Sophia Hale,
Jacqueline Peaglow ,
Taylor Corkil,
Maile,
Dakota Thrall,
Jazmin Villasenor,
Crimson Morgan,
Marshall McIvor,
And many others,
I want to thank you for always being there,
When I needed you most,
You have helped me through the hard times,
And laughed with me through the funny ones,
You have never given up on me.

I would like to say one thing to you all,
Even if you give up on your selves,
I will never,
EVER
give up on you
You are the siblings I never had,
My sisters from other misters,
My brothers from other mothers
And,
I love you.

One day, Tom, **** and Harry
Went sailing on a little boat
They were more than it should carry
So it could barely stay afloat

Determined to go on this trip
They just did not care
They had plenty wine to sip
And many ribald jokes to share

Tom was so excited he stood up
**** was tipsy and shouted his joy
Harry was drunk and threw up his cup
To the foaming waves, they screamed: Ahoy! Ahoy!

Suddenly, the white clouds grew dark
The waves rose higher than usual
This was a tougher nut than they could crack
They knew their survival was crucial

Tom had an expecting wife at home
**** lost his wife but had two lovely kids
Harry's mother had a tendency to roam
She was ailing and had special needs

The boat bobbed on the raging sea
The three men huddled together, horrified
And when the storm roared, "you and me!"
They almost peed their pants, they were that terrified

Tom suggested crying for help
They began to chant: "save our souls!"
**** and Harry agreed: "Let's divide our wealth
And give most of it to our foes!"

No help was forthcoming
They tried to row stronger to shore
The storm was overcoming
They were blinded in the downpour

Not long after, they heard a reassuring sound
Coming for them, was the rescue ship!
They were lost but now found
And wouldn't die on this trip

Misters Tom, **** and Harry
Safely returned to their families that day
And the lessons they did carry
Have stayed with them till today

When I am a mother,
my children will be kind,
they will be strong, but they will have a kind mind.
I will be good to my children, but they wont have it easy.
My daughter will know about boys her age and how they automatically assume she's just as ******.
She will know that she can never be replaced, shell know Ill love her always.
When I am a mother my son will know grace.
He will treat others, the way he would like to be faced.
He will know to protect his sister, value her over any of her misters.
When I am a mother I will love my children.
If my daughter decides she's a he,
and if my boy wants to play dress up Barbie.
Because when I am a mother, like I plan to be,
no matter who my children are, what gender they will identify as, even if their body doesn't say that.
No matter who they fall in love with.....When I am a mother, I will love my children...because they are my miracle....and they are the world to me

My Words
My thoughts
my lines
None of it works
Some of it rhymes
is it even supposed to rhyme?
It takes up so much time
wasted time?
Maybe
But I like wasting my time
With little notes and little rhymes
A thought here
And a doodle there
but whats the point?
Does there have to be a point?
Cant we just be
Cant we speak and laugh and doodle and rhyme  
And all chime in together to have a good time
Without there really being a point?
I believe your rambling again
Yes, yes I know
My apologies and good day
misses and misters
Good sir's and good ma'am's

distant world, before unseen, by eyes like we,
she roamed, unseen, heard only by her sisters
she growled her dominance, none could see
they had no eyes, but two jaws, come misters.

the white man saw her ferocious form
took her, bound her, forced her sleep.
whipped her, trained her to to the point of norm
she growled at them, and the cuts run deep.

she wraps her tail round her ****** self
weeps through eyes that arent there
her purpose now is gain her master wealth
none but one did show her care

the man, dark tan, did care for her
he bounnd her wounds, helped her heal
in a way he loved her, for sure
though she was different, this be what he feel

I see your hair
Gleaming in the sun
Your clothes hadn't the slightest tear
Your hair was up in a messy bun

You took my hand and showed me around
You were very clever
To you I was forever bound
Bound by blood, forever

You are my sister
I would have it no other way
We used to say sisters before misters
Sisters we will always stay

The light catches in your eyes
I see your smile so bright
You have never told a lie
You are always full of light

I awake from the dream
Crying in the dark
My parents hear my scream
It all ended with a spark.

Since Facebook turn to shade
Some of y'all need to go home and bath
Talking bout this on fleek, that on fleek
But dem cockroaches flying
And dem baby mouse starta squeek
Tryna break up a good home
Cause your skanky *** can't make your own
Talking bout hot gyal this and hot gyal that
Well hot gyal don't scrape out another gyal ***
Hot gyal can read and write
And know dem worth plenty
Only thing some of you ******* can do nowadays is take ah selfie

Y'all make me sick with this ***** mentality
You see, a sista can't talk to a mister
Without some ******* thinking he's ******* her
And she can't go out looking fine as hell
Without some ******* tryna get with her
And these so called misters
Seems to me like dem waist blister
Cause dem pants always dey by dem *** like some prisoners
Talking bout "man ah gangster yow"
***** please, you ain't no gangster, you ah "Gyow"
Instead you people go look for a job or educate yourself and ****
Y'all out here looking like a bunch ah ***** *** *****!




    *La Vida Love

Before I start the magic off, can I turn the tragic off?
That's like telling a verb to turn the action off.
I've sworn to secrecy but now I'm kinda bored,
I will expose the truths and exchange my views for knives and swords,
I've tried these ****** more times than a robber tries a door,
I guess they make these sirens for,
alerting others part of task force,
to stop this *******,
from obtaining a bachelors and crashing cars through his neighbors back porch,
when I get a misters just say bye to the Rav 4,
Get a mack truck, show it to a mountain like a crack *****,
and if a sore ever opened up I'd never cover,
I'd let it fester get infected because I love to suffer.
A sadomasochists I sleep on nails for comfort,
I go to hell for summer just to see if ****** made me supper,
you should know I am my fathers sun - watch the horizon,
I could be setting or be rising any time of the day,
It all depends on perspective, but you can make your mind up.
On speed, vibing to me, I'm going to take my time bruhh.
A man that's twice my age shouldn't have this in his mind,
regardless of whats he's seen,
been exposed to or he's dreamed,
I'm a pessimist prime, with speciality in design,
I can create your worse nightmare and inflict suicide,
now you decide you if you really want to listen more,
I don't recommend it... *****.

Epistemologically I am the source,
for hatred, love, peace and wars,
whatever's done is done unto me,
and nothing more,
so severed four tail bones of a geisha,
left no tip for a waiter,
except go back to college,
and bachelor in communications,
and then commune with Satan,
two vacations, write with a plume that's placed in,
the blood of Judas with juice from his noose on your apron,
hold fast to the statement of ******, and fornication,
and when you run out of patience he will show up with a conveyance,
your soul for some placement on #1 radio stations,
so of course you sign, the dotted line, promoting your skills debasements,
those hours spent in the basement,
you coward how can you face him with powers prescribed from Jason,
who killed your father for payment.

Osama your occupation, terrorizing the minds,
of children to young to think of themselves, help keep them blind,
in the dark, as you preach false thoughts to top the charts,
bet if you stabbed you in the chest, you wouldn't feel a heart.

And then they scream,
Louder with every bite of dark chocolate,
Late movies date and fun mate,
Misters were in each ones dream
was their real fate.

Conflicts and sorrows
Comes and fades,
Love was the only reason as  they relates,
The winter brought happy,
Like the apple was arouse as Appy,
Secrets keeper,
Like salt and pepper.

Fashion parade, dance and date,
Truth and dare inappropriate,
Again the conflicts rise and shed,
Love was the only reason ,
The sisters were made.

We met on common land
Sharing a favorite band
We started holding hands
And I felt absolutely grand
Following your similar strand
But I began to feel ******
Once I saw you had planned
To burn me with your brand
You had my idiosyncrasies scanned
So you could start acting bland
Once I was on your nightstand

While trying to give me an *******
You put on a fake southern inflection
Thinking it’s in vogue to be Texan
You’re more like Rogue from the X-men
Spreading your shapeshifter infection
Trying to pass your suitor’s inspection
You hide your personality from detection
Like a jaded politician during an election
You give the people what they want
Until they love you
Your similarities you constantly flaunt
Until they’re subdued

Your metamorphosis
Informed my bliss
By eating from my dish
You fulfilled my wish
Of finding who I’m looking for
Not knowing what’s in store
Once I start to see more
Deep down to your core
To find an empty floor
Behind a locked door

Raised as a changeling
With trends ranging
From punk rocker
To athletic boxer
In a life where validation
Is another person’s creation
Needed for ego inflation
That’s given as placation
For your simple sedation

Now you’re a shapeshifter
Looking to ape misters
As you forsake sisters
For date blisters
Creating a friendless drought
So when you’re down and out
You need a man who’s devout
While I look at you with doubt

I come to you with problems
You can’t help me solve them
You just listen to what I say
And then press replay
A form of redundant consolation
So issues I don’t relay
To avoid your echolocation
While my soul is filleted

Your Houdini act
Voodoo genie tact
Garnered a time pact
By tricking a blind bat
Through a mind hack
Which gave me great pain
The size of a Great Dane
For a misery refrain
After you interest feigned
To enjoy my reign
But your interest waned
And you quit the game
Saying I’m to blame

Once I’m replaced
You build a new face
On the one you erased
For another embrace
While losing all grace
Looking for an ace
To take you away from this place
Where you’ll always remain
An abrasive codependent strain
Viewing relationships as games
Or obstacles overcame
You become the bane
Of another’s lane
Causing rain
In their brain

Your focus on mimicry
Is super gimmicky
Pretending I didn’t see
Your lack of personality
When you can only parrot what other people say
You become an amalgamation of those you date
Which isn’t the worst but definitely isn’t great
When we should just organically relate