your eyes are like oysters i'd wish i would have gulped,
  a scenario of Narcissus who ate by the mirror...
     but then i listen to a heavy metal song:
and retract to change the lyrics
toward: fear of the selfies... fear of the selfie...
fear of the selfie... i have a phobia that someone
somewhere needs me to pose.
it's almost a cheerie cry, i'm a big boy i can walk
into a deathly hollowed-out road of
confiscated pride... the route i took,
engaged me with seven horses and one that almost
mistook my fingers for sugar cubes
and knocked my brains out after discovering
the plight of what it was nibbling on...
  but that's so ****** personal,
i might have insurrected the existence
of a satanic cult with me shouting
in the forest one time or other...
never mind that... your eyes are still akin
to oysters... a gulping-down of
whatever content it suggests...
no tongue-waggling, no breathing,
         just that shape akin to feline asiatic squirm
above a permanent slit: entangling with
what's known as sober-faced poker... or beyond
    purring: murmuring a sodden / well-trodden
path: and was anything else expected to suffer less?
   those eyes: esp. bound to a hispanic frozen lot of longing...
oysters jeopardised along with snails
  whenever the inquisition dared to come between us...
ergo dispersed the oily sexed up
***** Juan stereotypes of piston pump-pump...
nevermind, i call them twirling pumper-nickle gymnasts
of all things necessary kneaded into a chasm of org':
                         hispanic tilde eyes...
the eyebrow within the eye encompassing whatever
needs an expression... surprise? mmm, nada.
sunrise and was phone-*** so ever interesting as to
forget writing mistimed odes such as this?
                  thespian hoplites raised their tongues
toward the spear that suggested a marching was
the proper aversion toward a coup
with the director of theatre too violently itemising
Shakespeare toward a boorish scenario of
thrown rotten cabbage onto the stage.
        fewer hoplites suggested ******
  in the trojan horse, and fewer of the said "hashishin"
might have allowed history to bite at Homer's narrative
for posterity, had they not already said: ha ha! dope!
still, that locomotive tilde of the hispanic girl's eye
that ate the eyebrow, and squinted toward a sunrise
in demanding asiatic slit offense:
                           as monogamy for the sun invoking
marriage...
                    spinoza im eisen mädchen?
     hilfe anaconda! hilfe anaconda! hilfe aisha!
pricklengrund von hattin!
              hispanic tilde of the eye that ate the eyebrow
and demised the asiatic natural "squirm"
    and the forgotten sales of eyeglasses for myopia,
or too the once ticklish origin of silk with her
spinning don quixote's platonism to a
dame (akin to that fabled bride of Athos, good grief!)
that's dubbed *riza'doviento'dealma.

Hot tar and a thirty-year-old nickle's scent
broke the evergreen air as the bleak moonlight bent
shadows into the semblance of a grated vent.

On my cell phone I repeated what I meant
to a man behind three to four months on rent.
"Three or four thousand, come on Kent,

I'll let it slide for even two. I've lent
and lent and there's a considerable dent
in my wallet." He said the check would be sent

by the next week and remarked, "Time went
out the window. It disappeared in the events
of yesterday and was spent."

A week later a check was present
in my mail. It was crisp and unbent
but was written for "172,800 minutes and no cents."

I called up Kent, that incredulous tenant,
and said, "What is this check? It's content
is silly and makes no sense." "Relent,

relent, it's for four months of pent-
up time that was spent." "Time? The rent
can't be paid with a check to augment

lost minutes!" "You agreed to it before, on my word, as a gent."

CHANNEL 3 AT 7:


We are at the scene, now;
an awesome showing of
                    brute force.
What some are calling the
greatest moment in U.S.
                          history
and, some, "An example
of jingoistic propaganda
masquerading as self-
-liberation."

Whatever it is, Tom,
one thing is certain:
we will be here,
covering every second
of this gigantic American
                          moment.

"And we thank you for your fine
reporting, Lisa. Boy, I tell you,
the President is making a huge
mistake with this act."

You have got that right, Tom.
We, as Americans, cannot
allow this to happen. We have
to ask these people if they want
this to happen -- and, then, we
need to enforce, what we consider
progressive and better for their
well-being, to them. These people
are like lost puppies, Tom.
It is our responsibility to make sure
that they do not respect their religion,
their culture, or prehistoric way of life
they have become accustomed to.
If we ignore the issue, of their
third-world existence and third-world
values, then we will have lost as
human beings; and the United States
cannot lose whenever it comes to this.

"Lisa, bathe me in your words,
because nothing has ever felt so
clean and right. You're absolutely,
100% correct: we need to guide
these poor, helpless people and
show them what is right, when
it comes to culture, identity,
among other things."

Agreed, Tom. And thank you.
To make things simple for
the viewer at home, you wouldn't
buy a puppy and expect it to
**** anywhere it wanted?
You have to show it where to ****.
Heck, you have to show it what to
eat, so the **** can be a good ****.
To sum things up, these people have
been pooping incorrectly, for a long time,
and it is our responsibility to show them
the **** inside of us, and how we aren't
going to mix with them, but, instead,
show them how they can get a nice,
firm ******* that we all but
take for granted.

"Couldn't agree more, Lisa.
It is our duty, as Americans,
to help these people who have
been de-humanized, and show
them how to handle this and
the world, especially during
a time like this for them.
And let us not forget,
this is their moment."



MAD MIKE IN THE MORNING:

Hello folks, and welcome
to the Heat Zone; a place
where snowflakes melt
and where liberals sweat.
I, of course, am your man,
Mad Mike O'Leary and
boy, do we have some
serious stuff to talk about.

Our fabulous leader,
whom we shall respect,
has made our nation great,
as 195 countries --
excluding our's, of course --
citizens now have American flags
drilled into their skulls.
As an act of kindness,  
Our fabulous leader,
has given each of these citizens
the choice of keeping or removing
the flags. Of course, if one were
to try to remove the flag,
a tiny explosive would detonate,
as one can never be too sure
if a citizen would use the flag
as a weapon -- and, of course,
there is no promise that the flag
wouldn't touch the ground,
so Our fabulous leader explained
that flag burning would be an
acceptable method of removing the
flag from this plane of existence.

Here, today, we have political pundit --
or political genius; you decide --
Ryan Tomlinson to discuss this radical
new way of life, we unfortunately have
to endure. Ryan, what are your thoughts
on the controversial method of discarding
the flag: a symbol of our strength, love,
                                          and freedom?

"Well, I'll tell you Mike: you think you're
the mad one, you should ask my wife
about my reaction when I learned about
this atrocious tiny explosive destroying --
yes, destroying -- our great and mighty flag!"

Haha, is that right, Ryan? I bet Nancy got
the Rowdy Ryan I've met on Nickle Shot Night.
What were her thoughts on your reaction --
better, yet, what was your reaction, Ryan?

"Well, I can't tell you exactly how she
reacted to my reaction, because I wasn't
really listening. But, I tell you, ever since
He Who Shall Not Be Named left the office,
Our fabulous leader has had to adopt some of
his wild and, frankly, immoral methods --
which would include the burning of our flag."

You got that right, Ryan. It reminds me of
when my oldest left for college, leaving behind
some beers that little Matthew ended up drinking.
My point is,  He Who Shall Not Be Named
has left some stains that still need to be cleaned up,
but I am confident that Our fabulous leader will
scrub those right up; if Matthew can do it, so can he.
To move on, here's an issue I have
that no one is really talking about, Ryan:
Not only are you detonating this flag -- a
flag that millions of men, God Bless Them,
have fought and died for -- but you're also
covering this symbol of freedom in the
blood and gore and scalp and guts of
these dangerous people who would love
nothing more than to see our symbol destroyed.

"You hit the nail right on the head, Mike!
These people don't understand what it is
like to be an American; to deal with their
oppression and policing of our values.
They already have succeeded in dividing us
when it comes to this whole flag removal
method. You can't reason with these, people.
You can try to offer them a Benjamin;
you can try to give them tickets to Transformers,
but these people will never respect us or our
way of life. And these liberals are right behind them!
I'm not sure what the liberals plans are, right now,
but you can be sure they'll use this whole flag thing
to exploit something. Hell, they're already talking
about how we should teach these people to **** --
what if they get to them, first, and teach them to
**** on the GD flag?! The liberals are helping divide us!
That's what they do!"

You are so, so right, Ryan. This country is full of
the wrong ****; and is going down the toilet.
Well, unfortunately,
we have to go to commercial, but you can bet
your keister that we'll continue this important
discussion that involves your liberty,
your job, and your soldiers.
Mad Mike in the Morning, with special guest,
Ryan Tomlinson -- be right back.
Don't go away.

Have you ever had a pocket full of change?
so much change you need a belt just to keep your pants up?
so much change you could pay the mortgage in pennies, bury the twenties and pay them in coins.
because you dont need fat stacks to cover the cracks in your imperfections let them show,
like coins in your wallet.
if i had a penny for every petty penny thrown to the curb for its worth i'd melt them down and show the world that everyone can be part of something bigger.
So next time you see a procumbent penny lying face down on the ground remember.
every penny needs a pocket in which to preside,
every nickle has a name if only you'd ask remove the ask of class and realize that
no matter whether you're a penny, a nickle, if something more.
we are all just change.
So next time you find yourself in the club, don't make it rain, Make it hail!

lets make a love out of our past,
lets make a love that is forced to last.
together we can make poetry;
I promise to never let you down,
I’ll never let you frown.
Together, we can make poetry;
A peom of smooth words, smooth verbs,
Stayin in a room together, do not disturb.
Together, we can make poetry;
So what do you say, Baby?
Don’t make me get down on one knee.
I just think that, together, we can make poetry;
I write a word, its your turn, then mine,
If we each think she’s a nickle, together she’s a dime.
you see? Together, we can make poetry.
In love with the words and the rhyme on a page,
If we share the same love why not let it out of its cage,
If we can make poetry, the whole world can change,
So, what do you say Baby?
Lets make poetry.

Falling smoothly into chaos
Dancing with The Devil's twin
Staying out to all odd hours
Play to play but not to win

Holding onto little numbers
Clutching at the threes and twos
Tossing all the Jacks or better
Nothing left to really lose

Pony up my hidden nickle
Lay my hand down, easy breeze
Watch the other gamblers crumble
As I win with twos and threes

Rake in all my ill-begotten
Dust the prayer-dirt from my knees
Pocket up my lucky nickle...
Jesus loves those twos and threes.

many years ago in the tower of tunselous a man named tunselous was born
he gave birth to androsss ****** parents then he made his way to
rosswell new mexico to see if the ufo was still there and it wasnt
at tall tis but a forrest and a spot were a ufo used to be there was no
ufo so he traveled upwards to find one but instead found thee icy tower
of agnatohniousisoy he wnet on the great ice towar run where he found several dragons but not a single ufo
a man of tis a warden eve e preson seed no matter how hard you look
the ufos will cloak like ice dragons among there once was a man named turok
who find a ufo when looking add that man was me that man was a dino slayer
a king of eriched oreo bread if you know what i mean the point of the matter is
turok did not **** tunselouses parent for no reason then tunselous
said wait turok killed my pairents the warden said yes that is waht he
told me on the nyght we had tea on the icy roads of ufo city
tunselous said wait theres a hole cit7y of ufos the warden said yes
there is tunselous said do you have any left over tea from that night
the warden said no tea for thee then cast tunselous out of window
tunselous falled for inches into a pool of cat eyed johns fisherer
for impaired divers tunselous said wait if i eat theese pills they
will surely give me magic powers tunselous ate the pills and they did
nothing but give him magic powers he used the magic powers for nothing
they were not the ones he were searching many kingdoms ago a man once
said with great tun comes great selous and that man was trokie asked tunselous
if he wanted a robodog and tunselous said yes many kingdoms later tunselous find
the most magic thing that thing was a cat not any cat you see many kingdoms ago
cats were magic he would eat the flesh of cats and gain what litle magic was left in them
he latter went to calling himself tunsalous then he went back to
calling himeself tunselous and on that day he ate many a cat
and i mean many not the many you see on tv but the many catwhips you see for sale at sean johns
apple sale he has evrey year to get rid of his crapy apple computers
many years after sean john would meet on the very spot of the battle
feild where they fought and feasted on goatwich anvicos the goatwich
waS A POWERFUL king a king of druidness and fareness and evilness and
and gun shots in the leg and fair treatment of tunselous and kettlecorn
a bag of human limbs and markers and grocers and ****** enounters
and farawayland and great houses and ufos tunselous relized that
thee king was king of ufos and wnet to asked him for a ufo
and he gave him one and tunsalous studyed how it flyed
for many kingdoms later he discoverd powerfull magic within the the great temples walls of icelion
yes temples and temples and temples temples and temples and temples temples and temples and temples
temples and temples and temples temples and temples and temples temples and temples and temples
temples and temples and temples temples and temples and temples and small children small children were used
for many thing like eating but the story tunselous was not over intell many kingdoms later when a man asked
tunselous if he was a puppet tunselous said tunselous snear and left for a day and came back
to his homeland of akaria where the hut he was born in was the hut tunselous was born in was a small hut cald
tunselous prisom the prisom was a place to eat anything you felt like at anytime you felt like
and i mean anytime
any
time
tunselous traveled to double check on the ice roads but they melted in the sun tunselous drunk
thee blood
they were made of and walked into a stadium and stole mines and huts like the one he was born in like it but
not it like the time he went to the carnavile with ser topemhat (ser topemhat:hey tunselous got a nickle for a ride tunselous: no)
many times of ages ago tunselous traveled to a hut then left to find gold in a mine that did not exist he knw it did
not exist but he wnet anywhy for kingdom is power and power kingdom is the power to control what we belive are granerys
the long celebrated granery special was rice and pancake with a glass olive oil only men of magic get milk and
grand wizards get tea and some hard boiled plates the plate were not to eatbut to eat off of
for many kingdoms and men who day thing of kingdoms would be cast down a sean shower a sean shower was a shower where shawns lived
and bathed and ate the flesh of wales and and somtimes a shawn would *** to tunselous house and they would have *** all day day than he
relized the shawn name was andross and you know who andross was but they did it anyway back to the main topic a house on top of a hill
on top a of a mountain on top of and iceberg on top of a gateway to the best place ever there was only only one way to the best place ever
that is if you were tunselous
evrey day on that day evryone would eat anything they could eat that is how tunselous day started the day that is evreyday the
reason people eat what they want evreyday and not tea or olive oil or milk or rice or pancake or plates or cats or small children
in the words tunselous:
shal not eat u
eat blood of nurses
hav the most *** with any cat you see on the street
use the most elctro sappers in one go
have and eat local small children
do it with a orc
eat u up eat up so good
use magic *****

THAT IS WHY WE SHOULD TALK ABOUT HOW TUNSELOUS GAVE US THE FREEDOM TO EAT WHATEVER WE WANT EVREYDAY FOR AT LEAST 2 HOURS.

if you see any dragon contact tunselous NOW

the details of the next story are witness accounts of what tunselous did to find the lost yew crossbow of agroness

two days ago tunselous was thinking about crossbows when he thought what if there were a crossbow no one could
find what if i found it i would be rich and famous so tunselous went on the internet and typed in lost crossbows
and he saw a crossbow for sale instead of buying it he tracked down the person who owned it and asked him for it he said no tunselous killed him
on the spot and took the crossbow from him and sold it to himself for 800$ but surprise for him he was not rich and famous at least not yet he took the crossbow and
kept selling it too himself so he kept making money soon tunselous made 800$ and spent it on a used crossbow this crossbow
the crossbow he brought was not any crossbow but the crossbow of agroness he took the crossbow and shot it at a wall a few times then he put it in a box
and til this day it is gathering dust.

THAT IS WHY TUNSELOUS IS A MASTER HEADSMEN TO THIS DAY.

hung in black cobwebs
wrapping the ceilings
hot water cylinder
rusted to usless
old nickle plated
green tarnished teaspoons
food scraps that lurk
on ancient linolium
a sprouting of mushrooms
under the cooker
bin bags all spilling
jumble sale clothing
death a relief
only imagined

I've got five pennies in my front pocket
A bag full of broken dreams
I'm on a road to no where
Looking for my place of belonging
Sliding penny after penny in the vending machine
Their semi-green oxidization stains my thumbs
Hoping dollars would sprout from their compound
Hitting "return cash" on the vending machine for every time I've been told I won't make it
This time a nickle drops to the bottom
I've got a nickle in my pocket
A future full of promise

I've seen a ***** work for a nickeI
but I've never seen one with just one side
stereo would never sound as good
without that small decay
vision is sometimes one sighted
a stream sometimes trickles
out of its banks and thanks
I say to trickling down thighs for a nickel
both of her sides willing
taking a look at the wrong or right side
is worth sometimes a
shiny nickel.

They call him "Tweaker"

Those in the neighborhood of Spring Mountain

and Desert Inn, those who pace

the same streets and sleep in the same block.

He's ironic and contradictory,

calling everyone he happens

by "Slim"

his emasciated smile

black potholes and pyrite

is as genuine as his intentions

shaming traffic with his sadness

cardboard paper signs

"Just trying to get something to eat"

There should be a question mark

My exclamation point

No excuse not to give...

So here you are "slim" collecting the guilt

All the dollars a day in your concrete quilt

and your own red Target  

shopping cart...


Caught red handed behind 7-11

In the alley (cats avoid)

with a dub, a dime, or nickle sac

god smacked...

carrying conversations

With / a / no one...

So tired of playing
The same old worn out games
With a nickle and a song
Lifting my own name

Thinking out loud
That I can save myself
You see if not me
Then I ask who else

I'd be rich if I could
Sell off all this shame
Bottled tight up inside
But can't give any of it away

I keep holding out
One of the proud
Jesus is for losers
That's what I'm all about

He takes me just as I am
Down upon my knees
Jesus is for losers
And yes that would be me

I show up right on time
To my own open grave
Stinking to high heaven
Where sin has me its slave

Find I'm drowning in
My own wishing well
Thought back then that I could swim
These days not so well

Got it all locked up tight
Yet I myself have no key
In which to open up
This hardened heart in me

Randomly beat
Facing defeat
Jesus is for losers
I'm pointing fingers at me

Wondering at how
I became part of the crowd
Jesus is for losers
I'll take all that I'm allowed

Never much
On push and shove
Jesus is for losers
When you've had enough

Just as I am
Least we forget
Jesus is for losers
Are we not all there yet...

and they began t' sing
marching single file

from the west

no masqued men were these,
these were
Kachina whitemen only saw in curio stories,
now,
approaching the old
prosper-specter

sitting full-lotus in his Barco-lounger, curbside-score,
from the land of too much good stuff

still, it's America, best effort men have made,

up to now.
The whole world has known since the International Geophysical Year,
1957, when the Symbolized Face of the Hungarian Freedom Fighter,

graced
the cover of Time, as Man of the Year before, when they lost
their war
and nobody cared, because
every body knew Disneyland is the Happiest Place on Earth,
where wishes can come true, and

that place is in America as sure as

blue fairy, you'real wish, Urielistical wish-grant,
Asrael and the others
singing backup
reload
when you wish
side-really… and a subtle shift in per
spect capacity
let be, just so,

and haps sub tile into layers of complexity re

because we, the people born to mature in the environs of Dublin
writ large, we
seers endowed with tele-vison, from birth.
The elders who watched the roll-out.
Aye, we watched
us evolve
to now

our future bright they say, a bright white light, then what

now,
we can say. The seals have been broken.
Nothing hidden now stays that way in ever,

and ever, as you know it, began

sometime
agone afore in some direction beyond your
ken, as it were when kenning the way of a knack was
as common as dowsers in the desert of my childhood.

What's in any name but what the namer seems?
Hey, yah way, tha'swhat I say,
tell me
what I say
Hey
Dancing shuffle footed single file
pass the white shirt black tie messenger from
the telestial king down Sonora way,
via
Yahoo, feel that tickle fo' a nickle, Hiram say come see
come feel
a boinin' in d' boosum through

the very crystal lenses

portal-ible model
through which Joseph of the name
Smith,
-- link back to Cain, through Tubal, via Na'amah--
-- set a breadcrumb, landmark, tag- say good old way
-- sign out don't break the story

through which Joseph of the name
Smith, came sayin an angel of light came with another gospel,

maybe the same guy the Galatians were warned to ignor,
re-legate-- re-read- start at the top
or all meaning is
like a song sung by Kansas, when we aren't there,
any more, than those wee
merest kachina jingle bells listing in the winds

but the Kansas chorus is stuck asif dust is all a simple

higgs-ified mind can manage to
regulate

without reading any ancient landmarks on maps of meaning
tattoo'd to the face in your mirror

in the darkest memory you hold
dear,
dearest,
your precious, in your Gollum-purpose state you know so well
protect it for all its worth,
with only your
strength
to lift
being the measure of worth-ship.

Ex-tol the worth of no bher-don born while in my state,
poor
un-gifted.  I remain a mortal soul linked mitochondrially to thee,
for whom the bell
told. You heard, but you were tolled don't ask.

Listen, the same hunch that said, It don't mean nuthin',

when you say you know that,
you bet you do.

I slew this dragon, not you. I say what the map says.

The dragon died of natural causes, so now,
all its true-sures
is yers…
Crown o'glory moon shine

plumb pert-nigh perfect fiture
imagined happy place to a T, crossed
and I dotted

Bleibe Doch! This is where all the Faustian Losers left their marks.

This is not where I aimed t'be said the elder bro,

as the wastrel was welcome t'Dada arms,
the crucial critics rave
Sheiszkunst, who Rah!
isis throws
a party for the prodigal madrigal has returned
from the pig's sty

packing each redeemed pearl, his brother once
fed to swine.

bent low 'neath his pearl-loaded ****-pack, he lifts his head,
waves his
crown, Fini,

come see, he says.
where I live, nowadays.

This is that treasure, on another level
as you may imagine,
free, if

you accept charity.

{There's the rub, say professional older bro, I know, charity;
'taint fair,
s'foul some, some ne'er-do-well finds a
pearl in some pigsty,

I PUT THAT PEARL THERE FOR THE FUTURE
not now.
I worked
for them ****** pearls, I sweated, brow-sweat, lo and hi.
I hid them well,

only a fool would ever believe a treasure
could be found in such ****,

but some fairy pulled a fast one, 'put a bean in little bro's ear,
so when the pigshit hit it began to grow,
sent a tendril to tickle a special spot,
just above the left ear,
right
there,

let's see diamonds, no
pearls,

any where we wish.
Let's say okeh, mark this spot, let us move on,

this is life. Let us see that more abundantly, while the poor
are safe and sound,
free as me to pursue haps past the frozen

disnified happy-ever-after WW2,
in the wake of Camus and ****** Wolves

---
splashes as the speeders pass, powered-row-row-rowing,

merrily mere ly wrong, not evil. Live on, next
is as you wish it were
someday, but in its diapers,

still. A we thinker thought awaiting effectual function,
as this trigger is pulled, in your space in time,

and another bubble appears,
portalish as mine-craft if ever there were

a subtle shifter of perception conspiring
A.I. see
a conspiracy with Lex Fridman infected by
Lynning Skyward
though a wave of old Radioman vibes,
played with plastic spoons
a famous peace march by
Kenurchka Klumpen, Sera-serah-selah-sinnade in B-Natural

and the last to leave broke the right arm from the doll,
sealed the dirt box one measure by one measure
deep and wide,

That seal was broken, 1957, approxi apriori right
arm dis
allowing
the left to change this next to come, sym-bolische
ified in the one-armed bandits left behind,

the bet. The die cast. Foccinaucipilinihili or holy

happy hunting ground, imagined in the land of too much good stuff.

If I had a nickel for every promise that I was made. I would be able to buy enough bubble gum to supply all of Americas 3rd grade. All of the political promises that never come true. All of the nonsense promises that we are told. All are worth wooden nickels that we can never spend. So if I had a nickel for every promise made, I just might be a rich man.

I can't find my pockets
There
Is change
Maybe
A quarter or a nickle
Or a dime
For gum
My bike waits
Leaning
Outside with the old Gum
Of others who lost
Teeth
Or pockets
While my teeth
Smile
At the old guy
Waiting
For my money
Left in lost pockets
As my bike topples!

I was dreaming lucky
   But woke up cold in hand;
I dreamed I had a dollar
   But woke up cold in hand.

Woke up this morning
   Feel around for my shoes.
You know about that?
   They took yours too?

Sometimes I feel
   Like walkin'.
Sometimes I feel
   Like cryin'.
Sometimes I feel
   Like a motherless child.
Sometimes I feel
   Like I ain't no one at all.

Say brother,
   I can't make change
      For a nickle.

Say sister, oh sister,
   Can you spare me
      One thin dime?

"When a man gets the blues
He grabs a train and rides."

I know
   I ain't no man.

"When a woman gets the blues
She hangs her head and cries."

I know
   I don't feel
      Like no woman.

So when I get me back
   My walkin' shoes,
      Those worn out, old walkin' shoes,
I'm takin' this suitcase
   Full of blues I got
      And ride the boxcar blinds
Past Boogie Street
   All the way to
      Johnson's Crossroads.

Lines in Quotations are direct from Train Whistle Blues by Jimmie Rodgers, 1929

Shannadoa, laquadesh. Batta-anna, mlick ka dek.

Philly fickle ******,
Nickle dime dash,
Dangle ****** bongle,
Bickle bockle bash,
Sunny sun sunshine,
Beady brain bright,
****** lovey Mondays,
Matthew mum might.

No...more...bickerin,
your eyes flickering you're nickering
your nit pickin' lost it quick as the Dickens
My tracks a hell of a kickin'
you're just the next feckin victim,
of the flow bound Hurricane of sense and rhythm,
The Sensemilla Sensei Kempei of verbal Kempo's home,
Like Alladin and Saladin mixed with a Party Boobytrap a Paladin of Palindrome...
The Storm rider glider blasts you through the  other side of the Thunderdome
My - Spitfire drips Ire as ******* ***** fire Surprise in your eyes quick blast from the past from a .50 Cal Microphone-
Fiend in me soul under control you failed your roll,
will check failed-I check wills,its a Checkmate mate you-best quill your will and will to build some soul
Its a dill of pickle you're in - you're a nickle worth of Nickleback stickleback sticklebricking best Lego
I let go last, I'm the Legolas of the fast pass in the underpass stick you fast now you're stuck fast I buck fast at your glass of Buckfast
the Truculent, ever vigilant-words are Succulent got you diggin' in
diggin' out a liddle bit of Lidl in a stolen digger,move quicker stop the friggin' in the riggin' little Pigpen Pigeons time to drop the bridge in...

I was suppose to be in Vegas right now...
Sitting at the nickle slots enjoying a
Fat cigar and free drinks
Losing more
Money,life,sanity
A flashing light, Bell ringing suicide
I even had a coke deal lined up
So I wouldn't have to sleep for
The weekend.
But life got in the way
It always does
Broken down truck,having to move
To a different **** shack
I can't afford Vegas or coke or cigars
Or life
So here I am
On "vacation"
4 days off of work
Locked in the room
Staring into the mirror and assaulting the typewriter
Sanity crawls away like a fat maggot
With a belly full of rot
I gotta get out of here...
I leash myself to Thurber's hounds
And begin to walk to the library
I pass the farmers market
Where the stench of the smiles and
Burnt pork pollutes the smog filled
Air
I look into the crowd to find a face that looks as human as
I feel
It is not there
I shoot down 9th past the 99¢ store
And there is a homeless black guy
Standing next to his bedding
And a stack of books
I look down and on top there is
Homer's Illiad and Thoreau's Walden
(For real! No ****!)
I nod and hope this man believes
His journey is not over yet
I walk into the filthy old library
Return Thurber
He reminded me how insane women
Can be
Maybe loneliness isn't that bad
I walk over to the fiction section
And pick up Dostoevsky's shorts
I was thinking about "White Nights"
In bed last night
And couldn't remember the final line
It really spoke to me
I sit at a cold wooden table
And turn to the last page of the story
"Only a moment of bliss? But isn't that sufficient for the whole of a
Man's life?"
Oh yeah....that's good.
I thumb back a few pages then
Continue reading
Christ... They even broke Dos's heart?
How cruel was she?
I put it back on the shelf and walk back home
I get caught behind an old woman
She is wearing poisoness perfume
Tight sweat pants and I can see her
Diaper
She walks with a walker
Picking through bushes of flowers
For cigarette butts. It made me sad.
I walk back into my room and lock the door
I think about all the madness that
Went on within this
Paid for prison
I am going to miss it.
This is where I decided I wanted to
Write
I stare into the mirror again
This is going to be
A long vacation...

its not work if youre playing
youre using all ten
but me?
me?
im doing two thumbs
what im doing
practicing being articulate
literally ornate
is so much like the melody
that you bang out with ten
the creativity ratio
ten to one and two to one
but yours is extensive
and mine
mine is too plosive
sharp
dissected
and yours lofts
and swoops
tricks the ear
and swirls

nothing pushes us this way
in this direction
not a person directs my fingers
or yours
and yet there is something to be assimilated
something to take home
a bit to stick under your pillow
the fairy will trade it for a nickle

take off that ring
its clicking on the keys
thats what we said to each other
the click gets agitating
but i tie a knot on my side burn
a ribbon really
and grin

welcome back

in the shop window
the mannequin contorted
into a parody of summer beach living
even with the martini glass dusty and cracked
the hawaiian shirt, the flip-flops
the mannequin's long deep gaze forever painted blue
behind cheap sunglasses
sealed away behind faded curtains
straw beach hat tilted against
the harsh glare of a lightbulb for a sun
now this lifesized gaudy imitation of summer
is only the conversation starter for the old couple
who owns the store
with brighton beach memories
photographs of nineteen fifty eight
the heavy scent of cheap perfume
the shuffling of the old man bringing a cup of tea
this is where memories are bought and sold
where a piece of nineteen seventy six
could be had for two dimes and a nickle
its old men who hold the worlds histories
in their wrinkled hands
careworn baubles of a different age
its old men who have in their eyes loves lost and found
who have endless summer days in her arms
forever there back in sixty seven
this old man in his dusty store has more riches
than all the banks in the world
in his heart

I was alone, but not too lonely.  
You were strong, but that was only
When your brothers were around.  

Brand new, seemed like something better.
Pretty scars, eyes like leather.
So much different than we’d seen.

We made love with a choking hand.
We stayed drunk on a million plans.
We were running out of time.  
                      
      Even the cruel get worse than they deserve.
      Even the cruel get worse than they deserve.
      Even the cruel get worse than they deserve,
      But baby, you deserve to have it all  

I was sweating through fiberglass.
I got a feeling in my hands
I’d be apologizing to my dreams.

Tripping slow, spit in the glass,
Blood on the pillows, falling fast,
Choking on a nickle in the dark.  

Laughing happy with manic moon,
Melted glass in a broken spoon.
We were the spirit of the times.

     Even the cruel get worse than they deserve ... etc.

I bent down on a blizzard day
To find out what was in my way.
It was you, you were praying to nothing at all  

I lit a candle to the ghost of magazines.
I burned down a ******* with kerosine.
I was wondering why I felt so bored.  

I woke up on the rooftop.
I was making sure there were no cops,
Alone, but not too lonley, staring down at the street.

It's emergence so brief and shattering,
you'd have to question it's existence.
****** from the swamp by the sky,
it is devoid of morality; it is the terror
that does not forgive what it hasn't
given permission to.

Abrupt hum of an Indian motorcycle,
streaking across the starving freeway,
leaving ribbons of red, in the long,
uncomfortably volcanic-black night.

The body on the machine is wrapped
in cheap, crimson leather, and topped
by a navy helmet, stamped by a
visor reflecting rushed stars.

Migraine-inducing headlights hit
it's prop-store-green body, as it
drips and steps towards a vintage
orange van. Through the videotape
windshield, it can see two still figures;
two figures with aviators and bandannas.

Road signs swing by; the air zipping
in and out of the helmet. The body,
effortlessly, weaves through and
past the few vehicles lost in the dark.

Decelerating, the Indian penetrates
an exit stained: 567-TX-155.

Inside the carpet lined cave,
the figures stare at the monster,
indifferent to it's existence -- well,
not entirely one reminds the other.
It's arms dance in front of it's eyes,
blinded by the freshly clicked
high-beams; unaware that they
are, slowly, stepping closer.

Approaching a skeletal forearm,
emulating a tree, the Indian gradually
becomes silent. The body walks it
behind the rooted elbow, laying it
on a web of wooded earth; pulling
up a sleeve, removing and resting
a watch on the hot, metallic carcass.

It removes it's scattering fingers,
green and twitching, from it's
shrub framed eyes. Looking
forward, two bottles of blackness
grow near. It is a miracle only
surpassed by the instability of
life, that I look upon you, one
bellows. Consider this not
personal, but a preemptive
admonishment. Simply: I
cannot allow you to live,
for I have heard what I
cannot understand. Please
know that I admire,
thus I destroy.

The leather-clad foot-claps
eat and spit the sleeping gravel.
Pace becomes quicker; frenzied,
even. Like a comet, exact in its
imprecision, the navy helmet
falls to the ground, capturing
a night-sky goodbye; casting
the moon, briefly, into her eye.
So brief you'd have to
question its existence.

It's body, pulpy and beet red,
lodges itself between their
pale, freckled fingers. They
consume, pause, then continue
to gnash on the foreign meat.

Yellow, like an ancient bone,
the moon curves and bends
with ever chomp. It can feel
it all. The insides, pulled and
wrapped around wrists; soon
yanking; soon gritty removal.
The light begins to blend
with the surrounding dark.
Last breath, ruined by the
brief choking it's flesh caused.
So brief you'd have to
question it's existence.  

Sweat rips down from her
hair, onto her eyelids. A
dead sprint is broken into,
before she throws herself
into woods, avoiding the
approaching beams of a
vehicle. Forty-three
seconds imitate the
vehicle and go by. She
lifts her eyes to the brim
of a bush; pupils sliding
side-to-side.

Van tires make the transition
from gravel to asphalt, as the
two figures are now, indifferently,
drenched in a red-bronze, becoming
crust around their lips. The driver
says, My father told me about him --
that. He said, if given life, it would
learn to take it. You cannot change
the nature of a monster. If we
remove it, we remove death.
We control the consent.

Her heels transform her sprint
into a statue's posture. The rocks
hurt her knees, as her hands soon
follow, crashing to the ground.
Scattering fingers reach towards
her, soon met by her petite grasp.
The same fingers grow still.

She reaches towards her side,
cradling the nickle handle of
The Last Killer
looking behind her, anger and
a plan, running down her face.

I’ll do it in my own sweet time
don’t need a bribe
keep your nickle and dime
I don’t follow the tribe
I word my own rhyme
your politely worded scribe
caused me to mime
your simpering vibe
I’m swimming in slime

I made this skirt from
Pierre Cardin's spring collection
Where a thief stole a pound, and I paid a nickle.

I made this shirt from
A pretty curtain
That I ripped out of a groovy bungalow

I made this bracelet from
Beads drifting down river Arakawa
A child's beads, probably thrown in a tantrum.

I made this pendant from
A glass marble from a goldfish bowl
In the small classroom of an elementary school

I found my socks in a dumpster.
I found my shoes in a runaway train.
I found my coat on the shoulders of a model.

And so I plead not guilty.

Skipping class, ****** off his ***,
Never showed and never passed
Teacher was teachin' it
But Dylan never needed it,
Writ to his own beat
And now he's free wheelin' it
On down the road
A heavy moss laden load
Sixty-one routes
And that stone keeps a-rollin',
The times keep a-changin'
The river keeps flowin'
Rainy day women
And legalized growin'
Bob cantcha spare,
A nickle or rhyme?
A solid gold medal,
Nobel poet sublime?
Sing us a song
Jingle jangle along
The Luckiest Wilbury
In the Wilbury throng
Singin' so right
It must be wrong
Keep doin' your thang
You'll never get gonged

Have you ever been to San Francisco?
With no money?
It's like going to the Moon, Honey,
Without oxygen.
The Moon with palm trees
And a beach.
The Moon with tasty tasty treats
On all the streets
And pretty girls (?) all in a row
And Dark Delights
Even in the daytime
Waiting to take
That last nickle
You don't have.
Yeah, I left my heart there.
Just like the song...
Traded it for a bus ticket
Out.

It's hard to tale
I'm the best when it **** to myself
She's loose change, he's my nickle
Hold me, As I lick how  he felt.
I mean I  liked how she melts.
I'm confused in this bed full of helps
I can't leave without my belt,
My dignity won't stay up without me.
Curious George they say I was a monkey
I like to see my piece like a wild beast
If I don't cage it the humans won't let me be...
Hello to the new generation, bye ****** is what I'm trying in me.
Don't grip it no more you don't have take a peek
I lived in chaos all my life now I'm dead in peace! Amen.... It means so be it.

And if it weren't for the fire inside I'd be prepared to die; nickle and dime me until the plague within me eats me alive. Though I see the end of the infected tunnel, it acts as the horizon that can never be reached. With the love of my own I stand in shame as my love would readily stay with a man that wouldn't insult half the country's population whilst I would nuke the entire world just to make sure she was never judged again. And I'll ship her to safety and die in the fallout to show her what real sacrifice is. And as my flesh melts and muscles crisp and my bones blacken, I'll wish you happiness because I never cherished myself. The world revolved around you and I now know that the sun could never dream to take away your shine. So hear my plea, stay with me until the mushroom clouds invade our dreams of a pleasant sky and rip the world at its seams.

So we get needled,
nickle and dimed
all of the time,
people chinking away
at our armor.

Wanting to scream
at the top of our longs
to *******,
but instead acting
prim and proper,
a residual of the Vanderbilt
school of etiquette,
******* political correctness
ruining the spirit.

Can you hear it,
see the blight,
the lack of courage
all over this land?

I felt the rumbling
    of the fire as it
      burned,
       mutilated,
        my skin.
The fresh laid logs
    glowed in their
      own sort of
       maniacal tension.
My heated flesh
      denied the
       existence
        of the pain.
I drive myself
      to pursue
       new directions.
So let the comb
    arrange the hair
      and
       let the face be
        nice and clean.
I entered a place
      of restless tomorrows.
Eyes dashing
      left and right
      to see if the
       cups of promise
       follow along.
Throw a nickle
into the wishing well.
    Make a wish.
     Meditating in
      determined manner,
       hot or cold does
        not matter anymore.
I can only be the type
      of person
      I want to be.
What works
      for others
      does not always
       comfort me.
Too many followers
       and not enough
        individuals.
The mystery to me
        is why this
      doesn't bother anyone.
I place my hands
      out in front of me,
        and let my fingers
       feel the growing grass
         as it comes through
         the ground.
A crowd of one
       with temporary
        isolation.
A place of peace
      where none
        exists.
I rub away the
     helpless hurting.
       Gaining warmth
       from the returning flame.