son spreads knee blood into ******* &/or
sidewalk chalk.
mixes reds to pinks with head cracking asphalt.
of god & country.
of soggy bread in a lunch-bag; snackpack readied.
he skates.

the concussed ****** of booming youth.

omega he:
to the wolf pack outers.
breathing love of summer, he
is the son drunk on hi-c
& burping.
watching teenaged supersoakers yodel
on a bridge.
florida.

son sneaks out late to rationalize
the city’s features
under strange light & love of nightly people.
boy sculpts body out of beast,
turned dark corners.
arrives swollen.

his father erects a roofed flattop in the backyard slab
with flood light electronics taught to worship
the shred.
mother rattles the blender
on the kitchen outskirts, ***** breathed
& nearing with hugs.

blister-itched.
glossed folds of scar tissue.
those days on summer-beyond when the neighborhood pulsates.
with satellite dishes tuneforking high-frequency vibrations
from outerspace & pigeons explode.

son’s ears bleed, &
the television goes unwatched.
he snaps plank & ankle protein, refurbishing
his legs into iron-rods
or wands of summer anthem.
cold war.

he empties sugar-sweat & toxins
into the storm-drain.
essence of wet heat, skin pinched, & friend
of ghosts.
a three legged dog lay in the shade
leisurely watching the boy skate
on endless.

I decided today to sit back
And take a look at my life
Not only from the out
But also from the inside

Like an innocent bystander
I'll take myself a gander
And what it is I find
I'll set it down in rhyme

I notice when I do look on the out
I'm always quick to throw out a smile
Pretty much all of the while
I guess a smile is just my style

The in is the one quick with the wit
That's one thing I must admit
Sometimes gets me into the thick
When it really comes down to it

For the inside to come clean
I must mean what I say and say what I mean
There's no doubt about them there beans
I hope you know what it is that I mean

I'm never much serious about
Anything life has to through out
I do love to clown and joke around
Hang with me and that you'll find out

But it's not always all fun and games
As the outside of me deteriorates
But that my friend is all of our fate
As the older we get and our hour is late

I look at the outside of me
And see an old man in the later degree
But in on the in playfully
Is the child still inside of me

That's pretty much who I am
Living this life the best that I can
On the inners and outers I'll play my hand
Wherever I tumble, wherever I land

So this is what I've come up with
When I took a look at my life
Not only from the out
But also from the inside

Fine living . . . a la carte?
     Come to the Waldorf-Astoria!

     LISTEN HUNGRY ONES!
Look! See what Vanity Fair says about the
     new Waldorf-Astoria:

     "All the luxuries of private home. . . ."
Now, won't that be charming when the last flop-house
     has turned you down this winter?
     Furthermore:
"It is far beyond anything hitherto attempted in the hotel
     world. . . ." It cost twenty-eight million dollars. The fa-
     mous Oscar Tschirky is in charge of banqueting.
     Alexandre Gastaud is chef. It will be a distinguished
     background for society.
So when you've no place else to go, homeless and hungry
     ones, choose the Waldorf as a background for your rags--
(Or do you still consider the subway after midnight good
     enough?)

        ROOMERS
Take a room at the new Waldorf, you down-and-outers--
     sleepers in charity's flop-houses where God pulls a
     long face, and you have to pray to get a bed.
They serve swell board at the Waldorf-Astoria. Look at the menu, will
you:

     GUMBO CREOLE
     CRABMEAT IN CASSOLETTE
     BOILED BRISKET OF BEEF
     SMALL ONIONS IN CREAM
     WATERCRESS SALAD
     PEACH MELBA

Have luncheon there this afternoon, all you jobless.
     Why not?
Dine with some of the men and women who got rich off of
     your labor, who clip coupons with clean white fingers
     because your hands dug coal, drilled stone, sewed gar-
     ments, poured steel to let other people draw dividends
     and live easy.
(Or haven't you had enough yet of the soup-lines and the bit-
     ter bread of charity?)
Walk through Peacock Alley tonight before dinner, and get
     warm, anyway. You've got nothing else to do.

It's a big bad, mean cruel world
You can't expect much good fire
And he's got debts to pay
And she's got mouths to feed
And we got mamas and papas
Weary of all the ruckus
And she's got a boy to please
And he's got to settle the score
And they keep looking at me like,
"Why should you kick the bucket?"
When amidst these troubles
An among these worries
They still get the weekend release
Cause amidst all the smoke
Among bottles empty
They get their kicks laughing at me
It's all fun and games until the canopy falls
And you have doppelganger dreams, and demons at your door
And she's got poison juice
And he's got drug abuse
And we got mamas and papas
Tired of all the paper
And his mama just split
And her daddy just went stiff
And me, I'm just disintegrating
In the vapor
See I try to keep it light
Never said I was right
You'll never know my tragedy
But if we ever meet again
And you're the one that's spiralin'
Will you ask to hold my hand

My mind became a castle in the sky
Musing together events I know could never happen
Afloat in the ocean
A body of a much bigger form than my own
That of which I am not accustomed to coping against.
But, I manage
And I lay there, with no worry in the world
Of who I may be
Or who I may not
What I can solidly remember
And the pain I thought I forgot
The crisp severity of the ocean on the outers of my skin
A rivalry counteracting the heat my anger is ceaselessly producing
An effortless breath of cold air
And no endurance needed to fight against the current
My head being totally consumed by waves, in intervals
But enough to refresh my inner cognition.

One deep inhale and I can feel you,
Just before I start to slowly fade under
And when I think this can't get any better,
I finally hear it; the thunder.
It's loud, and I've been waiting, and I am scared
But not worried enough to budge
The storm is growing strong above my physical, still body
And with the moving body below me that I want to love so much.

What I can't grasp fully, though, is the way I will not move
I know I am terrified of the consequences,
I'm already worrying
As I have been, this entire time
Time figures out that it's not my body that refuses to move
It is manipulated by my mind.

I am content.
As long as I stay in this opposing body
It reminds me of all of the things I do not have
Rather than the things I do and can't accept.

I am saddened, that my breaths were not voluntary
They were forced by the love I can not feel.
I know it's there, I know it's real.
Reminded by this ocean,
I am very much alive.

And although, inside, I may be broken and numb.
Sometimes, I can be fine.

Dear Johnny was a crazy guy
we used to have threesomes
with all his ***** girlfriends

We used to go clubbing nearly every night
we had all the drugs inside us we'd need
when out there we were like march hares on speed

We would fall into clubs
you know outers
like tripping *****
dance on the dance floor
like spasticated fools

Dancing crazy with the crazies
kicking out the beats
moving our leather clad feet

We had some cool times
making love and not war
yet now my friend is dead
and we don't do that anymore
I miss my dear mad march hare


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

Let's do **** together
**** some ghosts eat some zombie innards and outers
eat me
I got big lovely brains
taste like warm honey
stickiest of the icky
mickey mouse club house
getting twisted up in your zipper
bring it on down to my dimension
the fifth
pleading for mercy or attention
maybe to be left alone with a stack of cash
crash the waves against the starry night
kiss me you fool
****** ***** ape
gaping at a film reel like it's more interesting than my emotions
****
need some distractions
always some abstraction
of false affection or sobriety
gimmee a break, a piece o' dat ***
bongrips to make you feel blind
yeah that's it
what's his name?
Still remember
flash back to brown eyes and sweet stares
smiles to make a belly shrink and swell
selfish in needing a gentleman
wanting to turn him naughty
make him an inmate who hasn't seen a woman in 40 years
too late
fall down some stairs
wake up with bruises, confuses the neighbors
shut up I'm fine
always fine
always lyin
God I love the summer

This is for those sky high low and ***** media grads of the fate-late noughties,
grasping,
pathetically,
as dreams slip like their youth of yesteryear.
Unpaid, over-laid, saturated with the ***-comedy of their university days.

Then comes the choke and cloak of the next interview,
interview,
interview,
the view into the next room is so beautiful and dazzling after that last ****,
so beautiful and dazzling after the next ****,
so beautiful and dazzling, please, I swear I'll just have one more ****.

Ceremonial drug use,
a testimonial abuse of government aid,
paid to those by the Hair Blair bunch of chumps who screamed the promise of higher education for the lot,
a degree for every adult,
an unpaid job for every graduate.

The clouded confidence stutter of the high as a helicopter, once potential author,
lost in the part-time smog of inner city university town down-and-outers.
Left adrift with no financial spine,
left to pine the disillusionment they now know they felt way before they knew what they've come to do,
and be,
and exist as forever.

Star to let
to a cat-lover
and friend of

less perfect dahlias,
to putter-outers of
unwashed milk bottles,

to curtain shifters
and spectacle sinkers,
to all those gods

of Victoria's terraces
all waiting for
the flat upstairs.

As if we weren’t worried
about plastic already, this year
produced mountains of medical splinters
and labourers’ protective disposable outers

Polarities
Determine our identity
In each simple moment..
I am a polarity..is where we start..
The inners and outers
Of our self and world..
Polarities abound..and any set
Of opposites convinces as
Our personal view..until
We discover these are merely
Actors appearing on our
Stage of Light...