( i )

I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form

Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
(turning pages
of yesterday's news)
animating, culturing, bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)

His cronies
looked on
(with a twisted conviction)
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?

The evening moved
in time lapse...
with painted winds,
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold

Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough),
patronized the boys
and called it a night

( ii )

The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
(something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot)
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
(at 8 bucks per)
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear

Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems

I shall never get out of this!  There are two of me now:
This new absolutely white person and the old yellow one,
And the white person is certainly the superior one.
She doesn't need food, she is one of the real saints.
At the beginning I hated her, she had no personality --
She lay in bed with me like a dead body
And I was scared, because she was shaped just the way I was

Only much whiter and unbreakable and with no complaints.
I couldn't sleep for a week, she was so cold.
I blamed her for everything, but she didn't answer.
I couldn't understand her stupid behavior!
When I hit her she held still, like a true pacifist.
Then I realized what she wanted was for me to love her:
She began to warm up, and I saw her advantages.

Without me, she wouldn't exist, so of course she was grateful.
I gave her a soul, I bloomed out of her as a rose
Blooms out of a vase of not very valuable porcelain,
And it was I who attracted everybody's attention,
Not her whiteness and beauty, as I had at first supposed.
I patronized her a little, and she lapped it up --
You could tell almost at once she had a slave mentality.

I didn't mind her waiting on me, and she adored it.
In the morning she woke me early, reflecting the sun
From her amazingly white torso, and I couldn't help but notice
Her tidiness and her calmness and her patience:
She humored my weakness like the best of nurses,
Holding my bones in place so they would mend properly.
In time our relationship grew more intense.

She stopped fitting me so closely and seemed offish.
I felt her criticizing me in spite of herself,
As if my habits offended her in some way.
She let in the drafts and became more and more absent-minded.
And my skin itched and flaked away in soft pieces
Simply because she looked after me so badly.
Then I saw what the trouble was:  she thought she was immortal.

She wanted to leave me, she thought she was superior,
And I'd been keeping her in the dark, and she was resentful --
Wasting her days waiting on a half-corpse!
And secretly she began to hope I'd die.
Then she could cover my mouth and eyes, cover me entirely,
And wear my painted face the way a mummy-case
Wears the face of a pharaoh, though it's made of mud and water.

I wasn't in any position to get rid of her.
She'd supported me for so long I was quite limp --
I had forgotten how to walk or sit,
So I was careful not to upset her in any way
Or brag ahead of time how I'd avenge myself.
Living with her was like living with my own coffin:
Yet I still depended on her, though I did it regretfully.

I used to think we might make a go of it together --
After all, it was a kind of marriage, being so close.
Now I see it must be one or the other of us.
She may be a saint, and I may be ugly and hairy,
But she'll soon find out that that doesn't matter a bit.
I'm collecting my strength; one day I shall manage without her,
And she'll perish with emptiness then, and begin to miss me.

There are only two ways to truly know someone: sleep with them or take them bowling.
Phoenix Aime was the woman of my dreams. So, I took her bowling.

Paid for a game. Rented shoes. Got the little, sticky bracelet thingy that said Slippery Joe Lanes.
That way if we got in some sort of accident on the way home,
the guy at the morgue could identify us as bowlers. Anyway, here's the bulleted list of what I knew about Phoenix up to that point:

• She looked like Diane Keaton circa 1972
• She talked with great pretension concerning craft beer
• She only patronized two restaurants: Denny's and IHOP
• She was eight years older than me
• She kissed my sister once on a dare
• Her shoe size was 7
• She was perfect or a near synonym

The bowling alley was empty save a World War II vet in a wheelchair and his wife at lane six,
and they were barely there. Country music played over the loud speaker. And I felt cozy. Predictable. Like a payment plan on the QVC.

That was until Phoenix said, "I forgot something. I'm going to go talk to Mack real quick."
Mack worked the front desk, according to his name tag. Talk to Mack. She just talked to Mack. Mack was sleeping with her. I untied my shoelaces. Oh, Mack, love your red polo with blue tiger stripes.
I pulled my sneakers off. Oh, Mack, I love it when you dip your finger in nacho cheese and feed it to me. Slid my right foot into bowling shoe. Halfway in with the left, and my socked foot struck something plastic. A stick of tiny deodorant. Like unsavory truck-stop-to-truck-stop deodorant. Oh, Mack, I love it when you deodorize -- so hard. Pull the strings tight on the left shoe. Oh, Mack, rub the deodorant until your underarms are SO CHALKY AND WHITE.

"You okay?" Phoenix asked.

"Yeah, what do I look like something's wrong?"

She carried a seafoam green bowling ball with a ****** Mary insignia. "It looks like you triple-knotted your shoes there."

And I said something dumb like, better safe than sorry.

"Sorry about leaving you all alone. Mack holds onto my ***** for me," she said.  I bet he does. "I hate talking to that guy." What? "He's a vegan."

Now, at that time in my life, I was a vegan. And had planned some stirring remarks about the processing of sweet little piggies into cancerous hot dog machines on the way to pick her up. Thought she would think me full of passion, "on fire" for a cause, you know? The wise thing would have been to say, oh well, I'm a vegan. But instead I asked, "What do you mean?"

"You know serial killer's get a last meal before they're executed, right?"

"Right." Where the hell is this going?

"Well, have you ever heard of someone on death row requesting a last meal that didn't involve some sort of animal product? Gacy had buckets of chicken, Bundy had a medium rare steak, even uh, ****, what was his name, McVeigh, Timothy McVeigh he had two pints of mint chocolate ice cream. Dairy."

"I'm not sure how this refutes veganism."

"Nobody is a vegan for their last meal. Nobody. I'm not going to subscribe to a diet that I can't follow until the very end. Live every day like your last, that's my motto."

"That's your motto." I said. To be a great listener, just repeat the last three or four things anyone says to you and raise your eyebrows a little bit. (Examples: "My dog died." -- "You're dog died.", "I never ate breakfast burritos again." -- "Never ate it again.", "I love you." -- "You love me.")

Over Phoenix's shoulder, over by lane six, the wife wheeled the World War II vet up to the lane. And he tossed the ball. Good team, I thought. Want to know someone take them to the bowling alley.

Phoenix removed a glove from her pocket. She had her own ball. Brought her own badass, jet black bowling gloves. And if her carnivorous tendencies hadn't already put a ***** in the Golden Days of Josh and Phoenix, that glove did.

She typed her name first on the scoring computer. Didn't ask if I wanted to go first. That's fine. Approached the lane, three fingers inside the ****** Mary. She brought her bony arm back with the grace of a ballerina tucked away stage right in the shadows. Mary cut from grace slid down the lane with a spin.

Strike. I couldn't really see the pins from my angle. But I recieved a transmission via the "yes" and arm pump. That was two marks against her, and I was going to three. I'd call it strikes, but well, the whole bowling skew.

Here's a bulleted list of what a "yes" and arm pump immediately taught me:

• She takes bowling serious.
• If you take bowling serious, when do you relax?
• She'd never relax.
• My life would be tucked shirts, matching belts and shoes.

For six frames, I picked up fours and sevens. Phoenix, though, nothing but strikes. I threw a gutter on frame seven. Like a normal human being, I shrugged. Made a face out the sides of my mouth. Kept it light.

"I thought you were a grown *** man," Phoenix said.

"Me too."

What happened next, I willed. I'm not god or anything like that. At the time, just cosmicly ******.
Her step stuttered. 7-10 split. "Mack!" she screamed. "Floors are slicker than a used car salesman's hair."

From across the alley,
"Sorry, Phoenix, baby. I'll bring you some nachos. That make up for it?"

"Ain't gonna knock down two pins is it?"

"So, uh, no nachos then?"

"Actually, go ahead and bring those."

She lined up. Back straight. Legs together. She rolled her neck. "You're about to see how it's done."

And I didn't. She broke it down the middle. Field goal. In that moment, that holy moment, I was knowledge plateau. Vindicated.

For about 10 seconds.

Mack swaggered over, nachos in hand. "Phoenix, sweetie, you okay?"

"Do I look okay?"

"No, that's why I asked."

"Just give me the nachos."

"Ah crap." Mack had gotten his pointer finger in the nacho cheese.

"Let me see it."

And right there, right in front the ****** Mary seafoam green bowling ball, she slurped the cheese off his finger."

Frame seven, a good as time as any to call it a match. The wife of the World War II vet kissed her husband's forehead. Handed him a ball. As I walked by, hand on shoulder. "Struck gold, dude."

The Revolution will not be pay-per-view,
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~
NM 10/17/15

I hear the thunder meddling
its way among the raindrops
that permeate through sunlight
and realize
that the weather is a motif
for God's emotional prognosis.

God is but a ******;
he and I stammer upon the same boat.

Our existence makes a pair
of helplessly hanging doppelgangers,
orbs of confusion that contract
whiplash with every turn they make.

Two repressed housewives
that put all their hopes and dreams
in a ****-stained smile.

This collision of light and malevolance
is but His way of symbolizing
my shame-patronized indecision
in a way that makes people tear up
at the joy of beauty.

Somedays I think of how I will wait until the skin drops from my bones
To tell myself that I am beautiful
She will be there at 5 foot 2 the smallest skyscraper ever
Gleaming shades of tan and amber
Defending the shape of her thighs and the queries of guys.
Disallowing herself to be patronized
I won't need you anymore
I will love myself, in fair or morose health
For when your hands shall leave my *******
I won't even feel the ghost of your caress

Haters  rapidly continue
Spreading hates and lies
While lovers smile
warmest hearts
kindest words
Love can never be patronized
Haters will one day
succumb to love.......

The kids chemically induced
Reduced to ego threnody.

Amidst chaos he possessed influence.
Would disregard coincidence
And curse at the omnipotent.
Known as lonely pessimist
Could laugh at their own ignorance.
Pops was drunk.
Waved goodbye
to any kind of innocence.
Patronized
Sympathized
Irrelevant
Sunk below the sediment.
If humans could be celibate
This death would have ended it
Instead of only him.

It's all gone out of me, the hammer falls and I'm not ready to answer
Trembling, weakness supporting a tub of jelly
The pollen-filled air flies past like the
Pelicans at the edge of the harbor
Taking us gliding for an unpleasant ride
Down the corridors of plastic colors
Through the one word answers that bubble forth from
10,000 years away in hyperspace
Where the mechanisms of language become so convoluted
That they disappear completely out at the vanishing point
Coming up behind you again to drag you into that smoky allure
You remember hating and pinching your nose from
And hiding in the car, but the new fear is of becoming addicted to it
Just like your addiction to ego games and
Intellect, just like your addiction to pleasure and constant validation

The validation's there in the eternal self, they say
But I'm an intellectual
Too impatient for meditation
And lost along the way to enlightenment
That I truly want,
But then I'll never have it if I continue to live this way

It's wilderness calling from a tame fool
Sticking up for you the overgrown horoscope signifies
The shapes of skydives,
He comes in and out of our dull lives
And there's an electric current that solidifies between
Him, Us, and his music
Iron rods jutting up from scorched earth
A broken paradise
Crumbling in a whisky tumbler
Blackened by fiber filters, creations
Unlocked by flowing ontological
Caricatures, open wounds gnashing
At attention-seeking osteopaths
Fortune seekers clamber down
Soccer field bleachers,
Somebody lost his sneakers in the woods
Once there was a set of barbells along the trail
We fell in line and started
Counting each other
One by one it seemed like the green apples would never fall
It was up to us to wait for the shower
It would feed our kin
We'd begin to rise up together
But it could never keep up with our pen
We wanted the ghosts to follow us and overtake our mortal foes
But we couldn't command the armies of the dead
We derive all our pleasures from films and campfire stories
We contrive our adventures but we wait for them to happen to us
We take a passive role in finding love
And it blinks lights at us across suburban streets through windows in the dark
The mind begins to writhe with new memories it composed of old
An idealized time of a child with the perverse mind
Of a hogtied adolescent
Guessing that the course of existence
Isn't determined by the speed of your calculations
Testing the warm water on a naked toe
We could dive in and forget to breathe
And the water could carry us forever
Alleviating gravity
All the obstacles we perceived in past lives
Remain with us like
Chimney swifts on the bottomless April days of a
Klu Klux **** telephone operator
Who believed in the spirit and the holy ghost
And burned a quiet altar to Satan's minions every Sunday night
Drinking nail polish and
Obscure references to the films of the
Ancient Greek philosophers, who
Saw the medium as a means to a message
And patronized the elitest filmmakers to study the ancient Runes
And reveal their findings to a power-hungry public
That would not outright reject it
But that would have to follow it down the rabbit hole
Through the wide mouth of the trumpet around brass fixtures
And into the tight hot moist mouth of the trumpeter
And the elemental warriors would strike oil beneath the whole affair
Ending the time we spent hoping for any entertainment to create itself before our barren psyches
Busying ourselves with incomprehensible tasks and letting our indolence take the reins until we found our heads again out there amid the vapors of
New car chem trails and old railroad bunkers where spruce and cedar grow through cement earth, they force apart the ground with just their roots

We weren't ready to keep watch the following weekend but we
Had no choice when the government bond expired
And we had only technological solutions left to hope for
And wrongly we abandoned our research posts to fight the enemies
With giant weapons and uncreative slogans
Our drummers played so fast we marched along and killed all that remained in record doubletime
Rendering the events of that victorious day immortal in the ingenious accounts of
Philosopher/poet/historian Michael Jackson
Who gave one final performance
To save himself from what must not be

Sometimes I miss the holy grace of ignorance,
Sometimes I miss the comfort that I felt when I read about David and his caves,
About his moody eyes and his harp,
About his *** addiction and his jealous, musical heart that only a god could love,
About the way he loved with abandon, reckless, selfish, taken aback in naivety, balking at those who dared disagreed with his unwavering need to be as he was

David made me ***
David made me feel closer to God and my mother
David told me a story of lust and ****** and protection and angst and a sweet tortured easily patronized self

Maybe in all of this, one day this flawed, beautiful man who murdered a giant and sang to lambs

Would be me

A woman, self possessed, soothing sheep and culling sleep in her victims.
Passion dripping from her honey harp.

David, thank you for the awakening and for the saturated hedonism that you spoke to in me.

what is it with you and hurting me?

is it the way i hyperventilate that makes you want me?

is it the way i lay in bed and
sob and
sob and
sob
that makes you want me?

is it the way i force sleeping aids down my throat
that makes you want me?

what is it with you anyways?

I´ve been thinking too much of a past without a body
of a spirit who felt a little shoddy
with a mind that wanted control of heart it could never fully control.
I´ve been thinking of the taliban, men dressed in faith for what they believe in
I´ve been thinking about belief and in what I believe in, if I believed enough to sacrifice my body for a future I can´t be sure of,
I´ve been thinking if I were givin time as my present where would I like to be, well, the present is a gift worth opening even if only for one life my life a life will affect your life and in this time we´ve been givin we make choices based on handouts from a god who loved you more then you thought possible of a soul that shined perhaps too birghtly of a heart which holds nothing but silence in a world created by our majesty
I´ve been thinking that maybe I am god, that maybe I was created as the image of myself to learn a few lessons from hard times and grow a little hope from good times
I´ve been thinking I could be a great man, maybe I´m already great man, that I am still a boy trying to recieve his addition muptiplication division arithmic badge of honor in second grade 2 plus 2 was all I could stutter but it didn´t matter cause I kept going until I dropped out for reasons that could seem a little sadder but I believe in a world that I can be me even with out a college degree, that when Im ready I can go back without a worry of how maybe it should be
and I´ve been thinking about a beautiful place thats really nowhere when I sit in silence with silence with myself, I find it there but for some reason I make the road bumpy and with too many hills where my imaginary feet get ill from too much foaming from all this guilt that maybe I´m not good enough to reach where buddha sat and I´m not worthy to make a change in world where judgement doesn´t really mean a thing except for what we think of ourselves.
Yea, I´ve been thinking of blue worlds where blue´s jazz and blue´s slide guitar and blues harmonica and saxophone and trombone and trumpet is all they play because it speaks a truth no ones heard before even with out words then I start thinking thats what it means to me how can I portray that feeling to somone else
I´ve been thinking as I cook myself some toast that maybe if I work a little bit harder and don´t expect everything handed to me I could cook something better which requires more than a couple strokes of butter
that
Maybe if I belive in what I think that I can make any reality real with just a thought that if what I say in my head is actually what I believe then what have I been thinking with thoughts like ¨I´m afraid that no one can love me¨and thoughts like ¨I wish I could be like someone else¨that if what we think is actually what we create then I should be thinking that hey I am great.
So I´ve been thinking change happens with thought so maybe I am changing more than I thought with just these thoughts I think when I´m lingering through time and greeting each wave of negativity with something close to positivity which could be said is the same as god, that love that the devil so fondly loves to hate is really the image that I´ve always been its just that I forgot with these distracting thoughts,
I started thinking then I need to stop, destroy, annhilate these demon thoughts of hate hate hate which really are just fear fear fear but then I realized that I only patronized that fear with more hate and I added gas to a fire that quickly ate my soul before I realized I was on a downward spiral, confused on thought alone of I´m supposed to be a better man not a sadder man because when I added something else to that fire it spread and I realized I needed some sort of water which could do things a little bit harder
Thats when I thought to love the hate the same as you love that love.
When I see those thoughts tromping through this sacred vessel I don´t get angry at their muddy feet instead I say its okay, sit back relax make yourself at home, and they slowly settle into this vast expanse of infinity which some have called your heart. And thats when I began to forgive myself for all that shame and anger I cast like a shadow and I began to forgive myself for all that guilt and suffering I cast like harry potter and I began to forgive myself for when I was too scared to talk because I thought that somebody out there wouldn´t like me and I began to forgive myself for all that I had embodied with this false self I had thrown out to protect this oh so holy body,
I´ve been thinking that maybe being vulnerable isn´t as bad as its been cracked out to be and that maybe one day I´ll finally become what I am in silence
that
what I´ve been thinking is maybe this is just another thought that could be forgotten, but thats exactly when I need to remember what I already know of how the future should be exciting and the past has always helped remind me that when I´m living right now I no longer have to hide behind thoughts which no longer scare me.
I´ve been thinking it all starts with a thought, something I believe we should all be taught.

Every day we see them,
passing by them without care.
It comes as quite a shock to some,
but trust me, they are there.

They come in shapes and sizes
just the same as you and me;
their colors range from black to white
and all the shades between.

They're just like us in all respects;
they've hopes and dreams and fears.
They've been with us through spans of time,
from young to old in years.

Some of you may notice them
but most go by unseen,
and lest they let their secret out
a person's all they'll be.

But should they step beyond the veil
they've hung to hide their truth,
it's rarely welcomed with embrace,
and often with dispute.

It's a shame to see how some
could treat a human being
merely for the way they are,
or even how they seem.

Patronized for their beliefs,
or preferences declared.
Victims born of senseless crimes
are left to reap despair.

Stop the violence. Stop the hate
before there's nothing left.
Your ignorance gives wake to see
them all to pointless death.

Intolerance gives wake to war,
of which we're on the brink.
Love them all for who they are,
and not for what you think.

Dreaming in the dream (Broken inception)

-Alexis J. Meighan-
11-12-2013 10:45:45pm

I could try.... Exhale
I could sigh
Read the menu, make my choice
Clear and simple tone in my voice
I make the healthy decision.
The one all the world says work best.
The one the waiter recommended, **** near on knees bent

But yet there's an error on the dish I receive. "That's not what I ordered"
I double checked my choice and even went along with the spectators cohesion, and ample coercing.

"I ordered what you suggested, to be your best
and
Yet I am wrong for being wronged by the establishment's
I need to see your management. This plate of food is an embarrassment
And most of all not what you said I would get"

I ask my mates around the table, a bowl of this is what you praised, yet a plate of Bul+#!t is what she gave
How can you say it is what it is not
When we all want the same dish BUT
Different is what I got and you say its all the same and I assure you madam it is not

Then I am made out to be insane. Patronized!
I am told "we are aware that you believe that you are
entitled to what you claim"
Though the table and server don't feel the same.
I should keep asking for that in-correct entree(They say)

I Demand a bowl of that
Waitress then replies
"yes sir I will obliged"
She returns with plate of this
Again enraged I explain again and again
"That not the F#€@ng bowl of fiddles you keep insisting when I maintain my choice from menu is undermined and obscured with plates of bull$#+t now I want out of this place"

I stand and scowl at all around
throw my napkin on the ground
i can't believe this waitress audacity to mock my effort and good intent
with her insisting insults that my brain lacks presence.
Like I don't know what I want and how to ask.
Exiting the building I look back and I ask
"Are you people all crazy?"
Everyone makes eyes contact to my brow, all wearing mask that resembles cats.

They begin to clap and whistle. And in unison chant
"You can't win, you can't win, you can't win, YOU CAN'T WIN"
I cover my ears and close my eyes then it all stops and to my surprise,
I fix my stare to where I had disappeared to.... Like a dream I am woken in confusion ear to phone,
hearing the unrecognizable babble from a voice in my home.
Then a click, dial tone, a beep as I touch the green button, I raw rush of pain postponed, as it (the sensation) passes,
the calm, the rational, the point where I am aware, that I am alone in thinking I've grown, destitute in comparison to the riches of the idealistic child I saw playing peekaboo with his scars in the mirror,
when now there is always doubt on how we proceed and believe. The doubt that my dreams and my reality, altered state or sober receiving the wrong plate, can it ever get along. always somber from the vast knowledge, always knowing more than I let on.

A good title for a sandy beach, sunset and drum stick, kind of song.

......Xin

a bowl of black beans / your mother sitting on the other side of the kitchen / this liquidation of self / you would be something / anything / anyone / if it could make you safe / the black beans taste like nothing now / you aren’t crying but you’re **** near it / your mother makes a honey sweet remark / won’t you stay alive / and / eat your beans then we’ll leave / and you don’t have an answer but you listen / you are pleading with the voices to let you eat the beans and make them taste less like bleach / your mother bleached your hair when you were fourteen and you bleached your skin at sixteen / you drank that same bleach from that same bottle three days after your sixteenth birthday/ but this is a bowl of beans and it tastes like that time / smells like that time / your throat coughing up blood and your body wretching to *****.

a bowl of black beans / your mother takes that bowl and washes it out in the sink / you still have that hoarse voice from imagining it tastes like bleach / you still have that ***** wretch instinct because of how much your throat stings / then mother says; you’ll stay with them for some time / as if that makes anything better / a drive into the emptiness of a psychiatric hospital / a place they’d sent you when you were ten because you were so angry and so depressed / you break when the blue tiles turn to ocean and you drown / you break when the red tiles turn to fire and burn your toes / you are hungry again / but you know everything you eat will taste like bleach.

you can’t sleep because the bleach is still on your tongue / you think of that bowl of black beans / your mother sitting on the other side of the kitchen / maybe you’d see her smile again / maybe you’d be broken and be able to exist comfortably / don’t you want to survive to see that?

you answer / no / i’d rather die than be patronized.

A very long, a very rough day I've had
  Explaining a dark visitor & frozen pizza
   ....no celebrating with food today

Why? What's up?
Ahhhh honey, he came to take her today

  Who came? For whom?
Doesn't really matter

You mean I don't know her? Or him?
No, you don't
Know her, or him...yet, I mean
& I doubt you're gonna meet either
one of them, for a very long time

Oh, now I'm just confused.
why do you say it doesn't matter?
Well some things are just gonna
*happen anyway ya know?
this one will intrude regardless
    ~ a divine intervention~
seriously, doesn't care about my feelings
or anyone's for that matter
came 7 months back, took him too

Oh yeah, that's right, go on...
you mean kismit?

I mean, he was her true love
I know, I could see it in her eyes
~heard the loudest sound I've ever heard~ she said,
~the most painful sound of goodbye~

(my version, or vision if you will)
came in the flash of a bullet
sent in a river of crimson blood sacrifice
brought on the tongue
of old man winter
rushing in on that frozen white water
escaping, again... onto  the kitchen floor

Slow down, I remember,
poetic but so dramatic,
that is very unfortunate...
(a well-meaning understatement)
    Nobody would have said
    that about Romeo and Juliet
as I, feeling a tad bit patronized
& followed by an obligatory hug,
then a peck on the forehead
~well meaning again of course ~

I heard all the stories
we visited in the hospital
just this past July, right before the 4th

Gotta love a sense of humor...
         (more kidding?)

That  was the longest & the strangest
week of my life, hands down,
I seem to recall  we didn't know if I was going to make it either...
as some seemingly inaudible
thoughts come out

as you know, you can't hide your
feelings, or actions from me
     ... haunted I am.

Yes, I do... fortunately or unfortunately, kidding, just kidding... relax.
Insomniacs you ladies are,
well sometimes anyway.
I sleep like a baby.

A baby?....I don't know about that
Really?
Do you think I'm staying awake for my looks?
...feeling fingers toward tired eyes
Do you think
I'm not sleeping intentionally?
~Sarcastically said~
I've done everything, including stand
on my **** head
tried every wild remedy known to man

Sensible man to say that though,
seeing my face, turning
bright red  in confusion
not ill-tempered,
I'm feeling vexed and a bit perplexed

I guess, your gypsy heart sure is impossible to understand & I see you have a curse
suppose it could be worse,
the woes of an empath?
Those signs you see,
strange dreams, kind of  a mystery
messages you find,
my Grandmother died from that ya know?

Just a nod of my head following...

Anyway, let me get this straight
your friend, the one you met
in that nice  hospital
(Now, I know he must be kidding )
so, this dark visitor took her love first,
now you two are friends
and somehow he just took a friend
that you two have in common,
a sorta new friend?

Yeah that's right
Kinda

Well I'm still a little confused,
because I thought he committed suicide? What about her?

~A very deep breath following~
Suicide...ya know I hate that word
Like an overdosing of life
but reflected in a bad way
sounds kinda like you wanted to do it
I know in these particular situations
& circumstances
that wasn't the case

Maybe that's true sometimes

I believe, sometimes people just
can't understand, the  taking
or the leaving, they literally break inside
come unglued... apart at the seams
feel like they're going to jump
right out of  their skin
I listened to her tell his story
he said he didn't feel right
that morning
was the only thing,
was the only warning
from a flood
all those traumatic & dramatic
military memories
coming back
*back in full brilliant color
ONE FLASH of white light

From what did she go? Or him?
  I don't know
Being too nice?
  If that's the case
.....I'm a dead woman walking

Still an excuse?
For what?
What's in your hand?

This darlin'? Haha, very funny
   (more uncomfortable humor?)

well, a drink of wine
& blowing a little smoke,
trying to just breathe
ain't the worst thing I'm fearing

No? What is?

That  fancy dressed cloaked visitor
who'd ya think smarty-pants?
hoping he
...or she,   I really don't know
hoping that one, doesn't darken
our door anytime soon

Yeah hey there's no moon,
interesting, well...alright then,
better catch some zzzzz's, get some rest
I wouldn't worry you're not "that nice"
haha, just kidding -again I love you
last call, last offering of that "humor"

Followed by a much more
sincere hug, deep and long
a soft kiss on the cheek trying to take a tear as fingers clutch at a paint stained
t-shirt, grasping at a
picture of what love is.
Just Breathe, she tells herself

Must be one of those time jokes
I didn't have the time to laugh
sorry sweetness
Emmmm...& yeah, rest

as I am tipping that last bit, a swallow...
as I am sipping that last tiny morsel
of bittersweet summer wine,
lighting a joint,
and a candle in the darkness
blowin' smoke
stepping outside,
looking into the wild night
saved all for such an occasion...
& trying to catch a glimpse
of that lovely luminous lady

I don't know if it's going to come cuz
I'm sooooo **** nice
more than likely, just cuz
my paper heart, is so **** heavy
can't take the weight off
or the waiting
it's just so **** heavy
probably won't be able
to lift it up one day
stuck in that long sleeping bed ....eventually..
forever sleeping, forcing a stop by

No words follow now
just calm quietness, as the flame
dances and licks at the air
tasting freedom,
she moves like grace
filled with gratitude
living for the coming midnight
even the crickets are tight-lipped
as you are watching over us again

I bow my head and say a silent prayer
It's 11:11...that angel I see her flying
and she's no longer trying to explain to the world her decision to go, they couldn't know that she's no longer crying
in a crumpled ball of paper
in her wastebasket
releasing the ink into the atmosphere
so I can write it all down.
down,
                   d
                         o
                               w
                                    n
been down very different paths her & I
all hoping for the same thing, a heavenly ever after, forgiveness of our sins...

Sounds like suicide, I know
...but hey, they'll be plenty of resting
I hear,
and the endlessness....
long sleeping I fear,
when I'm gone just
another tragic ending to the day

Well alright
goodnight and I love you too
  my lovely little
  Angry Angels.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

My cat is alarming the daylight every single rotten day.
I wake up chocking from the un flickering dream,
Numb and kinda nervous, still watching the leftovers
Of characters fighting the path, back into reality.
All my nights since my life began revolving around my addictions
I patronized them, I begged them, I bribed them, what I did or what I not...
Exclusively the ordinary: buying flowers, candies,
Slot machines, **** videos, riding on elephants,
Cornering the cliffs, eating spiders, smoking ***
And beaming at the stars while they were changing music covers
Aside me, in slippers, house dresses and chewing cockies outta space,
Between a tooth and the next one located at five minutes array.
So you cannot call  in my nature as a bee. Or not to bee.
All the **** that you can do or not in dreams, I did.
Results presumptuous. As all dreams are.

Vague ends fishing the tale of monster Colombre.
He's old and he's lounging in Poseidon's trident,
Into the space between  the waves of gravity
Along with the pearl promised to every human being ,
As long as they are clapping hands for  fairies not dying
And children's bed time stories that  never lasts enough,
At every gasp they take when something murderous
Is happening  while   mothers turning into stone are reading,
The horrors of daily news at9 clock whisky .
For a  first, they enter into the deem reality
My imaginary ghostlike friends. I waved them farewell, at last.

I don't wanna spend more time buying crickets  or entertaining Terpsichore.
Now I'm busy writing songs  about them, eating  space cookies  with a little prince and feasting  on crickets with Maruska.

How did we get this far apart, we used to be so close together
How did we get this far apart, I thought this love would last forever.

I write about grief which is like a container for many feelings of hopelessness. I am writing as if we stand on a high plateau, where grief can soar. So often, we get painted into small corners, hidden behind walls of shame, into isolation, and patronized.

The reality is we are bold to face the world with uncertainty about ourselves and each other. We feel the presence of the smooth, cool creek flowing deeper than its dimensions. The raven's caw, breaking the silence on a cold morning, feels like a welcome message. The grey skies have an inspiring grip while the rain is a healing soundscape.

It's within all these details we feel a multitude of presences; a lost dog, remnants of a friendship, a brighter version of ourselves, a half painted mural, everything we have lost to get here now.

It's harder to get lost in yourself when you carry the fragments of your memories somewhere with vast, endless scenery and breathe with confidence that you can see your winding paths.

I am in a desert town
Standing on the mountaintop
alone
Lonely growing up in a too-big house
seeing the world from behind the smeared glass of a
tour bus
while an automated voice drills in
objective truths
about culture
about what the Other's color of skin makes
them.

Being told to give money because God said so
Being told my daddy up in heaven loved me
whether he showed up or not
and I had to just
believe
and obey
Him.

I'd rather turn away
from that sunny desert sky, because it
burns
I'd rather jump off the bus
so I could stop feeling so ****
sick
and forget about what the color of my skin
makes me.
I'd rather not live to serve a god I don't
know
and never met
and a family who has never met me.

To be called a fellow person
rather than a tourist or
patron.
Because I know what it is to be patronized.

We continuously make a fool of ourselves, unconsciously for the enjoyment of others, not lacking the self esteem self belief on the contrary we're encouraging individuals who slide through the ******* getting nicks an nacks ticks an tacks on our hearts an our backs slaps an pats patronized for our looks an our hooks the way dance or we cook we guide you through life like an open book but then treated like an unknown crook, but look I'm not shook  I won't be that crook I slide through ******* getting nicks an nacks ticks and tacks on my heart an my back because I don't lack and I won't look back I'm way stronger then that.
D.J.Turner

Ranting
Screaming
Cussing in my head because my anger cannot be stopped
I am not a mindless sheep,
Not a child to be patronized and pitied
Don't laugh at me
I don't need your sympathies
If you care so much then why did you leave

i will not be dragged down to size
i will not be blindly patronized
i will, for no reason, compromise

i am myself, in that, there's pride

Do you have any idea how it feels
To have someone leave you in order to "protect you"?
And they always think they're the first one ever to do it too
Like there isn't a parade of cowards marching away
With excuses falling from their lips
When really
They're just scared that they could hurt someone so deeply.
I've got news for you all
The ones who leave
The ones who left
For my own good.
You didn't.
You don't.
You left for yours.
You leave
For yours.
You know as well as I do that my pain at being abandoned
Is a thousand times what any cruelty could have been
If only you stuck around to dish it out.
You just didn't
Want
To watch.
I have to watch.
Every time.
I have to watch it decimate the parts of me I've spent time nurturing.
I have to watch and know that you think
You saved me from you.
So let me tell you what being left for your own good feels like.
It feels like being used.
It feels like being patronized.
It feels like being disposable.
It feels like
Being condemned.
I'm brave enough to face the horrors inside of you.
Are you?

It will be a life of loss isn't it my lover
And maybe an eternity before
I find what I'm looking for
Before I can tell you about
the ones who broke my heart
Before I can laugh all this pain away,

Im going to get lost and take another pill
just so I can
Feel a little bit normal once in my life
Or be loved by somebody for once
Then get drunk on happiness  

I'm going to keep  
Crying about why people say I never try
And feeling left out and patronized
And you know what's funny?
I can't tell you about any of this
Even when you ask
what's wrong with me
Cuz you won't understand
You're not flawed and strange like me

I'm going to be lonely
With my soul in a locker
And I'm going to have to blame it on
Myself
Isn't that right?

today i am angry
drawing strengh from courageous role models that I've never resembled

not
      one
              bit

even in my anger i am able to look around
and see other people's second eyes
staring
right back at me with the same fiery hate

i am
astounded
as to how we can all be so unhappy
and not be able to find the solution
as to why we secretly
hate
(each other)

Palletizing people into segments and
Authenticating the segments with the gods they follow
Three billion gods with rules infinite
Expecting peace of mind be found!

The leaders of the weakened population
Misleading with those hollow promises
Ultimately giving hope wrapped empty boxes
Thinking being a part of democracy..!

Upliftments! What they are rendering
Picking up from village mud
Dumping into city corporate slums
What a happy patronized crowd!

Conserving the little fairy of there's
From Fox eyed bad world they say
Saving her by taking her freedom
And married into unknowns!

                Well what to expect!

God, this hurts.
It's terrible and heart-wrenching.
To believe the moments we had weren't worth anything.
Or were they?
I have trouble discerning.
I wanted love that didn't make me feel patronized, used, discarded, and broken.
Would it make me happy?
Would it make me feel more alive to be away from you?
Would I find someone that deserves me?
How can I say this respectfully?
Without putting down our moments together?
I hate you.
I hate you so much to the point that I want you out of my life.
To the point I can say "You can die!" ad I wouldn't care.
You made me bare,
all my emotions and time,
while you sat in silence.
This is when I CAN'T remember.
These were the moments I CAN'T surrender.
Therefore, I smile when I look at you but feel like throwing up in a corner.

Visual chaos runs havoc in a weeping world,
echoes of screaming pain in my bleeding words.
The ocean is made from nothing but tears,
a reflection of the fears we hold and self worth.
The stars are slowly fading away into darkness,
love is dying as everybody is becoming heartless.
It seems evil is free to roam in every path,
could we imagine exactly what the stars felt?
We live our lives on hope; an article now lost,
everything we ever once had is now gone.
Faith and belief are becoming nothing but myths,
and dead are now the dreams we had of bliss.
My pen is hurting at the tip leaking drops of blood ink,
silent screams I can hear synonymous to what i think.
Truth has become what we feared as nightmares,
and yet unaware we remain of what the shadow brings.
I'm lyrically paralyzed when they physically analyze,
Individually agonized as my syllables detect paradise.
We sit back as we watch the world being visibly vandalized,
And how the seekers of truth are ridiculously patronized.
The winds whisper the secrets of life we never found,
The sins linger with the sight of hell and it's sound.
We have lost this war against the creeping shadows,
and are consumed by our thoughts and our doubts.

I will not be patronized by you
for you are just another star in the sky
and though you may have shined bright and beautiful
there is still a bursting nebula a couple of light years nearby.

I will not put you on that cushioned pedestal
for you have lost your place there
since you chose self loathing and the hatred of life,
I still have my love affair with the ethereal universal light.

I will not let the world harden me
like the men who looked into the depths of Medusa's eyes.
Everything on this path is meant to be embraced,
even if some experiences don't have the sweetest taste.