I miss my cargo green canvas backpack

Shredded with the mass of three
science textbooks: biology,
classical history, chemistry.

Not like backpack was meant for
several colossal three hundred page
hardcover books.

When it was empty,
it was light,
barely anything, tugging
on my shoulders;
but I insisted the friend come with me.

But I used backpack
for study,
drudgery,
play.
The linen wore
with every use.

It was my safety blanket,
under loose cloth
that contained
sacarine
orange glucose
tablets that I hoped
to never need

Inside the main large pocket,
there was a secret
zipper, within held
a pack of cigarettes,
an excuse,
to pardon myself into a realm of aloneness-
with little questions asked

There were strings that adjusted
its position on my back that
I would pull down,
using tension to fling myself
terminal to terminal

More than fifteen times, I lost
count, of my partner traversing
across oceans, gently cradling my laptop and phone-
my trusted links
with the outside world

Nervousness alleviated by the tassels
in my mouth, I bite and chew
on the cloth, but it holds steadfast
as I ponder how to approach
what's next,
the bittersweet coffee they fell into
rehydrates with my salivating mouth,
hungry for adventure
but a stomach empty
knots itself
anxious
for what's to come

My backpack weighs
on my shoulders, empty or full,
but it's trained my body
to carry the load thoughts in my
head bring upon me

But it yielded to what was to come,
the seams at the bottom gave out.
Backpack let me know: I needed to
learn to carry on
without reliance.

words all have their roots
ped = foot
saurus = dinosaur
photo = light

just like my love for you has roots
or like a tree has roots

and all these things are infinite

the power of language
the power of nature
and
the power of love

Kabhi chale ** un raahon pe
Jinse jude ** qisse kaafi tumhaare
Jin raahon pe hasi mazaak ki thi doston ke sang
Unnhi raahon mein tumne bhare the woh yaadon ke rang

Kabhi socha na tha ki
Akele bhi chalna padega kabhi
Goonjti hai woh awaaz tumhaari
Jab bhi chalta hu un raahon parr
Peeche mudke dekh bhi leta hu kabhi
Ke mehez dikh jaaye parchayi tumhari
Parr dikhte toh woh adhoore waadein he hein
Bebas karr rakhe hein mujhe jinhone

Woh baarish..woh dhoop
Sabka kiya tha saamna
Jab haath tha tumne mera thaama
Kya Yaad hai woh fool
Jo tod laayi thi tum uss ped se
Mere yaadon ke Gulshan mein
Khila hai woh fool kabse
Hasrat toh dekhiye
Woh ped bhi na sambhal paaya
Mujhe akela dekhkar
Woh bhi murjhaaya

Yahin chalte waqt kaha tha na
Ki chodogi nahi yeh haath kabhi
Chaahe fariyad ** jaaye humse harr koi
Tumhaare usi saath ki khoj mein hu
Jise laga liya tha apne rooh se kabhi
Sahi kaha tha uss shaks ne ki
Manzil nahi raahon mein junoon pao
Kyunki manzil toh pahuche he nahi the ke
Bewafa karr gayi mujhe uss raah pe akele
Kabhi Chalke dekhna
Inhi raahon pe akele
Yaad karna woh beetein hue qisse
Aur ** sake toh mudke dekhna
Dikhunga mein usi mod parr
Jaahan chod gayi thi mujhe..karke inkar
Kyunki badal liye tumne apne raahein
Jo kabhi samajh na paayi
meri yeh fitoor nigaahein

Ek arsaa ** gya h aabaadi dkhte dkhte
Ab khushal ped nhi patjhad lubhata h mjhe
Ab to there ishq mai khaak hona h mjhe
Ab to bas barbaad hona h mjhe

Ab suraj ki roshni nhi andhera pyara lgta h mjhe
Ab upar Jana nhi girna pyara lgta h mjhe
Ab to tere ishq mai raakh hona h mjhe
Ab to bas barbaad hona h mjhe

Ab to dil m pyar nhi dard accha lgta h mjhe
Is bejaan shareer mai khoon nhi nasha acha lgta h mjhe
Ab to tere ishq mai taaj hona h mjhe
Ab to bas barbaad hona h mjhe

Teri ek ek yaad apne ashko se bahani h mjhe
Teri ek ek hasi apne gum se chupani h mjhe
Ab to tere ishq mai zinda laash hona h mjhe
Ab to bas barbaad hona h mjhe

Ishq ki maala m vishwas k motiyon ko todna h mjhe
Duniya k jhoote riti riwazo ko todna h mjhe
Ab to tere ishq mai kisi shayar k labo ki awaz hona h mjhe
Ab to bas barbaad hona h mjhe

it has been over two years and i am proud of my growth. my main focus this year is to finish my grieving so that i may continue my life in an efficient manner.
the process of grieving is commonly known as, but not limited to:

denial
anger
bargaining
depression
acceptance

my denial proces:
many times the easiest way to get over trauma is to repress it. i was 15 when i was ra ped. legal age of consent is 16. he was 18. i was naive, and could not imagine the man i loved doing that to me. i believed that it was an accident and neither of us knew what was right or wrong. I had assumed that because i had previously given him my body, he was able to ignore my pleads to stop this time. i blamed myself more than i blamed him, and he blamed me. i had been so infatuated with him that i had pushed away the people who cared most about me. when i told them about being ***** our bond was already so far gone that they could not feel anything more than pitty. i was terrified of losing him, so i convinced us both it was an accident. ra pe is no accident.

through denial became anger:
i became genuinely angry for the first time in my life. i was angry at him for being somebody that i had trusted and loved. angry that i had let this happen to myself. angry that i had no strength nor respect to stand up for myself. if i had told him to stop one more time he would have. i understand now that i should not have had to say no more than once. i was angry because i let myself down, but I’m more angry that i could not blame him. being angry was the easiest part of grieving. it is okay to he angry.

bargaining is a toxic healing method:
i became really good at bargaining with myself. after he was gone i had begun to understand my emotions, but i could not control them. my fear of more being taken from me fed my overcompensation. i began to give my body away, so that it could not be taken. it was an unhealthy coping mechanism. my body is not meant to be given nor taken.

depression hit hard:
i began to reflect on all of the points in my life that had lead me to this one. i became close to restarting the grieving process. i spent a long portion of the depression stage in denial. then i was angry that i had backtracked to the beginning. i had more meaningless se x that i now regret more than anything. i saw how good his life had been going and how poorly mine was. it was obvious that i needed help.

acceptance:
this entire passage was my process to acceptance. i reached out to my therapist. i made new friends. i stopped wallowing in self pity and i began to recover. i stopped begging to forget my flaws and began to forgive them.

we must be living on opposite sides of the galaxy
I can see you are a bi-ped
what more can a spider say?

let's go back.  to.  the. start.
Texts-and-Snaps
late-night-talks

can\we\start\over,..?
re­read Clementine
andcrytogether,...

how about a re//do?
Before;...I overusedmyverbs
and you would\n't hear. me. anymore.

I could turn-down-the-noise
...to a suit/ab/le level
for us to continue
...ex》ploring each》 other

I want {you} to be back
whenall_ I couldhopefor
...was. your. lipPsSsss
awake\every\night
...with °thou°ghts° of. your. kiss.

Before my s/t/u/p/i/d
₩,...romanTIC...°°mind
Caved>> every//thing//in

But,..then;.... a_gain,...

maybewewereneverreally
meant;... to be
...JUst,... friends

It has been 20 something years.
And on a single day within layers of hours.
I've felt a shrug for the first time.
Like pins on the pillow you have
left behind when all the dust have settled.

The ball has dropped. A million times.
And then some.
And on a ***** slippery and distinctly
overwhelmed.

I've felt a beat within my rib-cage
slightly loud that it has shaken me
in sleep.

The dust you have left to shrivel
still dances around my plethora
of emotions, unsettled.

And, I'm standing here, surrounded by
what could have been
but should have never been.

Saved by frantic clicks
on a keypad. Typing into the existential
delusions of your listless memories.

I have stood here, unshaken, by the mistakes
we have accumulated down the polarizing roads.
And the dainty trickling down the drain.

I am standing and withstanding
a shootout of the most frivolous nature.

Like the pins striking this pillow
in a poetic wave of dissonance.

---october, same year, after the bomb,

How should we train the surplus of boys?
We can't use them to sweep chimneys any more.
Nor work in Nike's winged victory factory,
child labor's not a means to an end
any more.
A seller must sell such as toys in Thailand today.

There are too many to waste efficiently in war.
A global conundrum beating time in our global brain.

A conundrum beating cadence for the dancers on parade.
Proud dancers with a vision...

Utopian distanty visiony,
since nought left ought as our only
understood shelter,
from the storm. Cower under ought, my child,
every thing is under control.

You are welcome in our safe place,
was once the reply to thanks, in essence, that was meant.

Now, it's no problem, serves and means nothing, in return.

Why should any boy grow into man? Let them play.
Entertainment's all that needed,
that'n' bread, with sugar,
that'll fixit, do the trick, keep the boy in hero role, virtually
forever, never growing
wiser.

Virtual virtue. Tech them that.
Virtually anyone can see the connection,
virtue, virtually means

What? Exactly. The act is outed.
Virtue went forth from Jesus, there's the bomb.

What does virtue being drawn through thy very e-sense
feel like?
Would we know, you or I, the feeling of virtue going out,
escaping?

A shocking short circuit? or a buzzer triggered by alarming
outflow of essential immaterial
stuff. Unnamed, unspeakable stuff?

Immaterial. The judge declares. The clar-if-ication
means look
elsewhere.

Virtue is too dangerous for little boys at play.
'Tis a cept, signified, perhaps
that
is what a sceptre does, officially it de-sig-nates who got it,
when virtue first
appeared needing shelter in the storm.
lightning lightening,
immaterial. Nonsense, can you sense immaterial matter.
You can't touch it. The judges believe.
Nor can mortals
even imagine immaterial matters reserved for Kings and king builders.

So why seek whys, when nothing matters more than...
why? what? who? when? where?
altogether on the six o'clock news.
All-in-one, all the knowing needed. Be joyfully entertained.
Sing along, meaningless songs,
doo-dah day.
Hallelujah (wait, did you say that? Out loud, ever? In a song?

What if... never mind.. could be a trap. Don't think it means anything. An old fashion past, that's all, now.
No magi utterance that changes
matters, in real time.
Not words and ideas, but
Clocks rule this domain, it's minions are the yoke bearers pulling
loads declared worthy of laboring incessantly happy.
The yoke is on you. (Take mine, it's light.) Carry on.

Take Sisyphus, for ensample. He's as happy as a clam, they say.
Those who live near the see declare the wee bivalves happy as pi.
We don't know why.
That's all.
At this particular point in time, as the ped-ants say.
Let patience perfect that which concerns you.
Let simple morph to sublime.

See, Jesus winked.

How To Dress For My Funeral



black or white, hot n'pink,
lavender always a fav,
at a fun funeral rave,
lacy or plain, your choice,
tho clean would be nice,
won't matter to me very much,
the color of your underwear.
but do not fail to recall, the dead,
their vision keen, can see all!

funeral gravity rules to be strictly observed,
snickering and giggling to commence in the
back row, when holy pomposity gets uttered,
let it wend its way forward from the aft,
until y'all better be
laughing your ***** off

anyone who chooses to speak,
must commence with words,
"Did ya hear the one about"
or be haunted by my spectral shadow
tickling both feet at midnight, or,
worse yet, reciting this awful poem
in their head, like Henry the Eighth,
I am, I am

perhaps a hora dance might be nice,
a mamba line, butts,  holy rolling n'shaking,
past rows of rock n' rolling tombstones, guitar-playing
some Metallica,
while the rabbi intones somberly,
Let's get this party started, gad ******!

if my untimely hour should arrive in July,
I humbly request that flip flops be the ped-modality,
if January should be my season
of absence treasoned, use some reason,
please stay home, and let the paid professionals
suffer in fine phony, professional, seasonal frigidity

at the post partum party, should that occur,
I humbly repast request, barbecue be the cuisine,
in the hopes you all recall to place
a generous helping, repeat, generous helping,
inside my sauce- proof pine wood casket,
with extra napkins for the long trip ahead

now these are all post hypnotic, post breathing,
helpful suggestions, not requirements,
but honor or disparage, cry or vent,
curse or bless my perma-absence,
don't matter to me, as long as somebody
reads this manifesto at the festivities, first and last.

A tyrant                king, a
Vandal’s               scream        
Of moor               & rock        
And fair                 I sing;                  
  Life’s                    to its                              
   Test,                  guer-            
     don of        unrest,            
      &strife; believed!  

           Milked out                
  like utter red; lipids        
   ****** hard                  
           at birth: semi-          
                     born: made
three         legion’s ****,    
careful;       cuz fate’s,  
      Allectus, mean.      

      Made in            sheaths        
     An aural           memor-      
     y lock, a-          nswer ur
    calling;              tricky to  
      be bad             &get; a-  
         way w/it!     Caraus-      
           ius’s on     guard          
             duty; he’s in.              

              Fog in chan-              
    nel; no               lights:        
    Bware!            Usurp-        
   ing cou-             ntry,        
   mauling& killing men      
   To ob-        tain                
   Power;            @any        
   risk in                   Britain.

       gold insignias!          
     shine           ur lite!      
    greed              can’t      
    pay—poenas dat!      
   Ascle-                              
    piod-                              
    otus                                
   hears:                            

    He, Allectus does a-      
    way w/.                            
   Besei-                                
   ge in London—rime      
   the trea-                            
   sure al-                              
   located;                            
   Vain he found, good.    

       Crack souls’ ice;
   To ruin              comes
   conceit,           comes
   that rip-       ped part.
   Ah, to p’wer& knifes
   Like wo-      rds...
   P’wer               slashes
    Carves,                &impales;.

pillow fights
late nights
sailor jerry
cigarettes
tattoos

I don't know if this is going anywhere, but having it in this moment seems right.

Old beaten path, bent backward on its axis acting like a scientific textbook projection map.
Becoming something impossible to traverse even for expert woodsmen or a genius of a certain variety that is imbued with Zoom Zoom PED's, just enough red wine, or some self appointed enlightenment that "never failed me before"
Ignoring all traces of anxiety, disregarding inhibition, conquering every whim and mental roadblock desperately vying for success and representation as SOMEone instead of everyone else who writes in blue ink and drinks their coffee black and hides in plain sight and doesnt care what other people think and watches primetime reality television programs and believes in Jesus Christ and chews with their mouths closed and keeps their finges clean.

The Path
remains forever unbeaten
how far we get along it is our legacy that no one ever gave a **** about until we wrote about it.

.
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IHAVEAPhD-ed
wazup-ed
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ifurreadingthisur­weird-ed

Zarathustra told me "be calm"
And gently folded closed my eyes
“There’s no depth to escape from
There’s no eternal prize.
Your wire was our bridge, dear son
Above the raging current of man”
No, wise one, say it isn't so
Will I balance again
Above the glistening, crystal waters?
Please tell me that it doesn’t end!
“Be calm, dear son, you’ve neither
Lost nor won
Your trials will soon be over”
Why do you carry me into the night?
Why am I in the trees?
It’s cold here, friend!
Don’t leave me here afraid, dark and lonely
“Relax, and breathe,” he said to me
“It’s begun to end" and raised me upward slowly
I’m propped atop an arbor burial
Like a dead-egg’s nest ready to die
Before I realize to my horror
As the bi-ped's shadow awkwardly trots off
He was a stranger and my friend,
Regardless, Zarathustra's just another guy!

The Packrat has morphed into a hoarder
I tried to removed the monkey in a suite off his back and put it in he barrel with the rest of them even though it wasn't my business, although I was its uncle

Get in

A quaint little bungalow
Where sweltering heat is a constant
"There's coffee on the back burner, ya want some?"

It was a blessing in disguise
A bona fide  slice of paradise

We read up on the complex of Oedipus Rex and the debate of moral fiber when talking about Ped Xing

We hopped on to a plane going to Pismo Beach and joined the mile high club then enjoyed clams on the half shell  

We listen to a dollar fifty nickelodeon
And talked about how music is dead because everyone is just na na naing and yeah yeah yeahing their way to the top of the pop charts  

Over a *** pie
I confessed my love
His rebuttal seemed abysmal to my sleeve dwelling heart

He said this was an unnatural habitat for him
And if we were to be together it would raise eyebrows
Tarnish his illustrious reputation

It was an unanswered prayer
After all the whatnots and whathaveyous
He got sick and died of AIDS about a year and a half later
He never came out

Dodged a bullet there on that one

I'm sitting here taking a ****,
Looky right at a roll of ****,
Well at least that's what it wipes off,
I am bored as a car on Sunday that got hit in slow motion,
By a mo-ped,
Good god I am bored as ****,
THIS ISN'T EVEN A ******* POEM!

Squish down below the
                                  filmy line
                    Eyes buckled, buttoned

Snap          
                          ped in half

            to achieve a  
                             tepid calm
                              
                                        is all

Mankind has evolved
from Bi-ped
to wheels

It’s Wednesday.
Some ungodly hour between
4:00 and 6:00. Maybe. I’m not sure.
My mind is soft, unfocused,
sleep-heavy.
Dawn’s greeting is gentle, loving.
A mother’s smile. A susurration, interrupted
by David Wolfe promoting the NutriBullet on an LED screen.
Avocado, kale, blueberries.
Pseudo-science babble stems from wild,
bright eyes, overflowing into bohemian curls. Overgrown and unruly.
Enthusiasm and conviction have
never been more entertaining.
Billy Mays and his dynamic personality pitch.
Stubborn stains shiver before the power of OxiClean.
In a parallel world, I have bought out
every kitchen appliance, every menial utensil
that will revolutionize my quotidian life.
Those ped eggs, the George Foreman grills, Shamwows.
And I am content,
as I sit on my throne of ShamWows,
draped in an oversized Snuggie.

Hey dummy,
wanna sit
on my face, ace?
i’ll what your mouth, and bust
your blouse, open
your lips, give it a lick, kiss your clip-
ped fingers, your must have fun
rough and tumble, gargle and gumble,
oozing *** appeal, i feel
like a crazy person when you stare at me, see
my bulging, iron bind and rewind
you to find a little bit.

The Funniest Word: Sesquipedalian: Long-Winded

I just learned the strangest word:
An adjective ne’er seen or heard.
Sesquipedalian.
Sesqui-pedal-ian:
Are we the aliens depicted?
Is it us the word has painted?
Latin for a foot plus half**
Which makes me laugh.
“Polysyllabic or long-winded”.
If there ever was a winding
Longish ended word, it is sesquipedalian.
You have to laugh
At something that’s a ‘foot plus half’
That uses fourteen signs to say it.
‘Sesquipedalian names, or prose’
God only knows how long is wrong,
And even, what is wrong with ‘long’!
Eighteen inches, fourteen letters.
Something in the letters fetters.

Words are born from situations:
Every nuance. each emotion.
How they come about’s the question.
Are we so observant, we,
Disposed to live linguistically?
I’ve no idea,
But it sure is
****** funny.
18 inches or 45.72 centimeters.
The Funniest Word: Sesquipedalian 9.27.2020 A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

sesquipedalian | ˌsɛskwɪpɪˈdeɪlɪən |
adjective formal
(of a word) polysyllabic; long: sesquipedalian surnames.
• characterized by long words; long-winded: the sesquipedalian prose of scientific journals.
ORIGIN
mid 17th century: from Latin sesquipedalis ‘a foot and a half long’, from sesqui- (see sesqui-) + pes, ped- ‘foot’.