This is the ice breaker.

I am always new to a conversation,

years gone by as days slow down.

You may relate to it like a fish out of water.

Breathing under earths clear-blue surface

its hesitation of a world spinning as words are spoken.

In need of a breath of fresh air,

comparing it as a gasp of an after thought.

A finger to the mouth, a cat caught the tounge.

Separation can be too much too scorn.

This irrelevance in term we call chemistry.

The deep secrets we hunt,

for an open country we live without.

Should we walk the talk?

We swim a mile in short term.

The distance a man can take to dive

gives this enough to cancel past premonitions.

An eye length away

we go where the bible parts the seas...

This long trail for a short cut we gut from the book of trust.

We take the scenic route

like riding a bike till it ends with a flat,

making us take a bus,

till it cost too much.

An arm and a leg we kick to swim.

One or the other as we struggle,

we use a foam vest astride by a whim.

This maze with secret illusions,

a movie The Laberenth comes to mind.

Make belive...made up dreams.

Morals of fairy tales.

Stroies told.

Or this fable to tuck you into.

Where there is no grandmother to look forward too.

Who says I love you?

A goodnight that can't live within you.

Nothing but a monster that we hide from under our sheets.

We stress to the progress of nothing but a scary cry of, what if's?

For a wolf like me faking it's false teeth

turns out to be a deciving catastrophy.

Made up and unforgiving.

Living my escape.

It's the farthest away from my problems.

The least of my worries.

If you must try to unpuzzle my riddle.

It comes naturally.

You have it or you don't.

It's easy if you know me...

Phish Food
If time travel was possible, you say you’re sure you wouldn’t change a thing,
but I would.
I’m not mad, but I just think that I’m worthy of better times in my life
than what I’ve had.
This just isn’t what they mention when they mention being my age-
And I have my issues separate of you, and that separation might have been
what drew us together.
I recently compared my love life to Rose and Jack from the titanic,
except I’m the one in the water, grasping and freezing.
I’m not trying to be dramatic, I swear-
I just mean:
thanks for letting me hold on for a while.
I hope I was a turning point in your journey to
psychedelic self-discovery,
or whatever.
You were not a turning point in mine.

Coffee
    Heath
        Bar
            Crunch
Will sabotage those taste buds,
Like Dublin and its Mudslides.
So blast off with that,
Fossil Fuel,
And don’t let me
Catch you.
‘Cause I’ll keep you,
My Maple Blondie.
I’ll capture you,
And hold onto,
Those Cinnamon Buns.
You’re the Crème Brulee,
Of Chocolate Macadamia,
And the Cherry Garcia,
In my every breath.
You’re the Chunky Monkey,
To this Chubby Hubby;
The Dulce Delish,
for this Americone Dream.

Can’t you see I’ve just got,
A sweet tooth for you,
And your Phish Food?
Your Chocolate hair,
Key Lime Pie eyes,
Strawberry Cheesecake lips,
And your skin is a delight,
Much like Vanilla Caramel Fudge.
Did Ben and Jerry create you?
Please tell me they did!
So I can eat you,
With my cup of Boston Cream Pie,
And I’d eat you all up, Well,
Everything but the…
Half Baked,     Karmel Sutra,
Which I’d lick,
Like a cone of Cake Batter,
And then dip into,
Like Cookies and Milk.

Imagine Whirled Peace,
On top of this Mudpie,
And then Split,
Like a Banana.
That’s the kind of Brownie Batter,
I’d stir with you,
And then add a scoop,
    Or two,
Of Turtle Soup.
And you would yell,
PISTACHIO PISTACHIO!
    Where for art thou pistachio?
And with a bowl of Peach Cobbler,
And a spoon of Vanilla,
I’d look at you,
    wink,
and offer you a pint,
of my Mint Chocolate Chunk.

You're like a phosphorescent phish,
swimming quickly through my brain
Leaving trails of glitter to slowly filter through my veins
I'd rather dream in black and white
But you prefer the color blue
So I'm stuck with aqua daydreams
'Cause all I dream about is you.

They ain't  got *****,
They can't have *****,
Ugh they always go to Starbucks and order a frappuccino "**** them rich uppity white ******* get on my nerves."
They all listen to One Direction and 5 Seconds of Summer,
"I really wish I had white girl hair."
All white girls have to be this, have to do that,
This is my average day at school.
It's not true.
I know because I am a white girl
But I'm not your "typical" one,
I listen to Pantera and Phish,
I don't "always" go to Starbucks.
And I have an *** thank you very much,
I'm not rich,
I'm not poor,
I have the same anatomic structure as everybody else,
I don't need to be singled out for something that isn't true about me.
White people aren't the only that can have stereotypes made about them.

Los and Lettes,
the horrorcore fans,
the post-******* brats,
the goths,
the stoners,
the metalheads,
Phish fans with no regrets,
To Les Claypool high on toadstool, Reggaeton  block party vets,
To the cigarette carrying beatniks,
Hipsters in turtlenecks,
Fashionable Teens wearing fashionable things,
Armani and Diamond rings,
Business men in formal attire,
Old folks about to expire,
gospel musicians getting higher and higher.
***** alley banter bands, who find their lyrics at the bottom of cans.

At that I had lost my rhyme scheme knowledge dropped on every scene to which i thought i was superior.

Nothing said in so many lines, fines paid for literary crimes.
Like fines levied for a lost library book.

I felt your breath and smoke like
adjacent trains.

------------

I lost my heart in the war between
what took place in normal Syrian towns
(just like the ones I learned how to read in
and the ones I danced through your hair like
asymmetrically curling waves in,
and the ones where
I saw love die like a
half-lit cigarette still burning)
and  
what your skin looked like when the wind blew off the sheets so softly that mice could have ran marathons-
where shrouded shadows cleared vision like your cornfields of tightening nerves,
forever unwinding mine.

It was hiding in between your teeth and all of the other places that were too brightly shaded for me to sun-tan under,
where
you are sixteen acres of magnolia trees donning the darkest leaves that forests will ever see,

and we mirror each other's company so tragically.

----------

Inside,
your fireplace warmed our souls like
Phish Food
and whatever chemical reactions occur when love overpowers self-loathing.

¬The trouble stems from the branches bursted from mean tantrums of the heated Johnny Appleseed’s handgun. held me for ransom but in as much as he trusts his land lock planned spot he must remain unplucked or  ****** with stuck with the function of patiently waiting to branch out and touch something. Turn the pages on the famous channel changer cuz this cliff hanger is upsetting the readers’ digestive systems. Howdy stranger maybe don’t strangle and erase the angle their plato fated brains are facing and they’ll be no problem when the mad-man-made stage caves in. Oh ancient aliens, save them from the cavemen take them to your leader they’ll meet her and she’ll tame them. Train them to fly all unidentified like and fight flickering lights that “look pretty nifty when they’re perfectly aligned all nice like that right”? **** pay attention their coming in hot with a heat seeking mission! Fully equipped with infinite wisdom and phish records skipping they’re insisting you’re a loose end who’s been missing from planet prison. You planned it didn’t ya? The way you resisted being apprehended by those animals. You’re intangible that is to say untouchable to these cannibals. Until they snuck back and struck fire when inspired to stuff the sling shot with cannonballs. ****.. terrible.

That tragedy outlasted the whited out new paper pages for nearly half an eternity. You know, internally I feel pretty empty about the incident cuz theirs a hollow feel in my gut which leaves more room for my heart to bang its head against it. Its like the old tricky ticking ******* wanted to burst his branches out of his old standards and habits of doing the laboring favor of keeping me alive. Which to be fair I completely understand where he’s coming from. I went 50/50 with him on a bet, both of what’s left of our chump change life savings. No pun intended. Threw it all at the odds of the abstract fast track approach to finally get up and move away from this place because we don’t like the crooked looks of it. No more straight edges making us circular patterned people look like were cutting corners. We were taking these squares down in their own home court advantage. They had flat feet man. A good solid stick in the mud demeanor if you know what I mean. They wouldn’t budge. Until the they jaggedly and abruptly branched out to spread their seeds and infect most of the infantry into agreement. I still remember them yelling “stick with me”.

The trouble stems from the tangents tearing the seemingly handsome devils by their new haircuts. Bare-butted phantoms prancing shoulder to shoulder  roll over on the motive to hold boulders or shotguns in his holster. But hold up, he was sold a handgun by a man who scammed him to run as rampant as a rabbit can run to tear up the lack of land with demands to “get in the family’s tree trunk”. And thus we sunk. He was Much more of a cold shoulder of a quote unquote soldier in his old days. Don’t **** the messenger lest you lessen his lesson from his letter, hope next time the handgun writing is a little bit better. In a nutshell, that Johnny kid has a tremor. He’s just a teenager in between the brain and the thinker. Thinking more meaning is a synonym for meaner. No more lingering in this trunk-stuck scenery, he leaves her. Makes a deal with the real inside of reality and magically adapts to their ragged jagged jackpot actually he quite liked the lack of quiet he’d suggest you try it if he didn’t die happily when he tied a tight neck tie to his promised-landslide. Tragedy.

The beginning of this
Break.
–Down
At its foundation
Fulfilling and self-reflective, and
Rousing and neurotic and bright
And perilous
–a fever-dream
¬¬¬
Shadows that have stopped forming,
      Dead
       All
The mornings are dead
The passion is dead
The feeling of the back of my neck –tiny hairs
      All
       Dead

That human side has halted
The “I-feel-like-a-*****-but-” thoughts, gone

All dreams
All barren, with less than profound meaning
******* dead, behind the wheel.
Car trapped
Inside of a sad self-absorption

A frozen-inlet, a fissure in the glass-jar
Road paved with the litter of the late
Night, bug-eyed witless carbon copy Phish fan
Grave yard shift –stick worn-down-brain
Lazily-littered, empty-shell of a
Bottle flung, down to the pavement

Down, into the gutter

Down, into sewer

Which sweeps, down into the **** Heavens
And sits
Down, endlessly
Dreaming only to return
Into life

The insanity
The heartbreak
The fears
The passions
The talent
The jokes
The sickness
The *******

Where it all starts
Where it all eventually sleeps
Where all of this **** came full circle
Where the mind can return
Where the body can lay,
Down

At the beginning of this.
Break.
–Down

Eastbound sundown on the I-84, the sun in my mirrors.
I imagine standing on the beach in Klamath
watching it say good morning to the other side of the world
with the girl of my dreams cradled in my arms asleep.
But the land here is different, the grass is dead
and that girl doesn’t escape my thoughts.
She stays in there, waiting for me to fall asleep
so I can hold her again in the darkness for a few minutes.

Pocatello to the left, Ogden to the right,
where is it I should go tonight?
I heard of an Aberdeen near here, a home away from home.
Maybe it looks the same as the Aberdeen I know.
I move into the left lane, the fast one if you’d believe,
because here in America everything’s the wrong way around.
Last chance now to change my mind, final call for Ogden.
The slip-road passes by me and joins another highway
that seems to ascend into the horizon and disappear completely.

The landscape here is unbearably flat,
I feel myself longing for just the slightest rise or fall,
let myself feel the curvature of the world ever so slightly.
There is a hill on my right that looks just like my Bennachie,
rising sharply to a peak then slowly flattening out
until it joins the inescapable flatness of this country.
Raft River, American Falls, Pocatello,
fourteen, thirty-seven, fifty-eight.
Many miles to go before I can sleep,
many more miles to go until I am home.
Sixteen miles just to the next rest area.

I wanted to drive around Raft River
but I couldn’t see it from the road
and I didn’t know how far it was to Aberdeen.
What looked like a diner was by the road on the right.
The dust swirled up around the solitary pickup parked outside,
the owner looking like the guy in Nighthawks with his back to me.
There was no fancy couple there,
just him on his lonesome in Idaho alone.

Exit 36 points me in the direction of American Falls and Rockland.
This was where I was told to turn off at.
The slip road rose up towards the next road, and it felt wonderful,
finally feeling like I was actually going somewhere,
The signpost at the top of the rise
shows me the way to go to Aberdeen.
Left I go, to American Falls.

Through the city I drove, trailers and bungalows together.
There were big trees in the front and back yards
but they were not too dense that they looked unseemly,
in fact, they added character and life in this place.
A cat darted across the road, waking me up,
warning me not to keep my eyes off the road too much.

The end of the road, stop sign, no others giving me direction.
To the left, the road went around another corner
to go back in the direction I came from.
I took to the right and followed the road,
trees and houses on my right, wasteland to my left.
I went over a crossroads and stopped at the next,
exasperated at the lack of signposts.
I parked next to a long bungalow
with a red-painted ramp going up to the door.
An old woman wearing an apron covered in flour answered,
and she found my accent pleasing
when I asked her the directions to Aberdeen.
She offered me a cookie, and I accepted,
I hadn’t had food since I left Oregon
even though she said I was not far from Aberdeen.

We said our goodbyes and I turned left,
continuing on a road that curved to the right
and through a well-manicured little park.
It was unusual seeing grass this green,
having been offered greys and yellows
for most of my journey in Idaho.
I turned left at the police station then left again.
A large body of water, Snake River I think it was called.
It’s hard to call it a river, more like a lake,
the water the same shade as the lochs back home.

After a few miles, I make it to Aberdeen,
the signpost informing me the population is just over a thousand.
I have a feeling this Aberdeen will be different to mine.
The houses here are so small, but they have good gardens.
There is a warehouse with potatoes inside it.
I am a long way from home tonight.
I can’t find a motel, so I stop at a bungalow covered in windows.
A ***** gold pickup sits outside.
I knock on the front door, which is on the side,
because this is America and everything’s the wrong way around,
and a middle-aged man wearing a mullet
and a Phish tank top answers.
He invites me in and says I can stay as long as I need,
offering me food and beer and company.
They people here are nice, much friendlier than the old Aberdeen.
I like this new Aberdeen, it feels like a home already.

I dreamed well that night, the girl in my arms,
sitting by Snake River, watching it flow,
carrying away all my troubles.

I’d like to start
By saying that I have had
So many great memories
(Mornings of Phish shows,
before skiing, going to college,
high school lunch with friends)
Standing in front of your counter
As I eagerly watch you
Flip my sizzling eggs,
My succulent bacon.

Is there any spirit, Jim,
More jolly than yours?
Any soul more deeply content
To engage in pleasant small talk
With the local old ladies,
To put stickers
On their macaroni salad containers
And smile,
To tell them, “Thanks for shopping here,”
As you wipe your hands
Off on your white apron,
Tied off just beneath your proud belly,
And really mean
Every word?

Jim, you have touched the food
Of many, the lives
Of many.

Your store has survived
Well into the age of the supermart
And still the people come back.
They come back for
Your fresh eggs,
For your incredible meats,
Your perfectly baked goods.

But Jim,
Sometimes,
They come back
For you.

In class I’m learning all about
How all these great people
Explained the world,
How their models accounted
For the inexplicable magic
That somehow floats around
The earth.

Emerson had these circles,
He saw them in everything.
The Puritans saw God,
Everywhere,
Joy Harjo had horses.

Oh and Clapton played the blues,
And how can I forget
About Phish and their IT?

Me,
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,
Looking at really hard at fields.
I’m staring at their imperfections,
I’ve been getting down to eye level
With the grass,
Thinking about all of the life,
Right there,
That just grew,
And keeps living,
Just like that.
Those wavering little blades.

I think my meaning of life
Is
You.

Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably
burst asunder at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition becoming a prolific
scrivener (case in point Stephen King)

Woolworth ridding, oddly lumbering
lackadaisically shoehorning out this
being from a self made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting to extricate
muss elf from tangled web of decades
old setbacks via literary output successful.

Every morning, noon and night, this chap
blunders, flounder, (like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard of broken dreams.

Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these
Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire

telephone contact with Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet heftily jackknifing lust.

Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices within spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic
soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.

Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.

Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted LIX.
They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.
Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin
aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a hand basket plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Ole Virginny.

Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested
to transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining

opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull
Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully
being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action

brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme
vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias
Mr. Mercedes reddit carefully Just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus
her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet ick feet took me where they would.

Pine cones adorn the treetops
And-
An errant breeze plucks one off, tumbling
Down, down, down
Landing with a soft phish in the grass
Finding company once more among its kin down below

me.gs

Sat down with
My date Ben
It was the full moon
We ate with   
His friend Jerry
I brought along
My spoon

They were both
So engaging
They really brought
A smile
I had the
Americone Dream!
We chatted for a while

We'd gone out for
Sea food...
But the place was closed
So we had some
Phish food
Ben nearly proposed!

We got back to
My apartment
To watch some late TV
I put on
The Tonight Dough
We were happy
As can be!

Upon finding out
Ben & Jerry
Liked "The Dead"
I put on Cherry Garcia
That tune stuck
In my head!

Yup! It was a hot date!
I loosened up my belt
After a few minutes
I could see
Both of those guys melt!

But they were just
Half Baked
They ran out on me!
Now I'm just a
Chunky Monkey

As lonely as can be!


SøułSurvivør
(C) 7/7/2017

Fish bowls fish bowls

One day this fish was livin in her bowl
With mom and dad until the day that
It was time to leave the fish bowl


Then little girl grown out of the fish bowl
Started swimming into other bowls and
Much turf and rigid waters with surf
Landed a much bigger fish bowl

Till the day she needed her fishbowl

None for one,
A fun dance for many.
I´ve always been different,
Abundance more than plenty.
But for this, I´d been shunned,
And this stayed true.
Rambled on alone
Until I had found you.
A fine florida boy-
Who understood why
I prefer shellfish to selfish.
One fish,
Two fish,
Red fish,
No Phish.

which I can prov-olone huck curd
(within Trump con feta ration) – as cheesy poem!

Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably
burst asunder at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition becoming a prolific
wordsmith (case in point Stephen King)
Woolworth riding, oddly lumbering
lackadaisical shoehorning out this
being from a self made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting to extricate

muss elf from tangled web of decades
old setbacks via literary output successful.
Every morning, noon and night, this chap
blunders, flounders, (like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard of broken dreams.
Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these

Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire
telephone contact with Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet deftly jackknifing lust.
Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices within) spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic

soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.
Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.
Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted LIX.
They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.

Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin
Aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a handbasket plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Old Virginny.
Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested
To transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining
opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull
Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully

being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action
brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme
vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias
Mr. Mercedes carefully just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus
her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet tick feet took me where they would into the Shining
and happy place called Willoughby located within the outer
limits of the twilight zone.

Yes, believe me you,
I (also considered the best karaoke singer
for the go-go's)
putting Shabrina Leonita to shame
back in two thousand and twenty one
once flew high as the eagles
a grateful dead foo fighting,
earth wind and fire, beastie boy adult,

thus hopefully explaining why
I joined blue oyster cult
begetting the following rhyme I exult
while exuding angelic,
beatific, electric, fantastic,
idyllic, Judaic, kaleidoscopic
halo shimmering galt
garnering heavenly indault.

Without wearing a helm mitt on my head,
yet did suffer inxs
of welts the size of cranberries
amidst talking heads, whose traffic
mishap of cars unable to stp,
thus this passenger indistinguishable from
avast metallica skidrow populated
with heart shaped pearl jam wreckage
upon smashing pumpkins everywhere
with an evanescence shimmering
like spilt midnight oil, which dire straits

charged the super ***** ping
man-made debacle into kiss
from grateful dead village people whose
beatle brows scrunched tight
creating black crows imprimatur
resembling little feet easily mistaken
for hair line fractures,
which strongly appealed to the goo goo dolls,
who lived three doors down
purportedly within which

resided a queen latifah
(an iron maiden ruling america and europe)
plus when asked for bread, she point
in one direction, mere rolling stones away
the black eyed peas, whose ac/dc power
crowded house did feel as if 10,000 maniacs
did squeeze into a tiny black hole,
thus forsaking experiencing nirvana,
with near asphyxiation attributable
to lack of air supply so carpenters got called

to expand and golong
with a gilt emblazoned cupola –
just for kix, and to lure
a silly rabbit doing trix
any wonder full stevie adore,
which teamsters included
skilled one tradesman
roof WinWrite, these collective souls,
a veritable culture club unto themselves
off phish shill lee within the a similar
reo speedwagon as sly and the family stone
choosing king crimson to manage the influx

qua motley crue, which jane's addiction
kept ideal bad company for alice n chains,
the latter whose enslavement
akin to cinderella deprived such indigo girls
to jet set with their sought after
prince charming (even resigning themselves
to a Jethro tull type), or a chap
similar to the garden variety allman brothers,
who didst serve as Lumineers
doobie brothers morale booster

to an imaginary dragon (which beastie boy
foo fighting animals owned
by the legendary kings of leon),
whose mythic storied
BuzzFeed  incorporated their encounter
with blondie (who donned a golden earring),
which Dixie chick happened to be hail a van
driven by the everly brothers,
which latter escaped be combing caged
like monkeys in a zoo,

and carved out a niche
as beach boys blessedly banished,
where they fed on red hot chili peppers
dredged via bay city rollers
to sustain their being a survivor,
and welcomed by experiencing rebirth
viz genesis, whar
mambo kings proffered palliative
to smooth kinks concomitant with cast off
as a foreigner on maroon 5.

Zealousness yowled x wise,
venturesomely urged viz thighs
sensuousness roared qua prize of nascent
marvelous libidinal kisses jeweled iridescent
hides genital fulfillment
explodes delicious capacious brides’
atonement breathtakingly conceding conception
decides elopement fashions gustatory hoopla
insides jot kickstarter
latching mightily nourishing oxides
maids visited  unmet
testosterone satiation roared.

The brothers Gibb
lit roches ****** madness
jumpstarting, mustering puckering,
snickering at barenaked lady
male fraud betraying faithful missus,
(a veritable madonna)
meowed lamentably
analogous to cat stevens
kindling joyousness indeed.

Hotmail garnered fingerhut egghead
drew capitalone BuzzFeed amen.

Recurrent suicidal thoughts
vaingloriously wend along winding road
within windmills of my mind
(o'er a death cab for cutie weeknd)
yakking, yanking, and yawking zeal
becalming this crash test dummy rolling
stone temple pilot inxs
of maroon 5 plus decades long
perdition hellaciously slogging
slow as adam and the ants,
thru fifty shades of gray's

anatomy common weal
masterly baiting this motley crue (cutting),
beatles browed, beastie boy,
foo fighters kickstart new edition
quickening reo speedwagon treadwheel
outre gee (bee) us, grateful dead,
mailer daemons inhabit
cavernous fist size vastness steel
via herbie hancock (hermans hermits)
cheesy munster trap doors that steal,

deep purple swiftly tailored
culture club members squeal
hosted by megadeath
pack rat boston for real
venue at tokyo hotel,
via en grave invitation
signed by alice in chains poison huss kiss
sing, which will spellbind
once contents unveiled,
an instant jane's addiction peal

immediately choking off air supply
then alice cooper egging bad company
to hypnotize the guess who sacrificial meal
supplanting raw
primal scream from spinal tap
acquiescing self to abandon all hope,
especially if black sabbath joins
creedence clearwater revival
dark shadows would demand one
(to take a knee) and kneel

before sacrificing oneself
at the beck and call
of evanescent nirvana
experiencing permanent relief,
sans soul (twisted) sister riding a hansom
off phish hull heart shaped coffin
ample room enough for blind
melon collie 10,000 maniacs,
their healing powers profusely emanating
via m&m shaped talking heads

methinks averring obeisance
to judas priest and *******
with coldplay feel
ling of eternal sleep,
where quiet ***** riot
joins carpenters, whose underground
bunker with golden arches
resembles empyreal
heavenly vault wreathed
with electric light orchestra

sepulchral crowded house indicative
cynthesis iz a done
dizzy gillespie afterlife deal
and you bet your sweet bippy meme,
an extra bonus for orthodox believers
(absent myself - a skeptic),
whose karma credit Suisse
with long deceased meatloaf
with soul asylum and heart to anele!

Despite what outside temperature registers
(even absolute zero), the official arrival
of spring occurs, when thee eel hip tic
of coe phish hunt holy Mackerel
becomes tangential to barenaked ladies
barren *** hymn tote,
hoochie mama hottie
presenting strip the willow
ova troop of foxy budding
******* nymphs

analogous to motley crew
despite crowded house,
where masterbaiting anglers
blindsiding naive prey
snagging hook, line and sinker
courtesy spanning global network
with marginal kinks
within human league
showcasing webbed wide
electric light orca straw.

No burlesque across the globe
upstages mother nature's emergent style
soundlessly donning and trumpeting
peeping within nook and cranny
delicate plant and animal feelers probe
resplendent metaphorical pregnant Gaia,
whose all encompassing bulging robe
magnificently, albeit modestly evinces
matronly dame parading and sauntering,
she intimates readiness to give birth
regarding multitudinous flora and fauna,
whereby swath groundswell of color
and panoply of sound bursts forth.

A symphony with terrestrial
ecological community, which life forms abound
via natural laboratory qua nature,
especially at seasonal dawn of spring tide,
where multifarious existence can be found
carving out a figurative zoological niche
in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds galore
idyllic melodic musical sound
artist palette of rainbow blended sights
assuage auditory and
visual sense pleasures respectively.

No gofundme donation required-
unless ye clamor to proffer expense
(toward fame and fortune
concerning one garden variety
long haired pencil necked geek
to regale sensational experience,
but before further lines get read
please be mindful
to take lock, stock, and barrel
of mine existential sponsor,
thus a brief plugged statement to:

ɢɛȶ ʟɨʄɛʟօƈӄ ɨɖɛռȶɨȶʏ ȶɦɛʄȶ քʀ0ȶɛƈȶɨ0ռ ʄ0ʀ ʟɛֆֆ.

Now back to regularly scheduled program
trying to entrance ye dear reader
incorporating titanic and tectonic processes,
(albeit all natural wonders)
constituting eight ways
to build strong bodies
bred courtesy punctuated equilibrium
nudging advantages to outvie
one living thing
versus another organism.

Winter of our (collective) discontent
(novel of the same name
by the storied John Steinbeck)
alleviated courtesy pagan earth goddesses
prestidigitation delivering cathartic holistic
and poetic botanical balms,
which salve (age long in the tooth)
psychological wounds.

Show stopping stunning performance
stills lovers embrace
long anticipating nonpareil experience,
nevertheless straining credulity
of visual and aural senses,
where collective awed pinterests
silences onlookers evoking
masterpiece rendered still life
among webbed plant and animal species.

Earthy, ******* clad, bombshell nubile
babes, brazen lee, ineluctably, innocently
insouciantly, prominently, promotes pro
pry eh tarry, plus risqué provocative proxy,
trigger numb matt trick functions, as nymphs
doth seductively saunter to approach ever
so close, yet never crosses mine orbit,

but unknowingly teases (like a firecat,
when catch bull struck four), my test
toss tee roan needle swings wildly in
due sing this ordinary system of a down
mellow male to feel doubly breasted,
hair reed kinkily, tongue mortise tenon
facilitating flagellated fortuitous forays,

go win for inflected miniature escarpment,
where groaning pinkish tulips anchored
right at the estuary (nee slippery sluice),
sans self cleaning coven at the intersection
of happy and healthy, heavens to Betsy
bursting provocative cadenzas whence,
mine skipping heart beats long and fosters

fertilizing fecund fresh field, forthwith
fallow paean seeds of life and White Lily
deemed to dein nouns verb
hot ten fruit, no matter
huck cull berry finis wrought twig
and berries sounding off a snap,
crackle and pop goes ma little weasel.

of scorpion stinging poison us marriage,
whereby the missus and I
experienced genesis as
mama and papa respectively.

(jest kibitizing)

thus explaining why I
(a sixty five year young adult,
albeit beatle browed)
joined blue oyster cult
to live out my dream as
a Norwegian bachelor farmer
yours truly doth exult.

Without wearing a helm mitt on my head,
yet did suffer inxs
of welts the size of cranberries
amidst talking heads, whose traffic
mishap of cars unable to stp,
thus this passenger indistinguishable from
avast metallica skidrow populated
with heart shaped pearl jam wreckage
upon smashing pumpkins everywhere
with an evanescence shimmering
like spilt midnight oil, which dire straits

charged the super ***** ping
man-made debacle into kiss
from grateful dead village people whose
beatle brows scrunched tight
creating black crows imprimatur
resembling little feet easily mistaken
for hairline fractures,
which strongly appealed
to the goo goo dolls,
who lived three doors down
purportedly within which

resided a queen latifah
(an iron maiden ruling america)
plus when asked for bread, she point
in one direction, mere rolling stones away
the black eyed peas, whose ac/dc power
crowded house did feel
as if 10,000 maniacs
did squeeze into a tine hole,
thus forsaking experiencing nirvana,
with near asphyxiation attributable
to lack of air supply
so carpenters got called

to expand and golong
with a gilt emblazoned cupola –
just for kix, and to lure
any wonder full steve adore,
which teamsters included
skilled one tradesman
roof WinWrite, these collective souls,
a veritable culture club unto themselves
off phish shill lee within the a similar
reo speedwagon as sly and the family stone
choosing king crimson
to manage the influx

qua motley crue, which jane's addiction
kept ideal bad company for alice n chains,
the latter whose enslavement
akin to cinderella deprived such indigo girls
to jet set with their sought after
prince charming (even resigning themselves
to a Jethro tull type), or a chap
similar to the garden variety allman brothers,
who didst serve to Lumineers
doobie brothers morale booster

to an imaginary dragon
(which beastie boy
foo fighting animals owned
by the legendary kings of leon),
whose mythic storied
BuzzFeed  incorporated their encounter
with blondie (who donned a golden earring),
which Dixie chick happened to be hail a van
driven by the everly brothers,
which latter escaped be combing caged
like monkeys in a zoo,

and carved out a niche
as beach boys blessedly banished,
where they fed on red hot chili peppers
dredged via bay city rollers
to sustain their being a survivor,
and welcomed by experiencing rebirth
viz genesis, whar
mambo kings proffered palliative
to smooth kinks concomitant with cast off
as a foreigner on maroon 5.

Zealousness yowled x wise,
venturesomely urged viz thighs
sensuousness roared qua prize of nascent
marvelous libidinal kisses jeweled iridescent
hides genital fulfillment
explodes delicious capacious brides’
atonement breathtakingly conceding conception
decides elopement fashions gustatory hoopla
insides jot kickstarter
latching mightily nourishing oxides
maids visited  unmet
testosterone satiation roared.

Queefer madness puckering of naked missus
(a veritable madonna)
meowed lamentably kindling joyousness indeed.

Hotmail garnered fingerhut egghead
drew capitalone BuzzFeed amen.

crafted when Wallace and Gromit
returned from their trip to the moon,
which I can prov-olone huck curd
(within Trump con feta ration) –
as cheesy poem crafted whey back
when the following Gouda eye idea
occurred while milking the cows.

Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably
burst asunder at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition becoming a prolific
wordsmith (case in point Stephen King)
Woolworth riding, oddly lumbering
lackadaisical shoehorning out this
being from a self made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting to extricate

muss elf from tangled web of decades
old setbacks via literary output successful.
Every morning, noon and night, this chap
blunders, flounders, (like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard of broken dreams.
Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these

Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire
telephone contact with Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet deftly jackknifing lust.
Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices within) spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic

soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.
Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.
Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted
courtesy spluttering, nauseating, and foaming LIX spittle.
They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.

Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin
Aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a handbasket plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Old Virginny.
Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested
To transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining
opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull
Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully

being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action
brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme
vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias
Mr. Mercedes carefully just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus
her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet tick feet took me where they would into the Shining
and happy place called Willoughby located within the outer
limits of the twilight zone.