Bluto, the world’s strongest man, could tear bread loaf-sized pieces off a steel-belted tractor tire with his bare hands.

But he could not lift a single smithereen of his sensitive Piscean heart when Lily, the luscious, leggy Leo trapeze artist, left him for steely-eyed Arien Karl, the literate and literary lion tamer.

Horoscopic Circus, Act II

She was a Cancer Dragon. Like catnip to the Piscean Tiger, whose feline DNA was his Achilles heel. Especially when she wore heels. And nylons. The end is nylon, he thought. I love you she said. I love you more he affirmed. And firm he soon became. Then being the ringmaster, she opened her mouth and incinerated him -- as only dragons can….

you
in perfect transparent
translations
6 dimensional shapes
rolling, falling, flying
away.
i have no idea who or what
you are.

remember that chinese place
off old 66?
i had no idea who i was then
but i would do it a million times over
again and again.

schizophrenic eyes
telephone conversations
alternate zodiacs, tigers and sheep.

piscean planning
and piscean demise.

dolores haze,
her very essence left
trampled on the page.
she was such a beauty in those days.

do you remember those
san franciscan lies?
they say it never rains
but i see that it does
all the time.
i’m still staying there
for all my life.

sweet, sick little complexities
there’s never a cycle you break.
you were in a room rull of people
who would meet your same fate.
three before thirty
you had no clue you’d lead the way.

socially starved, you say?
i guess i can’t deny it,
but i’ll fight it.

i believe in a thing called love,

in toxic oxytocin tears and

jagged daggers of emotions

that hit hard and quick and deep

leaving lovers dazed and aroused

on kitchen tiles and sticky dance floors.

i do believe in love, i do,

in blood filled love potions

you put so much of yourself into it

that she just has to love you

she has to, she must,

and she does, she does,

ugly crying but ****,

for you, all for you,

please just hold on

she pleads -

mucus filled tears cascading down her face,

*******,

thighs,

pooling on the floor,

making the doctors both cringe with disgust and

simultaneously lean forward with interest

swaying in non-existent breeze -

and you die with your first kiss in your fist

and a piebald smile that splinters her inside forever

but i guess that isn't your fault, right?

i do believe in love, i do, i do,

in unfettered devotions

in ****-that-guy,

the quality relationship improvement show,

because you want to be a lover

but the guy ain't right

so just make him up

and use a real guy as his outside

you love him sanded, smoothed, buffed, painted

with rims and an inexplicable 48 inch lcd screen

you'll officially get hitched but don't cry

divorce is common and either way it doesn't matter

just look pretty and make sure to squint.

i do believe love, i do

i believe in

poisoning yourself for Juliet

rather than taking her pulse

to taking dear John's heart and

jumping on it happily

because you love him sooooo much

but like, the world has conspired against you,

not with guns and bombs and videotape

but with, like, freely made decisions,

peer pressure and jagermeister  

his blood makes pretty patterns on your

milk white thighs and i guess that

he sticks around for the show

oh boy, i believe in love, i do, that

6 and 9 aren't meant to be together

they just fit, that

there's no place for 'pure' in love cos it's all

pain and *** and spit

as for 'star crossed lovers'

the stars are always crossed

else eclipses would be boring and

each lost lover on a course

i do believe in love, i do,

in the sweetheart who lispes

licking earlobes and bottom lip biting

of metal snakes, happy fates

and piscean traits,

exuding high fructose glucose syrup

instead of saliva

so kiss them carefully or you'll

sugar high and sugar low

and sugar crash and burn

with every cosmic turn and

oh, i believe in love, lovers, oh i do, i do,

in the swirls of black and white that

play ying and yang

that kiss and grate and fornicate

forming a pasty grey

declaring that their grey is the

greyest, greatest, gayest grey

i do believe in love, i do,

bridezilla has destroyed new york in the

quest for the perfect dress as

otherwise her,

sorry,

their,

day will be ruined

milan and paris are shaking in their loius vuittons

praying they will be passed over

oh anna wintour,

just one more working day

please let the cake be next on it's list,

deliver us, oh lagerfeld, from

polyester blend shrouds in hideous off white,

amen.

but yeah,

i do believe in love, i do,

in philosophers that never tire

who'll be debating whether

kpattz, robsten, or my name for it,

sorry, them,

pattenwart,

really love each other

or are merely feeding off the media **** storm

to soothe their fragile bodies

and appease their shiny deities.

so yeah, i know what it involves

every ingredient labelled and shelved

sampled and sicked up and

given 5 star reviews on amazon

with words of advice

and i do believe in love.

i do.

oh, i do

so friends,

hold out your bleeding hearts

apply some anti-skeptic

your wounds will heal in 30 days

give or take a century.

You always talk about how you conquer
lay women of all types and credentials
figure it out that you are a ***** of a man
and pieces you have shattered along
promising empty and delayed dreams
get your sick **** to sleep for a while
and treat your girlfriend right and good
because she is a queen and deserves love
Don’t fool yourself in this age dear friend
As your flag posts don’t really matter
because you still remain so cold and lonely
shallow and always disrupted to grow
as your oats floats with the melting snow
watching all your friends leave you behind
wanting, groaning, moaning and frowning
It’s like some sort of a Piscean crises
crushes of addiction and utter mind games
When will it stop, come to a halt dear friend

The experiment is maliciously cold, dangerously cunning-
A wrong sort of rapture
An invitation made in amusement
People surround you like the frigid flames in a hyena’s eyes just before it pounces
The experiment is brutality, a completely psychological Auschwitz-
A nightmare down memory lane-
But whose memories are they?
The experiment (seems) to work by gas lighting and technology-
That’s all it needs- cigarettes and soup
But who’s at the watchtower?
I have no delusions of reprieve- despite what people tell me
They- the illusions, delusions, holograms of people reaching out in “love”
Your love is a weight, just like mine is to you
Yes, I bring sorrow to you, but out of this sorrow something was created
Something you can never know because it can’t be possessed-
Too many ideas and too much time…
Still searching for one thing- not love, but truth
Have a roast, lay it on me
Don’t hold back because you don’t want my blood on your hands
It’s already been spilled
You live with my faults and my dilemmas and my neurosis,
But I must live everyday in the body that houses these faults, dilemmas, neurosis.
Still they turn on their Piscean baths, expecting a scorpion not to drown-
A crematorium with no weapons-
Inanimate objects speak, but humans gurgle out white noise,
A poison formed first in the brain then saturated by the tongue
And all the demonic children….
I am that demonic child. I am that vat of toxic waste.
I am a liar, a sinner, a drunk, a madman, a beggar, a freak, a thief
My pain fascinates others as they tap on the fishbowl glass,
Making me shudder
Are these the people of God?
Am I a person of God?
Most likely neither
But how did it come to this?
And really, what would Jesus do?
Jesus probably wouldn’t live in America
And love isn’t enough
They crave conformity, obedience-
What a sick, twisted practice
The sacrifice of one for all
Don’t make any waves, but here’s an ocean

Blessed are the poorly, for theirs is the kingdom of mudflats

The dispirited streak turgid waters
sinuously, through unsettled feelings
in the wake of boats shedding
filaments of fuel,
sheen on a turbid infusion
and the cordgrass nods a resilience
or an apathy as the silt settles
on their Piscean gleam

Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see a salted heaven

Angelic Menhaden of the Atlantic,
are silvery stretches of scale,
dulled in death under a festering sun
and the retreating tide of dying waters
brined in ocean, freshwater spirited
to secret spaces, some dammed crevasse,
now  tumultuous  fate in a salted heaven

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they shall be filled

At the Tabgha of this intertidal palette
Cattails whisper beatitudes
latched onto the tails of wind gusts
and the plovers descended
in a litany of  bird song
amassed like the manna
trailing  tidal waters
as the sea swallows herself.
Blessed are the herons, the mallards,
the geese. Time is measured
in the passage of fish that
cycle themselves through the innards of birds

Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the rocks

The meek Menhaden, leaped
onto the rocks that hemmed the inlet,
escaping the hungry habits of herons.
They inherited Earth in agony    
pounding a rocky surface,
but the air I swim, had no water.
I prodded these  Menhaden of the Rock
to the fringe of retreating tides,
and they leaped to die once more
to breathe water that had no air

Blessed are those that mourn, for they shall be comforted

Blessed is the discomfiture
of my brackish tears
that streak marsh faces
as fish struggle out of dead water.
I take comfort I don't inhabit
tainted places or do I take comfort,
all places are the tint of poison,
the gleam of a genesis of sorrow

Saying Grace

The day roped in happiness
like tidal waters
streaked with seaweed,
joyous to be afloat again.
The rocky inlet imbued
a stony demeanour, while
calmly contemplating
the resounding consonants
of a cavern within.
I could hear it swish syllables
as it lapped in the waves,
and I now channel
in gratitude,
that exuberant overflow,
and this,
which needs no rationale.
As we sit at a table,
enjoying a meal
cobbled together
from the sweet of corn,
the crunch of lettuce,
the ocean yield
of Piscean gleam,
it has begun to look
like Eden on a plate,
and I allow myself
to feel touched.
I am touched.
Gratitude is a verb
when I feel thankful
for being able to share
in the sacrificial generosity
of plants and animals.
Do we feel blessed?
We must,
for what could be sweeter
than that
we haven't been refused
- a share
of the Universal largesse.
From this bounty,
we take as we may,
so we simply survive
to another day.
It is wonderful to be alive
and I am grateful.
We are grateful.

His father left today only to return as a Piscean.

It was the arrangement of the stars
As i was brought in here
Sun in pisces
Oh, was it my fault 
I saw it end before it even began
i was saving two ends from tying knot
From damaged knits and sorrow
I felt it like you sense a coming
Tragedy or a storm
On a bright day in warm arms
I felt it in rushing heartbeats 
And in withdrawing tongues
That self-realization is on your front door
And later that night your
Atoms will soon be weary of mine
Must i be mad and blame 
That cosmic movement for
This piscean intuition
Must i be mad for i had not
Felt love as it was
For this heart was already in 
The crashing end, ready to free you
When you so willingly still 
wanted to be held
Had i not, Youd be the one 
to let loose while i was still in 
the comfort of your arms 
and id be the one to beg
Love me and my misery, again
But i dont intend to shame myself
On a bright day in warm arms
I saved two hearts from crashing

My Pisces lover
Written by
Jude Kyrie

*when he lay beside me
in the ink of dreamy
nighttime poems.
I could hear the peaceful
Waters of lazy
mountain streams.

or the cry of a dolphin
far far away in the guiding
light of the sea.

Even his dreams
sparkled with sunbeams.
and the whispers of oceans.

His breathing in his sleep
sang lullabies from
a dreamy river bank.

And when he touched
me with his fingertips.
it spoke in a language
that needed no words.
But with the primeval sounds
Of sea creatures.

As we swam in the
deep mystical waters of the
piscean sea.
He held my hand
as we explored the streams
of life. within
the magical realm
of his gentle kingdom.

When he lay beside me
in the velvet ink of nighttime poetry.
I could hear the peaceful
ripples of lazy
mountain streams
or the cry of a dolphin
far away in his guiding
light of the deep sea.
Even his dreams
sparkled with sunbeams
that danced upon wavelet
of calm blue oceans.
His breath of sleep
sang lullabies from
a dreamy island.
And when he touched
me with his fingertips
it spoke in a language
that needed no words.
As he swam in the
deep waters of the
Piscean seas.
He held my hand
as we explored
the magical realm
of his gentle kingdom
And we travelled to morning
In synchronous grace.
Like dolphins that guide
lost sailors home
in front of their ships.

L Ron Hubbard's Birthday...
May he Rest in Pieces

Here's a pome for LRH
On Monday the 13th
A Piscean. That double fish
Now buried beneath

He wrote Dianetics
"Bestseller" on the lists
It got to NYTBSL
But there's something that was missed

He had his brave adherents
Go to take a look
If there were many on the shelves
They purchased every book!

Well. They then RESOLD THEM.
If they could find someone to BUY
Or stocked them in a WAREHOUSE
SO THOSE "STATS" WERE *ALL A LIE

A real man of letters
Who washed out in school
They say he was an "Eagle Scout"
Thinking we are fools!
Smoked just like a chimney stack
His unfiltered KOOLs

He was just a huckster
A liar and a CON
He created Scientology
Through the drugs that he was on.

He has a mighty debt to pay
Now he's reached the Bridge of Sighs
He's been thoroughly evil
Destroyed so many lives!

I'd tell you more,
it's there... GALORE!
To see what you may think.
But I HATE LIES, and I despise

So I won't waste my INK.**


SoulSurvivor
(C) 3/13/2017

I am, and then
my placement at birth.
and then the imprint upon my steps here.
the environment of my first breath,
this latest rebirth. it set, absorbed
all the energy of the sky at that moment.
in those few ticks,
I pierced through the waters into the heavens.
I rise, and the stars took hold.

mercury rests in pisces,
the home of free speech.
here I swim with other bits of me.
dreamy and wandering.
visions of clarity, clearly in my feelings.
exploring through my senses,
she catches the drift downstream,

embracing the sun, whom also lives
in pisces. here a free bird,
flying high among the trees,
and taller still.
inner knowing is to live for others,
needing to know I've done all I could.
needing to know why I breath,
why I see,
hearing the responses through the dream.
the messages come from within.

the aquarian moon, I feel
connects me with the the new school.
the future tense, the push through.
how the next generation sees.
and I can tend to be aloof,
leary of claiming low vibing energies.
feeling capable of overcoming these.
truly seeing in the dark,
with the water bearer sharing the stage
with the balsamic moon,
and the birth as the sun shifts to the
other horizon,
this dark truth,
enlightens my core,
allows peace to come through,
and I fight for it.

I fight for you,
mars in aries has taught me to act
then choose. this aspect of me
I'd rather lose, I used to despise.
I embrace her too now, though she's
a lioness prepared to protect her cubs.
when she's turned on, I run,
the piscean nervous for whats next.
my youthful passion takes precedence
and even I recommend calling off all bets.
the next steps will be a let off of stream.

as the passionate me, the venus
placement also shares the energy of aries.
the intense lover of all things.
the beginner of new things.
the young hearted lover coming alive
in the heat of the new.
she has brought me though many lessons
I needed.
I trust her steps, too. though I tame this beast.
I coax her to a simmer, barely a boil.
though she's only patient.
the fire will explode.

I give thanks to my virgo rising,
she will always come and clean it up.
never afraid of a little dirt.
a little analytical processing of stuff.
she will help my healers heart
grow up.
she holds me accountable.
checking my choices, making me a bit nervous.
I calm her now some, though
she can take over in an instant.
scanning for more info.

I am scanning for more,
wondering who made me.
how these bits and pieces came together
to create my steps.
to mold my challenges,
to shape my lessons.
there is an answer.
I believe its on the other side of the stars.
I'll never stop searching.

Then I remember
Then my vision gets a bit
Blurry, my stomach quivers.
The water begins to flow.
Releasing pressure.

I remember, from younger,
Little person memories.
Ones of free.
I remember, me.
My heart yearns to serve
And share in the beauty
This pure bliss of witness.
All things I see.

Releasing the quest to solve my duality
The virgo piscean. The madness
Constantly challenging the other.
Peace only in wholeness.
Embrace the heart of the servant
And the mind of the intellect.
Standing firm in One.

And as I watched her sway, I too
Heard the groans. Weeks before,
And I just wanted to know
Why...
My heart whispered clear,
Reborn, limbs and loves essence.
Weeks before, I knew the end was near.
All is to transform.
To reunite to its whole.

As the layers shed, seasonally
Revealing anew, thoughts of my
Reunion with you liter my mind.
I assume, each tear I release
Brings me closer to you.
The grace, the reabsorbtion,
The rotation of my time.

In that moment where time disolves,
Where new life crowns.
That point where its me, and God
And I realize I've been home the whole time.
In that moment, I and I become One,
Again. Just a moment, then
I prepare to crown, again.
To root down, in deep,
Down, loaded, tuned.

We sit on opposing sides
We watch one another, carefully
Cautiously.
We notice the difference.
The diversity.
We see it as challenge.  

Neutrality, the option of the stars.
The opinion of the cycles.
My own personal dedication.
Unlearn division.
Learn to move through the steps
Gracefully.
Hold another's hand gently,
Allowing room to wiggle.
To hurt.
Create space to heal and touch.
I need to be touched.
I need to reconcile my hearts work out.
I love unconditional and have had a guard
Up. Taught young that my love would
Be taken advantage of.
Never worried up front.
The first hurt though,  
Instant cover up.
Instantly taking my personal path
Up another rung.
Following that piscean path to One.

It's the blood,
They taught me to keep my fists up.
I fight for you. For love. I've been beat up.
All who whisper love to me, it seems.
It's a conundrum.
Born with unconditional love for everyone,

It just isn't for me.
It's in my stars.
I barely recognize I'm alive.
When the moons glow is full,
I fill with the want to go home.
Though,
My heart was born for you.
while I'm here and aware
I'll stayed focused on how to repair
These broken habits
And serve as I'm meant to.
My Virgo essence reconciling in my sea.
Influencing me to critique and heal.
One will know me.
And in that moment,

I've been cruising
Bouncing from home to home
Searching for satisfaction

I'm a maggot
******* sweet sustenance
I'm a maggot
Absorbing essence

I thought I could force affection
How Piscean of me
Nothing's ever set in stone

I'm a maggot
Tasting tangy toxins
I'm a maggot
Licking rotten flesh

To evolve is convenience
Because travel would be easier
Maybe then satisfaction can be found

I'm a maggot
Plunging into the darkest oceans
I'm a maggot
Sliding down the most jagged of poles

By the way, did you know that the good ole USA according to Salon Magazine is not even on the list of most sexually satisfied countries. Even communist China has us beat, never mind Switzerland, Italy, Japan, Spain, the Netherlands, Brazil, Greece, Mexico, India, Australia, Germany, and Nigeria to name a few. 
  
  The legacy of the Christian imprimatur has devastated the ****** ecosystem of the American Psyche.  The language used by the middle minded "good people" to describe sexuality is often an ugly cocktail composed of derisive language, like disgusting, slimy, unclean, offensive, obscene, squalid, and nasty to name some. I was once married to a woman who weaponized *** using the word disgusting, meaning my desire for her was disgusting, and I'm disgusting. It was devastating. How could that end well? These words remain a mantra of harm in many relationships shaping a marriage towards abject failure. Isn't Venus already fickle enough without calling that regal gift-giver of love and ****** pleasure an omnibus of epithets?
  
  Can you tell the other person your deepest darkest secrets and feel safe? Can they tell you theirs, or is trust an issue?  
Do we wheedle each other with deception to save face and struggle in a gimping relationship assigning it to crutches, a wheelchair, or an early death propagated by an unholy trinity of ignorance, frustration and co-belligerence on the subject of erotasisim as we clutch hopelessly to hope, wondering how things get so loused up?
Most relationships end over finance and ****** unhappiness.

  While cyber **** is accused of bringing out the worst in us  a short trip through contemporary anthropology demonstrates *** remains ***** irrespective of cyber ***, besides have you seen my stained collector magazine collection at the Museum of *** in NYC?
  
Check it out.
1 Weird ****** Practices from all around the world
1.1 Egypt- Public *******
1.2 Mangaia- Old women sleep with much younger men
1.3 Ancient Greece- Young boy lover to an elder male
1.4 Nepal- Brothers share a wife
1.5 New Guinea- Sambian tribe drinks *****
1.6 Indonesia- *** with strangers on Pon festival
1.8 Cambodia- *** will multiple partners before finding the one
1.9 West Africa- Wife stealing festival
1.10 Marquesas Island, French Polynesia- Children watch their parents having ***
1.11 Inis Beag-Make love with underpants on
1.12 Chattisgarh, India- No emotional attachment ***
1.13 Columbia- Make a man trip to have ***
1.14 Haiti- ****** dance
1.15 New England- No-no to penetrative ***
1.16 Rural Austria- Armpit flavored apples
2 15 Unsolved and Perplexing Mysteries of India
2 17 Japanese ***** Festival
  
  As for language  I prefer mango drip shake kissy witchy **** myself, as opposed to disgusting, but profanity can be bicameral too. On one hand of course it can be cruel on the other it can be an aphrodisiac. Ooow your so gona get it you little *****
Context in its intersectional shades of emotional content is everything.
Do we appreciate the impulses of the chaotic dusky subconscious that may fascinate when it comes to those ****** ideations that may cross our minds in the most private of moments Why not use them to enrich your life, or do we run from them and our primal truth? 
 
  While most all praise only tenderness who says *** is just about love, gentility, and the tender promulgated by middle-minded. Is this **** worm pathology rooted in anti-****** Victorian confabulations of the synoptic religions like tattoo ink into the psychic skin forming a deep seated stain of medieval horrors evocative of a Boschesque inferno with bubbling skin, pitch forks and melting collagen? No, no dont hurt me 
  
  In a life filled with stress and endless concerns about survival ****** expression is a sacred oasis for many of us, not another place to be told what we should do, or feel, or think, or be subliminally infested by the Piscean age pathogens as we currently remain still in the grips of the old Roman empire.
  
  Through an in depth exploration of erotasisim through ****, personal experience and literature we might know our own shadows better, share them happily with others, and bring that dark harvest to light so it doesn't trip us up in an exchange of lies to others but most importantly to our selves. At least when you hookup on a social media ***/date oriented site people tend to tell you the most intimate things about themselves up front.  

It may be important to note the difference between mere sexuality and erotasisim. Sexuality is a beautiful impulse but eroticism raises *** to the status of art. Besides *** itself I think of the athletic sensuality of belly dancing as an example.

"if its *****
*****
naughty
or just plane wrong
i want it"

  To acknowledge the shadow, or better yet enjoy it, doesn't at all mean we are devoid of decency, kindness and love. May I suggest that those virtues are so much more potent when they are part of an integrated whole of our being including the dark side. Real musicians, artists, writers and for that matter people who have the spine to be authentic don't just play the vanilla notes and neither do exciting lovers.
God save the kink!

Conceived without
sin and born again
of a  bless-ed ******
via the cornucopia
cord (organic version
of the umbilical) at the
farmers market where
all the producers are
lesbian feminists and
****** are banned
because the symbolism
of fish has become a
#MeToo taboo since
Edvard Eriksen placed
the semi **** statue
depicting ( his wife)
the Piscean lady in
Copenhagen at the
request of Carl Jacobsen
the owner of Carlsberg,
who later exploited the
image for the promotion
of a product later banned
in USA by Temperance Women
who cited it as an amorous
inducer which put females
in precarious positions
after the pubs closed, nightly!

She always wears a concealed smile,
Liking mystery and drawn to it,
She never leaves alone,
Forever clear and true,
She is worthy to have and hold.

Always natural and one with nature,
Her eyes flame with fire,
Her taste is unmatched in every way,
When all is consumed and done,
She is a Piscean and so am I.