So, here's this:

Every third breath is made by a boa constrictor.
He lives in my ribcage, you see,
and sometimes like to see what his musculature can do compared to mine.

If every night star story started with a clear light,
what would happen to cloud cover?
What would happen to all the silver linings?

I felt what you meant when you said sometimes you yearn more for a body to hold,
someone whose arms say more than their breath,
than their breadth.
Boa knew it all along,
but I've just been letting him grow and gripe.

I knew it all along, that it would feel better then worse,
as he grew he'd need more space,
he'd demand more space and take up more space.
Except I always thought space was just a place for stars,
and if you needed to moonbounce,
you always had another planet available.
Except you didn't, and I didn't know if I wanted one, or a different you.
I want bits and pieces, I want to build my own puzzle with preference,
500 pieces that are hand picked by yours truly.

A puzzle is still a puzzle if all the pieces mostly fit, right?
Even in designated cutouts, with enough use they fade,
and become questionable in their habits.
"Are you sure this goes here? These reds are not the same"
"Sure hon, it's been like that for years, it's supposed to be like that".
When do you seek your better fitting other half, though?

Boa can twine, at least. Better to be fluid and versatile, than stock and habit.

Notches, lines, and curves
Leaving holes, missing parts
Looking for pieces, in places
People, to fill gaps
Persons to flip, perhaps

Find one, almost a match
Let them be this,
Force them to fit
Oh, don't fit?
Get a hammer

Pull your hair
Gnash your teeth
Tear your nails
Stub your toes
Bust you funny bone

Look all over
For that perfect piece
All look the same
Maybe, a bit different
I have to admit

Eventually, a simple plan
Systematically, try them all
Eventually, you have two piles
The ones you tried
And the ones you don't

Then, out of the blue
The piece is in your hand
Maybe you had to turn it
Or maybe it was just right
In either case, there it is

When you have it
There is no reason
Try the rest, the untested
Should be forgotten
They're not worth your time

That one piece, special
Completed the puzzle
And it meant the most
Because she was
The hardest to get

A tepid tempest in a teapot.
A puerile pursuit
of personal perspective.
Corporate censorship?
A first amendment attack?

Times-Standard?
Really?
One letter kills a comic?
Or is it an overlord order?

Artist assassination it is.
Artist with his tools powerful
Pen nib and India ink; his
Semi-automatic pistol pen

Reminder:
1st comes before the 2nd.
Mr. Rogers: "Amendment?
Can you say that?
Amendment?”

Do you think you can
take that tool from the artist but
keep large capacity clips legal?
Censor artistic license?
It’s a minority report!

Let’s go to the semiotic
Shooting range:

There’s rap.
You know, rap?
Music?
What our ******* kids
are ******* listening to?

Bukowski shoots “****” from
His lethal snub nose poems
When he needs
to make a point

David Mamet sprays “*****"
with his literary machine gun
In his plays made into movies
that you have watched.
And enjoyed.

Even Shakespeare got away with:
“You starvelling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish–O for breath to utter what is like thee!-you tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck!”

Meanwhile:

Trump shoots full fallacies
As a spray of stinging tweets
Disregarding both amendments
While hobbling the press

Different weapon that;
Smoke-screen screams
Tangled web of
Fabricated news skeins

An Internet search showed me that it was a monk that first scribbled the word “****” in the margins of a text on moral conduct as an opinion about an another abbot. In other words, an editorial.

It was the wile and guile of Wylie
to pay homage to
this historical reference.

Let’s remember to keep the amendments in their proper order:
First one then two.

Artists hide messages in
artifacts.
It’s what they do;
we expect that of them—
we don’t want them to
throw away
their shot.

I hope some of this makes sense
to some of you
fans of amendment one.
If not, I guess it was a
Non Sequitur.

(Thank you Wiley Miller for your beautifully drawn and artistically constructed comic strips that had a
Line A (family plot line)
Line B (Noreastern bar humor)
Line C, D, and Etc always
With sly custom commentary.

Censored.
Removed.
Wrong.
**** that!
**** Trump!

There.
I said it.

Buck necked,
Dreads hanging on like a cat’s hair ball …
Buck necked,
She tells her moms
On my Obama phone, long distance
Welfare carriers
Pigeon messengers
Yelping life at her mama
On my cell

“They just be different here”
“Auntie, daughter-sister-niece”
With her best pal black
Making promises late birthday gifts
Buck necked
Didn’t even toe the pool water
Long distance in the Ladies’
At least a couple hours
On my Obama phone…

It’s definitely not about me
When hooting & hollering
Mad loudly
Urban jungle jive,
Who the hells this guy
Mr. Old boy push over
A gay
Patiently waiting
For her shower with black
White pizzle steam
Dissipate

Learning to speak up
If we are free
I choose to enjoy my experience
Not the type to be
Tugged on someone else’s leash
What little time We
Dismiss or
Fully embrace

“People just be so different here”

Hi I’m chop-liver, welcome to
My place,
Give me back my phone
Not feeling at all
At home.
Yet she’s buck necked.

does your patient wear
he should ask his colleagues. His
patient sends him links to her newest
YouTube video where she does karaoke
in nothing else but her bra and underwear
with voluptuous ******* barely contained in
the lacey red bra and diaphanous *****. You
can see her small mound of ***** hair if you’re
paying particular attention to more than
her singing. She’s a very passionate woman
that demands attention, as any of her therapists
will tell you. She climbed in his lap and grabbed his
***** during one session. Complete shock was his
expression as she waltzed out the door as if nothing
happened. That it’s every day a patient lay on your lap
and grabs your pizzle and gives it a twist and a pull
and pokes at your ******.