You giggle for the simplest thought
Of pickup lines. Next to you, feeling
Like I won, feeling like I’m new, is to feel
That I have lost the sadness somewhere,
As we fearlessly fall, further, entwined,
My baggage, unfurling like a parachute.

You came for my love
That I would love to love you with,
A romance rid of readjustments.
It is like, each day, all I would want
To believe-in is that, when I feel like
Putting my best foot forward,
I must do otherwise, act stupid, for there is
Nothing sweeter than a woman’s laughter.
There is nothing sweeter
Than your ever-laughter.

And now, with so much pent-up
Energy, and synergy, my soul, sweetly
Soul-touched by your eyes,
I feel like kissing you, over and over,
For showing too much teeth,
And tongue, and chin, those paired
Provocateurs on your cheeks,
I religiously swoon over,
All calling out to me.

So now, I advance, move forward,
Braving forth to the heavens,
Your humbling haven,
For your smile is for my lips,
Your lips are, your laugh is.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Genau, enow, enough

after the confusion,

we all could make a sound, okeh,
yeah
and we still

knew a shaken head or hand or fist
had meaning beyond words and noise

my words, their noise, barbarians all, but my
loved ones, still,
my nana Even , none could say a meaningful word

Ah, papa Eber, eber he be waving sayin'

Shhhhlome. wow. a word, I was

re connected re tied re ligamented re tendoned
re nerved re *****
re bled
re breathed
inspire me, expire me, think me immaterial, no mattah

nomattatall we stick together, gone bealright

begrudge me not a bit o'livit ity, a st-utter here'n'there

words, in wars, we always win. We are war's
raison d'etre, as they say, its
rational grounds for existence, its
excuse for being.
words are the instigators, provocateurs

no wordless insult results in war,
words are needed,
otherwise

fugitabowdit, how long? Seven times? 490 times?

no,

once, each time, no more.
enoughs the evil enoughs enow.

the weapons of our warfare, how can I say,
watch

we see salient leapers trampling the vintage, seeping
from the heel wound in the beguiler's head.
That's results.

Angels sing and dance, they never tremble in the night,
the hope we never lost,
we just forgot, they remember as if it were the same,
yes, today, forever
they whisper,
go on,
there's more to living than meets the eye.

enough has always had a plural, ask Sam Johnson.

I'm from where the gold and diamonds are ripped from the earth
right next to the slave castles where the water is cursed
from where police brutality's not half as nice
It makes the hood in America look like paradise
compared to the AIDS-infested Caribbean slum
African streets where the passport's an a American gun
from where they massacre people and try to keep it quiet
and spend the next 25 years tryin' to deny it
I'm from where they cut your hands off if you make a fist
and ****** grow coca cause the job market doesn't exist
except slave labor modern day company store
and peace keeper's don't ever ever ever come here no more
from where the bombs that they used to drop on Vietnam
**** us children born deformed eight months before they born
I'm from where they lost the true meaning of the Qur'an
'cause ****** is not compatible with Islam
And ****** know that, but grow that poppy seed anyway
'cause that food drop parachute does not come everyday
I'm from where people pray to the gods of their conquerors
and practically every president's a money launderer
From the only place democracy is acceptable
Is if America candidate is electable
And they might even have a black president, but he's useless
'Cause he does not control the economy stupid!

[Chorus]
Lock and load your gun, where I'm from: the Third World son
Been to many places but I'm Third World-born
Guerrillas hit and run where I'm from: the Third World son
You polluted everything, and now the Third World's gone
The waters poisoned where I'm from son: the Third World son
Seven hundred children die by the end 'this song
Revolution'll come, where I'm from: the Third World son
Constant occupation, leaves the Third World torn

[Immortal Technique]
I'm from where the catholic church is some racist ****
They helped Europe and America **** this *****
They pray to white Spaniard Jesus, who's face is this
But never talk about the black Pope Gelasius
I'm from where soviet weapons still decide elections
Military is like the mafia: you pay for protection
kinda like *** toys, is what the country sells
And rich white businessmen make the best clientele
I'm from where they too ***** to come film Survivor
And they ****** Coca-Cola union organizers
I'm from where the justice system esta podrido
**** government ****** politic over perico
Rebelde conocido, enterado vivo, como otro argentino desparecido
cause Rico laws don't apply to the CIA
and mother ******* make sneakers for a quarter a day
I'm from where they overthrow democratic leaders
not for the people but for the Wall Street Journal readers
from where blacks, indigenous peoples and Asians were once
slaves of the Caucasians and it's amazing how they trained them
to be racist against themselves in a place they were raised in
and you kept us caged in
destroyed our culture and said that you civilized us
***** our woman and when we were born you despised us
gentrified us, agent provocateurs divide us
and crucified every revolutionary messiah
so I'ma start a global riot
that not even your fake
anti-communist dictators can keep quiet
**** your charity medicine, try to ****** me
the immunizations you gave us were full of mercury
so now I see the Third World like the rap game soldier
nationalize the industry and take it over!

the propulsion of compulsion is indefatigable,
it cannot no more, be ignored, as if it is forming
a holy commandment, number 11, you must
write when so ordered, denial is temporary
i n s a n i t y, and the backlog of nuances be
comes longer and longer by the instant

the provocateurs, them eyes, those eyes,
even the ears and tongue join in to instigate,
the cabal of influencers who peddle no product,
demand no payment but total obeisance and
sometimes low-class instant fufillment, for here
I am in servitude,@ 4:33am, by dawn’s early light
(no **** for real), propelled and compelled by
the creative, the spilling urgency of the need
to expel notions of potions that flit between the

frontal lobe, parietal lobe, cingulate gyrus,
and prefrontal cortex: (I told  you, it’s a cabal!)
all  firing
up neurons like electron spark plugs, and only
I can see the sparks colliding inside as letters,
words, phrases, none lazy, all demand long life,

or the Perpetuity of the Momentary”

it grows lighter by the minute and the sporadic
lights across the bay wink morse code secrets
to the observant, and Noyac’s  tree line has
become a distinguishable and distinctive
land mass to which I crossed last nite via &
upon the South Ferry, when all these conflicting
concepts began a painful birthing delivery,
the coagulation of the flighty, merging and
transforming into my child, in my bed, through
the picture window that has so oft been complicit
in the ganging up on my very, very old and restless
brain

but, uh, this ecrivez, this motion that the momentum
of the momentary desiring & deserving of monuments
to the perpetual
won’t be stilled and hours later, with it’s invisible hands
around my throat, it yanks from within what did not
exist ten minutes prior, but always existed inside me
as a jumbled puzzle, gestating quietly till a swift kick
of birthing pains insufferable accompanied by her
raucous dreams, awoke me from ******* and rhyming
Rem Sleep, to now, this moment, named forever as
4:57am and this noisy newborn, covered in embryonic
fluid (wonderful but disgusting really) is all ready pealing and peeling
off suggestions for brothers and sisters, this arrogance
is untenable, but the babe laughs at me, for it knows that
there are hidden, voluminous files of titles awaiting their
turning time of final conception

no longer nighttime, an early forming day, it too,
covered in its own fluidity, awaits discovery, for
the lights from across the bay have gone to bed,
turned off but the greatest, more powerful
brighter discharges
of the Sun Gods

The Bay’s waters are still, though my woman is not,
muttering, still dreaming out loud, as if she wishes
to foment
turbulence, and desires a boat for safe conveyance
across the dark seas of the night to the searing bright
June summer day that the Greek seers have forecast,
and then that moment, like it’s older sibling, will demand,
it’s very moment of personalized perpetuity, its own
unique naming,
a full recording, a welcoming by the Preservation Band,
amidst the glory of its mother mornings colorings of
palest blues, puffery of cumulus whitiwhispers all tinged
in my favorite, flavored color, creamsicle orange,
and the calming power is self evident for the rustling
back and forth of raucous dreams have ceased, and I too
am no longer possessed by the moment, until soon
when the hands creep slow round my throat by a new
moment, and all is lost, all is gained and a newest poem
is brought from the womb of my ancient past, my currency
of the next minutes and the wealth of words that are
available to us all! demands one of us, perhaps you?
to commit its actualized existence into reality

I bid you a soft adieu, for the chores of existence
those demanding pests of drudged biblical
pestilence
can no longer be kept
waiting

nml
5:21am
Sun Jul 16
2024

writ at you know where…

the more i stick to a routine
that might leave a few people in a mental
asylum,
    who would not welcome
frustration, doing the same thing,
over and over again,
   i.e. going to a supermarket and buying
whiskey and coke, becoming "too" friendly
with one of the shop assistants,
    knowing her name,
that's she's diabetic:
i'm only in here for the whiskey luv...
it's not that i mind,
  it's about as close i'll ever become
bewildered at life, in general...
      **** Jupiter and a moon-landing,
this bothers me more,
   i don't get the puppy-eyed look
of people embarking on a philosophical
odyssey -
i don't know why i should be prescribed
the Aristotelian: beginning with awe
  type of management of the subject,
or what Nietzsche predicted,
   and is currently known:
the narrative in the west,
alias: talking for the entire human species...
   that ****** uber-schnurrbart
really did see something...
   now i'm experiencing it,
  it's called 2 billions worth of China and India...
i'm actually, sometimes found,
listening to pointless youtube videos...
  i get it: it can get a little bit *****,
my bachelor status isn't exactly orientated
around diapers, although,
as Borat might have said:
that would be nice...
         you know they filmed that movie
in Romania, and not Kazakhstan?
              it's almost a bid sad to be around
poverty, and tribalism,
     can't make a joke out it,
couldn't make a mid-western gothic out
of it either... what with t.v. in your own company....
and yes, oddly enough...
   i have a bed, and i turn on the radio,
i never fall asleep watching the t.v.,
must be a western thing... you dig?
    1950s slang, more comprehensible than
anything i could ever hear from the slang
quarter of language these days...
   the latin quarter? busy...
literally... greece and italy backrupt...
    so, hey man, what's it like not able
to *** around the country doing factotum jobs?
    what's with that over-arching
castration concept of living with your parents?
ah, you know man,
   ****'s on the stove, and i hit a ****** note
with my saxophone...
sound very much like a wet ****...
you know, the **** you **** that almost feels
like ingesting carbonated water through your ****,
what's the word: trembling, frizzy?
    you know: do the motorboat with your lips...
i woke up today and didn't feel like living,
but the noose wasn't exactly an option...
my grandparent's neighbour?
hanged himself on a door-****,
i was visiting them when it happened...
****'s sake! on a door-****?
                      that's really desperate...
    i mean: i wish i was that guy...
but at least in the case of capital punishment:
when it was still active...
   you got the scaffold... and you dropped...
and your neck broke, and it was death in an instant...
   he had a gimp for an executioner...
   so yeah, life's cool,
i drank that wine i made in less than a week,
35 litres of it...
         i woke up today, thought:
give me the downhill... right now!
i thought i'd delay *******...
          built a quasi lego piece of the Eiffel tower,
then decided... i need to brush my teeth...
had a shower...
              then i cooked dinner...
  well... dinner two days in advance...
one sauce was a spaghetti bolognaise...
another a sauce for cottage (i.e. using beef,
not lamb) pie...
made some funky cool poh-ta-toes...
               for yesterday's roast beef,
left uncarved the previous day by being
left to get the thrill man gets
   ******* and jumping out of an ice bath...
so the juices condense, and you can almost
make out the pink flesh on the second day...
and some ménage à trois.... oh sorry...
too much Dell Boy Trotter in me at the moment:
gosh... the memories of watching that twichy
character on screen... mangetout...
and in between i took off the washing from
the washing lines in the garden...
             faked smoking sitting in the february
cold for a while...
   that's 2 meals in advance that is...
      and this really belongs to a creed that states:
if you can read... it's better to read about
something that doesn't have cars blowing up,
or avalanches... or dams bursting in northen
california... well: it's not exactly
   tolstoy's war and peace... but it's something
that allows for sensationalism of the news
and the odd chance of seeing a good movie...
    or i guess: the antidote to a good poem,
is the worst imaginable poem, actually...
saying that: people call poems bad when
they are rigid in using technique...
poetic technique... i prefer a stance on
spare of the moment / spontaneity than something
that might require a hammer of metaphor
and a nail of a pun...
           some call it innovation,
others can't say much because they're myopic...
and lo! yonder the savannah and the buckling
gazelle! right on the chin...
hoofs, no shoelaces, back legs made front legs
into spaghetti... and there... a plum on the chin...
boom... down onto the green...
          another consideration would be
a man in clown make-up crying,
    and a fat-cat billionaire laughing...
    or was that ever, not the case?
  it has to be idiosyncratic, this english "thing"
of calling laughter crying and crying laughter...
     it actually is a very english "thing",
when you get too much psychology,
about how keeping the word ego can complicate
merely saying i...
  and there's no other latin word in sight,
and you then get egoism, and egocentrism...
    i mean: what's up with that basis for a theory,
    evidently it's a case of the word becoming
too uncomfortable, since no one actually says
  ego cogito ergo ego sum... it suddenly drops off
and people who say the above end up only saying
cogito ergo sum... and is that why people
you can actually ascribe so much theory to the ****** word
that might rob people from having a narrative?
    rob the people of a narrative and you return them
into a state of being pulverised by 5 vectors,
the pentagon of the senses,
    and evidently they're unable to narrate their
day-to-day, because they're herded like wild
hysterical animals... even though they are
given the membrane of civilisation...
      it really is a case of somehow not embarking
into keeping the latin and the north barbarian
words... how can you keep up
with ego, i, self? how long will this italian
**** of bulimia and gluttony last?
     you want to keep spewing that *******
for another 100 years?
evidently there is no theory concerning i,
there's merely an ipod...
              sure sure, you could only derive a
theory if you said the unit wasn't i
(because that would be too personal to construct
a narrative) - but had to be
   the reflective ego, and the reflexive self...
i.e. that string of pronoun compounds known
as myself, itself, himself...
   and when given the scalpel... my self
   (which becomes a reflective stance on meditating
the words, rather than a reflexive pronoun
in its original... no huh? but thump!
on yer bike! go!).
   i call them for what they are...
        yes, and my parents are great,
cooked them dinner...
   just about now, when in the 1970s and 1980s...
when the first cold war was happening,
the americans / the west merely wanted
to feed stories into the soviet union,
if every spying was a c.v. joke, it happened
when ian flemming wrote his series...
   what ever happened to a campfire and telling
stories, or when we told horror stories to each other?
  spying: can you just imagine
what the job description would look like?
pst... it's a secret.
       but you know, the americans had this thing
of telling stories to the "enemy",
     false news...
                it's so obvious now, since everyone
seems to be onto it...
     well... it's happening in england, right now,
but it's not exactly an attack scenario...
it's self-mutilation, yes, a masochism...
  you reach a real dead-end when you tell lies
to yourself... and that's what england is sitting
on: an implosion of well... the n.h.s. in crisis...
the housing crisis...
                 you name it...
  i guess there were many people out there,
willing to sacrifice their sanity, by appropriating
the excesses of c.c.t.v. voyeurism,
mingled with the excesses of ***** that paved
the way to this massive delusion of the next
jain boond to swing on a rope into a gorilla
enclosure and beat the **** out of a 300kg gorilla,
Klitschko style! bang! bang boom!
    silverback gorilla on a torture rack!
job done.
       no, i get it... a girl got to kick-box and a girl
got to play footie... cos girl can...
     wait till she don't get a: fragile heart...
like mine, writing odes about
walking past a church when the church bells ring
eleven times, and there's the moon...
  it will become very very pointless writing
about hearts of porcelain in the future,
      but just as nietzsche pointed out:
imagine talking for the entire human race...
yes, i can, or should i say could? because i don't
have to...
   the western narrative is so up it's own
*** talking about species, while the Moldovians
are talking about Ukranians,
the Poles are talking about Germans,
   the Italians... they talk all the time,
so who cares?
                but it's this globalisation vocabulary
that's halting, and making me think:
the Genghis Khan tribe isn't exacrtly in
the news? they must have neighbours!
they must actually know the people living near them...
well...
   on my street... 6 houses in a row of
identical architecture, i.e. built in the 1940s...
   first house, sikhs...
    parents went to the daughter's wedding,
woman brought over some curry,
   i ended up making even better curry...
my cat is left in their care while i'm away
visiting my grandparents,
   i get this panic attack premonition
  that i need to be back home when i'm away...
   i come back home, the cat is dead...
   we rarely speak these days...
  he was on aspirins, and yes, cats take a ******
long time to die from kidney failure...
ever watch a cat ****? cats take a shorter amount
of time to take a **** than ****...
   watching a cat **** into the toilet it like
watching a person drinking a melchizedek sized
wine bottle...
   a cat could be a man
   as a man taking a **** as in the cat taking a ****
and reading a newspaper...
     seems we're parallel creatures,
  i exfoliate and massage my **** muscles
by taking extra time with them stretched open
once the bombs away passes...
    and i'm just sitting there:
  to vank?! or not to vank? or what i call:
the 3 in 1.
        well, you can't exactly think about
lighting scented candles and doing it in bed,
can you?
      you'd have to be a woman to do that,
and invest in a good ***** replica
of a man that would only tell her:
honey... tree bears.
    do i sometimes think about putting it into
a moist couch-like environment?
   yeah... but i guess ******* is a bit like
doing ****... **** the bone and those muscles man!
   ****? yeah... never did it...
biblical regulations...
              about the same time when
heterosexuals take over from the once famed
taboo provocateurs in the homosexual department...
haven't seen a worthwhile Oscar Wilde come from
that scene for years... maybe i wasn't looking,
ah yes, they're too busy being "normal" and starting
families... funs over... and so is the art.
no wait, all i wanted to say is that
what nietzsche said in the 19th century,
  the anglophone world is trapped in it's own
end product of globalisation, and this whole:
speaking for the entirety of humanity doesn't have
and local thrill to it, no local accent,
      it's scary, to be the only language willing
to speak for the entire human race,
  and, when travelling to other places in the world
realising that you were pretty much:
not thinking, and merely talking to your self...
    i have that taste for foreign cultures...
   you can hardly hear an existential argument
in the same vein as you might hear in england...
     basically... i just think that english is
over-streched...
     in the case of russian, it's stretched:
but contained with interlocking tribes of people...
if i want to hear english sprechen in the pacific
it's a 12 hour flight to australia...
               i can't imagine talking for
the entire human race... and given this
seemingly ancient german, i'm imagining it
as the counter-argument of the current narrative,
because i can't even state that i'm in awe of it,
but more or less apprehensive about it...
given the numbers... the total anglophone world
doesn't even number that of China...
and you know, infiltrating that place with
the complexity of the encoded sounds that are
later echoed back as Xin Ping...
    who lived in Beijing...
            you really have to address either silent,
or talking about something so complicated,
that it would equal the Chinese encoding system...
  otherwise it's falling through the holes...
oh look... q r o p a d b g...
  the best we can do is make silence complicated,
since what i'm hearing: isn't exactly complicated...
on youtube most noteworthy...
   oh right, almost forgot...
the other neighbours on my 6 house line
are a Jewish family... well... sorta...
   just a literal mad-house... we get on fine...
and after that: 3 houses, natives, so yeah, english...
all of them broken families...
   the neighbours next to mine are:
woman in her late 40s... man in his early 50s...
about to have a child...
       after that it's single mother and son,
and after that divorcee and... like... dunno...
     they thought the indians were savages
moving across the pond...
              i'm sitting here having a right old laugh...
and it's a malicious laugh for the laugh in itself...
        last time i remembered
  taking a mouse from the mouth of my cat
after he caught it, and then releasing the mouse
  into my neighbour's garden...
   or a fly... crawling over my forehead
     while i took a selfie to exfoliate my face
like that of an acne riddled moon.

if i jot down the first syllable of your name,
think nothing of it.

if i convince myself with a startingly, dizzying
clarity and call it a victory
even if it means losing any semblance of my self-control around you,
think nothing of it.

if i conjure an image of you & i in my head
and pretend we are some depressed intellectuals,
self-hating provocateurs dressed up like some coltish,
out-of-place ivy leaguers waiting on death row,
think nothing of it.

if i'm not careful around you, and slip on the snow
that is the surface of your heart,
think nothing of it.

but if i tell you i love you,
know that it means more than everything that means nothing.

similar to the rhythm of hokey pokey*

a coup d'etat here
and a coup d'etat there
fund some white terror
and spread red scare

Truman had his doctrine
Eisenhower did too
this way we won't waste nukes

Cold did spread and so did aid
here aid there aid
socialism won't do
you can be a dictator
just never read Marx
instigations are your cue

Juntas apply for sponsorship
but don't you dare serve your country
guerrillas and provocateurs will work for you too

you can be our terrorist
as long as we profit
"we" of course only includes
corporate elites and lobbies
one year we fund you, the other we hung you

We build military bases
no, we'll never go home
learn to love our NATO mob

Everyone is evil only we are good
we got a cowboy president... here, look!
We wage war on terror
and pretty much on all of you
while we sell our racist movies too

(Dessin d'un maître inconnu.)

Au milieu des flacons, des étoffes lamées
Et des meubles voluptueux,
Des marbres, des tableaux, des robes parfumées
Qui traînent à plis somptueux,

Dans une chambre tiède où, comme en une serre,
L'air est dangereux et fatal,
Où des bouquets mourants dans leurs cercueils de verre
Exhalent leur soupir final,

Un cadavre sans tête épanche, comme un fleuve,
Sur l'oreiller désaltéré
Un sang rouge et vivant, dont la toile s'abreuve
Avec l'avidité d'un pré.

Semblable aux visions pâles qu'enfante l'ombre
Et qui nous enchaînent les yeux,
La tête, avec l'amas de sa crinière sombre
Et de ses bijoux précieux,

Sur la table de nuit, comme une renoncule,
Repose ; et, vide de pensers,
Un regard vague et blanc comme le crépuscule
S'échappe des yeux révulsés.

Sur le lit, le tronc nu sans scrupules étale
Dans le plus complet abandon
La secrète splendeur et la beauté fatale
Dont la nature lui fit don ;

Un bas rosâtre, orné de coins d'or, à la jambe,
Comme un souvenir est resté ;
La jarretière, ainsi qu'un oeil secret qui flambe,
Darde un regard diamanté.

Le singulier aspect de cette solitude
Et d'un grand portrait langoureux,
Aux yeux provocateurs comme son attitude,
Révèle un amour ténébreux,

Une coupable joie et des fêtes étranges
Pleines de baisers infernaux,
Dont se réjouissait l'essaim des mauvais anges
Nageant dans les plis des rideaux ;

Et cependant, à voir la maigreur élégante
De l'épaule au contour heurté,
La hanche un peu pointue et la taille fringante
Ainsi qu'un reptile irrité,

Elle est bien jeune encor ! - Son âme exaspérée
Et ses sens par l'ennui mordus
S'étaient-ils entr'ouverts à la meute altérée
Des désirs errants et perdus ?

L'homme vindicatif que tu n'as pu, vivante,
Malgré tant d'amour, assouvir,
Combla-t-il sur ta chair inerte et complaisante
L'immensité de son désir ?

Réponds, cadavre impur ! et par tes tresses roides
Te soulevant d'un bras fiévreux,
Dis-moi, tête effrayante, a-t-il sur tes dents froides
Collé les suprêmes adieux ?

- **** du monde railleur, **** de la foule impure,
**** des magistrats curieux,
Dors en paix, dors en paix, étrange créature,
Dans ton tombeau mystérieux ;

Ton époux court le monde, et ta forme immortelle
Veille près de lui quand il dort ;
Autant que toi sans doute il te sera fidèle,
Et constant jusques à la mort.

In the cold dreary, wet,
months of each year the
predominant irritating
"Craw-craw" raucous
calls of crows are nearly
the only bird voices to be
heard. The instigators,
Provocateurs of disruption.

The logical, less hardy
and beautiful birds all
gone south for the winter,
taking their inoffensive
lovely and melodic song
voices with them.
I eagerly await their return.

i.

I remember, when I was a much younger girl,
How my grandfather would hold a kopek in his hand
And, making it flutter slowly as if it were in flight
Would pantomime dropping it into a small sack,
Kicking a horseshoe or barrel stave against a rock
To approximate the sound of the coin hitting the sack,
Surreptitiously nudging the bottom of the canvas
To accentuate the deception.
We knew, of course, that it was mere sleight-of-hand
(Indeed, as he grew older and we less credulous,
It was fairly easy to pick up at what point
The small, tarnished piece was actually palmed),
But it was Grandfather, after all, and besides,
The invention was much more pleasant than the reality.

ii.

We were, naturally, prepared to die;
Indeed, if you wear a belt of explosives,
You prefer not to consider other outcomes.
It did not come to pass; there are, sadly, always spies,
Provocateurs who prefer pennies over principles,
And so I have come to this fortress to await my pas de deux
With the roughness of the rope and the kick of the lever.

But there shall be no death.

No death? they shall say, Surely the gravity of your plight,
The strain of isolation has caused you to take leave of your senses,
But I am as clear and constant
As the bells in the guard tower
Which toll on the quarter hour.

Ah, but here is the judge,
Great eyebrows knit, jaw tight,
Reading, measured in tone and pace, from the paper
Which outlines the finality of your sentence,
And I say it is no more than mere parchment,
His words the empty fulminations
Of an unconnected party.

But see here, Musechka, they will insinuate slyly,
What of this image--the eyes bulging,
The face distorted and blue, the tongue blackened,
And I respond that such a depiction,
Along with all prior inquiries and protests,
Are from without and, as such,
No concern of mine.

iii.

When, come sunup the day after tomorrow,
It is time for the law and justice
To finish going through the requisite motions,
I shall walk to the platform
Burdened with neither regret
Nor any notion of dying well
(Such thoughts are for priests, foppish cavalry officers)
And the soldiers that cut me down
Shall, I am sure, will be somewhat irritated with me
For they shall have seen I have, in a sense,
Engineered my own exit,
And that it was a trick
Which they played no part in contriving.

Men with guns have always come from some poor mothers womb,
they were innocent kids who once played happily in their yards,
with no aspirations and yet to be tarnished by the world,
learning an obfuscated version of truth in the classroom.

Leaders of men are born out of society's frustration,
innocent boys can become greedy and power crazed men,
fulfilling the naive and unthinking of their desire to be governed,
carrying on with their heedless lives with a strange infatuation.

Killers in our streets and in countries they've never heard of,
innocence becomes tainted and men become idealists,
radicalized and propagandized by political media and religious authority,
killers killing men, women and children, they know nothing of universal love.

Men putting on costumes and killing people who are different,
blindly following orders and fighting for freedom and democracy,
massive bombs in the desert, people blown apart at a million dollars a head,
soldiers on the ground who can barely pay the rent.

Democracy and freedom mere buzzwords of selfish and ignorant patriots,
with many being intolerant, xenophobic and racist proudly waving a national flag,
and two faced Christians preaching love on Sunday and glorifying in death on Monday,
agent provocateurs infiltrate peaceful demonstrations, turning them into law breaking riots.  

Suits in congress and the White House determining lives and futures,
safe in their ivory towers and positions of imagined power,
we should put these policy makers on the front line and watch them cower,
and there's cowards in uniform who ****** and slaughter from behind computers.

The men behind the curtain orchestrate their agenda thru their chosen leader,
puppet masters and policy makers free from liability and accountability,
narcissists and psychotics giving a voice from the unelected and unseen,
the hoi polloi are regarded as expendable and merely unnecessary breeders.

Every ten years or so, a new boogeyman comes out to scare,
leaders of the governed make promises to keep them safe,
slowly eroding rights and tightening up national borders,
spending trillions on warfare and hardly a dime on welfare.

True terror is understanding what this world is all about,
innocent eyes only see the superficial beauty of this world,
while experienced eyes see the ugliness that is within,
all around the world people are screaming to be let out.

Self serving leaders look to expand their temporary empires of artificial riches,
utilizing its armed to the teeth military to ****** unarmed innocents abroad,
destroying histories and cultures and replacing them with expanding organisations,
replacing middle eastern infrastructures with emphasis on profit using slave *******.

The people police themselves and have become willing citizens of self induced manipulation,
there's a kind of mass Stockholm Syndrome of the patriotic citizens of so called free countries,
defending their leaders selfish decisions while wanting a share of the spoils of war,
the founding fathers must be turning in their graves as selfish greed has withered a once great nation.

Children made orphans and mothers made widows by far off decisions,
the enlightened ones break it down and see it as people killing people,
a general or a warlord has got to be king of his small patch of grass,
while the apathetic watch the carnage safely in front of their televisions.

We now live in a society that openly assails the critical and free minded intellectual,
people hiding behind their comforting lies and crying like a baby over inconvenient truths,
political correctness and the nanny state providing a *** to suckle saying you're safe with us,
while the millennials despise being labeled or judged and to be recognized as asexual.

The world is divided by nefarious political parties promoting freedom and choice,
setting up media outlets to emphasize their disapproval of the opposing parties stance,
while behind closed doors of power and influence, they are prostituted bedfellows,
slowly suffocating the rights of the people who still believe they have a voice.

Political and religious words echo in the minds of the patriotic and faithful,
empty promises made with a smile that satiate and calm the masses,
the wise and the skeptical see thru disingenuous rhetoric with clarity,
watching them on soap boxes and pulpits, they should be shameful.

By: Cedric McClester

In an apparent act
Of emotional *******
They burned down the town
Take a look around
Like police were on vacation
Or at a donut shop
Because it didn’t stop
Until the Governor ran out of patience

We can blame the Mayor
For her reticent position
While the provocateurs
Were on their mission
Busting into stores galore
Like they had permission
While home owners crossed their fingers
Hoping and wishing

Burn down the town
Has anybody got a match
See the cloth’s stuffed down
In the gasoline -  catch
Like a perfect plan
Somebody must have hatched
And Mom and Pop
Are headed for a bad patch

It’s the residents who lose
In the very end
And it’s a sad message
That the evil doers send
To everybody else
Who has to live there and
They have no noble cause
So why should we pretend


© Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester.  All rights reserved.

If all the world’s a stage
then anxiety is a crisis actor

The trickster archetype
typecasting all my critical thoughts as truths

Into a monster of the weak
rogue gallery
of self-destructive episodes

Maybe it’s the lack of SSRI’s
but SI be like:

Since they slashed and burned
half the forest preserve
maybe you should slit your wrists
and self-immolate in the center of it;

Maybe you should spill
your guts like seppuku
at the center of Daley Plaza
underneath The Picasso
outside that Shepard Fairey exhibit
(Provocateurs; Block 37)
Call it an art instillation

If all else fails, I’ll just throw myself in front of a Tesla on the North Shore

By: Cedric McClester

Let’s not call ‘em protesters
If they’re burning and
They’re looting
Let’s not call them protester
If they’re breaking glass windows
And shooting
Let’s call them what they are
Just blatant opportunists

Let’s not call them protesters
Which is not to suggest
That it wouldn’t be proper to
Call them insurrectionists
Let’s not get confused
As to what it is we’re seeing
When we observe them
Throwing objects while they’re fleeing

Let’s not call them protesters
Even when the cause is just
Because those hooligans
Don’t represent any of us
Let’s not call ‘em protester
When they’re stoking public fears
Let’s call them what they are
Simply put provocateurs

Let’s not call ‘em protesters
When they disregard the law
Let’s not call them protesters
Who are openly declaring war
Against the established order
Just to even a score
Let’s not call ‘em protesters
We never did before








Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2020. All rights reserved.

his woebegone **** dental daze today May 5th, 2021

No particular rhyme nor reason
garden variety indentured flunky (me)
revisits his salmagundi salad days,
when oral blight smote
left front adult tooth,
which hellacious quandary commenced
when yours truly experienced
broken said central incisor.

Inxs of cold playing air
froze natural pond, where over head
Canadian geese (imitating
black counting crows) did blare
honking the latest goose sip loud and clear
when from behind a (Georgian) bush
(color of smashing pumpkins) did peek a deer

alert to any danger by parking
upright either one or both ear
lest predator doth lurk and induce fear,
while Harris Family and friends
oblivious among themselves
attired in wintry gear
which protection from cold
caused difficulty to hear

necessitating cupped gloved hands
to punctuate every muffled word
to be but barely heard
akin to talking with mouth full of custard
above the quiet riotous mirth
from this then gawky child nerd
precariously maintaining balance
on his skates heed glide like a bird
such attempts made
this boy didst appear quite absurd

ah, if only this mind of mine
did two step quick think
but woe misfortune awaited
across the bumpy natural rink
blithely jettisoning myself hither
and yon like a rolling stone going plink
unaware while in camouflage pose
disguised as one sneaky slippery fink
that snuck up in a blink

that found me squarely
face down shattering left front tooth
immediately discovered via
tongue as private sleuth
finding me in extreme agitated state forsooth
as if on fire from red hot chili peppers
wrought from jagged booth

winning sympathy from parents,
who did level best to tend distraught son
who ushered playback of events
with less disastrous rerun
praying for an angel
to grant reverse outcome brought none
gut wrenching grief
immediately terminated former fun
damage irreversible and
perfect white smile forever broke.

So much of my precious existence since
found me rooted with mouth ajar
as sigh asper the dentin-cementum
so mud dear reader (with dem perfect
enameled pearly whites), aye har bar
envy for those with a complete set

of eight incisors, four cuspids (i.e. canines),
eight bicuspids, and twelve molars
(including four wisdom teeth) tabulating
many hours in the car (engendering
saddle sore bony tuckus)
plus regarding chunk whereat,

pernicious cementum funk
viz distraught psyche,
when muss self as a lil monk
key decades after being examined
by family dentist Doctor Marcus (NOT WELBY),
excellent practitioner (button irate pulp pill

people, especially children) hater –
the grinchy, grouchy, and grumpy,
whose private practice located
in Levittown, Pennsylvania,
and when prepubescent self underwent

pertinent more explicit focused
intense noninvasive procedures
asper subsequent cause of speech impediment
determined why air didst jump

thru nostrils, (speech therapist
at Henry Kline Boyer),
neither thin nor plump informed parents
of Lancaster Cleft Palate Clinic –
fifty plus miles one direction),

where chief prosthodontist (the curt
Doctor Mohammad N. Mazaheri, DDS, an Iranian
whose expert reputation,
sans strict manner didst trump
his aura, karma evincing clipped commands
forceful as a vocal whump

before launching into meat and potatoes
of crux comprising real aim
constituting modus operandi
(and cresting away from details indirectly tide
into main intent, nobody aye blame)
for thine dental debacle quandary

(managed by gumpshun,
whereby eons hyperbolically
toted beyond google),
and despite optimistic stance
wool worth anesthetized numb skull claim
nascent malocclusion faintly affecting,

hinting, pointing toward Periodontitis
(despite diligence attending
to oral hygiene frame)
the manifestation
of major looming crisis compromising,
forgoing, instigating, et cetera loss of teeth,

this (after agony in league with separate occasions
twice wearing braces, concomitant extractions
of wisdom and removal of crowdsourcing –
close up toward the front of mouth teeth - game
some microbial bacterial
agent provocateurs didst maim

self-acceptance, and (found thyself
as a boyish twenty something
weathering onset of gum recession,
maxillofacial surgery, impressions,
x rays galore, scaling)

necessitated (score years later) urgent intervention
i.e. treatment plan under auspices
re storied name
University of Pennsylvania
Dental School to mitigate malady

entailed every last tooth plucked with ease
since no other recourse could tame
accompanying jaw bone loss,
which destabilized rootless choppers,
and despite the state of the mind turning to pulp
(this haint no “fiction, nor FAKE)

thus I acknowledge sincere gratitude
vis a vis thru poetic aire
for the entire fleet of dental students,
and staff that didst care,
who assuaged distress,
exceeding the best expertise flair
which eventually warranted

being fitted for dentures here
bringing an exemplary end result
encompassing yours truly writing in his lair
after about a dozen years encompassing
so many wing (bitten) angels far and near
across webbed wide world to help repair

chronic distress minimized now, cuz there
prevailed the most blessed delight
when Medicare picked up the tab
now smile more willingly
with artificial dental wear
donning blitz end until
mine last mortal year.

Found yours truly
a grateful dead head
convenient scapegoat dejure
Norristown police officers
fingerprinted me for
casual postal employment
linked to vicious brutal crime
someone else who shared
identical name and fingerprints as mine
the latter of corpse far fetched
stole social security

I ream member –
being held ransom
bound and gagged
if paperback writer
wrote story resultant account
would total about 300 newpages
printed August 16th, 2019.
    
Despite never committing
major criminal offense
routine dactylogram
pointed ****** finger of guilt
at me, and an all expense trip
paid to high security prison.

I initially thought ruse
as cruel prank (Ritz large),
and utter nonsense
good humor quickly melted away
nsync with sense and sensibility
after getting roughly manhandled
courtesy dense sumo size wrestlers
(think Andre the giant)
humongous state troopers.

They spoke staccato rapid
fire automatic gunfire tongue
with unfamiliar accents,
and kept no holds barred
steely iron tense grip
upon this skinny, shy, scared...
long haired pencil necked geek.

Said uniformed, nasty mean looking,
heavily muscled, pierced, tattooed...
armed to the dagger oh type teeth
gendarmes escorted, forced, shoved...

These foo fighters,
not friendly village people,
nor Mister Fred Roger type gents
violently tossed yours truly...
carelessly knocked out
any remaining toothless cents
from out my noggin.

Slam dunked me
into back seat bullet proof
partitioned cheaply tricked
paddy wagon went these lovely bones.

Events of my life passed
before myopic mind's third eye blind.

These hooligans counted as nothing
but hoodlums from Bedlam.

A "FAKE" outlaw film
of unreel projections,
unspooled, and untethered
within fifty shades of fist size gray matter.

Surreal elegance definitely
case of mistaken rather stolen identity
perpetrator(s) data mined
under my uber outsize honker
mine outside Semitic schnozzle
created double blind spot.
    
Yea twas while aye became entranced,
mesmerized, yoked (albeit visually)
courtesy aromatic exotic incense
held this hybrid piqued bishop,
chain mailed (gratis
United States postal service)
good knight captive,
where agents provocateurs
kickstarted, out maneuvered,
and pinned yours truly with engulfed  
par excellence for the course.

Aforesaid mean drama
played out across mine
mien anxiety riddled body electric.

Analogous to once upon time
life size chess board,
I felt marshalled
(tuckered out nonetheless)
like life size pawn
gambled as live pièce de résistance.

Panoply of mystical elements of holly day style
breathe prez sense frostily exhaled aired
per millennia athwart
(this terrestrial spaceship planet Earth)
two plus seventeen carousel rides resonated
veritable pantheon of pagan rituals
and quirky superstitions lit
(akin to a lit Christmas tree)

starry eyed imagination
as catalyst viz **** Sapiens
furrowed stern brow of forehead
aft stemmed whilst Santa oft puzzling
(allocating suitable gifts)
inducing him to tug thought generating beard
pondering, whence agents provocateurs
receive just desserts

fueled hodge podge, mish mashed, helter skelter
eclectic December twenty fifth
encompassing tens of thousands previous generations
bred despacito fixtures via paganism,
Manichaeism, Jainism, et cetera
ancient brutish credos, ethos, faiths
brewed nebulous concoction
within mindset of early mankind

loose confection, confederation, conglomeration
indiscriminately torquing, vetting, whetting
disparate constituent beliefs
contagion wrought spirit paradigm
inculcating oral tradition Madonna and child
occupying high chair
whereat superstitions birthed patchwork
comprising divergent ensemble heralding

tender petsmart impact, where world wide web populated
with sacrificial pacification sans deity
via oblation, immolation, flagellation appeasing *******
borrow wing, vis a vis amalgamated viz Roman sol invictus
wrought fiery brimstone tempting those who dared
assert contrary fledgling jambalaya outlook
provoking regally supreme sacerdotal wiseman
punishing opposing incorporating

novel modus operandi explaining sacrilegious worship
such heretics pitched headlong
into fiendish frothing furnace
forcing obeisance toward primitive popular
identified, honored, glorified father figure
expressing devotion re:
decking the halls of the mountain king,
whence boughs of Juniper sprigs contriving wreaths

sanctifying twisted brambles via sprinkling angel dust
(actually cremated remains of malefactors
stripped of habiliments) during bleak winter
unwittingly interweaving nascent (futuristic)
formally codified bona fied religions
unknowingly, tacitly, silently rendering
quintessential premises obliging
layperson to foreswear locally rooted secular treatises

trounced, trumpeted unction voided
wishy washy antithetical blind faith coalescing edicts
over course of time became established
Greco-Roman imposed group think
disallowing cynics,
diametrically emerging fanatics, skeptics
who (if he/she did not recant
recalcitrant recommended recourse

faced torture amidst throng of madding crowd
as entertainment and forewarning gall
asper those who held steadfast dissimilar views
taught since birth, when citizenry reared
as just a little drummer boy/ girl pipsqueak
taught to stay the course (sans straight and true)
bound without freedom to express contrary aspects
of ways and whyfores, which accepted traditions
controlled each green day

and silent night, wherefore unimaginable ogres
lined straying hip cats
eventually ensnared within warpath,
whence law of the land lend scimitar to smite
any mortal man, woman
or child with flaming torches
licking the heretical body electric,
while defiant individuals
left to burn into decimated
charcoal blackened, ashen corpse.

Courtesy narcissistic trumpeting
fungi moldering democratic underpinnings
donning spore ergot
lump n prowl lot terror re: hot,
hence yours truly compelled to jot
reasonable rhyme analogously describing
how land of the free home
of the brave strangled
courtesy Gordian knot
tying even Steven score
with diabolical phenomena
characterizing Salem's Lot.

The tattered glory of America,
now heats up to fahrenheit 451 degrees
analogous to kindling tinder
once again with agitation poised
to strike on brink
arty choked Jerusalem
legislation incites humiliation,
which goads desecration
fête accompli *****
in armor of Democratic

rubric, constituting capitalistic
ethic, generic iconoclastic,
and jingoistic logic,
nor budging an inch when man
dating trans sect
shoe ell masses swallow his drink
what huff huck –
this belligerent, dominant and
fervent hellraiser doth bungle in the jungle
decreeing tacit Marshall law

fast as twittering shutterfly eyewink
as his cosmic crotch grab doth
put Venus under his sway
with his Mercury re: hill temperament
pitches orbit of planet Earth
tubby comb out of balance
infected by hiz anti Jew pit
er damnations, excoriations, fulminations
huzzah sing how **** derriere
didst Saturn simultaneously

crushing crucible as an Uranus
indiscriminately plopping
approximately two hundred
and fifty pounds off flesh
doubling down humming
his favorite Neptune,
dost affect Pluto hoc crass sea
repeating self coined motto
I yam almighty, therefore no fink
simply commandeering reins of control,

a one man military intelligence groupthink
hut triad and true dyed in the wool
rip pugged ant guise zing rogue
rejoicing tuff fool, governing and hoodwink
king die hard fans of dictatorial,
linkedin and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving
wielding indomitable aggression
practiced in the Art of the Deal
Surviving at the Top,

The Art of the Comeback,
and The America We Deserve
incorporating an unanticipated jink
iron fist rule reigning down vis a vis
pro pens heave lee and prop hen city
flashing hiz seal of approval,
which scribbled signature
doth not smooth survey monkey
serve hazmat puzzling kink
boot his frenzy to bulldoze

catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
spells these fruitful plain
in short *******rendered barren
United States of America
land of milk and honey
twill become wasteland
hell in a hand basket
with nary trace of able link
kin, the sixteenth president,
(whose rugged pioneering frontier existence)

found him steady and strong,
plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink
the epitome if  elected forty seventh
commander in mischief
a twenty first century Drake
yule ha – albeit tink
con **** – barely describes
this oafish piranha making waves,
(whereby Hurricane Katrina
seems like child’s play),

where even a toddler,
could out rule,
out smart, and out think
maniac pampered
by donned patriarch Fred,
who fawned, doted
and bow wowed
over polarized magnate trick son,
whose rapacious,
reprehensible and riling actions

generated when United States
First Lady Melania Trump
wear a $39 jacket emblazoned with
"I really don't care, do you?"
during a trip to a migrant
child detention centre
published June 21st, 2018
didst give (in my humble opinion),
an affirmative clear cut, eye raising wink
to exploitation and fraternization
with kneading greed,

which four years of horror and terror
wrought chaos in the white house,

When congressman and senators forewent
all manner of civility, fidelity and integrity wii
hull ding broadswords, derringers
and firearms as all hell broke loose as testimony
to dire prognostication foretold
more than saber rattling and Gatling guns que
kind from lambastes, fisticuffs
and brickbats ratcheted
up as agents provocateurs nee
said obedience to semper fidelis

credo, coda and **** knee
stance when dire straits called for restraint
against excess versus raising cane old hickory
i.e. Andrew Jackson latched onto
when opposing with energy
plus verve espoused by fellow delegates,
and his hologram ghost ******
from battle scars outside and/or inside
the halls of government where blows bashed
dovetailed elected legislators to officiate

as angry birds viz brouhaha clashed
Federalist against their nemesis
of twenty first century
during the term of Donald Trump,
who throve on cutthroat frenzied
internecine lawlessness dashed
to and fro, hither and yon
any hopelessness for
civilians to escape bloodshed
spilled from without

vaunted halls of justice,
the approach of doomsday
writ large as anarchy and mayhem flashed
with uproarious coup d’etat,
when Democrats outliers gnashed
teeth, and nonestablishmentarian outlaws
pistol whipped and hashed
tagged traitors who roared America
went bankrupt at sold
at fire sale price slashed

when Donald Trump ran country
into the ground evidenced
by Molotov Cocktails residue
in concert with the sulfuric odor
of hand grenades trashed
like some sorority or fraternity house
left the sanctified righteous West Wing
with powder puffs canisters
of pepper spray, whereby
most docile, humble,

and liberal took page
from playbook of Pandora,
and landed an aimless swing
at root cause of melee
by hurling objet d’art
at pompous trump ping
septuagenarian, whose platoons of goons
rent asunder peoples against their king,
the donnybrook heathen, whose remarks
against libertarian rubric

made America great
wantonly soup peer egg go whist tickly
reviving prejudices declared dead
from yesteryear and his attempt to bring
back the glory days, when WhistleBlowers
getting water boarded and aching
deigning to implement dictatorship
virulent strain Jane's Addiction
of the Proletariat as capital idée fix
weaving together, the salient strengths

viz founding fathers credo gave licks
to King George, and now in an ironic
twist and shout of fate through eclectic mix
basket of deplorables further shamed
by being routed by New York Knicks
sewed jaws, heads of state, and dignitaries
with limping bodies spent like derricks
oil used up and no place to go except
to keep Alice in Chains and
Alice Cooper Company with toys in the attics.

Meanwhile the complex edifice
housing innocent Little Red Riding hood
standing in for realm of Pilgrim's Progress
witnessed statuesque Lady Liberty
firmly grappling torch of freedom,
when sequel to forty fifth commander in chief
whereby talking head strongly prophecy
how he blatantly snatches emblematic symbol,  
and essential fabric and rubric
stitched together over the course

since Declaration of Independence
arrogated courtesy founding
fathers and mothers, (albeit unsung)
huge bear paws figuratively swiping
sacred inviolable enshrined covenants
stripping away said constitutional perquisites
establishing totalitarian hegemony
casting dark shadows
along the edge of night,
wherein outer limits of the twilight zone
harken stranger than fiction dystopian wasteland.

Welcome back DONALD TRUMP –
holding hostage goose
that laid the golden egg.

Axe the old don
a trump peter n piper
of incredulous hellish crud - be gone
with the ha airbrushed pompous ****
so the kiss my a** in Macy's window
paraded jackal hound doth run
after public outcry yelps
for his hide and proletarian discord won!

No matter Donald Duck Trump
i$ - a pompous ***
makes war with his big brass
knuckles and bucket of crass
maligns vis a vis character assassination
with Kristallnacht broken glass
inciting banal deathly
hallowed expletives toward lass
seen – especially as viewed
on archives from Fox Television
then news anchor woman Megyn Kelly
bracing herself against ogre personality
to bear the brunt of brutish mass
of vitriolic n vile insults
from incriminating verbal pass  
so…NO VOTE from me
from such a snooty, petty, haughty
arrogant simian with sass!

I van nah try to describe
while sitting on me ****
how he oh bomb in lee rages
with gnashing teeth while back a slump
blasting democratic nomination as a sham –
from special interest bro and sis turn pump
he, the epitome
of crass bloviation, a malignant lump,
whose rants sans
presidential outcome a sham bull

with his millions beds this,
that and another woman to ******* jump
disseminating gene pool –
birthing more quackers
and additionally doth ****
the mass media as some foolhardy charade
and caricature of a frazzled grump
this arboreal clothed ape
erecting taj mahal ******* symbols
where players dump

and gamble away hard earn cash
for his hello kitty,
as if that cachet to grind and bump
lambasting with maniacal leering pout
while hair *** red bulls
atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed
heady measly shaped muppet
diseased cranial hologram
of a cretaceous,
facetious and insidious measly mump.

Glad for birth write to express views
aware cunning linguists
will apply figurative screws  
in an effort at blatant mud slinging ruse
exercised courtesy mail in ballots,
or electorates standing in queues
who the previous Sunday
possibly fervently prayed within pews
a mixture of Republican and Democratic

gentiles (relating to or indicating
a nation or clan, especially a gens)
and orthodox or reformed Jews,
although dissimilar viewpoint you may choose,
perhaps feeling exuberant
crying tears of joy
with red eye to boot
unlike myself (a common Joe)
biden his time until 2028
until then experiencing moody blues.

The following mostly written
November 6th, 2018,
nevertheless, I copy and paste
bulk of previously crafted poem
applicable to 2024 presidential election
nearly six years to date
from forty fifth elected
meddling,  scheming, and yawping
commander in chief.

Das Don Auld (can hardly tank
tucker - son of Carl, and leave
landscape barren) calling out
rigged ken tuckered hoarfrost race,
viz demolition derby presaging
death to White Anglo Saxon
democracy DOMS (delayed
onset muscle soreness)
minions decry diplomacy,
crass denunciation of
Stacey Abrams

liberally Apple eyeing jingoistic rhetoric
declare defamation directly
upon disparate grass roots
hegemony, hectoring, heckling,
and harassing humble hobby (lobby) horse
sense, asper progressive
democrats hurrahing, holstering, hitching
visa vis disc hovering rays in the sky,
no fault in our stars,
harnessing healthy,

honesty, humility plowing,
sowing, and tilling political
terrain at expense tubby
execrably, damnably, cruelly,
brutally, nagged, branded,
and whipped malevolently,
mercilessly, and mischievously
lambasted by fourth grade
vocabulary level former commander
in chief exuding: haughtiness,
doughy bully pronouncing

prescriptions provisioning
one percent pampered
population attending one
born at Jamaica Hospital in Queens,
New York City hobnobbing,
galavanting, fawning...
at ego inflating functions
exploiting downtrodden
under most class "dirt poor"
bilked proletariat segment.

Pinnacle (topping Taj Mahal),
now owns Birds eye
bourgeoisie view, which
informs hawkish word
smiths, onlookers with
powerfully pointed outlook
excellent access, sans zealous,
vociferous, uxorious, and traitorous
tyrannical reigning Rex
less lee pugnacious noxious

loose xenophobic,
jabberwocky, demagoguery
laced jargon surly *******,
quizzically, pugilistic-allied,
outrageously punching
imaginary nemesis, linkedin
with instagram, snapchat
twittering skulking arch
conservative enemies
clandestinely undermining

(bone a fide skulduggery)
ambitions to turn back
figurative clock, applauding,
cobbling, counting crowdsource
to elect forty seventh
commander in chief
to reboot, remake, and retry
to restore American (post
world war II) hit parade
soundtrack resonating

with ardent blatant
bigotry, colored blinders,
devilish foo fighting
patriotism, nepotism, localism,
gerrymandered, jury rigged
Russian hijacked pollster
precincts, nativism milking
titillating conspiracy theorists,
denouncing radical ambidextrous
righteous leftists, silencing

second amendment agent
challenges provocateurs,
lake wobegon raconteurs,
and saboteurs infiltrating
highest echelons with spooky
intelligent poseurs, and green
lighting one man plutocrat
steamrolling aborted blackened
civil disobedience (Thoreau Lee)
walled in reproductive rights.

Flourishes amidst freedom
once invisible (alice in) chains shucked
when soul no longer kept linkedin
to jane's addiction
with corporeal duty, entity, fealty...
while formerly shed body electric
gendered as former googly eyed hotmail
actually a prodigy, whose outlook
arouses suspicions regarding him
as person of pinterest living social
in a webbed, wide world of uncertainty

precariously perched atop pinnacle
pirouetting at light speed,
nevertheless defying the laws
of centrifugal and centripetal force
as spirit blithely ushers forth
along a straight line
of orthodox dogmatism, idealism
opportunism, and volunteerism
hemorrhaging, purging, and xing
staunch archconservative
punishing outdated edicts.

When after the final countdown
to the global apocalypse,
(according to Doomsday Clock
January two thousand twenty three  
ninety seconds to midnight)
one beatle browed, foo fighting nebbish
departs the land of the living
and joins rank and file
among the grateful dead,

he (more specifically
the physical and spiritual
embodiments incorporating him
will separate) at long last,
thence latter day sainted essence
can freely exit from the cares
and concerns of an uncertain tomorrow  
no longer plagued by earthly travails
particularly the necessity of money.

Within heliocentric/ Copernican theory
broached sixteenth century promotion
sans scientific paradigm
dogmatically hefty, kinetically lofty,
and poetically thoroughly,
xyz beliefs misalign
wherein mechanistic Ptolemaic,
static venerated yin yang benign
choreography describing elementary forces
governing heavens inviting jinxed, kooky,
loopy measures necessitating

normalization, pacification, rectification,
transformation, validation
to guarantee spatial objects remain in line
which notions trotted out
a cosmic deal with invisible ink
omnipresent, omniscient omnipotent
benevolent creator linkedin
synonymously affixed terrestrial
firmament (planet Earth) nsync
with bedrock as Fred Flintstone
beatified, certified, deified,

edified, fortified, glorified Gibraltar
until undisputed supposedly
figuratively hermetically sealed
fostered religious (church) fathers
to do more than blink
when inquisitive minds (undaunted
though invoked as heretical martyrs)
blaspheming solidly entrenched
blind faith no more functioning with charm
mingly quaint association
with amulets, churinga,
exquisite fetishisms guiding humanity

innumerable journeys kickstarting
legendary modus operandi initially harm
less lee sounding out,
what manifested into a schismatic alarm
regarding millennial questions
undermining liturgical moorings
strong lance heaving arm
irrevocably toppled geocentric mindset,
nonetheless this oblate spheroid dance
sing with the stars redoubled
devout hangers-on fixed

with barnacle cleaving
devotion stalwart stance
populace behooved
(as would be expected),
when Doubting Thomas'
(Paine) revolutionary screeds
threatened (prior to unending)
universal schema just by chance
and despite proclamations pronunciations,
and provocations roiling status quo
hashtagged as evil rants

eventually zealous warfare between
growing heliocentric individuals  
with sacrilegiously blatantly deranged
fiendishly gnarly heathens –
perhaps the Renaissance own
groovy, nutty, and trippy Timothy Leary
the dawn of a quantifiable, explainable theory
(minus all those concentric
embedded orbital paths)
diktat preachers eventually became weary
to challenge recalcitrant

(purported hell raisers
****, I would have fit right in
as a rebel rouser)
whereby agents provocateurs
spout vestigial claim
to Gaea remaining front
and center of galaxy
on par clubbing with Mother Mary.