You don’t need to try so hard.
You can wear the clothes you want.
Do whatever you please,
Express yourself the way you know how.
You can wear those heels
Just because you love them.
Your true friends will accept you
And all your little quirks.
It’s time to let it go,
Let go of all your fears of judgement.
Stop caring what people think of you,
It’s none of your business anyways.
You are who are for a reason.
You’re crazy, eclectic,
A miss independent and a little rebellious.
You like to defy the norms of society
So why aren’t you doing it?
Let go of all those rules and make your own.
You’ve always stood for the outcasts,
Paving your own path,
Cutting the trees blocking your way.
Why care now about fitting in
When you’re a shining gem?
You were born to lead, to conquer.
This is your destiny, you’ve always worn
Your individuality just like a badge.
Don’t become submissive,
Stop looking for approval,
You won’t find it anywhere
But inside of yourself.
It’s the self-acceptance that comes first,
There’s no better friend than you.
Go on, look in the mirror.
Remember, you better like who you are,
That is the person you’ll be stuck with
For the rest of your life.
Enjoy all the strangeness,
All the weird parts of your personality.
There’s no refunds, no exchanges.
You are who you are and that
Is perfection; no matter what anyone says.
Accept who you are now,
Accept all the growth to come.
You can accomplish even your
Wildest dreams, those shooting stars.
It’s time to just be,
Time to stop leaning on societies
Ideals and march on out
With head held up high.
Self acceptance is all you need.

"for thirteen dollars
ill tear apart
1 big Texan phone book

no deal if raining
. no refunds.
you must provide
the materials"

"tear apart
my phonebook
for twelve dollars"
says man

"exit the area"
I repeatedly bellow
twelve dollars is chump change
I'm better than that

im like a siren
I can't stop screaming
at this man
his face is turning purple
he's choking from fear
I continue
it is nice to me

I glare him in the eyebalks
"HOPE YOU LIKE YOUR
BIG TEXAN PHONE BOOK
SAT UPON FOR MILENNIA"
I SCOFF as I sit upon it

he stands
"that phonebook ain't yours feller"
i am aghast
he snatches it from me
and shoots me in the gut

i lay in the dirt
writhing in pain
he steps near my head
and leans down to whisper
calmly in my ear

"no refunds"
he stomps on my face
and thus ends my reign
as king of ripping
big Texan phonebooks
into two smooth halves
for thirteen dollars

You say, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”
but I say surely something

must taste nicer than the burning acid
being forced back up your throat.

Why not hug people instead of
toilet bowls? At least they’ll hug back.

Except Mia is your only friend now.
And her cousin, Ana, of course.

And I understand that you never
wanted to die, but this is a thousand ton truck

hurtling towards the edge of a cliff and
Ana took the wheel a long time ago.

There is no strength in this: in you, in a
fear of calories. Even your bones creak

as your muscles sigh with exhaustion -
for this, is not a war you're winning.

This is a battle with only one contender
and I will not be the one to disarm you.

That's your job and it always has been. I know
you only wanted to be beautiful

like all those stars in the magazines
you saved under a file titled ‘thinspo’

but the only stars you ever saw were in
your eyes from the dizziness

and to tell you the truth, you are not pretty.
For there is nothing “pretty”

about the layer of fuzz your body grew
to protect itself from the big bad wolf

when really, the only growl was coming
from inside your stomach.

Or how your little sister is afraid to touch,
let alone hug you, in fear of snapping you in two.

For there is no glamour in having to
remove clumps of hair out of the plughole

at least six times whilst having a shower,
just to let the water run down.

Or that one time you "accidentally”
took too many laxatives. Messy.

There is nothing admirable about the way
you sat shivering on your bed

at night instead of kissing boys,
or dancing, or eating ice cream.

There is nothing to be marvelled at
in dying.

This, is not a life to be lived.
God, this isn't even a life.

This is being a slave to your own body,

a walking zombie, a ghost stuck
between two sides.

You are not alive.

But it was all still worth it, right?
Slowly killing yourself from the inside out.

A small price to pay for perfection,
a bargain for a broken mirror;

for a half-written book
with 97 blank pages,

a camera
that only captures in black and white,

a clock
with frozen hands.

And most importantly, for a peace of mind
you never received.

No refunds.

.
1. It's time to retreat
    To call off the war, to turn in the trumpets,
    To shut off our hearing aids to those who are bullet-riddled with Ritalin.

2. Leave passion at the door
    The coat rack is missing, but that's what people are for,
    Push them back into the closets with your woolen wares and see.

3. Check in your soul with the desk clerk
    The bellhop promises to bring it up soon, but the elevator is out of order.
    His trolly's wheels were stolen and the stairs are still on fire.

    Sorry.
    No refunds.

4. Lock all the doors and tip your cows
    You're too tipsy for another round of room service anyways and the
    police are planning a raid.
    Tell the too young girls with the too old eyes the time has come to go and
    stitch your innocence back on.

5. Check your bedstand for a bible and a razor
    Ignore the ***** stains; the key to salvation was paid in sin.
    Put yourself on a pension plan because I hear the devil's running a good
    racket.

    Sorry.
    No refunds.

6. Trash this place on Yelp. Trash this place in person.
    The devil is hiding in the woodwork and there's a people zoo of women
    dancing on the yellowed wallpaper.
    The carpet smells like Daddy's cigarettes and Mommy's drunken spit-up.

7. w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶m̶e̶s̶s̶a̶g̶e̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶m̶i̶r̶r̶o̶r̶
    What a proud song:
    Here's to the the nihilists, here's to the named,
    Here's a vague attempt to mark the world in meaning.

8. Break the mirror instead

Sorry.
No refunds.

But they offer complimentary mints.

There are no refunds,
   There are no exchanges, and
         There are no returns when it comes to love.

The echoes of her screams
Reverberate throughout my head
As the most untender slap across the face
Lulls me to sleep.
Then morning comes
And my wrists have become tense
With his fingered bracelets
As I try to break free.
Clenched teeth appear like jail bars before me
And it would take the reverse of all the guilt
I can muster
To knock them down.
I don't have that.
I have plenty of bystanders
All eagerly entertained by someone else's misery.
Heck, I manage to entertain myself
With my masochistic tendencies.
Welcome to the show, my friends.
I gather it will be worth your time.

Thank you for your purchase.*

I recently bought a computer,
complete with:

Poorly labeled documents, (Untitled53.jpg).
Terms and conditions; a ten-second scroll-through, mind you.
Pre-accepted, pre-agreed.
A clutter of programs I (supposedly) need,
and a firewall,
to keep your virus
out of my heart.

Sadly, however,
this model lacks a *restart.

A Four day concert, created by Roberts, Rosenman,  Kornfeld, and Lang
Was originally supposed be a three-day  music festival, and up it sprang

But the citizens of citizens of Wallkill, N.Y. did not want their nice quiet town filled
With drugged up hippies that would overrun, and with this idea they were not thrilled

With many battles and protests, Wallkill passed a law on July 2, 1969 banning
The would be concert from going forward leaving the town quite less enchanting

Almost not getting off the ground, hippies all over demanding refunds for their tickets
Stepping forward, Max Yasgur offered his 600-acre dairy farm so no one would picket

The new location for the Woodstock Festival would be Bethel, New York
No one from the other town would not have complaints or come uncorked

Despite the many problems of people threatening to quit
Woodstock got off the ground despite things still being chit

This concert was poorly planned with two major setbacks, as news spread that it was free
There were congestion of cars that policeman had to turn away, for as far as one could see

Organizers lost huge amounts of money while hippies walked through gates without paying
But it was estimated that 500,000 people made it to the concert and they came in swaying

The music seemed to play non-stop as people sat and listened and some would play
It was very muddy from all the rain of what it did from much of the concert everyday

Listening to greats such as Creedence Clearwater Revival, Santana, Jimi Hendrix, Sweetwater
Can’t forget, Grateful Dead, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Jefferson Airplane and Ten Years After

The concert ended and picking up the pieces began, that wasn't just the trash that was left behind
It was the lawsuits that many filed against the organizers since beginning to end put many in a bind

The greatest music festival in history later put to a movie that is divine
Something that will forever be talked about from the summer of 1969

Copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved

i am cheap logic
bought from a man on the side of the street
who says it's the real stuff, nothing but the best
and i guess you believed him, i guess optimism ran in your veins that day
and i should be glad, really
except you've been tricked, and the man
walks away laughing with your petty change in his pocket
glancing back to grin at your smiling face
as you slip your arm around my waist
and i pretend to be worth it

dress me up, because i'm tired of painting myself
i just wanna hear your description
i like it better than mine
take me out, at least as far as the road
to show me why i usually stay at home

i am a solid shell
this logic has been welded into my surface
and i make sense, just ask anyone
i am a rock, i am an unmoving blanket
i am a hand to hold, a smile to be reflected
i am a solid shell
within which the logic falls apart

too bad wandering gypsies
don't give refunds, eh?
you'll never track him down

be my computer genius, crack this code
make me logic from spinning numbers
make me make sense
make me make sense
make me make sense

keep the optimism running in your veins
i like you that way

maybe-

     if you write

your feelings down

      and threw them away,

they would...

       go away too ?

    don't allow-

       lingering,
       longing,

consume you anymore.

         because

    time-

          is not

refundable but,

           hearts apparently are

     when you return

            your heart,

time ignores the loss

       time will always win

and...

          never look back

    you shouldn't either

I think a lot about calling out sick.
Not so much for a cold, or an upset stomach
Not even a broken bone, no
I wish I could call out sick and say
"Hey, boss, I'm sorry, I can't come in today
I'm hallucinating  that the foliating leaves
Are leaves burning our world to the ground
I can't go outside or I'll burn"
And then he'd say to me
"Yeah, Mikey, no problem, hopefully someone puts those fires out for ya"
And I'd close all my blinds and keep all my lights off and hide under my blanket
And it would be okay
Or maybe I'd call in and say
"There are toxic germs slithering and trying to slide their way into my pores"
To which he'd tell me "We've all been there, take care of that ****, man"
And I'd spend four hours racking up my hot water bill in a boiling hot shower
That feels more like if I'd gone outside and felt the burning leaves land on my body
Or maybe I'd say to him
"Every single nightmare and demon from my past is screaming in my head
So loudly that I cannot hear a single thing in this room,
I don't even hear myself speaking to you right now, sir"
To which, I have no idea what he'd have be cause I couldn't hear it
But realistically, I would lose my job so fast, that,
Much like in a cartoon, when they run and kick up a dust cloud behind them
You'd see nothing that was there before, just the smoke
But tell me, if so many people call out sick because they decided to drink their demons away
Why can't I call in sick because of my demons?
Why is a hangover a good enough reason to call out
But locking yourself away from any and all pill bottles or sharp objects
Because you're too depressed to roll over and kiss your girlfriend goodbye
Before she leaves for work not good enough?
Why are we afraid to talk about mental illness, but Ben Affleck's divorce is all over magazine covers?
Why do we try to cover up what is very clearly a very real problem in this country
No, instead we talk about Caitlyn Jenner
Instead, we talk about Jennifer Lawrence, and her leaked naked pictures
Instead, we have passionate debates about the color of a dress
But we can't admit that the voices in our heads, or the panic in our hearts, or the depression in our souls, or the spinning in our minds, or the screaming in our ears are real
The only thing worse than feeling all of this
Is being too ashamed or too afraind to talk about it
We bury it like it's any old newspaper
When we should treat it like our mortgage papers
Or our tax refunds
We must stop shaming, or this generation is gonna be dead before they even get a chance
Yeah, I think a lot about calling out sick
And saying "I apparently spent all night on the bathroom floor having a panic
Because I woke up here with no memory, and my head is spinning and my body aches
My hands can't move from the stiffness of slamming them into the floor all night
My eye is swollen shut from when I fell to the floor and smacked it off the sink"
And he'd tell me "Put some ice on that ****, Mikey. I'll see ya tomorrow."

life is our poetic reality,
you are the best ever
metaphor,
the one poets
keep stealing from
each other,
at the intersection
of our eyes crossing

your disruptive crying poetry,
bring to me in NYC,
and I'll take you to
poetry slams,
tango parties, a real Chinatown,
blow smoke up your nose,
Waltz step on your toes,
drink with you
in Central Park at five am,
visit half a dozen museums,
take you to the ballet,
and then you can maybe,
cross a few to-do's
off of our mutual
intersections

care taken,
if you want hide deep,
but to late for thee and our world,
your name on the roster
of poets by night,
tinkers, soldiers,
and some who tailor
poems bespoke
for the ones who
dare not reveal their true (s)elves
in the words they write.

1431
poems in ye old inbox,
genteel knocking,
whispering thru stolid front door
love me a little lot,
little lot, love me?

these are the holy-of-the-holies
attention-me-crystal-cries,
prayers, wry observations, nature collations,
me and thee adorations,
heart rendering
screams of need,
these are the moments in your life
raw-roughened gifted
or threaded smooth cursed,
but tendered unto my caring

am old man.
my poetic voice is just
memories that are
repetitive lies and lines.

speak in simple sentences declarative.
this is nature's way.

darkness approaching is indeed my
au courant poem, mon actuellement.

I have seen betterdays

ain't young enough to be afraid no more
write what pleases me.

this day leases me
what pleases me
and this is as close as I can come
to being human
and writing my flawless poem.

Anything I can do to keep you,
happy and poetry-free
from midnight
till the **** crows
and slumber trumps
the restless words
that will wait
till mo(u)rning born,
and the kingdom of poetry,
awoken,
comes alive

These four senses all recombinant,
On the cheek, on the tongue,
Wafting, tickling, blasting, visioning
Merging into a single touch
That my pointer finger,
by force majeure,
Declares, here,  poem aborning,
Contract with this moment,
now satisfied.

Al,  what you did not ask was this:
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me

long have I searched for my
flawless poem,
knowing it my be
my next one,
each a doorway to the next

this one, and the
one before,
never good enough,
keep the essay going
in fourth gear

I taste skin,
like a good poem,
the cheek, the shoulder bare,
the in between spaces,
the minty hint of décolleté,
the ankle chain,
turning my breath heated,
tips of red noses,
I take and
I keep
and no,
no refunds, no returns

nowadays,
grandpa's tools
outdated, shelved,
in their final
resting place,
blades dulled,
the technology
of his verbiage,
rusted by old age

the reads diminishing,
his touch, antiquated,
his best days, resting on top of
the ocean internet waves
his summertime buddies,
sand sun grass and
sea air perfumes,
singing,
"awe, we got ya,
cosy and comforted,
awaiting you in your chair,
overlooking our truest
sheltered applause"

so I write for me,
write for her,
for with her,
in love's sight,
life is
easy like Sunday morning,
and
that's why I'm easy,
like Sunday morning

wake up unscrubbed,
sleep still in the eyes,
dream crusted,
probably unaware, child,
that you are a poem
sleeping

when a little girl,
reverting, designing
real from dreams,
processing, reforming,
the dreams lusting
to be poems
to go awandering

don't
let the sin memories
of ancient words,
black gold bubble up
with the first striking of the blade

Delve
(excavate your soul deep)
Not

I did not come this poem to write
I did not come to repeat
Solomon's poem,
nothing new under the sun

don't,
daunting
wish to delve into my delusions,
my original sin
the deceit
the conceit
I am unique
I am original

*Experience anew,
Each time,
Say:
This is my first time,
This is my first work

I do not need your validation.
I validate myself
and in doing so,
who else
comes along
for the ride
on our tide?

create with no shame
create with no measuring stick
only this:
everything that is done well
                           is good art

Be Fertile and Radiate

There is this hell inside me where the flames are mesmerising

it’s shape fits your outline

it grows and shrinks
                                            every time you walk in

walk out.



Tell you what

i’ll be the empty house

and you be the ghost


I’ll keep my favourite illusions about us in tiny glass jars

                                                           ­               (like portable mausoleums)


What do you want for dinner?
                                                         I'm leaving you


Shall we watch The 7:30 Report?

                                                        ­ You’ll never see me again

I’ve made your favourite dessert

                                                        ­ You can keep the house


Did you know you can be crying for years

and not even notice


The funny trajectory of feelings

They rise up      
you take note  

                                they fall away


some don’t fall away
becoming embedded in your bloodstream

and there’s my only enemy right there

inside me

and no matter how much I vacuum the cracks in the floor
my childhood just doesn’t change

but maybe
just maybe

if i do everything the opposite way i was taught i might survive


I thought you were the face of my survival
                                                                ­             (silly I know)
                                        
I thought you were my very own swashbuckling hero
like the one's dreamed up by Spielberg and Lucas

but after awhile getting your hopes up

becomes just another extreme sport

If only i had known

the best way to keep our romance alive
was never getting to know each other

Refunds for emotional disappointment should be a thing


and weddings
weddings should happen under water

the suffocating non-air
can break you in for your future

You’re working back again/What’s her name?

You know, there’s a freedom that comes with being forgotten actually

I can relax and become a mountain again
                                                           ­                 free of perfecting myself

to outshine your golden girls
all of them competing for the crown in your secret world

I would cry about it
but i bought 80 pairs of shoes instead

It will show up on your bank statement

I am the black sludge poured into morning mouths
The thickening blood like mucus oozing from the nose,
the failed vandal on the doorstep wringing
I felt this ick coming before, like bricks in the bell tower… Grimacing
I am the shifting surface of your beach front property
The wax of mudslide and sleep of glacier drift wiped away
You once tried to save me…,
But you should have saved yourselfrightchoseless… Sickening
I am the quite traveler giving ride to whomever
Provider of spectacles no testicales can compare
Hope you are ready for the next one cause my revolution’s in the air
Get the Mayans and the Call Lenders Cause I’m the blender you’re the pear!


Your thoughts fickled mine things
My water of youth your cesspool for fuel
The conduit of my poles peeled for golden rings
Have the nerve to say I’m not self-sustaining
Uninhabitable!   I’ve been more than hospitable!
What a virus that makes it self service unsuitable
To favor ill behavior for the sake of a savior
Your heads may bow to the east
But your *** still ***** none the least
Time after time provide I with a bountiful feast
So you Land on my Lover to satisfy your lust
Hover her then leave her collecting trophies, Moon Dust!?
Even the God of War has been fondled by your touch
They whisper, Oh how they want to flee me
They satellite and bend the light
And fore tell of my death
Well, Be Gone! And leave your clothes behind!
That flesh, My skin of desert and shore sand given.
The enchanted threads for your living experience
Be Gone! And don’t bother with packing up and cleaning
There will be no interrogation no exile from Eden

I’ll burn this wicked garden to the ground
Arrange my poles, and swish waters to cool it down
They are white clouds in my blackened blue atmosphere
Casting shadows on the crusted earth of my flesh
I frown a deep sound like bass clef
Their tall tale torn apart
The last vault too big to fail now broken Bonaparte
My molten core resurrecting to the surface
I smoke out for every hemp plant chopped and burned in vain
I offer fruit for Gods and you look pone it with distain  
These Human parasites stuck to my feet!
One whim of solar wind should cure me of their feverous heat


Ignore the Calendar your end will be what I vendor
NO refunds or replays back to binary Control Alt Delete’
You say the past will repeat yet look in a mirror, tongue and cheek
What is it that you seek? Have you forgotten My rule?
What you sew into me is what you reap
I’ve soaked in seeds of blood and tears now its harvest thyme to weep

I went into the pro shop
Paid my fees and turned to leave
The man behind the counter said
"you're new here...I believe"

I said I'd never played here
He said "there's things that you should know"
"I'll grab us both a coffee"
"Listen close...before you go"

"The first two holes are easy"
"nothing there gets in the way"
"no bunkers, and no water"
"just the way to start the day"

"It gets tougher on the third hole"
"There's some birds up in the trees"
"They buzz you while you're putting"
"Remember...birds on three"

"The fourth hole is a dog leg"
"It has a river on the right"
'Avoid the yellow caution tape"
"We had a drowning there last night"

I swallowed hard and stared back
"A drowning out on four"
"That's right" he said "don't worry"
"At least it's not the wild boar"

"The WILD BOAR?" I said aloud
He said "he's on five through seven"
"Don't worry much on those holes"
"He's been sighted on eleven"

"The eighth is fairy simple"
"A par three that you can reach"
"Water moccasins in the swamp"
"And lots of spiders in the beach"

"The greens are all receptive"
"They hold well, just come in high"
'But, land is short...there's quicksand"
"So...go in there...you die"

"you make the turn, and grab a dog"
"I give them out for free"
"The owner says it's wasteful"
"But, I say...just let it be"

"The tenth hole is a par five"
"It' one to reach in two"
"But if you put it out of bounds"
"I'd leave it...if I were you"

"you know about the wild boar"
"so eleven gets a pass"
"he's got some bite, that sumbitch"
"He might gore you in the ***"

"Now twelve...is quite a pickle"
"I'll tell you watch out now.....not later"
"We have a situation there"
"It's fairway's full of gator"

"What the hell is that you say"
"There's a gator out there then"
"Today there is but somedays son"
"You can meet as much as ten"

"You must be mad" I yelled at him
"I'm leaving...I'll not play"
"on a course so full of danger"
"There's no way...just no way"

I asked him for a refund
he pointed up above his head
"no refunds, only rainchecks"
"and then only if you're dead"

I sacrificed my forty bucks
And left, out to my car
The pro just sat and smiled
"I've scared off thirty one so far"

I know I'll not return here
not with friends or by myself
not with spiders in the bunkers
Or gators on the twelfth.

There’s a part of me
That’s still the 5 year old kid
The part of me that’s scared
That knows I’ll need a blanket
From the bottom of a bottle
To hide and protect me
From the monsters in my mind

I used to be a real boy

Now when I close my eyes,
the image rises into view.
From back when you lied to me
And my trust lied in you
Well that trust lied too
I want to forget,
A blank slate of memory
Like this blank page in front of me
But it’s not blank
It has everything on it
Like when you walked to your door
And you locked it
Turned to me and said
“We’re gonna play a game”
I looked up to you innocently
And asked what’s its name
But a five year old mind isn’t developed enough
To understand the term “*******”

The discomfort building in my heart
Didn’t seem to fit
Because how could it all
Be building up to this
How could I know
You were a Grimm Brother’s Pinocchio
Because when you lied, your nose, it didn’t grow
Oh no
It much further south
And much better hidden
At least until you were alone with a kid and
Then liar liar’s pants were off
Like they were on fire
I know what a deer feels like
When it’s seen by a lion

Cornered by four walls
And a locked door
I was about to find out
What was in store
And they don’t take refunds
I tried to fight you off
But to my David
This time Goliath won
And with absolutely nowhere to run
I did the only thing I could
I cried out
And in a second your hand covered my mouth
Silencing the sound
Of an innocence being stolen
And a soul being broken
“Don’t make a sound”

I’ve been told we all have one creator
So tell me Gippetto
Did you know
Was it in your perfect plan
For all of this to happen
Or is the blue fairy in charge
Handing out wishes to those with blackened hearts
Or maybe none at all
There was only one mercy granted from it all
It’s defined as a repressed memory
For ten years it was kept from me
Blacked out with flare ups of anxiety
Side effects of a mental infection
Always managing to evade detection
Until I was fifteen
When the wall finally came crumbling down
And while there were so many people around
Who could I turn to
Who could I possibly trust
After becoming a victim
Of the ultimate sin of lust
And if you have figured out the name
Of the game I was forced into playing
Then you’ll understand what I’m saying
When I tell you

I used to be a real boy

The Heartbreak Hotel

(Poem by Serenus)


…Where you check-in

Whole-Hearted

But you don’t check-out

In the condition you started



It’s simply heaven

When you walk through the lobby doors

But hell becomes apparent

When reaching the highest floors



Where a bride and groom

Enters a beautifully decorated room

Flooded in misery

Dripping in gloom



They floated in on a cloud

But the rain came

And they separated

So not to drown



Empty King-Sized bed

With tear- stained pillows

Blind to the outside world

No light, no widows



Countless visitors come

But their story is the same

Hopelessly in love, then…

Earth shattering pain



You are guaranteed

Not to enjoy your stay

Because the love of your life

Will surely go away



Where a deliciously decadent

Love goes stale

Dreams go to die

And faith goes to fail



Remember.. No refunds

This is the final sale

No pets allowed...


Welcome to The Heartbreak Hotel

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Play my card
Cut me up
Destroy me  
I'm already broken
Fill my void with lies
Smack me with insults please
Look me in the eye and tell me how much you hate me
Walking blind
Blood pours out
Losing life
I scream your name
All I hear is your laughs
I'm not angry
Deceit flowing from me
No refunds
So don't bring me a receipt of apologies
They mean nothing
Just take your blades and dice me
I'm just here to make you happy
And all you do is take your knife and stab me

Margaret Murray, the one with the glasses.
The psychic, the mystic, her tarot card classes.
Told Sheila her mangoes​ were ready to eat.
Told Mary her cousin'd be back on his feet.

Beverley Spence was a sceptic, tough cookie.
In seeing her fortune snapped up by the ******.
Decided to tell her her ulcer would heal.
It's better than sharing with friends what was real.

Patty was eager to hear from her mother.
Jessie bereft at the loss of her brother.
Beatrice needed the skills of a healer.
For Margaret saw death and she would not reveal her -

True destiny seen in the cards at the clubby.
Preventing a scene with her hard drinking hubby.

£20 fortunes, no refunds, no worries.
There's no better tarot than Margaret Murray's.

it'll get bad reviews, we should scrap the project before it breaks the budget*


we sit and talk
art and beauty, love and fear
my heart cracking open,
and you, rushing in.

we sit and talk,
play at the deadly game
ignore the consequences
shun the inconsistencies.
the words, words, words
they swirl,
and we slip, we slip, we slip

--its a real cliffhanger

hearts on sleeves
music weaves
stories come to light

secrets, oozing out between
the well crafted lines of
our carefully scripted plot

we sit and talk circles around
the herds of white elephants
that come to watch the show.
mocking us, they laugh
as we tiptoe through
fields of daffodils
under dark skies
with rainbows.

(scene change now)

in dark of night
i squeeze out hope
from my heart.
god ****** hope
twists up and knifes
me in the side, leaves
me bleeding on the floor.

and you, fool you are
rush to my aid.

if you're saving me,
who's saving you?

you with your secret
decoder ring from your
box of caramel corn.
cracking my heart,
you peel my layers.

your questions run deep
but your feet will run faster,
and i'll fall, i'll fall, i'll fall.

gravity's a real drag,
i've felt it's pull before.

me with my third eye
see the pan and play.
this show will end
leaving us all sitting
in our seats wanting
another thirty minutes,
a tidier ending.
this ain't Disney.

we'll feel like we've been
ripped, ripped, ripped

no refunds here,
go file your complaint
with the man upstairs.

the audience stands,
turns to go.

white elephants know there's
no silver lining, no *** of gold.
they threw popcorn at the screen
but you didn't notice.

i always hated white elephants;
i thought you did too.
who invited them to the show?

we step outside,
no curtain call,
no applause

this hail falls down
on a sunny blue day.
afraid to touch you, but

i want to catch you in my mouth.

would you please
just go away
before i end up with lumps
on my head, in my throat?

my eyes blinded by the sun,
the hail, this ill fated show


--bruised orange

staying still
rotating
light into dark
and vice versa
riding the seamless
changeling
holding onto
nothing solid
this fairground ride
unstoppable
ticket bought
and exchanged for
the ride of
a lifetime
no getting off
or refunds

They say to play with words.
I see each page is a slide and we
smile
          while
                    we're
                              going
                                        down.

We're make-shift,
Doctor Frankenstein,
            piecing               together
words                  that
             would             lay lifeless
without our spark.

We're other people, dress-up,
with our lens-less glasses,
pens in hands
that can't quite reach the tallest shelf.


Through our words we rebel,
show the world we are more than naïve.
Just because we don’t think
in refunds and rebates and 401k plans...
Doesn’t mean our futures won’t be bright if


we only hope to gain
a sense of ourselves, in that
moment when the tire-swing
goes so high, you try
to touch the sun.

What is it about the world    
that leaves you so conflicted?    
why is your tone    
pale as bone?    
   
Glance at this man    
who suffers the burden    
of the misery you make    
all too real.  
   
Does the world pay for your dreams    
and refunds your nightmares?    
   
Where the source    
of this your sorrow?
 
Is summer too hot,    
winter too cold?    
Perhaps the rain is too wet,
and the heat too warm?

Or    
are you just spineless,    
and not as bold as they say you were?

I want to be the graduating
class
of we ******* made it

despite the trials and tribulations
I want to scream and throw up my cap
say that was well worth it

that those endless all nighters
the coffee *** on
my walk to class iPod on
blast songs

of inspiration
of that serious dedication
stacks of books and notes
post its and reminders

binders
spiral bound
college ruled

schooled on all
walks of life
on all types of wrong and right

all the mistakes I want to erase
and refunds for the W's and F's
what's left?
but to tell myself it's all ok.

black and blue bics
papers double spaced
**** it I want to be the best I can be

class of the underdogs
the freaks the ones who thought they'd never make it

the class of we *******
we made it.

'It'll get bad reviews, we should scrap the project before it breaks the budget.'*


We sit and talk art and beauty, love and fear,
my heart cracking open, and you,
rushing in.

We sit and talk,
play at this deadly game,
ignore the consequences,
shun the inconsistencies. The

words,
words,
words,
they swirl,
and
we slip,
we slip,
we slip.

It's a real cliffhanger.

Hearts on sleeves,
music weaves,
stories come to light.

Secrets, oozing out between
the well crafted lines of
our carefully scripted plot.

We sit and talk circles around
the herds of white elephants
that come to watch the show.
Mocking us, they laugh
as we tiptoe through fields of daffodils
under dark skies with rainbows.

(Scene change now)

In dark of night
I squeeze out hope
from my heart.
God ****** hope
twists up and knifes
me in the side,
leaves me bleeding on the floor.

And you,  fool you are,
rush to my aid.
If you're saving me,
who's saving you?

You, with your secret decoder ring
from your box of caramel corn, cracking
my heart, you peel my layers.

Your questions run deep but your feet will run faster, and

I'll fall,
I'll fall,
I'll fall.

Gravity's a real drag;
I've felt it's pull before.

Me, with my third eye see the pan and play.
This show will end leaving us all sitting in our seats
wanting another thirty minutes,
a tidier ending.

This ain't Disney.

We'll feel like we've been
ripped,
ripped,
ripped.

No refunds here,
go file your complaint with the man upstairs.

The audience stands, turns to go.

White elephants know there's no silver lining,
no *** of gold.
They threw popcorn at the screen, but you didn't notice.

I always hated white elephants;
I thought you did too.
Who invited them to the show?

We step outside,
no curtain call,
no applause.

Hail falls down on this sunny blue day.

Afraid to touch you, but
I want to catch you in my mouth.

Would you please just go away,
before I end up with lumps
on my head,
in my throat?

My eyes blinded by the sun,
the hail,
this ill fated show.
​

take it east
where the girls all sleep with monograms stitched onto their pillows
and to the south where loving requires a ring
and i’m draped across my bed, naked, breathless
you’re here, you’re here, in the east, in the south
and i let you live inside of me for one night

so i’m folding my naked, once pure, body in half
asking for refunds for the morning afters-
when you didn’t take me to breakfast
or even kiss me, my forehead, my wrist

you only love me at night with whiskey
whiskey breath and whiskey ****
the morning after, the morning after

Night Circus

A black tent stands in front of you
red flags, chilling wind
welcome to my night circus
you found my red curtain door
I’ve been waiting for you
so step right in

Put this mask on, bizarre but
soon it’ll be clear
there are no faces,
no faces,
no faces down here,
No faces no light,
your mind misty, unclear,
and you don’t know it yet
but you need to be here

I hear whispers in your head
they are sounding
your heart’s beat in your ears
it’s pounding
warped mirrors, evil seen
is your reflection shattering
the person you knew
is gone, curtains drawn
my wicked dream
it’s magnetic, riveting,
astounding

Cold blood will course through your veins
look away
but all around you, look, see
you’ll reel from their stains
you say you’ll leave
but where
how did you lose the way
you came here, you entered
there’s a price you’ll pay
there are no refunds
no second chances
..and oh the games
we will play

You knew it hurt, but went back
every time
through a once white skin door
until your own skin matched mine
the colors of pain,
my black, red decor
until now
you’ve always asked to endure,
to taste just one more
you did this to yourself
bought the ticket
now settle your score

Bring the reflection of yourself
behind your mask in the crowd
my curtain’s pulled back for you
step through
not a sound

No one here will see you
cry as before
no one here will silence you
or muzzle your roar
as you end the life
of the person you knew
of the self that was you
who you were before

So welcome to the show
you arrived just on time
The Rules
don’t lie, don’t touch,
and don’t waste my time
You came to my circus
my tent,
you entered my mind
now you’ll hear and you’ll suffer
the ringleader’s rhyme

You feel strange down here,
yes, at first
thinking you’re alone
Ha ha guess again
check the stands
every second
look and see how they’ve grown
faces you can’t see
but there’s an army within
wondering
why did they come
you see, there’s few ways out
endless ways in
held by nothing but curtain
in this place created by pen

I hold a lighter
to this cigarette and
I can show you the way
you've found my hell, child
so come take my hand
fangs glistening, lets watch,
watch your own show begin

Join the legion here,
seeking belonging, refuge
lost and alone, savages
behind masks
here we all are people
monsters
creatures like you
but this is your trail
you’ll see it through to completion
don’t fall to the side
perhaps you can grant to me,
grant an end to my own story
my own obsoletion

I live this circus
every act, done them all
the show of the ******
my kingdom written
in red, every seat
in black, every wall
this is my world  
my guest
you're welcome to know
a little about me
take in the sights
with my ember in darkness
the hope I have
as you go

I was born here
somehow caught and strung up,
the first exhibit
the freak show,
a forcibly twisted, stiff contortionist,
a broken puppet's
head hung low,
clowns hammer to the head
that drum-roll cadence you hear
thumping, ringing,
a bearded lady singing
my art's crescendo,
each act slowly, chipping away
each step bringing us, closer, today
I’m the no-net trapeze artist
who wildly swings
while mad jugglers toss
swords across delicate strings,
the magician who saws
his woman in half,
the strong man crushed
beneath the weight on his back,
the tamer pray to his lions
bones not whips crack,
the disfigured clown who hopelessly fails
every attempt to make you laugh,
I'm the fire-breather choking
hearing cheers for his burn,
the acrobats diving into a cement empty pool
each gracefully standing waiting their turn
I was the tigers
who brought
the elephant down
and the helpless escape artist
chained, humiliated,
destined to drown
And now here I stand
your host
Ringleader
your showman
maitre d'
you're welcome to join
mais j'espere, tu ne reviens jamais
jusqu'au port de mon coeur
Le Cirque de la Nuit

-A bow without applause-

You’ve hosted your show
feel free to do more
but this tent will be bigger
each time you perform
I belong, some are trapped here
but you, you are not
the choice is still yours
so when you decide
you are free
to the world
I’ll release you
but let you be warned
wherever you go
the key you carry within
your night circus
your shadow behind you
is waiting
hungry
I plead
..don’t fall back in

The Devil he stays busy
Searching for some souls
He'll tempt them and coerce them
Then collect them for his gold
He'll promise you your desires
He'll give you riches galore
He'll give you almost anything
Of what you want and more
He'll tell you want you want to hear
He'll make you feel so strong
He'll fill your head with false happiness
And praise you when you're wrong
He can promise years of good living
And cater to your every whim
But after the years are over
Your soul belongs to him
The cost of what he does for you
Seems nothing at the start
There's no returns or refunds
The devil has no heart

All I came up here to do was to make a poem and to get some extra credit now with that said I guess I really should earn it.

Now I don’t know what kind of poem you really want, but that really doesn’t matter since your already here and have already given your two dollars to Japan and my job Is pretty much already over before it even began.

Now I could do some Dr. Seussish stuff and just rhyme words with wish and ish that would make a mish and then you would find a magic cat fish, but that would be kindergarten repeatin-ish.

  Now this may not be fitting with what you planned, but I’ve already told you that I don’t care what you want I’ve doing this for me, Te he.

  Now that Dr. Seuss is out of the way maybe there’s something greater that I would like to say.

Now two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth; oh wait I’m sorry that’s not my poem. Hmm I’m stealing other people’s stuff I guess you guys aren’t getting your money’s worth tonight.

Now I don’t know what I could really bring up that isn’t ****** up, but maybe you could rejoice since you get to hear this magical lyrical voice.

  Now this has pretty much been off the top of my head and hopefully you haven’t been wishing you were dead, but hey I think it’s been pretty okay.  Now that you’ve heard this and have planned to leave your seat I would like to convince you that you shouldn’t stand to your feet.

  Now this has made me feel like the man I do hope that you’ve understood the sarcasm and jokes since this wasn’t only made for young folks.

Now since this little fling is almost over I would like to get yo numba, but who am I kidding you didn’t like this part of the show so I’ll just go, but before I go I would gladly like you to know…that there is no refunds.

A dance lesson at 900AM,
she sets her alarm for Seven Am(?)
<>
restless. as you know too well,
a nite time house haunter, checking doors,
windows, rumbling noises from deep
inside the basement and his gut,
knowing in advance he has done
all this a few hours before…
what else should he do?

write your **** poetry!

ok

I will.

exhausted after diving into unplumbed
depths of love and death, friendship and
hatred, the angst of lost children, some dead,
some living but who have made him dead to them…

tired from debating god about the correct
way to spell hallelujah in English, as they
usually converse in the original Hebrew…

now you ask impatiently, what the hll does
this have to do with what time she sets her alarm?

growling, I reply, so glad you asked…

after a longest night of wrestling with angels,
reviewing the highs and the despondent lows,
of a life lived, mixed up, at best, he returns to
the bed stealthy~like, with much practice, she
does not even stir, when he steals back the half
of the coverlet and top sheet she stole in his
absence…rearranges the pillows, and thus
entirely exhausted, tumbles immédiatement,
into a sleep restful, a short battery charge,
to give himself a fighting chance, to recoup
the poetry they (Him and god,😉) composed
ensemble…

now, some addled add’l info you require:

the Apple offers multitudinous alarm sounds,
and she has chosen the aggravating ringing
of that old fashion alarm clock you bought in
Switzerland forty! years ago, and with great
bravery put out the back door for anyone who
was truly desperate for self-torture…anyway,

in throes, of a clasped embrace, a holy restful
cuddle of a dreamless sleep so desperately needed,
her A L A R M refunds at 7, for a trip to the studio
that is maybe , Google Map, has affirmed with
glee, is but a ******* NINE MINUTE drive away…

you think this is not  poem worthy?

WELL, YOU ARE WRONG, DING ****!

for what you do not know, that I am kicked &
injured awake from my last chance saloon of
sleep, with a shocking stillness of heart and
mind, by that jingle jangle *gringging, and then,
she stirs & confirms the time is indeed 700AM,

AND GOES BACK TO SLEEP AGAIN…


WHILST(always wanted to try that word out),
I am groggy~angry, highly dangerous for having
been cheated on, of and by a sound that was invented
by masochists who overslept for Noah’s Ark’s departure,
and have never for~given those creatures, like me,
who made a timely aboard…

And so the day begins and if you are angry at me, for having decomposed my hissy fit into your so very important existence,
well, too bad!

so, awake, I return to unlock every window and all the
doors aplenty, for they who built this home fifty years ago,
insisted that no one should be no more than ten steps
from entry and egress, in case the Puritans come to
burn we witches alive…

so now you are aware, fully informed, why the
adjectives of choix, in describing moi in the morning,
are whiny, growly, and grumbly and any another word
ending in “ly” that you should feel free to add to the
equation..

You are too? ** ** **! welcome to the club chump!
feel free to post nasty, natty notes below,which will
be accepted with roaring laughter and good graces
at having made your & you
coffee, by now, icy cold😉😫😜😛



p.s. good morning

9:01AM
S U N D A Y(grrrr)

I bought a Joker bobblehead at an antique store
it bobbled it's head as I went out the door
it bobbled and turned  
and with a laugh it said
get me out of this box *****
or I'll slice off your head
I turned right around
went back in the store
and asked for a refund
of $11.54 - including tax
I'm sorry she said
no refunds given here
now you're stuck with that *****
may God help you my dear
he's carved and beheaded
every Woody in my collection
he set fire to Buzz Lightyear
and gave Barbie a c-section
he's the devil himself
inside that bobbin' head
you'd better unload him
or soon you'll be dead
before she could put the closed sign on the door
I heard the feet of the Joker as they hit the floor
now you've done it she moaned
we've lost his *** now
I'm taking lunch
so find him somehow
before I could think of what my game plan would be
a voice, and a bob, bob, bob  from behind laughed at me
'10.99 for the Joker plus tax!?'
and I turned just in time to catch Daniel Boone's ax
between the eyes!

"Do you do engagement ring refunds?"

I seem to be having
An existential crisis
I feel as though
I am lost
Not physically --But rather
Emotionally--
I am not whole
Rather, pieces of me
Are missing
Why? Well--because
I gave them all away
To past lovers
Or partners--
Look!
He has a piece
And so does she
And **** so do they
In the corner
All of you
You have pieces of me,
I need them back!!
I'm not me
Without them
Oh--- but there aren't refunds
On souls, or love, or time--
They're gifts
And I gave most of mine
Away
And now---I'm empty
I'm lost, I'm incomplete
Oh god--
I have no
Identity