Shorts
T-shirt
Flip flops or barefoot
Pepsi
Virginia Slim
Three Musketeer
Long thick hair
Blue eyes
And a beautiful soul

Seven months had gone by
About 214 days
175 sick
The rest not to bad
Chemo took it's toll
Ran her down
Had her drained
Never wondered why me
Always kept a smile
Even when the battle was for her life
She been through so much
It's no surprise she never gave up
None of us knew
This was new to us
We took remission as a win
Fight over
No rematch
Mom raise your hands
A proven champion

Back to life
How it use to be
All smiles making plans
Had a follow up late November
Still remember her deep cleaning the day before
Not a spot untouched  
No ***** clothes
Dinner cooked for two nights
Never one to have a purse so I remember thinking
Why is she carrying a bag
I never asked but I think she knew
The beast came back to life
Showing no  mercy
Ran rapid through her body
Before I could ask
Her look gave me my answer

Chemo wasn't a option
Neither was praying to a God
Natural medicine and marijuana were useless
We all stood around confused and just as useless
She made it back home early December
Took a week but made her list
First year she didn't go so we went searching
Seen the hurt when she couldn't get out of bed on Christmas
Held on to see the year 2k
Ninety six hours later she closed her eyes one last time
My hasn't been dry since

Shorts
T-shirt
Flip flops or barefoot...
I love you mom

$1.60
May 6th, 2015
A ****** diner outside Dayton, Ohio
My city steals ragged breath after breath
A defeated boxer calling for an ill-fated rematch
And to her I will answer - yes
Yes I have seen your name illuminated in broken neon
I have seen your love run black on the asphalt to fall again like rain on the undeserving
I have seen you lose time after time with excuse tempered silver on your tongue and rise to return to your tomb by morning
I have seen the marks the centuries left when they stripped you naked and left you begging,
But I just don't have it in me to feel sorry for you anymore
I have bared you witness so many times your testimony buzzes white noise to my ears
I have seen the sacrifice you would have of me but my blood and my ink are no longer for you to drink
I wept with you one night, and I swore I would never show you mercy again
I have no idea when I got this ******* cynical
Is it my fault or yours that my empathy has run out?
Please tell me it isn't mine

The loudest sounds most kids hear on a school day
are lockers slamming, or maybe the late bell tone
I hear all of those, but the loudest sounds by far
are those created by the lacrosse team
when they beat the **** out of me
every day,
after 8th hour, at the intersection of nerd street and **** avenue

The attacks were formulaic, more complex than Pythagoras
but simpler than Newton’s Binomial Theorem;
Two would tackle me, one would pin me down,
and the rest would kick me around as if it were soccer tryouts
and I was nothing more than a ball
and regardless of whether you derived or integrated this equation
you always got the same solution
me ******, and them ****** happy

I would go home bawling; so would they
but instead of tears they dropped floaters
And I had a rep as the kid with a concussion before the season even began

I was born five pounds tops, with no biceps whatsoever
and as I grew my arms didn’t follow
making me as clear a target as a corpsman in World War 2
To my doc’s urging I drank milk religiously
but that didn’t do **** when I tangled with Darren Shields and his Air Jordans on 4th and eternity
Instead of my ankles however, he broke my ribs; 6 of em’
Told me he’d **** me if I ratted
So I told the mother I fell off my skateboard
Because I didn’t want a rematch with Muhammad Ollie

I considered hitting the off switch on my life
at least three times a week
but I didn’t know how to tie a noose,
didn’t know where my dad’s shotgun was
and I wasn’t ballsy enough to try a steak knife
Which is ironic because if I was brave enough for that
none of this may have happened
I’ll even admit I liked to daydream about building
and bringing a bomb to school by backpack
getting revenge by leaving a crater
where my class was at

And though the bible said suicide was cowardly
I was too cowardly for suicide
So I reasoned that if I got into college out of state
it would be worth a couple more years
of broken bones, ***** dousings, and concussions
So I did nothing


Fast forward eight years
I gained two feet in height
Armanis replace my Reeboks
a multinational corporation, my 4.0’s
I’ve made the covers of Fortune and GQ,
my speed-dial list comprises of more celebrities than actual friends
my annual salary consists of two significant numbers
followed by double-digit zeroes

When I’m not working overtime I spend my days
pulling beautiful women and enjoying the pleasures
that God gave us
Every time I yank my shirt off, each girl gives me the
same wide-eyed expression and unspoken question
regarding the cruel scars all over my body,
to the point where I resort to answering every time with,
“I played lacrosse in high school.”

And I have never forgotten about high school
But Darren Shields has, and fate has him working several floors down
He HAS forgotten
He has forgotten me, my face, my voice when I pleaded for mercy
But I have not forgotten him
Nor have I forgotten my hatred
Nor my fear

I could hurt him
I could fire him with contempt
or disgrace him publicly
or to the very least, remind him of the good old days
and make him feel like the **** he was
But I don’t; I won’t

He must wonder why I struggle
to look him in the eye
or shudder when he cheerfully claps me
on the shoulder every morning  
As I am still haunted by them old days

And despite how I now spend my life in a huge office
surrounded by wealth, women,
and mostly absolute silence
I can still hear the sounds of lockers slamming,
of late bell tones
But loudest of all, I hear the sound of my body breaking
Thanks to Darren Shields on 4th and eternity

He keeps the contents of his life in boxes. The clear Rubbermaid totes with the locking lids that keep the contents from spilling out across the floor when they are least needed. The same containers that keep everything within protected against assailing liquid falling from above. Most of his possessions have long since been discarded, but there is an odd assortment of memories that are kept safe.

A model rocket that his grandfather, long since passed, used to take him to open fields to launch towards the heavens. It never quite reached, but in his mind he was chasing down the parachute of a spaceship returning from a long voyage.

Birthday cards received when it was still exciting to count the years. When the cards still had happy monsters devouring birthday cake and the short handwritten messages read "We are so proud of the person you are becoming".

First place medals from sports competitions, spelling bees, and field days. A single second place medal from a martial arts tournament where brute force could not overcome the wisdom of an elder opponent.

The metal plates off of every baseball trophy earned since playing teeball at age four. When the shelves could no longer support the weight of the trophies they were discarded, and the cheaply made nameplates are the only reminder left that they ever existed.

Too many years of school yearbooks with sloppy signatures following words of wisdom reminding him to stay cool, and that he would see you all again after the summer.

A red, sweat-stained Schlitz hat that was stolen from the older, much more cool, cousin. He stopped asking for its return years ago, and has probably forgotten that it even existed.

Certificates that prove he was once a member of Builder club, Beta club, Phi Theta Kappa, National Honor Society, Student Government, and Junior Ambassadors to the Chamber of Commerce. Reminders of times when joining clubs meant you got to miss class to hang out with your friends.

A single blue ribbon knotted three times as a reminder that it should never be untied. Beyond those simple knots are all of the love letters that were written between him and the first girl that was able to open his eyes so that he could see what love, and loss, truly meant.

An old, barely functioning, paintball gun that he bought with the money from his first real job. The same gun that, through some miracle, gave him and his father their first common interest. He picks it up from time to time and pretends that they are still hiding behind bunkers ready to charge the opposing team.

A tiny red Rock 'Em Sock 'Em robot ring used as an excuse to wrestle around in bed with one of his closest friends on a lazy Sunday afternoon. The blue ring moved far away and has long since stopped answering her phone, knowing that the rematch of the century will never occur.

Diplomas from high school and college that will probably never hang framed on a wall. He was never truly proud of accomplishments so easily attained.

Hiding in the shadows of these boxes is each first kiss that is a stone sitting beneath the shattered mirror friendships that could not hold their weight. He is reminded to find either lighter stones or more sturdy mirrors in the future.

Friends that he has met in countless towns huddle together, trying to stay warm amidst the bitter cold they perceive around them. He calls or texts from time to time, but the embers cannot replace the pyre he used to provide.

Lovers that never expected the love they received in return bask in the solace of the fact that they are rarely seen or disturbed. He smiles when he comes across them, but knows better than to retrieve them from the storage where they are kept.

He still keeps all of the contents of his life in boxes. The same clear Rubbermaid totes with the locking lids, whose transparency allows him to view the contents from afar without disturbing them. He says he uses them so all of the contents don't spill out when he doesn't want them to, but his blurred vision reminds him that he chose the waterproof variety for a reason.

It would only take an hour or two to unpack everything at each new location he moved to, but he knows that the next time he unpacks he will not be doing it alone. It becomes more difficult for him each time he has to condense everyone and everything of import into totes light enough to carry to the next location.

The Devil went down to Georgia,
He knew right where he wanted to go,
He’d built a golf course down in Hades, and
He needed a Head Pro.
So he snuck in to Augusta,
Up to the practice tee,
A guy was hittin’ range ***** there
Just as far as you could see.
The Devil said, “Hey Mister,
You want to have a game?
I bet that I can beat you, and
I don’t even know your name.”
The guy said, “My name’s Johnny,
But they call me ‘Long John’
Never met a bet or bottle
That I would back down on.
Guess you could say that some of them
Might have been mistakes,
But, Hell, this life’s for livin’,
So Devil, what’s the stakes?”
The Devil smiled, and said, “Hey, John,
Looks like you’re pretty good,
But that driver you are pounding
Is an old one made of wood,
So if you win, you get this golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose I take your sorry *** straight down to Hell.”

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

So they threw a tee up in the air,
It pointed straight at John,
He said, “I guess that means I’m up”,
And the Devil said, “Game on!”
Long John teed his ball up, then asked,
“So, Devil, what’s the game?  
We playing match or medal?
To me it’s all the same.”
By now a crowd had gathered ‘round, and
They all held their breath,
So everyone was quiet when,
The Devil hissed, “Sudden Death;
First one of us to win a hole,
Wins the bet as well,
Better save the ice from your last drink,
Cuz, it’s mighty hot in Hell!”
Long John said, “That’s fine with me,
We got the stakes, we got the bet”,
Then he pulled his driver from the bag, and
Lit a cigarette,
He hit a rocket down the fairway
With a mighty long John swing,
Blew some smoke the Devil’s way,
And said, “Just one more thing,
I’ve won a bunch of money, and I’ve lost a bunch as well,
If I should lose to you today we’ll have a rematch down in Hell.”

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

The Devil looked amused and asked,
“Is that all you got?”
Took a six iron from his golf bag
And matched John’s giant shot.
“You have a disadvantage, John,
‘Cuz you play by the rules,
Bettin’ with the Devil
Is a game for mortal fools
I have a few tricks in my bag,
I’ll use’em if need be.
And Long John, on that first par four,
I think we both made three.”
On the next hole, John said, “You go first,
I’m gonna have a smoke”,
Took a bottle from his golf bag,
Mixed a Jack and Coke,
The Devil took his magic six, hit his ball
Right towards a tree; It bounced left,
Skipped across a stream, and
Landed on the green.
Long John watched with interest,
But he didn’t seem concerned,
Said, “If you play with matches,
You’re liable to get burned.”
He hit his old wood driver, 300 yards and watched it role,
Down the fairway, right onto the green, and straight into the hole!

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

The Devil handed John the driver,
‘Cuz he knew that he’d been beat,
And John said, “Man I’m hungry,
Let’s grab a bite to eat.
There’s a steak place down the road,
Not too far from here,
You look like you could use a drink,
So I’ll buy you a beer!
You hit that six iron pretty well,
I’ll give you a hand,
But I told you once you *******,
This is Long John Land!”

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

Lost
between sky , earth , heaven
Searching home, that sweet place never had
Demons took away my thoughts
Becoming alone , reaching nothing
Crossing the river with no bridge
Living aimlessly , with devil mind
Mind blow , mind killer
Spinning in his grip , wretched
Forlorn , helpless , powerless
That voice of Deuce in my ears
Still hearing it in my dreams, when i'm awake
It's killing me softly , lightly , slightly
Maybe i'm insane , it's just my imagination due to lack of sleep
but i know demons trying to control me
till i became killer , cold pro killer
Killing unheartly, no reason but revenge
Smooth Body , Cold mind
Foresight to the untold & hidden future
Keeps saying " La revencha" " La venganza"
"Rematch" "Revenge" Spanish Expressing
Real dark, deep dark , night comes up
he gets up at midnight and sleep when the sun rise
Showing himself immortal , eternal

You have the audacity
To stroll by my house
Thinking your tough ****
Calling out to me that I'm the *****
You already met my fist
Once, twice before
So if you want
I shall reintroduce to you
My fist
Hey *****
And *******
Now that you're acquainted
Get the **** out of my neck of the woods
And learn your place
At the bottom of the dirt on my shoes
I wish you the best of luck
With the disfigurement of your face
But think again before
You want to have a rematch
You should of learned the first and second time
You can't and wont beat me
And please don't get your big brother
Because his 6 foot 209 lbs ***
Will be quickly hospitalized just like the last time
He made the same foolish decision you did
Plus it will just make you look just that much more
Of the pathetic **** faced ***** that you are
So please leave me alone
I really don't have the time
To play these childish games with you
Hey *****...*******
The names of my fist that
Have left their mark on your face

I can't quite tell you which is worse the pain right now or then.
The first time it was all brand new but here it is again.
The sharpness of my little blade brings back the memories
Sadness, darkness, and despair that brought me to my knees.
Already fought the first war, did not return unscathed.
Badly beaten and destroyed, left alone. Betrayed.
Now here comes the second, it's shadow lingering.
Shots are fired then it's time, the bloodshed that will bring.
Storming from all directions, thundering, crashing down.
The battlefield collects more stains the second time around.

Tobias.
A handsome, broad-shouldered man with soft earth-brown eyes,  that lived in 18th century England, who then came to America with his mother and father plus his eight brothers.
He would die of fever at the age of 23.
After he died,  he did not move on to the afterlife, instead he was chosen by a group of elders called The Guard.
As a Guardian, he was tasked a keeper of human lives selected  by The Guards' standards as 'changers,' or humans that change the course of history.
Tobias rejected his forced calling and attempted to abandon his task.
The oldest of The Guard, Helten, a man thousands of years old (only looking 40), approached him and asked a simple question, "Why do you want to truly die?"
Tobias was silent,  until Helton added,
"There is a Shift after your changer."
Shifters, or Shifts,  are the enemies of the Guardians and their mission is to destroy all changers so that Shifts can take their place and change the world to their liking.
Tobias added gruffly,  "Which one?"
"Daniel."
Tobias' hand squeezed into a fist. He hated Daniel ever since the 1920's. He wanted a rematch since that idiot tried to **** his charge for a cigarette.
Tobias wanted to punch him.  Hard.
His eyes flashed crimson,  and his fists turned blue flame.
"Where is he?!" Daniel growled.
Helton smirked,
"Pennslyvania."

Gasping Breath

I’m running on hormones
Pleasure is my drug
I do the wrong
But it always feels right

I get high on climaxes
I’m running low on sleep
I’ll be yours for tonight
But in the morning you’ve got to go

I’m using you
I don’t care about your name
I don’t need to know who you are
You have what I need
Come fill me up
I’ll feed on what I hunger
I hunger your body

I don’t own you
And you don’t own me
It’s just a game
Just a fling
My emotions are out of it
Make sure yours are too

Let’s play tonight
And maybe tomorrow
I’ll call you the next time
I want a rematch

When I’m done with you
I want you gone
You can’t stick around
This is meaningless to me

When you finally decide
You’ve had enough
You’re replaceable
I won’t even notice you’re gone

I haven’t overdosed yet
I don’t plan to
I’m hungry for more
Always more

You’ll never get close enough
To get under my skin
You can lock yourself deep inside me
But that’s the closest you’ll ever get

I know it’s not satisfying
You want more
Always more
I won’t give you more
Give me your pleasure
And I’ll give you mine
But not more

Emotions aren’t part of the deal
I’m not a sore loser
I never lose

I’m addicted to pleasure
My hormones control me
I’m mindless
Soulless
But I’ve never felt
I’ve never been
So alive

Curveballs can be hit,
But dodgeballs are impossible to dodge.
Comparing dodgeball to a summer’s day?
Shakespeare, try again.
Dodgeball, you are synonymous
To a hellfire confined to a perimeter
That destroys everything it touches,
Especially at summer camps.
I walk away from dodgeball alive,
But dead in self-esteem:
Always getting hit,
And any clever maneuver of mine always seems to be a violation
Of game rules.
Dodgeball, you only fuel my aggression.
When I am the only one in play,
And see beyond the half court line
Stronger, more agile and athletic demons
Ready to pelt their confidence against my hope,
My mind defaults to “bad-sport” ideas
And just wants to get the match over with,
Lose or win.
With a POW!
Or even the slightest brush of orb to skin,
I give in
And have to wait until opposing victory cheers melt
Before grudgingly submitting to a pointless rematch
That tortures me, vaccinates me with sulky feelings.
Crying over spilled milk is negotiable,
But I cannot undo the rash from the whiff of a dodgeball
By screaming “That’s so not fair!”
Instead, I force out good sportsmanship,
My eyes wincing, my throat and mind hardening
In the struggle to keep vengeance contained.
If only the interest in dodgeball would cease
And suffocate on the taste of its own humiliation.
Boy, would I ever love to burn some dodgeball rubber.

I will catch Harry Potter's ******
because life is match
lets take our pistols to unlatch
scratch them all till i die scratch!
i'll sew bad ideas  batch
i will detach because im crosspatch!
this is  final war to win, no rematch
i wont back down because i'll outmatch
this poem to bad people despatch!!!

please stop
the pain is ridiculous
you ruined me
by being so meticulous

you planned every move
every step you took
you had something to prove
and i could only move like a rook

you came at an angle
and i only move in lines
you saw your chance to entangle
me, and come for my spine

you play a good game
a very good match
you knew all my moves and aims
but i think i want a rematch

There are preparations being made for another funeral in my hometown and I am late again for a fitting,
I pass by a familiar old man on the street corner, still stockpiling ****** and ammunition and I think it is beautiful that he still has hope,
So I give him the last of my money,
$1.60, the price of a rematch never won, not nearly enough to pay for the guilt of privilege but the best I could do nonetheless,

In sickness I watched the faith of my drunken friends run down their faces among half full glasses of red wine and bummed cigarettes, and it is this same divine tragedy that runs feedback loops through my deluded cortex every night between bouts of drowning clarity,
'There may be hope for you yet,' whispers the phantom poet of my fever dreams,
As I notch another eventual demise into my belt,
While the white washed pages of bloodied history sneer back at me, asking,
'What are you gonna do about it, punk?'
I don't know how to answer that question

Somewhere out West my shadow firewalks with the best of the fallen heroes, and I begin to understand that feeling I heard sung about in my youth
I never could've imagined it would feel this bad
Of all the things we do to find people who feel like us, this is by far the worst

I heard you say
across a cloud of smoke
that you hated
February,
is that why you left
on the 18th?
on the 18th hole
just as the course
was coming to a close

I watched you turn around,
walk away
at half past two on that
Thursday,
and as you did
I could see myself smiling
on the phone to my best friend
I could hear myself saying,
"Don't be silly,
I've got nothing to worry about."

With my feet firmly planted
on the freshly sprayed grass
that costs twice my month's wage
to preserve,
I reached out for a club
to batter over your head
but instead discovered my caddy
had gone astray,
and all I could do
was watch you walk away
in that poncey way
you always walked away,

I know you think your something else
but now
I have a handicap
that would put yours to shame any day.

Don't believe me?
Rematch February 18th 2017.

Take my hand,
Join me in this trek,
Down memory lane,
To relive it all,
And see it a fresh!

Stories told,
May never be worth,
But once upon a time,
We lived the stories,
We were the main acts,
So buckle up!

Wailing children,
Screaming mothers,
Absent fathers,
Mean nannies,
That was my world,
A bit of my life!

Rob or take,
Was the society...
Shots fired,
The police are here,
Let's just watch from the sidelines.

An eye for an eye,
Or just a tooth for a tooth,
With clenched fists,
And clubs in our hands,
How we dealt with issues!

To have fun...
Just kiss the bottle,
Smoke the puff,
Chew the khat,
Make out as you wish!

The paths I took,
The life I lived,
All not worth a rematch,
For in them mistakes were done,
And in regrets we live on!

So this day I choose,
The paths I take,
The games I play,
The people I meet,
For I'm older and wiser!

©Joy

A rush I used to feel, stress that seemed much too real
On this time I look with nostalgia, but from a rerun I may not salvage

Sleep always escaped me, an hour here and there how great that would be
But my greatest enemy perhaps - loss of control would cause a relapse

On rising I was oft unsure whether my thoughts were pure
Ready to fight, I felt I’d been up all night

My body is white and shakes with terror,
The effects of adrenaline caused by fear, countless times in the first year

My members swing as if to fight, acting as if they’re in fright
In addition to this, my tics are amiss

My vision is foggy and gray; I guess I can see halfway
And the edges seem dim, so in this misty night I remain; this is nothing to disdain

Thoughts which are surely not mine, images race with speedy pace
They clearly have no logic, I wonder if this result is neurologic

Sudden terror I feel, but alone I am and this alarm is not real
My sanity I check, glad I did before I hit the deck

My insides churn and swirl, I almost want to hurl
Soft and tender I am inside, it wants to come out the other side

My limbs I sometimes feel; if not lost, then here and seem unreal
Surely they are not mine; they haven’t felt like this since I had a child’s mind

Perhaps from my body I’ll detach, and float up here holding for a rematch
A chance to process what’s happening down there I guess, this is such a mess

Always on alert, with blind death I will not flirt
You’ll never stand behind me, this is my new reality

I know you’re real, but an orchestra I now sense; your legitimacy is concealed
This weird world appears strange to me, a lot smaller than it used to be

Oft I feel generally ill, I fear that **** me this great general will
A day or two sick they say is normal, but after a year or two this became my normal

They say exercise is good for the heart, but I think palpating like this is not smart
Sitting here still, now at a hundred and fifty – on its final race it may be

In circles I tend to walk, my bearing I’m trying to clock
Wobbly I stand with my head in my hands; I must look like an oddity

My thoughts drifted to life and death, what was more serious than breath?
Life I must content to preserve and defend, what is more basic to comprehend?

More than daily I faced my God, on the brink of death I thought
Powerlessly mortal I always felt, now immortal I tend to feel

Pleasant memories from this time are few; I wonder if I even get déjà vu?
Of this time I have little sense, was this for my defense?

If you wonder what good came of this, look to God without whom I’d be in the abyss
And that’s not all: accepting death repeatedly, to face the enemy I am free

Intensity of this degree I may never enjoy again; to wish for this I feel I am crazy
This is broken, can’t you see? A prisoner who doesn’t want to be set free!

A life filled with adventure took its toll, always testing my heart and soul
On the other side I am now, fighting boredom and that event – but in a way, I feel dead anyhow

NIGHT
Our introduction while pasting
a walk in classes with haste
started shortly with the lovely greeting
tis being planned, our meeting by sire fate

MORNING
Close your eyes, the event day
never fathomed the meeting will happen 'gain
"finally we meet, your number so i'll buzz everyday"
up in the mountains and valleys our kingdom reign

EVENING-NIGHT
The hidden desires, free outburst
fire meets gasoline, the match
both want our whole and not the crust
the demons in us, play a game of Russian rematch

The outcome of a baseball game
Is obvious
One team will win and the other...
The other has to lose.

But what is the outcome
Of a match between
Us?
Is it even?
Is it fair?

We already competed
Once.
I would like to say
We were young,
Stupid, naive.
But we are the
Same age.
The same selves.

You've begun talking
To me again.
Why?
If you're hoping for
A rematch..
Well, the outcome
Won't be any fairer
Than it was
Before.

His arms were too short to box with God,
so God sent him down for more sparring.

He boxed the devil over and over and over,
the Father, Son, Holy Spirit doing the scoring.

When he beat the devil every round,
he tried again to punch the Lord.

His arm were still too short to reach His chin,
though this time he lasted about a round.

God sent him down again to box the sin of man,
Jesus needing a break from all that jive.

When he broke even he died and went to heaven,
spoiling for a rematch with the holy Lord.

At the pearly gates he landed a blow on Jesus’ chin
knocking a tooth out to a thousand clouds.

Jesus picked himself up from the canvas of heaven.
He smiled at him.  “Good fight”, he said.

I had a date! (not a great date but a date.) Could our covid nightmare be ending?

An actual one-on-one date - can you imagine? It was with Noud, a university student (from Holland) I met a couple of weeks ago.

Noud, to be accurate, is a man. He’s 22 and I’m 17 (18 in 3 months). My mom was skeptical but we’ve been around Noud and he seemed pretty nice. It wasn’t like I was infatuated with him, this was a practice date.

I hadn’t been on many one-on-one dates before this (5). I was thinking my 17th year was gonna be a breakout year for dating - but NOT. The over-a-year pandemic lock-down put an end to that.

Anyway, here’s a date tip for older guys: if you’re sincere about something - say “sustainability” - don’t talk about it at dinner - all dinner. In fact, if you’re an intense, serious person - on any subject - take that secret to your grave.

We had dinner - that we picked up and picnicked with. After dinner, things went all WWE. Once we were back in his car, it was as if I became a birthday present he’d been waiting months to open. He pressed in like that was an established, almost impersonal fact.

For someone claiming to be interested in “sustainability”, he moved to the chest massage - skirt-search portion of the festivities pretty quickly - and that didn’t really work for me.

At one point, wrestling in his tiny electric car - which pitched like a rowboat in an angry sea - I felt his tongue in my eyebrows… yeah, my eyebrows.
“What are you DOING?”, I asked, digging my heals into the floorboard to gain enough leverage to push him away and wiping my face with my sleeve.
“You taste good,” he said (hear it with a slight Arnold Schwarzenegger accent).
“I’m NOT a gelato,” I complained, while maintaining a stiff-arm.

Hey, it was a long lock-down year - we’ve all missed dating, we’re all out of practice and maybe some are trying too hard - I get that.

This isn’t a “metoo” story - Noud took “no” for “NO” once I went to my big, “dog command voice,” but sigh Noud will NOT be getting a rematch.

We lasted 10 months
to the dot.
it seemed almost comical
how a relationship
could be so self contained.
i wondered-
looking at the freckle on the flat of your hand
whisky coloured on the smooth brown expanse—
if giving too much was really a problem I’d have to solve by myself.
the redlines we’d both crossed
reappeared in your eyes
i couldn’t understand where the stress the pressure summoned itself
begging to blow you up
but I could understand your hopelessness when you said you don’t want me to disappear.

it was only after that early morning walk to Starbucks together where
for fear of
wasting a weekend of sun
mourning
us
i debased myself
holding your hand, putting you piggyback  and running
like if i could make it to the finish line you’d give me a consolation prize and take me back.

watching videos in your halfway home
feeling your heartbeat
slow in my arms
believing it meant
this coldness was going to
melt away and
we’d rematch and be free

Until you spoke so casually
about the life you’d now get to live
unbound & free
the tautness of my heart
snapped me back to reality
cursing until my tears choked me.

i remember
packing myself away
you standing over me asking

“How are you feeling?”

like a taunt
with my fingers
grasping through the clothes
I brought to spend
in the sun
pushed to the back of
the suitcase
I stood and
unleashed all the truths
and half truths
and lies
unspooled
months
of love
in moments
to try to leave you
scarred and raw;

“you never loved me you never meant it really you want to be free you aren’t sick you don’t want to be my friend you don’t know what you want you were lying to me and now you wont even fight for me”

but you stood glacial -
and I realised it  -
was hopeless you had already moved on -
and all ive done was -
sentence myself to exile -

As you walked by
You carried an aura
I saw the tiger in your swagger
Even when you danced
It was a death roll
A dance of death
Like the mighty Crocs in Africa
Come, come to me your eyes called!

Weak but adventurous
I was willing to take a risk
After all, "All die na die"
You invited me to your hallowed chamber
I pounced every corner of your palace
An exact replica of the acts of Samson and Delilah
I positioned for a rematch
Nothing tasted sweeter I swear
Then you faded away, forever...

As my world fell
I was caught in between two worlds
No doubt, that of life and death
Nothing in life is really free
It comes with a cost
A stigma I have to live it
Because I lacked self discipline
It was a sweet bitter fling
That left an incurable stigma for life

Don't pray for me
My choice is made
This is for you
Before you walk that walk
Think of the consequences
Lest what befell me comes on you
Don't say I didn't tell you
There can be trouble in paradise
Save you are ready to say "Yes"

Sloooooooowly we grow old
We grow odd
Never to have same taste as before
Before the rise and fall

Few stories for our grands
Packets of cigar
And an archive full of beer
A jug with withered flowers for our dear ones

Tots
Wishing for ****
Wishing for a rematch with our younger self
Maybe we didn't enjoy well

A black dog wags ts tail
A cat on ts tail
Maybe I should be reincarnated to be a goat
Always to make people celebrate me

The sun sets
No friends to drink with
Maybe ts right ti stay young forever

"I will be young again"
I told myself

Captivated by the honest lies
of our fair fouled fantasies,
the sound seas
ease away the aches
of the roaring ocean
with the silent screams
that wake the wild dreams
of reality,
when beautiful nightmares
kiss away the tormenting horrour
of this dark cage of the night
filled with the black clouds of humour,
sad rage of anger
raves the heart that heats in vain
for time heals no pain.
Lost in the storm
of heavy heart-felt tears
river banks of agony
never run dry
for each tear drop
dimes the riches
of the myth that
leads a heart in love
'happily ever after'
the dream that forever wakes
to die and never lives long.


Sitting in some-bucks somewhere
Far from home where people want to care
But are just the same not to
Alone reading other people's poetry,
Can't figure out wrong with me,
Lost in my search for the reasons
My heart want's answers
Nothing manifests not one
Production has stopped all together
Only these words answer in echo
Through this empty vessel as an answer
Unlovable one who can't be loved,
Know that the creator loves me
He has to out of obligation
Guess that's enough to be content
Still this heart asks if it's ever going to be our turn
Again no answer only faint echo's in empty chambers
Apparently it's to much to want to live life unalone
This love inside is suppose to be a gift
Yet here it sits unwanted, and unwrapped
Rejected and left to die,
Opened to another lie
Believed because I was the author
Tried my best to adore her,
She shut up every door, and closed the windows
Who know's what's next,
Is it a sin to pose the question
Is it a sin to want to go from one to two that becomes one,
God granted me the capacity
To love more then just me
Yet the bride God promised
Searches for her groom,
Another day passes by
Another birthday spent alone
Another year not wasted but not fulfilled,
And still I wait
Not in vain but in pain,
With a voice that echo's leave in shame.

Still I sit still every happiness stolen and sold
With a heart so broken it won't even hold
With a longing so great it can't be told
Still I sit still every hope gone but refuse to fold,
Gasping for the air of affection
Despairingly in need of a resurrection
The sent your breath carries would work
But you're not coming or going my way,
My heart wants to say
Tomorrow's a new day,
Hold on, it won't be long,
Sing a different song, that one is overplayed
It's time to write a new tune,
One that sings without this disappointing feeling
One that lacks disjointed soul doubt
One that wait's to sell out to God's designation,
Still sitting in deep contemplation
Submit a formal resignation and retire all together,
Would anyone even notice
Or just carry on relieved I was gone,
Finally able to live free
Without fear that my affection,
Might turn in their direction
Might turn into hope that one of them, wanted me,
Not to leave, but to stay,
That's not what they say,
That's not what they want,
Truth be unfolded and told to me plain,
To love me causes pain,
To love me would be insanity, right,
Confusion causes contusion's creating catastrophic cardiac cancer
Left alone without answers,
Nothing but a name on the guest list this Christmas
Dismiss-able, on the principle that i'm a plus none, when I was a plus one
Un-fun now i'm funny,
The end of a bad joke that ends in tragic fragility
What was once a confident personality,
Who was told there needed to be a better me
Before I could possibly love God's mate for me completely.

Now I second guess my quest to offer my best and give someone my all
Action's speak but they fall, no matter how fluently my capability becomes
Speak fluently five languages of agape but they falls on ears that are closed
Apparently the tone of my heart speaks in un-receivables frequencies
In idiotic inconceivable synchronicity's that makes you run from me
As you choose to be in the preferred company of yourself
Now that's rejection in it's purest form, without pretense or hidden division
A decision contrary to the vision that we first cast together,
Feel like a bird without feathers, who runs fast and stands tall,
But never will fly, doomed to dream about the past where he flone
Majestic from a distance now caught in self inflicted cognitive dissonance
Disillusionment is bent on getting in
The moment the guards turn their attention to sin disillusionment wins
God help my cause, can't see past my flaw's enough to fight on my own
Fear i'll end up alone, lonely, all on my own without anyone home to call my own
So Send you're love, from you're throne, love that's perfectly you
So this frustrated son created in your image, reflects an image of you that's true  
Remind me again what your thoughts are of me, only your truth will set me free,
Free from fear, from *******, from offence, from hurt, from pain
This is insane but the strain on my grey matter just wants to matter
My heart long's to stop hurting but try's in vain to explain this pain love always brings
Loneliness effects reality so that the self I see reflecting back at me is left for dead
Get me out of my own head and tell me you relate to the oddness that battles inside
That love child without legitimacy that loves to whisper words of depression at me
It Needs to get grounded and pounded into submission
But right now it is the undisputed champion calling me to another rematch
But right now I am no match so I look to you, and beg you to do something
That is not the me you created or see, so don't let me see something different
Don't you dare let me live be outside of your will, I must abide inside
Where rejection can't come,
Where regeneration comes from,
Where wisdom is dumb
Where I take a knee
Where I look to you, Lord
Where it's all about you, Lord
Where I say to you, Lord, "it's not at all about me"
Where you, only you, Lord,
Lord only you, are Holy not me.

that can switch his eyes,
nose. mouth, and hands. He turns
hats faster than an alley cat. Filling
the holes in red blue and gold. Yesterday

stood a boxer asking for a rematch.
Today he’s a pirate donning
his eyepatch. I can’t tell the mask he’ll
wear. His parts are strewn

everywhere. His smile as a clown
turns into a mustache-colored
brown. He puts on boots, sneakers
leather shoes, and suits. He's a villain.

He's a hero, a reptilian, a Robert
De Niro. If I could only bake
fry, mash, or stuff him! Throw him
in my oven. But I'm not a glutton.

Ok dinnng..........Ding .........
da . da .  Ding...da da DInga dada DINgaah daDINGAAH AHH
(SHHH FLASH back. Uhhhh hey Kid .......
Look at me HEY...alright? Huh ? Uh?.ukay LISTEN
WEALLL KNOW he cheated and payed off everybody
Ur wife , coach,the ref .everybody.
A. A. Aaerrybudy. A aerrubuddy........aherrrybuhdhyyy.................)
BINK .UYHHH BIBINK OOH. YAH. IMA TAKE MY TIME WID YOU #bi bibibiBINK#
WELCOME TO THE HOUSE OF PAIN BOY
#!#!÷WHAAAM÷!#!#.... a..a.aAAM!!!!!a..a..am .......a.a.am
Bink
(Errybody .....I know how bad it hurtcha kid....
I greased every palm ...signed everything away raised every petition .....aneven. Commited a few unmentionables.
Im sorry Kid.
I did everything i could do to get you a rematch ...
ALLERGIES KID......whawd Um ..um...A.
AWE GEEEZ YA GOT ME CRYIN HERE.
SHUD UUP .....UPP.     UPPP)
Up on his feet again folks ....
Hey Jim. ..I take my hat off ...
After a contraversial drawn out fight im sure we alll remember.
The golden boy at his prime beatin and left for dead in the ally 2 days before his first title fight
I gotta tell ya.  I didnt think id ever see him in the ring again .let alone face the champ again ...an uh ..uh ..i need. A moment jim ....icant ...uh.    Uh.
Uppercut ...and the kids stunned.......
Und......unnd...undun n n
(Understand what im sayin Kid ?
Nobody said you wuz gunna get ta fight
Me an the boyz tried our hardest
That s the thing
Whys  im cryin here Kid
This title fight that you wanted so bad
We couldnt get you..........
Kid....no .matter nuthin at the end of this day
YOU ARE TA US THE CHA.PION OF THE WORLD
AN NUTHINS GUNNA TAKES IT AWAY.
I luv ya Kid .....its youre big night
An you......You earned it
You.....THIS FIGHT YOU EARNED .NOT ME NOT NOBODY BUT YOU ....
I M AT YOUR FEET IN AWE
YOUR DA MOST AMAZIN THING I.   ...
.AM .......JUST SO PROUD TO BE.  ...  ..
YA KNOW.   KNOW ....?KNOW ......KNOW.......)
OH the kid comes back an the crowds on there feet
Look at em go.......ohhhhh the kids taunting the champ
dddddd dinnint
Think think ink ink..ink...ink.....ink.............ink......
(Sigh .........shhhhh. .....bring it ....mmuuuhafukin)
Oooooooh nice swing ......doez it come in a menz size too?
Awe you doo remember me ee-e-eeeea..e-eeeea....e-eeeeaaahhh
(Shhhhh back pedal a little juke left bob bob bob right
Thats it thats it....keep yur. F.ffffff n gloves up ....hes head huntin)
STICK TA DEFENSE KID!
( CODE.      I GOT IT COACH.     MY Q......
Shhh bring iit to me big boy )
The kids stunned again he s just tryin to stay up right
The champs almost steppin on his toes

Toes.     Oes.   Oes.   Oes ..oes
(Over to the left bob bob bob ....he took the bait round house. Incoming .........the no no
Faaaaaaaaaaaade back hard all the way .....way back inta the ropez.    Push back *** hard *** you can till you run outa spring. Then you dig your toes inta the canvas as deep as they can go swing as hard azyou can let the rope sling shot ya and jump straight through to tomorrow Oh Oh OH OH )
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
K.O.HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH­HHHH
THE KIDS MANAGERS IN THE RING
OHHHHHHHHHHH
HES HOLDIN THE KID.        
I CANT SPEAK......................I CANT.........
OHHHHHHH MY ................
OHHHHHHMY ............
I CANT BELIEVE IT.        
HE S NOT MOVING ........I DONT THINK HES BREATHING......................
MEDICS CANT GET TO HIM ..........OHHHHHHH
I CANT BELIEVE
EVERY BODY TOLD HIM HED NEVER FIGHT AGAIN
HE DIDNT LISTEN
OHHHHHHH IM.       ...... THEY SAID IF YOU FIGHT AGAIN.   ......YOU WO.........AN HE JUST WANTED TO
THIS WAS WHAT HE WAS A FIGHTER
NOW HES CHAMPION OF THE WORLD.    
THE CHAMP IS BEEING TAKIN OUT ON A GERNY
THE KID WONT LET GO OF HIS COACH...
AND THE KID WONT TAKE THE BELT


OOOH HES GIVIN IT TO HIS COACH

The match is set to begin
I stand tense awaiting the serve

The ball comes flying towards me with a nasty spin
Quickly I react and send it back

A perfect shot to the left corner
My opponent swings but with no avail

I relax as I have won
Rematch I hear from across the table

Once again I stand tense for a new match has just begun

what's in a name what's in a name
in the end
within a name there is no name
but a pre-noun and a pronoun
and          that glorious word THING
and boomerang not a boomerang
of I to It
           to I as It           and It a non-It
a spoke
              the spokes in a wheel...
a wheel is an Ezekiel
                     is my first learning of the name:
little Yash                 and jesz? i.e.
are you eating?    my words my silences
my atonement for say:
the miraculous spring afternoon
finding myself enjoying the act of reading:
regardless of what i'm reading:
or rather i am actually reading Frank Herbert's
Dune but i should be reading
al-Masudi's the meadows of gold
and currently that's a first edition
on amazon going for
£47.99
            so until i get a wife and a surrogate
daughter i can and will splash out
on books in the purchasing window
of £30 to £50 and since i'm not rich
enough of rich-autistic enough
or autistic enough
to be splashing on paintings
like that story of the founder of Barbie
no not Ruth Handler
before pornographic magazines
the Swiss invented the Susie Susan Sour-****
to gag men into
the predicaments they found themselves
in as world war ii bomber pilots
then came the infamous poster reel
from Shawshank Redemption and
boys those girls those flinging-mig-magic jazz
of ****
those lonely nights
and days
but mostly the nights
and on my 38th birthday i masturbated
like 3 times
because a day prior i was talking
to a friend outside of the Spurs' Coliseum
and we talked about being 38 and 72
and cancer of the prostate and how he got
it removed and now can't get an *******

i would have killed to venture into
the ear to eye osmosis
of being at the
Boris Brejcha at Arènes de Nîmes...
artist to artist
this is not me Matthew Arnold
a limp **** poet
crying to bed after seeing Liszt play
because music has changed
and there's no genius of music
but a genius of music-inclusion therapy...
"therapy" / therapy?

Friday came a little late: now that i'm imagining things,
writing on a chrome book
in my own room i remember days
when i used to drink a liter of whiskey
and write from 10pm to 5am
having given up smoking marijuana
at the age of 21 weighing in at 65kg
after an experience
with: what i'm guessing...
not Jesus and not Yashwa...
but rather: and i only learned of his name today:

dualism of monotheism: the little yahweh...
                       A

           E          Y         I                   𐤃

                                                   ∇
                  O       U

yad dah...
           YDDH...

                     turbulent lessons in how the consonants
are props and vowels drift in and out
to allow for Semites to transliterate nouns
Semites need to transliterate nouns
which cannot be said
of Matthew of Mateusz of Mateo
but Matthias says it's possible...

the angel: Metatron...

                        i'm seeing Mega:
like the movie Tron (updated like Dune updated)
and the soundtrack and something megalomaniac...
like the affairs of non-existence
of supposing within
pre-noun pronoun
preposition and proposition
are so why can't a pre-noun
exist before i learn the names of things
before i inject conjunctions and adverbs
big and small
i usher in a chemical laboratory of
Ar Na Cl He Fe
no Ar...

natrium chlorum
    helium            ois

                 ferrum...

terra ferrum: iron earth
                              in akimbo venturing for
broken bones and fixation on bones
206 of these...
and i overheard that Muhammad Ahmed
knew the exact number of bones
in the human body (does that include the teeth?)
32 teeth...
   that's 9 vowels and 23 consonants
in the Polish alphabet...
bad tooth England only has 26 letters
and boast all it can about Latin VQ
it does not have...

oh not bones then joints
i heard about the number 350 being cited...
although i sometimes wonder
about O and little o
of degrees and that's really thinking about
the 0 and to the power of
infinity is infinity oscillating in
a duality: even and especially if it's
a monotheism:
why then o why i wonder
at the predicament of Islam
because it is not out simple migration
but the excesses of Dubai must
be hitting the average muslim hard
if they be wanting to move with us
European paupers, no?
us drunken savages we are savages
and we returned to our pagan ways
just as i might have predicted why
Poland defended the pagan power
of Lithuania and why Christianity
never really spread to certain parts of Europe
but was kept in check by some
Russian Greek or Varangian...

i saw it in his eyes when his father
head-butted one of this soldiers
i'd bet i will put a bet on, everything i have...
on Usyk beating Fury...
the odds?

Fury 5/6 ahead of Usyk at 11/10
strange numbers...
i saw Bohun in his eyes
the cossack romantic figure in Sienkiewicz'
with Fire and with Sword...
yes saw it and this is the only sport
i'd bet on with a heart of a gamble
beyond the £1.00 threshold
unlike Bukowski betting on horses
i did similar antics
betting on scores in football...
but nothing major always stingy no greater
thrill than earning money
and saving money
and then spending it on kayaks or canoes
or books or compact disks or
£12 summer dresses and what not
however the trend is these days
last time i tried tapping into anything
relevant on the internet
but same old:

men, bears and £12 summer dresses
that are like the rule
pulled up in the forest on the sly
with no suspenders or tights
just the suntanned skin with no wintry
attaches of still ***** still
playing chess still not playing
backgammon still no chess
unless with a kid
and i loved how i saw the engineering
of AI in chess games
and how the kid was losing and
just because she's a girl doesn't mean
i'll let her win
or that i'd let her win no because
i didn't but i don 't mean playing
chess with a ****** partner
or watching t.v. with her
because no unless there might be physical
dimensions askew like how could
we possibly do it, physically speaking
i mean how could we when we couldn't
and that would be her licking
the eyepop pop-sickle sickly sweet
no teeth grandma ***
or me and her already wrinkled *****
slurping oysters
Bang Dan... Bang Dan... sounds Vietnamese...

why would: ah: authenticity...
38 outside the range
but in the range 21 - 35 have to complete
3 months of agricultural labour
to qualify as citizen of Australia...
i think that's rather nice...
i only submitted the form on a whim
but i received no automated response...
instead a Jamie Chirpseer
got in touch: apparently they have been calling

now i don't know but
last time i "measured"
that's only an 8h50 flight from Auckland
to Hawaii
so i'm thinking why set my foot behind
a door with a mother in law
watching scoop me up Jesus
t.v. and being all paranoid about my status
as ******* on the closed enclosure
of Kauai
but i sure as **** threw a decent birthday
party by the pool
well shared but this is claustrophobic writing
i.e. claustrophilic my ego
says there is a cursor and pre-
to nouns so i'm cleared: cleared by I'II"
however many that is:
1 foot 11 inches last time i checked...
ego-**** that is: the little horn on my head
that turned into a hovering 360 degree eye spin...

seeing those last words written days
ago, happily discarded
now upon return with a pop-sensibility of aging
no new music but there are some unavoidable
stresses in neu alles neu: billy and eddy's
Lunch not naked Lunch not naked
all food in attire:
me sitting in a tuxedo and sneakers
with a baker boy's cap: some unifying piece of attire
whether you're at White Hart Lane
or whether at the Boleyn -
                  unifying attire like some distinction
between the Tribes of London gone out
of the window with the babies in a circus of bathtubs
falling from the sky
because raining cats and frogs
had all the dogs drinking from puddles of beer
morphing into hyenas - crying over Benson Boone
singing all god is jesus
and no god of a muhammad
there is no transliteration of tongues and words on
tongues and words not on tongues
but abstracted thought and missing in crosswords
because like a dyslexic being good with numbers
because is such a terrible word right
now...
but good in manners of speech: or is that speach
like i want to bite into a peachy apple
                         like crossbreeding happens and you
could craft champagne from thin air
breed a german shepherd and a spaniel
or what was used to breed a dachshund
from a dobermann...

   the Q and the Mark i.e.

                     Mark              +                Q(uelle)

                    ­                        =

                      Matt            ­   &              Luke

i came across people interested in religion and
the mammoth goliath that is Christianity
of conversation
and a revamp from the year 1945 from Egypt
the Nag Hammadi library -
and all that invoked by the Church Mothers
maybe another Frank Zappa moment if i could
sing but instead i found my voice
my voice in giving SIA a briefing after having
worked with stewards on a bag cordon
at Wembley...

now how to find respite, next day the cycle
still not fixed so house bound
at least able to wash the bedsheets
and hang them in the garden of sunlight
to then dress the bed once more in all that air
and wool
like floating sheep and perhaps horses with
wings
and perhaps apes to
and perhaps men with four arms and no more
than two feet
and perhaps wheels and fire and the internet
and printing and copying
and all that towers and gardens from Tokyo
to Baghdad -
                               cascade of the human experience
ethics is apparently objective
well i could have sown the swearing ogre oath
i loath in **** me **** me oh **** me
jurisprudence is subjectivity par excellence...
so rarely do you have judgement by the peers
by the jury: jurisprudence -
instead English law and the barrister
and judge and triangles of politics -
i hardly speak in the court of law -
perhaps fellow human will allow
me to think before god:
perhaps i can think before god
if i can't speak in the court of law if i can't speak
in the court of man then perhaps
i will be able to think in the court of god:
at least there's hope with me writing this down...

yes, i put a weird bet on two nights ago...
Tyson Fury vs. Olek Usyk...
bets on, whatever the algebra of gambling
5/6 and 11/10 as a decimal:

      0.8333                  and 1.1111

ニ: 0.747747748
      ホ: 0.9213

if i were to see mathematics with letters,
notably division by the first number
and multiplication by the second numbers
(Ni                   **)

but at least no muddle with too many numbers
like too many notes in Mozart's
'seph II  Holy Roman Emperor (1765-1790)

    ヨーヨー                 (yoo yoo toy boy not
yo! or yo-yo                but no ideogram?

let me rummage...)

                         bandalore... idea: image at least
some     :)                  or some :'(

      maybe get a hummingbird tattoo on my neck
in devotion to the Aztex i.e.  Huītzilōpōchtli

pero āmo tēchentenderoa lo que tlen
tictoah en Nahautl                                 TLEN:
oxi         oz                       oxygen-c-c

                           TKANKA: tis            tss tis tss
Sue: Ssue...                   SS: Ś
                    i.e. tissue:
                                                       /ˈtɪʃ.uː/ /ˈtɪs.juː/

maybe a truly phonetic poem
or a truly transliterated biblical text
a snippet only a snippet because i have enough
of a day to live to spend another hour
or so in akimbo or on my knees
before the writing desk that's my bed
no no: but a short equip-me "poem"
a quirk like a sneeze to base my focus on tissue
and SS i.e. Ś
and other instances i could possibly see it in
in the English tongue...

all of a sudden working with Pakistanis, Bangladeshis
and the Sudanese is or can ever be
about a white English boy with some
post-colonial stresses and ancestry questions
about why the former Commonwealth
Empire imploded and no wonder
given the Civil War in Sudan
why then complain about the English i wonder
but i don't have that problem
given no one can really look sensibly accusing
the Polacks of imperialism and colonialism
base mention of Mongols and the Ukranians
while the Lithuanians dwarfed under Russian Stalinism
and what remnants of German blood
fused during the northern crusades
to give birth to a German fusions of
Estonians, Prussians, Latvians and the Fins
at least we know that the Prussian pagans steered
the gentle happy german soul
for some time or so the romanticism goes...

                  this is still writing under the influence
of Billie Eilish's LUNCH on repeat:
the glad days of my 20s spent never speed dating
not really singing sad songs of psychopathic love triangles
and later sycophantic bare minimum poetry
yuck cringe and are we of the first people
to be given a literacy adventure in proficiency?
so my little historical debrief:
well... it's all funny how i too came on a banana boat
with the rest of them
that astounding reflection of a Pakistani from Luton
born and bred with mosque like a seashell brought
along in the night of the crimson moon
the LESBIAN flag of ISLAM
i.e. the marriage of the girl moon and Venus...
because isn't that "star" with the crescent not Venus
unless that's Venus with a scimitar
and who was the woman of the origins of Islam
running between two hill tops with her son
looking for water?
Hajarah and concubine of Ibrahim?

              at the diner with Ismail having no dinner
but food for thought
in some absent heaven and in some absent hell
but rather in a limbo of grey objects
and a blistering itch of sunshine that
turns a hyperbolic white skin of the north
a golden serpent glee
and invokes spying for the Greeks or ancient
Romans in Lebanon
with: mind you: with all those Pale Orthodox Jews
might just fit in...
but wait: i digress... i've been looking for an ideogram
for a yo-yo... wasn't i?
a yahoo too: a yo-yo playing with a yahoo
when there was whey and rye and lasso and spey
and whatever way was in the where...

          ilocano: aj aj: moje kolano

         (exercise in pain onomatopoeia
         and possessive article: moje / mine
         noun: kolano / knee)

oh yes... and a rubric of the bets i made on the Tyson
Usyk match-up... tailors to the glove
a dash of Polansky on the ring...
left right tango with tango of men
so rough **** so not like ******* a woman
so unlike...

thus:

    no yo-yo: but axle:                        軸
my guess is as good as anyone's
with however many confines of
//     \ |               |||          /|/|/      \|\|\

to quiz up a T                 or an L
let alone an O because so rigid have to swim
to Yippon for the proper edible tongue

now to reveal the Gambler and how i will never be
able to write yet admire
a Hemingway and a Bukowski...

Usyk by technical decision (100/1)
stake... £0.10
Fury by technical decision (100/1)
stake £0.10
Usyk by disqualified opponent (100/1)
stake £0.10
Fury by disqualified opponent (100/1)
stake £0.10
Usyk by decision of technical decision (2/1)
stake £5.00
net return £10.00
Usyk by KO, TKO or DQ (5/1)
stake £5.00
return £0.00

any anyone who might read the newspapers
would tell you
the decision was crystal clear, scientific,
on the margins, within talk of inches and decimals
and... ooh... itchy...
115-112, 114-113 to Usyk
and 114-113 to Fury...

rematch? what is now to be disputed is by winning
through that bet i made: 5/1
or rather 5:1 but ratios would be any less if
using a colon?
                               enough bark to patch up a
cagey sneer and then return to kiss daylights: out
because now somewhat disputable
in the arena or the courtroom
better judgement watching sport
than those daytime zombie land drug-shows
of the courtroom melodrama soaps
and operatic demand for feeding the collective
consciousness split seconds per day
accumulating into binge potato peeling of skin
and intellect on the sofa...
even now: hardly a waste of good coffee
   and tobacco...                with the added "spice"
of BIMBER... beam-bear to spread out the letters
and transliterate: not to imply anything beside
the phonetic arrangement
of the letters as beam-bear: it's still the meaning
behind BIMBER the sweet 45% *****...

(q)uelle: yet there is hardly a similar problem
associated with Socrates...
given the accounts by Plato
Xenophon oh and let's not forget Aristophanes...
especially him
because he was hardly all luvvy-dabbling in
writing works of just fiction...
satire of the lowest man in the village as it were...
well:

who wouldn't have said:

     pleasure is not only unnecessary,
     but a positive evil

i too have had the pleasurable burden and agony
of being able to cite
maybe saying maybe not saying
either way experiencing:
i'd rather be mad than feel pleasure -
further still what of pleasure and happiness
as distinctly opposite or not:
re-imagines (i)
                         the recently digested divulging
on meanings
constricted to words like guilt
and shame...                   thus too:
happiness and guilt                           pleasure and shame.

Say, if I could look into the past and pick days in which to pick fights with, I'd feel my life was on the line in every one and come out a champion, be an expert with survival, only losing less than half those days and later have a rematch, eventually being feared by those days by which they never will return, and ones that try to will hesitate to test their odds shall they ever second guess my future days.

Strike a chord with this smoke, playing addiction
in a thin tune- call for a rematch; as the fire that
escapes my lungs are many exorcisms: buy me
a healing patch

Years afterwards; my voice thins out with time
like there’s helium in the air- all of the warning
signs written on the box; the very first few puffs
were a sign: a youngling’s toughen coughs

Inherit the habits of man’s old habits- the coal
miners who must have breathed ashes; those we
were quick to call a bunch of dumb *****- now
we’re the ones lost in the ashes of their past

Chimney throats; the tiny stick we all thought
would paint us boys into tomorrow’s men- then again,
not much of us will be old enough to see a tomorrow
by this cancer stick’s end. Oh, what a shame

To the girl who introduced me to life's sweet thrill and drill
A precocious lesson that left me standing still
Young and naive, I wasn't ready for the game
but you showed me the ropes and I'll forever bear the flame

Can we replay the match, with a different end in sight?
If you can draw me in any round, you'll emerge victorious in the night tired
Tears fell hard back then, but now a smile will definitely creep in
If only your touch can ignites the spark
My response will keep it rekindled
It will blaze and burn if only the rematch can begin.