Snarling Cup of Coffee    




I like to start my day with a hot cup of coffee
I pound down the coffee
First thing I do every day
as the dawning sun
Lights up my lonesome room

Yeah, but not just a simple cup of java Joe, but a ******* snarling sarcastic smarmy cup of coffee

I mean, - we are talking about an alcoholic, all speed ahead, always hot, always fresh, always there when I need it, angry, attitude talk to the hand Ztude, bad, bad assed, beats breaking, beatnik, bluesy, bitter, ******, bombs away, capitalistic, caffeinated up the ***, cinematic, communistic, Colombian grown, Costa Rican inspired, Cowabunga to the max, crazy assed, devilishly angelic, divine, divinely inspired, dyslexic, epic, extreme vetting, evil eye, expensive, ****** vision inducing, Ethiopian coffee house brewed, euphoric, freaky, freazoid, foxy, Frenched kissed, French brewed, funkified, foxy lady, graphic, GOD in my coffee, with Allah, Ganesh, Jesus, Kali, Buddha, Christians, Durga, Hindus, Mohamed, Jesus and Mo and their friend, the cosmic bar maid, Sai Babai, Shiva, Taoists,

Zoroastrians, drinking my god ****** coffee in Hell;

growling, gnarly, happy, hard as ice, Hawaian blessed, high as a kite, hippie, hip, hipster, hip hoppy, hot as hell yet strangely sweet as heaven, jazzy, jealous, Kerouac approved, kick ***, kick my ******* *** to Tuesday, kick down the doors and take no prisoners, grown in the Vietnam highlands by exVietcong, Guatemalan grown, kiss ***, illegal in every state, imported from all over the ******* world,

insane, lovely, loony, lonely, lonesome, malodorous mean old rotten, *******, nasty, narcotic, never whatever, never meh, never cold, not approved by the CIA, not approved by DHS, not approved for human consumption by the FDA, not your daddy’s sissified corporate cup of coffee, NOT DECAFE coffee, not your Denny’s truck driver weak as brown water cup of fake coffee, not your establishment friendly cup of coffee, Not your FBI coffee, Not FAKE Herbal coffee substitute, but a real cup of coffee, not your farmer brothers dinner crap, not made in America for Americans, not safe for work, not your Starbucks average expensive overpriced ****** corporate chain cup of coffee, Not pretentious, Not White House approved, not State Department safe, nuclear, Not Patriotic, operatic, Peets’s coffee approved,

paranoid, pornographic, psychotic, pontific, politically aware, rapping, rhyming, right here, right now in River city, rock and roll up the Yazoo, sad, sadistic, sarcastic, sassy, satanic, schizoid, *******, silly, ****, smarmy, smelly, smooth, snarky, snarling, stupid, stinking, sweet as honey, sweat inducing, symphonic, Trump can’t handle this coffee, vengeful, Wagnerian, wicked, with nutmeg and cinnamon swirls, with a hint of stevia, with a hint of vanilla, with a hint of ***, with a hint of whisky, with a hint of cherry, with a hint of fruit overtones, with a hint of drugs spicing up the coffee, spendific, speeding, splendid, superior accept no substitutes, survived the Vietnam war, the Iraq war, the Afghan war, the first and Second Korean war, World War 11, the war on poverty, the war on drugs, the war on black people, the ****** revolution,

Soulful as a summer’s night in MOTOWN- James Brown approved, TOP approved, Berkeley approved, the coffee that Jimmy Hendrix drank before he died, the coffee that Elvis drank on his last breakfast, the coffee that Barry White crooned as he drank his cup of coffee – and the coffee that made the white boy play stand up and play that funky music, the coffee that made Jonny B Goode play his guitar, and made Jonny bet the devil his soul after he drank his morning cup of righteous coffee and the coffee that make the Rolling Stones Rock and Roll, the coffee your mother warned you against drinking, the coffee that Napoleon drank when he became the Emperor of all Europe, the Coffee that Beethoven drank when he wrote the Ninth symphony, the coffee that Mozart drank as he wrote his last symphony, the coffee that Lincoln drank before he was killed, the Hemingway drank before he killed himself, the coffee that started the 60’s, and ended the 20th century,

the coffee that Lenin drank as he plotted revolution, the coffee that ****** and Stalin drank with FDR as they divided up the world after World War 11, the cup that JFK drank before he was blown away, the coffee Jerry drinks while driving in cars with random celebrities and political figures, the coffee that Jon Stewart drinks before he goes on an epic take down of some foolish politico, the cup of Arabic coffee that Sadaam drank the day he was executed, the coffee that GW and Cheney drank when they bombed Baghdad, the Indian cup of coffee that Bid Laden drank before 9-11 and just before the seals blew his *** to hell, the cup of coffee that Tiger Woods drank with his mistresses while playing a 3, 000 dollar round of golf at Sandy Lane golf course in Barbados, the last legal drug that does what drugs should do, the cup of coffee that Obama drank when he became President, Vietnamese, Vienna brew, wacky, whimsical,

Whisky Tango Foxtrot, wild, weird, wonderful, WOW, Yabba dabba doo! Yada Yada yada Zappa’s favorite cup of cosmic coffee, and Zorro’s last cup of coffee, Good to the last drop rolled into one simple cup of hot coffee   
As I pound down that first cup of coffee
And fire up my synaptic nerve endings with endless supplies
Of caffeine induced neuron enhancing chemicals

I face the dawning day with trepidation and mind-numbing fear
I turn on the TV and watch the smarmy newscasters in their perfect hair

Lying through their perfect blazing white teeth
about the great success the government is having
Following the great leader's latest pronouncements

I want to scream
and shoot the TV
and run out side

Shouting
Stop the world!
I want to get
off this ******* crazy planet"

The earth does not care a whit
about my attitude problem

It merely shrugs
and moves around the Sun
In its appointed daily run

the universe whispers
in my ear
time to drink more coffee
for an attitude adjustment

And I sit down
The madness dissipating a bit
And enjoy my second cup
Of heaven and hell
In my morning cup of Joe

Coffee Revolutions



coffee cup
Coffee led to the American Revolution<span
As patriots drank coffee
To rebel against
the aristocratic English tea

Coffee started the London Stock Market
And started the gossip mills running
Every great invention
Was fed by coffee's sweet brew
sweet allure

All the great thinkers
All the great leaders
All were enslaved
to coffee's magic

I sing my praises
Of the great
glorious coffee lady

Long may she continue
To be my sweet companion

Long may coffee continue
To rule my heart
And set my heart
on fire

Ode to Coffee



Mistress of sacred love
Sacred lady of desire

You start my day
Setting my heart on fire
With your dark delicious brew 

And throughout the day
Whenever the mean old blues come by
You chase them away

With your bittersweet ambrosial brew
Every time I inhale your witch's brew

I am filled with power, light and love
And everything is al right Jack
If only for a few fleeting minutes

I love you oh coffee goddess
In all your magical forms

In the dark coffee of the dawning day
In the sizzling coffee in the mid morning break
In the afternoon siesta break
And in the post dinner desert drink

I love you my coffee mistress
You are my refuge
From this horrid world

And you are my secret lover
Never disappoint me, ever
I've never had a bad cup
Of that I can be sure

Even the dismal coffee
Served at Denny's at 3 am
Is still sweet loving coffee

Even the farmer brother's diner coffee
Excites me and gets me going
Asking for another cup of divine delight

Coffee always is there
It is always on and piping hot
With hidden dark secrets
Swirling in its liquid essence

Coffee is my last vice
My only legal vice left

Coffee does not cheat on me
It is always faithful, always true
It does not turn on its friends

And all it asks in return
Is that you come back
Cup after cup after cup

A good cup of coffee
Is a little bit of heaven
In a cup of dark liquid hell

Coffee is like a drug
But a good drug that does what is should
And never complains

It does not get grouchy
It does not hurt you

It does not make you crazy
But allows the muse to come out
And play with it

Coffee led to the American Revolution
As patriots drank coffee
To rebel against the aristocratic English tea

Coffee started the London Stock market
And started the gossips mills running

Every great invention
Was fed by coffee's sweet brew
sweet allure

All the great thinkers
All the great leaders
All were enslaved to coffee's magic

Yeah
I sing my praises
Of the great glorious coffee lady

Long may she continue
To be my sweat companion

Long may coffee continue
To rule my heart
And set my heart on fire

I love thee
Mistress coffee
And sometimes I think
You love me too

No More Coffee Blues








I love coffee
Always have

And coffee has loved me back
But lately I have soured on her
Soured on the whole coffee scene

On the harshness
of the morning brew
And the promises it makes

As I sip of its nectar
Drawn into its lair

Drinking drop by drop
As the caffeine takes over

Rewriting my every nerve
Turning me into a slave
For its perverted pleasure

Yes I love coffee
But I am afraid

Coffee is a harsh mistress
Demanding so much of me

Promising the sun
And delivering the moon

As I drink her swill
Deepening under her influence

I have the coffee blues
Can’t live without her
Can’t live with her

I try
But tea does not cut it
Not really

***** does not do it
At least not in the morning

Yoga is not enough of a buzz
Nor is the runner’s high

And I am afraid deadly afraid of *******
And speed and drugs and energy drinks

And so I remain a slave to coffee
My only legal drug

As I sip another
and fall under
her seductive spread

Once more failing my resolve
To skip coffee for that day
That morning that moment

I shall never be free of her spell
Ever and she knows it
As she beckons me
Every morning with her intoxicating smell

And I come to her
and drink her brew

And become her slave
again and again

Coffee Ya Du





must drink coffee
have every day
the morning dawns
drinking my coffee as I yawn

Morning cup of coffee 



every morning
I drink my coffee
as I contemplate 
the dawning day

watching the news anchors
blather on and on
drinking my coffee
thinking of life

and my coffee
consumes me
overwhelms me
and at time controls me

after all coffee is a drug
and I am her slave
from time to time

Drinking Coffee in the Morning



in the morning
dangerous mood
felling deranged
watching the news

trigger warning
you are ******* dude
end of the world
the end times come

I drink coffee
in the morning



Coffee *** Killed





His wife has banned my use
by my owner
says he makes too much
of a mess when he uses me

it is not his fault
I want to say
but being a coffee ***
can not speak

and so I am abandoned
thrown out into the trash

and feel very sad
for my owner

who was my friend
he liked me

he keep me going
and I did my job

providing him
with fresh coffee

doing my coffee *** duty
and now it is over

Drinking My Coffee


drinking coffee

drinking my coffee
early in the cool morning
thinking life is fine

everything will be okay
after I drink my coffee

morning coffee



morning coffee

dawning sun 











coffee MGur Poem


coffee

I pray to the coffee gods
every cup of coffee
is like a sacrament to me

I pray as I drink my coffee
that it will fill me
with wisdom

and find peace
with my coffee

as I drink
my devotion

Hot coffee


cup of coffee


take coffee with you
Hot hot coffee, makes my day -

Must drink My daily coffee, as the morning dawns - 

With out my morning coffee

in me,  I feel nothing at all -

Electrified Hot Coffee



coffee is the drug of choice
nothing else will do it
as I drink coffee
Electrified
Hot Coffee

Hot Coffee and Cake


coffee
coffee is the drug of choice
electrified circuits
as I drink coffee
coffee and cake



Coffee Patina



coffee
hot coffee
hot Hellish Heaven
Essence of coffee

Kind faces smiling,
Nodding politely at words
They don’t seem to understand.
Show me pictures
Showing the richness of
A faraway distant land.
Multicoloured motor cars,
Brown apartments rising high
In Puerto Rican skies.

It was the time of my Auntie Bee summers
   I was small then
   She had a parakeet that landed on my head
   and a bathtub too
   with water so deep!
   and legs and claws!
   **** thing nearly chased me down the stairs!

She lived in slumbery Windsor Locks
   where bugs hung-out in the haze
   of teenage August
   I played in the tall weeds
   with a shoeless Italian boy
   who ate tomatoes like apples
   and cucumbers right off the vine!
   He was ***** free and foreign!
   We played— reckless, abandoned
   behind the gas pump, under the tractor, in the barn   
   and through the endless fields
   I didn’t know....
   His name was Tony
   I ate pizza with him—the first time

At Auntie Bee’s I had to go to bed at eight
   but I could watch night flowers
   bloom on wallpaper
   She came in to say good night
   slippered, shadowy, night dress slightly open
   and I peeped her *******!
   like Tony’s cucumbers!
   I had never seen my mother’s wonders....

Night spread its wings from the old fan—
   a bird of tireless exhaustion
   whipped, whipped, whipped to death in its cage
   tireless exhaustion
   tic-tocking in time to a wind-up clock
   stretched out on the whine
   of the overland trucks
   Route Five through the night of an open window

In the grape arbor below—
tremulous incessant
   crickets    crickets    crickets
tremulous incessant—insides of a child
   a summer child
   not yet ready for the fall of answers

Auntie Bee had a daughter—Maureen
   I followed her everywhere I could
   I was small then--    
   do anything for a stick of Juicy Fruit
I followed Maureen through my dreams
   of being sixteen
   and woke to Peggy’s “Fever”
   while she tied her sneakers
   against the mattress by my head

I followed Maureen (in my mind)
   tanned and bandanned
   to work in the fields of shade tobacco
   with all those Puerto Rican boys!
   She knew where she was going!

I was small then
...do anything for a stick of  gum

“Mauney! Mauney! Mauney!”
   ...through the goldenrod of roadside
   through the smell of oil that damped the dust    
I followed Maureen’s white shorts
   and chestnut hair...to the corner store
I followed the way the boys smiled
   the way the screen door slammed
   on her bright behind
   the way her lips taunted and took
   the coke-bottle’s green
I followed Maureen

I swear, I tried for hours to get that right!

Must have been Peggy Lee’s “Fever”

Maureen ties her sneakers in my face
Flaunts her years above my head
She has that look—
“We kids don’t know nothin”
(Little turds” that we be)

…followin’ Maureen
through the goldenrod of roadside
tic-tockin’, beboppin’

“Fever— in the morning
Fever all through the night….”

Through the years of transparent existence, a void of illusion becomes apparent and slowly becomes nothing more than a side-show. The dribbling glimpses of truth fade like the bones of old. No man can create such an indentation in the mold of space and time that the observers at the end of eternity will render their imprint upon the infinite gaian consciousness and body of universal proportions of any significance. Even the earth laughs at such ridiculousness. The ego is a strong bind - it can create maya and attachment to such fantasies easier than a bear can find it's ideal location for a winter hibernation. It's a world of craziness, where nobody knows whats going on.
The man woke up from his deep slumber. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Squinting, he looked around, studying his surroundings and taking mental notes. His thoughts are ***** scribblings on a subway wall. His heart is beating, searching for a band to play in rhythm with. His soul is aching from loneliness and desire. His feet lifelessly surrender their position up on the couch and find the floor, shrieking from the cold of the linoleum. His presence is that of a bird with a broken wing still attempting to fly. He stands up and stares at the ceiling.
The room is small. Four walls of white, one window and one door. The window looks out over the grey city. The door leads into another room - the room most would call a kitchen. In the small room before the kitchen, there is only a couch and a blanket. No lamp. No television. No electricity. No electricity in the entire apartment. The kitchen holds no refrigerator, no oven, no toaster, no pantry. It's called a kitchen because that's what it would be if somebody else was living in the apartment. There are two bananas on the floor along with a box of wheat flake cereal. No milk, no bowl, no spoon. The bananas are almost entirely rotten. The box of cereal is on its side, leaking bits of wheat flake, resembling a dying soldier on a battlefield who's losing all his blood through the wound on his neck rather than a box of the West's favorite morning go-to breakfast.
The man is observing the cracks on the ceiling, along with various stains with no known origin to him. His eyes dart from one corner of the room to another to another to another and back to the first. Spiderwebs. Dust. Decay. A perfect example of life's ability to take care of itself. Biodecomposition. When no one is around to look after a house, over time, Nature will take over it. Vines will grow and overcome the walls. Rain will fall and wear away the roof and general structure. Winds will blow, taking blindshots at the weakened building, eventually cause it to fall. Nothing lasts forever. Everything goes back to where it came from.
The man now steps into the "kitchen", where he begins to study the stains on the ceiling in this room as well. His mind is electric, with no thoughts in the usual sense, but rather just a vague presence of void to help the ceiling stains feel important. He is the space through which everything around him can exist to their fullest potential. After a measureless amount of time, the man walks over to the sad bits of food on the far side of the small room. He picks up one of he bananas and studies it. He feels where it came from. The tropical skies and smells and earth of Costa Rica. There's a little sticker on the banana that says so. Each bit of fruit in the markets nowadays are individually stickered...for prosperity, one can only assume. Though it's best to never assume anything, and instead be open to everything - afterall, anything is possible, at any time. Likelihood and probability are also important factors in the universal constitution of existence. What was the likelihood that this man, when he was a little child, figured he'd be holding a rotten banana from Costa Rica in his hand inside of a kitchenless kitchen? Who knows? The man wouldn't be able to recall his thoughts from early childhood - he barely remembers waking up and experiencing the chilling sensation of early morning linoleum. In any case, everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be, for it wouldn't be if it wasn't meant to be.
He slowly peels open the banana peel to reveal this brown, soft mush of tropical fruit. Just the way he likes it - soft enough to chew with his toothless mouth. He takes his time consuming the fruit, savoring every particle. After a good bit of time, the fruit is gone and all the man is left with is the peel. He takes another good look at the peel, once again imagining where this particular banana came from. Then, in two swift bites, he devours the entire peel - sticker included. He figures the sticker came from Costa Rica as well, and thus must carry that Costa Rican tropical vibe of health and longevity. His eyes then focus on the wheat flake cereal lying next to the other rotting banana. He bends down and picks up the box. The box is upside down when he picks it up and so the cereal spills out all over the area of the "kitchen" floor that seems to be dedicated to eating food. The remaining banana is now covered in wheat cereal.
The man drops the box back onto the floor and takes a seat alongside of it. His fingers hold his face from drooping onto his knees. His knees are keeping his torso from melting onto the floor. He screams with no sound. The pains of existence seep through his hollow eyes and into the receptors of his soul. He screams with no sound. He’s as empty as the American Dream.
The cobwebs are spreading from the corners of the room and are aimed for the human form sitting in the “kitchen” screaming silence with all his might. The cobwebs grow. The commuters of the city highway are commuting. A thousand birthday celebrations are being had. A thousand people sexually uninhibited, joyously seizing the moment in disgusting miraculous unity of mortal physical desire. Junkies are roaming the street for their morning fix. Teaching are teaching their students absolute lies. Governments are stealing the lives of billions and counting. And the cobwebs are growing, encompassing entire walls. The the ceiling. Then the floor. Then they crawl up the lifeless legs of the man who sits screaming in silence and the spiders overtake his body. They stitch his mouth shut and close his eyes with their spun proteinaceous spider silk. The man withers into the wind of time and vanishes from the world without a single soul taking notice. Leaving nothing behind except an empty apartment, overdue rent, and a number in the system of Western Society. His spirit cries sorrowfully as it flees the clutches of molecular existence into the realm of eternity and space. Heaven. He made it. He looks down at the people of the world he just left and sings a pitiful song for them. He’ll see them again. Afterall, they are Him. And He is Them. His Heart, the Sun, burns as the world he left turns. The lessons He left are slowly being learned. One by one. But still, there’s a space between the atoms, between the cells. And that space can never disappear. Without it, there would be no point to the story. All would be one, as it is, and there’s be nothing to overcome. No triumph. Just an endless loop of bizarre beautiful experience and pattern.

My father is black and my mother is white
And though we live in a new generation I still find myself having to give explainations on how all of this works
The ignorance of race really hurts
No this is not good hair
No you can't touch it keep your ******* hands to yourself
No I'm not Mexican or Puerto Rican
Stop guessing above all else
I'm black like you
And I'm white like her
I'm flesh and blood not claws and fur
But see you don't want to accept me
Of course unless I'm president Obama or Halle Berry
Did you know they were mixed?
Or were you so deep in the lime light you don't care
Because on the streets I'm not considered black no matter how coarse my hair
I use relaxers too
I've had my hair braided
I've been called ******
I've been followed in stores
I've been sent to the end of the line for no reason
Denied friendship for seasons
And wouldn't you know
(Being black was the reason)
But its just not enough to gain any trust

I don't look anything like white people so I dont even try
Only hope for full acceptance from the other side
And yet still I'm left feeling quite empty inside
Where the hell do I fit in?
Who's on my side?
Since claiming black or white is considered a crime

This was when I decided to become an advocate of self
I found who I was
Didn't need any help
I don't let my race define who I am
But I embrace both my colors
They work well with each other
And that's something society just will not understand

Your olive skin and half moon grin
keep me awake tonight.
Two chocolate dots pepper your lips;
I am mesmerized as he sips.
You are smooth as we speak,
smooth as we walk,
I feel soothed on your chest
while in circles we talk.
You let me tousle your curls
knot 'gainst your head,
and I'm satisfied 'cause
I can't help it in bed.
Tell me again
I'm your nightmare, Babe,
because I know all too well
instead you want me to stay.
La boca, espanol, in my ear
are the only two tongues
I wish to hear.
So thank your God
I'll always be here,
always for you,
my Puerto Rican.

.oh yeah, huge fetish fan.... gamer youtube commentary videos... like the quartery... no... ****... the quartering... it's like... ****, i don't even know what's it like: a magic mirror i'll never own, having dropped out on PS1... and telling my cohabitation ςentries (obsolete now, ******?!) to by an iMac, for its properties of not succumbing to PC viruses... PC viruses... a thing of the past... late 90s early 00s... with **** sites linked to Trojan horse bundles... a man with ******* can't *******, so what the hell is he supposed to do? just watch the poor ******* looking for their missing ******* in the excesses of female genitals... oh... wait... they found... and took revenge... but it's never M.G.M., always the F.G.M. bit of the equation... like the kippah was never, "really" translated into a tonsure, oh yeah, that **** floats, that's a real keeper that is; wankers. what?! i'm doing **** with the hand twice a day, but i have the supposed, "excess" skin on my ******* emblem... or little Richie, whatever... i have it... my male circumcised counterparts... sorry chief... you're the one that has to look for extra skin.. oops?! do you say oops on such matters? i never know... but the new age gaming experience is so much better... this antithesis of NPC styled games... and the fact that they're. "free"... but you later learn that you have to pay extra? the longevity increases exponentially... what's your payment method, if you're poor? patience... you really learn to wait, which expand the lifespan of a game... it's like: **** it, a free game, where i also get to polish cliche virtue? compared to paying £50 for a game, i might finish in one sitting? i'm about to to take a ****, play a game, or read a book? hmm... clueless among the Seattle folk... play a ******* game! well, you know... if you don't have a fetish fulfilled with someone readied to expand upon me wearing a ******... might as well watch commentary videos of gamers... same high... albeit no hard-on.

censoring female *******
with bright lights?!

**** me,
good that i managed
to go to an Athenian
strip-club,
a Polish,
  & and an East London
brothel...

psst... Amsterdam...
oh right...
who the **** travels
to Amsterdam for
the **** these days?

last time i went i went
into the red light district
to feel unabashed,
certain that...
a plump Puerto Rican
was waiting for me...
and she was...

****? Amsterdam?
what's this...
the year 00s?
i don't know...
you tell me...

so they're censoring *******,
cleavage from
video games?

   i have a censorship
experiment for you...
you know what the current
would be like
if everyone finally discovered
that
Theresa May is not Margaret Thatcher?
pandemonium!
not all women can be
a Maggie Thatchie...
who would have known...
you need to be a daughter
of a of a grocery store owner,
or whatever working class
background she came from...

with ol' Thatchie the whole
Brexit ******* would
run the course of,
two words:           *******!

where was i?
oh, right, censoring *******
and cleavage in gaming avatars...
you know how i censor that,
"delicate" matter?
i just think of a cow's fore udder...
or... is
that a cleavage... or
a *** on your chest?

there you go... limp **** through
and through...
and then i start thinking
of the dewlap...
to be honest, i don't know how
you'd serve that...
is it fatty? then i'd deep-fry it...

good thing i visited an Athenian
strip-club,
an East London brothel,
and Amsterdam's red light
district...

          and all done...
without a S.T.D. to mind...
mind you, ******* these days
is quiet ethical,
i would have more chance
catching an S.T.D. on the dating
app circuit than in a brothel...

beside wearing a ******...
i always wanted to experiment
with a latex body-suit...
excess rubber...
or whatever the hell it is...

so much for freedom of speech...
but wait a minute,
do i have to reiterate
that i didn't say this,
and that you didn't say this
either?
          this is phonetic
encoding, this is not speaking...
well...
then we know what
the Cartesian res extensa
(extended thing) actually is...
writing,
writing as an extension
of thinking...

          in this scenario...
a thought, that has been washed
in heretical fires...
having transcended
thought's association
with the moral-θ (theta...
looks like English has
a new pronoun,
trans even the already in
place transgender pronoun
category)...
      θ 'ink beyond any
association to a moral 'ought.

*now if you excuse me,
i have a bottle of Russian Standard
i have to finish,
and two bottles of just fine, fine
English cider to interlude with.

Seven sit around a fire,
burnt marshmallows on two foot sticks
stuck between grahams,
talk *** and film.

Had her naked like Kate Winslet,
not Titanic Kate,
but Little Children Kate.
**** on the washing machine
behind Jennifer Connelly's back.

But the part about Madame Bovary,
who really needs feminist literature in a feminist film?
Okay, maybe it's classic romantic...

I felt lost like a pebble
sinking in the ocean
five miles deep
in the Puerto Rican trench.
I hadn't seen either movie
nor was I well versed
in feminism or romance.

My mind drifted to my first time.
Started with a french kiss
from a Latina girl,
at a house on Cleveland Ave,
I wish I could remember more.

He was a beautiful enigma.
A bonified butcher knife
whispering against my throat
on a wooden dorm room desk.

His hands drummed
to beats my heart missed.
My lungs forgot  the in and out,
we’d been perfecting
all these years.

He brought me closer to divinity
Than I had ever come before
I can see him now, eyes ignited
to match my joint.

All the Latinas are sitting together.
All of the Asians are sitting together.
All of the Middle Easterns are sitting together.
The whites are everywhere in the room.

I am sitting next to the Latinas, Behind the Middle Easterns and in front of a black dude.

A Puerto Rican  is wearing a hat saying "Reckless".

I am wearing a hat saying, "Cape Cod".
     I am in the middle of the room.

5 blondes are clumped together...
                                                           ...no hats

We are all learning about ****** inheritance of different physical traits.

*** caused all of this.

I'm looking to find my balance
Decorating it like valance
I'll bring plenty to the table
Talk about that spring balance
No more kidding around, kid's allowance
You want a real man
Looking for someone to stan
It won't happen at expectation
It will be a genuine donation
To your soul
When you're engulfed by the ghoul
Three strikes when you bowl
Too traumatized to smoke one
Good thing though, you don't want to be done
It's an unlawful run
Like you're afraid of Attila The ***
There's no need
To be swallowed in depression and other's greed
We all have our history of beads
That bog us down
You're not the only one in town
To have these emotions
But I might be one of the few to have that devotion
Causing intense commotion
You better bring the lotion
Because I'm making this swamp dry
Letting this fog die
I'm not a perfect guy
Maybe not the best buy
Maybe Geek Squad
I can barely carry quads
But I can carry you
To the shores
You can retain my core
These muscle remain sore
But I'd rather it be that way
You're the forever in the day
Unless you break my bays
Floodgates of acid
Don't like to come to this in placid
Or even casual
It all has to be natural
Call me super
You won't be believing your eyes
It's tough enough to realize
That you don't always need to be chastise
I like to run up the imaginary commas clockwise
Here's words to the wise
You got to read them
Carefully heed
Before you bleed
Out too much to grasp the rails
Carrying the pails
Dropping them horribly
I hope you'd be out unscathed
This pool we've bathed
Has changed us all
So refuse to stall
Face what's been breaking you
Because there's no replacing you
I'm not always going to be chasing you
So you better have a good reason
Don't force me into the feeling of treason
I can be your beacon
Your personal deacon
It's easy to weaken
Whether you're Persian or Puerto Rican
Same thing applies
The world can be full of flies
But you got to smack them down
Hard and ruthless
Just don't be shallow or toothless
I can definitely prove this
They'll devour you whole
Make sure they know you're swole
From the North Pole to the South Pole
You got it locked
Keep your weapon glocked
Firm and steady
So you're at the ready
Don't force yourself
To change to those peering
I'm going to be on the sidelines cheering
Snickering and sneering
It's all useless after the clearing
Do you want another hearing?
It'll be the same
You're born into this game
No need for the money and fame
You got that perfect level of tint
You're not desperate, you're just in a crisis like Flint
Everyone gets there
Under the rut
Under the rule of the oligarchs in the sophisticated tiki hut
Full breeds and muts
Are what they declare
But they couldn't be more wrong
We all don't sing in song
But the subtle singing still matters
No matter how hard they try to shatter
Don't destroy your bladder
Because you're growing sadder
Confront me, I'll drop it
Like the hottest mixtape
So I can fix your heart with invincible tape
Together we can vape
Just don't get too carried away
I like the bonding, let's keep it that way
Trying not to run out of things to say
To the likeness of you
What a beauty to see you swoon
Hate being gone so soon
If you were
That would be a tremendous stur
Causing me to say every derogatory slur
At the sky
Looking for a reason
Why this all transpired
You make my heart go higher
I'm not your sire
But we need each other
I got my brothers from another mother
But you are the rest
Pounding chest
Can you make another perfect guess
On where my loyalty lies
The last thing I'd ever do
Is lie to you
All these pictures I drew
All these planes I flew
The numbers turned into a slew
Nothing compares
To the Mary Sue
I found at the helm
I'll go wherever you realm
These gargoyles I'll whelm
They'll have to keep fighting
Cause my heart keeps igniting
It's a little freightening
But I'll make it work
I always do
Not always starting with the clues
But I can decipher all the blue
Turn you into orange and red
Making sure you're never truly dead
I won't ever imagine that story line in my head
Some things are better left unsaid
Give me your perfection instead.

i should be handling a champagne flute by now,
i don't know, maybe it's the laughter
that's curbing me from doing so... oh the fizzling
of my shizzle: or whatever's the trend in Campton.

now i'm watching videos on the pros and cons
and i'm thinking: it's really out of my hands -
i can do what Pontius Pilate did, back when
everything political required things to be hygiene prone
- and when there were literate fishermen who
miraculously broke from physical toils
       and wrote anti-Pharisee booklets.
forget Socrates defiling the youth:
it's me and a few old men -
will i become martyred because of it,
am i deluded with an invasion of
Shoreditch coolio across the depth and breadth
of London: who cares?!
       i like a good film, and this one is
always going to be good -
it only takes one word (well, two): the queen;
mainly the logic stuck true to the end
result: it would have been too good to be true...
take that logic and make it into a motto -
        wholeheartedly honestly,
      i have not an inch of my own wet *****
dipped into your ear: that's what
being independent means -
it also means that Copernicus ruined
   all things nautical, sunrise, sunset,
                  and thank **** the earth is
3D, now the problem, what shape is the universe?
   as it goes we're in a fudge swamp -
we aren't going anywhere, we think we are,
but people forgot to twin thought and doubt together,
   instead we have thinking and denial twinned,
which means: no matter how many facts are
spewed and later picked up as golden nuggets
we're not going anywhere.
       that's the beauty of a niche armchair,
      you get to bypass the comforts of crowd and airing concerns -
i'd never miss those emotional reactions
of people slyly: for the world!
    i love how they think that spying is masquerading
and not stating the obvious: which it usually is,
spying is stating that: the opposite has a tradition
built upon using sharpened knives:
                    me and my blunt knives:
i'm tearing into the meat like a vulcher -
what the hell can you do?
   sell the truth for 30 quid, buy it back for 20.
  that's a Homeric certainty -
    no, not the jokey Springfield variety:
the serious Grecian 2000 year old (if not more)
one - and i already asked:
what are you here for?
  me? i'm into writing a 2000 year old chapter
ranging from monkey, neanderthal and man -
     given the obvious disparities
and image issues and ****** favours considering
the pale anorexic Parisian modelling skeletors.
     you know what i found distinct in that story:
Slavs among the Germanic tribalism?
i concentrated on the eyes, rather than admit
a less pronounced *occipital bone: yeah,
that's almost a tail in evolutionary sprechen.
       all thanks to a girl in school who noted
that "defect".
     i just looked at the eyes and found they were
more ****, and subsequently quasi-Mongolian
and less Germanic fish-eyed fixative of ogling
out as if about to be gouged out, or simply
popping out with a reference to helium.
    once again: a stick has two ends.
         it's the historiological (why the iota in that
i'll never know) demand:
the pendulum simply said: too good to be true -
and it was:
  i'll go one better, better than black and female?
how about native?
   now that would be a game-changer -
      anything less than a native american is
as about as revolutionary or a status quo disciple
or a hamburger for breakfast:
hence the reason why sarcasm and apathy mingle
        and look down at the doormat:
  oh right, only wiping my shoes does it? hell,
i'll wipe my shoes: come in and take a ****.
     thus the misrepresentation of writing on
pixel-paper (or what's called:
       drunk, but still in want of having a chance to
revise, because we're all sloppy when
      staging what the original transgression was);
   i never write with a want to say the things i write,
i just think the misrepresentation comes
when i treat the internet as a punching-bag to think
things through: a voyeuristic-reversal,
        as such a great medium to think things out:
the new ****.
   nonetheless, it's hard not to laugh within
the framework of defending the freedom to sprechen
and leave the defence of the freedom to denken
  within a socialism that never manufactures
    anything: apart from protest marches -
the F. Gumps amid broken vocal chords.
                  you get suspicious about deaf people
hearing more than those able...
                                 to hear a crackpot mantra
and subsequently diffuse it.
                     i wish we lived in world summarised
by the words: all eyes on Mongolia...
            but that's what happens when you popularise
**** and industrialise it:
    a. China and India beat you in terms of industrialising
             it (over a billion buggers by my count, each!)
and b. it's a litmus test of youngsters in the future
              suffering from depression -
now that's really obscure - i don't really have a b.
     point to make... pornographic industrialisation
got me...            come to think of it:
if america didn't industrialise *** i'd be in a transgender
clinic trying to figure out whether i had
    any ego in my phallus - completely bewildered
whether i should accept my ******* as if a dog
accepting its canine extension...
        given women these days
and the fact that i had to pay for the pleasure tells me
a lot...
            i either pay for it and play the genteel role
or i go mad from ****** frustration and ****:
at least we're talking a contract,
like that bubbly Puerto Rican woman in Amsterdam:
                                         **** it... Freud!
so we solved the whole "earth is not flat" debate,
           even though we still require the n.e.w.s.
to go about our daily business... tragic: we now have
to encapsulate the universe as having a shape -
  milestones have been conquered,
  from a 2D earth into a 3D earth
      we now have an infinitely 1D universe -
                because it couldn't have been: a box
within a box, within a box: without an actual box,
or as the people said: hence we having the sport of boxing /
dentistry.
            the Russians put a man and a dog into
space: fair enough...
      we go a step further and end all fairytales
  and turn our children into ambitious astronauts
breakdancing on the moon -
                              then comes Mars...
if we're going with that sort of escapist route then we're done:
   these traditional capitalistic endeavours for
mere competition have turned into a variation of
simple escapism - as i was taught in a catholic school -
imagine yourself in a world, then leaving it -
always imagining the earth from afar, from the moon, say;
all that really was said was the Taoist motto
about not engaging with the world on terms of
rounding up, rabble talking and ******* whatever needed
******* (pervert, i know the slang in the engagement
     of the cultish excesses of skin; rough ***?).
   but that's what it is: escapism -
                         as they said: a message from former
communist countries -
                           a sprouting vogue in western
           societies: with their beards, and chequered shirts,
social conforming hippies know as hipsters:
i don a beard because it's cold around here:
plus i look less of a fat person -
alcohol fat ain't cutie pie fat: it's called being bloated.
       only among an obese population would you
get anorexia - again: historiological logic (the pendulum,
or the Newtonian impression) -
         once Newton was told he was less than accurate
people decided everything was relative:
the Greeks abhorred moral relativism -
   it's not that god died - cause & effect died
in what's modern, and reliably crescendo.          
sure, humanity will go on in any other argumentative suite,
      it's the one thing humanity can't be, i.e.: undermined.
*** is (after all), an existential variant of ******* -
you'd be daft to think that it was or could / would be
  otherwise.

I'm the Afrocentric Gift
you been waiting and dying to open ..,
Christmas came Early just for you this year,
I'm the Thoughts in ya head,
Mind blowing the
Essences of Sexuality,
Wisdom,
Knowledge
and a
multitude of Feminine Power,
Prowling and
Roaring for your affection,
I'm every Women,
Just not to night
I don't want to share,
Be my one & only..,
I am the
Architects building
the bridges back to ya heart,
My Prominent Black African King,
Mr.**** as ya wanna be..,
I Dreamed of this many times at night & also for some weeks,
Thoughts of you Thought of us become " We"
Teaming up and Doing
What lovers do,
But
I want more,
I want your heart too,
I see it in you,
the artist ;Your words caressing me,
Like painting and drawing,I'm just one of your sculptures..,
But
I'm the centerpiece of this mental non-nocturnal dream,
Your the
Author writing a great masterpiece only I'm the Main character...,
Chapter one we began slowly as our bodies
mesh&entwined...;,
Can you distinguishes between Fantasy,
I'm here and these feelings are real.
Lust so passionate you'd think you
conjured me up from your imagination.,
I'm un reasonable when it comes to you,
I want to give you unquestionable pleasure.
Be the Concubine you desire & you shouldn't have to wait,
Not tonight anyways.,
Come here and let me show you,
Be mines....,
Sacrifice yourself,
Be my love salve and come away with me..,
I want to give you this
Delicious yet delicate sweet
Afrocentric Gift!
Speak into me poetically,
Mentally blowing my mind ,
touching with words as you hurt me gently
Yet pleasing my body..
take me
cuz
right now
I'm for the taking,
I'm ready and waiting,
open me,
for
tonight I'll be your
Latin mist
You Puerto Rican *** ,
Come get drunk off my love,
Let me sooth you
and
caress you into submission.
Take what's been given.
This Mix, and blend it with you ,
dance to my song
as
I open for you.
I'm ready and willing
to be what you want me to be.
Give
me pleasure
release the yearning
deep with in me...
I'm yours ya Afrocentric Gift!
Always me Ayeshah
Copyrights © 1977-2010 Ayeshah(A.K.K.C.L.N)
All rights reserved.

oh... so now i know where my
"st. vitus'" take on sporadic,
uncontrollable dance routines
took place:
drunk, i attempted to

whistle...

   each and every time i attempted

to whistle...

   i burst into a fire and fury
of laughter, as if i waa hearing
political satire!
every single time i'd try to whistle:
giggles...
     a bit like watching
the laws surrounding marihuana,
on a friday evening
lodged in amsterdam...
      asking myself:
am i here for the ****...
         or the puerto rican plumps
of pork chops still breathing
with a 17th century fetish
                  for excesses?

perhaps neither...
   perhaps both...
   i'll have heiny ec-ken
                 (bite of a buttocks)
nekken -
                (bite of the neck):
huh!?

  i really expected
   matthew mcconaughey
to be much taller, in real life,
let alone the oscars' ceremony.

i.e. is that a ******,
       or a ******* leprechaun?

no good trying to whistle,
when all you can do
in "return" is to giggle at the attempt, to.

Let naught but kind words pass from my lips;
If my love is under bolt and bar,
Seldom can I see her; what comfort
Is there in this flowing river
I sit by? Passed have two rainy moons,
On her slanted path, since my efforts
To swim, drag my body with strong currents
In bitter panic; and she blushes a red
Face at me today. A creamy colada
Now restores my nerve, energizing
My gaze at this same rage of torrent.
Happy now am I! Above, with taut
And un-slack reins, the sun is pulled
Up to its zenith, on his middle groove,
The Costa Rican equatorial
Route is laid before him. Our moon
Covers half her body in the liquid
Blue upon high, and still illumes true;
As her charioted golden brother chases,
Sharing expanse of the sky.

All types
Of animals are within view, different
Birds on outspread flight swoop, colours
Of varied hue, and mammoth trees arch
Their girth over, and with face, admire,
It seems, their own reflection. A dragonfly
Lands softly upon my hand, his cousin
Insects kiss the crystals of the waters ripple,
Dancing with music on invisible tunes,
Pleasing mates selected by fate.
My eyes are open, light shifts swiftly
To the far end of the most brightest
Of her wide spectrum, aqua-marine,
Turquoise, sun-bathed leaves basking in yellow;
On my brow I place now roses, now Lilies
Mingled in harmony with violets;
But eyes closed see more than any open.
My vision, my most sorrowful vision,
Misses your smile and simply the touch
I give to your hand; my inspiration
I yearn for, crave, my soul grows pale
And whiter than the sheets of paper
I write this upon.

Fairer than the fairest
Star in heaven, my little bark,
My faithful verse, on this strong river,
I do boldly launch; for it is a beautiful
And silent day, overspreading
All the earth; fades into quietness,
As dazzling as ever was given
To ease my regret, though it deepens
What it sets out to soothe; cheered on
With hope, I feel deeply in what
World I am, on what ground I tread,
And what air I breathe. A calmer mind
Promising soft peace and sweet forgetfulness,
All hush, defenceless as a wood where
Tigers savagely roam.

Never mind
My pain that is lost, grief works itself up
And fans its own flame; and in this plain tale,
Draws tears from your humble heart;
If from the air, into your ***** breathe free,
The ever-varying winds that sweep
Over your shores; if not, may in this balmy time,
Fearless in soul, dip my words in amber,
Immersed into this river I sit by;
May it tenderly flow into the great ocean,
Towards the sea you bathe your dainty
Feet within. Enjoy my muse! Like these
Waters that through age with sway eternal,
More beats will stir; more measures
You are duly gifted, for I still
Do need your memory. My sweet song,
Like a cascading waterfall, I apologise,
Can never be silent about you.
My knees bend, and from upward glance,
Speak of these things, like storm or sunshine,
Exist in my individual mind,
Drawing power from all four corners
Of the winds; and that gentle breeze
You feel strike upon your pretty face,
Whenever you do, may well be
My most caring, forever loving voice.

I said
i like the smell of whiskey
and the whole cabin was filled
with puerto ricans and chile pepper
seeds scattered on the floor, a hundred
pots lined up on the stove with rouxs
and sweet syrups, masa mixed with
pork broth, shortening and garlic
the men lining the porch in
sunglasses and blue wranglers
going on about the rig or Virginia
or Hurricane Matthew--

what is it?
about running away?

I thought;
time passes so fast
I've clipped pieces from the past, snapshots i've unknowingly gathered
Uncle Dude three sheets out, standing in the kitchen
after you'd been drinking all day, your mom reminiscing in the corner
with tired eyes and stained fingers from wine,raisins, condensed milk,
consoling a drunk neighbor, (Florida State won earlier)
through the screen while you reclined in the sun or
the rotating image of your heels crunching through the
long morning grass.


I'd been sustained on quiche that needed no seasoning,
coffee creamer, cherry pie and the feeling of slipping bare
feet into boots, on quiet, on  
dark forearms and white biceps
the print of a little bird ring,
dark, brittle nights that smelled like cigars and Coors--


I've been trying to talk to God
all weekend but I think he's gone.
I think I'm alone.
I think I've run away.

I'm home, but there's nobody here.

In the ghetto
Huh they say you can be anything
You wanna be
So i joined the army
Notknowing that I'll still
Face tragedy and racism aint went no where
It feels ghostly evil stares
Of past scornful memories
They traded stock off the fields
And put us in the penitentiary
I got my first arrest in elementary
Just for being black on a sunday
Walkin' on a one way street
Preachers aint talking about that
Cuz they know theyll get lynched for that
Now they follow anything
And everything
That attracts money fortune and fame
You know the name?
We die more for the name of the father
Religion is *******
No matter whats coming out the puplits
They still gone ****
Think of you as a nigguh belittle
Troublesome and only good
For cheap labor
Be good and ya might get a penny  raise
For good behavior
Still lookin' a savior?
That ***** been dead think abiut it
He died at 33 ?
Now ask yo self how many nigguhs
Died before 33? Ships full of slaves?
Lots of babies young men and women
Mothers fathers to sons n daughters
Two thousand fifteen and we
Still seeing slaughter ???
Can you see me running from the police
And we still think we run the streets
Peep game homies
Its no longer about racism
Its about us as a minority
Wither white black mexican or puerto rican
We all slaves
Payin' debts to society before we
Took our first ****
**** how could this be ?
My birth belongs to a bank industry
So all my real gangstas thugs to hustlers
Yea even wall street yall slaves too
Wake up the time is now
Gotta mind gotta use it
Or else these muthaphukkas will abuse it
This aint nothing new
Since the sun been shinin'
The same from beginning to end
The world was castedwith sin
There was darkness before light
Now that I'vegot the light
Its time to enlightened others
With the torch i aquired
Not long before ill be retired and life expired
For trying to reach for the truth
And many more
Live carefully
Cuz this is somethin' 2 die 4....
The ghetto!!!!

It's a cool place to meet.
25 cent wings.
Nice, tiny booths
Lit by tiny electric lamps
In the guise of candles,
That give everything a nice, golden glow.
It's a Corona light,
And Corona-colored light always makes me feel
at ease.

She pulls up in a silver acura.

Gets out of the car and I can
see her ***
from the front of her
as she syrups over.

She’s got on a Black tanktop;
black bra straps showing
against white-pink
puerto rican skin
all while holding up those veritable C's.

Her hips burst against
a
long, beige
d
r
e
s
s,                                                                                
and I'm wanting to slide my hands all the way up her shirt to that black bra, and snap it off.

We have conversations about feeling older than
eighteen
and twenty-one
respectively.

Our lips are saucy
and oily. Tiny chicken scraps
can be felt in our teeth.

"I just started reading Starship Troopers."

"Yea, I love that movie."

I've never seen the movie,
but it endears her to me

that she loves it.

"Do you have any plans?"

"Plans?"

"After college?"

I plan on finishing my wings
before you, then I'm hoping
you'll let me hold your ****.

"Not yet."

"You know I've read some of your poetry."

"What do you think?"

"I like it," She smirks,
uncomfortably.

She ladles a wing in a slick of sauce.

"Truthfully, it was too much for me,
you really shouldn't talk about things like that."

She brings the wing
to her lips
and smacks it down
with a loud ******* noise
of a working, pink tongue.

I’ve wanted to hold her **** ever since I met her.
Now I’m lost.
Because she’s got black eyes
and I’m not even thinking about her **** or her bra.


I start thinking about how white her teeth are,
and how much two people can never know about each other.

Moons ago I smoked till the filter,
Drank Johnny’s backwash
And slept hungry.
How can you know an empty stomach,
Without dancing in Tampa for a buck fifty?
What’s for breakfast?
“cowboy killers.”
lunch I asked,
“Kentucky deluxe.”
Dinner?
“A bent Porto Rican kitten.”
But people are seasons
And springtime had come.
Now it’s easy, but still stiff.
In the end of the day.
ehh.

I miss you
like the tree and the leaf.

It is inconceivable
that I have been given to you
and you to me
without the generosity of fate.

i thought you were
just a pretty white girl
and my ignorances
was dashed
upon the rocks
by your voice of freedom.

nature could not conceive
of a purity of a secretive love
more than you
have given to me.

There are a lot of yous
in the world,
and yet there are none.

I have tried to propagate
the same seed
in you
as I have
in black girls,
puerto rican
and irish
that I loved
who fell for my rico suave ****
so easily.

And that is not to say that
you are as easily
enforced
by the landscapers
of love
as them.

Love is love,
but I have not
felt a seed so
irrevocably
as your seed
that burns
the root
so easily.

And in me,
I have never felt so crazed
because i have learned the bias
of flesh
that wraps my heart
deeper than your skin.

Trust me
in the depiction
that I have
constantly visited,
that your flesh
is numberless;
your cheeks
so
fleckless
yet with so many scars.

I can eat a thousand
worms in a day,
I can devour
the whole of the earth
with the roots
of a player.

But there are girls
and there are women,
there are leaves
and there are seeds.

The leaves browning
in autumn,
the seeds giving in spring.

And the colorless
gender
of night
knows no bounds,
because there is not a race of love
but an insanity
of love.

So to the black girls,
white girls,
puerto rican
and italian
that I have loved,
I am not color-blind
but blind
in the dank night
humid
as your voice
with no name,
no race,
no label,
no gender,
no reputation.

it's a common theme, a pastoral even... a sing-along with the words: when i was in Rotherham... i was never in England... when i was a Rotherham i was never going to imagine myself eating falafel. yes, it's that ****** ugly, which is why i'm hardly a premature ejaculator into assembling myself as bulldog Brit - use the language: well, obviously... but assemble the other bits and bobs? can't happen... it's like asking: tell a Jew to not be a Jew by sitting in one place for a long period of time... the nomad in him will evidently counter that proposal and say: **** it! see you on Mars! and to think that i could have actually invested my life into a diameter that's Poland... people still find it a bit odd: oh, wait, are they back on the map? that's us, Jews of the north... can't believe we're being blamed for the failure of the treaty of Rome: all because the English stopped flirting with the idea of Turkey being in the union: even though they dabble in a lamb kebab after binging on *****... but hey, no one want to be a hypocrite these days... that's of course provisional given your Jose Mourinho relationship: is as special as you suppose with the lady and the trump; someone tell Disney to stop writing those ****** scripts! how thoughtful of a prophet-merchant (merchant of Mecca, Shakespeare should have written that one) to have encouraged the sigma-bleaching-project: one world, one book, one something or other: either the telescope or the microscope answers: otherwise evolving into ****-naked baboons and elsewhere furry Gucci to strut the feline ****; it's not like i want to go back to the past, but i certainly don't want to experience a Monday in the year 2086 either.

i wouldn't have been one of them, their services required
a nobility, which i can partially claim,
but partially discredit as:
a family squabble, where the Eden
project would have flourished -
because of the lies -
         but you know, no biggie,
or the notorious -
one part of my family actually did
settle in america with my seven
tongued great-grandfather *sprechen güt
it's necessarily applied here:
hence it's not gút: miracles!
                     who would have thought
that trigonometry bit into the *****
of those pixy, foxy whatever clot in the
English department....
that's the thing with immigration and
integration and ethnic cleansing:
when i write,
    the desk is as rickety as a bed when
i **** a *******
and she tells me i'm a decent chap -
and says a variant of awe because i paid
£10 extra to pucker her floral arrangement
and she feels ashamed at having had
an ******: and all the feminists are
out there, in the cold, with their banter
     slogans that reach Zeno via
turtle, as snail, to compete with Achilles:
yeah, that hurt, because you enjoyed it
on the hobnob you call a job.
******* pretty enough for you now?
   well: two ***** and a smoking ****** later:
it better be!
               people think that you can just
"integrate" into a foreign land...
they coerce a foretfulfulnes that you
sometimes practice etymology -
        and find yourself a bit like a Jew
but more of a Slav, feeling at most romantic about
the land that is cleft to your ***** in terms
of language patriotism still leech-like,
because you can't forget the asking
that's already there: from the Baltic Sea
toward the Black Sea: our commonwealth was,
and could have been!
          globalisation is so Emi ******* M -
you bleach throughout, and so suddenly,
people get bothered -
         like a Cluedo but unlike who did it?
who's who?
             i write this on a rickety table,
like i might **** an Amsterdam dame of the credo
in all that's left: red -
       baby, that brickwork with your chub
layers does it for me: always a Puerto Rican to
have a laugh with...
20+ years in England and the roses are still
roses, but nettles in some obscure Greece island
designated for offshore debauchery -
hey, no one is a saint: but give a little -
   have at least the remote humanity in you
to breed the ******* Beatles rather than an antiquated
variation of Breivik.
                obviously not to be.
i payed because i wasn't getting any:
hands up, sycamore! so scythe so more -
i just feel uprooted and Jew -
  dispositioned like i have to have an inferiority
complex tattooed on my **** designated for
halal butchers -
           there's a problem though...
i have patriotism with regards to the tongue:
but to the people? a true Conrad (minus the Joseph)
would sell you out, like you already
have: to the highest Saudi bidder -
           ethnicity reemerges - strangely enough:
even after all that ethnic cleansing that's politely
called globalisation: because English cultural
emphasis is plain said: ****!
                      a bunch of fairies say i can't feel
a certain way because it will hardly become economised
and benefit an inbreeding:
so i outsourced you there,
   Dover Monsieur without his Turk and Mongol
invaders -
                   you could call it romantic:
but i'm not writing from an ivory tower within
framework of the land that needs tilling by
a familiar hand,
                 the last time i spoke to a Pollack -
it was in a shady alley at night, debating the clues
to making a living on Ebay -
                  so much for the romantics -
fair game in learning the tongue, but to attack
ethnicity? you have to be ******* me...
they call it the exotica in England:
all that coconut milk went to their heads -
   Baltic coconuts? sure... once you start eating
the pickled herrings like us: quasi-Scandi devils.
     so ******* twinned with Israel:
they said Amsterdam was the Venice of the north
they said Edinburgh was the Athens of the north
they might as well call it Tel Aviv Warsaw
and Jerusalem Krakow - too little to be said
otherwise.
             you could say Moscow and St. Petersburg:
oh sure, seen a bit of the world: ought to be
a *******...           really?
       does the world need another Golgotha
congregation? i just don't see why i require
to give more than linguistic acumen -
i'd never sing god save the queen
because i'd probably sing queen save the taxman...
and it really is a shame i can't engage in
any sort of nationalism - whether over there
or over here, it's a true shame...
           well i do have a grand history to aspire to,
variously interpreted with what gets my heart
thumping:
          ogniem i mieczem - hussaria ginie
(with fire and with sword - winged hussars die) /
          krzesimir dębski:
which i also translate in feeling within
the framework of Górecki's (3rd symphony?
fun-*******-tastic reassembling jazz's double
base, or bees, or other variations of humming
drones: anti-thesis of the crescendo)
three olden pieces, no. ii -
and yes: without cinema classical music would
be dead... the only classical music these days
is cinematic transcript -
                 the complexity of a Liszt or a Chopin
is frowned at, what has remained and endured
is a Satie yawn - a brushing of a piano like
a dustmaid: a sort of accenting the silence -
nothing with a technical claustrophobia of
smug finger litanies of the abacus:
that swamp women's feelings with eerie ahs
and yesses in would be marriage proposals.
   i wish i could be a lazy Welshman
or a Scot that forgot Celtic in order to glorify
a Glaswegian idiosyncratic-syllabalisation
    of wee, as in small: high off my rockers
on the Afghani thought train that's *****.
  i wish i were that ****** lazy...
  as to simply let go of where i was and where
i wasn't...
       as someone in Cardiff once said:
never been to London -
or as someone in Glasgow once said:
           a banch of ****** all with the Edinburgh
Judases.
              i don't think i could ever
have enough lost self-respect to not play the ethnic
joker card without a romantic agitation -
but it's still the piano that truly survives in
the modern world of pop **** trance i-wish-i-were-shot,
any other name from american beauty -
once again: the minimalism is self-explanatory.
no, i don't think i could ever fully integrate:
and happy are those who have their
lives filled with the existentially trivial:
never moved home, never descended a class below
or rise a class above their parent's status -
what a grand scheme of lotto!
                    i love these squamish pixies -
i love them so much that i experience nausea when
hearing about their lot in life...
  after which i turn to a lullaby, handpicked,
christopher young's - something to think about
from the hellraiser franchise, or as i like to call it:
i like these sort of tracks, these life infuriating
   chattering:
              like throwing yourself into either
nouns or onomatopoeias:
                           and yes, art is difficult:
because it's supposedly lazy -
                   oh the plumber in me that never was,
oh the roofer of industrial sized roofs in me that
somehow was, but then wasn't...
            the part of me that writes like Joseph Conrad
but actually wants to scream:
                       zzé skury odrzeć! (variant: ob-      +
-drzec)    to strip the skin.
                 a z tym: nadać ducha gniew alter solo
wbrew temu co mówi, czyli: razem;
                    nawet katedra św. piotra nie jest
                   minimalizm zwany: Golgota.
              (and with this: give the ghost's anger
alter solo, against that, which says,
namely: together; even st. peter's cathedral
                 isn't the minimalism of Golgotha).

I never really knew what kind of man could find my heart. I never really knew what kind of man could ****** my soul. Make me start to dream. What kind of dream they would have that would inspire me. Until I met him. An aspiring rapper. From Pennsylvania. Dominican and Puerto Rican. Four years. Long-distance. Music was not my calling, but it had awakened me. To writing. Lies had broken us. Nearly 2 years later I fell for the next one. An aspiring rapper. Producer. Jamaican. From Pennsylvania. Close three years. Complicated as ****. Music was there again. And although it was not my calling and it wasn't as important to me as it was to the fellas I fell for, it was there. Linking people to me.

Imagine this:
Me, who only speaks English
Me, who is moving to Japan
Me, with the Puerto Rican father and the Italian mother
being called a terrorist
for scrawling Arabic in the corners of my notebook.
"It's nothing personal," you say
"I'm just calling it like it is."
I sit in silence and wait for the teacher to stop this,
Say something, Say anything
Say No, Sofia would never hurt another soul
Her silence is a gag over my mouth
handcuffs on a chair
a knot in my belly plummeting out of control
If you had asked, I would gladly have shown you how to write your name
You start with the crooked smile of the letter "ba"
the calculated decrescendo of "ra"
"ya"'s sensual arc
I could show you how to write the guardian "alif"
or the embryonic "noon"
nestled safely inside of her calligrapher's womb
But somehow, between my pen and your eyes, the phrase

I miss you

written in near flawless script
turned into a threat resembling

someone is going to die

If you had asked, I would have told you of how I met an Arab
(you spell that: lam ba noon alif noon ya )
who loved music
(meem waw seen ya qaf alif-maqsura)
and Poptarts
(there's no P in Arabic)
and me.
Let me teach you how to write my name
so the next time you decide to throw around the word "terrorist"
you'll remember that those letters spell a name that represents
a living breathing person
and your prey whose name is spelled with the same alphabet as mine is
a living breathing person
Come here
Unclench your fists and take my pen
You are smart
I will teach you
Trace the shapes like me
and I will show you where you went wrong
be it in life or just now with these ancient ABCs
"Seen" is like a W except she's proud of her curves
and has a left hook that would make any man jealous
"Waw" is an air-headed guy whose body is an afterthought
with hair that billows in the wind and is never far behind
"Fa"
Treat it like a cobra
***** and proud
but dot it, mind you
That's the serpent's crown jewel
"Ya"
The singe-winged bird nesting on two tiny eggs
and "Ta marbuta"
There's no clever way to teach you ta
You just have to learn it
Now
use your two good eyes that are so good at judging and tell me that my name is not alive
The queen and the mother
The feminist and the prideful lover
And the misfit
I can be all of those
You will be all of those
Come here
There's enough space in my margin for you
Practice celebrating your secondary identity
now that you know I am not a terrorist
I won't hold a grudge because you misunderstood
I can't blame you
You just didn't know how to see

Music is my Muse
From the funky jazz tempo
To the sounds of salsa
From the classical rock
To the alternative basses
From the Opera Lady's bellow
To the Tenors solo
From the 80's slow jamz
To them 50's swinging bands,
To them country folk songs
To those old folks blues
Music is my Muse,
My inspiration,
Being Black&Puerto; Rican
I- A NuYorican,
I've heard the best tunes,
Bahchata's & Merengue,
Bailes La Cumbias,
Like Macr Anthony &
oh how he sang to me,

My wanting
to rock with you like
Micheal Jackson-
To Vanilla's
Ice Ice Baby,
It's yo thang do what you wanna do,
Candy coated Rain drops
By Soul For Real,
& When will I see you Again-
Babyface
Until I muse
in my amusement
When Tim McGraw  
Sanged don't take the girl,
Reba "Asking Does
He love me like
he's been loving YOU",
To its my prerogative
Like Bobbi Brown said,
Let not for get
Johnny Cash,
Or what About them
O'Jays
Yeah my muse is musical-
Music and thinking artfully
coincides with one another,
with breathing and  eating
Rhyme & Rhythm linguistics
even as we walk down the street
or cruising
while jamming in ya car,
LL Cool J said Cars drive
by with the booming Systems-
AH Push it was
My jam back in the day
R&B; Was mostly what I liked
But growing Up
I started listening to
Rock & Hip Hop,
Got drunk off those sweet
Monster Ballads
while Making love
to Sade,
Sung All Cried Out
at my graduation party,
Tony Toni Tone
Made Us-FEEL GOOD YEAH
at all them block parties
back in NYC,
Now
I listen to everything
going on 33
heard it through the grape vine
that YOU share
a likeness in this Musing?
Music is My Muse.
Always Me Ayeshah

What would possess a man to stalk me on the internet after I've told him over and over that I'M  not looking for a relationship?

what would possess that him to pretend to be other people on the internet?
When somebody does not want  you to  be apart of their life...YOU should give it up

Be it  male or female

You should leave them alone
respect their boundaries and their wishes if they wanted you they will be with you period!

I know I stated that I don't want a relationship

Yet I'm looking for friendship and I don't want anything else when the time comes for me to settle down again-no we're not talking about marriage just settling down with one person and being committed to each other when that time comes it will not be with you....

You can cry about it
YOU CAN rant about it
YOU CAN  feel however you do
JUST  just stop stalking me!

I know for a fact that you have MANY girlfriends and of course YOU asked another woman to marry you

I know for sure that you have many lovers & for what?...
I don't know because you're not really good in bed and not good at much of anything .... that's your business and I would like you to stay out of my business

I would like to live my life without you stalking me: hence why I moved to a different state!

I'm on this here poetry site that I've been a part of for a very long time
Yet
I don't even write on here as much anymore because I'm being stalked.

This  this is someone that I  moved far away from 2 years ago and I'm still being stalked

The saddest thing is you're wasting time on me for no reason!

All this failed understanding of what I'm saying  has me worked up , like who enjoys their space being invaded?

Fact is you'll find some way to read this and still stalk me;  via the web, text or call me.

Makes no sense to me..

if I must do another restraining order so be it...
I'm so tired of this  ******* and it's not that I'm afraid IT'S  more so I would like peace of mind because I don't want to become a criminal and hurt this person that's stalking me knows I fear no 1.

I will protect my children so let's hope for his sake he stops!

I don't want to have to go in and out of court.
Which is WHY  I move out of state;  to get this person to stop stalking ME!

WE ALL can't control what people do on the internet but I **** sure can control a person going on to the  poetry sites and dating sites that I'm on, pretending to be someone else!

This is so stupid to do and then try to have conversations with me. ... *** don't you think that's sad- that he's almost 50 & doing this?

He's a father of 3 and a grandfather.

He claims he can have any woman he wants,

  THEN why does he stalk me huh?

Go ****** HAVE  her cuz I don't want or need ya !

I hear stalking is more about control , for some  your  their possessions......

Guess rhats why 6 years ago he once told me -I was his property....

From then on I didn't want to be with him & MADE SURE TO get away from him.

THIS AIN'T slavery & my black Puerto Rican  *** don't  belong to nobody but me!

THANKS FOR READING FRIENDS AND LETTING ME VENT!
STILL MY QUESTION IS TELL ME WHY?
WHY ME?  I think he'd **** me if he could find me! Tell me why?

I listen for so long at what
TV, Radio & what other people said.
Advertisements, Magazines,
Books on how to loose weight,
Other ways & things to make myself look
pretty.  Pity-Petty me,
Trying to dress like
Celebrities,
Trying so **** hard to fit in & be like those
Models & some of them one hit wonders...
even starting to think there
was something wrong with my skin.
Too dark for many
and yet I have this red hue kind of glow,
White teeth but so UN perfect to me.
Hour glass shape I hated it,
Big strong thighs that just didn't look right,
Truth be told for a while I used to like me
until I started becoming self-sabotaging .
Thinking I could get him or just be happy doing
what all the other girls & women did,
Oh how I wanted to be anyone else
other than myself.
Long curly- unruly hair,
***** some would say
but back then
I'd have it no other way,
Afro puffs, braids,
beads,
Styles that made people question me.
Relaxing, burning&straighting; my hair
To look like Halley Berry  
How she looked in that movie
QUEEN.
I guess.
Making me feel so unPretty,
You sorry lil freak in
the mirror looking right back at me,
My grapefruits sit high-up on myself,  
They perk up and smile at me
in my state of  undress,
Some where some how along the way
I started hating them & their shape,
Wanted bigger even though I'm  38C.
Why? I really don't know...
I guess it all started
way back when;
I was just blooming
into a young lady,
Finding ones self.,
When I started to hate being me;
Foster father told me
I need to eat less,
Only Black/Puerto Rican
with dark skin in
a all White School.
Went onto visit family during this time
and got picked on
at home because
most of my families skins was so light,
Abusive relationships unbeknown at the time
had me feeling like I could never get it right,
Doing what ever "He" He  "Him" liked,
which is also what
helped take away any concept of self.
Went through the toughest 15 yrs of my life,
Married young to a
Man whose opinion
matter more then Mines.
Finally hit 23, Divorced & Free,
A light came on bright as the Sun...
I had to figure out who
I was when everyone told me
I was Ugly,Worthless & Dumb.
See eventually you reach that exhaustion.  
You take a really good look in the mirror,
Seeing me for me what hard facing reality...
I have almond shaped cat like eyes,
Brown hair with auburn highlights,
Full lips that most people pay to have
and I ain't never had to inject rat poison
into any parts of my FAT,
It's at this point where
I had to decide at this crossroad
which route I'd take.
Most would choose defeat but I had my little girls,
I couldn't accept them ever looking
at me as someone who gave up.
I had to figure out how to love myself  all over again
Be comfortable with who I am.
It takes many a lifetime sometimes to
finally come to this conclusion.
But for others like me,
It's really like building or rebuilding a puzzle,
The Puzzle Of You!
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved

To you,
Substitute-
A mere copy,
Nothing more than a
Last minute stand in.
I am addressing
You and only you
Mr Substitute.

You who maliciously
Attempted to make my
Son feel less than;
You who with your
Contrived agenda
Sought to edify
Your unequivocal ignorance
Thinking that the
Young Puerto Rican boy was
Likely another statiscal
Data point representing
Yet another victim of a
Fatherless phenomenon yet,
There we were-
That Puerto Rican boy's
Mother and Father
At the school house,
Bright and early
To shine a light and
Expose your uneducated and
Ill informed ***.

May we
You and I
Discuss politics on an
Even playing field
Mr. Substitute,
While in your little world
You fumble over
Your phone
Pressing 1 for English or
2 for Spanish,

Let me translate

Let me educate
You substitute
So that next time
You decide to
run your mouth,
Consider keeping mute.

Before you choose
To marginalize
An entire race
Let's have a face to face

Mr. Substitute
My son comes from
Those very people
You express such
Disdain for
Those people who
Have bled and died
For this country since
The first World War

Perhaps that historical fact
Escapes you
While you make no effort to
Teach the truth
You can't hide the fact that
They also bled and died
In the name of freedom in
World War Two

Korea
Vietnam and Panama
Iraq and Afghanistan
Serving, bleeding, and dying
Just hoping to secure
Their place
Amongst society
So that you can

Let loose your vile tongue.
Instead of teaching
The value of equality
And sparking a sense of
Hope in the young,
Understand though
Mr. Substitute
Both karma and I are
Far from done.

I chose to exercise civility
In my quest to
Teach you a lesson
In humility
A lesson in diversity

Oh how I wish
that were me
Looking back at you
In that classroom
Mr. Substitute.
Fortunately,
The blood that runs
Through my fiery veins
Runs through my sons.

Under no circumstance
Will he accept the
***** matter that
Effortlessly flows
Through your
Venemous lips.

Unlike you
Mr. Substitute
We are accepting of others
Even if you yourself are
Nothing short of
A misguided
Intolerant bigot,

My son and I
Refuse to
Stand idly by
Without exposing
You as the
Village idiot.....

Mr. Substitute

i like to be wise with my beautiful brown eyes
my thick thighs and my voluptuous size
fruit flies sticking to me cause i'm so sweet
i make the beats but dont eat that red meat
sensitive but calm and super duper collected
will get you wrapped around my finger, kid
pinky promises is how i keep it real
drinkin' tall boys, always breakin' the seal
addicted to my flavor, youll be on dis fashionistaquena
part puerto rican, but got money but not enough lend ya
crowds call my name and it keeps on echoin'
famous like the amos cookies, keep my green in a tin
i'm so frickin' visual, ROYGBIV colors make me trip all day
so vib-rant, i spy a red ant and rainbows are the color "gay"
lets collaborate, take your hands & drop all the hate, i just ate...
chips and dip, my lip ring fell out so i put in a paperclip
bobbypin in my hair, my lion locks
i'm like uffie "i pop the glocks"

(CHORUS)

I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
tell shorty worry bout her man when i'm gone.
my love is only for my fans in them shows.  
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
while yall be doing what you can i do more.
and everything i do is better than before.

(VERESE)

now i done went and set some goals for my self.
i'm out to go and get this dough for my self.
no hypeman needed i do shows by my self.
there's moves to make so i don't know how yall stand still
i keep moving forward.
can't stand still cause i'm too important.
passing all the rest i'm like the newest foreign.
they wait in line for me like i'm the newest jordans.
cause i was on my job while you dudes were snoring.
i keep your girl amused cause you dudes is boring.
when i dunk i hear the thunder call it blue and orange.
i'm the king of the hill like im choosing lauren.
where i come from ima' be the first on the map.
i remix your face and i murk all your tracks.
cause your **** hand weak you need to work on your slap.
gave your girl a high five when she twerked on my lap.
now at this rate you gon' be the last on the seen.
and if i choose to follow ima' pass all my dreams.
then i'm gon' take the lead. i do that for my team.
if you know what i know homie that's all you need. lets go.
you got that 24 hour mouth its never closed.
(not me) i hear no see no speak no evil i don't know.
(that's right) and i got more things than what u know cause i don't show.
(watch this) yall in for more than a surprise watch where i go.

(BRIDGE)

i know you know that i'm the man i know you know.
i know you know i'm with the plan i know you know.
the earth itself gon' be my land i know you know.
i know you know i'm bout my bands. (yeah i know)

(CHORUS)

I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
tell shorty worry bout her man when i'm gone.
my love is only for my fans in them shows.  
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
while yall be doing what you can i do more.
and everything i do is better than before.

(VERSE)

man everything i do is better than ok.
my team be drowning competition we don't play.
thought i was working hard before but you was wrong.
i had my feet in i was tryna' test the waves.
i'm bout to really jump in for the pay.
i know you know i'm with the plan its still the same.
your girl don't give you what you want on your birthday.
she only with you cause she wanna take your cake.
i'm truthful with the flow because u needed it.
i'm tongue twister with the flow i bring the speed with it.
my peter piper pickle poked a puerto rican chick.
the word was only uminati till' they realized i'm ill they need me in it now lets go.

(BRIDGE)

i know you know that i'm the man i know you know.
i know you know i'm with the plan i know you know.
the earth itself gon' be my land i know you know.
i know you know i'm bout my bands. (yeah i know)

(CHORUS)

I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
tell shorty worry bout her man when i'm gone.
my love is only for my fans in them shows.  
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
while yall be doing what you can i do more.
and everything i do is better than before.

(CHORUS REPEATS)

I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
tell shorty worry bout her man when i'm gone.
my love is only for my fans in them shows.  
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
while yall be doing what you can i do more.
and everything i do is better than before.