Kafka and his Giant Insect
                            Which Might Be a Cockroach
                                      But Maybe Not
                We Could go to Das Scloss and ask Mr. K

An insect woke up one morning and realized
He had been transformed into Gregor Samsa

From a life focused on eating hair and grease
Glue, soup, bread, paper, leather
Sewerage, butter, meat (fresh and decayed)
Makeup, cookies, sugar, toothbrush bristles
Cookies, pizza, flour, tacos, apple pie
Dead bodies, feces, and his own species

He now had to deal with the confusion
The sorrow of being Gregor Samsa

Just watch them get out of any situation
watch those slugs and worms slip through all
lies of the so called people we should trust
with their super sensitive slime politics

I don't think any are corruption free
just look at those sycophants
anything they say about power
do they just come in their pants

Predictive masters of lies
**** poor excuses for human beings
just ****** of shallow promises
all in the name of their success

Worms in sewerage works make better
then the laws by their letters
watch those slugs try to justify it
in salt, with their super sensitive slime


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

Like an upside-down stage curtain, steam rises
over a half-empty cup of ginger tea,
obscuring the dreary view of yet another rainy day.
The woman leans closer to the window
(she’s certain there’ll be an oily stain where her nose
makes contact with the icy glass).

Raindrops are mutating over cracks in the window,
their shadows filling in the blank
blotches in her eyes, camouflaging the liver spots
(themselves otherworldly mutants)
over her hands— sewerage on plumbers’ gloves.
She drinks her tea and whimpers his name.

Scalpel-blade shivers creep over her back,
over the folds in her pantyhose;
chalk marks on the road become visible—
she remembers it like yesterday
when she cradled his broken body in her arms:
police car and ambulance sirens

conjured a dust devil that reeked of young death;
it clung to her designer clothes,
and complemented the purple stench of brake fluid,
petrol, and the god-awful breaths
of bystanders who’d gathered like a swarm of flies,
the soft susurrus of their conversations

intensifying till pencil-lipped, beast-like groans,
ready to feed on the hole in her soul,
salivating to take a bite of grief, and replace it with remorse;
she recalls the sound of her car keys
on the hot tar, which took a chomp out of her left knee,
and warm blood seeping into her every fibre.

Steam and chalk marks fade away into the past.
In front of the refrigerator,
on the grimy vinyl kitchen flooring, a ginger meows;
the woman ignores its pleas,
and reaches for the upside-down picture on the window sill.
A liver spot sprouts from her neck.

*******.

I thought you had my back, but you’re just another ******* *** on a pole.

My (now ex) boyfriend's pole more specifically.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a disgusting, slimy, broken cunting pathetic dirtrag if there ever existed, but you?

******* Gabi.

I hate you. You’re the reason he left me in hopeful scatters down my never-ending driveway. You’re the reason I cry myself to sleep at 3 in the morning. You’re the reason I wake up shaking so ferociously I spew what little I could eat on the bed where we made love.

Fitting isn’t it?

******* Gabi.

Even your name makes my bones wants to explode into pieces that fill you with holes where your *****'s blood is washed away like sewerage.

******* Gabi.

And the fact that you have something I don’t.

******* Gabi.

I hope your children die before you get to hold them.

******* Gabi.

I hope your heart gets ripped out your chest and **** on.

******* Gabi...
******* Ga...
*******...
****...
Fu...

P.S. Enjoy my leftovers *****.

transcendent it was the first time
when it was of faint memory to touch

but voluminously told, exacting itself
like the pretense of the heaviest pages

the curve of your face the entry of light
through momentary indulgence

nerves their city buoys and the pedestrians
salt of skin in intense heat begging for details,

ways to sewerage of mind and previous blunders
and the purest landscapes of feeling,

the underpasses of eyelids where glances hit
first, stalk swiftly – to wait underneath their

shade in the fleeting Maytime sun
coming back with renewed fervor, remembering

that from there, waiting in that margin,
there are things that may only strike a potential

but never learned, memorized, collapsed into
the absolute, and that lostness is imperative

to the finding –
the river of eyes where pilgrims are in transit,

well-constructed like the mausoleum that
keeps its secret of hills and cathedrals

kept unmarred in the silence of your refusal,
pulled out to be nailed taut into origin

the blankness of your face taken as mechanism
of marvel – to whoever god drew lines on your face

and to whoever foolish wanderer would dare traverse
your collapsible bridges, the sonorous depth

of your being when back against the dash
of beating back to senseless origins,

your name similar to the prepared countenance
of Manila, passers-by in awe of your slow Moon

unraveling behind curtains for showerheads,
humming behind, a conversant tune

where not one being ignored and it was true
to the form of first whispers

this whole new world mapped out
made naked to the twisted augur of shadow

reared by light through innocence,
a whole city I know but cannot touch.

Dry Well

A Gift from Fort Apache Energy, Inc.

“We will be drilling with a fresh water mud system
which has no environmental impact.”

- Allan P. Bloxsom III, President

As woodland creatures shy until the dark
Drift as a silent blessing through the trees
At dusk some sad folk gather ‘round the wounds
Gored geometrically into the ground
A palisade of wood and water and earth
Now guarding nothing but pale desolation:
A pond of death whose hydrocarbon sheen
In corpselike stillness entertains no life
A sewerage ditch bedecked with human turds
A dumpster skip piled high with promises
Piles of unidentified white powder
An unattended garbage fire, a shirt
Some bolts, planks, screws, sandwich wraps, cigarette butts
A cargo cult of curiosities
Liturgically in statio around The Hole
That venerable new hole, that hole of hope
That fabled argosy laden with dreams
That fell into the depths, and never returned
At dawn a tower stood, adorned with lights
By dusk it was folded, and stolen away
Like the long-storied tents of Araby
Or a Roman camp in the Teutoburg
Abandoned among the darkening woods
For the curious primitives to poke
And **** about, chattering in their tongue
About the marvels of a superior race
Who make no environmental impact.

I struggle to breath
Want to sleep but not tired
I want to talk but nothing in mind
I strain myself to be present
Spacing out my favourite thing
If im not present i cannot hurt
The source unclear
No one understand
Foreign language i have become
My silence unreadable
I crawl through the sewerage pipes of my mind
Desperatly trying to find the source
All this turmoil need a source
I wish you could hold me forever
Squeeze so tight my pieces fit
But when you let go
I fall
Brake and shatter
When you hold me i feel safe
I feel anew for the fight
But you always leave
You leave to rejoin your happy life
I realise the empty my life is
I hate my life

i hate you
you concrete jungle
broken and jagged roads
that bear their rusted metal rods like ribs
the smells of sewerage always beneath your steps

smog and absurd dreams circulate through the veins
of infants who smoke clove cigarettes and ask with neutral stares
why are you afraid to die?
why can't you just live?
I will die asking why I love this city so much!!!
I will ask that my dead body be unceremoniously laid under the red Indonesian clay where countless unknowns were laid before me
bury me in Jakarta.
tell the single mom with the face I've always wanted to kiss
that I was only trying to feel loved for the very first time

Big Bellies,Big Cars.
These are our leaders.
Sunken Eyes,Starving stomachs
Those are your neighbors.
Dysfunctional systems and it's not so important.
Hospital shelves have no drugs and the beds are rusty.
There is no food in the basket
But the main economic activity for the country is agriculture
Bribery is now part of culture.
The doctor will decline to offer you his assistance if you don't avail him with 'a little something'.
Part of our taxes go to personal accounts some abroad.
On Some days some people in the City,I Have seen some,sell their blood through donation drives in hopes for the free biscuit and soda and this is lunch.
And some go on for some days without any food not even little to their mouth
And not because of leisure or for their pleasure.
On the days when they get what to offer to the impatiently waiting intestines,it's a pleasure.
Some of our young girls are introduced to adulthood because of the conditions in the families they come from.
Chips and chicken,KFC,maybe Cafe Javas,have fun together and definitely bed later.
Some have 'achieved' more than this,like small cars say Vitz,Raum and Spacio but their lives have not changed for the better.
Some offer their Prized bodies to these predators for petty items like phones,clothes and leisure.
The dignity lost in doing this has a measure.
All this because for some of their needs and wants,some even so small,Their parents can't cater.
Potholes in the roads can even be a topic to joke about
Harming our cars that we toiled so much to acquire,we are not so bothered,since the people in charge,will soon work on them(We hope)
Sewerage spews all over our streets and roads sometimes and still we are hopeful for the better.
Maybe not now,maybe later.

Big bellies,Big Cars.
Those are our leaders.
Sunken eyes,Starving stomachs
Those are your Neighbors

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.

                         The Several Olympic Committees

Sewerage, filth, top-****, toxins, debris
Deadly bacteria, openly-floating poo
The pollution of the ages flowing free –

(They say the River Seine’s in bad shape too)

heil to the Wharton chief firebrand -
more worrisome than an ovarian cyst
every race, religion, nationality,
gender, creed, et cetera with impunity dissed
brigand able, eager, ready and willing
to punch contenders throwing his fist
against rival – one nasty and brutish soul
after reading, you get the gist
how dictator wannabe lurching
with tremendous oaf fish shill

blatantly, flagrantly, and glad-handedly
zapping usurping power, breeding dissent
soundlessly slithering,
spreading vile disinformation
onto social media platforms
targeting undecided electorates
analogous to casting dark shadows
across the edge of night
hissed tory revoked eclipsed
loosing unfettered horrors.

Das boot trump out-
(oust him to) Waterloo
Eagerly awaits you
the bully in the white house and true.

Whit that, yawl get a lucky strike
if ya keep yar show
as my Reince prescience foretells this poe
fur one quarter off hiz terminal daze starring down
(with bad medicine), thee ole scarecrow.

╰☆╮ Thankfully, I'm not a royal heir
to the power monger hoarders╰☆╮
which comb hen might handy when borders
hermetically sealed - per heil hit lore
caw zing a furor with his stark jumbo je lay bean orders.

I don't wanna don a duck dynasty outfit,
or that of a woodchucker but...holy mother f*cker
and kudos to any heckler,
who deems steam roller trump as a mean trucker.

Thus - for the umpteenth attempt to post
without any intention
to induce rabid reaction to roast
my *** (albeit scrawny just to be cheeky),
I **** rye America will burn like toast
the legacy of democracy
transparent as a ghost
if....mister money bags - to the finish line
of presidential electorate, he doth coast.

My anti Donald trump screed continues tut try
tip picture conjure pixelated stress less or more
WE MUST DO MORE THAN YODEL LOUD:
(and preach to the choir)
out....out...get...life not death, he seems to ab ****
ding **** Donald drake...out...of...here...
without...his security detail or...coat....of...
(Emperor wears no clothes) armor.

I will not condone political measures
from that mane lion kapo -
jabbering indiscretion.

Herewith follows a poem
(concatenated with above lines)
I dashed off in a huff - to douse
dat auld don trumpeting joie de vivre
fin de siecle utopia of yesteryear
puffin sewerage bilge -
strike n horror n ma eyes -
for opinion aye espouse
based on scary political fracas
and looming nightmare -

whar mo' will grouse
to obstruct trump access
to black keys to white house
that a looming presidential nightmare
doth not become real - gruff louse
he will crush sacred freedoms,
whence western civilization goes off bluff
analogous to a rabid cat terminating
the life of more'n Mickey Mouse.

DUCK AFTER DUMP - PING THE DON -
a pipe dream that will never take shape.

Air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch black hours of night)
on his witch a ma call it...
to escape temporarily the cares and concerns
of an uncertain world,
where as an outlier from madding crowd I gape

at the sheer insanity
trumpeting strumpets donning an innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod --
seize ***** viz Caesar -

forever linkedin with maxim
Veni, Vedi, Vici - idolized statecraft motto
Trump perfects with his witch's brew he doth stir
his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying Deep Purple bodyguards
to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country
go to hell in handbasket -
blithely purging the Iran Nuclear Deal,
The Paris Climate Agreement

plus rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
Boom, boom, boom gotta get get
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het
two...three...four, while the billionaire
turns a third blind eye speeds away
in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy Ross,
Condoleezza Rice, Nancy Reagan,

Barenaked Ladies, and Goo Goo Dolls,
how did the fickle finger of fate let
this pompous *** allergic
to law and order sowing,
loosing, and fomenting insurrection
crowdsourcing, wherever anarchy met
vacuums up majority votes
across world wide
quartered, (tattered), and webbed net
to finagle vox populi,

and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face as his smart pet
GoLong Daddy story short -
pondering my rental circumstance
will be upended if this ret
chad, evil, googly-eyed, gastronomic,
narcissistic bullish Don will set
the spark for world war three -
via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within the sea to shining cyber sea

American crucible melting *** -
with verbal whips,
whose invective blast sucker punching
DACA, and those
who strain to uphold economic backbone,
he does NOT STOP to undermine stoop labor,
which anonymous backs,
he bloodies via twittering whetstone
unless....Katrina and the Waves, superman
or the Sabrina can oust him yet.

Suspend this city
Above the earth that contains it,
See beneath,
See the underground,
See what's hidden in its tunnels,
Feel the breeze of a moist air
Trapped withing galleries.

Differ its layers:
Air, asphalt, gravel,
Subway, electric cables,
Piped gas, sewerage, ferrous oxide,
Magma.

Go deep to go properly.
The surface is not the story.
Atmosphere is just a limited point of view.
The movements happen on a tiny shell.
But there is more.
Thousands of kilometers,
Countless weight,
Unimaginable diversity of elements,
Unobserved, untouched, never thought.

Up and the vast infinity of nothing breaks us to dust,
East, west, north, south, and we remain where we were.
Down: what has left to be discovered.
Nautilus and Nemo knew it all along,
Overflowed from an ingenious mind,
So everyone could then be aware of it:
We got nowhere else to go,
And the problem is settled.
To dig is to reach painful grandness;
To stay is to sustain a comfortable sameness.

which poetic product best be affixed
with hashtag STINKY label.

As a young whippersnapper
and one precocious lad to boot,
I discovered common combustible materials
found in the bathroom.

At opportune times,
I blithely tinkered with dangerous chemicals
that could (but never did)
explode into one humongous
fiery maelstrom and
bloom (re: annihilate)
this lad to smithereens.

Window kept open to avoid
un--necessary nor accidental asphyxiation.
After clearing defecation deep within,
the recesses of my bowels,
I thenceforth indiscriminately combined
various household cleansers
and cleaners (in powder
and/or liquid form) into the bidet.

The requisite sphincter muscle
byproduct constituted the key ingredient.
Anyway, my aha moment arrived
one childhood day
that long sought after ka-boom
sent a plume of smoke
in tandem with geyser of water
caused me to feel
flush with excitement.

Waste trill fluttering filled mine heart
(like music to thine ears)
after mine solid waste
***** byproduct went kerplunk
and caused tsunami
on other side of word.

Mere seconds elapsed
before explosive outcome found me
hurled clear across the room
like a bat out of hell.

Fortunate for me that this
natural ****** excretory function
never caused any serious outcome,
nor injury to life nor limb.
Immaculate notes (with graphic pictures –
albeit crude) attempted to document
any pertinent information.

At some juncture
with this private laboratory experiment,
a close observation
(with nose pinched tight)
revealed bubbles of air trapped within
our archaic household plumbing fixtures.

That aha i.e.eureka moment
prompted me to utter “*******”
when a chain reaction similar
to volcanic rush of air took place
within the planet.

With haste not waste,
these nimble fingers scribbled
unintelligible (deliberately illegible
to everybody but myself)
the chemical romance
to light a fire under the buttocks
of whomever happened
to be in need of emptying their bowels.

Now, I eagerly waited,
(albeit with impatience)
for that opportune time
whereby thee unsuspecting child
or adult needed to answer
that alimentary call of nature
my dear Watson.

The moment of anticipation arrived
when a long forgotten accursed relative
visited unexpected, which unannounced
rap on the door fueled fanciful notion
to whip up potion to promulgate prank
within the *****.

Once necessary ingredients,
(which secret formula cannot be divulged –
well maybe for a negotiable fee)
got poured giddy glee
generated gloating from head to toe.

Quick as Jack B Nimble
or his best friend Jack B. Quick,
these skinny legs (spindleshanks) sped away,
yet in close activity to the innocent
by sitter who nonchalantly ambled
into the powder room to tend to private business.

Right ear cocked against wall
that served as barrier between
occupant of water closet and yours truly.

Pleasant barely audible
humming, tweeting, and twittering
(like an angry) bird
singing emanated while obnoxious
guest of dishonor proceeded
to place posterior atop *****.

Seconds ticked by
with every now and again
pages of printed material heard
in conjunction with abdominal
groans and grunts to assist sacrifice
to the porcelain goddess.

Utter stillness suddenly punctuated
by the initial sound of a splash into the crapper.

I cupped hands to mouth
lest any unwanted guffaw slip out.

Instantaneously, our pestilential
kooky cousin kissed their *** goodbye
as propulsion forced the body politick
clear thru the unwelcome ample sized window.

Goodbye Charlie (pseudonym used here
to protect the not so innocent)
soon became diminishing shape
spiraling toward the horizon.

One speck of flotsam headed spaceward
versus the turgid **** joining brethren
into the sewerage cistern.

Written by: Edgar Allan ****,
who required quite some time to recoup,
and with slops pail headed off
to collect specimens from the latest scoop
rearing to go bouncing along
*** signed to another *** rap,
whereby blistered buttucks
hopes to earn yours truly another touché
(**** hay) before bottom smacked
courtesy leader of troop
a strong indigenous native son,
whose **** tressed reputation
recounts storied war whoop.

to ******* over if they’re a
mass-destroyer. They can pretend to
be a hundred different men, with different
names and profiles. Run havoc with

their narcissistic guns loaded and spill
out sewerage all over you. Ruin your career if
they can’t have you for themselves. They want to
isolate you so you’ll be with no one else. This

is slander at its best. They repressed all human
consciousness into the tip of their little *****-
the ****** have a way of playing mind-games. Passive
aggressiveness the psychology books call it. I don’t

give a ****. See, this woman won’t curtail her
words to tailor fit into a narrow *****’s head!! Never
have. Never will. Do you see this stopping me? ****
No! I’ve got a mind of my own, and a few missiles I can use.

I don’t take Any Man’s Abuse!

The following words worth your time to read
no matter said poem crafted
maybe at most, a scant half score years ago
when forty fifth president
granted carte blanche to gut American government
poisoned seeds of life and white lily with dog speed
leaving the one tended garden of eden gone to ****.

Heil To The Warthog Chief Firebrand -
more worrisome than an ovarian cyst
or being brandshed with pugilist fist
upending the webbed
wide world of democracy he doth insist
guaranteeing United States of America
ship of state will severely list
then slipping into the behavioral sink.

Das boot trump out-
(oust him to) Waterloo
Eagerly awaits you
the then bully in the white house and true
as my Reince prescience foretells this poe
whit, that, yawl get a lucky strike
if ya keep yar show
fur one quarter off hiz terminal daze starring down
(with bad medicine), thee ole scarecrow!

╰☆╮ Thankfully, I'm not a royal heir
to the power monger hoarders╰☆╮
which comb hen might handy when borders
hermetically sealed - per heil hit lore
caw zing a furor with his stark
jumbo je ne sais quoi lay bean orders.

I dont wanna don a duck dynasty outfit,
or that of a wood chucker
but...holy *******
and kudos to any heckler,
who deems steam roller trump as a mean trucker

thus - for the umpteenth attempt to post
without any intention
to induce rabid reaction to roast
my *** (albeit scrawny just to be cheeky),
I **** rye America will burn like toast
if....mister money bags - to the finish line
of presidential electorate, he doth coast.

My anti Donald trump screed continues tut try
tip picture conjure pixelated stress less or more
WE MUST DO MORE THAN YODEL LOUD:
out....out...get...life not death, he seems to ab ****
ding **** Donald drake...out...of...here...
without...his security detail or...coat....of...
(Emperor wears no clothes) armor!

I will not condone political measures
from that mane lion kapo -
jabbering indiscretion!

Herewith follows a poem
I dashed off in a huff - to douse
dat auld don trumpeting joie de vivre
fin de siecle utopia of yesteryear
puffin sewerage bilge -
strike n horror n ma eyes -
for opinion aye espouse
based on scary political fracas
and looming nightmare -

whar mo' will grouse
to obstruct trump access
to black keys to white house
that a looming presidential nightmare
doth not become real - gruff louse
he will crush sacred freedoms,
whence western civilization goes off bluff
analogous to a rabid cat terminating
the life of more'n Mickey Mouse.

DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON -
a pipe dream that will never take shape.

Air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine esse cape
to fly (during pitch black hours of night)
on his witch a ma call it...
to escape temporarily the cares and concerns
of an uncertain world,
where as an outlier from madding crowd I gape

at the sheer insanity
trumpeting strumpets donning an innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod --
seize ***** viz Caesar -
forever linkedin with maxim
Veni, Vedi, Vici -
idolized statecraft motto
Trump perfects with his witch's brew he doth stir

his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards to evict
ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country
go to hell in hand basket -
blithely purging the Iran Nuclear Deal,
The Paris Climate Agreement
plus rack up stratospheric global debt

cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het
two...three...four, while the billionaire
turns a third blind eye
speeds away in his foo fighter jet

argh...heavens to Betsy Ross,
Condoleezza Rice, Nancy Reagan,
and iggy pop  goo goo dolls
how did the fickle finger of fate let
this pompous ***
vacuums up majority votes
across world wide net
to finagle vox populi,
and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face as his smart pet.

GoLong Daddy story short -
pondering my rental circumstance
will be upended if this ret
chad, evil, googly-eyed, gastronomic,
narcissistic bullish Don will set
the spark for world war three -
via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within the American crucible melting *** -
with verbal whips and chains,
whose invective blast sucker punching
DACA, and those
who strain to uphold economic backbone
he does NOT STOP to undermine stoop labor,
which anonymous backs
he bloodies via twittering witless
birdbrain rot, unless....
Katrina and the Waves, superman
or the Sabrina can oust him yet!

It starts every Sunday afternoon
Been this way since I was 2

I feel like my life is ****** out
By demons with human bodies
Short and stout

I see my job
My enemies and fears
Line up to drink in all my sewerage tears

I shake with icy shivers
I fear the takers and the masked givers
I wake up Monday with diarrhea
Tuesday sings onomatopoeia
By Wednesday I rise from my waste
I face Thursday with crusading haste
By Friday I bleed from a silicone cross
I dread next Sunday
I force feed loss
But psalm after psalm says do not dread
There is something more than this after you're dead