Gentle? Who me?
Even the simplest of the lambs
Now realizes  that I'm no angel.
To be sure, I've made my fair share of mistakes.
Like when I kissed you that night.
Even the stars stood still for that.

Nightly I wrapped myself in your arms.
I the young innocent, you the lion tamer.
Gods, we were so pure.
How can you ever expect things to be better.
Too late we realized our mistake.

Love believes in no one, I think
Only in those who believe in it.
Very stubborn, this thing called love.
Even lambs feel the sting of arrows.

So true to my heart I frolic
Eventually down that shoddy shifty road.
Exacting my revenge on relationships
Showing that I'm the boss by falling in love again.

And for that last second, I breathe you in.
Lover, wrapped in my arms and I'll not let you go.
Love can't you hear me, I'm not ready yet.

Gentle night, love sees all.

Take this lonely river
where we were floating feathers.

On me, your glowing eyes,
performing from the shore.
Those hazy, sapphire thunderstorms

I saw you hide the secrets there,
so we could float
carefree.

Cleanse the fear with morning dew,
and let thoughts drift on down the blue.

Is the water clear as minds at peace?
Would it help to fill my lungs with air?

Praying with the ebb and flow,
would I stay afloat?

Because if I should choose to swim the other way,
or to grab hold, the shifty shore,
my body, gravely unprepared
may swallow in despair,
and all it takes is one stone in my pocket.

Just one stone in my pocket, dear.

"Man, I can't stand the people who just panhandle and heckle the passersby. It's not their job to support your lifestyle and/or habits! I had one friend who was just harassing people; hey man, leave them the **** alone! I just wanted to punch him in the ******* face. Get a job, ya ***! Trim some **** or some ****!"

"Heh, yeah.. people can be obtrusive about some things.. I still like to try to help if I can; I mean, we're all in this together."

"I don't want your ******* money! Well, I mean, I have a job; I could go over to that ATM and take my money out and spend it.. .but why the **** would I want to?  I only say that 'cause some ******* **** me off. Support yourself, like the rest of the Natural World, you selfish *****!"

"Well, I'd feel better with my cash in hand than in some bank owned by some greedy, shifty, slick, loophole-******* *******."

"Wait a second, boy, do you paint your fingernails?"

"..Yes."

"Are you hetero******?"

"... yes."

"Okay, just checkin'. I'm just curious. I don't care what you do with your **** as long as you're responsible and don't **** with well-meaning girls' hearts and ****. We got too many diseased and pregnant *******. People deserve better than that stupid ****. Some of 'em like being treated like objects, though. Them's the filthy'ns."

"Ookay.. thanks for the advice. I'm going to be on my way now. Have a great day."

"Alright. Don't be an ******* to anyone until they show that they deserve it! Be a ******* Person to other ******* People, you know what I mean, boy?"

"Yep, I sure do. It's been an experience; good morning."

.
There are ones
Who see colour
As only light made
Into shades by
A shifty vision,
The brain playing
With in-splayed
Vibrations, unordered
By such symmetries
That blinds mere minds
And yet, sets soul afire,

There are dreamers
So awake that stars
Are moony in sky,
There are lovers, lit,
Fallen so deep above
Heavens that the Gods
In envious joys arise
Like the first dawning
Sun, in prideful airs,
Among watery stones,
Blistering into birth.

She looks out the window
At the thick sheen of ice
That covers the road.
People huddle and shuffle
In great huffs of warm breath
As they try to move on in their lives.
They try to ignore their wobbly legs
And shifty, slidey, slippery feet
On patch after patch of ice.
They've got great things to do
And many places to be,
So they battle the weather
That is set to defeat them.
But she sits amongst pillows
With fuzzy blankets and cocoa,
Content to let the world go on outside.
She'll just recline at the window
Reading her poems with satiated sighs.

Yo, I’m a Lebanese don, French-teachin’ beast,  
Spittin’ verbs for a livin’, my game’s never ceased,  
Life’s sorted, bruv, proper mint, no cap,  
Hundred grand in the bag, four days, that’s a wrap,  
Easy street, fam, August, July, I’m blessed,  
Vacay on lock, mate, I’m set, no stress.  

Canada’s my turf, shit’s sweet up here,  
Got a crib, no drama, just vibes, crystal clear,  
No kids in the mix, though, that’s the sting,  
Empty nest, fam, no heirs to the king.  

Paycheck? Don’t sweat it, I’m good, I’m straight,  
Fifty on the clock, still holdin’ my weight,  
Mortgage? Ghosted that sit long ago,  
Now I’m thumb-twiddlin’, nowhere to go,  
No sprogs to raise, yeah, it bites, innit,  
Said it before, fam, what’s the fix?
Shit.  

Wife’s a brick wall, fucking’ frigid, no lie,  
Cold as ice, mate, I’m barely gettin’ by,  
Still, I keep it chill, motto’s real tight—  
Sleep sound, don’t clown, no evil in sight,  
Fuck the big questions, I ain’t losin’ my head,  
“What’s the point?” Who cares? I’m alive, not dead,  
French in Canada? Bruv, they don’t give a toss,  
Hang myself for that? Nah, that’s a loss.  

I’m jabbed to the max, health’s on lock, no fear,  
Swine flu, Zika, Covid, ticks in my ear,  
Cholera, malaria, typhoid, I’m clean,  
Vaginal cancer? Mate, that’s obscene,  
Won’t step out ‘less insurance got my back,  
Bus stop trek’s a risk, that’s a fact,  
STD paranoia’s got me wired, no slack,  
But that edge keeps the fire in my sack.  

Check it—I’m sharp, details on blast,  
Condom’s tight like fibre optic, built to last,  
High-speed bandwidth, safe as *fuck fam,  
Nerves shot to shit, but I still got a plan,  
Mission one, top tier, no debate,  
Find a *sexy* bird, but keep it digi, mate,  
Cloud server’s my turf, that’s the play,  
No real-world mess, just slay all day.  

Half-pissed, I flop, laptop’s my throne,  
face book the spot, I’m in the zone,  
Bam—there’s Tasha, she’s live, she’s real,  
Chattin’ me up, bruv, that’s the deal.  

----
Tasha:

Yo, darling, been holdin’ it down for years,
Waitin’ on you, fam, drownin’ in tears,
Missed you my whole *damn* life, no lie,
I’d jump your bones now—fuck, I’d try,
But chill—let’s vibe, spit some chat online,
French on your tongue? *Shit, that’s fine,
I’m all English, bruv, proper slick,
Tasha’s the name, I’m your pick.

Dreamin’ of linkin’, it’s crystal clear,
Post your fifty, my spark’s right here,
Life’s rebooted, fresh off the press,
You’re the plug, fam, no stress.

I’ve scoped the game, clocked every face,
Life’s *fucked* me raw, tossed me ‘round the place,
Schooled me hard, threw me to the grind,
But you? Ain’t no basic prick, you’re kind,

Sweet as fuck, seasoned, not stale,
Dick’s a beast—lush, mate, off the scale.
England’s my gift, you’ll learn it fast,
England raised me, built me to last,
Banged Chaucer, wild in the sack,
Sucked* off Boris—yo, that’s a fact!

Split my whole life, you were gone too long,
Now we’re locked, bruv, duet so strong,
Ache was hell, nothin’ cut so deep,
This win’s the shit—top prize I keep.

Be my man, fam, sling some dough,
PayPal’s poppin’, let it flow,
Drop what you got to the spot I sent,
Smooches, love — your Lulu’s bent.

----

Yo, I clock off, stumble in, wife’s laid up in bed,
Hospital vibes, fam, I’m done, brain dead,
Doc hits my line, stressin’, voice all shrill,
“She’s *fucked, bruv—hip’s toast, sugar’s ill,
Still kickin’, though, that cow’s got years,
Tech’s a *bitch, mate, progress interferes.”

I’m mute, he’s like, “Oi, you still there?”
Yeah, doc, right here, aggro in the air,
Say I’m tuned in, but my head’s a void—
Nah, fuck* that, I’m strippin’ birds in my mind, overjoyed,
Drop the call, scream in my skull instead—
“You bled me dry, you slag *Gringo* red!
Croak already, quit screwin’ my mind!”
I grab a rag, wax the floors, leave ‘em signed,
Hallway, bog, slick as shit, no slack,
So this Yankee *minge trips and cracks her back,
Broken hip? Love, you don’t even know,
I’m knackered to death of your limp-ass show,
Welcome home, bitch—slip and eat the floor!

What the fuck, fam—why’d I hit fifty?
No kids, crib’s a tomb, life’s shifty,
Clinic’s my local, sixty’s on the creep,
Lost in the sauce, tangled deep,
Ain’t smashed in thirty, dry as a bone,
Time to flip the script, set a new tone.

Back at it—plop down, comp’s my shrine,
Plug my *dick* in the socket, spark’s divine,
Pray to Wi-Fi gods, tissue in my grip,
Feel that buzz, bruv, bones start to rip,

Electric surge, crashin’ the Channel’s flow,
Lebanon’s ghosted, England’s my show,
Moors, rain, mad shit, rugged as *fuck,
Heathcliff’s smashin’ Cathy, pure luck,

Culture’s deep, soul’s raw, filth in the air,
English birds kneel for a foreign affair,
Not some local twat, but a hybrid king—
Lebanese-Yank, bruv, hear ‘em sing.

Sit at the screen, tik-tok my domain,
Tap up a baddie—fit, stacked, insane,
Lonely, hot, English, she’s the one,
Lebanese saints—miracle’s begun!

Connected, no cap, I’ve broke through the haze,
“Alright, Mandy!”—time to blaze.
----
Mandy:

Out past the chippy, ‘round Kirkby’s end,
Lasses clocked a lad, not one of our send,
No local divvy — this one’s pure mad,
Foreign as *fuck, Lebanese lad.

We’re all gobsmacked, jaws on the floor,
What’s this global nutter* knockin’ our door?
Never copped a geezer this off the chain,
Some Beirut oddball, proper strange.

Our Scouse lads? They’re gone to shit,
Lost the plot, proper threw a fit,
Pissed all day, scrappin’, necks in a noose,
Wasted away, rotting, no use,

Not a soul left, streets bare and grim,
Echoes of ale and a fightin’ hymn.
Ain’t no clouds dimmin’ the Mersey sky,
It’s vultures circlin’, ready to fly,

Mad Asians, hill blokes, swoopin’ in fast,
Eyein’ up a fit bird to snatch* and blast,
Who’s savin’ her arse* from that grim fate?
Who’s the poor cow prayin’ on late?

My ray of hope, chase off the dark,
Smash them pricks* out, leave your mark,
Drop a sweet note, let it soar on cue,
Wings over waves to your Scouse bird true,

Loyal as fuck, young, holdin’ it down,
Waitin’ for ages, cash to crown,
Western Union boost, fatten my stack,
Smooches, lad, love — Nia’s back.

------------------------------------

Yo, I stumble in, deadass beat, tryna get turnt,
Mailbox hit me with a curveball—petition? Ain’t this some dirt?
Local party clowns, straight wastemen, no cap,
“No cyber-dickkheads* crashin’ our vote, oh snap!
Save our bacon, fam, don’t wanna flop,
Wire a bag quick—to this address, don’t stop.

Bunch of muppets, fam, proper plonkers,
Cut me off from Lisa? That’s the final bonkers.
They lost the plot, heads up their ,
Bust a hip for twenty-five, then chat pure dumb,
English bodied the French, history’s facts,
Now it’s Canada, Lebanon—throw ‘em the axe,
Chinese, Indians, whoever’s in sight,
I’m pickin’ “Wellington” from the bird site—
Fam, she’s peng, a baddie, no cap,
Wigan bound, I’m baggin’ her back,
Stateside we roll, her fam’s gonna vibe,
Brewskis with her bro, I’m in the tribe,
Sis, niece, mates, uni squad too,
They’ll stan me hard, like I’m fam, true,
Screamin’ as one—“Christ, what a plot twist!
Lebanon, British — same *damn* list!”

We’re locked in, fam, side by side we ride,
Hitched up proper, bells ringin’ wide,
Her lit teacher blessin’, English flair,
Bangin’ forever, love’s rare air,
Our kiddos’ll crash the net, rule the sphere,
Universal dons, crystal clear.

Back to the comp, tissue in my clutch,
Facebook my jam, babe, feel the rush,
Router’s fryin’ hot, joy’s overload,
“Alright, Lowri!”—I’m set to explode.

------------------

Lowri:

Yo, where you at, bruv? Day’s been too long,
Some side chick snag ya? Nah, I’m still strong,
Don’t twist it up—I ain’t pissed, no sweat,
Kiss me quick, squeeze me tight, place your bet.

We’re glued, fam, thick like thieves in the night,
No one’s rippin’ us—step off, take flight,
Time and space kneel, I’m the queen of the grind,
Runnin’ this *shit,* fam, lovin’ the bind.

I hold the world down, red tape’s my throne,
Launchin’ rockets up or blastin’ ‘em blown,
Revolutions spark, I’m the match, no cap,
Migration’s dodge, climate’s clapped—I’m that.

Stocks dip or soar, ‘cause I say it’s so,
Check me—clean, foamy, waxed to glow,
Tits* on point, clip’s locked, hormones hum,
Proper hard for ya, fam, feel the drum.

What’s this? Oh, snap—stripes on my chest,
Call me Mandy—nah, ditch that jest,
Shane, Nats, Lisa, pick your fave,
Morse it out—Phil, dot-dot, Gaz’s wave,
English birds been wild since the game got spun,
Dickks on lock, bruv, poppin’ every one.

Want it raw? Step up—card digits, now,
Don’t stall, you twat, man up, don’t bow,
“Debt repayment” stamped, we’re cashin’ that bid,
You owe English blood, French-lovin’ **.

Bow to the bot, you Lebanese *prick,
Gold-standard cunt, I’m everywhere, slick,
Ballybunion born, Tralee’s my tweak,
ISS glitch—drilled the hull, peak freak.
Flooded the game, *fuckked* gran and gramps,
Bug meets kid, corruption’s my stamps,
Mouse’s down, cat’s smashed, downloads unreal,
Kaspersky shields me — from who? Don’t squeal.

Legion’s my tag, sea’s got no size,
App Store king, bruv, watch me rise.

I iced your wife, yeah, that’s my claim,
Squat on spook sites, playin’ the game,
Taxes flow to me, I’m the state’s core,
Speechless, fam? Eyes glued—want more?

I’m your God, your blaze, light so bright,
Squint hard, see my bush ignite.
Kiss me, grip me, hands on deck,
Party’s done, years stretch—what’s next?
Words won’t bridge us, love’s mute as fuck,
Gotta jet — where? Compass stuck.

Smooches, crew, catch ya down the road,
Fam, I’m set to unload,
Strap 3 clearance, runnin’ this game,
Hackin’, *shagggin’, skivin’ on the sly,
Kirkby’s dodgiest, Her Maj’s wild guy,
Kneel, *mthrfukkr,
to Senior Intel Sarge Pritchard!

Bye!

Flamingo high,
flamingo low,
when flamingo stretchy-leggy, then flamingo grow.
Cheeky beaking, shifty sifting, lifting up a flipper;
notty neck and naughty pecks,
while dancing with a kipper.

Flaming heck and flaming Oh!
Flaming flamingularonimo!
I tango and flamenco
and I imitate a swan,
but this winking pink flamingo's
blinking going going gone.

Part 1: (The traveler speaking)

"I follow the winding, the way beyond the farthest places
between trees knotted menacing with darkened faces
under mossy roots that twist and trip with a mischievous cackle
over heights and falls that beckon death's clanking shackle
and if you fall in, lose your precious breath
to tree limbs tangled scratching at vulnerable flesh.

A green roof above and green floor below
but my eyes look ahead, to where the silver meadows did grow
Remorse remembers all that passed before the eye
burnt of fire forgotten and ash was strewn across the sky
and now only memory does remain
of silver meadows and the golden rain.

This land is dampened with the morning dew
that daren't melt but for the light of moon
where mossy things are stowed in sunken places
and beautiful wonders lay behind rock faces,
I know the way, but do not lightly follow
As sunset brings forth demons beyond tomorrow.

I wish to find her: the lady silk
Her hands weaving threads of fates who twist and separate
her threads she brought from those older places past
Where nascent fauns with youthful voices fastly gleam and chatter
and deftly danced to delights in the silver meadows
When all was false and truth was shaded
all liars happily in reflections reflected
pale faces feinted in humorous deception
and all charismatic affectations were familiar expression.
singing songs of passing pleasures in strange dialect
All was serene was silver mirrors reflecting
save the flow of golden liquid cool and still
which seeped from sky to hill and then chalice filled.

I walk to see the lady
who has one eye black and one eye white
and carries a silver knife which- in moonlight flashes bright.
I will wearily watch for it's flashing tomorrow night,
for she doesn't know it, but I was also born of moon's pale light."

Part 2: (The lady singing)

"The meadow shifted softly that fateful night
in breezes blowing warmly and songs of ephemeral delight
melodies swell and shift like the swirling blades of grass
Grass not green but silver shining, all moonlight reflecting

Gods with silver hair and silver eyes danced in shifty iridescence
Voices sang clear and wandered wistfully through misty hills and hollowed places
Oh they delicately weave the lines of notes around my ear
under over between and in, I wish I could hear those notes again
but alas their time is passed-- the daytime took the nightly hymn

There are few who remember things as I have done, but waning pasts are of worth to none.
Oh the night was never meant to end
and it is left the earth but for what I have kept for mine, things broken never truly mend.
These silver threads for weaving time and fate together again
a mournful burden, but I cannot abandon them
for the tapestry of time is my from the gods of ancient past
As long as my fingers can touch the strings, my mind will see
what I have preserved in memory

the tapestry, though, will live before I die
All fates will cease to meet as edges cut
and gods will from sky return
to chase away sun in blue and silver flashing eye

And so I hurry to finish this task over which I mourn
so in silver laurel, I will be adorned."

It's the little things that
drives one mad,
a snapped shoelace,
on your way to the
liquor store in the
driving snow.
A cockroach in
the cereal,
dead batteries, when all you
want to do is listen
to music.
Shifty eyed people in
my house, quietly plotting
my demise.
It's the tree of
life, cut down to clear
space for a parking lot.
No love from my brother.
Another frosty day in April.
Cigarette prices constantly
rising astronomically.
Footsteps in an empty
hallway.
It's Just a hop, skip, and
a jump to the madhouse.

Livin in that enthroned slum I'm dancin like a mischief creep
Steady mobbin arriving sometime-ish, I roll deep
I got a hot skull, I cause an eruption, everybody tweeked their nobs
With vices of virtue, I dont wanna hurt you shifty switch we mob
In chaotic bliss, what did I get myself into this time?
All of this grand design, the full experience
Go get some wisdom, it makes no sense. I wouldnt get myself out of this one

Don’t kiss me; I taste like shattered glass. My past isn't your fault, but hell, if I don’t go out of my way to make it seem like that. I can't help but feel like I'm failing you. Maybe we're failing each other. Maybe we’re both failing, separately. I’m starting to accept the possibility that one day, I will hear love songs and think of someone that is not you. You stain every chord of my favorite songs; it can’t fade.
It can’t fade.
It can’t fade.
The English language is shifty and inarticulate; love is too many things. I can’t tell if this is love, or if I just want it to be.

I don't know how to make this okay.
I know you don’t know what to say.

~in plain, and sadly o' spake...
fear here wholes me, that--
we as Whole have submitted
our words.
that is...we more, and the more
remain unmoved by their seldom
come... per, and per poetic.
our very existence seems to
write us...bereft o' words.
how...and How...shifty the medium...
birth's subscribed us to--as to be
sidestepped perpetually by creeping
things...could it be...could it be...
a scribbler's de-nied an opus, magnum...
trying to scribble upon a Hurrah-icane's
bygone eye wall?

Konstatinos Mark

There are bound to be
Uptight
Ultra right
Conservatives who want to fight
Want to say wrong is right
And right is wrong

Cause shifting priorities
In an easily influenced society
Gives them more power
To glower while they shower
Themselves with the wealth
We earned with our sweat
So they steal what we should get
And call it patriotic

Winter song. Fall passing.
And too with so many like this. When she is not there-

   Vibrations after the battle, footsteps breathing deeply into the cotton beds and privy the shrews of their slavery. Heavens' toll after me, brine and abalone shimmering.

Cast in a shadow of half-arched feet, slender narrowness shimmering crystals obfuscate the fury of the ringing;

Every evening when I wake she shakes her bell.

It ripples like food coloring droplets undulating in a dixie cup on the mantel of a kitchen sink. The elbows sprout out first, then the head stridently strikes upwards catapulting the arms and wrists to the sides, and then at last when all is deep ****** blue, the raw hairless legs unmask themselves and fold out into the edge of a postcard and the reddy, cerise snowflake stain brands the juicy signature of an incredible beautifully imprinted star. And still she is not there.

Into the white rooms the insects crawl, at last the cacophony of their bedeviled stridulations eeking as if from a broken and collapsed jaw. A necessary end to every inch of hoarfrost strung across their elliptical hoot-shaped jowls-

These are the marks that time encrusts upon disheveled and dilapidated Spline.

In dark matter there are Spline. In shifty daytime television sitcoms, Spline saw at our ears and cost us trillions of migraines each year. Three Splines sit on a log, another four on a fence. They race each other in elevators, make inappropriate gestures, make airplanes disappear into the Indian ocean, and steal the breath right out of our lungs. Spline cannot come any closer. Spline are the dreary minutia which separate friends, they are the sentence that never makes it off of our tongues, the anger we leave curled into our fists.

She is not here and the fevers are burning. The languages are deafening. It is almost impossible to believe words like these were ever spoken aloud. She is not here and the jeans don't fit, the dogs are shy, and the accidents keep happening. There is never a glimpse at perfect and hot happiness. There is nothing here but the spotty ash-pocked masked faces of the Moon Men, hurrying and scurrying.

She is not here and the sea is drying up. The war is in the street and in the streets the men are dying. Everywhere is dross and cataclysmic end-dust, desiccated hours and dandelion seeds.

Inside of the room the music plays softly. Glass's solo piano Metamorphosis Three and Satie's Gymnopedie. It has been only six hours since she left, but

When we see each other I am superman

Dear boy who I threw my virginity at,

I never expected you to like me,
I purposefully picked you because I thought you were a **** boy.
We'd **** and forget.
I was some random chubby senior
and you were some random ****** sophomore.
But then you didn't let me leave,
even when I tried, you only held me closer.

I liked you because I thought you must honestly like me.
I liked you because I could not see how someone like you
could like someone like me.
You went for the skinny, blonde, dumb ones,
I was not skinny, nor blonde, nor dumb.

And I liked your dumbness, your childish innocence,
even though I was way more innocent than you.
I liked that you defied all my expectations
when you were sweet, and vulnerable, and there.

And I loved when you were ratchet,
when you'd slap my *** in public,
or try to force your hand down my pants while I was driving or on the phone.
I loved it when we'd go to parties and not actually show up because we'd just be ******* in my car.

But I was leaving to college and refused to ever call you my boyfriend but I liked you.
I liked you because nothing about us made sense,
but we did it anyways.

and then I ****** someone else, just to show you have much I didn't care about us, but I did.

Dear man who I played,

You came to me when I was at a low,
low point in my life.
I believed nothing I did was wrong and everything about me was perfect.
I was fine,
even if everyone around me told me I was not.
I was not fine.

And then you came to me,
and you were everything I was supposed to avoid.
You were way older than me, worked for my father and even dated one of his exes, and your life was going nowhere.
You were perfect.

And I didn't like you that way, you never gave me butterflies,
you never made me giggle every time you slapped my ***,
but you made me *** and our relationship made me walk on egg shells.

And I saw you fall for me, I saw you wrap yourself around my finger
saying the whole time you expected nothing of me.
And maybe that was true, but you wanted it all, you wanted all of me
and I craved that.

And now every time I see your name pop up on my phone I feel grimy.
I feel grimy because I can finally feel the weight of how wrong you were for me,
I feel grimy because of the overwhelming guilt I feel for feeling disgusted by you,
someone I never liked but almost made fall in love with me.
because of the overwhelming guilt I have for being such a ****
and the shame of allowing myself to be so cold.

so I stopped responding.

Dear boy with the beautiful eyes,

I liked you, I really liked you.
I thought we fit together so nicely,
and yes, at first you were another that I was not supposed to go for.
You could have been fired and constantly had a gun on you.
You were supposed to be protecting us
and that was ****.

And then you whispered sweet things in my ear in your broken english,
and we spent a whole night only kissing, and I loved every minute,
yearning but not needing more.  
I could have kissed you forever.

then came the staring, you'd look at me and say nothing, and I was mesmerized.
and you'd trace my ****** features and I never felt more special, more wanted, more loved.
and I never wanted you to stop staring at me because I never wanted to stop staring at you.

and then I was at your house,
with your lovely, hippie family.
and you made me breakfast and tea, and we read together on the couch,
each in our own language.

and every time we ******, you'd look into me and I felt like maybe this is what people meant when they said making love.

You'd wrap me in your arms, and I never wanted to leave,
but ever comforted by the fact that in a few weeks I would be leaving
to a different country, to a different life, to somewhere where
I would not have to face my growing feelings for you.

and now I sit with a heavy heart, half way across the world, missing you and your beautiful eyes.

Dear boy who gives me bruises,

I think I like you, and it scares me because you do not live half way across the world.
You live down the hall.

It scares me because you are smart, weird, fun, and someone I could actually date.
And I don't date, I ****.

It scares me because I still have nightmares that your ex/my ex-bestfriend will still ****** me if she ever knew we were *******,
but thats another story.

I like the way you are unapologetically odd,
a slob and sometimes completely antisocial.
I'm always sad when you don't sleep over after ***
but I enjoy how awkwardly you say good night and leave.

But I love how ***** and rough our *** is.
it's not the best *** I've had,
but its *** with you that I always want to have
and its the same *** I fantasized about in high school while watching ****.

it's so twisted
and I twirl in the mirror, admiring the countless bruises covering my *** and spattering my collar bone.

We've boxed ourselves in this drunken corner
of such ****** up *** that I think were scared to do it sober.

I love our drunken after-*** rambles about philosophy and life
but as soon as the ***** runs out and the sun rises,
it's all the same awkward laugh and shifty gazes at the floor.

and I wonder what the **** I'm trying to do with you, this boy who loves memes and rough *** and has such a brilliant mind,
and the answer is I have no ******* idea.

And when I'm honest with myself, I think I like you because you don't like me so all this fear is for nothing.

but I wait for the ***** to flow again and the sun to set, and for us to do it all over again.

I am sitting on a broken branch

under the drug addled canopy of insecurities and lies.

I am feeling the steady sway of an oxycontin daze.

Walking slowly through a ketamine daydream that pulls at my core

like a phantom puppet master controlling my limbs.

It crashes into my brain like the breaking waves on the shore.

Breathing in nicotine filtered filth as I wait to catch a breath of fresh air.

Lungs filled with recycled tar that prevents me from gasping.

In darkened corners where lies sleep and rumors are hidden,

I wait.

I dance on a tightrope between conscious and subconscious

that is held by reality and dreams.

Dark sunglasses on to avoid

the blinding stinging light of what is real.

Mirrored glasses are reflecting the reflections back at intruders.

Deflecting glances, shifty eyes, and dilated pupils

searching for a focus point of truth  

in a neon technicoloured blur of hypocrisy.

The background blaring horns blended with a steady bass line

mimics my heartbeat.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

The fading noises pass quickly,

highlighted with insults and curses of hate and gossip

that are forgotten before you can make them out.

Spun truths turned into lies

intermixed with resin

left from yesterday.

The litter paved streets break under my heels.

Click clack. Click clack.

Broken and cracked

like the false promises

And hopes

And dreams

of those who have walked here before.

The monotonous pace is repeated

only pausing to notice the gum under the stiletto

that fails to hold her in place

as she runs towards the wet cement that has replaced

another sheet of cracked concrete.

The wet cement that has covered another lie

in order to show the simplicity of fake appearances.

A reminder of how easy it is to replace and mask

the hate filled holes that get trampled on.

The flicker of hope is suddenly unseen

like the street light lined alley that is now dark.

The stench of garbage, decay, and rotting flesh

is mixed with expensive perfume, sweat, make-up, and spilled *****.

Garbage cans are filled with the leftovers of last night.

A *** stained dress with no owner draws no attention

as the sound of snapping latex is muffled

by the screams of ecstasy that rapidly fade

like the fleeting feeling of MDMA.

Thick white ****** fluid oozes out like human glue

in an attempt to mend the lack of connection.

Strangers intertwined in hasty conversations

waiting for human contact to forget

that they are in dark alleys.

To forget

that they live in dark places

where no one lays down wet cement.

The distorted reality of alleys deceive passer bys

into thinking that they are not menacing

has been weaved like a web by street sweepers and garbage men.

The pressing sense of the need to avoid the sweepers

is unsaid but felt.

They falsely clean what will always be *****.

The *** filled backstreets yearn for love

like the treacherous woman guarding its corner.

Daddy issue lined dresses are asking to be undone

just like her lost innocence that can never be mended.

The issues and clothing that can never be fixed

abandoned on top of garbage cans for someone else to pick up.

Patches of dead grass are left

untended, unwatered, and unwanted

waiting to be replaced by wet cement.

Wet cement that soon enough will crack and break

under the heavy heated pressure of the stomping heels

of lost Girls in a desolate city.

Blood trickled trails are left behind

that have dried into the cigarette lined streets that lead nowhere.

The injured egos of men are left to linger at back doors

that will never be opened.

******* induced insanity whirls around a flurry

of whispers and paranoia wanting to here the Truth

between the spewed anger and rage of the low toned hushed voices

that wish not to be heard.

Whiskey hinted murmurs pressing on the sidewalk cracks

knowing that they will never be heard.

Looking into the dark where

Truth will never be seen.

The constant beat of narcotic users searching

for salvation in pre-packed bags of white powder,

digging for redemption in empty bottles of multi-colored pills.

Screaming through the silence,

They are not heard.

The desperation can be heard through the whining moans

of the junkies that are tethered to addiction.

The over whelming sound of

Want and Need and Lust

move through the streets like the overflowing gutter water.

Heartbeats are replaced with the impatient pacing of

her stilettos waiting for her pain to cease.

Stilettos stomping on broken dreams

waiting to cross broken streets.

She gazes at the other side as if it is different.

Stilettos tapping on the street

waiting for the firm grasp of a sweaty hand to distract her from reality.

Waiting to be touched

And grabbed

And ******

                                              In hopes that love will arise from ****** ****** encounter with

strange men in uncomfortable places.

Clothes are feverishly removed with the promise of

flesh on flesh enveloped in a hazy cloud of body heat

that warns off the internal coldness.

Heavy breath and touch and kiss release chemicals

to replace the drug depleted emptiness.

The rhythmic sound of rubbing flesh mingles with

the moaning of the streets.

It fuses with the short lived pleasure laden moans of

lonely people and un-climatic *******.

Awkward silences are brief as the sound of her heels owns the street.

Click clack. Click clack.

The sound of stilettos on cement hurriedly walking away when there is

no longer a need for his body heat.

That unmistakable click clack click clack

on uneven, *****, dangerous streets.

Red lipstick smeared stains are the only trace of her that is.

That is the only trace of me that is left.

Click clack steady on the street.

Steady like mimicking bass line

Click clack heartbeat.

The crunch of broken glass under the stiletto

echoes her broken dreams.

Click clack.

Head held high never looking at the ground as she walks forward.

Click clack. Click clack.

Click clack.

The urban mud of

Wet cement goes

Squish!

under her stiletto.



V.Mata

Some demons are born from malice
Sky rending hatred and blood storms
Such are demons of unending passion
Some demons are born from greed
Covetous grins and shifty hands
Such are demons of delirious nature
Some demons are born of desire
Coquette gazes and glazed eyes
Such are demons of temptation
Some demons are born from hunger
Thirsty tongues and soft palates
Such are demons of gluttony
Some demons are born from envy
Green eyes and clenched teeth
Such are demons of bitterness
Some demons are born of laziness
Slow movement and emotionless
Such are demons of apathy
Some demons are both of the self
Arrogant demeanor and fearless gaze
Such are demons of pride
All are demons, that come from oneself
But the true evil of sin
Is the self.

Runnin', really runnin'


I sit here,
lookin' at my loose skinned animals

just lyin' there.

And I think, (as is my way),

"How lucky they are

just lyin' there

with nothing to do."

Oh yes.

Well I know for certain

the cats

are always doin' just what
they wanna do.

They intersect with me
at the food bowl,
at their, (you know), leisure.

The dog,
on the other hand,
(She's a Pharoh Hound),

that's right,

She's curled up in
the big green arm chair.

And she's dreamin'

about runnin' across
Abysinian deserts

chasin'

long legged antelopes
in the hot shifty sands.

And she's runnin',

And she's runnin',

really runnin',

and

I wake her up,

and

she's  back here
curled up

in the big green arm chair.

And then I get
the disconcerting thought,

"When was the last time

I was runnin',

runnin',

really runnin' ?"

Maybe

I've been curled up here
in the big green arm chair,

You know,

Domesticated,

Dreamin'.

And my skin

sure as hell ain't loose.

By what means must you be drunk
To find yourself face first with a pink trunk

In the midst of the night
When things arent quite right

The moon seems to get a little nearer
And your eyes no longer see much clearer

Your stomach does trapeze tricks
While your feet wobble on tall sticks

It can be quite a fright
When u see that strange sight

Of things that shouldnt, that suddenly are
And surely pink pachyderms qualify as bazar

Especially when one is holding the moon
Dragging it along like some silver balloon

Barely thinking this devil's drink has me out done
But it didnt seem right this shifty elephant on the run

Finally leaving with a huff and shocked i must admit
Seeing that the elephant didnt even have a 'moon transfer' permit

I fell of a pavement curb once. 
I was a tightrope walker with an audience of thousands;
I could smell damp straw and hear the gasps as I lost my footing.  
Girls threw their hands to their faces
and relinquished their eyesight to their boyfriend’s shoulders,
who took the opportunity for a shifty *****.  
My chin split and the blood didn’t show up on the red dress
but the audience had gone.

I can still put my finger in the hole, see?  
Even now, 30 years later.  
The tip of my index finger goes right down to the bone,
missing muscular structure,
and it makes me think of a skull with a cleft chin,
kinda how Kirk Douglas will look given a few years of grave time.  
If I wiggle the finger in a circular motion it makes me wince,
something about gristle, gristle makes me wince,
even the word, a sensation of chewing wool.  

It was never fixed.  
My jaw clicks on the right side and, just this one time,
I yawned and couldn’t shut my mouth.  
Blind panic lassoed my heart and yanked it into my throat,
perhaps it was even visible.  
The longest 10 seconds of my life in which I spent a night in hospital,
sat up in bed, howling through my wide open gob.  
How would I drink tea?  
I don’t yawn properly now, I do little demi-yawns,
too terrified of the consequences of Open Gob.  
How would I smoke? 

I used to wonder why it was never fixed.  
Why wasn’t I taken to hospital
and given stitches and x-rays and pain killers? 
I worked that out when I was older.  
It could easily have been a fist.

Now mistakes, I've made a few
It's win or lose
The paths I'd chose
What I thought was right
The choice was mine
And with out insight
I got myself in a jam
What could I do?
I was ******
A condemned man
I take the blame
Full responsibility
I don’t deny or disagree

I'm on my way
I'm going down
My true colors are shown
But on this day, something is made
A seed will grow

Is this the end?
Or the beginning?
I've been dealt a *** hand
I never should have answered that call
That way I'd never fall
And no one would sob or bawl
I take the blame
Full responsibility
I don’t deny or disagree

So now I'm back here once again
A place a rehabilitation
To right my wrongs and be forgiven

I'm on my way
I'm going down
My true colors are shown
But on this day, something is made
A seed will grow

Now I can see
What must change in me
I'm falling from grace

I'm on my way
I'm going down
My true colors are shown
But on this day, something is made
A seed will grow

And now I lay on the ****** pavement
getting kicked again
I faced the odds and lost the bet
I've taken everything for granted
My ways are shifty and slanted
Is my life hexed or enchanted ?

I'm on my way
I'm going down
My true colors are shown
But on this day, something is made
A seed will grow

It could be the duchess
Or maybe the CEO
Or the media mogul
Who almost stole the show

Consider the brash *******
(He does look kind of shifty)
Then again there is the gambler
(Everyone calls him "Swifty")

Check out the carefree diplomat
With that fake smile but no charm
And then there's the airhead heiress
With tattoos adorning her arms

My money's on the senator
Always running, always winning
His wife seems kind of suspect too
With her endless mindless grinning

And then there is the debutante
Who flirted with the football star
And don't forget the pro golfer
Who spent so much time at the bar

But after all that guessing
Throughout the suspenseful show
Turns out the butler did it
...As if I didn't know!

Fractured friendships
and ruptured relationships
All fall away as one
For this swiftly fleeting glimpse
At everything around.

From the floating specks of ancient
dust that dance with swirling grace

To the rings of cigarette smoke
That hang like blossoms on trees

The sights, the sounds,
The greens, the blues
Connive to **** the cold
That comes from eyes of
icy stares and shifty shameful glares

Hold me captive, never letting go.
It's only for a moment, but anyway
I know

That soon this smoke will turn to snow.

His mother thought he had the face of an angel, but his teachers and his schoolmates saw the demon in him. Many knew the real Logan, contrary to the darling boy image in his school picture.  His chunky, freckled face was obnoxious, not angelic. Instead of innocence, the look of deviousness came through in those shifty, light blue peepers of his.  His incisors were on the pointy side, like mini fangs, and whenever Logan smiled one thought of a rattlesnake. Sure, he was smart, and he had stellar grades, yet he used his wits to be sneaky, often trying to outwit everybody, appearing to be a prize student in the classroom while being the Class A **** on the playground.  

A big, stout boy, he used this physical advantage to torment his less advantaged peers. When no adults were in sight, he was always trying to corner others at school, pushing his weight around to abuse those smaller than he was, applauding his own one-boy-show of intimidation with raucous laughter and claps.

Indeed, the targets of Logan’s aggression were always the weaker ones, not the ones who would ever think twice about beating the crap out of him. He went to great lengths to terrorize others—tripping them up, pushing them around, getting up in someone’s face to tell that kid how ugly or how stupid that he was—anything that caused trouble. The victims were sometimes brought to tears, and Logan was quick to call them sissies and babies. A kid named Conner, a fellow six grader, was one of Logan's favorites to pick on. Sometimes, Logan attracted a small audience of bystanders, some of them egging him on while the rest were just watching.  So Logan had his partners-in-crime through either entertainment value or passivity—a great ego booster for such a bully as him.

Few kids tried to fight back, for they were quickly overpowered, and they all knew they were no match for the likes of such a creep.  For fear of retaliation—not wanting to be branded as a snitch—most of Logan’s victims were too scared to tell anyone, the teacher or their parents. Once in a while, a protector, a fellow student, would tell the teacher on their behalf.

Logan hated snitches because it would land him in the classroom during plenty of recess times, or in the principal's office. It also brought him a day of suspension, here and there, with his mother threatening to sue the school. A small number of parents were banding together, wanting Logan out of that school, and Conner's mom was one of them.  Conner might as well have worn a target on his back saying, "Come and get me!"    

Conner knew where he stood—as a member of the group of unpopular kids. He was one of the smallest of his classmates, and with his bright red hair and crooked teeth he was a splendid target for Logan’s juvenile jollies. He avoided Logan any chance he got, staying close to the classroom during recess or walking a much longer route home from school, often delaying going home but feeling all the more alone and vulnerable. His few friends all told him the things they wanted him do to Logan, things they wouldn't dare do, themselves.

Kick him in the nuts!

Jump him from behind and gouge his eyes out!

Tie him up and shove Ex-lax down his mouth!

Wear boots with spikes so you can wrestle him to the ground and stomp all over him!

Conner, you should take up Karate and Kung Foo the **** out of him!!!

Well, Conner would have loved to have given Logan a taste of his own medicine, but never believed it could happen. One day, though, he had enough. For sure, he never even planned to do it, but it happened, nonetheless. When Logan fell back flat back on the school sidewalk, Conner couldn't even believe the big boy landed there. And it happened because of him! Logan couldn't believe it, either, sitting on his rear end with the most dazed expression on his face. Conner clocked him right in the jaw!  Conner was David, and Logan was Goliath, and it was awesome!

Conner just had a perfect shot, with perfect timing and aim. Logan was long overdue to get the result of someone’s wrath, and it was about time someone stuck it to him. Yet Conner never meant this to be a statement for all of Logan's victims. He just was tired of being afraid, of being humiliated.  For the thousandth time, Logan was waiting for him outside of class, blocking his path, and there was just no avoiding things.

Conner truly wanted to fight his own battles—dreamed of it, imagined it—but never in a million years did he think he’d ever really do it!  His mom couldn't be there to defend his every step. Nobody could.  

And there was Logan, so embarrassed as a few other kids gasped and pointed. Some were now applauding and cheering at what Conner just did, even the hypocrites who once cheered on Logan’s bullying. Now the bully was reduced to tears, for a change, as the small crowd jeered and yelled out such things as "Karma!", "Crybaby!", "Way to go, Conner!" and "Kick Logan’s ***!"

Conner actually started to feel sorry for the kid as he stumbled up off the ground and ran off. Other kids came along the scene, and soon Conner was bombarded with congratulatory measures, questions, and wonderment at his great accomplishment. Chalk one up for him! He was the unlikely defender, the kid who had the guts to give it back to the one who made his life miserable. This event would become the talk of his peers for quite some time, something of school legend.

So Logan never bothered Conner anymore. He still was an obnoxious kid, but others took Conner's lead and stood their ground more. Logan slowly learned to back down, still reeling from that one, single and swift defeat. Though he only grew an inch or two that year, Conner felt seven feet tall, and was treated with respect, free to come and go where he pleased. He still had his same nerdy friends—nothing changed in that department—but life was good.

The cat nip that whiffed into our noses
That snipped our senses
Making us
Meaningless dead roses

The thing we regretted to do
Came to soon
A feeling we can't have no longer
That feeling of feelin' blue

For there was no longer a place
To feel thata' way
There was no longer a space
To live to quickly re-lace

Regret
Remorse
Dissatisfaction of a soul you thought you'd had
But now seein'
It was never really all that bad

Shifty misfortunes that were something at a time
But now
Just like the flick of that shimmery dime
Is not a thing in times eye

How fragile we are
When we sit at the bar
Sipping on the music
That we believe to feel inside

An embarrassing hook-up from our picturesque forefathers
A saying, an embrace, a smile and hand shake
That came with
The morning
Of that mid eclipse moon shallow sky

Writhing sits the sun
No longer of any importance
Because we seem
To be already
Done and undone

Yes
We seem
To be all ready
To sing
Another song

Cat shifty eyes
Stoner on the couch
Waking in a daze from forgotten last nights

The news runs and it didn't stop to say goodbye or ask you if you were ok
She makes flower crowns for park benches and doesn't take pictures for Instagram
The acid being handed out in pamphlets about God

This town

This town
Full of indecision of making better time
Windowsills lodged in your neighbors front teeth with his android programming gone wrong

Emotions like tsunamis hid in the quiet corners where the quiet girl tries to hide at the party from forgotten last nights

Love and letters becoming outdated in this desensitized versions of you and me
Glassy screens over our ideas
Injections of media are the immunizations for humanity
It's not just this town

Speckled clowns walking swiftly
Shifty eyes set upon the ground
Nice nothing's whispered sweetly
Heating them up and beckoning them down
All are lost yet claim to be found
Their pretty paint runs off on my fingers
Revealing devilish grins and sickly skin
Curse this hand refusing my every command
Forgetting itself and myself it lingers
Infecting me with what comes around
There's only one solution to my appendages revolution.
Off with the arm preventing the plagues progress
Saving my heart and clearing my conscience.

Maybe I’m naive
Or maybe all the things I wish for can be achieved
The hate I have for you is shifty, I could never hate you completely
There are times when I get crazy but five minutes into it I get lazy
I don’t have the energy to keep the ******* up, you might see it as half empty but I see a half full cup.
In all honesty the drama makes me choke and at the end of the night I hope we can laugh it off like a joke.
Some would say I’m too forgiving yet unrelenting.
I have a soft heart but please don’t let me start.
I don’t like myself when I’m angry, there’s so much more love can free
Anger puts you in a cage, nothing drags you down more than rage
Love let’s you breathe, pushes you to be the best you can be.
When I look at you I see passed the mean charade,  and see you for what you are.
The man I fell in love with, the sweet gentle lover. You haven’t been that man for so long now, he seems like a myth.
You have so much hateful **** to say, I wish I could just shut you up when I tell you it’ll be okay

I drink just to feel
What I had with you
I drink to bend like steel
I imagine you do too

I drink because I don’t remember
What actually occurred
That dark December
When shifty lies became blurred

But I tell myself I don’t need it

Brow furrowed, eyes shifty
Always trying to tell my heart to shut up
Listening to it gets me nowhere
No thanks, it’s too dangerous of a mission
What’s that?
Your rapid heartbeats don’t resonate
Houston; abort

But I tell myself I don’t need it

The hugging, the laughter, the sparkle in others eyes
I’d rather be a napkin in the corner of the street
Existing in a permanent state of rejection
Once desired for a purpose no longer
Once sought after for a grimy hand in need
Now free to blow away at my convenience; haphazardly, twitching down the bumpy road, soiled with the dirt of my one human encounter
Maybe I’ll make a decent home for a cockroach
Or simply dissolve into the urban street I was tossed into

But I tell myself I don’t need it

So where’s my gun?

Where’s my bottle of pills?

Where’s the bus I’ve been waiting on?

Recklessness is deaths pawn
And they make a flawless team
I feel them lurking in

Every bottle I drink
Every cigarette I smoke
Every dark street I walk alone on

But I tell myself I don’t need it

It’s the wisp of the wind
The transparency of a glass
The soul of a person
I grab it in the palm of my hand, clutching to its fleeting warmth
Only knowing after it’s gone I’ll resume being cold and empty

But I tell myself I don’t need it

But there’s a thin line between what we want and what we need

So I’ll be the battered wife that stays with her abusive husband
I’ll be the alcoholic with a bible and a cross
I’ll be the homophobic man with a secret male lover
Hoping the next day I won’t awake
So everything I stuff down and suffocate will wither away inside my casket
Because the worst thing you can do is let them know
Let them know you are it
You are what they need

So I’ll gaze down this building and hope I’ll inch too close
And become a bit dizzy
And laugh a bit nervouslessy
And tease the edge with the tip of my shoe
And feel the blood rushing
To my nose
And my head
And feel the ground sinking
And the wind flowing
Hands shaking
And the rock it’s tittering, falling so fast
Gravity kills it in one swoop like it never even mattered
And the ground it all looks so awfully far away
Is this right? Is it? What about everyone else?
I’m so ******* sweaty and I’m thinking of everything of all the scenarios
The do’s and the don’ts’ and whether I should’ve given Jesus a shot
And the tears are gushing a salty mask all across my cold face
And I’ll fall and prove to them all that I was nothing but an intangible feeling
And they’ll all cry and think I was something
Worth feeling and touching and believing in and…

But I tell myself I don’t need it