grandeur

had brought the well outta ground the muscled men and she came upon them when they had split into teams and were rolling it and had not yet become competitive. the hands of her gone infant came back to her to see these men heave back and forth a vanishing. of her many fathers one had said ‘the deep train went even deeper and I could not wake’. he had said it to excuse his one day feat of linking unadorned toilet paper rolls to stretch a rat’s mile. her stomach had yet to go down and she was comforted by such literal remnants as thinking of the last place you had it.

libel

two white boys come outta shack each with a wrist one left one right being ****** at the mouth. their laughing I wouldn’t say manic but still not righted. like certain bible stories seem to tumble outta that book it’s the same with their eyes and ears. their heads each one shrunk so as to be united. I want to say here at least a ****** knows what it’s mocking. I only know one of’em and only as far as this thing being passed and told that he ain’t a foster but he was born in a pan and taken from the offices of the parent company his father got laid from. you think that’s the joke but had I not said white you’d have thought they were anyway. here come two girls grisly with month and I never seen two boys so quick to put down the shack they come from.

prayer

I like it best when my girl is pregnant because I get the sympathies. on her hand, she likes me drunk. at any one time, I can remember seven of our eight kids. this means of course one gets left home but also that not a one gets left grocery. I’d tell you their names but then I’d have to split this saying into parts. but I can tell you seven are boys. now and again they’ll slip on sister’s dress to **** up my math. a good joke I start with is that they take after their mother and if they take after me it’s with sticks. I change the batteries in the alarms for fire and carbon monoxide every two weeks mostly outta fear that I’ll lose them all and have to recount them to some fireman I went to school with. I don’t know if batteries are cheap or not, I don’t know anything about them, but I know I spend a healthy chunk of my portion to have. wife and I are keeping the ninth at bay the ways we know how. she don’t ask me and I don’t her. one kid a week goes with her to church and it’s up to me to remember who in my charge caught a fish the week previous. but I’m not wrong with god; no book is the bible, I believe that. at cemetery by which I am lack whelmed: I wish I had his memory.

nativity

wonder they ever told him grown, that black foster, how he'd been at three years dropped manger while crying for the congregates. straw in everything. back a throat, bottom a shoe. pop said he just about caught himself afire at work, straw sticking out his pocket. pop unable to split work clothes from churched. some wanted to resurrect a fuss about color; don’t go resurrecting a fuss and waved his hand he did that pastor ingénue. heard then I the word negress and after its saying the sayers looked about as if she would appear. this was our town after god and many were still making their own. this answers how the black foster needn’t audition. the gold I brought was soft on my thumbs and the flakes stayed in my nails weeks after. pop could tell for that time what I’d been touching so I’d cover when I could. we were quite a pair in our fooleries what with his straw and my gold. he stopped going on about the blacks and I was able to skip school with your sister the ****** mary. the town was never up for nightmares or for dreaming so I kept your share to myself until now how you seen mary fingered by a man with seven. heard him saying it's okay baby, this one's asleep.

holy ghost!

I will cut myself, Horror Film. will fidget my nethers a last time. maybe make the snow an angel with a third leg. which means I have gone outside. maybe my father will happen by you and put his beers together. but I will be gone. into the woods dragging my feet so some will think it took two to take me. I will whip branches about me and generally scuffle so the some will better convince the left. my poverty will be confirmed by your presence on videocassette. my father will hold you aloft and your tongue will droop above the depths of his hair. my father will claim a vengeance he owes on and the some and the left will follow him over the states of my angel and into the woods. when they find me I will say I had an in body experience; that the two men nearby sleep and it’s what we’re walking in.

haptics

little he knows that in holding them hoppers until they spit and before they go wing he is making hitch the upcome carriage of his *****. his future nudes are backtracking and the gravity of this has been diagnosed as your emphysema. he is your, nothing more, son. he will rub your back and worry his thumbs orphan. oh thumb; toe six. the way you deeply stand arms folded he sometimes thinks you have been replaced by a statue of his mother. it is then he remembers the fence his father built and the collective plank his father carried under his arm. you want life to be good again; your son’s low hand and the pups it could feed.

verbal abuse*

she has brought with her a shoplifted teddy bear. on a good night her age is seventeen. two days ago the voices in her head moved to her mouth. she has seven teeth that remain quiet. she fears so much how this third day will go. she has been told, and she believes, I am only in her mind. but there she is, at the sitting rock where we met, the rock I told her I could see things in. unprepared for her faith, I am unclothed. I am glad she has the bear and glad for my part in her having it.

spiders

we got some kind of plague in our toilets mama.*  that’s my dad calling her mama, my mom. that’s him declaring another plague. week don’t stop until a plague has been pieced together by this man so named Paff Snull on the subscription stubs of any number of unread magazines mom uses to swat dramatically at imaginary flies and wasps and locusts depending on the week. this time though I’m ******* because when dad cracks his knees and ***** himself to fetch mama from silence, I look in the toilet up and it’s true and in the toilet down and it’s more. spiders grey and black and off white. with our low water pressure, spiders having a ball. mom and dad they get tents and tell me twice to get inside mine once it’s on the front lawn. I get told things twice because I was born thick and I haven’t the heart to tell them that after the first saying the saying of it is diminished. I mumble to myself in corners, sure, but it’s the same mumbling. our dog gets a separate tent and I sneak into it when dog allows. seven nights so far outta three weeks I haven’t. mom says it’s because of my acne dog don’t recognize me sometimes. ******* bit the meatsy of my right hand a month ago and my handwriting got so neat I was sent from school for cheating. it’s most of my summer and the house is still spidery. the dog has gone to the river to drink and seems okay with it. mom, dad, and I **** in the backyard in shifts. mom ain’t swatting anything, she doesn’t have to on account of the spiders. when right now I mess up my shift I find myself next to dad and he’s just some guy telling me them glass-full people got the joke on them because the water is contaminated. he’s so happy it makes me think I’m the devil to be grinning so big. long wasn’t the reign of Paff Snull.

She burst into our lives one summer
In an explosion of glitter and cat ears
And into the darkness of our young lives
She became a light.

She demanded my friendship
Commanded my respect
Reprimanded my bad choices
And expanded my views.

She's the one who got me writing poetry
She taught me how to worship
And how to question authority
She told me to speak up
To be myself
And I learned from her fearless example.

We shared some scars
And she was never afraid of telling me the straight-up truth.

She wasn't perfect
Sometimes she destroyed feelings
And shoplifted our hearts
But I learned from that, too.

And then one day with a toss
Of those red curls, one of those
Hugs that made everything better
And a swing of the metal heart hanging on her chest
She was gone, just like that
But I'll never forget she changed my life
And I'm still changing it through
Rachel, this one's for you.

Bedroom’s painted fisherman’s blue

There’s a cut out of Hayden Panettiere naked in a pink bikini with a hula-hoop on the back of the door

Copies of British Vogue desperately hidden underneath the bed accompanying an empty bottle of Glen’s

Manchester United duvet cover and matching pillows to boot

The bin’s filled with pre-packed home-made lunches from the last six months

Wardrobes a collection of ill fitting blue jeans bought for me by grandmother and football jerseys for teams that I’ve never even heard of, yet let alone see play a single game

Uniform ironed and sitting out ready for school on Monday at 8am sharp

***** clothes cover mostly all the floor smelling of Lynx’s finest even though there’s an empty laundry basket just waiting in the corner to be used

Inside one of the woolen blazer’s (that is way too big for me) pockets a single unopened ****** and an AES 256-bit encrypted USB stick

An old PlayStation 2, with a single controller; games including FIFA years through 2004 to now, Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell, and GTA.

Blood red shoplifted lipstick that’s now melted hidden in the little secret compartment at the back, meant for network expansion.

Artemis Fowl, Alex Rider, and Harry Potter all adorn the bookcase

Physics, Maths, and IT textbooks remain firmly closed on the desk in addition to a smashed phone from me and Daddy’s last “physical altercation”

Lady Gaga’s “I Like it Rough” is playing in the background on repeat…

I close the door of the bathroom cabinet, revealing the figure standing in front of it. I tilt my head back, bring my hand up to my mouth, swallow, and feel the slightly farmiliar sensation of the little pill sliding down my throat. Anything that used to be normal is only slightly farmiliar now, an effect of these little pills.
I look up into the ghost in the mirror, the one that slightly resembles my own face. I can barely pick out the individual features, but I'm pretty sure that's me. I bring my hand back up to my face, this time to pull up my cheeks in something that somewhat looked like a smile. Yep, that's me all right. The hand moved to the left, and grabbed my ear, tugging at it. Slowly, it made its way across my whole face, surveying all my features, feeling everything. I'm still here. Wish I wasn't.
I sigh and continue staring at this ghost of a person. She looks tired, and *****. Her dark brown hair ******* in a messy, greasy bun on top of her head. Her once bright green eyes are now a dull brown. Her once flushed cheeks, now completely pale and lifeless, still bear the scars of the crash.
I sigh once more and turn around, almost losing my balance.
I start toward my room, remembering I have to do something today. Not school, nor work, nor anything else in particular. Well, of course there is a reason, but thinking of that reason makes everything clear and painful, so lets just keep things hazy and safe.
I pull my once too small jeans on, which are now extremely baggy on my scarred legs. I try to steady my shaky hands as I attempt the eyeliner, but give up, and remove the waterproof makeup. It's not like he will care, he can't see my face anymore.
A sudden stab of pain envelops within my chest as everything suddenly becomes clear and I can see his face, his beautiful face, laughing. I blackout and end up on the floor.
When my eyes open, they are greeted with the concerned eyes of my sister-in-law. She's holding my face, trying to wake me up. "Woah there, woah. Are you okay?"
I sit there thinking of what just happened and what she said. It takes me a moment, but I reply, "As okay as I ever am."
She rolls her eyes and sighs. "C'mon, get up. We have to do something today."
Another stab of pain as I remember where we're going today and what we're doing. I ***** on her as the pain overcomes me once more, this time not blacking out. Instead the images, the very ones I have countless nightmares about, flit across my mind. Every one bearing pain, bearing a very specific pain. I start to scream and convulse, as I claw the arms of my brother's wife.
My brother comes in to pull me off of her and put me onto my bed, as I continue screaming. I can very clearly feel the very farmiliar pain in the middle of my chest. It's as if 10, no. It's as if a 100, a 1000 knives are being shoved in, turning, breaking bones, slicing organs. And then it feels as if someone is spitting salted lemon juice into my wounds, stinging.
It's all in my head though. Everything I'm feeling is all in my head. And that's the problem right there. Why couldn't I have just died in the crash, why can't I just be gone already.
I blackout again. And when I wake up, both my brother and my sister-in-law are standing there, watching over me. I see that my sister-in-law has changed clothes. Their troubled faces brighten up a little as they watch my eyes open. Unsurprised. This happens every time we plan to go to the hospital to visit him in the ICU. It's happened before, many times, so they know what to do and how to calm me back down.
They help me up from my bed and out into the living room, where there is a tray of fried eggs and bacon sitting on the coffee table. Probably for me.
I disregard it and instead walk to the kitchen to grab the *****.
My sister-in-law was right there to stop me. "No no no, not this early. Besides," she says as she takes the bottle from my shaking hands, "you already took your medication."
I begin to protest, and quit, knowing that it was no use.
Asides from the ***** and my medication, they have baby-proofed the whole house because of me. All knives are locked up somewhere in the garage, any tool that could be used against myself gone. No rope, shoelaces, small appliances, or other things that I may use to **** myself. The ***** was out because they confiscated it from my room. I had shoplifted the liquor the other day, and was trying to start a collection so that I may drink several bottles of alcohol at once and overdose. Not too smart, they search my room all the time. I'm too drugged to even care. And my medication tastes too nasty to overdose on, asides from being nearly impossible to OD from.

In the car on the way to St. Rosemary's hospital, we stop at a florist to get some 'Get Well Soon' stuff. My brother gave me some stronger medication, as he always does whenever we go to the hospital, and it makes thinking better. I'm able to think about what happened, but it makes the images in my head seem like they're from a movie, rather than my own eyes. I'm able to think about the man who lays there in the ICU, day in day out. That man I was once in love with. No, I still love him. And he loved me too. Loved.
I'm brought back to reality by my brother.
"What colour do you want to give him today?"
I don't know why he asks. I always say the same. "Green. His favorite colour."
My brother sighed. "I think he has enough green. But oh well, it's your choice..."
I love my brother very very much. I'm so grateful that he puts up with me. It's kind of a funny thing, when we were much younger and he was a ***** up, I could've sworn that he would have to end up living with me when we were older. Ironically, I ended up having to live with him. Well, 'living with him' isn't what it is. It's more like 'babysitting' or 'mom didnt want her in a mental hospital.' Like I had said before, I'm too drugged to care.

We also stop by SubWay just before we get to the hospital. I get the usual, a footlong ham and Swiss, with three chocolate chip cookies and a large Dr. Pepper. It's not for me, of course. I never eat anymore. This food is for him, if he wakes up. Because if he wakes up while I'm there, I want the satisfaction of being there with his favorite food. I do this every time. It's been a very long time since my brother or his wife has complained, wasting food and such. I don't care whether or not they're mad I waste stuff. I want this, no. I need this, for my fiancé.

Hospitals used to always scare me. As a child, I never had a reason to go to the hospital, except for my mother or grandmother, and even then I never went. I just knew people died there sometimes. I used to be so afraid of death. Now I'm wishing for it daily.
We head up to the ICU. He has his own room to himself, but he wouldn't care whether or not he had other people in there. All the people here know me, since we come around so often. They always look at me with extremely sympathetic looks, and then whisper about me to the people who they're around.
"Poor woman... Was in a terrible car crash... See those scars?... Just about to get married... **** near lost her life..."
They think I don't hear them but I do. It's a complete blessing for this medication, and that it makes me not care anymore, but sometimes I wish I could care. I wish I could turn around to them and tell them to shut the **** up thank you very much. I just literally do not care anymore.
We get to his room. The nurse comes out with the same sympathetic look as the rest of them.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to remember the last time I heard his voice, seen his eyes, felt his smile, heard him singing, the last time he told me he loved me...
And then the whole scene of when my life basically ended flashed across my mind, like a movie.

We were in the car, driving, listening to the iPod that was hooked up, singing along with whoever the hell was on. It was the middle of April. Nice weather. It was the perfect day.
We were on the way to this favorite place of mine, a 'special date' he had called it. At the time I had no idea what he was going to do.
We went into the place, a rollerskating rink. We got our skates and went into the rink to skate around. The DJ called out a special song for a special someone. As we danced and skated to the song, which was 'our song', the song we used to sing to eachother all the time, when a spotlight shined on him and he stopped what he was doing.
"You know that I love you," he said. "And you know that I want to be with you for the rest of our lives." He got down on one knee. "Will you make me the happiest man alive, and marry me?"
I started to cry. I said yes, if course. It was the happiest moment of my life.

When we were finished with the date, we were driving back home. We were seated very close, holding onto eachother.
We stopped at a stop sign, and I wanted a kiss. So I turned my head toward his, and we kissed. When I opened my eyes, we were in the middle of the intersection, and a car was coming our way from the left. It's headlights were shining in my eyes, and it was too close, going too fast. Right before the hit, I looked at it, knew the danger, and screamed my fiancé's name. He looked into my eyes in alarm, and that was when it hit. The other car smashed right into us, t-boning us on the drivers side, while my husband-to-be was driving. That moment felt like an eternity. We were flown around, and we hit some **** I don't even remember.
The next thing I remember was the sirens. The ambulances came and took us away from the wreckage. He was hurt severely, put into a coma. Me, I had some bad injuries, but not as bad as his. We were rushed to the hospital, and he was flown by helicopter to a bigger hospital that dealt with more serious injuries. Within two days he was considered brain dead.

And now, here I am, walking on this earth, while the love of my life just lays there, brain dead. I don't know whose brilliant idea it was to make it so I have to walk around, wondering whether he will ever wake up. The doctors always say that it's been too long, or that there's no hope now, or that we need to pull the plug. But every time they tell me that, I flip out. I flip out so bad they have to basically tranquilize me and send me back to the mental hospital. It's horrible. I just wish I could die, and that they would finally pull the plug after my death, so that we can both be together, wherever we go when we are finished with this life...

And the picture that always haunts me? The one of his eyes, in alarm, when I screamed his name. That picture is what haunts me day and night. It's what my nightmares are composed of. Every. Single. One.

I think all of this over for about a minute before we walk in. No one urges me to go in faster, they all know what I'm doing. They all know that I'm reliving the moment that pretty much took him away.
I open my eyes, ready to see him at last. I take small, careful steps into the hospital room, watching the floor. I finally looked up to see him lying, like usual, in his bed.

...At least, that what I was expecting.

Instead, he was sitting up, eyes wide, waiting for my reaction to see him awake.

And that was when I fainted.

I hope you’re doing okay,
but from what I’ve heard,
I don’t think you’ll ever do well.

I heard you were wasted, puking
on *** that was shoplifted
by your friend. Your ***** smelled like
oranges and everyone took you home drunk
to your mom like it was their fault.

Because I remember when you were just cutting yourself
to escape the trauma of your mom beating you
and living with runaways. Your friends raised you,
but they’ve gone to college, and you’re left
with drunk driving drug dealing boyfriends

A couple summers ago you called me when
you lost your virginity in the bed of your
obsession’s truck and you thought you
would be pregnant and drank yourself
to sleep because you thought it was decent
birth control, even though he came on your back

didn’t see you for a couple of years and thought we lost touch
because we were broken down and giving up
and I thought if you could just find a place that didn’t
party or abuse their girlfriends that you could find
a place to be where you wouldn’t feel so numb

Way too long ago I remember stories of your friends
running away to Canada, being kidnapped
or arrested, sent to the emergency room
like when you tried to **** yourself over some boy
or because you hated your mom
or you thought you were too fat

when you’re trying to forget yourself
drinking cheap alcohol and skinny dipping
I hope that you won’t have to last as long
because you aren’t meant to be ******,
intoxicated or depressed, when that’s
all you’ll ever do.

Gynecology appeals to the rooting instinct and not just among pigs,
apartment-dwellers too crave the spotlight especially in cheap digs
A tree puts strength in its cambium membrane, seeds, bark & twigs
whilst outgrowing the imperilment of remaining grounded as sprigs
It was not long before the Rolling Stones were being paid for gigs,
in the day when greasy Guineas plugged sheenies & cultivated figs,
decades before sainted negroes thrived as reactionary brillos & nigs
when a schweinehund on par with Club of Rome's lard-*** Al Gore
was realistic enough to accept his natural vocation as a male *****
even though no Avon salve could rescue him from being still sore,
he collected for prostitutional services that there existed no bill for,
while at Sea World Shamu can't fit through a pinniped or seal door,
as whale flesh ain't no antidote for pill-heads on America's pill tour
Keep whacking the side of your head to hammer out doubt till sure
you become of religious piety while acting out a radio-active story
that destroys tumors and fecundity while rewarding war-won glory,
for critical menticide administered to each Margaret Thatcher Tory,
to render brains slack so that each id's reduced to a formless slurry,
and made denser & dumber than the dumb-*** mind of Ann Curry,
who sits around picking fleas off her pet rats calmly with no worry
like a pederast whose name is Marion but likes to be called Murray
because of thickset hair that was as curly as Bill Clinton's was furry
it made Hillary's perverse predilection into a ****-emergency hurry
as she faced extortion rackets entailing mucho homosexy potpourri
It's I.T.T., A.T. & T., F.P. & L. and A. & P. in lieu of slave-holder
In a demi-godly role of being everyplace looking over my shoulder
Like advice taken to heart by a ***** the tenth time you told her
On the occasion of the hundredth time that a ****** **** sold her
Put down that rifle and also that cup as there are doggedly two ratty
trees of wood: wood I stole & wood I shoplifted as doggy eats pup
Congratulations *******, you won the Nobel prize for shutting up
Move from a hovel & put down that shovel as there are 2 unkindly
kinds of wood: stolen & discounted as my rabid ***** eats her pup
****** Mary Jane Christmas to Quakers winning gifts for rutting up
Return my shovel and **** a guppy as there are 2 hunks of wood:
wood I stole & wood shoplifted as a dog ***** eats a hungry puppy
Cheers cancer-ridden surgeon, here's the Shaw prize for cutting up
The tall first wife, who was fleet of feet, was the easiest to book for
she preferred rat tail over bat wing and won as a dream to cook for
she hid herself very obviously therefore she wasn't hard to look for
her manifold athletic talents made her the leanest witch to hook for
Give me your hirsute/textile/hombre love you lovely hairy rag man,
with your pointy nose, unlimbered leg & warts from Larry Hagman
who from the horse's mountable side snuck up like an airy stag ram
Don't take what little's left via state Santa Christmas merry bag ban
Let's dress like women in debt at the oldest Chuck Berry drag stand
My happiness is easily seen in blood-letting cirques as corpuscular
while my rippling backwards frontage is of a physique so muscular
that it is known by fat aunt Joan as socked-in and highly avuncular
In icy Florida I pine for Klondike my favorite Alaskan lesbian lover
who, in our gay igloo, resembled that big oily ****** Danny Glover
whose **** buddy Mel Gibson made him half less pockless gaining
☹a little more of plenty above Kenai's northern-lit blinding darkness,
and punctuated by those empty promises of ****-driving starkness
that were dogged by monster sightings quite common to Loch Ness
where **** Welshmen smoke Scottish-spiced cigarillos smockless
Fear not as chronically-starved people are traditionally not so tough
so feed the hungry & while they are eating steal their bags and stuff
as unarmed Cymry won't do more than storm off in a Goidelic huff,
akin to a Tom Jones hissy fit of ***-wriggling dancing and gay fluff
This normal man wonders: How much public ******* is enough?
Pushing Fukushima scenarios beyond the point of a no-return bluff
and extraneous of a federal Continuity of Government powder puff
while parked on a decrepitly-reliable-ever-burgeoning-lard-*** duff
white men, like coal miners, mine mineable depths of Filipina ****
gynecologically like the average gynecology enthusiast off the cuff,
rejecting Bicol pathogenetic carpet chaw to dip Copenhagen *****,
a sprinkling 'tween lip & gum proves that no slanted ****'s too tuff
A trans-orbital lobotomy's necessitated when plants are root-bound,
Hello Addisonian crisis dysfunction when adrenal glands are found
insufficient when production of adrenaline is diagnosed as unsound
Mormons note the absent look of foremen in the Book of Mormon
and an absence of the Book of Mormon in the outlook of foremen
You hid it 'cause I can't find it every elsewhere a package for string
this catastrophe that threatens tragedy above the tryst below a fling
With cords knotted tightly around something tumorous I won't sing
It is the chlorine that cancels detergent in that electric washer thing
beneath cellar steps that David Niven's wife fell down while hiding
I lost her you found her, it's a dollar for riding plus a fee for finding
all broads blinded to inequity and to chick Nazis' unguided guiding
Oh Lord with such ease the slippery have slid into slipshod sliding!
The frailties of free men're exploited by N.S.A.'s jingoistic deriding
General Ike exposed the military-industrial-congressional complex
which strikes against the citizenry by venomous rattle snake reflex
faster than a dope-crazy Marilyn Monroe could reach for a Kleenex
thru curvatures in a third-dimensional, spatially-pornographic helix
that approximated the Mexi-milkers of actriz: la doña María Félix
rutting elephants in musth must respect advisory: kneel-harm-****,
to honor the moon-hoaxing memory of chronic liar Neil Armstrong
as obviously for **** Rosie O'Donnell her gay meal alarm's wrong
Johns familiarized themselves with Lillian Russell by buyin' ** Lil
as masochists meet masochistic needs with movies of Ryan O'Neal
Sadists satiate sadistic surges sharing sermons sold Séamus Ó Néill
& beheld-redemptive pleasures for patrons of free mass soul appeal
I'm nailed in my sub-par carpentry by all do-gooders of the nail ban
to the point where I'm willing to mail my big sister to the mail man
who's part & parcel of a mail-fraud plot & brother's can't-fail plan
Escaped & uncaught I will be no prison monkey's cell-mate-jail-fan
'Cause shorts clothe Richard Simmons' lard *** he has a pale can as
oil-from-rock Daniel's been given the pétrole epithet Ol' Shale Dan
Latino block & cinder create distortive Hispano-Américano rubble
'cause stirring up spics & greasy wetbacks invites N.C.L.R. trouble
Stand back anti-pope as I am about to burst your pederastic bubble!
Your egg-shell-thick pate's no match for a black jack as this club'll
smash its way thru cardinals, reverends, ministers, priests & dukes
to make cream taste like ***** and turn cake into what a dog pukes
Under U.S./Euro socialism there'll be no guy who's a young codger
and popular forenames will be banned including Preston and Roger
Trans-national entities whip horse dung into curdled cottage cheese
while denying rescue inhalers to asthmatics enjoying a bad wheeze
so as to avail publicly purpled aureolae of ready women who tease
Now is the time to release the promised South American killer bees
as the hour's passed to exact vengeance for a beheaded Robert Lees
Mafiosos contract that Joseph Valachi-types be capped at the knees
then hanged by their what's-her-names from il duce poles and trees
in such a fashion that'll tighten the ropes by cough, belch or sneeze
Long legs, wrong eggs, strong pegs, King Kong begs with a song of kegs
Let us dog dealers of wieners & corporate schemers: those 2-bit reamers
extend a left leg into the sacred space of my right one for time remaining
It's easy to harp on topics commiserate with crap profitably entertaining
A man who courts dogs & a court manned by dogs quibbles over kibble
Dogs devoid of canine teeth are not as happy to gnaw and to nibble
The Arc of the Covenant bestowed ancient promises metaphysical
shedding cockroach-scattering illumination that set courses tragical
on a populace & citizenry that were more attuned to an era magical
Before Zionistic Elders prepared an Order within cabals strategical
Beneath plum sunsets & catchy maladies that deafened folks lyrical
“Turn me on dead man” the Beatles backwardly warbled mystically
as the means and the method to sexcite vampresses gynecologically
For all shoulder-locked movements sway men anthropomorphically
Let us seek bi-lesbians who fear concerted opposition diametrically
as their prized packages remain barren, as they spawn ineffectually
Sappho's ovarian host pouch is barren as ***** meld ineffectually
as Western, Fallopian-tubed freakazoids are ****-probed habitually
Sapphic ovarian balloons shrink when hens ******* reciprocally
On Pearl Harbor Loch a false flag blackened Mister Moto's beacon
by shadowy, white manipulators under a U.S. sinister, proto-deacon
who, as a cousin-marrying-pipe-******* *******, emulated Lincoln,
the war-loving queer who went above & beyond his task to weaken
the will of sovereign states to sustain free-market economic health,
by exacting confiscatory taxes resulting in punishing capital wealth
The Beatles were creatures of M.K. Ultra's institution at Tavistock,
lost to a shocking future as shown by Alvin Toffler in Future Shock
whereas nothing can help us from taking an epidemiological knock
by Mao a la Trotsky, a la starvation wages via phony-baloney stock
in the image of Pol *** a la Lenin contrary to righteous John Locke
Our fused-egg brothers gestate together, flying as a migratory flock
dolled up in vestry wardrobe: papal bikini brassier, ******* & frock
awaiting George Orwell's 1984 English socialism known as Ingsoc
X number of years before Nancy Kwan wed ski champ Peter Pock,
& after Bob Ripley's Oriental/Occidental miscegenation ****** talk
as it was curlier than was Nimoy while he portrayed Vulcan Spock,
whose sweetness was unrehearsed, unrestrained & of a sickly mock
once taken, out of time as taken twice daily on any ol' broken clock
flesh stripped & exploited as the flightless relic of Earth's great auk
enjoying the laze of Sunday oblivious to extinct Darwinian schlock
as chastised love is Leonard Nimoy-pitiable with chastity-belt lock
Upon a Massachusettsian shore puritans purified Plymouth's Rock!
Forever amounts to nothing in betrayal of Heinlein's empathic grok
Back off quack as I'll **** the next 1 of you applying scalpel to ****
as a dad must regarding neo-Kantian, fatherless-**** Johann Bach
Deep in hell's bowels fricassees Jew Elizabeth/***-to-Death Taylor
who did every Joe Nobody from Captain Crunch to Norman Mailer
A harlot ***** was she from 10 niggerly toes to scary mulatto tone
as hellishly deep in Liz's brain was a splinter of hamster wish bone
& her ***-end was broad from fat foods Safeway to her would loan
Beneath her 3rd world-chiding heft Larry F's lawn chairs did groan
as this princess of whales never said no to hog jowls and corn pone
which made an interesting cut-out to novices of the porpoise prone
There won't be another Liz till Rockefeller perfects a Warner clone
with the aid of sewing machines to hem-stitch hems that need sewn
& a positronic brain stem to achieve mortality previously unknown
since Alex Bell pilfered **** inventor Antonio Meucci's telephone
Truth is light that Illuminists keep shadowed, darkened & unshown
for Hank & Phoebe Snow and Johnny Winter who would not atone
Thomas Edison stole or bought the patents to ingenious inventions
that he was more than happy to claim as his brilliant contributions
to the wealth & state of inquisitive Mankind's Earthen conventions,
also he took credit for Biblical allusions to immaculate conceptions
Which Bible books Tom Edison wrote no G.E. employee mentions
as stealing, purloining and commandeering were his 3 predilections
True historians know well charlatan Edison's dastardly elaborations
To pinch a hairy, chapped man is wrong as it puts him in more pain
For century-old Harry Chapman Pincher pinching made him insane
His unholy joy was to lay prone with mouth open to catch acid rain
& then hop into the commode to affect a toilet-related ankle sprain,
not too unlike Richard called **** & Jean who liked the name Jane
whose corpulence demands a piano coffin burial with crawler crane
Formaldehyde replaced 7 quarts of blood that went down a drain as
the proverb fits: when there's nothing to lose there's nothing to gain
Alan Ladd snuffed himself over a self-destructive hatred for Shane
and because Sue Carol preferred men of height Ladd couldn't attain
without elevator shoes & leading-lady actresses walking in ditches,
the love-life that humbles a netted shrimp into paralytic twitches as
Alan often got nothing from Brentwood ****** & witches because
****** pimps don't scrape **** off them Hollywood swanky *******
Tragically it's true that God's in the details & Satan's in the glitches
when Hippocratic Oath-denying doctors say don't bandage stitches,
it promotes infection needing treatment that add to a quack's riches
Apply no anti-bacterial salve unless your unbandaged wound itches
Amerika will be a Marxian paradise after we guillotine the snitches
harvest their organs, cremate & consign their ashes to crude niches
Give me, give me, give me, I can subsist not on a mere, single bean
Hey cheapo, get off your greasy ***, take me to Dairy Queen as my
**** is shaved, bra's padded & all kinks are relaxed by Afro Sheen
Western ***** are fattened for slaughter as sloped slants grow lean,
for lack of appendix, tonsils, adenoids, warts, piles, moles & spleen
Refugees flee what's so repressively dangerous that it's forever fled
The bloodied blood biz passes pathogens to bleeders bloodily bled
It is a dreadful situation that ****** folks find difficult not to dread
A gent is obliged to face conflict face first short of living in a shed,
plying the rough trade, rough-necking with ******* or playing dead
When my cruddy teeth are encrusted I brush the crud off with Crest
while working drainward with this golden cake of soap called Zest
Like a woman on public assistance I refuse to let my choppers rest
There was a time when talk of quiz was a precursor to an Iowa test
My basic skills are determinedly under-cutting my housewife guest
whose stems run north to her malignant tissue free mammae breast
In movies shooting orphans with high-powered rifles is done in jest
'cause in Amerika making ammunition is what wage-slaves do best
When I'm not utilizing forks for recreational after-meal dog-jabbin'
I am staking out hog farms for the planning of gainful hog-nabbin'
or making log-planing modifications on my pine-logged log cabin,
before crossing teamster picket lines for wage-earning job scabbin,'
I take pains to avoid being skinned in a Jimmy Hoffa mob stabbin'
A thousand Confucian truths drive my happy dreams to nightmares
as bi-****** pass out on Calexico-Mexicali-low-calorie light beers
I haven't the moxie to skate through hydrants of fate terminological
as those 78 crumb-bums behind T.V. “comedies” wax scatological
Ernie killed Chip & Robby to stamp his father a cipher biological
He hadn't room for women for production smacking gynecological
The last time he looked skyward his thoughts weren't cosmological
S.O.B. Ernest cursed routinely at arthritis diagnosed gerontological
He gives not a harlot's hello for innumerable faults anthropological
nor to lend his energies to scopes that abuse harmonics hormonical
as he stumblingly falls prey to meanderings sickishly trophological
Lord of Hostesses salvage carcass mine from insults cancrological
Redeem me in sudden form humanoid of activities pathogenetical
We mourn in Gettysburg's city as unrepentant lesbians on probation
Defying errors inflicted upon soldiers who forsook proper vocation
Anti-poping Argentine Francis as he's ****** to Satan's invocation
It remains the best course to abide by stellar laws of spatial rotation
Whether one's nationality is Romanian, Finnish, British or Croatian
Lost people will eat food outside their region &

We wore our shoplifted morals
  on our very backs.
Shirts stained in lust and
  revelation plain.
Lost in odes to obscenity
and ****** light in boxcars
  to Ocean.

Fake wisdom chainsmoked
and chained up pressed
  to the radiator, burned.
Seventeen looked twentytwo
  and felt about a hundred
But danced like we were
young again in the ethereal
  glory of the night.
But the nights turned to
minutia as we packed
Luggage filled with memories
on an outbound train to
Adulthood and Adolescence
was left waiting for you
  by the tracks.

Trains trains trains
life and love gone flying
by at a mile a second
and the seconds are precious
and the miles are precious
and all the precious miles
and minutes still fly fly fly
speeding on train tracks
and we wave as friends become
blurred faces waving back
from portholes zipping
in opposite directions
and we becomes I and you
and I don’t quite know you anymore.


And this used to be beautiful:
  Writing gibberish on
our arms and legs
when we ran out of paper
sleepless nights pouring
forth beautiful poetry
and utter catastrophe
twinkle-eyed laughing .
  Driving streetcars through
Los Angeles to go get high
at the top of the world
and peal out when
the coyotes crash the party.
  Summernight shamblings
and skinny dipping
and kissing caressing
ashamed of nothing.
  Learning that peace
is only a word
until love breathes
life into its
lungs and that we could
breathe with each other
and breathe in each other

But our kindred fire
flickered and roared
only to flicker again.
sunken embers haunting
fingertips reaching,
but too far now to
ever touch again.
Charred and depleted,
flying in the tumult
of cyclone wind,
Memories stripped bare
and standing blasted by
the sands of time until
smooth and unrecognizable
they fade from our minds
Ashen shadows of smoke
from locomotive top-hats
chugging endlessly onward
to opposite stations.

                                                 10 October 201o

"You should never have set the thermostat to 'off'! Now my pipes are frozen & have no water!"

You should never have continued putting your alcoholism
Before all of your children
You should never have had to leave your job because you
Shoplifted and they let you off easy
You should have never taken away my house key because I
"Didn't deserve to have that privilege"
You should have been there for me when I told you
I wanted to die and that I needed you
You should never have asked me to lie to the one person I wholeheartedly trust
For the sake of protecting nothing & only further enabling your
Long-term delusional mind
You should have never given birth to me in the first place
If you planned on staying eighteen years old forever.

If accidentally leaving the house with freezing pipes and no water is the best way to say
*******
Without actually saying it,
Then so be it.

(Sorry I'm not sorry.)

Someone said the truth
         sets you free
So I try to be
     the shoplifted spirits

Irony poured me out
          a little for my home
needed flattening
     having wrinkled in time

Here's a reason
          here's a rhyme
There's a fate
At my gate
He didn't knock
But dropped a line
There's a gun
In my fun
It doesn't stun
But blows his mind

Here a fate
There a fate
Everywhere a fate
fate

Oh my darling
What a charm

Free I, free I, oh!

I shoplifted by age three
Arrested by ten
Prison by nineteen
Got out
Cruised the streets
Like a wolf in many forms

Gynecology appeals to the rooting instinct and not just among pigs,
apartment-dwellers too crave the spotlight especially in cheap digs
A tree puts strength in its cambium membrane, seeds, bark & twigs
whilst outgrowing the imperilment of remaining grounded as sprigs
It was not long before the Rolling Stones were being paid for gigs,
in the day when greasy Guineas plugged sheenies & cultivated figs,
decades before sainted negroes thrived as reactionary brillos & nigs
when a schweinehund on par with Club of Rome's lard-*** Al Gore
was realistic enough to accept his natural vocation as a male *****
even though no Avon salve could rescue him from being still sore,
he collected for prostitutional services that there existed no bill for,
while at Sea World Shamu can't fit through a pinniped or seal door,
as whale flesh ain't no antidote for pill-heads on America's pill tour
Keep whacking the side of your head to hammer out doubt till sure
you become of religious piety while acting out a radio-active story
that destroys tumors and fecundity while rewarding war-won glory,
for critical menticide administered to each Margaret Thatcher Tory,
to render brains slack so that each id's reduced to a formless slurry,
and made denser & dumber than the dumb-*** mind of Ann Curry,
who sits around picking fleas off her pet rats calmly with no worry
like a pederast whose name is Marion but likes to be called Murray
because of thickset hair that was as curly as Bill Clinton's was furry
it made Hillary's perverse predilection into a ****-emergency hurry
as she faced extortion rackets entailing mucho homosexy potpourri
It's I.T.T., A.T. & T., F.P. & L. and A. & P. in lieu of slave-holder
In a demi-godly role of being everyplace looking over my shoulder
Like advice taken to heart by a ***** the tenth time you told her
On the occasion of the hundredth time that a ****** **** sold her
Put down that rifle and also that cup as there are doggedly two ratty
trees of wood: wood I stole & wood I shoplifted as doggy eats pup
Congratulations *******, you won the Nobel prize for shutting up
Move from a hovel & put down that shovel as there are 2 unkindly
kinds of wood: stolen & discounted as my rabid ***** eats her pup
****** Mary Jane Christmas to Quakers winning gifts for rutting up
Return my shovel and **** a guppy as there are 2 hunks of wood:
wood I stole & wood shoplifted as a dog ***** eats a hungry puppy
Cheers cancer-ridden surgeon, here's the Shaw prize for cutting up
The tall first wife, who was fleet of feet, was the easiest to book for
she preferred rat tail over bat wing and won as a dream to cook for
she hid herself very obviously therefore she wasn't hard to look for
her manifold athletic talents made her the leanest witch to hook for
Give me your hirsute/textile/hombre love you lovely hairy rag man,
with your pointy nose, unlimbered leg & warts from Larry Hagman
who from the horse's mountable side snuck up like an airy stag ram
Don't take what little's left via state Santa Christmas merry bag ban
Let's dress like women in debt at the oldest Chuck Berry drag stand
My happiness is easily seen in blood-letting cirques as corpuscular
while my rippling backwards frontage is of a physique so muscular
that it is known by fat aunt Joan as socked-in and highly avuncular
In icy Florida I pine for Klondike my favorite Alaskan lesbian lover
who, in our gay igloo, resembled that big oily ****** Danny Glover
whose **** buddy Mel Gibson made him half less pockless gaining
a little more of plenty above Kenai's northern-lit blinding darkness,
and punctuated by those empty promises of ****-driving starkness
that were dogged by monster sightings quite common to Loch Ness
where **** Welshmen smoke Scottish-spiced cigarillos smockless
Fear not as chronically-starved people are traditionally not so tough
so feed the hungry & while they are eating steal their bags and stuff
as unarmed Cymry won't do more than storm off in a Goidelic huff,
akin to a Tom Jones hissy fit of ***-wriggling dancing and gay fluff
This normal man wonders: How much public ******* is enough?

i feel the need to vent about the world today,
a quick assessment of thoughts i feel the need to say!
where the hell did our rights go?,
we dont live in communism though?
freedom of speech is ****** *******,
express your thoughts verbally but youll probably be punished for it!
pigs using their authority to ****** our peers,
as i watch the news i can barely see through the tears!
i saw a video of a man being shot 5 times for not paying bus fare,
how the **** is that fair!
a mother loses her son while the killer cop gets desk duty and gets paid to sit there!
People are fed up so they react with looting,
Undersand the frustration but your only losing!
Its a set up for everyone to **** eachother off,
While Big Brother sits back, hands clean,  your just doing THEIR ***** work!
Dont fight violence with violence or hate with hate,
Form together and think of other ways!
The most sickening part of this is peoples views on these killings,
people saying if mike brown never stole from the store this never woild of happened!
So basically by stealing a dutch is a reason to be fatally shot,
a life lost too early because he stole a blunt?!
how stupid do you sound, what if it was your kid,
to be gunned down because they shoplifted?!
cant even finish , my thought running wild,
ill leave this alone but just ask yourselves, "what if it was your child?" smfh!

It ain't gonna be me the stinking state pigs will be a-cuffin' because
I ain't licensed at nothin,' not even bakin' a sweet, California muffin
with big raisins, orange sprinkles & whatever else I feel like stuffin'
so as not to yank out prematurely before I gets more than enough in
Sometimes I cry as pigeons peck my *******, other times I just tell
them to stop it & not to do it ever again because I don't like it much
Fattened cows ate our tomatoes & starving pigs then ate our posies,
so don't you dare take a huge, reekin' **** on our colorful tea cozies
'cause lovin' you's like fressing cherry pie from a gal with 1 bad eye
while I sit cocked sideways needing a yardstick 'cause I ain't so shy
Mary Ellen Judy Norton Taylor Walton your ******* are too flabby,
so I will go down on your furry tuft below, that I jokingly call tabby
as Judy suffers from, & is afflicted with, an obtusion of farm senses
that interrupt her monthly charges regardin' normal-flowing ******
For Hef's ******* Judy was feverishly hot on a bear rug naked bare
after flinging aside T.V. pretend bro' Jim Bob's farm-boy underwear
that he wore when they rocked the house in grandma's rockin' chair
1 day I was viewing The Keiser Report starring ugly ol' Max Keiser
which would detract from my sexiness yet make me so much wiser,
& cause great-toe-jammin'-pecker stiffness & irritate either eye sore
while grindin' down 4 canines, 8 premolars & a middlemost incisor
I'll sing 8 days on the road in my big truck like I'm ol' Dave Dudley
running from Jesus God and hiding with waitresses as I rave studly
of a manly prowess using stiff asphalt laid thickly to pave mud free
like the wife support payments forked over by singer Neil Diamond
that would be burdensome to a poorer Jew like the shill Neil Simon
Boldness & beauty, blackness & blue, I am stupid, just not like you
'cause as my cornflakes sog in milk, I don't sell my nuts for a *****
anywhere where life spells death there is a cloudy heaven to pursue
It was hard push, yank & pull, talk ***** to me don't talk ***** to me
I like you or likely I love you, I try too much, better just wait & see,
while I give up at changing you into the woman I long for you to be
in the image that schmo Bobby Darin wanted for ****** Sandra Dee
whose big ******-numbed ******* nursed Bobbie's raw-milk brutality
pitched on a bowling lane of broken-leg bone & severed-hand ****
what made him stolidly 910 million times more serenely handsome
under the guilty shadow of the gay Bruce Jenner gender switcheroo

that could very well be his surgical whoops slip up Waterloo before

he would sexcite sike **** Hillary Clinton's homosexy affairs anew
whilst his hot peas thawed, hair pack jelled & old girl caught a clue
beyond clues given for cows driven to spit up cud for another chew
in kingdom halls where witnesses disfellowship guys seen fartin' &
queer-drunk on Mexi-gasser beans poured from a lime-green carton
that was endorsed by ******-ball Dino Crocetti A.K.A. Dean Martin
who liked pancakes, hotcakes & flapjacks with blackstrap molasses
as he denied hotcakes for burnt pancakes, griddlecakes & flapjacks
& proctologic exams for nothing that probed his chafed crap cracks
that looks like a flounder, that with a *** cleaver, a crazy *** hacks
at my red wiener, warty cucumber, candle stick & old orange carrot
as witnessed by my chimp, quokka, gerbil & clipped African parrot
that is so selfish with gooily-raw rat meat that he'll not even share it
with the hack Bob Browning & his ***** monkey Elizabeth Barrett
****** hid her vaginal emptiness from Richard Cory, Kyle S. Bruce,
Daisy Lou & Garett Hobart's lost nephew whose quarry tile is loose
You screamed like an unwashed **** when I pinched your lard ***,
I can't stomach your sister, because she is such a whining, hard lass
conjuring up old Crowley occultism, but what makes her the worst,
she wants me to sign a ****** suicide pact that states that I die first
as self-****** is a sin & she cares little about my soul being cursed
in realms that count not among its angels William Randolph Hearst
& Marion Davies & accused wife-snuffin' millionaire Robert Durst
whose hunger for Malay tail was sadder than greasers dyin' of thirst
I slumber in greenish ***** ill puked hard *****-woozy & drunken
too sick to down gooey, greasy doughnuts I shoplifted from Dunkin
'cause I purloin cream topping & jelly filling better than anyone can
now o' when Smith, of the fake Titanic, knew he was a man sunken
to televise (tele advise me telly television tele-visionary uncle Ken)
my nose from the vantage point of me red **** is funky-funk funkin'
or my ear from the fall-off point of a thin *** sins funky-funk funkin'
or brow from the terminal point of **** lips is *****-punk punkin'
or toes from a tiny point of 2 **** tips that're chunky-chunk chunkin'
& triggered at the apex of ******-**** ***** for a clunky-clunk clunkin'
once ragged atop the peak of Clinton's ****** of dunky-dunk dunkin'
& crap beyond a holt of pretty ******* to ***** a bunky-bunk bunkin'
My ultra-favorite, back-******* monkey loves me me me but
I love my bonnie Bonnie who lives across the ocean & over the sea
in a palace with Sparky Marcus who spreads a cruel, spooky mucus
over a toady staffer popularly known as crazy Luke or kooky Lucus
whose stratospherical id raced far beyond whatever Sparky ever did
long after Henry McCarty & William Bonney became Billy the Kid
Confess & grovel before the Lord, for on asphaltum your ***'ll skid
because dark spots on my shaded parts means that I got a headache,
that's got more killin'-power than a Malaysian/H.A.A.R.P. seaquake
I know that what you now know is on a need-to-know basis, and so
I counted them twice to I see that you amputated my left largest toe
to **** foot-bred animalcules unfelt as my atrophy trots paraplegical
in ****** labs of agriculturalists, whose studies are parthenocarpical
I love the challenge of a chic freak as it makes my pocked **** tired
7 days in a usual Haitian work week like quitting before being fired
which was her fat-*** way of losing a new job just after being hired
as this stunnin' **** ruptured me because she was so sexually wired

with white ***** makin' my Jacmel Beach tragedy 100% uninspired
Ol' men know that plastic Barbie doll dolls want G.I. Joe men, ever
since genital-lacking Barbie Roberts had the baby of *****-free Ken
whose naked 11-count stood unnaturalized as he could not reach 10
as cruel bears are bear-tricky like Smokey Bear & T.V.'s Gentle Ben
in ol' Kowloon City where Nancy Kwan sleeps with me as Ka Shen
who smoked Raleigh cigarettes for cancer & sailed north for scurvy
to enhance her perky nay-nays & to make nip-wide hips more curvy
on the roof to the floor, beneath the attic in my dungeon topsy turvy
On rough seas no boy sailor knows what a Chinese cargo ship'll do,
'cause in a tight D cup bra a raw-rubbed lawyer **** may ****** sue

Picture galleries of motion
beamed against orbital screens
jump from side to side.

Tethered to groping slobs
fast-food fed flesh spills like slush
under the *** crack
of a sleeping ramshackle booth
a flickering grey bulb
advertising escalator rides
at the rear
of a carnival for stiffs.

Gimme the Fun house.

Along this pass,
there shuffle I
treadmill somnambulant
stuck between why and why not
my donated skin, patched
worn past expiration
toss a softball
swing a hammer
shoot a clown in the mouth
skipping around fuchsia puddles of
puked up cotton candy and beer
riding the highchair
a baby belly full of popcorn.

Eddy drops a neon mannequin
strums his black flamingo strung with steamed tripe,
shoplifted
Dim Sum Sundays
sweats custard ****
opens his mouth to sing
exhales moths and hummingbirds...
fighting to the death over what's left
of caramelized nuts
spilled from my guts

A link left undone.

but the moment was so ambrosial,
like snow melting in gorgeous chestnut hair,
like Coltrane's Favorite Things for the hundred-thousandth time,
like the morning Sun shining
through Manuka honey
slowly dripping off my spoon into
the black abyss of my coffee cup.

I am present.
I promise, ya.

I'm indebted to the
wretched headtrips of "yesterday"
for never letting me do more
than whisper a single death wish
(thank you)
between labored breaths.
I'm deathless now.
just flesh stretched tight over bright smiling, and otherwise unbridled,
sunlight in love with just being here to lend the luminosity in the first place.

I only learn of grace
from kids grinning and ripping birthday gifts open in grainy VHS tapes I probably shoplifted from the local thrift shop.
Either there or on park benches
tossing seeds to flocks of pigeons
cooing at my feet.
Did you know they were brought
to this country by immigrant chefs?

Again, I'm present.
Honestly.
I'm as conscious of it all as it gets;
the God of the phenomenological slog
we all call "the now",
unbound from His vow of vigilance
in the watch-and-plot of all apocalyptic
loss of momentum...

my attention span is like
incense smoke curling out of
a monastery window somewhere
in the Himalayas,
like the hidden weight of a whispered "thank you",
like the half empty silver cigarette case rattling in Camus' coatpocket as he walks,
collar up and head down,
to Café de Flore for breakfast.
or lunch.
or...

I'm present.
I promise.
(thank you)
I'm present.
Honest to God.
(thank you)

I'm ******* nowhere.
no, thank you.

I'm present.

I slumber in greenish ***** ill puked hard *****-woozy & drunken
too sick to down gooey, greasy doughnuts I shoplifted from Dunkin

I slumber in greenish ***** ill puked hard *****-woozy & drunken
too sick to down gooey, greasy doughnuts I shoplifted from Dunkin
'cause I purloin cream topping & jelly filling better than anyone can
now o' when Smith, of the fake Titanic, knew he was a man sunken
to televise (tele advise me telly television tele-visionary uncle Ken)
my nose from the vantage point of me red **** is funky-funk funkin'
or my ear from the fall-off point of a thin *** sins funky-funk funkin'
or brow from the terminal point of **** lips is *****-punk punkin'
or toes from a tiny point of 2 **** tips that're chunky-chunk chunkin'
& triggered at the apex of ******-**** ***** for a clunky-clunk clunkin'
once ragged atop the peak of Clinton's ****** of dunky-dunk dunkin'
& crap beyond a holt of pretty ******* to ***** a bunky-bunk bunkin'

We were not innocent.

The desperate choke of religion,
A Jesus with our ham and cheese,
Jammed down our throats everyday,
Alliance with Satan implied and guaranteed,
If we deviated even one degree.

But then, to be honest,
We weren't that afraid.
And we were not innocent.

The offspring of war heroes,
We mimicked battles,
Received toy machine guns as gifts,
We joked endlessly with each other.
Babbled on in rushing rapid ramble,
About killing the enemy,
About nothing,
About school,
About the Maple Leafs.
About castles in the sky.


We shoplifted on a dare,
Bought cigarettes as ten year olds,
A full pack was twenty five cents,
We blew smoke rings for hours
While lying on our backs in the long grass,
Giant jumbo clouds floated by,
Our circus in the sky.

We peeked in windows, hid in bushes,
Learned about women's bodies
While she brushed her teeth,
And examined herself for lumps and bumps.
It was exciting beyond our wildest
******* fantasies.

We were young.
We were eager.
We couldn't wait to live each day.
We were boomers on the rise,
Life was meant to be exciting.