Now that it's past the time
that all reasonable people go to sleep,
I warm my engine
and roll alone through sick slickened city streets.
Roads rise up in strips
there polished black backs reflect up a red ribbon of road
beaming down from the two electric eyes,
telling me where to head to next.
With concentration my eyes pick shadows from the dark
and i slide past them
breaking there delicate images
with the water that whips off my balding wheels.
The radio blares stupidly
because he's a ladies man
because they aren't going to take it
because he has 99 problems
because Jesus loves you
because...
There is no reason for this.
For burning fossil fuels
as i rip through the frigid night.
No reason,
for singing the tune
to the words i don't know.
No reason,
for speeding up
and letting go.
No reason,
to let myself spin at last
screeching,
screaming,
and finally smiling,
through that final crossroad.
They will find me,
broken and content,
blood pooling and painting,
a polished portrait of my shortened and hurried life.

Thatcher vacuum seals nicotine
Slurps cigarette like mosquito
Ravenous lungs gnaw and grind for the slow pander,
Thatcher’s just another name for the labeling
We plaster and pine for an out,
Stitch that finite lie beneath squeamish child skin,
Thatcher’s the black lung paradise,
******* infancy coddling cigarette stifle,
The caloric crack of his canines fletching out lust and sickly groove
As he’s scopes out fiend and vexed vandals,
Clutches the sick theistic *******
Cuddle those bruise licked hips
Give God the gross percent,
Cause heaven’s in those greenbacks
and God’s in the ******* kick,
Suckling bout the American tip
The Christian capitol,
Seething on shadow puppet ****** and American dream,
Gods got nothing to do with the slickened crinkle of gain and glamour,
Thatcher’s just the candy man give and cult,
Cough the crutch of contagion greed
And clutch the cuff of your porcelain sleeve,
Thatcher gleans your blackest suite tight,
Struts raven blade shoulders perched on American made spine,
Thatcher does as Thatcher please,
Thatcher thinks as Thatcher bleeds,
And Thatcher bleeds venereal blend,
Gout with the American veneer of broken girl and scabbed moral traumatic,
Trauma tastes as the hollow pixies give out the get out,
Bandaged baby girls,
The teenage horror show,
Just another blazoned hit of one two take the hand me down generic give away,
Desensitize the humanize,
Girls got to get the days glossy puff and sniff,
Thatcher’s content to satisfy,
Callous coroner a spectator suckling Marlboro lick,
Lodging thick smoke and toxin between spittle slick lips,
Albino plumes clotting and unfolding,
Thatcher clicks back the cartridge
Filter and cigarette,
Thatcher gulps back the need because brain’s got a favoring kink for the buzz,
Thatcher sings with the screaming in his straggling lungs,
Hums the western creed
Laughs fickle with God at his need,
Thatcher’s the true American dream

The engine's warm now that we're finally off all the main streets,
and sitting in the polished seats of our smooth white metal stallion
we strolled down the slickened scenic highway, silhouetted by the sun beams turned silver
bouncing off the cold bold face of a spherical moon.
The radio licks its numbered teeth back and forth with its spike red tongue
as the knobs are turned to tune and turn up high to hear,
those greats croon
"don't worry babe, we'll be there soon".
My foot falls heavy like a rejected lover when we hit the strait aways
and the wind cant move my whop slick hair on this bright night
can't move it for a **** thing
even with the top down and the whole world spinning against us.
I race to stay within the nights dark complexion
watching out for the only man who can slow me down
pink faced clown lookin to shout "bookim"
"Bookim danno".
My hands wrap white knuckled around the steering wheel
and I chuckle at the frightened look that begins to build up in your gorgeous hazel eyes
when adrenaline filled i swing wide left
to pass the only other car
on this rickety two lane highway.
Back on our side of those magical golden lines
I reach over to settle your shaking thighs
and you grab my arm like it alone could save you.
I picture us
hydroplaning off into a deadly roll through that golden field of wheat
the last thing I would smell would be dirt, dew, fresh spring ground
I smile at the thought
whatever makes you feel better I say
and so you squeeze tighter.
I slip my hand down and off your leg,
up onto the dash
to find and twist the radio ****, blasting out that sweet silky serenade of sleep walking.
I look over and blow a kiss,
but the wind ***** it out the back before it ever reaches your loving lips
and with eyes back on the road I keep on till morning.
Till I can stop with you at sunrise,
and we can rest
and hold hands
and share lips
and tell empty promises, as day breaks on the horizon
and light floods over us
in this stolen drop top caddilac.

While I drive left-handed
you scratch at the white clouds
drifting out on the growth
of my fingernails, and
rub salient fire down tendons
toward fingers of gnarled roots
and less a hand, than work incarnate-
in essence of character. In lines, in
worried skin and flattened bones:
the misshapen unity of labor in lengthened phalanges.
You speak to me about how getting older means:
you can always remember a better time than now and
about the city of angels who never sleep,
staring open eyed, hazy with intangible halos.
How is mans great struggle now with society and no longer himself?
As the sharp angles of the road drive our skin to tight contact,
I find myself in the air between your breath and sweat slickened palms.

Lighted sentries stand guard
Over slickened steel rails

Rails that reach into the painted skyline
Traversing life's trail to the clickety-clack of time

Time's learn-ed history passes by
Enlightening life's travelers at every bend.

Andulan felt her strength returning, the dizziness was fading,
Her anemia was alleviated by the blood of a dozen squirrels, five voles,
Three moles, a badger and a family of deer, too slow to evade,
Such reaching, grasping death moving across the surrounding area.
John's thrown axe carved a brown road ahead, slickened by green moisture,
It mowed through the grassland before them, cutting through its share of vines.
Kevin and Paul hacked away at it's venom tipped children, all eager to play,
With their ****** corpses...
Song's presence kept them aware of their choices, if they erred even slightly,
From shown path forward, Andulan's feast would begin in earnest,
Bringing ecstasy wrapped in sadism to the young girl's life,
Corrupting her once pure, enheartening song.

Slickened skin
Slightly moistened
Glittering
Scales
The swimming queen
Of thee Atlantean
Glowing iris
My mermaid
May bite
But she glows
Oh so beautifully
In the oceans at night

I don't know how much longer I can hang on hope.
I don't know how much strength I have left
I'm weak and tired and want to let go
So that I may fall to my death
So fast it would happen, just a slip of my grip
Slickened by blood stained palms
Spiraling towards me, the ground just a blur
And I would be nothing but calm

But right now I'm dangling freely
Fear pumping fast through aching veins
The harder I grip, the more that I slip
The sliced skin increasing the pain

I want to scream
Let this be a dream
So that I can wake up in due time.
Because if I slip
Loose my hardened grip
The surely I'll lose all that is mine.

I had a second chance at heaven
And I threw it all away.
I once again felt my happiness
Sour into hate.
On this page are the words
That exemplify my rage.
I once was great
But now I'm lost,
To this misery and pain.
My path: a fog, through trodden dirt
To a cemetery gate.
For what dark fate
Does this soul
So very anxiously await?

My boots are caked with mud.
The smell of iron permeates,
Along with moss, the smell of dirt,
And most certainly decay.
Never mind my mortal soul...
What kind of demon lies awake
In the midst of human fruit,
Over-ripened in the day?

The splitting corpses seem to beg me,
"Stay away, stay away!"
Burgeoned fruit spills forth,
As the rinds peel away.

The tortures yet continue,
Testing will and sanity.
Stumbling forth into the mixes,
Pestilences use the meat:
Fruits of flies spill their guts
Under muddied, weary feet,
And in the soup, in the gore,
Coagulation races feast:
Clots of blood battle vermin;
Scabs crunch like autumn leaves.
To this yet, there is more
On this journey I have seen:
Fire burns, and humans ****,
And mix the ashes in the breeze.
What soulless cur,
What kind of beast
Inhales with pleasure
When he breathes?

Smoke and fire burn the horizon.
There is nothing left of peace.
To the camps I was swept,
In the tide of the deceased.

Hard at work in heat,
Tattered and flayed meat
Toils in agony,
Swinging hammers in defeat.
Blood-slickened handles
Slip from fingers weak:
Wood and metal sings
At worn and weary feet.

Rusted chains sling,
Slicing through the heat,
Slicing through the smoke,
Slicing through the meat.
In the distant, murky background,
Drums of war greet,
As flesh and bone and flame
Dance to the beat.

Chastened bones respond,
Breaking stones in the beyond.
The work of hell waits
For no man very long.
Gangs of chains tag along,
Making quite the fiendish song,
As the billions in the lakes
Add their agonies to the throng.
The shrieks of charred lungs,
And throats ruined long,
Build the thickness of the air:
An anguished plague of smog.
Keep the fires burning;
Add another human log.
Respite is just a word,
An idea like winter frost:
Once before, it had purpose,
But now, its meaning, lost.

Abandon hope, is what they say...
But not for very long.
In the fire, in the rock,
They find their words are gone.
... Long forgotten, but for the lyrics
Of the Devil's favorite song:
A timeless tune, that my soul
Had been singing all along.

I've pondered on whether or snot Sun Tzu
was psychopathic. Sun Tzu might've been a
good man and a bad man strange variant of serial killer/Apex Prime Exterminator within
his theories and experiments.
Every successful contemporary military, government, politician, global health advisory control panel, corporation, and CEO practices The Art of War.

Sun Tzu added a trident to each prong of
the pre-existing "Three-Pronged Approach". Instead of there being three main paths and results only, there were now many possible combinations and results, especially when
Dark Sun Tzu added a trident to each of the
expanded 9 prongs for 27 possible results,
then did that again for 72 possible results
that can be arrived at from many possible
combinations and pathways.

The fork is an often primal, psychoapathic thrusting force—a thrusting force of nature
on many levels of instinct, natural Earth laws
and universal laws, and sociopsychology—
the fork is code, icon, symbol, archetype,
metaphor, Meta, in parallel with the trident,
unsheathed sword, the thrusting ***** *****
and hypodermic needle:

Hypo dermis: beneath the skin:
Ancient Greek etymological root that moves
through Latin and Auld English, from deeper
symbology and metaphor, to the technocratic
medical and clinical, to a chrome or chrome
plated hypodermic needle.

The most maniacal journey and result within Sun Tzu's expanded and multiplied "Three-Pronged Approach" is to use heavy
psychological direction to assist the enemy to disembowel itself before your feet while the enemy believes that you're reaching down as friend to help it. The enemy believes that
you're a saviour who is offering it a cure-all healing apple. The "apple" cuts through the enemy's belly. Now convulsing in pain on the ground, the enemy believes that you're a benevolent angel reaching down to help as the enemy pulls out its bowels onto the green grass, with greasy, slickened hands.

Trident. Forked Tongue. Snake in the grass.
Apple. Belly of the Beast. Snake bite: The
chrome fangs of the one-eyed technocratic
serpent on the Rod and on the Staff. That

was later adapted into Marxist, ****,
and Democratic medical practices on the national and corporate levels, and on international levels within foreign diplomatic agendas: Get the enemy to **** and/or sicken
itself within the belief that its actions are
saving itself, loved ones, and free society.
When Sun Tzu's momentum is used, an
intended target enemy can send Sun Tzu
orbiting back around in various forms and
forces that are usually far worse and forceful
than its previous forms and applications.

The enemy cries out for, begs on its knees for, the medicine.

"Ask and thou shalt receive."

The enemy dispenses the medicine to its offspring, enforces the absorption of the medicine, crawls back to its hive of maggots
to dispense the medicine

on its last dying breath.

Many people misunderstood the implications of "Flatten the curve". For how many more centuries will the cycle of not quite "normal" and not quite "novel" continue? Will the adults ever understand the fairy tales.
Vatican Witches and Federal Government
poison that need to be burned and purified
in their own fire. Good Cop/Bad Cop politics and The Welfare State breaks the family,
steals the bread crumbs, and the children
are lost in the woods again, hooked on candy and Federal Government endorsed dope.

It's amazing, aside from the miracle of Earth and life, I finally believe in miracles: A person can read a story 10,000 times and fail to apply it when needed most of all.

In poetry he wrote the heart of colors
without paints or a brush
but with words to direct
and shades to inspect.

Wind whipped fields of green
transitioning from darker to lighter
And lighter to darker
with wet patches here and there
punctuated by yellow, and purple flowers.

The grey gravel road
pushing out into the wild world
starting with sharp rocks,
several distinct shades of grey,
and the occasional black oil spot.
Then swerving softly and violently away
as each color loses it edge
and all shades become one.

The night sky
dark blue almost back
with light sparks
Floating in that strange expanse
chasing down the light blue day.
Then being chased away
with purple, orange, and turquoise hues
wearing cloudy covered colors as well.

In the human form
skin scarred by harsh rays
slightly red, freckled
lines of age
light pink lips.
Neck bulging from exertion.
Sweat slickened skin glistening.
Hazel eyes that explode,
spreading sparse space light
in lines outward from the iris
like a new universe.

Till the mind collapses under the pressure
of trying to see all the colors
and the poet knows he is missing
a million shades, tints, and hues.
However, there are only so many lines in this poem
And only so little time in this
finite color enriched life.

I sat sorrow strickened
Flabby body sweat slickened
Glistening in the summer’s heated heart
Languishing in the morning’s orange haze
Wasting her final days
Unphased by the reality before me
As her glazed eyes no longer dilated
As her emaciated frame failed
Spirit sullenly waiting
While loved ones stood debating
How much longer she should be
Forced to live with age’s disease
I was wasting her last precious seconds
Just to avoid lying to or arguing with her

My father died when I was seven.

Like a girl in a museum
I'm drawn to his pictures.
Those inadequate reproductions,
hypnotize me.

Pictures, what do they have to give?
Coal-blue eyes, a knowing look.
They exist, for me, like Cassandra of troy,
full of endless secrets that can never be told.

A snowy, ice slickened, twilight-blue
rush hour parade - hundreds of grimy cars
rushing, rushing... somewhere.

Why do  the details I can't remember haunt me so?
A flash of light, the tearing of metal
like the screaming of dogs in a devouring
dance of energy.

The nuclear family detonating
with death inches away.

Everyone was asking, "What do you remember?"
"I don't know."  7 year old me said.

The family man leaving a gravestone like a calling card.

Sometimes, just before I fall asleep,
memories of him - which I hold dear -
come to me like the ghosts of departed friends.
Image after image in the embracing dark.

Why is it the further away you get, the more I need you?

Those images and that voice are strangely silent
in the morning as I'm, once again, awakened
to a world I'd rather reassemble.

woman you are sensuous
woman you are lovely,
you are earth-mother,
like water-slickened clay
beneath my hands
give way to me, yes,
be my chalice,
be my sheathe,
let me fill you up
let me make you whole--
look at my fingerprints
on your hips,
on your thighs,
see how good you are
for me, yes,
so good, babe, so good--
don't you like it, yes,
don't you want it, yes,
woman you are sensuous
woman you are lovely.

Eyes flutter open to a gray and cloudy sky
everything seems to be blanketed
with a fine cool mist of gray drabness
hair spread out floating upon
white cotton pillow
sheets cool thin and papery
gown white and soft

thin feet swing over to side
to slip on cool hard wooden sandals
underneath them frosty wooden floor
stand and gaze out covered bright windows
long lace curtains fluttering in soft cold breeze
slight smell of crisp rain
chime of sad gray church bells

wooden table dry and aching
chairs tiredly sigh pushed in
tea whittle whirling a moan
tiny china cups clink pleasantly
slender spoon drops sugar cube with soft plop
aroma of warmth and herb
soothe aching shoulders and souls

soft taps of pencil on paper
small crackling sound of opening old book
poetry and words
old letters and songs
float in and out of folds of creased pages

whispering wind among
folded leaves of trees
cloudy gray sky sighs
and lets tears drop onto
Earth and it's inhabitants
drab gray cobblestones and concrete
slickened and made shiny
clip clop of horses' hooves boots
and ladies' heels

tilted head and aching deep eyes
fingers resting ever so gently
on the handle of tiny china cup
dry mouth slightly parted
words hidden in soul
sharing the emptiness and solitude
of those alone
in the world.

Tis, an age of knightly lore,
of greasy and grizzled
wealthy nobles
that seem to signal
some sick cycle
of destruction
that they are
desirous for.

Battle born ballistic,
armament physics
of pain causing missions,
missing all mercy
because of their
Machiavelli
machinations;

Mud slickened and sweaty
armor wearing
super smelly
fellowship of fools,
discourteous tools
who ravage
and pillage
poor peasants.

Inflamed by such infractions
I chafe under the yoke
of violence and oppression,
whilst searching other actions
for the slightest scent or sight of
of human decency,

but hope is less then
a liminal sensation,
and there seems to be
no cessation of
humanity’s violent tendencies

the first girl who ever kissed my neck
had bones in her bedroom.
like taxidermy, right? i asked,
squeezing her hand,
my thumb rubbing hers, innocently.
the early days are always beautiful,
mind.

could i offer you some jam?
the fruits of my labour, i said
as she dipped the knife into my open wounds
smiling wide, ‘i did this for you’
and i said it so proudly, at the time.

i prettied myself up with doilies,
a gingham tablecloth too,
covering the unsightly parts of me.
only for her to give me that look,
that disappointed, never good enough

look.
its pithy. there’s too much substance.
and she spat it back into my face,
the red creating a clown-smile
the only smile i could muster, at the time.

and then she started to scream,
and that’s where my memories lapse.
hacking sounds, bones snapping.
it happened kind of quickly.
severed heads, severed hands,

what does it matter?
if your lover is thirsty, let them drink.
it’s simpler that way,
it keeps lovers as lovers, the naïve part of me said,
like a mantra, over and over.

deep inside, where my strength lay
(and i wouldn’t usually tell people this
but as you may have guessed,
mere air particles don’t have much to lose)
i wanted to scream, fight back

give me that back, that’s not yours to take
but the words are lost,
her slickened hands over my mouth
drowning out the nose,
as she runs away.

******* coward. leech. parasite.
i want my body back, i wheezed
as the final breathe escaped my chest.

No rest for the wicked,
and no rest for the weary.
My eyes become slickened,
dreaming of the dreary.

You’re an  idol, dearest lover,
promising tranquility.
Love in thee, I have discovered,
is paired with fragility.

Close my eyes to clear away
the noxious thoughts clouding my mind,
Though I would wish that I could stay,
I fear, I must leave thee behind.

Overwhelmed by serenity,
My sleepless nights, they come no more.
In the lack of your terrenity,
harmonious dreams, then are restored.

It is a color explosion,
a silent cacophony
bursting forth from
the forest green
and grass growing
with summer’s sweet
slickened shimmering,

Life unfolding and flowing,
enveloping all that is seen
in a majestic scene
of nature reclaiming
former shades of
seasonal glory.

I am cowered in awe
and mute in my sorrow
for the many morrows
that will bring
less joyful coloring.

Hungry are the hands that claw out the brain,
In a fit of absent envy for the thrill of yesterday,
Slickened in blood and wine as it congeals around the mouth,
It pours into the toilet, a buffet consumed, destroyed.

The plastic straps
that smacked my back,
hurt
when I pulled them off
but I knew they’d
certainly, come back.

Dishtowels wrapped
around my knuckles
as the speed
of my fist’s needs
pounds against
a hanging bag.

Heavy weights
pressed up
or pulled in
repetitions
constantly repeating.

Sweat slickened skin
madly moistened
less from the heat
more from the forcing
of my body to move
fast and hard
across the street
past neighbors’ yards,
then jump rope
till I can hardly breath,

and repeat,
and repeat,
because I think
I need that pain
to feel alive
to feel my brain thrive
and sleep well tonight.

Part 1
Still marching on ghosts through the phantasmal mopey looks
Fascination power I beat I beat you your a loser
Given the thoughts of born a gamer it’s got to take and take to get
Will you take a highway like a lamb? Astute their in a senate to plant bulbs or..
Does Elu and the chains of violent death.. a margin in our code and thanks and thank you
A swifter crowd than any bourbon dried meat.. more than oily friends
Who when you know something’s right?.. Then its right by them slickened for a queen to teach
More in thereforunto  than achievement of an angel yet flawed by the cost of unjustified torture
Attempt a name.. the wayside with tricks and casual claims "we will create".. yet die did I
I must be not sure to get where it needed to go if you don't mind to begin with
The wheel is a blank game and in the middle simple cardigan hand woven green sweater has an efficacious fall pleased to punish yet Jedidiah thereafter muses and musters the middle dark brown shady farms maple just the same
Then who now is being scattered the land battered the killer a liar that has a rap sheet not bound for survival of the fittest or..  dimly lit room still with a crown
A face for the gift of gab not the cool love in a city wrong evil, its no civil rights battle, it’s those precious moments that decry great joy prophesy of agency and clocks spun funding the imagined sessions for people know ..  ..  .. no remorse
Jealousy was the project yet breath against the disease in step we did! The lack of fate though not what our lord wants to show us surfaces the best of the bumps as the night relaxed asks was this but merely imaginary awards thee fools
Part 2
Over and over we're fighting with our dreams
Back to daylight again
Remember frowning burns inside
Remember the fire within

    No, I, 2020 now 2nd time
Don't let go
    Don't let go again
Say!!!...
A revolution only last place lovers ,haters, players, smiths
Forever will I be a gist of the wind
   Forever will you be against the wind
For within these boundaries way
A predominate fortune
   The lesson that ever shall
There exist a real advance
A quest for a repeated folly to resolve this unknown
Or a school of thought a place platinum silver and gold
In a social circle in dervish process
An E.M.T. blames it on my A.D.D.
While a people learn thus exist have a life which is free
    Now is the jaded realm that
No letter be associated with eternity
Only wounds cackles and fatigue
And the end of useless names and statues shall be borne

You rudely stood above us under a mean acid rain with your 6 guns
gleaming, like the slickened skin of green-beret-loving John Wayne