Teamwork Solves The Problem
They say “two minds are better than one.”

Nothing could be truer.

As I watched a friend and his relative, patiently, take apart and fix a broke appliance.

I relaxed and observed.

The two had the item repaired and figured out quicker than one whose questions are the parts in which the other can answer when there, with him, aiding in the battle of winning the war to piece together a needed tool , that needs mending.



Through answered questions from a partner well answering problems, the other had faced,

piecing together the problem, through help and sweet and strong reliance.

Upon another to help in rougher times.



I remarked on such, the phrase, as they smiled.

In agreement…it wa voted unanimously.

That :”two minds are better than one”

Simultaneously….we all nodded.

It was a new motto on which we have started to have styled…



Even more so, even a “ton” of minds wishing to achieve the same goal - to fix a broken moment…

or even a city that is in disrepair.

such, through unity,  the item was finished and the conversation had ended….

It is alike war and conflicts…… ….

Having people, ready with you, voluntarily by your side…

Is better than being too tall for one’s own good…or even better motives…

If he fails to see that “one is not an island…”

“Nor is one an army…”

Common Sense tells him to ask for “brother’s in arms”

which overrides any strong form of blind pride..

A girl is the doll
Princess of the house
Loves so much
So pretty and cute
Everywhere  
Like little fairy
Solves all the problems
Never demands
So affectionate
Till the death
Then why?
We are so cruel
**** her in the womb
Think about it
And take an oath
To give her a right
To survive.

we like to shower afterwards
(I like the water hotter than she)
and her face is always soft and peaceful
and she'll watch me first
spread the soap over my *****
lift the *****
squeeze them,
then wash the ****:
"hey, this thing is still hard!"
then get all the hair down there,-
the belly, the back, the neck, the legs,
I grin grin grin,
and then I wash her. . .
first the ****, I
stand behind her, my **** in the cheeks of her ***
I gently soap up the **** hairs,
wash there with a soothing motion,
I linger perhaps longer than necessary,
then I get the backs of the legs, the ***,
the back, the neck, I turn her, kiss her,
soap up the *******, get them and the belly, the neck,
the fronts of the legs, the ankles, the feet,
and then the ****, once more, for luck. . .
another kiss, and she gets out first,
toweling, sometimes singing while I stay in
turn the water on hotter
feeling the good times of love's miracle
I then get out. . .
it is usually mid-afternoon and quiet,
and getting dressed we talk about what else
there might be to do,
but being together solves most of it
for as long as those things stay solved
in the history of women and
man, it's different for each-
for me, it's splendid enough to remember
past the memories of pain and defeat and unhappiness:
when you take it away
do it slowly and easily
make it as if I were dying in my sleep instead of in
my life, amen.

Sully suffers from a stutter,
simple syllables will clutter,
stalling speeches up on beaches,
like a sunken sailboat rudder.

Sully strains to say his phrases,
sickened by the sounds he raises,
strings of thoughts come out in knots,
he solves his sentences like mazes.

At night, he writes his thoughts instead
and sighs as they steadily rush from his head.

She's in the kitchen
(close the door)
just mixin' up some metaphor;
a true conundrum
through and through
and through to me and thus to you.

Her humble hunger
(forest's slumber)
thunders 'neath a wilting tune;
tuned to too many
to count without
a thought within.

She must profess
(but shall confess)
to any who will listen;
closely she holds
a tragic history
mostly mystery to most.

She solves my soul
(I deny that hole)
which she still fills;
overflowing always
with such unrelenting joy
that is My Love.

Words are Power
Power is Money
Money Is Pizza
Pizza Is God
So give me your words and no one gets hurt

Pizza is all that I believe in
Pizza is me
I am Pizza
And if I take you words
Then I take you power
And I get your money
And with that money I buy pizza

Pizza solves everything
Its fills the hole in my heart
And it fills the holes in my Arteries

Clearly Pizza is God
For Without it
How can we Live?

The mighty cheese Overlords
Watching us from their Oven thrones
Bathing us with the sweet smell
Of pepperoni happiness
All Hail Pizza
All Bow Down to pizza
Curtsy to Pizza
Perform Choreographed dance numbers for Pizza
Kiss the trays that they sit upon


In fact I fail to understand
Why you’re listening to this poem
And not eating Pizza
What is wrong with you?

Have you ever met a person
That hates pizza?
No!
No one hates pizza!


But if they do….
Don’t trust them
Don’t look at them
Don’t think about them
Don’t friend them on Facebook
Run away from this person
Do not trust this Pizza hater
For they do not deserve your love
Or your Pizza
For These cheesy pies of greatness
That comes in rectangular cubes of cardboard
Graciously land upon our doorsteps
And impart to us
The gift of happiness
It brings the whole family together
And makes everyday better

Pizza does not discriminate
No matter what you look like
Or what you like
Pizza will always be the same
Delicious
Pizza lives on in every country
And in every ones hearts
We should thank our pizza overlords
For the awesomeness that they have brought us

Instead of dropping bombs
We should drop pizza
End all Wars
And solve world hunger!
Instead of having Congress sit there and do nothing
Have them sit there and eat pizza
We should make Papa John our President
And have a large deep crust as a flag
Land of the brave and home of the Pepperoni
Everything would be perfect

Because
I like my pizza
Like I like my people
I don’t care what you look like
What you do
Or what you say
As long as you have
That gooey cheesy heart that makes everyone smile
I will love you forever
And I’m sure you taste delicious

………not that I'm advocating cannibalism
that would be crazy!

But….Imagine all the people tasting like pizza?

Befriending them
Getting to know them
Killing them
With a rolling pin or a frying pan
Sprinkling some cheese on them
Add some cilantro
Bake them in an oven on high at 450 degrees
Leave them in the oven for another ten minutes so they cool down
Sprinkle a little salt on top and some Tapatio
Slice them up and have them for movie night
I mean come on….
Imagine it!

Imagine how **** delicious some people would be!

There are pretty flowers and wild roses                                                                         Coming from within those pretty cracks of                                                                   That Rock of Suicide with many places of                                                                       Wild and green grass ......................                                                                                   That rock was never for those who like take                                                                   Their lives by their own hands anytime .................                                                          I feel as life is over there and when there is                                                                           Life in a certain life ,then                                                                                                  Committing suicide becomes banned ...........................                                                              Committing suicide never solves any ordeal                                                                   Simply because there are ways to invest life well ...........                                              That Rock of Suicide is only for love ,life ,and even more ................                        ___________________­__

sample precursor: there are three binding directions of a chemical group (e.g. CH3) to the benzene ring - the ortho-, the meta- and the para-... but i'll ask a different question: what is copernican north what is copernican east a copernican west or a copernican west without a "flat-earth" / how else to read / navigate a 2D map going from point (a) via vector (c) to point (b) along the short-cut of the hypotenuse - which, isn't a short-cut, but the logical conclusion of walking neither the middle path nor the right path, but the logical path? we're no astronauts... we didn't see the proof... we can only entertain the "idea" of a 3D object we live on, but we're still strapped to a "flat earth" in order to navigate... endless stories of how GPS tech. fooled people off the edge of a cliff... "flat earth" is no reverse psychology ploy... i'm no ******* astronaut... i never stood left right or center on the moon to have the foggiest sense of admiration for that awe-balancing moment that leaves so many deluded in it being otherwise: first come first served, last come: what's there's to serve that last man if not merely the drudge-report of a commute? besides... trans- and cis-, why are people borrowing from chemistry and attaching gender to what is exlusive to chemical compounds? look at them... pop chemistry... cis-trans isomerism... fine, let these people have that... my new n.e.w.s. (north, east, west, south): orthography, something clearly missing in the anglophone world (no diacritical markers, i and j do not count)... ergo? orthography = east... paranormal = west... since the west is obsessed with either aliens or hush-hush military projects... now... both north and south are meta- coordinates... on the basis, on the basis of what? two words really work well to establish a foundation: from ars poetica? metaphor (borrowed from a change of mind - meta- and -phren - mind, a change of mind, all mental illnesses are changes of the mind, alternatives to alleviate the stranglehold of the commune of the greater picture known as society)... but... there's also metaphysics... which is in the interest of philosophy... how else not to explain the obvious, how else to treat both the reader / audience as the well informed genius(es) but mistreat them as would be grander genius(es) if the socratic endeavour of "pretense ignorance" was not to be established? it's a hard juggle... east is already well established in orthography, west in paranomal... literally: metaphor - a change of mind, literally metaphysics - a change of groundwork physicality of things... a rock remains a rock in either "heaven" or in "hell"... metaphysically there seems to be a direct translation... this is why i'm terrible at crosswords, this whole puzzle structure of either working from a direct definition to the word itself, some random geographical posists, some historical posits, some outdated out-of-vogue words related to specified period idiosyncracy, a tinge of the therausus... my current crossword is an interchange: meta-phor, meta-physics, meta-phot, meta-physics and on and on it goes: even with the isolated prefix of meta-, if i return to the words: as they are... would: denoting a change of thinking (state of mind) or... denoting a change of physics, i'm met with metaphysics, i.e.: a branch of philosophy that deals with the first principles... sounds like a priori physics, yet all i can fathom if i wrestle this word to its casual use: isn't it a posteriori physics?! the what comes after physics? i should think that most people understand metaphysics on an a posteriori basis rather than an a priori basis... hence the question: what happens when we die? last time i checked: death happens last... birth happens first... any question-worthiness (according to heidegger) should begin at: the beginning rather than begin at the end, in the same way that all questions should be sought in a medium of predating the dates of events, rather than with a spirit of hindsight, hindsight belongs to the "what if" of history in that dynamism of expressed time... on the canvas of an infinitely expanding space: we seem to be riddled by a very cul de sac concept / expression of time: our quill - given that ****** didn't learn from napoleon when it came to russia... perhaps finding out what copernicus found out: "we" figured: get me off this ******* celestial carousel where i can't even feel the dizzy immediate of a ferris wheel! again: i'm terrible at crosswords, sudoku? no problem... but words: if not gushing out of me, waiting like a lizard predator for a linear narrative spew? count me out... i don't play with words, i use words... i'm a wordsmith, hence the ethnic origin denote: słowianin: slav - i don't know where these west-saxon punks derived their etymology from: słowo = word... *****-liquor juice teens thought it was: oh fo' sho' smart... still: metaphor, metaphysics... metaphor... metaphysics... disgruntled with the immediate compound readied for pop use... meta-physics... the vector is the prefix... why do philosophers push metaphysics so much, but in turn rely on the crutch of metaphor? to change their mind, if metaphysics is an abstract theory with no basis in reality, then the schizoid / metaphorical mind is an abstract in an abstracted theory of the mind - which has "no" knowledge of reality, or rather: "reality" excludes such a mind from ever absorbing an expression in it... a schizophrenic can't explain the reality of a person who can solve crossword puzzles... just as someone who solves crossword puzzles with a fear of alzheimer's: who treats the fatty tissue that's the brain as a muscle... given that the cells of alzheimer's disease are killer proteins... proteins as the antithesis of white blood-cells that feed of fat tissue... after all: what else could the brain be if not fat and water? slow burner... first the sugars, then the more complex carbohydrates, then the fat: last? the proteins... the process of starvation... you want up? you want down? again: metaphysics / metaphor... ta meta ta phusika... the things after the physics... so what's with the inverted: prior things? hence people associated a life after death... hence how philosophers have to escape into the poetic realm to quickly change their minds on the definition... a change of mind is much easier than a change of what physicality entails... most spew metaphors but keep on course... after all: given the genesis of the metaphor, a metaphor is just a tool, a humble stop-off pause... born from humble poetics: it's only a literary tool, it's not some grand pillar of morality associated metaphysics, which nonetheless dictates: first principles come last and last principles come first... here's my crossword puzzle: metaphor, metaphysics, meta-alpha, meta-beta, metaphor and the meta-alpha, metaphysics and the meta-beta... etc. etc., i will not solve this crossword puzzle, even though it doesn't look like a crossword puzzle... it's a narrative crossword puzzle, i'm just looking for the sort of fixed point people associate with prime words: red, left, blue, right, up, fox, dog... words of readied vocabulary, readied vocabulary dissociated from puzzled vocabulary... i want to established a fixed permanence of the dissociated close proximity grounded in the meta- prefix of the words meta-phor and, meta-physics... i'm starting to find this impossible, given how the words have dissociated themselves from the grounding in the meta- prefix... phor alias phren (mind) and the whole gush of isolated metaphysics of beginnings: meta a priori vs. meta a posteriori - and of course: meta a- apriori... hell if i can't solve crossword puzzles: since i already have a crossword puzzle in my head... what am i to do? try writing pop?! a dog does what his master orders, a jester tells a joke his king would find amusing... i'll just treat this enclave of an audience as a bunch of people subscribed to ulterior forms of voyeurism (dissociated from pain / pleasure gratification, esp. that of a ****** nature).

.you know like in latin you had the interchangeable tongue twisters æ and œ? well... english resurrected one more... au... oh stralia... auntie; ******* hell i've been speaking this since aged ate and i still can't get my tongue into that phonetic plughole... or what's that onomatopoeia for: it really hurts? awe... nah... aw... aw... well no cute kitten about to say aww.

well it began with the usual... i wish i didn’t...
sitting in the autumnal garden
drinking coffee and eating a nicotine croissant,
watching the fog recede into nothing
while the earth showed its naked cleavage
after what seems like centuries of arcane dryness
befitting a story of an egyptian idol...
then the panic set in...
what to cook?! what to cook?!
my mother is away visiting her parents in poland,
who celebrate the feast of all saints with the usual
tackle formidable in poland:
forget the paris fashion week, forget the london fashion week...
forget the next gucci advert...
all the action happens in poland’s annual all saints’ fashion week...
through the cemetery (ahem) cat walks
(more like death on rollerblades donning a tutu
and looking fatter than size 0 models)...
because that’s when the fur coats are worn,
the make-up is heavier and everyone comes
to discuss the materialistic jealousy of a small town...
it is a small town after all...
death knocks with all the nine cat’s lives just to prove
the point...
anyway, so i’m the head chef, and in panic
i search for a recipe... i’ve only got pork on the ready
in the recognisable frozen state...
but i also have shrimps... tiger prawns...
so i look through the usual suspects... thai green curry...
ah ****! no coconut milk!
what’s it going to be? prawn korma curry
(better mild than hot i say, with all this maple syrup
and honey colours about... talk about decay),
active ingredients? chilli powder (1/2 tsp), cinnamon
(1/2 tsp), turmeric (1/2 tsp) and ground almonds (2 tbsp),
there ready... looking suntanned my gorgeous twirls of seabed manure...
enough to spare my father making himself sandwiches (i always
disguised my “dyslexia” by associations... sandy witches...
the t broke the barriers and the floods entered)...
with toasted nannies / au pairs... relatives of some sort...
then onto writing my father’s invoices:
project plaistow hospital and some housing development near
the city airport... beckton we call it... backwards and forwards
stink crowned with drinkers regurgitating on the pave...
now that is a *******... recycling centre or horse manure?
then to tesco... for the nightcap...
oddly enough tesco has become a friend of mine once more,
i divorced the turkish shop, they added 10 pence to the polish beers,
now i’m on the sedative medication of this bottle bavaria beer
and whiskey... 1 quid for the former... 10 quid for the latter -
i’ve sold my soul! never mind...
then to the beacon that’s home... it’s night... it’s spooky...
it’s essex: that non-touristy place in england people with passports
never dare to visit, shambles.
well one thing came out true... none of the above though:
you ever consider the theory of the aeroplane syndrome in writers?
you know, like with rock stars you get the full package,
you get the aeroplane and the retrieved delay of the engine mushroom,
but with poetry (which is competing with music,
philosophers just wait in that queue for the cheese, wink, whine and wrinkle)
you only get the sound... that delayed mushroom...
you see the poet but never hear him...
it’s a typical delusion i’d call parallel or even adjacent to narcissism,
you walk down the street and the closest you come
to someone recognising you is a stranger uttering out: ‘hey richard!’
‘name’s matt mate.’
‘oh... sorry.’
it’s this aeroplane syndrome theory... it’s perfectly acceptable...
you have the image but don’t have the delayed sound...
you have the delayed sound... but you only get a photograph...
you have the english national health service mental health unit crisis...
and then you have people shunning intellectualism
trying to cure people by burning / not reading philosophical books;
the day ends with drinking and reading
an article about keith richard’s antics in the sunday times’ supplement
and the thought: well i gave her a stabbing chance
at feminism... she thought the active ingredient in anti-contraception
pills was placebo... she phoned and gave birth to me...
i said abort... you’re no post-teen mum at university, you won’t be...
******* was great but i’m not that much of a match from a cosmopolitan magazine quiz
(as duly taken on my way from st. pestersburg to moscow to see
metallica play), plus there are no roofing jobs in scotland...
the scots have mountains already... there’s no point building
scratched sky skylines with mountain ranges nearby...
so even though i went to a catholic school...
i did my first redemptive act by reading about gnostic heretics...
and not getting confirmed being the second...
i would have not taken first communion... but playing the xylophone
at the nativity play was too much fun...
plus it is the only salvador dali bit of the story...
after that you have st. sebastian...
plus you see where this is going... the greeks translated
the tetragrammaton into the gospels
of st. matthew, luke, mark and john...
and the romans were duped into the legality of
things... first name, second name, confirmation name...
surname.

on Valentine’s Day he is working on black painting hears knocking at door with rag brushes in hand he asks “who is it?” “it’s Reiko! come on mr. birdfishdog open up” he has grown afraid of her nervously shuffles brushes rag in hand guardedly opens door there stands Reiko Lee Furshe shoulders pulled back arms akimbo black leather jacket black tight jeans black pointed toe boots hair cut extremely short looks like handsome young boy grinning “hi aren’t you going to invite me in? want to **** and ****?” Reiko’s altered appearance suddenness alarm Odysseus "why did you cut your hair Reiko Lee?" she says "it’s my hair and I can do what I want with it i shaved my legs armpits and ***** too want to have a look?" he replies "no no way why? why did you cut your hair?" she says "because i felt like it and because i know how much you love my hairiness Odys i wanted to displease you i’m female again!" she defiantly glares at him he looks away slowly closes door hears her holler “*******!” listens as footsteps race down stairs out building he drops paintbrushes rag rushes to front window looks out watches her saunter away down street until she is gone writes Reiko Valentine poem he will never send

love listens when you speak understands what you think love watches while you sleep love holds back as you leap love lounges while you run frantic love picks your pocket puts you in checkmate love builds nest hatches egg love rips open your chest plucks heart away love is racehorse love is rattlesnake love pretends not to notice while you ******* love swings on gate love visits your grave love impersonates a poet love slits your throat love devours everything leaves crumbs for hate

he receives Valentine card in mail from Mom wonders if ultimately his fate is somehow sorely connected to her what if Mom stands in way of every woman? what if stars lead away from recognition as painter instead steer straight back to Mom? what if each is trial to other as if their souls are entangled in insolvable riddle ancient curse? he drinks himself to sleep

Laius and Jocasta are king and queen of Thebes in ancient Greece they have baby boy oracle prophesies boy will grow up **** father marry mother to nullify prophecy Laius Jocasta decide to **** their son back then it is common to abandon unwanted or damaged baby on mountain for vultures child survives grows to be man he travels gets into fight on road kills stranger who unaware to him is his father King Laius traveler Oedipus goes to Thebes solves Riddle of Sphinx saves city he is made king unknowingly marries his own mother King Laius's widow Queen Jocasta Oedipus rules wisely he and Jocasta have four children eventually Oedipus and Jocasta realize what ******* Oedipus is Jocasta commits suicide Oedipus pokes out his own eyes becomes wandering beggar assisted by daughter Antigone at time of their marriage Oedipus is young naive but Jocasta is middle-aged woman maybe deep down Jocasta knows she is marrying her handsome son it is thrill to sleep with him maybe it is only after Oedipus realizes truth in disgust confronts Jocasta that she is driven to suicide Jocasta cannot live with herself because she has known truth all along and now she is found out Oedipus can live with himself yet he plucks out eyes because he never wants to see truth again

Odysseus continues to work on black painting many weeks pass slowly snowdrifts begin to melt on occasion sun appears in sky Penelope calls to catch up with him says she is in hurry has met really cool guy is falling in love again their conversation is brief he hangs up receiver considers how resilient Penelope’s heart is she seems so much more capable of getting over heartbreaks

The last thing the Poet feels of her is the distinctive taste of biltong. It lingers. She had bought two packets at the café.  Their last kiss is made just before the airplane announces itself with a great roar of being. He watches it swallow her and turn her into a memory. And then the plane flies away. He can’t find a silver lining in the plane’s path, so he instead focuses on the gentle return of normality to his skin. Every centimetre that was previously pressed to his Muse is smoothing its goose bumps. The Poet’s heart goes back from verse to prose, just as how it was before she became the subject of his pen.

He turns to say an awkward “dumela” to the Muse’s grandmother. She responds with the tone of a grandmother greeting a boy who has just been making out with her granddaughter in front her: “dumela.” It probably doesn’t help that his hair isn’t combed. It probably doesn’t help that they have not met before. The Poet then asks the Muse’s brother for a ride to school. Now that the Muse is gone, it is time for him to begin studying for the colourless exams that were the subject of his existence before her. The Muse’s brother nods in agreement, and he walks out of the stale atmosphere of the airport with her family. The summer sunshine somehow manages to feel uninspired.

The journey from the airport stretches out like a goodbye that ought not to happen. It is slow, painful, and filled with empty promises of hope from her family. Her brother says she will visit during the Christmas season. The Poet knows she won’t- she can’t- but he has enough novels to keep him company.  They are riding in the same little red Volkswagen that often picked her up from school. If time is simultaneous, she is sitting next to him.

The car is full; time has only one direction, and its wheels stops in front of the school gates.

He says his farewells, closes the car door, and limps to the library to start working on maths equations with his classmates. He barely opens the library doors, barely greets his classmates, and with barely practiced nonchalance, barely explains that his Muse went off to another country. He picks up his scientific calculator and clicks open his pen to attack a math problem. Hours pass in numbers that stubbornly refuse to make sense in place of her. The Poet solves a problem, and then he doesn’t. He asks for help, and then he doesn’t. He laughs with his classmates, and then he doesn't: they have to go home now for lunch.

The Poet cannot go home. He has to wait for his mother to pick him up. He decides to walk out the school gates to eat at the Chinese restaurant. It is placed conveniently outside the school. He orders some dumplings and some noodles, and then tells the waitress that he is going to buy a newspaper at the filling station while he waits for his meal.

At the filling station counter are packets of biltong hooked onto a stand.

All lines are controversial
Average performance is extremely intelligent,
My answer to the riddle is this God never wrote fables
In the bible, Qur’an, Gita, Ramayana, Dini ya Musambwa
Nor anything you will mention that amount to mankind's
Mental peregrinations in search for God.
Jewish literature in the form of the bible
Is strongly successful as a misleading literature
And firmly founded in racial prejudice.
Similarly the Qur'an is Arabic adjustment
Of Jewish literature in the bible.
The Apocryphal of them all is enigmatic.
The sons of Asia are dangerously gifted in literature
And their epics often form religion, think of Tagore’s poem
That became Indian nation anthem,
Karl Marx's das kapitel that became revolutionary religion
Blue print or even Gautama's sermons recited by Jesus Christ
Six hundred years later as a sermon on the mountain.
Now; to me Asians must stop racial chauvinism
And accept humanity as there are very many human beings
Who are living away from Jerusalem and are prosperous
Both economically and spiritually, take a case of Vatican.
In my faith therefore, God himself
will give Jerusalem to African immigrants in Palestine and Israel,
Because Abraham was a refugee in Africa,
Ishmael was born in Africa; Jesus was a refugee in Africa
And even a Libyan; Simon the Cyrene helped him
To carry the ominous Roman cross, doen to Calvary
Thus, Christianity is founded on the innocent misery of an African race.

Summer's dripping slowly in
Covering the city with a thin layer of green
The blue sky letting the sun make your skin sweat

I wake up
Mind cluttered
Face stubbly
Kinda hungover ? Or am I ****** ?

Get up ,get dressed ,wash up ,eat
And I'm off
Both feet glued to my pedals
Mind focused
Mind cleared

I'll bike away

It's not a habit with this i have no control
This is something I cant get up the nerve to tell no
I need it as i rub my legs 2gether wanting a fix
All im needing is one hit
Then for a while my mind will be free
It will float in the air passing through the trees
Without it in my body there is a friction
What i have is an addiction
Cant stop moving without it i have no ease
The thought of my addiction buckles my knees
It gives me shattering teeth and goose bumps
Knowing the addiction is too much
Wanting to have control but it wont let me
Never wanting this addiction to leave
It solves problems that i don't want to understand
Time consuming addiction needing a helping hand
Sleep never comes when i have not fed my craving
For it i go begging,pleading,prowling,and slaving
A habit no; much more complex
Wondering how im gonna come up with the next
A hard ******* from me rise when i see it
Knowing i want it **** i need it
My addiction
Soft complexion smile is light
usually go on the prowl for it early mornings and late at night
I cook it up with my own hands as i mold it to my liking
And when i get it just right i slice it
knowing that i  want it but i have to make it want me too
knowing that my addiction is you

Absent are the people
I truly believed were there.
Absent is my sympathy,
To truly love and care.
Absent is the one,
Whom directly I talk to.
Absent is the name,
I rather just call 'you.'
Absent is your presence
In a friendship that you played a part.
Absent is the love
You claim is within your heart.
Absent are the words,
I long to let pour off of my tongue.
Absent is our future,
Though, we are still young.
Absent are the reasons
For all of the swift ends.
Absent are the people,
I once had called my friends.
Absent are my thoughts,
That figures this all out.
Absent is my voice,
To whisper, talk or shout.
Absent is my courage,
To tell you about my pain.
Absent are the benefits
I would ever wish to gain.
Absent is the trust,
In whom I grew to know.
Absent is your reluctancy,
That wanted me to go.
Absent are the smiles,
That once sat upon my face.
Absent are my memories,
Of the times you showed no grace.
Absent is the understanding,
I hope we'll come to, yet.
Absent are the days
I never want to forget.
Absent is the truth,
That solves all of this mess.
Absent are my mistakes,
You could forgive no less.
Absent is the happiness,
I once felt deep inside.
Absent is you,
Right here by my side.
Absent is the person,
I could never quite love more.
Absent is his existence,
For he's not who he was before.
Absent is my knowledge,
To explain all in one poem..
Absent is my ability
To climb right up to Heaven,
And bring you safely home..

Say you want a cat. A dog's too easy,
would wag when wag is inappropriate,
and slobber on the guests. You'll take the cat,
so different and strange, it drives you crazy,

its shiftlessness, its ins-and-outs, its chi.
You call. It does not come. Is this a pet,
this Dharma ***? You say you can't accept
its vacant gaze, its scorn, who yearned to be

at home with feral grace, with all you're not.
But you're a Body safely locked from Mind,
that Problem no Mind solves. This point's defined
for you by ****, who's not the pet you thought

but Otherness, one owned by God, or none.
Cat sleeps for hours, wants out. A job well done.

I instigated the most soporific cephalic act, An Argonaut sailing within your strange eyes of others pointed retina membranes, An unsaid exodus wishes to browse your meridians sunsets tainted of that meridian, As evening falls back upon you bathed the earthly mud, Nymph Ninfuceanicus sheltering your labours of bird waste in galactic extinction and creation...

For soft aromatic worlds, you went by your house ruined Zodiac
Blurring the lost romance policy profiles, threading peat spinning the metafhysist think of his tabernacle.

The ship in question was the beautiful delicacy of numbness primary Sun, Lost Halo where one day there was countless number age, to get lost in the cold of your trellis resigned and touching your going through the watery landscape of your soul cornered iron., Spark fleeing evaporated...

How many times my Ninfoceanicus very thin you migrated with your frosty, almost scary legs traveling in a foreign-owned bird…?, Where migrating is hard to see his crosses snowy mountain plants.

What if you. Ninfoceánicas lines will plan my rickety Saturn's own trapeze degraded never stood the lofty life of the living present all this happened? Divided scratchy body plowing all unexplored fountain.


Among several of them, thousands of them managed to be among others, but one of them, violated any protocol as beautiful geese and ducks in the window of my sky, coming to ask for my company, just on the threshold of spring, next to the threshold of my window and yours…, adopted eternal brother.

She mimics the snowy Nymph the feet of all the courts of the world freely, Dancing in tight spaces where sounds beautiful my favorite track other stragglers lost images of my beautiful bird of beautiful threshold of my window as timeless dances belfry rusty sounds.
For the dark wall between your gene, which will open the whistle of your detachment, every time your commander demolition subdued light and energy to take my humble mischief…
by the way, your eyes and mine, in the vigor of sepals loved everlasting flowers insults.

Together unfairly they united as dim flowers in the air,
Divided separately exile scattered your garden,
My chronic bad inside my hundred chronically ill
I will see  Nymph hiperoceánicus, hyper rusty
By iron hanging over the mask gestures cold weather martial iron watering soil and branded satin mask stays plebeian worms my ruined face of phases of my face closet and wardrobe.


The upward castle by fierce hillsides, notify more rasterize
Your morning visit.

Among many castles many seas gang signs of femininity,
As a sliding plushy receiving a Nymph Satardia;
The first and most powerful inhabitant of the ascending Ninfuocenicus castle.

When I'm alone,
I am on the side of the broth augury sling,
Holding my application
Almost like a plumber object in the hands of a blind astronomer.

Only three steps income
Where three steps have to meet me on the runaway shadows
Of my ancestors, right neighbor pine crafty,
That hid my totemic animality...
As the blood currents green,
I lost myself…

As a front polygon,
As a front wormy adventure story demolished
In the densest darkness of your house arcane absence ashes
The cadaverous presence of the wind of my roles in pain and ossuary  of that princely that emotional solstice who anchored in your flowery landscape of love,
Spinning wheel to square steps
As contraindication to love, then need you more.


You jump on my doorstep, plain unlicensed...
So the propaedeutic of Ninfaoceánicus begins,
You write my signs and my losses as prescribed
The loneliest adage constantly fading green robes.

I often feel sad as all times outside the elapsed time,
When I feel the absence of your webbed feet oily,
Aligning by walking wearing my sun off you,
With foreign attire migrating my sunshine clothing doze...
As a gale of tulle for the South Seas who died in the wreckage of a pirate ship Pliocene…

And your sea south sorry awakening as between species
Jungle, eater vampire  as the swirl start your being lost in my
Desert be... want to be mummy augur…
Lips worst evils of unrestrained fantasy tribal worse,
They concluded entirely confined irritability.
As the bipolar lost hope,

The graft of your nomadic existence and entrepreneurial ship traveling
settled that the bipolar economy of your means of anti-life,
Closing my eyes... black aniline,
Black lost roads dancing notch watermark,
Of the hypertensive empty string, as the rope pulls and
Solves the crescent of your face depressed ocher rain.


When river, and watch your lips precursors,
I watch the surf offshore devouring my joint,
In search of  nymph Titania, your age who live with me,
My Perfect for you and my image, my imperfect picture of you and me, silky movement shores of my soul looking for you,
When I sit at the knee I bend my knee for you,
I sit on the bank remains with you.
My codex collected from you, only you...

When the cave steppe fear rages,
Tongues of fire gigantic move me by your rivers adventure
I park in your loud voice drawled from the acute bonfire
In the wooded rested than ever, it grew on your side close.

Your life was almost a straight bipolar errors,
I am now businessman making your life nearby,
Hit blowing winds greater...
And at your life in my financial life,
If you think with your hands clasped over your face
know that almost live together with you,
unbecoming my libertarian release of master your flight
hell, beastly dessert.

Most hellish ******* lastly zain,
Of the greatest forces of your body eater the myth king, fabulous race The disabled senior verse confined treaty,
Confined you that is farthest from you **** nymph Ninfuoceánica,
requalification boiling in behaviors you to exist in the relief of your abysmal way but your gooey body resting on you..., rests meditating  Do not get tired, you do not pretend to be the ruin of your prey voice sound muffled, only animals that disturb you bring your pursue days true…

Your lovers sulfur knew your colors and smells of the most pestilential entity, that overshoot and tone your threefold, as a roar of the soul that comes from your soul, do not let mental baseness mimics with anemic,
lower hostile masts your anti angels have to ride on gold gatekeepers... For the spot, if mythomania and your alcoholic schizophrenia infinity, ...

hulks  of alcohol vapors in the pulmonary vessels by butterfly flocks,
They roam the reins of collecting and rasterized your weakness sudden death, As well as the sudden resurrection of my body.
And rebukes the storm, rebuke thy right entity endowed *****'s nerve
That's where I have to pursue your side embraces more hug me,
More than your own warmth, rather than your own bravery, unbridled carriage.


I often repeat a million times,
The times I did not hear your perpendicular attentive pauses, stutters hurry ****** your frequent alcoholism, not to distinguish only slicing nonsensical attitudes sometimes slow thinking agility of a lover, Thinking that ****** and reduces that sinister and discouraging, that scrape thin that limits who want to be and not dominate.


Mapping by hiding places unusual materials,
Brochures polished of the scruffy codex and guide you an  unguided
By the groves close views as telescopic sights that are lost.


I know, my biggest Ninfuoceánica death may not be reborn on the third day…!!, But if it is not to lose lost when the day ends.
Wise ancestry and slavery will govern the pale fronts
Your hidden and mobile lives on an olive orchard,
Hiper meditate funny without feeling any known gene passed ******, nor read past experience in your prodigious map of oblivion.

Satardia; He lit a match just as night fell,
Sea and sky colours compressing regrets that burned their matches

It burned his blessed same figure as the little pair of gifts
That remained on hold as senior Ninfuoceanica,
Only his dark side Petric windmill stone...


Someday reborn to confuse his disciples confused gentlemen,
And their abandoned phrases that he dominates.

Feverish ardor,
Feverish torpor
Every living illusion is extinguished...
Go to your coward stampede
Of gatekeepers on buffalo between bloodthirsty goats...


Jose Luis Carreño Troncoso Copyright 2015
Related  August 2006

I
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers.
But they are troops who fade, not flowers,
For poets' tearful fooling:
Men, gaps for filling:
Losses, who might have fought
Longer; but no one bothers.


                                   II
And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on armies' decimation.


                                   III
Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.
Their spirit drags no pack.
Their old wounds, save with cold, can not more ache.
Having seen all things red,
Their eyes are rid
Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
And terror's first constriction over,
Their hearts remain small-drawn.
Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
Now long since ironed,
Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.


                                   IV
Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
And many sighs are drained.
Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
His days are worth forgetting more than not.
He sings along the march
Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
The long, forlorn, relentless trend
From larger day to huger night.


                                   V
We wise, who with a thought besmirch
Blood over all our soul,
How should we see our task
But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
Dying, not mortal overmuch;
Nor sad, nor proud,
Nor curious at all.
He cannot tell
Old men's placidity from his.


                                   VI
But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever mourns in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears

She’s lovely and petite,
Long flowing blonde hair,
The target of constant
Unwanted attention,
The **** of many crude jokes.
Though you can’t deny it
There is a kernel of truth
To every stereotype.
Shallow. Yes she is shallow.
Shallow as the flood waters
Three inches deep, powerful
Enough to sweep your car
Into a watery grave.
Superficial. Yes she is superficial.
Superficial as the thin layer
Of paint on a Renoir or Monet
Colors translucent and divine
Deep and lustrous
Transporting the imagination
To a world of romance and joy.
Clueless. Yes she is clueless.
Clueless as Sherlock Holmes
As he solves a mystery as dark
And complex as any labyrinth
With nary a clue, save for a trail
Of breadcrumbs and a scent of
Gardenia.
Airhead. Yes she is an airhead.
An airhead like the thinnest of air
Atop the mighty Himalayas where
Holy men choose to transcend the
Mundane and commune with
Spirits subtle and ethereal and ultimately
Unknowable.
The world sees her beauty and perhaps
Only her beauty, but they are blinded
By their shallowness, superficiality,
Cluelessness and a brain wallowing
In the clouds of misty ignorance.
Therein lies the joke.

ALBERT EINSTEIN POEMS

These are "poems" I created from Albert Einstein quotes, changing a word here and there for the sake of meter and rhyme...



A question that sometimes drives me hazy:
am I or are the others crazy?
—Albert Einstein, interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Relativity and the 'Physics' of Love
by Albert Einstein, interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sit next to a pretty girl for an hour,
it seems like a minute.
Sit on a red-hot stove for a minute,
it seems like an hour.
That's relativity!

Oh, it should be possible
to explain the laws of physics
to a barmaid! ...
but how could she ever,
in a million years,
explain love to an Einstein?

All these primary impulses,
not easily described in words,
are the springboards
of man's actions—because
any man who can drive safely
while kissing a pretty girl
is simply not giving the kiss
the attention it deserves!



Solitude
by Albert Einstein, interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Solitude is painful
when one is young,
but delightful
when one is more mature.

I live in that solitude
which was painful in my youth,
but seems delicious now,
in the years of my maturity.

Now it gives me great pleasure, indeed,
to see the stubbornness
of an incorrigible nonconformist
so warmly acclaimed...
and yet it seems vastly strange
to be known so universally
and yet be so lonely.



Morality
by Albert Einstein, interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Still, as far as I'm concerned,
I prefer silent vice
to ostentatious virtue:
I don't know,
I don't care,
and it doesn't make any difference!



Against Hubris
by Albert Einstein, interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Science without religion is lame,
religion without science is blind,
and whoever undertakes to establish himself
as the judge of Truth and Knowledge
is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods.



War and Peace
by Albert Einstein, interpretation by Michael R. Burch

But heroism on command,
senseless violence,
and all the loathsome nonsense
that goes by the name of patriotism:
how passionately I hate them!

Perfection of means
and confusion of ends
seem to characterize our age
and it has become appallingly obvious
that our technology
has exceeded our humanity,
that technological progress
is like an axe in the hands of a pathological criminal,
and that the attempt to combine wisdom and power
has only rarely been successful
and then only for a short while.

It is my conviction
that killing under the cloak of war
is nothing but an act of ******.
(I do not know what weapons
World War III will be fought with,
but World War IV will be fought
with sticks and stones.)

Oh, how I wish that somewhere
there existed an island
for those who are wise
and of goodwill! ...

In such a place even I
would be an ardent patriot,
for I am not only a pacifist,
but a militant pacifist.
I am willing to fight for peace,
for nothing will end war
unless the people themselves
refuse to go to war.

Our task must be to free ourselves
by widening our circle of compassion
to embrace all living creatures
and the whole of nature and its beauty.
And peace cannot be kept by force;
it can only be achieved by understanding.



Mystery
by Albert Einstein, interpretation by Michael R. Burch

There are two ways to live your life:
one is as though nothing is a miracle,
the other is as though everything is a miracle.

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious:
it is the source of all true art and all science.
He to whom this emotion is a stranger,
who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe,
is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.



Curiosity
by Albert Einstein, interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The important thing is not to stop questioning.

Curiosity has its own reason for existing.

One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates
the mysteries of eternity,
of life,
of the marvelous structure of reality.

It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day.

Never lose a holy curiosity.

People do not grow old no matter how long we live.
We never cease to stand like curious children
before the great Mystery into which we were born.



Character
by Albert Einstein, interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Great spirits have often encountered violent opposition from weak minds
because anger dwells only in the ***** of fools
and weakness of attitude soon becomes weakness of character.

Only two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity (and I'm not sure about the former) ;
furthermore, we can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.

The world is a dangerous place: not just because of the people who are evil,
but also because of the good people who don't do anything about it.

He who joyfully marches to music rank and file has already earned my contempt:
he has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would surely suffice.



These are poem about Albert Einstein or in which I mention him ...



Excerpts from “Travels with Einstein”
by Michael R. Burch

I went to Berlin to learn wisdom
from Adolph. The wild spittle flew
as he screamed at me, with great conviction:
“Please despise me! I look like a Jew!”

So I flew off to ’Nam to learn wisdom
from tall Yankees who cursed “yellow” foes.
“If we lose this small square,” they informed me,
earth’s nations will fall, dominoes!”

I then sat at Christ’s feet to learn wisdom,
but his Book, from its genesis to close,
said: “Men can enslave their own brothers!”
(I soon noticed he lacked any clothes.)

So I traveled to bright Tel Aviv
where great scholars with lofty IQs
informed me that (since I’m an Arab)
I’m unfit to lick dirt from their shoes.  

At last, done with learning, I stumbled
to a well where the waters seemed sweet:
the mirage of American “justice.”
There I wept a real sea, in defeat.

Originally published by Café Dissensus



The Cosmological Constant
by Michael R. Burch

Einstein the frizzy-haired
claimed E equals MC squared.
Thus all mass decreases
as activity ceases?
Not my mass, my *** declared!



ASStronomical
by Michael R. Burch

Relativity, the theorists’ creed,
claims mass increases with speed.
My (m)*** grows when I sit it.
Mr. Einstein, get with it;
equate its deflation, I plead!



Relative to Whom?
by Michael R. Burch

Einstein’s theory, incredibly silly,
says a relative grows *****-nilly
at speeds close to light.
Well, his relatives might,
but mine grow their m(*****) more stilly!



Relative Theory I
by Michael R. Burch

Einstein’s "relative" theory
says masses increase, all too clearly,
at speeds close to light.
Well, his relatives’ might,
but mine grow their m(*****) more stilly!



Relative Theory II
by Michael R. Burch

Einstein’s peculiar theory
excludes all my relatives, clearly,
since my relatives’ *****
increase their prone masses
while approaching light speed—not nearly!



Relative Theory III
by Michael R. Burch

Relativity, we’re led to believe,
proves masses increase with great speed.
But it seems my huge family
must be an anomaly;
since their (m)***** increase, gone to seed!



A Child’s Christmas Prayer of Despair for a Hindu Saint

Santa Claus,
for Christmas, please,
don’t bring me toys, or games, or candy . . .
just . . . Santa, please,
I’m on my knees! . . .
please don’t let Jesus torture Gandhi!

Will Jesus Christ cause or allow Albert Einstein and Mahatma Gandhi to be tortured in an "eternal hell" for guessing wrong about which earthly religion to believe? What about Jesus's parable of the Good Samaritan, who put aside religious differences to practice compassion? Did Jesus, who saved all his sternest criticism for hypocrites, talk the talk but fail to walk the walk himself? Or did Christian theologians get something very, very wrong? And what would Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny say about such intolerance and infinite cruelty?  




The Top Ten Einstein Quotations: The Wit and Wisdom of Albert Einstein

You never truly understand something until you can explain it to your grandmother.

We all know that light travels faster than sound. That's why certain people appear bright until we hear them speak.

Only two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity (and I'm not sure about the former) .

The difference between stupidity and genius is that genius has its limits.

An intellectual solves a problem. A genius avoids it.

The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.

The most incomprehensible thing about the world is that it is at all comprehensible.

The hardest thing in the world to understand is the income tax.

Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.

Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love!

Keywords/Tags: Albert Einstein, poet, poems, poetry, relativity, physics, love, time, genius, stupidity, universe, light

At the age of nine he wanted to die
which was something I couldn't understand
because I knew our mother loved us.

desperation so

doctors drill diagnostic decisions down his throat.
I pray he won't choke on the
shallow pills he has to swallow
hollow dreams he has to follow.

Sedating's seductive for families who can afford it.

The Founding Fathers have forged my future,
they've mocked my freedom and cashed in on humans.
America likes to revive our problems with the quickest fix, money solves it.

My brothers become another lab rat
to solidify the fact that these pills are legit.
Simply because his name appears on a list.
Ignoring the fact his original pain was nothing but a claim

against all of this cultural *******.

Our Love together's awesome in its power,
All obstacles must bend before it's might.
Our peaceful joy fills our hearts hour by hour,
And solves all our misgivings ere they strike.

My Love for you's reflected back to me,
Your mirror shines heart's brightness to my eyes.
We gaze and feed each other's deepest need,
Falling in Love more deeply every time.

So let the world assault us with its worst,
Our partnerships impervious to strife.
Together we surrender all that hurts,
And in return we radiate Love's light.

So come with me my darling butterfly,
Let both of us serenely flutter by.

In the highs and lows of life
In the ups and downs of life
In the joys and sorrows of life
In the happiness and sadness of life
In all the different moods, moments and spheres of life
Always make it a point to live life in the present with present moment of time.

Never has it happened in the present,
nor will be happen in the future.
Every moment in life that comes upon has got it's own life for quite sometime till the point in time comes when it passes away.
A moment in time that has gone, is gone,
it won't come back again.
Never has it happened in the present,
nor will be happen again in the future.

Thus every moment in life comes with a purpose.

Each moment in life has got it’s own importance,
it’s own value,
it’s own significance.

Always it’s important to understand, realize and accept the importance of every moment in life.

As easy as it may seem to be,
the easiest thing in life is to do something in haste,
in a rush of blood.

By doing so,
if it solves a problem,
then it’s well and good,
if not,
then the struggle continues.

Still even if it brings a solution to a problem,
it still remains good proposition.

The only thing that remains of concern when doing something in a rush of blood is that it can also mark the arrival of a disaster,
even if you know neither it can be averted,
nor can it be reversed.

So better keep moving at the right pace with the present moment in time
Keep a track of how things shape
Better to be more concerned about the present than that of future
Things change,
sometimes something good might happen.

Things change,
sometimes something unexpected might happen,
but then that’s life.

Hence it’s always important to keep in mind, to remember
Always take one step at a time.

Do things which you like,
rather than doing something just for the sake of doing it.

Never run away from the obstacles of life
They are a part of your life and part of the game
So face them,
learn something new in the process of solving them.

A day will come when a sense of satisfaction will occupy a place in your mind and also in your life.

Till then, it always give it a try,
try again.
Try, try and you will win.

Till the perfect moment in life comes when there is a sense of satisfaction that comes to mind till then,
it’s life and life continues.

In the highs and lows of life
In the ups and downs of life
In the joys and sorrows of life
In the happiness and sadness of life
In all the different moods, moments and spheres of life
Live life in the present with present moment of time.

You can sit around
and hope that time
solves the puzzle,
or you can put
yourself back together.

WORDS FALL FROM MY LIPS WITH EASE
ON PAPER IT GOES DOWN FOR EYES TO PLEASE
THOUGHTS THAT HAS TRAVELED MY MIND
IN YOUR HEAD A PLACE TO REST IT FINDS
AS MY WORDS LIFT YOU OUT YOUR SEAT
HANDS CLAP ON THE GROUND PLANTED IS YOUR FEET
YOUR EYES WILL BE SEALED TO THE PAPER LIKE GLUE
MY WORDS WILL EASE YOUR MIND THEY COME OUT SO SMOOTH
I WILL TAKE YOU ON A JOURNEY OF FREE WILL
SPIRITS,FAIRY TALES,DREAMS AND FANTASIES ROAM ON THERE OWN FREE WILL
MY WORDS ARE MADE TO MAKE THE SOUL STILL
I AM
THE ONE - THE ONE WHO WILL SELL YOU A DREAM UNSEEN
THE ONE WHO MAKES A DRY NIGHT A *******
THE ONE WHO SOLVES PROBLEMS WITHOUT A QUESTION
THE ONE WHO IS GONNA TAKE YOU MIND BODY AND SOUL TO ANOTHER DIMENSION
I AM
ME MYSELF AND I , I AM I
THE ONE TO MAKE YOU CRY
BUT DRIES YOUR EYES
BECAUSE MY WORDS RELEASE SMOOTH
MY WORDS ARE HERE TO COMFORT YOU
MY WORDS CAN FIX WHAT IS BROKEN
YOUR WONDERING WHO AM I
I AM
SOFTLY SPOKEN

Right around the corner,
there's a hoarder of liquor.
He wants to put it down,
but he needs it quicker.
The problems that he solves-
they don't mean a thing.
He needs everything with everything.

With a sober-straight face
and hands with nothing,
I try to lay it out to explain something.
But, he doesn't have an ear,
at least not for reason.
The bottle that he spins
doesn't land on anything.

I'm the kind of friend
that won't ever listen
and I don't ever mind it,
because I'm open-minded.

I don't need friends
that can eat their feet.
With that foot in your mouth,
where do you keep your teeth?

During the days of war.
Soldiers fight so bravely.
Until the region reach a form of agreement.
We know the scriptures lay out many great things.

One is a greatest comment.
Spoken by the greatest prophet to ever be.

Peace I leave with you.
And that personal self was unselfish.
Not as the world gives it.
But in the ways he shared it.
And instructed us to abide by it.

Love dictates many things.
That guides people in many ways.
Peace solves things.
Love enhances it.

Peace intimidate.
Love solves mistakes.
But those that dives head first.
Only makes matters worse

Until loves takes control.

Hello morning, I have anticipated you since
I awoke to the small barking dog's tailored speak for food.

I want that Eddie should start preparing her own meals. I know that while I smoke this morning's cigarette, that French Bulldog inside contemplates the fifty dollar bag of high-grade kibble she has pushed me to buy her or instead enjoying her own ****. And all of my wives friends call her a lady.

I want to ride alone in our FJ Cruiser through Yellowstone at dawn, before the predators have gone to bed and the tourists make their queues, I want to beat morning until I have found the wolves, and the sun rise mocks me as I sit four hours in traffic for a cup of coffee as I round the shivering peaks of our Rocky Mountain backyard landscape, and the Tetons swell with last nights snow-fall and the warm autumn air sends plumes of frigid mist above the valley floor and into the skies above Jackson.

And I wish I could stand once more on the balcony of the 777 building and smoke the finest sativas with my friend Turtle while our significant others drink coffees and watch reruns of American Gladiators on a $14,000 couch waiting for us to come back inside.

I wish I could wait on the benches outside baggage claim at San Francisco International Airport smoking inside the white lines, waiting for a girl in a red sports car to pick me up and my friend Guy's absurd faces there to greet me amidst the fog and the out of place palm trees Inevwr expected to see so far North.

And it would be great to hear my grandfather play the ukulele once more while I excitedly fished off of my grandparents dock somewhere in New Jersey where my mother's accent insists she grew up. And my grandfather sings horrifically demeaning songs written in 1924 that offer little respect to women, but much adventure to young men.

I want to play tag with the neighborhood children again in the Summer of 1995. Even though I had come to find all of those playing tag had absconded to a game entitled The 'A' Game, which its only rules were to exclude me from joining. I want to throw scalding hot water once more into Simon Berman's face. Though I do not wish for him to block the water with a basketball and turn my face into Jack Nicholson's Joker.

In Chicago as an eighteen year old, I could count the chalk outlines of bodies as I drove down Fullerton Avenue through the Logan Square neighborhood. I wish I could remember those sounds the boricua made. I wish I could forget the burning runs I received from Lazo's burritos at some time 'o clock in the morning.

I've never been one for finding edible late-night eats. I only want the memory of being able to do so. I do wish that my wife's ex-best friend's boyfriend realizes that he's less the great Emeril of his kitchen and more or less is just an unemployed sous chef with a laundry list of felonies, rather than a wish list of awful entrees. At least in that memory, he's neither a chef nor my wife's ex-friend's boyfriend and instead he's just another hideous orcish ****** ringing the doorbells in some suburb of Seattle, announcing to each and every one of his neighbors that he's obligated to notify the community of his ****** offenses.

I just wish I was there to witness his humiliation, and enjoy the total collapse of ego amidst the long list of those decent people he has surely offended.

Perhaps in some future life I can enjoy watching as jungle rot solves my hatred, disposing of his evilness in small skin ***** of flesh that dot the sidewalk while his disease evolves.

I want more vegan eating options across the food desert we call America. I want to arrive home one evening and find my wife ancy to share a new study that American Journal of Medixibe has found on the benefits of providing non-reciprocated ******* to your partners. And I want to be the first to enjoy the benefits of such a study, that I'm encouraged by her to publish my findings while I attend a prestigious university I once wasn't allowed to attend because of my religious background.

I want to live in a world where violence is no longer a viable solution to resolving the in differences we as humans confuse each other trying to make sense of between ourselves.

I want to visit our local grocery store and find that my favorite $8 a pint vegan ice cream has been marked down to a more reasonable number and that there is still an abundance of flavors left for me to choose from.

I don't wish for much: to not have people ask me to speak louder, full-frontal ****** in made for television movies, and a decent blonde IPA for under $10 in glass bottles. Where in this world can a poet go and still receive the respect that was once given by the royal monarchy of The British Empire.

Now it seems those with the fine knowledge of words are cast into a class with less regard than street-drifters and the homeless.

When did our world lose major respect for the artisans of fine art, or the ability to render an opus?

28-integer news memos and 15-second clips of our cute dog eating its own **** attract more attention than a fine explanation of the human condition or the sultry and sophisticated sounds of my Argentinian friend Anna recite Garcia Lorca in her native Spanish tongue.

I just want to be gone before there is a consequence for finding joy in the human condition, and honesty and integrity are known as the recividism that takes down our nation.

We were once the leaders of a great country. We were compelled by our history to create and indoctrinate one another to achieve, conceive, and amend ourselves to thrive amidst the uncertainty of a mischievous and disgraceful society. Now I just wish to be in bed with my wife when this storm of stupidity comes. I wish I never had to be on the receiving end of a sermon set forth by business leaders instead of political achievers.

I want Eddie to make herself some breakfast so I can lay here in bed a few more moments. I want pancakes and fresh fruit juice for breakfast, a quiet room and a hard-covered notebook. I want to believe a great pen and a good friend could lead me through the exciting and anxiety-writhing times in this life, but I to know too sadly that we live in a world where we don't view it as a weakness as those around us may not be able to read or may not be able to write.

Pixie dust to soar up high
Magic carpet gliding through the sky
Pumpkins giving carriage rides
True love's kiss for eyes to open wide
Her head nestles on her cloud of pillows
Her mind welcomes the Sandman's approach
A pinch here and there taking form
Exuberant fairies waltz around her head
Carelessly dropping twinkling specks
Strewn and sparkling around her bed
Her world is perfect, as you will soon see
She swims with Ariel, deep under the sea
Her best friend is Genie, she gets wishes! Three!
Unfazed by ticking, Pan always helps her flee
A carefree child, she's got the key
A sprinkle of magic solves everything because
She believes...

His forehead hits the tabletop
Exhaustion winning out
The corner of his eye catches sight
A book flecked with glittery spots
His lips curl in distaste
These tales are not to be believed in haste
His gaze alight upon
The little girl deep in slumber
The outside world is a scary place
He wants her well-prepared
He fights the knowledge he has to face
He'll shatter her dreams with words because
He doubts belief...

Belief is not a terrible thing
It offers great resolve
It strengthens hope
And doles out joy
Imagination lavished upon
Belief can come in many forms
Especially when facing a storm
When all you see are clouds' anger festering
Belief discerns a silver lining

Even when fairytales are all grown out
In memory they abide
Fairies wink as they sip from buttercups
Awaiting the mind's rollercoaster ride
When trouble arrives, emotions run high
Their lazy potion licks at the tracks
A shower of sparks
And there a new path lies
A yellow brick road so tranquil and wise

It's simple really
Simply believe

If you think of Things with your brain you  reach the limits Of  your brain . only With heart You reach the limits   of  thingS you think of
I saw   every  soul trapped in
One of these orbits
1    -  The orbit of the queen: the mind shouts “I’m the queen”, this orbit is a denial of the
roots where the mind lives this imaginative happiness.

2- the orbit of the lost crown:every mind catches a crown trying to convince the other
that she found the lost crown. In this orbit the mind is nothing but a continuous
comparison.

3- the orbit of fear: in this orbit the mind fears the truth , what if the crown that she
catches is a fake crown? What will happen if the main reason of existing doesn’t exist for
real?Will she throw the crown a away? Will she give up on its lies? Questions in this
orbits are nightmares.

4- the orbit of mechanism: in this orbit the mind hides the crown within what attracts her from outside to rest. Isn’t the dream just the mechanism of the mind to avoid the
disturbing outside to sleep? Isn’t the nightmare the mechanism of the mind to disturb the body to get comfortable to sleep? In this orbit the mind needs to sleep, she solves the questions with denying herself as if everything she needs just exists outside.

5- the orbit of the first maze:what makes the a maze is that all exits are entrances of the
maze at the same time. In this orbit the mind tries to remember where she hid the crown, t
thus it becomes under the authority of the outside, if she hid the crown in a kangaroo she will be tracked out when she sees a kangaroo. in this orbits “ things live instead of us” to remember the crown she tries to name, classify, and categorize the world.Instead of getting whatsoever in the basement out to find the crown, she tries to put whatsoever she meets in the basement might she finds the crown accidentally. In this orbit the mind is a prisoner of dualities.

6- the orbit of the second maze: in this orbit every pronoun is a mirror. She, he, and they
try to infect you, me and us with their absence, to get us out of here and out of now,  the “ we” is the masked “I” , he and she are two banks of a river just only far a away become one bank. I this orbit the mind tries to catch a center, but “every solid base becomes fragile and pathetic, in this orbit nothing is trustworthy,(  believes, ideas, values, concepts,ambitions , even the language itself , are not trustworthy).

7- the orbit of the creator : this orbit is the “ barzakh” ,then barrier , where the mind can
see through all orbits but no mind from other orbits can see her. In this orbit the mind
knows how other orbits can magnetize, possess, control, hypnotize, and how to flee.
When She laughs she is the laughter and when she dances she is the dance, she can make sarcasm out of any thing. She can sense when to visit an other orbit and when to
vanish.She swims within ambiguity without losing her direction. She stares within the
deepest well without falling down, she goes like light within dirt but stays pure. She is a
balanced beauty like a butterfly, she lives to recreate her own meaning of life since she is
grateful that God created the life meaningless so she can add her own meaning. She lives
according to her free will, not because of needs or fears. She is honest even when she lies. This exceptional mind is shapeless like a cloud, so who can stab her in the heart?