Spill some of your yourself,
Sweet southerner,
your smile graced,
chants a lost stranger.

Carried the spirit
of positivity and cheer.
Divine charm,
ah, your sweet voice I hear.

I've married your graces,
your poise is unimaginable,
heart's melted
attitude's desirable.

How I wish,
I can have you with me;
oh, Sweet southerner
let me take you to my city.

where we can walk;
like there's no dead ends.
where we can eat,
all the delicious cravings

where we can satisfy
our needs, In our precious ways;
my dream, Our days,
Under Sweet southern rays.

The man at the bar
He is a young ****
He's got years on his slate
Double my own

A bottle of scotch
He swishes away
The British way

Born in London
Now a Southerner

Touring the country
With his Wife,
Elene

Not missing a thing
Quite the engineer

Laughing away
With each glass
The bartender brings

Flapping his yap
At the pretty young miss
Residing at the bar
Enjoying her dinner
No longer feeling a part
From the crowd

You can yank me out of Yorkshire but I still want Yorkshire pudding
You can send me south but I’ll still go bargain hunting
Even though it is that I live in the South
I still have a hint of the northern mouth
Well that’s what the southerners say
But I’m sure to you it doesn’t sound that way
Anyway regardless where I am at
I’m Yorkshire bred and that’s a fact
To present this case to you
Some traits of yours; I have a few
I chose cheese to partner fruitcake
And forever search for savings to make
I always speak what’s on my mind
Which at times southerners think unkind
Though they themselves aren’t so good
When it comes to small talk in moments stood
A stranger is a momentary friend to a northerner
Whilst the southerner stands awkwardly waiting
I know which I would rather be
Let’s just say it has its’ own tea
So I am most pleased to see
That so much of you has rubbed off on me
For you my northern family
Are in my thoughts more than you know
And without you I would not be so

Lost love

I will relate this true unforgettable love story the desert is a forlorn lonely place it runs the gambit stark even sullen and then at
A single turn it enthralls captivates and then the many moods feelings in-between it could really be a telling of human life in so many
Ways my memory of Salt lake is a nice one we were moving to California I remember the climb up the mountain that was some what
Unpleasant I even stopped in Laramie Wyoming had the U Haul checked out it acted like it had a four banger engine would cut out on
The straight a ways and it wasn’t that long ago back then that I put ten cars in the junkyard they were too old and I was two young I
Tried to out run and out do Robert Mitchum when he played a southerner who ran white lighting in Thunder road the time I was driving
A long fifty eight Pontiac without a muffler on the back roads to Herrick town was sort of a reenactment the muffler came off a few
Nights before I don’t understand why my mother left the car behind when she and sis went to Pennsylvania with her sister she even
Took the keys with her talk about lack of trust what can a seventeen year old get into well in a long drawn out search a key was found
And more than usual group of guys were sleeping out why not leave lakers go up and take ma’s car out for a spin start out slow well
Out of the side yard anyway a little more tricking putting it back so past Black desert Ray Cherry’s on the back road to Assumption by
Now the accelerator is stuck to the floor the problem a lead foot anyone have teenagers driving pray good and hard I God and hands
of steel holding the wheel when literally my blood felt like it turned to ice water from the thrill that was now in God’s hands I hit the
small bridge back this way where the road turns back left where there used to be oil well operations right there I was flying low at one
Hundred and fifteen miles an hour soon would be Dukes of hazard air borne all four tires and car at least twenty five through the air
The front tire came down with a hard jarring bang ice water veins and a heavy wide poncho and God kept it upright went down turned
Around lost ten miles an hour of nerve went back one hundred and five miles an hour same little shorter flight but this time we
Landed right on top and in the middle of three chug holes if it had been the tire and it had went in I wouldn’t be writing this or anything else
But the muffler came off with a fine howdy doo as the car banged back on the ground so I gunned the car down by Besons turned it off
And coasted back into the yard went in and told a barley awake grandfather at two thirty in the morning how the county ripped off the
Muffler he fell for it next day I tried it on Ma all I got was right did rack off nice through the hills and bottoms. There is a high that goes with
Speed but there is also is a special quality that emerges out of slow deliberate movement as witnessed by my slow climb up the
Mountain pulling a T bird and a load of furniture more pleasurable on the down grades your still fighting not to over brake but the black
Night the air and the road the trees all enters your conciseness these feelings returned as Yvette set in studio and told her story it is
A story of youth, innocence lost to mindless cruelty it happened with the little dell reservoir shimmering bright under a full moon thats reson
Zack’s mother calls him the man in the moon and the purpose of the trip Zack was into black and white photography he
Wanted to photograph this lovely vision capture it where it would be a favorite item to share with his many friends it would be what
Lived on or at least one tangible part Yvette laid the background of the story how all through high school Zack and her were in all the
Classes together and when she would enter he would all ways make a comment she grew to enjoy and look forward to what he would
say it was tender young love taking it faltering first steps on this night he called and asked her to go she didn’t think anything of it she
Hadn’t done anything special as far as dressing in fact she had washed her hair hadn’t even dried it there is something basic naturally
Raw about a woman with wet hair whatever it is it causes the male heart to beat faster anything is powerful when left untamed. They would flash out to the place this story unfolded the quiet silence the full moon electrifying the water with a glorious sheen and the grass back lit with light causing the gold
Grass to beam without words or action there was a shout coming from nature’s heart and soul it reminded me of the modern western
I read thirty years ago called Goldenrod this perennial plant found in meadows served as the name of the ranch in the story. Yvette says as they
Turned into the final lane that led to the parking she felt a hint of a first kiss in the offing everything was picture perfect and it was nothing
Strange when the white pickup pulled into park that happened all the time at first the stranger kept his distance but he slowly worked
His way toward them finally just feet away he asked them where the path went to they gave him an answer she turned her back she
Said she hoped Zack turned also because at that moment the stranger pulled out a gun and started shooting the first shot killed Zack
He emptied his gun one bullet knocked her down then the shooting stopped then she realized he was reloading in that moment her
Father’s voice spoke in her mind if attacked by a grisly play dead more shots she felt the wind and speed of the bullets pass her head
One on the side caused a ugly exit wound but through it all being shot four times she lay still with her eyes open then the killer touched
Her leg she said she didn’t have a concept of being shot but now it was something that terrified her she thought he was going to ****
Her everyone thinks about that he put his face close to hers she could feel his breath on her neck his purpose was robbery as he went
Through her pockets he withdrew and she heard Zack’s car start later as she retold this two a group in Utah’s Capital building where
She is now a lawyer and a victim’s advocate it must have been strange to get in the person’s car you just killed and have Neil Diamond
Come an and sing. So when the gunfire died down and the night swallowed the terror a future wedding and life with Zack was forever
Gone his spirit dispersed among the stars and his spirit captured and held in natures wonder the new life reality capture was swift since
He left his vehicle his story an immigrant from Uruguay first stop New York then Utah unhappy with life he became obsessed with
Death he just wanted to watch someone die pathetic he was going to then **** himself guess what he had a change of heart got a plea
Deal to avoid the death penalty Zack’s family finally agreed they didn’t want the day twenty years in the future when he would be put
To death then the protesters do like they were doing as timing would have it in Texas at that very time praising almost the killer’s life
And demeaning the victim so he got life without parole then as a true snake has tried five appeals saying he was depressed at the time
This was his last appeal and finally the family has peace, Yvette suffered victims survival syndrome she left her heart on notes she left
On Zack’s grave it showed the depths of love that was dammed far more so than the little Dell ever could be Yvette married but the
Young man in the moon was to powerful a hold so she divorced she does have a seven year old little girl that helps push back the dark
Shadows of that night Zack sister was the one who had the children her one son bears her brother’s name and even looks like him
Yvette’s ending words was she just once to run up and hug Zack and talk to him about that night when love flew away on wounded
Wings to hurt to fly far so in the desert the wind whimpers love denied finds not a heart as its home lost fulfillment blows among the sage
In the eyes of a special woman there is a haunting stare you can read there torment sorrow pathos in the raw she found comfort
In service of helping others this is her and Zack’s story and severe as it is it is also a story of youth that is gone the same as our stories
I want to relate one other special story in this exaggerated time of *** nonsense without love or consequence or responsibility this
Happened in a youthful time of innocence it was moving touching and in one way reflects the time you fell in love this won’t get you
But as the saying says the glory contained in the rose comes by the price of pain from the thorn to walk in the past you can tear a hole
In the heart and soul where tears are stored in abundance I found this out for myself I set down from Carol’s house in tower hill at
a church in the parking lot as I relived those special moments between two people young innocent love that would ignite and through
Days and nights that were to short proved it wasn’t to be what was it I can’t really say but I’m sure you know as well as any of us can
know I know it came from left field not expecting it but it’s all right to cry in a church yard even if you’re my age any time innocence
And love is called or damaged it carries poignant painful waves to roll over you sometimes with other things at play in life they can be
Too much there is a song that says I wouldn’t take anything for my journey now no and neither would I take anything for my memories
Of friends and youth and lost love.

I am an exoskeleton
Falling to pieces
Half alive yet entirely dead
Crumbling and translucent
Delicate, and drifts, fluttering
With a single breath from someone
Nearby
I could be crushed or mangled
By a strike of the hand or a flick of a finger
But because I am considered beautiful and strange
I am kept preserved
The world revolves around beauty and
Oddities and I become one of these
Studied anomalies, a curiosity, merely
Because I am not like them
I am Oriental
And Occidental
I am a Southerner
And a Northerner
I am malnourished
Yet well fed
I am thin and short
But my stature belies my power
I am a geek, nerd, braniac, dork, and overachiever
But remain a stupid, ignorant, procrastinator
I am certainly an curio; a
Living
Breathing
Walking
Oxymoron

Some went West
and others went East.
The ones in between
found they liked South the least.

The traitorous winds
carried news from the mouth
of a stranger who wandered
the dreaded South.

They said:

"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."

Those of the West,
those of the East,
and the Northern inbetweeners
listened with incredulity.

But the Southerner just repeats:

"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."

"If we fight not for glory,
then why fight at all?
War is a necessary evil!"
Those Westerners say, how uncivil.

"Peace cannot yield
without sacrifice.
Someone always has to lose their life!"
Easterners cry full of strife.

"Freedoms are protected
if you follow the rules.
Speech must be regulated, calm, and cool."
Said from those under Northern rule.

But the Southerner repeats like a record loop:

"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."

Then the wind finally stopped
spreading its message.
But the lofty seeds that traveled with the wind,
planted themselves in places they've never been.

And they started to grow into something more.
Freedoms and rules.
Peace and sacrifice.
Glory and War.

“A penny for those thoughts me dear” she hears a Cockney woman’s tongue..as this old Southerner reminisces standing here when she was oh so young.. back in those bygone days when she was only ten years old, stood sobbing her little heart out and shivering in the cold..

As she waits in King’s cross station at platform number eight and just like all those yesteryears ago, this TransPennine train was late..when she worthlessly wandered within a crowd of many others, all little lost evacuees estranged from their loving Mothers..So she stands here today searching her soul from sad traces, as she recalls the screams and cries and that look of languish on those faces..and that was sadly sixty years since she waved her Mum goodbye but she can still reminisce the fraught and rawness with a teardrop in her eye..

Twas one late September morning in 1939 and she held a little hand with all her might as that steam engine sped along the line..and alas that was the last time she ever saw her distraught Mother when her and hundreds of other lost little souls left London with her tiny brother..Yet Oh the sadness and suffering has moulded amidst her heart, from that awful station in September when her loving family had to part..So in the twighlight of her life at almost seventy one years of age she stands waiting on that transPennine train, and in her heart of hearts she knows that this time when she steps off that platform she will never return again...

I've always wanted to be a southerner
not the "refined" southern
more of that blue grass southern

most of that blue grass southern
are always on their way home
crossing land marks; cumberland gap, georgia river, rocky top

you see that blue grass southern
always has a "baby," a someone
waiting for them

when your that blue grass southern
you have blues that are deep
but your tune is always bright

well with that blue grass southern
your always searching for that simpler
never northern life

so please just give me
more of that blue grass southern

Calcium bricks stink spilled
gossip,
broken others granddad forgot
to mend when he fertilized the azalea bushes.

The mummified Southerner could ****
in the wind. And be happy. And be quiet.

                      Much like the blind man
staring out the window into the murky water,
                "Mock me
and all your flowers will never bloom."
      My granddad would say
                                till the day he became
                                the dirt beneath the stone.

Insomnia had come knocking.
Insomnia is a Southerner, a belle who's smooth words and honied utterances trapped me in her company.

I was laying swathed in sheets, attempting to persuade Miss. Sleepless Night to call on some other hapless soul. Upon realizing a lost cause, I turned to the walls that had become my entertainment on evenings such as this.
Blobs of ink twisted into ribbons, which lopped into figures who jived and waltzed through the room.
They flirted, they fought, they played hide and seek like children, delighting with seemingly spontaneity.

But the charm was gone tonight.

The walls replayed the same stories, the same wispy characters mingling with the same friends.
It was like a over used recored, beloved, but dull.

I teetered on the verge of exhausted tears, why couldn't that wrenched ghost let me shut my eyes, and sleep?

What was sleep anyways? Was it really just a biological means of repair, of converting the day into data?
Or was it something more then that?
Was it a spirt of some higher being, the avatar of it's loving side?
The peace bringer, the soother, the safe guard from troubles.

If there was such a thing, I'd like to shake it's hand, I mused, and offer it a life long customer, and a desperate one at that.

Something stopped me though, half way through my theoretical business deal.
It was the jolt of surprise that coursed through Insomnia's veins. The kind of surprise that only occurs when your convinced you've got something snug in your grasp, and ****.
It's slipped away.

There was a new shadow on the wall, a shadow that all the other inky dancers respected highly. You could tell by the slight bow of their nebulous heads, and the atmosphere of admiration.

I propped myself up against downy pillows, not quite believing what I was seeing.
This cloud like creature was winding it's way across the ceiling, a deep grey mass. Paralyzed by it's presence, I gaped as it stopped right in front of me.
It looked like liquid smoke, with two gleaming wings and twin small, delicately curved horns, wrapped in a light breeze. It had no mouth, but owl like eyes, bright with deep, calming wisdom.

The moment this otherworldly being looked at me, I immediately felt a sense of relief. Insomnia was being called away, she had to pack up her sticky invitations and leave.  HE had told her to mind her own troubles, and she didn't want to meddle with the boss man, now did she?
A discontented huff, and that was all that remained of my genteel personal demon.

It appeared that was the end of the winged sprites visit too, for he was nowhere to be found.

Not that I searched too hard.
I, finally, fell into the Land of Nod.

By Arcassin Burnham


Psychedelic Love Makin',
Grabbing energy from the stars that we promise would
Not be taken,
Kissing Everytime like we've seen each other for the first
Time in a long time but it was just awhile ago when our
Love got stronger,
Stronger than those memories,
Right here where you need me to be,
You know you could always call on me,
You Know you could always call on me,
Not a buzzkill or an enemy,
I'm simply, your necessity,
And all these things you do to me,
I'm vividly tapping out nervously,
In the air below your window where the lilies grow and gather
Up the courage to say what they have to say when they're alive,
Even just being in your company will comfort me like giving trees
In the midst of spring where the feelings collide,
You're so pretty , wheres your kidneys , drinking Bourbon like
A southerner in a graceful way when the pigs will fly and see
Better days,
Call on me and I'll be there to stop the habit and the insecurities,
Swear it will be always this way, I promise.

The barefoot southerner walks the land
He revels in charming Appalachia
A smile of his home

How to make our way out west?

The skies are eternal loving arms
Wrapped around the mountains
A feeling of home

How to make our way out west?

The sunset of the Cumberland ridge
The sky becomes blood in your veins
A heartbeat of home

How to make our way out west

i knew i wasn't going to give the experience enough justice
by writing about it: immediately after having just...
experienced it.. i was already tired from the shift
and i only managed to come home around 2am,
but i wrote something preliminary to keep the "bank
account" of memory intact, below an overdraft
of forgetfulness - i had to write something telegraphically...
i woke up today around 11am after staying up
until 4am... i truly didn't do the event enough justice...

after all... it's not everyday that a man gets to write
about having a *******...
   i passed the Rubicon (as it were)...
                  i needed to quench all my jealousies...
this one was a big one...
   massive...
                    that's how you quench jealousies...
this one friend of mine started: fwend...
bragging that he was in a ******* once...
i believed him... my downfall... i became jealous...
i know him: sickly sprout of a guy...
  did he? didn't he? it didn't matter by then... or now...
that's the thing with the spirit of man:
whether true or not...
i had to find a way to compete with
                        the claim...

so i was coming back from a shift... slightly tired...
but not too tired...
   i was actually going after just one girl...
i took about enough money for an hour...
     circled round the brothel in my usual way...
since i quit smoking i was only drinking brandy
and pepsi... thinking about the Firth of Forth
geographic bearings and how it's impossible
to reach the same distinct: east is east...
west is west... north... south in London...
even if you're standing before the Thames...
don't know... Edinburgh is that much different
to London: probably because of the Firth of Forth
or perhaps that's a southerner talking about
living in the north... that's what i really loved
about living in Edinburgh... i knew where east was...
i knew where the north was...

London is confusing: geographically...
   it's a ******* Behemoth of a city...
           i find that... i have this Bermuda Triangle
compass in my head when i'm in London...
the world seems to implode...
   i'm standing in the 9th circle of Hell and everything's
spinning out of control...
because there's so much momentum concerning
London: the whole world is here...
no wonder i don't know where east is...
      at least in Edinburgh you have pointers...
the Firth of Forth... Glasgow to your "left"
when walking toward Prince's Street...
          so many bridges: but no river...
   i.e. bridges because during the black plague
the ingenious architects built on top of the infested
quarters... so the city rose up... hence the bridges...

of course i became jealous...
   there's no better remedy for jealousy other than to...
imitate... let's see... what the hell this "badge of honour"
is all about...
i.e. to sleep with two women at the same time...
i wasn't planning... walking around the brothel
i was actually thinking: will i be too tired to get
a hard-on? i'm not taking any ******* pills...
i knew a guy from high-school once...
troubled... but lovely... Ryan... he could have been
the next big footballer...
  but he succumbed to ingesting ****** early on...
all that teenage lust from the girls got to him...
last time i saw him: he had that aura of being
hyped up about nothing...
   precursor of being: left-over... disused...
dropping ****** pills... probably doing some other
drugs because... outside of the school environment...
he wasn't pulling his weight along...
the environment became open and there
was no access to freely available pedestrian looking
girls in school uniforms...
i'm not doing that ****: i thought...
            no... *** is an act of reciprocation...
i don't have a ***** for a *****...
   this doesn't work on automatic foundations
of... see a naked body: get aroused...
no! if i had a switch, say: squeeze my testicles hard enough
and i get an *******...
**** me... women talk about moods...
i have moods too... i'm either aroused or i'm not...
depends on the totality of a woman...

if it were as simple as seeing a naked body...
in the flesh... well... it's different when you're doing a solo
project to ease a **** out of your ****
on the throne of thrones...
but in real life interaction... you can't just expect
a naked body... coupled with Picasso's cubism et al.
brigade to give you a runner...
plus... i needed to take a ****...

  some Asians were playing supermarket car park
cricket late into the night...
how happy they must have been...
while i was... prowling... gearing up...

i knew that if i had a ****-issues... i'd be having
******* issue... ****! little Richard:
where on god's almighty earth did you leave
your hard-on batteries?!
why can't you be more: switch-on / switch-off?
why will you not succumb to
the easy-pathway of ingesting some chemicals:
fear of repercussions for "under-performing"?
to hell with that...

it works both ways... i might be in the mood...
the moon is almost full...
i feel a werewolf sitting on my shoulder...
nibbling it... i was expecting a crow biting my ear...
but i need to be in a "mood"...
  i can't do: it's raining therefore i'm thinking
of the many hues of blue mingling with
purple and green...

    i didn't ask for a *******...
     there were two prostitutes sitting gauging
their eyes out... i chose one...
but this other one... this party girl was gearing up...
and she was like: he said to me twice now...
thrice i can't take... i only chose one...
but she was not having any of it...
can i just have this one?
    apparently no... i had to take both of them...
because the one that was pretending to
be this bleached blonde wanted to be in on
the "action"...

            i thought about the jihadis...
yeah... you and those 72 virgins...
how about 72 prostitutes...
               boyo... you have another thing
coming...
                  it's hard... i'm not saying it's easy...
******* two women at once...
it's confusing... getting a blow-job while
at the same time ******* on some *******...
you try your hardest to keep a hard-on...
******* on *******... pretending to be a toddler...
while... all the while... you're getting ****** off...
it makes no sense...
   why? well... when you're getting ****** off
you want to communicate eye-contact...
but... you're disengaged from it by *******
a 2nd girl's *******...
so it's like...   x = z but y ≠ z...
    
       that's why i hate *******...
                what society sells...
my best resolve concerning a *******?
it's not what people who have perfected it
have imagined... reality is a tender little *****...
what's best about a *******?

you snuggle up to one girl, the one you like...
she performs a hand-job on you...
you kiss her face, her neck...
you sometimes interlude her with eye-contact...
she knows you're digging her...
she's pretty... tameable...
        
she's jerking your off... while the other girl?
she's cameo... she was the one instigating this
interaction... she's the party girl...
she's the one tickling your *******...
she's the one you're about to use her cleavage
for imitation of ****..
   she's the one about to take a shower
after you ******* full sprout...
******* duck-lips... botox etc.,

                 she's the one who initiated the *******...
i was only after the one i fancied...
how do i know? after we finished...
the one i ******* onto...
and myself... she took a shower...
i also took a shower... she sprayed me with her
perfumes...
i took a shower... dressed up...
the one i fancied... while i was dressing...
she
stood behind me... like a vampire...
body-size-difference...
she started massaging my back and shoulders...

two girls... self-evident competition...
the one i liked gave me the most ingenious
hand-job... i smoke a cigarette and managed
a hard-on...
             i liked her eyes... her eyes told me everything...
i was the supposed good-mad-man...
party girl wanted a piece...
duck-lips unattractive...

i was put off by their song choices...
i was thinking:
kid loco - rattlesnake rattle (she's my lover)
wax tailor - ungodly fruit
boozoo bajau - keep going...

    if i had a harem of women i'd first have to
educate them in what music is best
ingested when having ***..

   of the two? the part girl that suggested
we have a *******? competing interests...
again: wrong choice of music...
after *** she started rummaging through my rucksack...
like a teenager...
   she found... a few things... most notably
Ovid's ****** Poems...
she asked me... oh, **** me... not this again:
are you German?!

what is it with people having this skewed
physiognomy of entertaining me as
a ******* Deutsche?!
i don't mind... i find it kind of beneficial...
but... if there's this superstition about whites
being unable to tell the difference
between Somalis and Kenyans...
like **** we can't... imbeciles... like **** we can't!

in an interlude between ******* on *******
and getting a a *******... sorry...
threesomes might be a zenith...
but... there are no third person involvement...
i can't accommodate two women at once...
if i'm getting ****** off i'd like
a blinding eye-contact...

   i smoked a cigarette and got an immediate
hard-on on... readied for a hand-job
and a tickling of the *******...
however threesomes go...
i found the best "position"...
no... it's not about what ******* sells...
first time... find yourself best served...
one of the women is more willing than the other...
best scenario?
you cuddle up to the girl giving you a hand-job...
you kiss her *******... you kiss her cheeks...
her neck...
while the other girl looks on... as you hide your
face into the face of the girl doing the deed...
you get to implode voyeurism...
one's doing X...
the other is looking at you:

          O)

                    or )O...

   because you're cuddling up to the one
that's jerking you off... half of your face is "missing"...
but you're looking at her...
while she's tickling your *****...
half of your face lost in the girl you like...
you wanted to be alone... pristine *******...
but she was the one who wanted a party and a *******...

you wait before asking her to provide her *******
for a makeshift ******...
the girl jerking you off is still her most
tender self... eyes of doe...
the ******?
              i wasn't asking for a *******...
good... that i spend my hard earned money
on this... to hell with spending it on material:
immaterial byproducts of hush... oops...

a ******* only makes sense when
one of the girls is jerking you off while the second
girl is watching you being ****** off...
teasing your *****... then come the ****** providing
her ***** as a substitute ******...
eye-contact... i don't believe one can have
a persuasive ******* being
occupied by... a duality of oral ***...
receiving oral *** while giving oral ***...

it's so much better to find a balance of...
voyeurism...
one girl is jerking you off while the other is watching you...
eyes eat eyes...

oculus edo oculus - eye eat eye...
that's how eroticism works... at least...
that's what i've fathomed from finding Ovid...

mind you: ******* oversells certain theatrics...
no... it's not true... reality is a different game
to what's practised in this kind of theatre...
i've already mentioned it...
sometimes i want to please others...
but sometimes i want to please myself...
it's "fluid"...
                  to hell with the precursor needs of
outliers that homosexuals are...
                        if they are to be proud and i'm
to be shamed, no wonder my sometimes stretching
the hard-on "problem"...
but... no little wonder: how a little bit of cognac
and a drag of a cigarette can make due resolves...

threesomes... best scenario?
the one that you liked... the one you wanted to ****
solo... is giving you a hand-job...
while you're snuggling up to her
like some Norman Bates...
****'s freaky anyway... since there are three in a room...
and the one that instigated the *******
is peering into your eyes
like Aetos Kaukasios... the eagle eating Prometheus'
liver... she's the one rummaging through
your rucksack looking for...
sure as **** she wasn't looking for a book
by Ovid... she's the teenage girl that's unable
to find meaningful eye-contact during ***...
she has the fun-girl-sour look in her face...
   she can't be serious during ***... she has done too much
botox implants into her already duck-duck lips...

the one i wanted already knew that the one
who instigated this profanity just wanted...
she was the one so desperate to get ******...
i mean: becoming intimate is one thing...
couldn't we just have fooled around?
rather than stressing a belt and notches?!

i sometimes feel like a woman when i'm *******...
i just want to ease into oozing
with... when a spider ****** an octopus...

if that could happen to you, or me...
nothing was ever left as a reminder to be unlike
any prior man...
all we have are reminder of how it is: to be a man...
are we not to inherit what
it is, that all that is: is to allow ousrelves
to be human?

i tease... i watch these men coupled within
their subordinate selves...
shackled... oh too trying...
  rings on their ringers...
               tiresome, tired-breeds...
men who have never managed to range
into a reach of galloping on a horses' hind!
my god... men who have never had a *******...
it's a bit like relocating a voyeurism...
one jerks you off while another looks on...
and what is she good for?
tickling your *****...
   using her cleavage as a makeshift ******...
she's not welcome...

because the one you want to be with is
already: gauging your eyes out...
Solomon's harem: Autumn...
          the envy of Muhammad...
                                
prior: disorientating getting a blow-job
while ******* on *******...

Jonathan.

There is no perfume on earth -
that can equal the smell of fresh cut
grass
A June gardenia or morning wisteria
A Cherokee rose or July honeysuckle
rows
There's never been a scent bottled that could equal -
Mothers Tea garden in full summer throttle
No aromatic elixir available could ever-
compete with the 'tickle of the nose' from a -
homegrown tomato
Try to entice this southerner with a fragrance of such monumental -
power that it could pull him away from the lure of magnolia -
flowers
O how I envy the masonry soldier
A permanent sentry at the flower bed entry ...

Mary’s Mother is from Georgia, her Father from Pennsylvania.
A steelers flag hangs on Mary’s front porch, and every Sunday night in the fall means eating chicken wings while adorned in black and gold.

Mary’s Father has an office.
Inside of it lay a few rusting guitars, but the walls of the room are what truly catch your eye.
The paint itself, a dull muted gray is immaterial when compared to the dozens of plaques that enhance it.
Each frame carries a different piece of Groundhog’s Day memorabilia, many house pictures of Punxsutawney Phil, one is a certificate declaring Mary’s Father an “official Groundhog ambassador”, another an autographed photo from a Groundhog handler.

Mary’s Father claims that Groundhog’s day is America’s second greatest holiday.

Mary’s parents were married at Gobbler's ****.
Punxsutawney Phil attended the wedding.
Mary and her little sister stayed home from school every Groundhog’s day in elementary school, and in middle school they attended but came to school in matching Groundhog hats.

Mary’s kitchen counter has a small black speaker.
Each Sunday morning, Mary’s Father blasts the Polka Party Radio Show hours into the afternoon.
The whole family knows all of the polka songs by heart.
Each Sunday morning they came together to listen to the “Waltz of The Angels”, a Polka special dedicated to various passed loved ones.
Even the turntable in Mary’s dining room only plays Pennsylvania Polka vinyls.

Mary’s incredibly familiar with Hershey Park.
She and her sister have brought home various souvenirs from Pennsylvania’s notorious “Chocolate Town”.

Mary’s family knows Gettysburg like the back of their hand.

I’ve known Mary for over a decade.
I never knew her mother was from Georgia.
“The Southerner’s Handbook” sits in Mary’s living room, the only true mark of Mary’s Mother’s life before she surrendered her maiden name.

I think it is a beautiful thing to give up your culture for somebody else.
I think it is a beautiful thing to sing Pennsylvania Dutch folk music with your Husband on late weekend nights because you know it makes your children happy.

Are we in_
((Hell))
This is no
((Liberty Bell))

We are the high water
War below and what's up
Will you never know?

Green mudfish
alligators
Decomposed
no growth

Never Oh!
My sweet Lord

Never produce
a broken
family cord_
Electricity

The procreation
Oh! God
To raise the
waterbed
floating

Producing_ babies
crying
detention
Troubled
abortion_ tears fears
Beer pockets
Most valuable
Moms locket
Let's never forget
Eternity of lifetimes
I am frightened
Be ready set
The bad
impressions

Never to be belittled
infractions
Presidential
Re-produced
Its all in our genes
a bad temper
fuse
((Rose))
I suppose
I am smellingGucky
******, Icky, Too picky
Up to my neck long
hickey play Stuckey
Never dull moment
The player of hockey

The streets foul
smell putrid

Ever or never
Can we all do better
It darkens's our spirit
Bitter smile Egyptian

The Nile or God sake
The Northern star
All greased Southerner
Fried Chicken
There's never
A smile day his
Mom deceased

Her bad haircut
Rotted beams
Red devil NJ
dreams
Never be
miserable or?
What! The weaker
The prey of all weeks

They go in three's
Turned into rotten
One Apple
computer

Unsatisfactory
No sweat of
the factory
The composer

Squirrels and
Comedy Will Ferrell

Will Smith
got locked
Bad report
Movie card
Geologically
Rotten
The poem
almost got
hidden
Robin wanted
everyone
To be happy
in this
rotten
unforgiving
world

To Produce
Spiritual blessing
He smiles with
that Kraft
: Rotten Greens:
His Witch
dressing_
Never
produce
Dead boring-set
producer
Under-cut  
pay riot
Never act
like
idiots
thrown
inside
a fruit bin

Never
Fruit loops
to be priced
I got stuck
by ((Cactus))
pin
Take it from me
Brooklyn girl
((Canarsie))
Never the
Tootsie
roll
Taking a ride
inside
my soul
Hello to all
my family
So forever loyal*

But the Disloyal
Dangerous
earth
Morally corrupt
everyone
feels so rotten
Someone got to you
what nerves
to interrupt

What we interpret
on the internet
Mr. Mcintosh
Overly friendly Josh
The pink lady
Let's never
produce
anything shady

Some people don't pray
Some people can't

I'm stayin' with Aunt Sally
But ya know she's not really my aunt

Food truck tonight
Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Been to New Orleans once
Never Texarkana

Not really a southerner
Though I've lived years in the South

At times not even American
Despite such sounds from my mouth

More like an expat
Wandering Bangkok to Rome

Human life is exile.
Where, O where is home?

It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss whether they was made or only just happened: I judged it would have took too long to make so many. Jim said the moon could a laid them; well that looked kind of reasonable, so I didn't say nothing against it because I've seen a frog lay most as many, so of course it could be done. We used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them streak down. Jim allowed they'd got spoiled and was hove out of the nest.

                       - Mark Twain
                     Huckleberry Finn

Through a portal, indigo swirls outta volcano
Erupts in Eyjafjallajökull lava flows to the core go
Down below rests angry god Quetzalcoatl
Rhymes on tap no bottle off they rattle
Like those southerner rattler snakes
Sheddin words better than dandruff flakes
Weddin phrases better than catholic Primates
Ancient titles dustier the desert around Euphrates
Files in piles get higher down comes a wire no waits
Paypal cash transfer launder from feds to white sheets
White washers in backwaters sponsored by red cysts
****** wishes in defeat losers too justice
Equal rights, they weep never wanted this
Protests against it in streets in the winds they ****
In Texas first in race to govern to oppress colors
Heaters out to greet ya like 'ello guv'nor
Deport you like a foreigner sent over Charons border
Memoir of the late lead hoarder aka bullet holster
Noir black and white gore at the scene of the ******
A disaster all over white plaster red drips faster
Turn brown oxidize on the alabaster

We was to never be

Ever as we was

Never will there be an us

Fever one self

And done you wrong

Like a country song

You was hurt so

Bring ***** in on the rug

And surly this was love

Such a women would don a crown above her

A polite southerner would say

Should had done you better

Then gone on to the next one

Loneliness draws the moth to the flame

Came to one door

Fed me from one plate

And give of one bed

You didn't wish to lay *****

Led me in pray

Even though I might stray

I ought not to be so lucky

You stuck along side

This fool and his pride

Use not my love as an excuse

For above which you will otherwise leave

A plate of rice and beans is kept waiting on the stove

For what else is Heaven but a place that service your favorites?

Of where grace is said before every meal

A space is set with an empty seat

I treated you badly

Had it not been for me you would had knew joy

Could had seen Rome

Known not of this silent that greets you

Cradling hands around a body that you couldn't lent me

In a home that you wouldn't rent me

Strength alone will only mend a heart but not heal it

I couldn't deal with such things as parting

So instead I started to write you a song

Before long it became a poem

And then just some words

If only heard in a dream

We might had been

Malahide was so curious quaint
Am I in a painting?

Patrick is the patron saint
Washed on an empty beach

A southerner I ain't
But I drank tea in charming Savannah

San Francisco y Chicago
Turn the river green

               Things Not Seen

charleston at night is quite beautiful wind to the water churches alight the old slave market still stands my friend susan lindsay from high school lives there i think i was just wondering around wind to the water never had a daughter but she does two of them most likely lovely and charming like their mother i don't think im actually a southerner but in charleston they eat beans and rice like the chinese and they worship their ancestors red pine in the chungnan mountains im drifting drifting toward death fatherhood is joy nitnoy nitnoy south china sea

                                              xie xie ni

Carolina Inn
Like a walking history lesson

The South a mystery
My southern letter confession

Dr. Thomas was a southerner
As is my brother Ryan

I got one foot in
The truth is I ain't lyin'

Old times there are not forgotten
Which is both good and bad

The past isn't even past
So I'm still an Irish lad

All The King's Men
Flannery O'connor

A good man is hard to find
Falstaff says air is honor

La Florida
The southern Land of Flowers

Gollum's puzzling riddle
This thing all things devours

I'll walk home Franklin Street
A republic if you can keep it

If he could see us now
He would surely weep it

Such a lovely hotel
I walk and read and learn

Though often unwell
Silently I yearn!

charleston at night is quite beautiful wind to the water churches alight the old slave market still stands my friend susan lindsay from high school lives there i think i was just wondering around wind to the water never had a daughter but she does two of them most likely lovely and charming like their had i don't think im actually a southerner but in charleston they eat beans and rice like the chinese and they worship their ancestors red pine in the chungnan mountains im drifting drifting toward death fatherhood is joy nitnoy nitnoy south china sea

                                              xie xie ni