We had wanted to leave our homes before six in the morning
but left late and lazy at ten or ten-thirty with hurried smirks
and heads turned to the road, West
driving out against the noonward horizon
and visions before us of the great up-and-over

and tired we were already of stiff-armed driving neurotics in Montreal
and monstrous foreheaded yellow bus drivers
ugly children with long middle fingers
and tired we were of breaking and being yelled at by beardless bums
but thought about the beards at home we loved
and gave a smile and a wave nonetheless

Who were sick and tired of driving by nine
but then had four more hours still
with half a tank
then a third of a tank
then a quarter of a tank
then no tank at all
except for the great artillery halt and discovery
of our tyre having only three quarters of its bolts

Saved by the local sobriety
and the mystic conscious kindness of the wise and the elderly
and the strangers: Autoshop Gale with her discount familiar kindness;
Hilda making ready supper and Ray like I’ve known you for years
that offered me tools whose functions I’ve never known
and a handshake goodbye

     and "yes we will say hello to your son in Alberta"
     and "yes we will continue safely"
     and "no you won’t see us in tomorrow’s paper"
     and tired I was of hearing about us in tomorrow’s paper

Who ended up on a road laughing deliverance
in Ralphton, a small town hunting lodge
full of flapjacks and a choir of chainsaws
with cheap tomato juice and eggs
but the four of us ended up paying for eight anyway

and these wooden alley cats were nothing but hounds
and the backwoods is where you’d find a cheap child's banjo
and cheap leather shoes and bear traps and rat traps
and the kinds of things you’d fall into face first

Who sauntered into a cafe in Massey
that just opened up two weeks previous
where the food was warm and made from home
and the owner who swore to high heaven
and piled her Sci-Fi collection to the ceiling
in forms of books and VHS

but Massey herself was drowned in a small town
where there was little history and heavy mist
and the museum was closed for renovations
and the stores were run by diplomats
or sleezebag no-cats
and there was one man who wouldn’t show us a room
because his baby sitter hadn’t come yet
but the babysitter showed up through the backdoor within seconds
though I hadn't seen another face

        and the room was a landfill
        and smelled of stale cat **** anyhow
        and the lobby stacked to the ceiling with empty beer box cans bottles
        and the taps ran cold yellow and hot black through spigots

but we would be staying down the street
at the inn of an East-Indian couple

who’s eyes were not dilated 
and the room smelled
lemon-scented

and kept on driving lovingly without a care in the world
but only one of us had his arms around a girl
and how lonely I felt driving with Jacob
in the fog of the Agawa pass;

following twin red eyes down a steep void mass
where the birch trees have no heads
and the marshes pool under the jagged foothills
that climb from the water above their necks

that form great behemoths
with great voices bellowing and faces chiselled hard looking down
and my own face turned upward toward the rain

Wheels turning on a black asphalt river running uphill around great Superior
that is the ocean that isn’t the ocean but is as big as the sea
and the cloud banks dig deep and terrible walls

and the sky ends five times before night truly falls
and the sun sets slower here than anywhere
but the sky was only two miles high and ten long anyway

The empty train tracks that seldom run
and some rails have been lifted out
with a handful of spikes that now lay dormant

and the hill sides start to resemble *******
or faces or the slow curving back of some great whale

-and those, who were finally stranded at four pumps
with none but the professional Jacob reading great biblical instructions at the nozzle
nowhere at midnight in a town surrounded

by moose roads
                             moose lanes
                                                     moose rivers
and everything mooses

ending up sleeping in the maw of a great white wolf inn
run by Julf or Wolf or John but was German nonetheless

and woke up with radios armed
and arms full
and coffee up to the teeth
with teeth chattering
and I swear to God I saw snowy peaks
but those came to me in waking dream:

"Mountains dressed in white canvas
gowns and me who placed
my hands upon their *******
that filled the sky"

Passing through a buffet of inns and motels
and spending our time unpacking and repacking
and talking about drinking and cheap sandwiches
but me not having a drink in eight days

and in one professional inn we received a professional scamming
and no we would not be staying here again
and what would a trip across the country be like
if there wasn’t one final royal scamming to be had

and dreams start to return to me from years of dreamless sleep:

and I dream of hers back home
and ribbons in a raven black lattice of hair
and Cassadaic exploits with soft but honest words

and being on time with the trains across the plains  
and the moon with a shower of prairie blonde
and one of my father with kind words
and my mother on a bicycle reassuring my every decision

Passing eventually through great plains of vast nothingness
but was disappointed in seeing that I could see
and that the rumours were false
and that nothingness really had a population
and that the great flat land has bumps and curves and etchings and textures too

beautiful bright golden yellow like sprawling fingers
white knuckled ablaze reaching up toward the sun
that in this world had only one sky that lasted a thousand years

and prairie driving lasts no more than a mountain peak
and points of ember that softly sigh with the one breath
of our cars windows that rushes by with gratitude for your smile

And who was caught up with the madness in the air
with big foaming cigarettes in mouths
who dragged and stuffed down those rolling fumes endlessly
while St. Jacob sang at the way stations and billboards and the radio
which was turned off

and me myself and I running our mouth like the coughing engine
chasing a highway babe known as the Lady Valkyrie out from Winnipeg
all the way to Saskatoon driving all day without ever slowing down
and eating up all our gas like pez and finally catching her;

      Valkyrie who taught me to drive fast
      and hovering 175 in slipstreams
      and flowing behind her like a great ghost Cassady ******* in dreamland Nebraska
      only 10 highway crossings counted from home.

Lady Valkyrie who took me West.
Lady Valkyrie who burst my wings into flame as I drew a close with the sun.
Lady Valkyrie who had me howl at slender moon;

     who formed as a snowflake
     in the light on the street
     and was gone by morning
     before I asked her name

and how are we?
and how many?

Even with old Tom devil singing stereo
and riding shotgun the entire trip from day one
singing about his pony, and his own personal flophouse circus,
and what was he building in there?

There is a fair amount of us here in these cars.
Finally at light’s end finding acquiescence in all things
and meeting with her eye one last time; flashed her a wink and there I was, gone.
Down the final highway crossing blowing wind and fancy and mouth puttering off
roaring laughter into the distance like some tremendous Phoenix.

Goodnight Lady Valkyrie.

The evening descends and turns into a sandwich hysteria
as we find ourselves riding between cities of transports
and that one mad man that passed us speeding crazy
and almost hit head-on with Him flowing East

and passed more and more until he was head of the line
but me driving mad lunacy followed his tail to the bumper
passing fifteen trucks total to find our other car
and felt the great turbine pull of acceleration that was not mine

mad-stacked behind two great beasts
and everyone thought us moon-crazy; Biblical Jake
and Mad Hair Me driving a thousand
eschewing great gusts of wind speed flying

Smashing into the great ephedrine sunset haze of Saskatoon
and hungry for food stuffed with the thoughts of bedsheets
off the highway immediately into the rotting liver of dark downtown
but was greeted by an open Hertz garage
with a five-piece fanfare brass barrage
William Tell and a Debussy Reverie
and found our way to bedsheets most comfortably

Driving out of Saskatoon feeling distance behind me.
Finding nothing but the dead and hollow corpses of roadside ventures;

more carcasses than cars
and one as big as a moose
and one as big as a bear
and no hairier

and driving out of sunshine plain reading comic book strip billboards
and trees start to build up momentum
and remembering our secret fungi in the glove compartment
that we drove three thousand kilometres without remembering

and we had a "Jesus Jacob, put it away brother"
and went screaming blinded by smoke and paranoia
and three swerves got us right
and we hugged the holy white line until twilight

And driving until the night again takes me foremast
and knows my secret fear in her *****
as the road turns into a lucid *** black and makes me dizzy
and every shadow is a moose and a wildcat and a billy goat
and some other car

and I find myself driving faster up this great slanderous waterfall until I meet eye
with another at a thousand feet horizontal

then two eyes

then a thousand wide-eyed peaks stretching faces upturned to the celestial black
with clouds laid flat as if some angel were sleeping ******* on a smokestack
and the mountains make themselves clear to me after waiting a lifetime for a glimpse
then they shy away behind some old lamppost and I don’t see them until tomorrow

and even tomorrow brings a greater distance with the sunlight dividing stone like 'The Ancient of Days'
and moving forward puts all into perspective

while false cabins give way
and the gas stations give way
and the last lamppost gives way
and its only distance now that will make you true
and make your peaks come alive

Like a bullrush, great grey slopes leap forth as if branded by fire
then the first peaks take me by surprise
and I’m told that these are nothing but children to their parents
and the roads curve into a gentle valley
and we’re in the feeding zone

behind the gates of some great geological zoo
watching these lumbering beasts
finishing up some great tribal *******
because tomorrow they will be shrunk
and tomorrow ever-after smaller

Nonetheless, breathless in turn I became
it began snowing and the pines took on a different shape
and the mountains became covered white
and great glaciers could be seen creeping
and tourists seen gawking at waterfalls and waterfowls
and fowl play between two stones a thousand miles high

climbing these Jasper slopes flying against wind and stone
and every creak lets out its gentle tone and soft moans
as these tyres rub flat against your back
your ancient skin your rock-hard bones

and this peak is that peak and it’s this one too
and that’s Temple, and that’s Whistler
and that’s Glasgow and that’s Whistler again
and those are the Three Sisters with ******* ablaze

and soft glowing haze your sun sets again among your peaks
and we wonder how all these caves formed
and marvelled at what the flood brought to your feet
as roads lay wasted by the roadside

in the epiphany of 3:00am realizing
that great Alta's straights and highway crossings
are formed in torturous mess from mines of 'Mt. Bleed'
and broken ribs and liver of crushed mountain passes
and the grey stones taxidermied and peeled off
and laid flat painted black and yellow;
the highways built from the insides
of the mountain shells

Who gave a “What now. New-Brunswick?”

and a “What now, Quebec, and Ontario, and Manitoba, and Saskatchewan";
**** fools clumsily dancing in the valleys; then the rolling hills; then the sea that was a lake
then the prairies and not yet the mountains;

running naked in formation with me at the lead
and running naked giving the finger to the moon
and the contrails, and every passing blur on the highway
dodging rocks, and sandbars
and the watchful eye of Mr. and Mrs. Law
and holes dug-up by prairie dogs
and watching with no music
as the family caravans drove on by

but drove off laughing every time until two got anxious for bed and slowed behind
while the rambling Jacob and I had to wait in the half-moon spectacle
of a black-tongue asphalt side-road hacking darts and watching for grizzlies
for the other two to finish up with their birthday *** exploits
though it was nobodies birthday

and then a timezone was between us
 and they were in the distant future
and nobodies birthday was in an hour from now

then everything was good
and everyone was satiated
then everything was a different time again
and I was running on no sleep or a lot of it
leaping backward in time every so often
like gaining a new day but losing space on the surface of your eye

but I stared up through curtains of starlight to mother moon
and wondered if you also stared
and was dumbfounded by the majesty of it all

and only one Caribou was seen the entire trip
and only one live animal, and some forsaken deer
and only a snake or a lonesome caterpillar could be seen crossing such highway straights
but the water more refreshing and brighter than steel
and glittered as if it were hiding some celestial gem
and great ravines and valleys flowed between everything
and I saw in my own eye prehistoric beasts roaming catastrophe upon these plains
but the peaks grew ever higher and I left the ground behind

Describing a User Trial
(a Section Commander's story)

In Vietnam I most enjoyed the ambush because it is static.
And if you use your head you can **** from comfort without the need
For fire-and-movement which is a physical business at the best of times.
And in ambush you are often placed as part of a group, without responsibilities; Because they are assumed by that particular ambush commander,
Which is a relief and relaxing.

Most ambushes are triggered at night, but this one happened by day.
It was company sized, and memorable for other reasons too.
3 Section, my section, was deployed in three groups like an elbow:
Two being part of the killer-group and the other one part of flank-protection.
That's where I was, on the flank.
It was the Dry-Season.

Although it was a good killing-ground I was concerned by the
Lack of cover to our particular front; that is the part of the ambush for which I was
Responsible. My concern was the track because it curved about my section's elbow, And we, the flank-protection, could not see more than six feet through the thick, Secondary growth that grew between it and us.
It made for good concealment, but would never hinder an assault.

The plan was that the Platoon Commander would trigger the ambush with his M16.
He would know when to do this because our Platoon Sergeant had been given
Some sort of box dial, attached by wire to two metal spigots. These were
Buried in the ground one hundred metres to either flank of our position to transmit, They said, the ground vibration of the enemy's approach. It was on trial and had not Been used before. A neat devise for early-warning we supposed.

Our Claymores were sited to cover the killing-ground.
They were to be detonated so soon as the Platoon Commander fired his weapon.
3 Section's mines were under the control of lance-corporal Frank Chambers.
He was clever. He could compile workable, section piquet lists, with staggered sentry times. Try doing that in the rain. I never could.
So I was content with my lot, excepting this patch of secondary growth to my front.

As I remember it the day was hot and very lazy. We had a man alert in every group
And the guns were manned. Otherwise we sprawled at ease, hunting shade,
Fantasy, mind-escape. Sergeant Maloney will give plenty of warning;
Remember the o-group? Those spigots live on the end of one hundred metres of wire And will transmit the ground vibration of any approaching footfalls.
One hundred metres is a fine, relaxing distance - we thought.

But then it happens; without warning the day erupts:
With a shattering, terrifying, and continuing roar the daylight turns black.
A rolling, cloud of grey dust puts out the Sun. Something hot plinks my side. There is Too much noise. And in the raging dark my mind begins to scream:
'What happened to the ****** signal, John? The ******* early warning'.
And I begin to hurl hand-grenades as high and as far to my front as I can:

Take up the grenade.
Rotate the safety bail (Why didn't we have these in Australia?).
Ease out the pin, rise up; draw back the arm,
Let fly the lever. Hurl the grenade.
Count two, three, crouch, take up the grenade.

Ingleburn might raise its hands in horror but my air-bursting hand-grenades
Are based on the premise that we have engaged a small, advance party of the enemy.
And I want to deter it's main-body forming up on the other side of my bit of
Scrub then assault through it from the dead ground.
And remember we are blind. Hence, take up the grenade,
Rotate the safety bail, ease out the pin, etc.

Memory has the action lasting many hours, a long, long time.
But in reality it must have been all of two minutes before the noise begins to falter And the echoes of the guns slowly fade away.
And the World, unmoving in the awful silence,
Slowly turns to white
Beneath the settling dust.

Through the quiet, distant voices, begin to murmur.
‘Cease-fire’ is ordered and the day resumes.
I pass the order on then change my magazine.
Frank comes over with the Section's casualty and ammunition count.
No one has been hurt but we have used a lot of ammunition.

Frank reports 'three "Nogs" moving into the killing-ground.'
One noticed a claymore and Frank says he had no option but to fire.
He is nonchalant, unexcited about the killing.
When he has gone I lean into the shade of a tree and light up a cigarette while Reflecting on the body out there alone and still, and sweating in the Sun.

Finishing my cigarette I go to find our Platoon Commander. He is with the Major.
At CHQ, while Ronny Jarvis curses (we did use a lot of ammunition),
Guy Baggot inspects my ****** side with interest. 'A bit more to the right
Would have given you a ****** good scar.' He says.
What happened to the early warning device? The dial, the cable and the spigots
Go out with the next chopper. We never hear of them again.

Quiet are the fields
with ghosts
from pennants past
the aces
and cutters
set idly away
from the maple
spread fall
soft sounds
of Sunday
(chilling on the boneyard)
telling tales of
validated stars
and wheel house legends
the rally cap sluggers
with mahogany eyes

Mustard colors
in floating mists
give a bite
to sublime skies
scattered walkers
trip to the hole
their spit buckets
and spigots
pressed into
pure life form
bikers and loners
and curious coffee goers
mill about the horn
whispering numbers
from an old
Keelman heaving

Alley lookers
and Mendoza lines
screachers, bleachers
from years gone by
dancing fingers
and cracks at the bat
moonshots
(from the big time Timmy Jim)
the 9th inning gunner
with sinker
and slider
and imposing
brush back *****
the game day citizen
and dugout warrior
who lit it up
in Rockwell fame

They sell sandwiches and little nightmares with vanity inside.
i glide to a booth and schmooze the next wet group of compromised -
And Charlotte's web
of insular jokes,
snare me from outside my comfort zone...
and i own the green eggs and ham of our sepia tone in the septic lake
of our laughing groan.
We enjoy the view.
I drink to be We and Apart from you.
But the kegs dredge.
They plunder the blunderbuss of our best shot. With Silencer.
We crowd loudly in the Big Easy of our modern strife.
We scrape with dull Lives,
save those with sharp Eyes that see spigots
as unseen Blithe !
We gather in the Hemisphere of our Wanton Anonymity,
as divulged mirrors
in a House
of Cards....

All of my Best Jokes
are Friends
With hearts....
and Then
some...

Selecting the truth is easy:
pick the bits that make you seem great
and breeze them past ears
that have no time or desire to wait
for the imminent clatter of ****,
the torrent of bitter feces
that sticks
as all the parts suppressed spew forth

#politics #ukpolitics #lies #disingenuous

My next door neighbour
Is again kicking up a fuss,
So I creep up to the window
To see if I can suss,
I can't feel but upset
Is there something I dont get?

All the accolades up on the wall;
Fathers puffed out chest,
Misses in a fur shawl.
Memories framed everwhere
So many styles of hair!
Tickets to only the best shows
At front row yeah you dun kno!

I look away and with jealous dismay,
The latest car of this day you can finance with this pay unused on the drive way!

Suitcases packed, postcards sprawled on the wall,
Sun burnt in the chritmas islands
Been drenched from Niagara falls.

I look back in my window
Its all grey and dull.
There aint no one writing good times on my wall.
No happy birthdays, no pictures to share,
How can I prove that I existed?
Its like I wasn't even there.

Its bare because privacy is something that I care for,
Places I've been, therefore, I haven't captured those moments in time
Through components that engineer a digital eye.

But still, I can't help but wander into that snippet of their lives,
And wonder why it can't be mine.

But if only I could actually go through that door.
Living room on my right,
door locked tight,
The rest of the house is as grey and bleak as mine!?

Skeleton hands closing closet doors,
Not so distant relatives travelling alone in the halls.
The friendly ghosts of schools past,
Will tell you what they thought of them last; revealing why they no longer a part.

Neglected pets, ex's to forget, nasty little texts that capsized lives into wrecks.
Used baggies and tickets, earthy daggers and spigots that buried all the nasty and ***** secrets.
All the zits, the emptied makeup bags.
That was used as a mask to hide the upset and sad.

I peep in the living room (just one more time).
Yes, it's brighter than mine,
But I realise that I dont parade my life.

Peoples square or round window are always exciting but never do they let you look further in because it will unfurl their world and you might just start to realise they are just like everybody else!

Gosh, they are moddest when they are praised!
But no attention, well their wall will get another decorate until someone succumbs, ups a thumbs and shouts out 'you're great!'

My living room is better than yours!
There's these unwritten rules
Of the modern day society norms.

Get yourself into debt, when do you next jet set?
Aw your kid has taken their first step! What a pet!
Big bright signs signal the window display
"Look at my life, it's greater than great!"

Everyone, All role up this way
"I need you to see how my life is great.
Please don't go away"
Now their brain is racing, the fame needs chasing,
All for barren validation

in   my   side
   of  the Earth
I    was   not   tilted,
   realized      and    emptied
my   eyes    are   spigots
   my mother    left   open  to thaw
the glaciers   of
        supper

   zenith   visits   the   Summer
most   often   than  the
  wind blowing    through   the
curtain     of    my    eyes
   where   I   always   see   the dead
smidgen    flowers   all   over
   the    ricefields

             this   measure   of
tomorrow –    to  have been incarcerated
   in   the   past that   bears
no     arms    to
       this   very   Saturday    afternoon
fish   breathe  now
  in    enigmatic    means
    pulses    of   rivers
tangle     joys    with
    naked    boys   of   brindled   youth


    see   once   they   jackknife
into   a   memorized    depth
            pellucid  like   my   memory
of
      uncollected      afternoons

My heart is pump pump pumping the poison and the pressure is pushing droplets through the spigots of my eyes. The air is draining from me, shrinking me even though I should feel full. I'm trying to fill up the silence with all of my violent noise but I feel like I'm screaming into nowhere.
I'm just howling at acres of nothing and waiting for someone to answer.

floating around in white noise
as the rest of the world has color
barraged by their beams of light
i cry in agony and delight
for i see the unknown
but can only speak
what the rest are shown

walk up to the edge and ponder
how waking up makes us wander
while sleeping quells the curiosity
of an apocalyptic mind
that's razing blazing fire

feel the powder burn
as the shockwave shakes
your bones,
I am in control of vanity
but fall through the fabrics

linen velvet suede and satin
line my soul, lowering itself
into eternity

evil and darkness have my
mind body and spirit sur-
rounded.
they pull me apart into thirds
only to fight me with gasoline
spigots lit by a lone cigarette

boooooooooom-YUH

staring but not caring
doesn't make you a hero
especially not if you're hetero
claiming to be bearing
the banner of the queer
chanting our cheers

yet ignoring the jeers
of the bigots
that would want to live in the year
of 33 AD, one without bidets and spigots
and closing an eye
believing by and by
that heros come from zeros
yet playing that lute like Nero

Each day, a way beyond the sufficiency

of what we know
concerning
good.

We know good, when we think about it.
We can imagine good feeling, when we
put forth the energy to de-ify
chaotic entropy.
With sci, con sci ence, mit knowing, cognating
we add tension. We pull goodness from

nowhere, in a line of words emerging into meaning.

As we know, effectually,
energy, in E= etc.
ist gut und wahr, so far, aber
etwas von der hyper thinkable field of if-i-cantation,
has tripped a paradigmatic AI ai aitia OOPs
chronjob with
spells and hexes and such, so
black
light entered as a contender for cause
at the transfiguration;
the theory ranked with Adam's rib as evidence for miracles,
in Vacation Bible Shool.
Now, we know better, or more better.

C, however, is variable in realms of pure thinks of any
length
so
if I can't matter in the dark middle matter,
I shall manifest
here,

in living 2D, if you can imagine with me,
fingers on keys, awaiting the neural
net truescorre reference stats

to starrt ancient chronjobs linked to an overr drawn Synchrony
credit card calling to say take care,
can't buy or sell sans the beastly mark,
or else

what? My synchronic out being, my outer self, the ***
you passed on your way to Starbucks,
he has no way to make a living,
the old man with no feet,
you did not see me,
did you? Flash me a QR. We skipped the need for a mark.

p-shift. post ever gitgo.

I was hiding. Hunting a gull, I'm familia in with mir and all
my integrity sphere of
intention.

We intend to teach the elease of peace, first in e-leasion tent
cities, stretching to call all gullibles, to try,

mere umph, one mortime, more abundance, dancerrs needed...

all ye all ye, outs in free, truth be told, the famine is past.
Calling
any gulls ability to go all Jonathan,

fo no re fonore phornore ignot ignor how how how

do I, dear reader, loose my peace?

ah,
I allow. I rrule the spigots of emoticons sprringing entity
******* from old artemisical chapters

and verrses of priestly secrecy hidden,
since god knows when,
in rolling things, in swirling fluids of mud,
occluding the eceptorr for the ligandary story
re
thread that ties us all to mitomom, far more surrely than hell.

who beguiled you, my daddy axt.

'twas I, I lied, possessed of proud rights to pursue,
with greed and right-used anger,

and I riddled the riddle of the referee, so

I freely give, for the ensuing mortal moment,

invisible happiness common to all valuers and valuees.

Easilly enteated, be

still.
Wait here.

"That which concerns you." Am big u is us, we,
the people, who
hold
these truths, self-e-video-ishes on stars, come true to
you, who waited.

ing the bell and yell i'm a vigin. {what?fix the r in a revolt against chaos,

folly, pure folly, our r key roots extract rhotic significance for extra
rs and missing ones we feel needed consede conseder wise.

O, dear, reade, I do have order. How ever, order is not the need,

calm is the need. We need the doldrums to rest, as we need
poles to bank our turns into the solar stormy side,

breathing humans in sufficient awareness of the atmostfears,
to
shhhh shh should see softest kisses coming with no price,

my peace, I let out, as when an irrigator fills the valley,

and shows the world the overflow can make glad
the core of ****, the species that thinks with knownknowns
and writes the way to be still, beyond allathat,

and know. Words. Our powers are all you have in a 2D re
ality keeping Lego minds from raining Gorilla Glue.
{The intended allusion sticks any way}.
Who twisted the intention? Is this the wine that makes glad?
O, my, this I must try,
Defoe-face: It

is finished.

primary idiopathic palmar/
palmoplantar hyperhidrosis
despite taking  Glycopyrrolate
2 MG Tablet three times daily.

Aforementioned physiological malady
the bane worse than death
unwanted and unwonted figurative
(metaphorical) beast of burden
linkedin with matrix constituting mine
corporeal essence genetically
gifted to yours truly,
invariably, objectionably, and unquestionably
afflicts, impacts, and upsets
emotional (mental) health
diagnosed with schizoid personality disorder
and aggravated, jump/kickstarted, triggered...,
when body electric
of mine experiences duress.

Tis no fun unable
to join in any reindeer games
(actually quite aggravating)
to experience chronic instances,
whereby profuse sweat drips
(think rivaling Angel Falls),
the loftiest falls on land
inducing extreme self
consciousness and embarrassment.

Socialization compromised,
jeopardized, and sabotaged
against natural proclivity to fraternize,
thus avoidance behavior
(i.e. social distancing) rigorously practiced
way before coronavirus (COVID-19)

mandated staying at least 6 feet
(about 2 arm's length) from other people.
I vaguely recollect even while in utero
sweaty hands cooled courtesy amniotic fluid
yet subsequently observing consternation
obstetrician displayed as

itty bitty teensy weensy fingers
dripped - think faucet turned on full force.
Mein kampf (predominantly
describes solitary existence)
severely exacerbated (still prominent)

ability to function undermined
courtesy deux part and parcel
significant aforestated physiological
and social congenital afflictions
somewhat ameliorated by
about half dozen prescription medications.

I keep hermetically sealed
within our single bedroom apartment
(we lucked out with unit B44
providing us scenic view)
climate controlled when weather
hazy, hot and humid
at sixty degrees Fahrenheit
(you do the math to figure
the Centigrade temperature),
nevertheless these stubby
five fingered appendages
ooze perspiration on par
with spigots gushing sweat.

Worse fate than death finds me
suffering one or more
dogged following plagues:
water turning to blood, frogs, lice,
flies, livestock pestilence, boils, hail,
locusts, darkness and killing
of firstborn children far less oppressive
versus being stricken with Hyperhidrosis.

Sain above identified unpleasant fallout
understandably, quintessentially, and inextricably
linkedin within every fiber
moost likely activated since conception - mine
body electric infiltrated nerve wracking
complex corporeal edifice
interestingly enough solely overbearing
while yours truly wide awake
bright tailed and bushy eyed,
yet sleep ofttimes brings

severely dislocating, disquieting
and discombobulating
subconscious nocturnal experiences,
which frightful, maniacal, and
phantasmagorical vivid dreams
undermines, oppresses, and impinges,
any joie de vivre
creating abominable hell on Earth
thus this dirt poor commoner
pronouncing his intent

to beg, borrow and/or steal
(sell my soul to the devil)
in a desperate effort to secure
and pay King's ransom
to rid myself once and for all
of parasite entrenched nemesis
bleeding dry, leeching, and yoking
writer christened Matthew Scott Harris,
whereby he doth regularly writhe in agony.

Rod, you look wonderful.
Thanks Glenda. You also look wonderful.
Rod, will you be staying at the palace for long?
No. I have business in Tokyo prefect tomorrow. I'll be taking a military helicopter transport directly there to save time.
Is Stacy with you?
Yes, Glenda. I knew that you would ask.
I have every right to ask. Stacy is my sister.
I've done bad things. I've led teen bikini models astray...promising them my everlasting love while impregnating their sisters. I'm an animal. How many lives must I ruin? How many Japanese beauty queens must I conquer? Glenda, I  must deny these natural & naturalistical inclinations. I must be more than a boy toy used by *** starlets to satisfy their carnal needs.
Of course, Rod, our passion was a passing fancy.
Please. I just watched Rudolph Valentino lose 2 women to his best friend in the 1925 movie Cobra. Valentino would be dead 9 months after this film's release. A friend's friendship meant more to Rudy than incautious fawning & womanly guile. Please Glenda, I tried. I tried and I failed.
Women can be men with feminine issues, Rod.
Glenda, deep down, your sister is just a a lot of fluid, organs & vessels. I have an eye for such things. I possess a knack for uniting incongruous things, whether it be nuts to toggles or spigots to petcocks. In The Eagle from 1925, Rudolph Valentino reads a note by candle light. A candle on the table in a moving train. Seems incongruous, somehow. What about the danger of fire? What if my bra comes undone at the amusement park? What if a thousand  things go terribly awry? Ha? Well, what about it?
Sometimes, dear one, you act as if the Washington Monument is an extension of your physical charm. Sometimes Rod...Oh, kiss me you fool!

Bernini’s sculptures float
Over fountains like
A ship’s mast set in stone,
Straining to stray off-course.
I follow the muscular, hysterical
Flow of the Four Rivers.
Lethe bubbles underground.
Step lightly.
Chubby-faced children spew
Showers between their cheeks.
Nothing is quiet in Piazza Navona,
Spreading to the seven hills
Like a blanket of bedlam.
Heaving waves of tourists
Speak to themselves in tongues.
Whose gift to Roma is this?
The Four Winds? The spigots spilling
Holy water onto the hordes
Of heedless souls?
Neptune stares down on
My dampened bald spot.
I will Photoshop it out
If he snaps my picture.
Or some other petite, American tourist
Will, craning her head
Like a dolphin
Flopping on Neptune’s trident.
Navona is a nova of marble
And foam.
Specters live here.
They shout here, they circle.
Bernini’s spawn.

America has no monopoly
On white nationalism and hate,
Which the recent shootings in
The mosques in New Zealand demonstrate.

Men, women, and children were slaughtered
While praying on a holy day
When a deranged hater decided
Their lives were his to take away.

It doesn't help when Trump comes off
Sounding like an Islamophobe.
To see evidence of that
Doesn't require a Mueller probe.

Calling for a Muslim ban
During his campaign, he sought
To gain support by stoking fears
And HE knows how to stir the ***.

His vitriol continues as he
Calls asylum seekers invaders
And stone-cold criminals, thereby
Inciting his abhorrent crusaders.

Use fear and what happens?
The consequences prove to be dire.
We see what kinds of maniacs
That vile and odious words inspire--

Maniacs filled with anger,
Malice, bitterness, and spite,
Who think it is a privilege
And special honor to be white.

We all have a duty: we must
Use our vote to shut off the spigots
Of extremism and hatefulness--
To stop electing hateful bigots.

The world grieves as innocent people
Lose their lives while at prayer.
Terrorists want us to think
That we aren't safe anywhere.

Offering sympathy is fine,
But frankly, inaction has its flaws.
Instead of requesting thoughts and prayers,
New Zealanders will change gun laws.

-by Bob B (3-16-19)

primary idiopathic palmar/
palmoplantar hyperhidrosis
despite taking  Glycopyrrolate
2 MG  Tablet three times daily.

Aforementioned physiological malady
unwanted and unwonted figurative
(metaphorical) beast of burden
linkedin with matrix constituting mine
corporeal essence genetically
gifted to yours truly,
invariably, objectionably, and unquestionably
afflicts, impacts, and upsets
emotional (mental) health
diagnosed with schizoid personality disorder.

Tis no fun unable
to join in any reindeer games
(actually quite aggravating)
to experience chronic instances,
whereby profuse sweat drips
(think rivaling Angel Falls),
the loftiest falls on land
inducing extreme self
consciousness and embarrassment.

Socialization compromised,
jeopardized, and sabotaged
against natural proclivity to fraternize,
thus avoidance behavior
(i.e. social distancing) rigorously practiced
way before coronavirus (COVID-19)

mandated staying at least 6 feet
(about 2 arms' length) from other people.
I vaguely recollect even while in utero
sweaty hands cooled courtesy amniotic fluid
yet subsequently observing consternation
obstetrician displayed as

itty bitty teensy weensy fingers
dripped - think faucet turned on full force.
Mein kampf (predominantly
describes solitary existence)
severely exacerbated (still prominent)

ability to function undermined
courtesy deux part and parcel
significant aforestated physiological
and social congenital afflictions
somewhat ameliorated by
about half dozen prescription medications.

I keep hermetically sealed
within our single bedroom apartment
(we lucked out with unit B44
providing us scenic view)
climate controlled when weather
hazy, hot and humid
at sixty degrees Fahrenheit
(you do the math to figure
the Centigrade temperature),
nevertheless these stubby
five fingered appendages
ooze perspiration on par
with spigots gushing sweat.

Worse fate than death finds me
suffering one or more
dogged following plagues:
water turning to blood, frogs, lice,
flies, livestock pestilence, boils, hail,
locusts, darkness and killing
of firstborn children far less oppressive
versus being stricken with Hyperhidrosis.

Sain above identified unpleasant fallout
understandably, quintessentially, and inextricably
linkedin within every fiber
moost likely activated since conception - mine
body electric infiltrated nerve wracking
complex corporeal edifice
interestingly enough solely overbearing
while yours truly wide awake
bright tailed and bushy eyed,
yet sleep ofttimes brings

severely dislocating, disquieting
and discombobulating
subconscious nocturnal experiences,
which frightful, maniacal, and
phantasmagorical vivid dreams
undermines, oppresses, and impinges,
any joie de vivre
creating abominable hell on Earth
thus this dirt poor commoner
pronouncing his intent

to beg, borrow and/or steal
(sell my soul to the devil)
in a desperate effort to secure
and pay King's ransom
to rid myself once and for all
of parasite entrenched nemesis
bleeding dry, leeching, and yoking
writer christened Matthew Scott Harris,
whereby he doth regularly writhe in agony.

“Rod, you look wonderful.”

“Thanks Glenda. You also look wonderful.”

“Rod, will you be staying at the palace for long?”

“No. I have business in Tokyo prefecture tomorrow. I'll be taking a military helicopter transport directly there to save time.”

“Is Stacy with you?”

“Yes, Glenda. I knew that you would ask.”

“I have every right to ask. Stacy is my sister.”

“I've done bad things. I've led teen bikini models astray...promising them my everlasting love while impregnating their sisters. I'm an animal. How many lives must I ruin? How many Japanese beauty queens must I conquer? Glenda, I  must deny these natural & naturalistical inclinations. I must be more than a boy toy used by *** starlets to satisfy their carnal needs.”

“Of course, Rod, our passion was a passing fancy.”

“Please. I just watched Rudolph Valentino lose 2 women to his best friend in the 1925 movie Cobra. Valentino would be dead 9 months after this film's release. A friend's friendship meant more to Rudy than incautious fawning & womanly guile. Please Glenda, I tried. I tried and I failed. I know why you do it and it's not why you say. Your brother loves you but he needs to find a girl who's not his sister for a change.”

“Women can be men with feminine issues, Rod. Math is a curious thing. If you're 6' 1'' tall, you are closer to 7 feet than to 5 feet. If you're 5' 3'' tall, you are closer to 10 feet than to 0 feet.”

“Glenda, deep down, your sister is just a a lot of fluid, organs & vessels. I have an eye for such things. I possess a knack for uniting incongruous things, whether it be nuts to toggles or spigots to pet-*****. In The Eagle from 1925, Rudolph Valentino reads a note by candle light. A candle on the table in a moving train. Seems incongruous, somehow. What about the danger of fire? What if my bra comes undone at the amusement park? What if a thousand things go terribly awry? Ha? Well, what about it?”

“Sometimes, dear one, you act as if the Washington Monument is an extension of your physical charm. Sometimes Rod...Oh, kiss me you  fool!”

Rod, you look wonderful.
Thanks Glenda. You also look wonderful.
Rod, will you be staying at the palace for long?
No. I have business in Tokyo prefecture tomorrow. I'll be taking a military helicopter transport directly there to save time.
Is Stacy with you?
Yes, Glenda. I knew that you would ask.
I have every right to ask. Stacy is my sister.
I've done bad things. I've led teen bikini models astray...promising them my everlasting love while impregnating their sisters. I'm an animal. How many lives must I ruin? How many Japanese beauty queens must I conquer? Glenda, I  must deny these natural & naturalistical inclinations. I must be more than a boy toy used by *** starlets to satisfy their carnal needs.
Of course, Rod, our passion was a passing fancy.
Please. I just watched Rudolph Valentino lose 2 women to his best friend in the 1925 movie Cobra. Valentino would be dead 9 months after this film's release. A friend's friendship meant more to Rudy than incautious fawning & womanly guile. Please Glenda, I tried. I tried and I failed.
Women can be men with feminine issues, Rod.
Glenda, deep down, your sister is just a a lot of fluid, organs & vessels. I have an eye for such things. I possess a knack for uniting incongruous things, whether it be nuts to toggles or spigots to petcocks. In The Eagle from 1925, Rudolph Valentino reads a note by candle light. A candle on the table in a moving train. Seems incongruous, somehow. What about the danger of fire? What if my bra comes undone at the amusement park? What if a thousand  things go terribly awry? Ha? Well, what about it?
Sometimes, dear one, you act as if the Washington Monument is an extension of your physical charm. Sometimes Rod...Oh, kiss me you fool!

⚡️

“Rod, you look wonderful.”

“Thanks Glenda. You also look wonderful.”

“Rod, will you be staying at the palace for long?”

“No. I have business in Tokyo prefecture tomorrow. I'll be taking a military helicopter transport directly there to save time.”

“Is Stacy with you?”
“Yes, Glenda. I knew that you would ask.”

“I have every right to ask. Stacy is my sister.”

“I've done bad things. I've led teen bikini models astray...promising them my everlasting love while impregnating their sisters. I'm an animal. How many lives must I ruin? How many Japanese beauty queens must I conquer? Glenda, I  must deny these natural & naturalistical inclinations. I must be more than a boy toy used by *** starlets to satisfy their carnal needs.”

“Of course, Rod, our passion was a passing fancy.”

“Please. I just watched Rudolph Valentino lose 2 women to his best friend in the 1925 movie Cobra. Valentino would be dead 9 months after this film's release. A friend's friendship meant more to Rudy than incautious fawning & womanly guile. Please Glenda, I tried. I tried and I failed.”

“Women can be men with feminine issues, Rod.”

“Glenda, deep down, your sister is just a a lot of fluid, organs & vessels. I have an eye for such things. I possess a knack for uniting incongruous things, whether it be nuts to toggles or spigots to petcocks. In The Eagle from 1925, Rudolph Valentino reads a note by candle light. A candle on the table in a moving train. Seems incongruous, somehow. What about the danger of fire? What if my bra comes undone at the amusement park? What if a thousand  things go terribly awry? Ha? Well, what about it?”

“Sometimes, dear one, you act as if the Washington Monument is an extension of your physical charm. Sometimes Rod...Oh, kiss me you  fool!”

Bernini’s sculptures float
over fountains like
a ship’s mast set in stone,
straining to stray off-course.
I follow the muscular, hysterical
flow of the Four Rivers.
Lethe bubbles underground.
Step lightly.

Chubby-faced children spew
showers between their cheeks.
Nothing is quiet in Piazza Navona,
spreading to the seven hills
like a blanket of bedlam.
Heaving waves of tourists
Speak to themselves in tongues.
Whose gift to Roma is this?
The Four Winds? The spigots spilling
holy water onto the hordes
of heedless souls?

Neptune stares down on
my dampened bald spot.
I will Photoshop it out
if he snaps my picture.
Or some petite, American tourist
will, craning her head
like a dolphin
flopping on Neptune’s trident.

Navona is a nova of marble
and foam.
Specters live here.
They shout here, they circle.
Bernini’s spawn.

“Rod, you look wonderful.”

“Thanks Glenda. You also look wonderful.”

“Rod, will you be staying at the palace for long?”

“No. I have business in Tokyo prefecture tomorrow. I'll be taking a military helicopter transport directly there to save time.”

“Is Stacy with you?”

“Yes, Glenda. I knew that you would ask.”

“I have every right to ask. Stacy is my sister.”

“I've done bad things. I've led teen bikini models astray...promising them my everlasting love while impregnating their sisters. I'm an animal. How many lives must I ruin? How many Japanese beauty queens must I conquer? Glenda, I  must deny these natural & nat-uralistical inclinations. I must be more than a boy toy used by *** starlets to satisfy their carnal needs.”

“Of course, Rod, our passion was a passing fancy.”

“Please. I just watched Rudolph Valentino lose 2 women to his best friend in the 1925 movie Cobra. Valentino would be dead 9 months after this film's release. A friend's friendship meant more to Rudy than incautious fawning & womanly guile. Please Glenda, I tried. I tried and I failed. I know why you do it and it's not why you say. Your brother loves you but he needs to find a girl who's not his sister for a change.”

“Women can be men with feminine issues, Rod. Math is a curious thing. If you're 6' 1'' tall, you are closer to 7 feet than to 5 feet. If you're 5' 3'' tall, you are closer to 10 feet than to 0 feet.”

“Glenda, deep down, your sister is just a a lot of fluid, organs & vessels. I have an eye for such things. I possess a knack for uniting incongruous things, whether it be nuts to toggles or spigots to pet-*****. In The Eagle from 1925, Rudolph Valentino reads a note by candle light. A candle on the table in a moving train. Seems incongruous, somehow. What about the danger of fire? What if my bra comes undone at the amusement park? What if a thousand things go terribly awry? Ha? Well, what about it?”

“Sometimes, dear one, you act as if the Washington Monument is an extension of your physical charm. Sometimes Rod...Oh, kiss me you  fool!”