This is far from a
car S-p-a--C-y
Oh! My? Crossover traveler
The Phyton
Top of the rank
collision-course
New job space
planning tech magic cursor

Magical Podcast*

Do we have space
Sci-Fi-Hi Meeting
Googling creating playing
Cheating Overexaggerating
And faking our
(dead)lines

Not meeting our deadlines
What is the right time?
Spacewalking on the yellow brick
the road you are my sunshine*
"Million light years away from being rich"?

     Lucy in the Sky
       LSD-Little space devil
No/space for Jack the shinning
of diamonds, this isn't Oz
Emerald City or spin-off

Climb the ladder space objects clutter
Posh-Rich Witch is which
The last epidemic standup comic

Crawling having a ball Spalding

That Spiderwomen kvetch
Wolftie face switched
Fox lies moms moon pies
The collision of the moon
Space monkey baboon
The equation or burning
Sun people in devastation

Magic God

What time holds the
Mass control Einstein the professor
The brain exploding stars
Study hall those equations

In Princeton New Jersey
Those tiny particles lost in space
This corporation division
* Space Between_

*Hard paper scissors and
Mr. Rock
It's time to money pound
The Big Ben clock
"Do we act like the only
one on this planet"                  
The Singularity
The multiplicity
The burning sun*
War of the Military
Hot fun "Twin City"
Medieval twin planets

She's brace-space and he's
Well known physic
energy flowing one
step beyond collision of '
     Two Gods"

Magic space-lotus love of "Venus_ Pond

The Mall of America Star Spangle Banner
Next International flight became a winner

Plants and animals
The primal magic
Catching the
planets there both
emerging
The submerging eye
Space-out engaging

The civilization nightmare
On the cusp right here
Martian stripe and stars
Wipeout species of mars
Gravitatious collide of lovers
Confused about earthlings
More siblings another planet colliding

Like a space odyssey ground control to
      "Major Tom"
Fe fi fun on space run
Our Earth Mondadori
Spicy pleasure taste for
Chicken Tandoori
Magical dish
Make a wish

Magic hands believing

Metagalactic space and time
Holy God realistic
Osprey someone is the prey
In the movie magical classic
Breakfast at Tiffanys
Holiday mind dressed up window
"Out of our comfort zone
eating to the end twilight zone widow"

The extra enchanted evening
For the Moms only
Our heads over space
heels hit the ceiling

Eggs Benedict, the salt wasn't kosher
Artsy Audrey Hepburn don't push her

Celestial Ocean Space Steven Universe
The Christmas madness sale
Poison Ivy Pointsetta what
a vendetta
Interstellar meeting her
new race feeling out of place
Adulation like a prosecution
Space collide anytime
can explode

Two worlds become tragic
Space station not a game
A haunting catastrophic
Collision Titanic ship

Magically got more modified
Needing a space program the
spy to identify  

Dragonfly to Madame Butterfly
Space of magic crime-space
All spots, not Dalmatian
Space wings set up for Superman
Magic fan rising adrenaline
Monster cookies for Madeline

Fire and Ice Global warming
wildfires now the collision
On another planet warning
Miracle blessing of magic
Someone before or after
just to touch them

We cannot stop this craziness
The outburst goes pop the weasel

Magic place portal
Something in the way
to crumble like a baby
firstborn rocking her cradle

The curiosity space philosophy
Like breed of cats,
Licking tongue envelope
The cats eye Egyptian
Terrified space milk the tabby
Meeting my space hubby

Microscopic became two dots .-.
Space became a new buried plot
Is this all I got Twitter
Home run ball and
New York Dodgers
Brooklyn bat *******

So compelled to the computer
Designed the Rover robot lover
Magical Elton John
wedding
space planner
Across the Universe
John Lennon
Bennie and the Jets
Like a science
Teacher's pets

Eyes spaced out the magic place within**
So sacred magic hat Rabbit
Mountain bear Airspace Hobbit
Roll over Beethoven
The dog bone playing space I tunes

The spaceship magic
fingers piano
Plays one enchanted evening
Let me see the beautiful
new awakening
When Robin sings
Her magical wand
Lights up the world
of hands magical awaits

Remember "A Poem" can be magic

i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
"uh oh, ****"
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
  1991
on live television
montel williams asks my father
"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"
   1994
i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
   1996
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
   2013
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says "why don't you joke
about something like your family?"
so i say
"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"
i say "what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"
before he has a chance
to answer
i say "1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and
leave"
   2014
every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."
and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried

i'm in a dangerous state of mind
with no care for living this life
where human emotions are traded
for less than a pack of rubbers
but you didn't even use those
so how much did i truly mean
when the push came to shove
and grinding hips
with moaning lips
that whispered, screamed,
and cried his name
on the night you ****** my heart away
where loyalty takes a literal backseat
to pleasure
and a long term relationship
is laughing stock material
ha ha standup, ain't i funny
to look for something more than this
but i would choke on my own tongue
before i'd speak bad of you
my backstabbing lover
unfaithful friend
i hope to god it he was worth it
the cost was more than just tears
but blood spray on the bathroom mirror
and an empty place where i once
used to love
permanently empty
i can't find the will to care
more than a few half-hearted,
correct that, heartless
obscenities muttered under my breath
with ****** on my mind
a 3:30am fantasy to help dull
the pain that i should be feeling
maybe i'm just a pessimist,
fatalist, cynical, and negative
but my lack of surprise cuts the most
lied to by my mind for those
two months of my life
that i thought i had it all
better to have loved and lost
but even better to **** it all
and just go out with your name on my lips
and your lies in my heart
i hope you think of me when you're with him
that you choke on your tears
plagued with the worst emotions and loss
a better killer than any gun

School was always humuorous to a degree in my opinion because of the underlying idea
that the more damaged you were, the cooler you were in the eyes of the rest of the school.
I have heard numerous conversations that began with something along the lines of, "Oh, you
think YOU got it bad, well my dad blah blah and my best friend blah blah and my life is hell."

I decided to get a little personal and share with you guys something I have never actually
told anyone in entirety yet. I am pretty sure the whole story is still only here in my brain.
I will, out of respect for these people, change their names.

It's October 31, 2012. It's about noon, and all of us sixteen to twenty-two year olds are just waking up.
Brianne woke up probably a few hours ago already to tend to her son, Aaron. He is adorable, one
and a half, blond hair, blue eyes. I have been living here for nearly two months. I am supporting her,
Aaron, and myself with food stamps. I get two hundred dollars a month to basically smoke **** and drink
on the government's budget. Trust me, I'm not proud of it either, and if I could I would pay it back.
Since Brianne is a single mother and an adopted child, she has a single-digit monthly rent (I was *******
baffled to hear this) and receives support from her foster parents. Basically, if I want to stay here forever
with absolutely no consequences save to miss out on a life of my own, I can.

Brandon is putting on clown make-up so he can troll the streets as a juggalo. I find this amusing as I always
liked to mess around with ICP fans, but he's a really cool kid so I let it go and I even help him perfect it.
I notice he has a bottle of Stolichnaya in his backpack and it's practically full. That, to me, is temptation.
I ask if he would mind me taking a few drinks here and there from the bottle and he says it's fine, so I proceed
to get a nice one p.m. buzz. It was always my favorite drunk, very light, and airy, almost like you're still asleep.
Something bogs you down, but it doesn't bother you, somehow it makes you lighter.

For the rest of the day, we hook up with a few friends, go out and trick or treat in the pouring rain, get soaked
and wait for two hours under an overpass while Brianne goes and gets her car. From there, we proceed home.

At this point, everyone is over at Breanne's and we're all making dinner and drinking beer and having a good time
(Aaron is with the grandparents tonight). I guess I started getting angry about the recent events (for about a month,
everyone in our group with the exception of Brandon have been slowly losing items...but they're obviously being stolen.
At a point, a few of us did some research and determined the only person who could possibly have stolen
a good deal of these things has to be Brandon) and I decided I was tired of sitting on the news waiting for no one to make
a move after a solid two weeks of being certain that we had our guy. So I called him out... and proceeded
to begin burning bridges slowly and very surely for the next few days. I am pretty sure a fight would have broken out
if Bri hadn't taken me into her room to relax. When I finally do, it turns out I woke up the upstairs neighbor,
her baby, and everyone in the house has left save for my friend Jeff and his girlfriend Marissa. This concludes night one.

I later learned that Brandon was not actually the person who was stealing from us (unless of course
he just happened to not get caught when we found out who had done most of it) and I feel bad for bringing the whole
thing up because I would have liked to stay in touch with him. We got along swimmingly and he actually did have
a lot of interesting things to talk about. Smart, nice, hilarious... Well, maybe he'll turn up one day.

The next morning, I woke up to find the house empty save for Jeff and Marissa in the next room, but where I am,
it simply appears empty. I don't know what happened but I intuit that I have been sleeping all night without
my girlfriend. This upsets me and I begin to weep like a confused child, which is exactly what you do when you're
helpless and too drunk in the brain to figure out how to pull yourself out of a helpless situation (trust me,
I own the handbook). Marissa walks in and begins to explain to me that I had scared her too much and she slept
on the couch and that she had left to go pick up her son. So I realize I need to calm down, but I can feel
Jeff is not happy with me in the slightest, considering he will not come and talk to me (this is extremely painful
because he is probably one of the best friends I have ever had, with a mind that vastly exceeds that of everyone
I have met save one other, and he's a different story). They leave and I decide to stay in the house all day.

This is a very bad idea. I stay home, watch re-runs of a show I have seen billions of times, and considering
that Brandon and I are no longer on good terms, like a complete *******, I drink the rest of his *****.

In walks Bri, it's around 7. She's not happy. She proceeds to tell me that the night before I asked out a friend of mine
and she said yes. And I was a bit shocked because I couldn't remember it at first. Then it all hit me.

A few days before, Aaron called me "dad." Now remember, this is not my child. I am dark, dark, dark, and she had this kid
about two years after we had any past relationship. I am extremely worried in my mind and I realize I am headed toward nothing.
That I am stagnant and can not even afford to go back to school. This scares me, so I drunkenly asked out Tanya.

Tanya...we had been friends for about five years, and I had tried to get with her so many **** times... she was like
one of those girls you see and you're instantly reminded of an anime character. Tall, thin, beautiful hips, perfect
proportions, lovely hair, eyes, voice, and a personality I can liken to a Disney princess/black metal lumberjack.
The kind of girl who has a tough exterior, but inside, she just wants someone to tell her everything is going to be ok.

After about two hours of pleading with Bri to let me stay, I finally send Tanya a message, and we hang out for the next
two days, whence I whisper in her ear that everything is going to be okay and we proceed to have quite passionate ***
for those nights, where I discovered the secret to making a woman ****** with my tongue (tip: if the underside of your
tongue isn't completely torn apart, you're doing something wrong). But alas, I could not stay.

This is the part I dreaded, because I know I have to go back to Jeff's house and ask him if I can stay there for a while.
And I got the answer I expected.

The words he used...

"I'm *******...extremely ******* at you, and disappointed." It was like a father saying it to you. And him and I
have a very interesting friendship built on such an extreme understanding that I knew exactly how badly I had been spiraling.
I began to leave and he gave me a slice of pizza, with that slight smile that told me "just go find yourself, we'll be fine."

I hobbled off into the night drunk, with one piece of pizza and all my food at Bri's, which could have lasted me another few days,
easing the transition into homeless. And it could have prevented a horrible occurance that took place the following afternoon. I
was crying, because I knew I was dying, but I didn't want to ask either of my parents for help, because this was the first time
I was out on my own and I was far too proud to give up and let the world make me its victim. So I walked...

Sixteen ******* miles...

To the next town. Took me all night because I was dodging traffic, easing into trees, avoiding on and off ramps, trying to stay
away from any police that may exist on the road. When I finally arrived in the next town (where I knew I may have one contact)
I decided to sleep until the morning came so I could have the energy to find my next venture.

It was five thirty am. I had 3 hours until sun-up, I had just walked enough to be burning, and there was plenty of whiskey in my veins.
I had left my sleeping bag with Tanya hours earlier, wishing in the park that I had not been so naiive as to think I would be allowed
back in the house. So I pulled out a pile of ***** clothes and put them over me like blankets, in some random corner of the local
park, under some bushes, hidden from cold and sight, with great hope...

Fifteen minutes pass. My eyes shoot open. I am freezing. The sweat has dried and frozen to my body. This is hell.

I grab my things and with the worst effort I can ever remember myself mustering, I drag myself to the toilet.
When I open it, the first thing I check for is cleanliness. It's spotless. I am so relieved. I sit in the corner of the room,
which my knees to my chest, head in my hands, wrapped in a leather jacket I had gotten from Jeff (ha, he really is my
guardian angel, though he would laugh to hear it).

I catch winks, occasionally looking up to check if the sun is rising. When it finally is, I get up, change my clothes (I had
ONE clean set of clothing and it had been rotting with the rest in the backpack) and immediately head to a thrift store where
a family friend is working.

On my way there, I notice in a little parking lot near the store a sight I had never actually come across but I always thought
would be the most amazing luck, and it was timed in such a spot in my life that it was the ultimate miracle...and a curse in
disguise.

In front of my eyes (this miracle appeared in my path as I was walking looking down, so it startled me) was the worst possible thing
for me: A half finished fifth of Smirnoff, and a half smoked pack of Marlboro 100 Reds. I open the pack and sure enough, the celophane
protected every cigarette inside from any water damage. I am ecstatic. This is not only amazing, but highly unlikely.

So I down the bottle in one go and take the rest of the smokes with me.

When I arrive at the thrift shop, it turns out I am there on a day when my potential savior is not working, so I get her number from the clerk
and head over to a payphone and realize... I have no money. So I decide to go on a quest for dropped pocket change.

Before I even leave the parking lot, I see a young man, no older than 23, sitting on a nice red classic-style Corvette and he's
reading William S. Burroughs. So naturally, I decide to strike up a conversation with the young man. Turns out he's the nicest guy
and his name is Jordan. So him and I got together and decided to go out for a game of disc golf (some may not know what this is;
Imagine frisbee but with a golf theme, so you need to get from a tee pad into a basket. Really fun, centering, and extremely popular
with potheads, Californians, beer-drinkers, and hippies) and before we go, he asks if I would like to snag a few beers first.

I tell him a piece of my story and he can tell I am down on my luck and broke so he decides to help me out. He buys us both some beer
and we proceed to disk.

Turns out he's an ex-****** and has been through quite a bit of hell himself, so we find that we're in a good position to help each
other make some better decisions in life. After the game, we go over to a payphone and he gives me money to call my friend.

Buzz (this the only name I am not changing because her name is ******* badass) answers the phone and unfortunately informs me that
though she would take me in any day of the year, she just moved in to a house with one older lady she takes care of, and its a single
bedroom apartment, so there is just no way it can work.

So I go back to his car and tell him the news, and he says he thinks he may be able to put me up for a few days until I can sort
everything out. We go back out to the store and grab ourselves a fifth of *****.

We end up in the park playing music, talking, performing standup for one another, and I begin to realize I am drinking too fast,
so I try to ease back a little. He was playing a version of a Radiohead song I had never heard before

"Everyone this way. Okay, get your hands against the wall. Spread your legs. Don't move."
The doors clanking, some ******* won't shut up in the next cell over.
More slamming of doors, someone rubbing my body all over trying to find my knives, no doubt.
And my AK 47 I conceal, and my ****, and my ... oh ****, I really did have **** on me.

"Move forward. Turn around. Alright, go to bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

"Get up. Come on, slowly... There you go. There's a few more coming in so we got to get you to another cell."

Clank, clank...

"Pick a bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

Something is wrong. This bed is not covered. There is no comfort. It's just a mat. And I have no pillow. This is not a house
of any sort, my bag isnt what I am sleeping on. Something is very wrong here.

I am in jail. Oh of course.

I know the answer before I hear it, but I ask anyway: "What are my charges, ma'am?"

"Drunk in public."

-------------------------------------------------------­------------------------

I'm about thirty miles or so North of inner Seattle. Not a bad place to be. I'm working for a Safeway. It's somewhere around
the first of June. I receive word that Bri has been on ******. And I may have left at a crucial time in her life thinking
only of myself, but I needed to go somewhere I could be productive. Yet my decision left her in a position where she turned
to hard drugs...

I can't help but feel I am to blame. I am listening to the dull, stupid words of my ex boss, Rod, who is telling me
that even though I may feel like I need to help her, there is nothing I can do for her, so I should bury myself in my work
instead. He tells me this in about six hundred different ways before I leave the room after twenty minutes. Well great.
I may have no focus here at work today, but at least I killed almost a half hour of the day just listening to someone
*******.

I am at a loss of what to do here, but I eventually get a hold of her, and after a long time not talking, we come to
somewhat of a closure, and she is beginning to sober up herself. I realize we were both in incredibly hard times, and I still
wish with all my heart there could have been some way I could have helped her raise that boy and stayed and been her
love, and at the same time, still go to college, and progress and get a good job...but I was in a small Northern California
town. There was nothing left, all the old shops were out of business. It was time for me to move on then, and we have
all seen better days for it. She looks incredible these days by the way. She lost an insane amount of weight, and I know
a lot of it had to do with the drugs, but if she truly is sober like she says she is, she'll be getting much better.

A few weeks ago 3 people I used to know and hang out with died in the span of a week. It was a terrible tragedy, and I have been
thinking back on all the names of people I used to love very, very much before they got lost in some way.

There's Lorne Holly, who killed himself after a few weeks of detoxing from crank.

Layla Harmon, who died in a car crash, blunt head trauma, with a drunk driver (I have a tattoo for this, I will never drive drunk).

Heavy Eagle, who killed himself after years of drug problems.

Chaz Lipman, who died in a car crash as well.

Ren Rain, who I am still not sure about...

And of course, Tray Beraldi, who was my closest friend's cousin... I wish I were there to mourne with him...

Last night I got a text from my best friend, who said he couldn't sleep and he barely eats anything anymore, and he feels like his throat
is going to explode, and he cant swallow and his neck is killing him constantly. He has been this way for a year, and he is talking constantly
about getting a gun and blowing his head off. And no one believes him because he constantly talks about it because he is in so much pain.
No doctor can diagnose him so far, he has no idea what's wrong with him, he's been tested all over the place, he has no hope, he's barely
cligning and he doesn't know how much longer he can hold on.

All I really want to say is

Lord? What I have done? I don't pray, I never pray, I don't even know who I would pray to. But WHAT ELSE DO I HAVE TO DO?!

I bring myself across hell and I pull myself from the worst depression I h

In this world of surrounded racism that many let simmer on low.
Like it doesn't exist around them in a daily manner.

If you black and stand up to injustice.
Why?
Do one major race group get so heated to show their racism quickly?

W.E.Dubois stood up and stood out against racism.
And when you do?
It only makes you better as a human.

Sure, many gonna to hate you.
Even try to address you with their version of the truth.
Except, until justice is fair and equal to all.
Then it's an injustice to everyone.

Some minorities live in this "don't rock the boat" mentality.
Which really means don't upset the whites.
But then the world "white flight" means they forever running from the reality of the world.

They lost in Disney's living in a written fairytale.

If you black and roaring to fight injustice.
Standup, we have great examples in this country called America.

Cassius Clay,  known later as Muhammad Ali, stood his ground and faced the hostility of them.
Like the man, Job lost a lot during that time of standing on his principles.

But through it all, he stayed true to himself.
Yes, that group that hangs on to this superior mentality of stupidity complained.

But don't they always when they don't get their way.

Malcolm X, the threat of common sense tricked the world with his brilliance.
Stood toes to toes with the brightest during his time to engage others into thinking.
But he stood up and stood out.

When you go against the norm the group that follows like robotic figures get mad.

Sweet Rosa Parks, became known simply by standing her ground on the seating arrangement.
We wonder why must she have stood when she was in the section they stated she must be seated.

They rocked the wrong woman.
Who stood firm against authorities?
Remember if you black, they want you to stay quiet.
Well, least they got Ben Carson.

Martin Luther King Jr-thanks to a certain level of protest became the symbol and the brave face to tackle law enforcers and racist politicians.

A bigot is only a bigot when they have their group of supporters around to push foolishness.

Don't use the word EQUAL if it's not applied correctly to everyone.

And realize tricks and manipulation is always used to turn the narrative of any protest stand.
Conservatives crying about players being unpatriotic in sports.

But not too many crying the truth that Colin Kaepernick complaints centered around injustice of the police against black males.

Where has he said anything against America?
But we realize if you black they under this impression that you should be quiet.

Notice, white whistleblowers take time to complain.
Then more come out when they terminated.
Then they firing off all wrongs they see.

The two black athletes that raised their fist in the sixties suffered personal gains.
But didn't Jesus protest various injustice to a hostile crowd and authorities?

Politicians are tools of fools afraid to lose an election if they stand for right.
Even the evangelicals(money makers) afraid to stand up to injustice in the world.

Don't you believe when King marched in the beginning that all faiths were behind him?
It just got too big to ignore so they joined in the protect for justice.

If you black and point out wrongs.
Take this message"you better be strong".

Pardon what I say
But **** the system.
When you have kids
snapping against others
hurting themselves
Because these
adults
in charge
can't understand that
bullying
is abuse.
"There's nothing more
I can do."
*******!
"It didn't happen here,
so we can't help."
You wouldn't anyway!
I want to expose the fallacies.
Tell the truth.
The whole truth.
The system is flawed.
When you have kids
killing themselves
ending their own lives
because some adult
"couldn't" help?
LIES.
When you have kids
snapping
and hurting others
killing others,
and
"no one saw it coming."?
LIES.
This **** hits home.
Going through years
of abuse by other people.
"If you're not bleeding
you're fine."
Stop.
Don't lie.
If I'm not bleeding I'm fine?
What?
Tell that to the scars.
Tell that to the blood that did fall.
I caused the blood
I caused the scars
But do not say the hurt was my fault.
DO NOT say that I should **** it up.
DO NOT tell me some *******
about how it gets better.
Because when this **** was happening
do you think I looked forward?
Do you think that I was hopeful
full of wonder at the future?
No.
I was depressed.
I know now
that yea, it does get better.
But when you tell a depressed person
that
it
gets
better
they're stuck in the present
maybe even the past
Because looking forward
all I saw
was more pain and hurt on the way.

The system is ******.
And so are we.
Society is ******.
And so is our future.

Unless we stand up.
Fight against those who
"don't see anything wrong"
Show the truth
For what it really is.

No it's not pretty
No it's not nice
But yes it's the truth
But yes, it is right.

to me? Real with a certified S.King filtered -ly mod,
by god,
as the oh myers say. On Writing sans Shining.
Needful fiction,
Liars prosper. Okeh. Thus,
the poor we have with us, always.

Truth t' tell.

Entshallah allathat, OMG samesame
good mastah willin' creeks don't rise

Do the work. Come Sunday, someday,
we, all us, say.

You ever finish your own work one day and jest

sit back lax - lacks a daisy, taken easy,
laxative action,
gut synapse
synch-up, cinch that saddle on my wildest
old Nightmare, beat my plow
back to a oil drum,

set some feats t'dancin' in some ol'lady minds.

old man's angels seen t'be jiggin' on
the head o' some pen
in the hand

worth two in the bush.

Who know what ever mean, okeh.

period. point made signal.
that was said and it's writ.

set it aside, let it dry

crumble to dust and be scattered to the five great gyres
to settle
as sands
ifiable quant, to mortal mind, weighable
any worth assigned as
sought or ought,
a grain,
a mote,
as seen with five gee augmented
lenses
prestandards beeing raised in the buzz
from Utah

as an erranded boy's sail bike lifts into if
from the saline shore.
Bike tires adhered to passive-ly

by molecular
memories of being
in truth, as if
once and ever,
salt of the earth, see in the distance,
Lot's wife

as tiny as can be

Na and CL, for ever,
deja wuwuish it were possible… dream… or die…

no don't. There is a reason. I for get it can not right now but these
keys can be

used right by the sober one in the batch.
God, I love this process. This is the work. Living.
You can do it as long as you can pay attention…

selah

then it, the algorithm, I'll go rhythm, pauses,
Spelchkovian spells masters seem sorry we ever agreed she'd
leave me leavened as dust
lying around
on white linen
in the streets of Laredo, as cold as the clay,

back in the day,
we sang that song in school. We sang
in movie theaters, along with a
bouncing ball and other people,

big bio jump here. My step-brother was murdered,
and it never seemed relative…

my father married a wombed man with one leg,
whose family sang along with Mitch,

and played Spit in the Ocean.

Such experiences ificate possibilities few knew
some survive.
There could be a contributory flow…

This ever lasting book of life.
See, a shore, sand bar
snag a thought rainbowing true to you

hang-ups from way back

Any boomer bubble popped too soon. Manifest at will.
P-pickup from scratch and
make a point
to infect the next pun unknoticing kid,

old -time slow hand-eye coordination special ed, Big Ern,
kicking chalk dust in far right field, noticing
patterns
in the leftmost vector straight home--

grand children, for the joy of knowing they happened,
caused,
to all outward appearance,
by my survival of several unbelievable

periences ex nihilo only
if "It don't mean nothing".

link link link something has broken, what do we con tribute tributary flow
too dammed salty, got to puddle around

waiting. waiting. waiting for one point
to be made
edged on all angles, to each mea culpa assured
quantifiability of reason,

inquizical sequence surpast
glistering

whetted and furbished for ever,

the keenness
the cut, precision decision

and how swiftly forms the scab,
a touch,

capillary seals, the grain, at HD,
one pixelish crystallin charge

change that,
by taking thought. It does nothing to your stature,

think allusive butterflies of lifenshit

it gets tiresome. A body wants some rest from ever
meaning ever and never was known
or heard
a dis cora zone age word, like

troglodyte or luddite Denisovan bracelet breaker,
ropemaker union with certain silky
threads
to which a little leaven always sticks
as would caterpillar spit.

Meandering, right, it's the play. My role.
I manifest the dance
as seen on the surface, from Jim's POV,

then my own POV,
then my own rivers of no return,
tribute

'ary a day goes by I don't re call that feeling,

flow is moving paster and paster the walls are
higher
shade deeper
colder'n'hell fersher, rapids.
Ah,

Kern River, I remember this.
Almond trees, Columbus clouds…
Hey, readerman, paperbackwriter wannabe,

we survived. What'sa-hell, right's right.

clap. there is a - an  STD joke there.
But those aren't funny

right,
standup guy says right's right, does a
Johnny Unitas stiff arm
and gets a case of
clap from the left, worse than meaningless

neo **** non clapping on the right.
Repent or perish.
****** if it don't feel good to say that.
It's true, once you know,

Gertrude Stein, I got it from her. Lesbian Jewish leaven
in passover brownies dipped in Mogen David,
she made me stand and say a rosary.

By any other name,

a rose is a rose and so on

imagine a big dragon
Are you doing it?

"ye"

what color is it?

"b-blue and yellow"

Blue and yellow. Cute! Isss it big as godzilla?

"no, it's smaller
likee the size of a horse"

Dats a smol dragon
I like him.

"its not smallllllllllll
a smol dragon would be like, a neck dragon
hes big, just not hugeeeeeee"

Ohhhh okay. He's a big dragon, but not huge.
His teeth are like little point pearls
do you see how shiny they are?
and pink

"why are his teeth pink"

They are pearls.

"but pearls are white"

then his toofers are white.

"gooood
good hygeine"

Mhmm
One of those pearls in his dragon maw
his little baby toofeers
thats you

"why?"

because than you can fly with him everywhere.
Just imagine looking down through his mouth at the cityyy
as he flyyyys
and sitting all nestled in his lip
Blue and yellow leather
He could sing you storiessss and brushes his toofers so his breath would be warm but not stinky

"gooooooooooooooooooood!
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhhhh­hhhhh :3"

"My small tenant" He says to you.
as you crawl out of his gum and walk out onto his tongue.

What is your dragon houses name?

"his name is roxy"

He's making a very silly face, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes to talk to you
he sounds silly too
talking with his tongue out
"Welcome Home. "

"i loveeeeee"

Roxy the Blue and yellow Horse sized Dragon House.
"Ready to slide?"
he asks you

"alwayyyyyyyyyyys"

he swallows you
it's very slippery and fun!
like a water slide
And is warm, but not smelly becaus he brushes his teeth
you fly over muscles and liquids and tongue and land on a biiiig trampoline
You can hear Roxy from all around you, quite loud "Having fun, my tennant?"
You are the small size, or a dragons tooth.

"good :3"

"uh oh!" He cries
you see fire from his back
it's zooming towards you!

"nooooooooooo run awaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy"

You run up towards his tongue and trip into the sticky icky
The fire is warm and tingles oup your back
then is over
and you standup, the back of your clothes all burnt off and your front all sticky icky
"I'm sorry, tennant"
"I sneezed"

"its oki roxy."

Roxy fashions their tongue like a staircase for you to come back outside

"daddy? Im sleepy... Can we finish the story tomorrow night?"

me too Babygurl. ^^
Yes we can

"yay!!!!!!!"

Good night

"ninighht daddy. sleeeepppppp well.
i love you"

I love you too baby girl ^^
Sweet dreams.

You curl up in roxys empty tooth spot, he covers you in his blanket tongue. it is warm. but not stinky. and you drift soft to sleep
"Good night, Tenant"
"I love you"

"i love you ttooo roxy."

My body sinks smoothly
Into the curves of your mattress
As I wait for you to crawl in beside me
Among the clouds we shift repeatedly
Apparently soft beds don’t promote cuddling

Netflix plays in the background
Some standup comedy for background noise
But we are not here to chill

The lining of your bra creeps from beneath your crop top
Black lace against your pale skin
And my fingertips can’t help but graze the intricate designs
And trace the edges along your soft skin

While I always think you’re ****
I am not trying to ****** you
I simply cannot get over
How someone can be so perfect
And how so many ****** humans
Could look at you
and touch you
Hear you
and connect with you
Yet somehow couldn’t love you.

But I’m also glad they didn’t
Because I could do this forever.

(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 3, 2015)

Misattribution. Imagination mistaken for memory.

False memory that there were little pink teacups on my twelve-month birthday cake.

False memory that there were maleficent masks iron-worked into the bars of my crib.

False memory of my wedding after the photographs took over.

False memory of watching Bob Saget do standup on cable TV with Nellie and Donna and this being long before Full House ever started.  

False memory of everything my mother said never happened.

The past is partial and true and untrue; partially there and not there.

Chords of our mind in wet knots and dry brittle knots and eroding.

Theorists would have it be all or nothing: why hold on to the vapor of the past?

Why cherish what is ultimately ungraspable?

But the solid ground was built by the past.

But the solid ground has sinkholes.

Walk carefully. Walk slowly. Feel the ground under the palms of your feet.

Feel the tremor of the now before your memory takes it away.

I'm a stand-up comic, no joke
Please sit down, give me some hope
This laugh meister has it tough out there
Doing my tight five, flying without fear
But you, yes you, maybe could save him
Give him the courage to carry on
Look, I've got a college education
I'm fun, at least when I'm not brooding about why some joke failed
I know, it's just a bit, but it puts me in jail
Which is why I need you at least to talk to me
I need to sit down
I won't try to make you laugh
I need a friend, you see

The Internet, for a good helping
of the American demographic,
is the highest-rated of sanctuaries.

I use "sanctuary"
in a filthy and blatantly pornographic manner,

for every time
we post on our nicotine-scented Facebooks
that we're "so ******* bored" we "could die,"
there's at least one other
hand snaking you along
those fetishes you stash beneath your sleeve
like black silk underwear;

and no matter what you do,
nothing will explain away
those two consecutive Youtube videos:
"Black muscle man in blue thong"
followed spontaneously by
"12 year old boy sings Judy Garland!",
each, to the innocent bystander,
juxtaposed like two opposing ******
in one ****** up candy shop.

The grotesque meat show,
always the same introduction,
always right on time with the
churn churn churning of his
loneliness his rage his silence
onto those sheets
with no regard for the family
and friends of fibers.

It used to be hilarious,
perfect lunch table standup,
but once you learn
that with ***, there might be
signs of love in the decipherable thrusting,
that a plot is swimming helplessly
in the oceanic camouflage of loveless living,
sticky hands can really start to sting.

You painted your eyelids with green velvet and ruby red. The fractured mirror kept your insecurity at bay, as sparkle blue glitter poured all over your head from a little tin can.

We drove across the bridge, and through Shocko bottom, stopping at a nearly deserted parking lot sanctioned by an honor code. We double parked behind an Acura sedan, and waited as you snorted half a gram of Molly off your manicured fingernail into each
nostril.

You took in a deep breath, smoked a Parliament, and blew smoke out the
window. After ten minutes we shambled out of the car with our purses tucked under our armpits, and red fire dying in our eyes. When we reached the Hat Factory venue, the line disappeared from our view and we walked to the entrance where two bouncers were posted up. The tall giants marked our hands with black sharpie ink, drawing a large, bold “X” on each one.

Once inside the spacious warehouse, we ascended a white marble staircase and paid a ten dollar entry fee. Another doorman took out his marker and drew a red line, crossing through the dark black “X” that was drying on our hands. You broke off and away, going
straight to the bar. The bartender asked what you wanted to drink, and you requested water. She smiled and gave you a red solo cup filed with tap water and ice-cubes. After you thanked her, she handed you a bright pink glow stick that you wrapped around your forearm, fitting a figure 8 around your skin like a cloth sleeve.

On the stage was a young man dressed in neon colored plaid and skinny jeans. He climbed up a tall stepladder and jumped from the top, belly flopping on a beautiful African Queen bodacious gluteus Maximus, daggering deep into her soaking black spandex, the decadent bodies swimming on top of each other, stroking and staining the pink gymnastic mat with hot sweat and salt. A huge beach ball colored with red, white,
yellow, and blue pinwheel stripes sailed through the air over the balcony, smacking into a deathly thin model who was smoldering her Parliament cigarette into a clear glass
ashtray.

Mollywopped undergraduates gathered around circles where reggae artists harpooned inflatable black and white killer whales with thrift store bought switchblades.

Laying flat on his stomach was an Asian photographer snapping away with his Nikon digital SLR camera, pale hipsters in ***** black blazers and black fedoras hurling red and purple plastic assault rifles into the intense mass of worry-stricken college students carefree for the moment, gyrating and grinding to the womp-womp bass booming from rectangular speakers that squished in a disc jockey and his hardwood stand with his mixer and two turn tables. He scratched the needle along the worn edge of a battle-scarred vinyl record. His fingers zigzagged the sliders, pressed down on buttons, turned up the volume knobs.

Some hyper-maniac golden child bounced around the dance floor, sneaking up behind university sophomores mesmerized by the makeshift floodlights in the rafters blinking on and off. Conversations were made in the head, but never opened up when the girl approached. Stuck up super senior girls with heavy black mascara and matted eyelashes raised their eyebrows and swatted away ***** flies with a wave of their lotioned hand.

***** girls dress in high heels and septum piercing, their ear cartilage stabbed through by unclean metal. A rude person bumps into the Hyper-maniac golden child, causing the golden child to shove squarely into the rude person’s back. Name-calling ensues, threats fired and received, looks exchanged and bitterness rose over any other tension in the fuming room.

In the far right corner were a couple of kids making out; they’d just met.

Walking away from the fight, sidling between sweaty ugly people, the golden child swayed upstairs to the second floor, passed another bar and balcony tables, chairs, and dance platforms.
He went through a swinging door and joined a conversation between
a bunch of strangers. Wary around the golden boy, he starts practicing his standup Comedy routine, almost bombing on the first joke. Cheap jacks burned bright orange after a blue flame ignited the tapered paper end. Arms snared around the golden child’s body. Oh how nice! It was his friend from Modern Grammar class, he used to sit next to
her in the second row and copied homework answers from the blackboard with her.
She was happy.
And he was happy.

A recent BBC Headline reads: US orders ban on trans-fats. In a day when fat-discrimination has been thought to have stopped, the US is discriminating against the fine and upstanding obese community. Eliminating trans-fats from food will save lives by preventing heart attacks, but it will also eliminate fat jokes, which will set back standup comedy for years to come. Health experts say that Americans continue to consume too much foods with trans-fats, even with trans-fats information labeled on food; in scientific studies done by Dr. Kazuo Takitani, research shows that Americans "Do Not Give A ****" about their health due to entitlement and fatty privilege. Taking trans-fats out of food will reduce coronary heart disease, but it will also make fat people who are stupid more confident, not necessarily smarter. Supporters of French Fries have taken to the streets and are calling on President Obama to stop the War on trans-fats. The Obama administration has responded with a statement in regards to the trans-fat crisis, and have said, "Go To The Gym." Obese people are in danger of becoming skinny, and already the obese population of the United States, are hoarding Cheetos and pizza rolls in their ***** packs, in order to stop the madness. In this day and age, health is a choice, skinny and **** people, the ones who are supporting the ban on trans-fats, do not know the irreparable damage they are doing to the fat American white male, who's narrative will always be ingrained in the American consciousness. A chubby boy named Paulie was interviewed earlier today as he was eating French fries and a large soda: "The government doesn't care about Fat people. We deserve better treatment. We matter. We exist. How am I supposed to survive without Mickey D's fries? Do I look like I can exercise? I'm moving to Canada." When Paulie was informed that Canada was strongly thinking about following in the US's footsteps, Paulie suffered from food coma and passed out in his chair. The United States is slowly turning towards becoming healthy and fi; many people oppose this trend, while others embrace it; all that can be said is that change will shocking, can give some people a new perspective on life. Stay tuned for more details. Now here's Marcus with today's weather report.

When you come away from home you can be one of many things:
A ****
A partyanimal
A geek
A talker
A listener
A doer
A drinker
A social recluse
An alcohol abuser
A hustler
A bustler
A fanatic
A panicker
A best friend waiting to be discovered
A great lover in the cupboard
The list goes on
But we are all one thing:
A fresher
A newbie
A greenhorn
Streetfighters
Run up quarterbacks
Soldiers of Fortune.
And I realise it can be hard
With everything going on
Trying everything new
Trying to make friends
We can sometimes get caught up
And lose our field of vision.
If I could give one piece of advice
It would be:
Be who you are.
Standup for what you believe in –
People always come round to respecting that
If you don’t do shots
Drink beer
If you don’t like ****
Pass on it in a dignified manner.
I once knew a guy who lost his field of vision:
He ended up firing a rifle out of a second-storey window
Trying to hit the centre of the O’s on roadsigns.
It might have been the exuberant amount of alcohol
He had consumed that night.
I just don’t know.

The Table Spread
Its one forty four in the am it’s time to make you some bread while you sleep just like the Pana bakery
Used to do and fill the night air with its rich sweet smell I could go into a big explanation but it will evolve
As I go along know this there is a great famine you don’t see it or feel it so it isn’t so yes that is what
The unwise would and do tell all they meet for such an important discussion we must have a proper
Stage if your starving and I only present the truth that we all are in we can find no more sacred ground to
Battle for your survival than where this nation stood at the time when the civil war raged the living page
Of American history was being written on this most savage and heart rending field Lincoln rose not only
To speak but also rose to the occasion I repeat what has already been said before I could give you graphic
Details you already know them Lincoln began to speak using his natural voice but its source and vision
Was the spirit that could take such tragic horrible realities giving them the unknown by human
Understanding their true picture from this terrible upheaval and cost of human suffering and sacrifice
The flowering of this field so black and stark nowhere else was human dignity measured so precisely in
This blood soaked soil an instant harvest sprang up of nobility of rarest quality the spirit surged these
Truths into the open vessel of Lincoln for it was he who was appointed and bore this burden he sought
Expression to convey and meet what the living had died to purchase it was given as his words said in full
Measure they didn’t stumble or hesitate they rushed into the jaws of death and all the terror
That it exposed the cause was worth all they possessed and they freely gave it the borders and the very
Fabric of a nation on the brink of destruction had begun to be stitched back together the thread was
Once smiling faces that had homes far from Gettysburg families with children wives father and mothers
From this bold disregard for all that was earthly sacred angels went forth to spin thread that knows no
Equal and its strength and power would as his words again said that this nation would endure and have
A new birth of freedom I’m writing about your blood lines your heritage nothing has been able to void
This which is indelibly written by this battle and others only one thing can destroy this nation just simply
Remove all spiritual bread and you will hear the same words another vessel that had the spirit coursing
Through his life a judge of his people but with this simple revelation cut my hair and I will be as other
Men with this revelation a nation more holy and with more guaranteed assurance than we posses
Plunged into darkness and decline only in Joseph time in Egypt was there more want of bread. You can
Fill up space on this earth without the bread of life found in God’s word but my precious dear friends you
Are dead and have no claims on what only heaven can provide the very strength it takes to keep a nation
Secure. God’s fields are full of golden grain this is my own feeling that grain remains unattainable and
Beyond reach only when the harvest field of earth’s souls are harvested then a replenishing starts
Matching the spiritual work bread again will fill tables we do our part you do your part recognize your
Need standup be counted we have always fed the rest of the hungry world we first need to feed
Ourselves then with new health and resolve we can recover others lost and dying this is what the
Intention of this writing is all about see you in the field where no greater treasure or reward has ever
Been found.

There is a hunger
Like a gun to yr head
Metal and cold
Empty yr clip
Personal *******
Egoic standup metaphysical *****
Pseudo spiritual people snakin in my garden
Workin gets harder
When you poet all the time
Clock you don't know what it looks like
A vague memory takes over me
At the corner on 15th and Rockford
I'm unheard and disturbed
No it's not ok
Know insanity like secondhand glove fit/spit atheists outta my mouth
Now you know what god Tastes like
Teeth know what gods about
Molar spell
Glamour silver
Share gardens worth of rent/have bent knees to cold Chicago concrete
Ask god
She's listening
With an open hand
Walk
Yr glistening sidewalk shine you concrete vision of glitter and litter
You performance piece about ennui
Sing
Sinner
Yr callouses
Don't ask how ok I am
We all got issues and I know you want a poem
But all I got is tissues and I didn't mean to make you cry
I jut wanted to remind you of the salt of life
The stuff dreams are made of
Homemade hair cloud spun
Wicked sister come whisper In my ear drum
Hum the chemical hymnals from our childhood
Don't hide your big tooth
Chew and chew and Chew
Purposefully at the great growing complacency

When you standup for anything?
Stand firm.
Be firm for others won't like your plight.
None, truly like Martin Luther King's protesting wrong.
Yes, some within his race.
Don't matter those saying things to your face.

Who?
Doesn't know the story of Jesus?
The Kaepernick's affect holds weight to a few.
And some lies in racial injustice.
Which many whites can't seem to fathom.

Black soldiers , who bravely fought during World War II?
Came home with less respect.
Similar to when they left.

There's no pictures floating around with them seated with white Nazis like the white soldiers during that war.
There's no photos of whites being hung from trees with smile by African American males.

Oh, the history of blacks within America doesn't sit too well.
This the part we not to mention to many at all.
And this deals with white police officers and the press.

Those that has it better can't admit injustice to others.
So others, a majority of whites will cry loudly against Colin Kaepernick.
But doing Vietnam, which race jumped quickly to avoid war by going to Canada.

Does he has the right to protest?
Yes, this is America.
Is he right?
Well, no rules exist to state he must stand when the anthem to play.

We have seen whites burn the American flags.
And hardly seen whites protect that!!!!!
But once a black stands up to something.
It's create havoc for a few.

It's not a Nat Turner's Rebellion.
It's just a protest by a genuine fella.
Will it cost him?
Probably?

But somethings you must be willing to lose.

The Shed

This temporary transient visited place so common nothing to distinguish it from just a sad hovel. After entering you find the most extraordinary pieces of your history. Garden tools that your mother and father shared you remember their toiling for hours on end with them being enthralled in this simple pleasure. On the work bench a broken flower *** oh how the scent of potting soil rushes into the mind the feeling of the cool black moist mixture as you work with it with your fingers. The flower that stands so seemingly jaunty after you packed it snugly in a brand new ***. It seemed to sense its beauty did it not shoot forth the sweetest fragrance that now you believe you can still smell.

Suddenly a cloud burst and the rain begins to dance on the tin roof in fact the sound has no outward melody but in the heart what pleasure it couldn’t be better what raw power to soothe to voice such serine harmony with such fundamental materials everything comes together in this roar and deafening assault you pray that it doesn’t stop

Has the time sped by so fast now you sit in the quiet darkness and then slowly the wind builds momentum it fairly howls then with unerring aim it finds just the right defect in the wood it starts the most joyful sound as you hear creaking and moaning sounds acoustic wonders surround has the night minstrel brought yet another magnificent performance for your hearing alone. Truly it has enjoy the magic that only the mysteries of the night can produce.

On the wall there they hang in splendor license plates from the grand vacation you took as a family your dad was so proud he was able to introduce ever one to this great country beyond the borders of home and the well known paths that were worn almost to the point of dullness but now when added to the new and grander whole it renewed and made home recapture its true worth.
You step back and your gaze comes to rest on your father’s favorite place here his tools seem to hold the honored spot. How could they be more orderly? And reverently displayed cleaned and oiled ready at all times for use. Then you remember his great strong hands how he held them almost lovingly as he explained there uses to you. He seemed to be always adding new ones it caused you to wonder is he going to run out of room. The question was answered the day he showed off his brand new red standup tool box how he beamed.
It does seem some books and papers have gotten out of hand just strewn about but that only adds charm and warmth to the place. A special place of abandonment setting for long periods no order just fleeting thoughts that appear then dissolve into others as they silently enter this private world.
I could tell you more but after all it just a shed I left the door open why not go on in and set a spell I’m sure you have similar memories in this place truly time is suspended your cherished memories its only reality. The world can be stark and unkind but God saw fit that that within a small wooden structure you could find an oasis. Cool not only the physical temperature but give the mind and soul this delightful respite.

The ground and I are good friends
We have shared a few encounters
The first encounter was when my Dad went to prepare our mansion in heaven with Angels
I was only seven

The second encounter was when we had to move from our house and town to live with Granny and Pops
My mom's folks
I experienced melancholy
Little did I know that Melancholy signified my fourth encounter with the ground
Pops
He touched me made me roll the rubber down his manhood
He put his ugly cigarette thick fingers in my cookie jar
I was only nine
That wasn't enough
He would wake me up in the middle of the night when everyone is asleep and say Angel let us go watch the stars
I wouldn't say no to watching stars that's my favorite thing to do especially late at night
That's when my Fifth encounter with the ground occurred
Pops told me that if I scream he will ensure that he throws myself and baby sister out
I remembered that we had nowhere to go so I obeyed
The ground and I became one at this point for nine years
I didn't tell moms for I didn't wanna ruin her relationship with her folks
She had business trips all the time to ensure that we have all we need
Pops is dead anyways
The sixth encounter was when moms told me she doesn't trust me
That ripped me into microscopic pieces
Luckily we are now good friends
And the rest of encounters are when my "true loves" chopped my heart into cubes


Oh there is encounter it happened when I found out that I have an extra year  in High School
But now all is well

I'm not afraid to fall
For the ground and I are friends
I always standup even if it takes years sometimes
The fall made me who I am now

I started writing
I got asked what I was writing
I told them my life
Oh so you're writing a comedy
I joked yeah it was suppose to be a suicide letter
But it became my biography
Everytime others ask I give them a different story
I write monologue for my standup routine
No one gets the joke
I wonder if they are listening
When I'm serious I get a laugh
When I joke they take me serious
Writing is my outlet
Hoping one day I might be understood

-Oh no
  She saunters by
The air stiffens and falls, mountains bow,
               All kowtow, or at least they should
                 -We’re not worthy
      She looks over her dominion
                                          She rules all that she sees
            None standup to contest
                   She has me too, I confess
                                             -I like it
                     She looks through me
Another face
Another peon
Another nothing
                                                                               -HEY!


-…Place your hopes here my lad
-No, I am better than this. She will see ******
LOOK AT ME
           Not another tidbit for the
Proverbial chopping block
     Her neck turns; time stops
  Clocks tick without their tock
        -We get so lonely
        Or is it for her? She tops me
Swivels slowly, no stop
A slow-mo accident waiting to be replayed
        -Oh God please
        -Oh God no
She cuts the room in two, parallel lasers
     Heads
                   roll
                            and
                                    smile,
                           they
             cheer
       for
me
-You got this Tiger
-Steady man, steady
     She sees my eyes with hers
Dull brown against the firing squad
                      -Ready boys! Aim
Her lips part, chest slightly rises loading the bullet
      She locks on her target and she never misses
          A bead of sweat rolls on past
              It asks
-What have you done
     They look to her
-Take the shot!
And she does with a smile
                                                  -*Hey

On a trip to never-never- land.
the glass ceiling and bottomless plan
I'll never ever land.
Its all part of plan B, by the man,
My sound scans, in never-ever- land.
Never heard by another man.
Gave up on the game - now its
starting to show, on the other hand.
I got doubts, so I dream even more.
These odds against me - I never no
Praying to god, the only time I fold.
A real man, never overplaying my hand.
Bringing more to the table than a brand.
That's just the way it goes,
can’t help how the cards land,
let the facts show.
Time heals everything,
scars let it be shown. You,
let it be known.
The logos, go hand in hand
Two faces – four tone
I’m a standup guy,
On rocky land
Headed home.
First in my class,
last in my caste,
finishing last
now I’m king of the throne.

Am I suicidal?
just a little bit why?
I can see it in your eyes how bad you hurt inside
my mom caught me a few times with my last will wrote
she asked me why I wanted to die
and said I felt broke inside
kids at school these days
don't know how much It takes
just to stop the tears and say that your ok
they don't know how bad it hurts
to be pushed around the hallways almost constantly
but because you don't want to be week
you refuse to standup and speak
you see kids these days are blind, they don't see the world threw clear dark and blue eyes .
They think their indestructible but they arnt' all that wonderful
I popped a few pills when I was five, I was young and I wanted to die
I was to stupid to know what ones to take
so I swallowed about five to take the headache away
but, pleas don't follow down this rode
I might not be dead yet
but I can feel its close
just huge your pillow tighter
harden up become a fighter
because no ones going to save you
you got to save yourself

(These are some Senryu poems about bestfriends.)

My best friends and I
can talk to each other with
****** expressions

Friends can face-slap
insult each other - we know
each other so well.

We can spend a whole
day, at the park, just sitting
on the swings chatting.

Ever looked at your
bestfriend and thought, “We should be
standup comedians.”

Fighting that person in the mirror
Flashbacks of your future is what’s feared most
Why couldn’t you standup
Why are you so silent

SPEAK UP !!!!

No one can hear you
Are you really going to allow this to happen
I guess so cause like a coward you’ll crawl back into that bottle
Drink away the Shame caused by pain
Knowing this is temporary satisifation

Here’s your chance to seek help
Although it’s tough and heart felt
As you begin to think to speak
Your drowning in water with stones tied to your feet

OPEN YOUR **** MOUTH !!!
Because you truly need this help
Too embarrassed to say
I stood up walked out because I didn’t want you to find out this way

As a child I was devout
Faithfully glued to
An idea with no truth

But I spoke clearly
Understood the fictions
Better than most adults did

Like little girls understand
Barbies, My little ponies
And monster high dolls

Like grown women
Who still want to be
The princess they saw
On Disney

Like little boys understand
GIJOE, Spiderman,
And Superman

Like grown men
Who still want to be
The Batman they saw
In movies on tv

I clung to this fair unreality
Hoping it would be redemption for me
Because the bruises and red marks
Demanded I believe
Insist I must need
A superhero Jesus to save me

While I was drowning in a sea of sin
I had to beg the divine to let me in
Noah’s Ark,

Hoping that god knows my heart
Was full of good intentions

But the bathroom florescent lights
Made me feel ugly
Like everyone was judging me
With all my pores and acne
With all the scar my mom gave me
Though she hid them perfectly
Just beneath my skin

I thought god would save me from her whims
Or at least take me away to be with him

Instead of leaving me in pain’s den
To lose those faithful delusions
One heartbreak at a time
One history and science lesson at a time
One standup routine and comic book at a time

Till I lost my taste for the divine
While at the same time
I was just plain losing my **** mind

I went to
Standup today
And the guy said
"No notes"
But I went up there
And I did my notes
And I did my set
And the first half went well
And the second half was ok
And I got laughs
And I got offstage
And the guy threatened me
And did it in a passive aggressive way
And said some people get banned
And I left right after my set anyway
And went on the subway

the homeless guy is getting on with me
And is begging softly for money
And the happy ending masseuse is jerking
And the orphans walking back to his "home"
And the annual tenth black women's being shot
And the illegal busboys wiping his 87th table
And the bitter son lost his father yesterday
And there (really) is a child in Africa starving
And a girls being *****, for the second time
And the blocked composers cocking his gun
And the muse is lying on the beach of nonexistence

And
And
And

The homeless man, exiting the train, says,

Thank you
God bless you all
I'll probably see you all here
tomorrow
And

So today we celebrate
A religion solely based on the dead
The dead are resting either peacefully or wonderously
Hell's turning over slowly and another inch away from judgment
Day everybody run out and grab your candies and merry with guised customes
Pretending to be your favorite character
Who are merely fiction
Face it folks we so off track with nature
That honestly think were serving a purpose
By venerating the dead
Who can't see or hear us
There transformed into another realm
Where we will once all meet
For our final perdition
Will we make it to our destination
Where ever it may be?
Or will we suffer earthly ?
Pangs that we once discovered
Our time during our living
No ones knows the day or the time we will be taken by father time
But one thing I do know is it will happend
Are you ready to die ?
Or will you standup for something
Rather than nothing ?
Recognize game when you see it
Don't be a fool learn about origins and tradition
For it could be an ambiguous ambition