Let's not make this long speech
    my best moment to reach
    Casablanca-*******
Day in and Craker Jack out what!!
Please the kiss needs to be longer__
The piano plays incredibly stronger
So short the "Cheez Wiz" visit

Oh! My the lovely edible dish
The long wishtoo long its been
way too longare we short on

The strawberry short cake
Please make no mistake
   ******* Barrel crackers
I am Jamming sweet grape jam
Orange marmalade home run slam
New Orleans  Southern hospitality
Don't rain on my parade

    Robin-Tweet
C-R-A-c-k-E-RsCozy-Real
A++ Collection can't be beat
King Eternity the Queen *******
Cheese deck what a home wreck
Green Guacamole animal
 crackers green Scrooge

"Long story Witchcraft"
The spell his magic fingers
French Tickler ******* winner
Those finger foods gift matcher
She sees little red riding hood
Getting the right Judge Judy
homemade Country fudge

VIP ******* may I RIP cracked
the code computer hacker
Afterthought but don't
come towards me she's bulletproof
It's today coffee dark swirls
Proud Mary got cracked mug
I only have eyes for
      Sunny

The Leap jump for all
Easter bunny
Long appetizers in her tray
The longer the wait like the
Meisers
The same star how I
met all the losers

Moms *******
Saltine stuffing
I am longing for English crackers
Like a ritual, out of time lips chuckle
Sweet Berry cheeks and lovely dimples
This life will burn and crumble
Over crumbled crackers?

Dog wear collars of polka dots
Vacation spot Meditterian crockpots
by the sea
Sea salt sprinkling saltine
over the shoulder, good luck
Feeling love sick her revolver
crackers to meet her four leaf clover

This is not only__New York City
  "Apricot" cracked wheat dot dot
What white as a sheet
Longshot transformation
To the Stepford wifes
Robot desperately seeking crackers
The best honey milk

 bedroom eyes like
Star shape crackers
the ship watch your salty lip
The shepherd's pies short skirts
Vampires blood jelly
Be Jolly Santa's baby *******
wicked plot "Santa Claus"
*** of gold belly at a glance

Cheesecake Factory
Trampling over crackers
What a time for a boycott
What fine attribute of
girl scouts
Getting blondie
brownie points

Someone passed her
screen test mirror mirror
cracked the glass shot
Astronaut gravity goes insanty
The third eye three reasons

"Soap Opera Diamonds"
three times got cracked
*** matters lips sensually
Madonna Vogue
The oyster's long love rumors
She just loves her jelly roll and
Mr. Graham crackers

Just appreciate those cracked
wheat ladies
Sesame melba toast short top
of the crack
Whats the matter?
With your daughter
He longs for her divine crackers
That's another short chapter

They crack up those actors
The writer needed to
find more movie extras
Groucho mark with
joke of crackers
The jackpot was hard to hit
Everyone was better to
crack the safe long neck
My lady Giraffe*

The true lover's knot
Your poem is worth the shot
Astronaut I brought you
The perfect flight the men
with the mustache
The salt and pepper shaker
Elvis the King is shaking
Long shot ******* butter fingers
Happy Holiday to all

i can't help what i am...
but what i am not is a spoken word
poet: with that generic exasperation
technique of speaking -
as if, on the verge of crying...

but what i can tell you...
i am a rigid person,
there are 3/4 of me that should
have enlisted in the army,
and only a 1/4 that went to
university...

so... given that i'm such a rigid ******...
i thought i'd tell you about
linear and vertical rhyming...
linear?
oh, that's neat & easy:

.................................... end
.................................... bend
..................................... send
..................................... wend....

basically suffix rhyming...
but! but... what Sylvia Plath
introduced?
   oh, my, god...
      transcendent of
the conceptualization of
"the" box...

her rhyme? alphabetical...
sort of...

        it's more than that...
she didn't pay due diligence on
suffix rhyming -end,
   -ing
    you name it...

you want to know what her rhyme
concept implies?

   **** me, it's sassy...

she was a rhyming weaver...
an interloper...
    words didn't have to necessarily
end in the same boundary
of an echo... echo rhyming
by the standard bearers is one thing...
she made tartan rhymes...

tartan rhyming...
kilt rhyming...

                  and it looked something
equivalent to, this:

  ceremony or Potent -
Still sky, obtuSe -
   one might Say love -
  Suddenly,
        black featherS,
black reSpit -
Season of fatigue,
SpaSmodic,
  deScend...
   Stolidly...
       no effigy... Seem...
pompouS...
                         coarSe copy...
      Bell tongue BirdS...
    Shrined on her SHelf...
too Tough to Finish...
  Seize my Senses...
ToTal neuTrality...
   deScent...
                Sanguine...
  bRick dusk...
Prose...
              plaCe...
            pompouS...
Ne­at kNits...
    weedS obScured...
SHe blenched,
miMic...
   deSpite...
baniSH...
    ******...
too tough for knife to finiSH...

      Head...
so profoundly muCH...
       piN legs...
               thoughtS...
So departS...
       S(h)eets...
Sanity...
      Tongue...
Printed Page...
  Twelve...
Sick man's Eye...
nEVER nEVER found
anyWHERE...

goodbye goodbye...
      eXclamation...
the First point...
            GHost...
   Signify...
cuckoo-land of color fields,
CRisp CUsp...
    
        the girl's dancing!
she's dancing barefoot...
no, i can't fall in love with her...
she's, dead!

    but can you see
rhyming vertically?
   all the lettering,
in capital letters?
  deviancy...
   it doesn't agree to your
box standard form of
rhyme, linearly...
  it's vertical rhyming,
it's juxtapositions on a scale
that might elongate
the winding tongue of a snake
in, anything but maracas
rattling...
sssssssssssssssssssssss.....
a wet snare...
   she's teasing...
she has escaped
the tradition of
the traditional guise of rhyme...
she has invoked
rhyme, but as an intermediating
attachment...
          forget the rigid
end-
                   -ing
with a "worthy"
   sympathiz-
                                        -ing...

what a gall...
she makes the housewives of America's
1950s twice as vampire-like,
and thrice as Stepford material...
   lucky blond to leave so much
"crap" behind...
   i could pick the maggots
from her head and make it
a day's worth of fishing
on the banks of Vistula...

she's dancing in the rain,
and all i have is my Cameo cinema
moment
with my cousin, Justine,
running barefoot where
i grew up on the cement...
and then cuddling together,
getting warmer
over one worth of an afternoon...

last time i heard...
her son Leo was born on
the 15th of May,
my birthday...
  but we've fallen out...
when her husband
put a **** under my father's
self-employment
enterprise...
   and undertook
a practice of stealing workers
from him...
great move... when you join
a family...

        nice memory though...
wish my cousin Justin all the luck
she can muster...
but when it comes to family
friendliness?
none....
                 went to her brother's
wedding... was interrogated by
her brother's best man...

   Polish drunk talk...
let's just say...
his date?
   was flashing her underwear
at me from under her magic carpet
ride of a skirt while we
smoke cigarettes and finished
off drinks, being accused of...
trying... to seriously...
hide her... exhibitionism...

   so i started punching myself
in the face to find target practice
should i ever come across
any more Polacks, drunk,
at a family wedding...
   you never know...

           hell... if ******* wanna tango...
we'll... ******* tango! ha ha.
now all i need is the raw
material... my knuckles
are either furry...
or they're itchy...
  can't exactly knock-out
my neighbors dog...
   i need a ******* mug of
a mouthwash advert...
with a grin that's, seriously
asking for a few missing teeth
to rekindle a smile!

Ever thought you had friends you'd know until you die?
I did.
I wish with all my heart that a clock could be rewound,
revisit old mistakes, erase them and rewrite.
Life isn't like that.
Life is a ***** in heat scratching away at mental scabs.
"Friends are the family we choose ourselves"
*******.
It's a fridge magnet quote for a reason.
                        ~
Fickle, feckless,
Replaceable
Idiotic individuals
Endlessly
Needing a
Damn hard
Slap.
* Stepford friends*.

am i

physically attractive
empathetic
nurturing
intelligent
honest
ambition
hardworking
financial independent
loyal
dependable
competent
strong
tough
polite
and respectful

no
because i’m not a stepford wife

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TheStepfordWives(1975film)

Ken and Barbie drive around
in their matchbox cars in my small town
its bright yellow with a stripe you'll see
how hard they try, and wanna be
admired by everyone /including me
stepford wives, and soccer moms
stepford husbands mowing lawns
with perfect twins that keep them in
competition to hide their sins
their tongues spew knives from their lips
about a neighbor that's not so hip...
they're so busy judging everyone
they don't notice flowers in the sun
words, or art -- or people like me
that don't fit in the picture they see
I stand alone in my small town
while Ken, and Barbie drive around.

stepford wife, smile bright
cook, clean, fix, listen, shine
a trophy, prize, conquest
overused, underloved, broken, dies
unassembled puzzle, incomplete
pieces an unclear fit, break
silent muzzled, scattered, quit
exhausted, out is in a box
for puzzles, games, like little talk
brought to shelved bars, stay
viewed only, never touched
succumb, suffocate, decay

I didn't make it through the movie "On the Road"
It didn't translate well to film, or maybe it's me
worry grips me and I cut my clonozapan carefully into fourths
and take one fourth and smash my finger into the dust and lick it off
I value it more than their benzodrine
The moment I awaken, the fear grips me, and then what?
One pill is consumed every few hours in the morning and early afternoon
leaving the next, for the panic of the evening
how will it end.  I don't want to go back. I am told not to think of it anymore
there is nothing more to be learned and it is only like rubbing my wrist
against a razor, trying to get through those tendons to reveal the pulsing red
their faces, my bosses, with their pasted on smiles, Stepford wives every one of them
the male, the female and everything in between
focus on the students, they will lose a good teacher soon
I am sad for that, yes and buried down in some black hole of my consciousness I know it is true.  I am that good teacher for
the girl who must move again this year, like last year and walks home
to the poor neighborhod where she lives and hears gunshots every night
My intervention and pleading for her teacher
to please reach out to her, because she is failing, and is afraid of you
even if you don't believe in gunshots or her cousin shot and dieing in front of her
and yes having mercy is one of my strengths, as my pancreatic cat rests on his catnip toy
and I care about those kids
not the stupid school
and even if I've put myself on the line, I am no phony Stepford wife
and if their reality, those kids reality is ugly and we know about it, we must help
even if it makes my bosses uncomfortable and squirm in their eggshell world of middle
class comfort.   I don't care anymore.
The kids are what matter, helping them with whatever time is left.

Lush neatly manicured lawns
Fence pickets in white, ornate light posts in bronze
Luxury cars and such perfect houses
Mask the evil that rouses

Behind the Stepford smiles
Flow rivers of fear and pain
Horrors, ****, and violence
In their suburban domain

“In marriage there’s no such thing as ****!”
“I make the money, if I want *** I’ll take it!”
“I’ll end your life if you try to escape.”
“I’ll cut off your money, you’ll never make it.”
“I’ve explained to your family you’re crazy as hell.”
“You have no friends left, no one to tell.”
“It’s always your fault you make me hit you.”
“Now tell the **** doctor you just tripped on a shoe.”
“Get yourself tested I brought home the clap.”
“You’re lucky to have me, I’m the real catch.”
“Keep eyeballing me, you’ll get a fresh slap.”
“Stop crying your eyes out, it’s just a rough patch.”
“I love you so much, why can’t you see?”
“This creature is something you force me to be!”
“NOW STOP YOUR WHINING AND MAKE A NEW DRINK!”
“ELSE IT’S YOUR HEAD, NOT MY GLASS, THAT SHATTERS THE SINK!”
“YOU’VE DONE IT AGAIN, AND YOU WON’T GET AWAY.”
“YOUR NIGHTMARE IS HERE, AND HE’S GOING TO STAY.”
...
“Lock the door? I’ll kick it in!”
“Fight back? I call that a win.”
“The struggle is what turns me on!”
…
The terror carries through to next dawn.

Behind the Stepford smiles
Flow rivers of fear and pain
Horrors, ****, and violence
In their suburban domain

Sprinklers water the grasses
The sobering monsters cover their *****
They put on a grin and dress in fine suits
Greet peers with **** salutes

Off to work he goes to make cash
The kids trudge glumly off to school
The night before? Just a bad dream
She’s buying clothes, spending's her fuel.

Lush neatly manicured lawns
Fence pickets in white, ornate light posts in bronze
Luxury cars and such perfect houses
Mask the evil that rouses

She's the women
You imagined
Stepford wife
She sit's with Hands clasped tightly
Courtney Loves drunken sister
Resonates within
Her wilted box keeps disintegrating
Her barricades
Useless
Soaking filth from the ground
She would cry
Tears dry
Salt is only producing
She's a mist uncontrolled
Wild growing daisy
Sitting in a ticky tack
Garden
She sees freedom
Fake
Placed in the deserts hot sun
Thirsty
Last drink
Now haunts
Suited up in her dress
She carries on
Fragmented
Dissapointing denial

english humour?
       they call it black...
             black as in: i 'aven the foggiest...
sure... it's witty, but up to
the point where slapstick origins
do a dodo and ******* into nothing
while at the same time inviting canned laughter...
               it's black humour they say:
what... you mean bile?
                  now ask a pole about
humour... and he'll be like:
         i'm flying a kite over auschwitz...
i can't believe it's two things at once:
   a "tourist" attraction for some...
                an islamic deterrent, for others.
sure... we can fire up the ovens once more...
             it'll be like that scene in the hobbit
where a few dwarfs started to imbue
life into the abandoned mine of the lonely mountain...
see... that's the thing with english humour,
in that it's black... in that it's too intelligent,
which makes a lunatic laughing for no
perceptible reason...
            enigma jokes... you know the kind...
       but a comedy that forgets itself, having
origins in a schadenfreude... well, it becomes
desperate... it's gagging for an auxiliary settlement
to be staged in the first place:
  canned laughter, enforced laughter,
                  the tyrannical face of western humour:
***** you better laugh! or i swear i'll do
      sum-fin                    nah      sss    tee... tea...
                ty           ti      taikwondo,   taekwondo?
eh?
                   this is starting to look, very much
like kabbalah for the party kids...
                 let's levitate an inch above the alphabet
and **** around with syllables...
         chi       chai                 china       chichen itza
chicken eats ya                 oh you... yes you.
       that's the thing though:
   translate humour from poland into english...
                             it's night... and it's foggy...
             and there's no moon...
                         or crescent... of that northern
star that sometimes aligns itself
        when there's a crescent and you think:
turkey!            no! no!                         pakistan!
                           pompous bozos...
     but this magazine is funny...
   first they write an article that's sorta related to
serge gainsbourg - and then onto
                the doctor who tweaks the faces
      of millennials -
                and i'm thinking: did i suddenly get something
wrong?
            what a horrid piece...
                   it's journalism, for sure...
   but i'm thinking: the stepford wives...
                  austin powers: fem-bots...
                                ex_machina robot *** slaves...
no, nothing else...
              let's just say i'd sooner find a £110 an hour
bulgar ******* in her 40s more desirable
          than these women think they'll become...
                odd, isn't it?
                             so you pay ten quid to enter
the brothel... and there they are: sitting pretty
                               and all the more intimidating...
a £110 an hour beauty...
                and then this drops into my lap...
an article about my generation bracket doing
  all this fancy **** with bough-toxicity that leads
neither to the roots, nor to the drowning-man's
arms of branches trying to cuddle or at least
                          allow birds to perch on them...
  now i'm really going to have fun with this...
                  pinch of malice, dab of a rotting corpse
of a fox... hey presto! you're in essex,
                                   with the cliche of oranges.  
                        poo poo pout! ooh!      
                              **** underwear or a diaper?        
as random as you can get...
                           but you know what this boils
down to? obviously on a serious note...
    it's whether you care for darwinism or
etymology more.
                         i'm pretty sure the monkey and
the man will lead        (led) - leash - huh? -
           lee lee....                    le!             ole!
(acute e missing, couldn't be bothered inserting it) -
     it's almost like bypassing the whole genus
concept... of family traditions...
   e.g. the family ****.... the tradition? sapiens!
  i wish that was true...
                            how about proto erectus?
or    mono erectus?
                              darwinism has become such a yawn
after it became a form of cultural indoctrination...
    honestly... i rather go to a zoo and watch
a monkey scratch it's ***... sniff it's hand
and then scratch it's head...
                   so yeah... etymology...
     i just spent the afternoon shooting words out
of my gob, going: well... that's funny...
          a dog with three legs, go!
       w                ł
  
                          v                ­        there...
    you'll get v'eh (fff'uckers!) joke łen sum' fin
                     really 'appens...
             and ven... you'll be like:  please me sir...
         m'ah  łoman -            went into labour...
        plus there's no concept of v in polish (st. paul
on a leash) -
                      there's w = v
               there's  ł = w
                                                       and there's u.
back to the botox beauties...
                                          at £110 an hour?
these bulgar women? (they're not *** slaves
if they get paid) -
                               what's the difference?
   they're mandible...
                              like play-dough...
                                like clay... you can mould them
into an ******... these instagram perfectionists?
         why would i want to **** a porcelain girl?
i'd be scared to **** her thinking i might break her...
   but back to quasi-etymology, that's quasi
for a bilingual fascination...
                   winda (v) = lift... so no, it's not windy
        when govinda yawns... qui?
     wróbel (v) = sparrow...
                      or...          in the russian currency...
     hold a sparrow in your hand? you're... a ******* millionaire!
               tulipan = tulip
                        tu (here) is where you impress your lips -
    and that is an actual conjunction, i.e. tu -
                                       róża = rose
         hmm... maczuga! maczuga = bludgeon...
      wω                             buttocks, with a missing H:
                               or wow or: woah!
        curve 'ere v(u)               ******* sharpenings 'ere ω(w).
honestly, i still think that there's been a diacritical
****... two proofs:                 i          and             j.
         that's ****... it's presupposing that ι (ιota)
                            needs a diacritical mark hanging over
it, a bit like damocles' sword....
        just hanging above it on a single hair of
a horse's mane... i'm guessing it's also called:
                                                      pre­cursor of the violin.
but if you really want to pronounce an acute z (ź) -
      you'll have to use a syllable from the word euthanasia.
oddly enough, when in st. petersburg
   i didn't spot a single mcdonalds...
                       it's like this odd feeling that you're
in a chiral environment, being used to seeing this
  outpost in little england...
                   and they don't really drink coca cola either...
they drink this carbohydrate drink called квас (kvas -
    western slavic?                    acid) -
           and eat pancakes with orange caviar...
black caviar? that's for the opera people who
  nibble on it on canapés... orange caviar is
                for the no nonsense people.

i sat on my roof and screamed,
i'm gonna revolutionize this
******* world if it kills me

and my neighbors all turned
and stared, interrupted from
mowing their lawns, washing
their cars, teaching their sons
to play catch, and daughters
to go fetch their morning papers

they quickly turned away at
the realization that it was just that
crazy neighbor girl who hasn't
done **** with her four year
degree, but create a fortress
in which she hides day after day

they smell that stanky marijuana
pluming out of her window
and watch her stumble home, drunk,
listening to her sing along to the music
that the devil has surely put on this
earth to corrupt good catholics,
like the one she once was

and they shake their heads and
hold tight to their son's shoulders
and even tighter to their daughter's
hands, because maybe, just maybe
if they hold on tight enough they'll
always be dumb enough to withstand

because the masses are the winners
and this is the spoiler,
we're being taken over by cookie cutting
stepford wannabe *******,
and they're gonna ruin the world

The warm soft coral petals on the face,
sheltering the delicate eye tissue underneath,
no longer flutter open,
to see
the many signed divorce papers on the mahogany desk in the home office,
the Bon Jovi tickets in the right hand pocket of the J.Crew pants,
the facebook profile of the attractive girl online whom were predestined to one of those tickets,
the letter of resignation hidden in the black briefcase,
the guitar that was pulled out of the garage hanging in his office,
the numbers of old bandmates on the coffee table,
the disappointed faces of the family and friends, and
the lengths taken in the pursuit of happiness.

And yet, he lies there knowing that, he misses
the sky,
the sun,
the stars,
the moon,
the variegated leaves in the fall and spring,
the wheel in the front lawn tied by a rope to an sturdy branch,
the cerulean colored house that was painted by cheap labor,
the fat cat lounging in the parkinglot of his workplace,
the boss that threatened due to an inferior complex,
the punk the daughter was infatuated with, with the waned colored skin and dyed blond greasy hair,
the plain-Jane daughter and her defiance of his authority,
the stepford wife and her arguments about misplaced toothbrushes and
the co-worker and his chiseled face with an inquisitive smirk of all knowingness.
And he realizes that now.

Hello there! Our favorite "friend"!
How are you today?
We have a niche that's just for YOU
Won't you come and play?

We'll do our little "nectar dance"!
We'll draw you in, and then,
We'll rearrange your mindset
And spit you out again.

Welcome to The Hive, sister!
We'll tell you how to act.
We'll tempt you with our honey
It's sweet, and that's a fact.
Yes! Welcome to The Hive, brother
Come into our tree!
We'll program you to think like US
So what if you're not FREE?
Welcome to The Hive, my friend,
To your 6-sided cell
We welcome you to OUR beliefs
Welcome to the meld...

So you like your Saviour?
Fine! All well and good.
But you MUST throw out
The Word of God
Is that understood?

You want to have your reading?
By all means! A MUST!
But make sure that we see it
And it's approved by US.

(CHORUS)

We have the answers here, good folk!
We've been there! We've been bound!
But now there is a way out! YES!
Come see what we have FOUND!
Oh? You hear a WAILING?
Take no notice of the sound...
It's going to get louder cuz

WE'RE GOING UNDERGROUND...

(CHORUS)

We welcome you to Stepford
At the tolling of the bell
We welcome you to MIND CONTROL

WE WELCOME YOU TO HELL.


Catherine Jarvis
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/27/2017

---$---$---


Hi there! Want to be my friend?
I'm a very popular girl!
Welcome to my dream!
Welcome to my world!

First of all we'll have to change
Your clothing and your hair.
I'll put on your makeup.
Right now you're just so... bare!

Now... you'll need to
say some things...
I'll prompt you. Just recieve.
Cuz right now your conversation
Is silly and naive.

Those friends of yours?
They're LOSERS.
They are not OK.
Just think and talk like one of us...
... we're happy as can be!

You have another problem.
That POETRY lacks class.
Just take all that writing
and throw it in the trash.

See! Now that you are not yourself
Now that you're unkind
Now that you're my
Queen Bee drone
and you don't have a MIND...

You are My Creation!
Oh, c'mon... don't be blue...
We welcome you to Stepford...

... where you're no longer YOU.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/22/2013

Playing with vengeful knives
Clone me another of the Stepford wives
Here is where you're at
Never turn your head back
You like sixes and sevens but you've never heard of fives

Come back and look forward in anger
Drive yourself sane, graceful like Jesus in a manger
Cover your footprints in the snow
Deny the sunlight because you never know
The next one could be the game changer

One-two, two-three-one
Stop acting like you're never having fun
Your charade is blown wide open
Like the suicide bomber with the missing pin
Wipe yourself up and clean every last ****** crumb

You hope that university will answer all of life’s questions, but nope.

I don’t know, I.

There was a guy who’d been hanging around outside our residence lately. Too consistently. At first, I thought he was someone’s friend but he’s always alone. He wasn’t doing anything or bothering my roommates, but that asymmetry set off my alarms.

He looked at me once (which I suppose isn’t a crime), I think, it was quick - a blink of sharp curiosity. I mentioned it to Charles who took his picture. The next morning he said the guy’s a legit student who has no criminal record, so maybe I’m all wrong.

Every girl’s encountered a creep or two before. They’re seemingly everywhere, as if mandated by law, like auto insurance. Most girls develop a sixth sense, a creep-dar. Nowadays, creeps have a new name, “incel” ("involuntary celibate") and they’re a recognized, online subculture. Next, they’ll have a coat of arms proclaiming, “We Would if We Could.” It’s as if awkwardness, a normal human foible, has been distilled into something dangerous.

Although the campus looks like a garden or a perfectly manicured ‘stepford’ park, we joke that it’s really a locked-down, patrolled, surveilled compound, with guards, cameras and card-key access to everything. Which, I suppose, is all to the good.

Our creeper wasn’t there Friday, and he wasn’t there today, so maybe he was nothing.

I don’t know, 2.

I was in Sunny’s room. We were going shopping in a few. There was a little pink book on her bed - a diary!! I’d never seen it before and it was open, about three-quarters of the way. She too-casually moved to scoop it up, like the neglected book of a sorcerer.

My GOSSIP-dar Alerted like a class bell. “Hmm” I hummed, head-tilted, then I laughingly lunged for the book.
Sunny’s eyes went wide for 3-billionths of a second and she snapped it up with the speed of a striking cobra, “That’s MINE” she said, rigid with seriousness.
“What’s going ON?!” I asked, but she shoved it into her night table.
Another mystery!
‘Sleeping dogs,’ I thought to myself.

To everyone born to this world with nothing
No social code, allowed to risk it all with no bluffing
While others get bored being handed their every desire
I spent my childhood days building dirt empires
Dreaming of the molds I was not cut out of
When I'd sit down with fellow folks talking of my aspirations
Most just laughed, brushed me off like I had no chance
So I fueled my fire with life's frustrations
My life works may never something tangible
But if you read every chapter of me, your hands would overflow

This world doesn't seem to understand my twisting mind
But at least I never looked at my dining room,
Thinking it's a great place to hang a clothes line
I'm taking jabs at my past but never dwell in that hollow home
Past these child eyes how much of me do you really know
If you were me, if you had to be, disrespectfully  some say they'd **** themselves
Take that negativity and raise myself onto a higher shelf

I find my best inspiration in music and staring out at stars
one of my favorite pieces I ever wrote was just about passing cars
I'm scared that people are being cookie cut all the same
In a Stepford  manner more messed up than Gerald's  game
They hand you charts and define you in a statistic
Like they already threw you the ball but you missed it
I'm here to breath life into a deflated man's scene
Don't let these demons destroy your darkest dreams
Spark a light onto who you want to be
In a sea of fish, be the one swimming up stream

What's in a ******* day?
Ten days ago, I was in the
backseat of
a 2008 Chrysler Minivan.

One hundred days ago,
I was stumbling and
climbing in
Burlington,
reborn.
What's in a ******* day?

What's in a ******* day?
Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, I was trapped,
homeless and loveless,
in a private, Stepford-studded
sort of way.

What's in a ******* day?
You tell me--
but I've learned that while my streets may change,
the concrete is always the same.

One thousand days ago,
I passed the baton to Richie Sullivan,
thus turning my wild,
private reality
on its dainty little head.

Five thousand days ago, I learned that
Gregory was going to New Zealand
for three hundred and sixty-five days,
give or take a few. But
what's in a ******* day?

What's in a ******* day?
Yesterday I spoke with Janina,
today I did the same,
and tomorrow I will speak with her as well.

Yesterday I did not speak with Conor McCall
or Brian Gagnon
or Julia Ginsburg
though I knew them all once.
I will not speak with them today,
or tomorrow, either.
What's in a ******* day?

White- Eyed Alive-
do or die
piece of the pie
and the American life-

Preprogrammed responses
they all seem to do it-
a previously animated existence
we replicate
but we don't really do it-

The Stepford Wife
and Mr. Right
neither holds an interest for me-
I fit no mold
with no people of my own-

The Wanderer
Vagrant
I Am Alone

"Nothing is sacred" you said, ask away....

Favourite band, colour, song, film, book, poet, author,the list went on
Favourite food, soda, cocktail, ****** position, animal, vegetable, fruit, smell, season, singer, songwriter, tv show..

This endless list of inane questions, hiding the one stuck in my throat like bitter bile.

"What do you see in him?"

Thats the big money question, the answer eludes me whenever I see you together.
Maybe your dappled green sees beauty where my clear blue sees too much ego.
Maybe your heart sings when he kisses your forehead, while my lips ache for the chance.

He doesn't see you, not really, not the you that howls with laughter, head back, snorting with each inhale.
Not the you that pulls weird faces when I take serious calls.
Not the you that I wish was mine...

Only mine.

He makes you different...
Quiet, subdued, Stepford wife.
A good girl. A closed book.
Ignoring his eyes while they wander,
as you avoid the love so obviously in mine.

"Ask me anything" tripped off your tongue
While your expression and the way you shifted said
"Just don't ask me that"

Nothing is sacred.
Except you.

He wrote of the scars he gave her
Despite the fact that they have never met
He never spoke of the scars he left on me,
Still saying that it was my fault.
The night he drunkenly kissed me and then called me her name
He never talks about that night
Just laughs it off

He drank over losing her,
He cried over her,
As he played their song on loop.

                                                  But me,
                                                          I am his dispensable second prize pony

Do you think if he knew how bad it was, he would hold me closer?

If he knew about laying on the bathroom floor,
So angry that I could not speak
So bitter that my blood turned to venom
So broken that I was not a being anymore

I could not even escape it in my sleep.
Waking up in tears
Like a soldier dreaming of the battlefield

The  battlefield was inside me
My enemy,
The shadows that resembled him
There were no bombs
Just whispers that wrapped around my neck
"You.
Are.
Nothing."

                                      ­                                He left me alone.

As I laid on that arctic bathroom floor,
He was planning a life with her
I was the suicidal skeleton in his closet

                                                         ­             He left me alone..

At the lowest point of me
Among dreams of flights off of roofs without an umbrella

                                                       ­             He left me alone...

Now he says that he loves me
And wants me to smile as if nothing ever happened
His second stepford wife

A little piece of me is still on that bathroom floor
Looking up at me
Like a gruesome funhouse mirror

But he doesn't see them
He doesn't want to
I want to scream,
                                "Look
                                       at
                                         them!"

Mere acknowledgement like penicillin
Antibiotics eating the gangrenous, festering wounds he left

Maybe if I looked like her,
Spoke like her
He would see
                                           But alas, I will only ever be me...


                Do you think if he knew how bad it was, he would hold me closer?

_Going back
and forth >>
The dark
pool jaw shark
Darth_(War)teared

Her drink feared
The moon split
Two people

Crook/Brook-Streams

Spilled water-soul
words
the Grecian river
Thorn Rose
birds

Will I return?

Devil dug
Deep- thought
Millionaire swamps
2B streamed
Suddenly

Forestal sweetness
FLipping homes
Hopscotch jump
Flipper Gumps
Mister brook the 
 measles
Water spots
How her foot met
Sunny-side
Eggbeaters
Morning 2 B Sure?
Turning-star
Cornered-shore
A sure pleaser
Cheater's foot
The river of
no return
(Monroe)


She is so perpetual
returning
in his
fantasy
everything

Misery
loves cooks
Baked tan
brooks
company

Poetical downright
mystical rivers
Joan of Ark

All bricks to blow her
home down dark
He's the Adonis
Superlative
most bodeful

The bridge over
***** war of
her laundry
In Cahoots,
Tired torrential rain
Tranquil water
Streaming air

Glorious shape
Her brook

But he is
never by
her shore
Not even once
to stare or look
Water Wands
of faires

So many
***** men
Drinking the
Holiest
water
Mrs, clean
Cult life
Stepford Wifes

Her cheeks like petals
Estee Lauder eyes of
Blue velvet
Lady Brook the banks
of the channel;

No contamination
water
Channeling
Like finest truffles
By the water riffle

So Shallow
Abdominal water
Hurricane shakey
Speaking
words
of wisdom wishing well

Streams overloved
Still, Diana Wales
running reliving
Lucky charms
they're married

Orange segments
Water the juiciest
Be calm
Nick the Knickpoints

Mister and Mrs. beds
The high tide
of turbulence

Poems are
all a stream
Our oasis
Deer Creek
came to
Love her more
than he
could ever seek

The New Future roar +
Gimme Gimme
Better salaries 2018
Hard years or light years
Galaxies
Hey 19,20?,21$,
22 my birth number
September Saphire blue
What's true the roar-ins
The movies the cold cuts
Getting hot
Boar head bites
The crybaby nights


Roaring Twenties* Flights"
It's time  for the modern
"I Dare" to be on the edge
Just Dodge

Men at war draft ins
Pennies for their thoughts
Dr. Who am I drugs new
laugh-ins
She's the boredom
Monday- millenium
"Gatsby Gorilla"
Tuesday Tarrantula  deadend
It been a long weekend_

Money is the killer
Ransom not a fandom
The Samson and Delilah
"Gilmore Ladies" Halleluah
Stocked up on mercedes
Flapper dancers flipped
a coin
They marched in computer
lion


Whats in your pocket
Now Hewlett Packard
Hackers and fast and furious
snackers

(The Thirties) centuries gowns
Kitchen the wife cooks
Turkey tough food 4 the soul
Davie Bowie ground control
Bowing down "Beek Jerky"
The golf player the hole
in goofers those penny loafers
Coffee and cars comedians
"Seinfeld" is money gold

Jiffy peanut butter
Sandwiches spread with love
I love you "Mother" Miss Kleinfeld
I am getting married
Those emmy awards looking worried
What's edible  Mr Hannibal
with attachmnents Mrs cannibals
The love can (B) incredible


Cornish Hens
Another day like Zen
Those Stepford wives perfect ten
Eyes of Fifty shades of poodle skirts
New Jersey housewives movie cut
Greek goddess of Ulysses lit

Greek yogurt creamy lips possess
New future what to address
Wordy so quirky time gets
spooky
Look alive get perky
The future for me is right now
Jersey strong "New Jersey"
All Excell moon solar system
The future I got the rhythm

always the pretty picture...
always....
idealist love
      of awaiting the loves
of idealizing lovers...
   pristine gems,
from the depth of the Nile...
always...
  soft-core
mummy ****...
never the slaughterhouse
*****, hard...
the butcher shop
soft-core...
         it will never be that...
the cold breath of air
of the autumnal night...
       always the most pristine
love...
always the perfected
groom, and bride...
      how i whimper in the night
of this new reality
of the Stepford Wives..
         i found...
people who require a consistent
span of a man's attention...
are like machines...
reality t.v. shows are
but one outlet...
           like a mechanic discovering
faulty parts, the hidden parts...
the human condition,
articulated by secular
materialism of pure animation
within the confines of
a mechanization...
    fails, almost certainly,
every time it does fail...
the reason why the existence
of thought, doesn't translate
into much more than being,
but, rather,
translated itself from
the outlet that immersed
itself in doubt,
with the subsequent revisionism
of becoming immersed in
negation?

     to think,
but to subsequently doubt,
in order to be?
is much harder than...
to think, but to subsequently
negate,
in order to, "not" be...

because... where's is
the primordial existentialist
gamble?
the thrill of uncertainty?
to think and to subsequently
doubt is to feed the necessary
thrill of being made,
composite...

but to couple...
to think and to subsequently
negate is to regurgitate
the necessity of a doubt of
non-being's Chinese whispers...

i might have worded this
differently...

but...
to reiterate...
when thinking was coupled with
doubt, to translate itself into
being?

the French existentialists were
nowhere to be found,
given, what they proposed was
that thinking ought to be coupled
with negation,
to translate itself into
a non-being...

                  denial is the crucible
pivot of expressing bad faith...
so what is good faith?
the old enemy...
doubt is a plethora of all imaginable /
unimaginable emotions...

the rubric, behind which stands:
doubtful Thomas.

how did negation affect St. Peter?
last time i heard...
St. Thomas was a scapegoat
for his virtue...
but St. Peter received a *******
basilica!
but... St. Thomas doubted...
St. Peter? negated... twice... or was it
thrice?!

doubt is an expression
of innocence...
denial?
     denial is worse than the Satanic
lie of Eden...
      at least with doubt,
i can easily co-mingle thinking
with feeling...
but with denial?
  i can't co-mingle thinking
with feeling...
since i am enforcing
a lie, rather than freely laughing
about it...

Loki...
         jester...
   a lie freely observed and all the more
freely given,
compared to a lie forcefully
observed and all the more
forcefully made to obstruct...

negation = bad faith in Sartre's observation,
which is why,
doubt is to not be despised,
doubt = good faith...
because uncertainty,
a variant of agnosticism -
is... what Islam primarily teachers...
Islam doesn't teach anything
about the doubters of a faith,
a tickling emotion complex...
what it does teach...
is... equivalent of the chiral construct
of denying,
by persuasion to make,
nothing more, than an antithesis
construct...

and yes... i might be a drunk...
but when i read,
i manage to somehow regurgitate...
and it will never be simple...
because it's not supposed to be
simple...

  i can't make reiterations to bow
down to the populist simplicity
of the equivalence of
1 + 1 = 2.

             nein!

how the French came back to
Descartes, by simply changing
doubt, to denial...

   wonderful!

i think, i doubt, therefore i am...
   prime...
i think, i deny, therefore i'm not!
second...

the pains i have had trying to convince
someone outside of myself:
St. Thomas doubted,
St. Peter denied...

       it's not that hard to observe that
doubting is a healthy extension
of thought into feeling...
an ontological crucible... pivot... zenith...

how can someone not observe that
negation is an unhealthy extension
of feeling into thought...
an anti-ontological mound of sand...
a nadir?
            
i rather prefer the classical version,
the thought coupled with doubt...
i much prefer the labyrinth
of the heart...

because what is the alternative?
a labyrinth of the mind...
when feeling is coupled with negation...
i can't even begin to entertain...
the **** of free thinking,
enforced with every instance,
of making a denial,
                                 a perjury.

Satan didn't make a perjury,
the "supposed" lie...
is metaphorical for:
           an enzyme reaction...
arctic monkeys:
                                   my propeller...
why then... the echoes
of eons of the malicious laugh?
and Islam doesn't condemn
those who doubt...

but it sure as hell does know what
to do with those: negate,
forcefully lie...
    in order to gain some brownie
points in their ego-construction...

and... well... French existentialists...
i made my point,
i better stop reiterating
and deviating from the already given
focus points.

He's trying to **** you
slay you
cut you down to the frayed you
wants you to be you but just not the real you
but the fake you with the plastered smile
chew up your soul and spit it out
swallow the key to your self esteem's door
take away your home
walk his walk
the walk of shame but you'll always be the one to blame
talk his talk, silver tongue
think the way he do
don't feel
don't have emotion
stepford wifey, plastic barbie
do as i say or you're ******* royally
You can't be you
Be broken with no hope of being put back together
And by the way only God can save you
And if things don't go his way look out
you'll be under his attack
under his thumb
numb
In fear,
so accept defeat on your knees
He goes for your heart and your soul
In a fight he goes for the throat
He's seeking to destroy any and all self worth  
How anyone dare defy him
you're always the crazy one
no one could ever love you more
No one is better
He'll cut you down
with his narcissistic, sadistic ways
and go for your throat with words that cut
like a double edged sword

i like liberal comedy, don't get me wrong,
it's funnier which,
whatever is deemed comic in
the libertarian community...
but i wonder...
           how much of liberal comedy,
would be deemed comedy...
without the over-arching presence of...
canned laughter?
no... the shtick still gets me,
the diarrhoea gimmick...
akin to dumb & dumber
or american pie?
get me all the time...
                the new voice of rekindling
slapstick classic humor...
taking a ****...
        maybe i'm just too infantile
in my comedy palette...
maybe the whole, elaboration
technique surrounding,
what used to be English satire
and became...
English ridicule is boring,
it's boorish...
it's... English satire: yes...
English ridicule? a crass *******'s
worth of a shave baboon...
the English can't do ridicule:
they do rhetoric...
    you can't tell jokes
that way...
  you look like...
a ******* amputee
about to embark on
painting a Rembrandt in
the amputee Olympics
                of associated painters of
the Louvre...
thank god i'm not English...
not even remotely...
identity politics, what?!
i already said... Paul-with-a-lack...
a Paul-without-a-flagpole...
******...
           wait...
do i look like a ******* meringue?
i abhor the sort of "funny"
where the, "funny" implies
i have to "think" about the joke...
just give me the ventriloquism
and the body language...
   intelligence has no place
in serving up humor...
if it was necessary...
i'd ask for
                    a...butter chicken curry...
with coriander and mint
chutney...
        so what makes liberal
comedy, so, "funny"?
you sure you're not being duped
by the canned laughter prompt?
i've seen how a television show is made...
the crowd are giving placard prompts...
when and when not to react...
what with and how not to react...
mostly the placards read:
BOO       and            APPLAUSE / CHEER...
all very much Stepford Wives type
of *******,
and we're only talking Channel 5,
Big Brother coverage...
   so... liberal humor...
base? canned laughter...
i hate canned laughter...
    it's not that i'm too either laugh
or not to laugh...
but canned laughter disorientates
the whole purpose of humor...
was i supposed to be laughing
when the canned laughter button
was pressed?!
well... the humor isn't as obvious,
isn't not slapstick humor,
it's... intelligent humor,
it's pure, unadulterated witticism...
it's not the classic spin
off of an actor : con-contra schadenfreude...
now comedy has found
a, "new" intelligence...
       now comedy can't be funny ha ha,
i.e. funny per se...
it needs to be... "intelligent"...
witty... rhapsodic...
sophisticated in rhetoric...
     now blue, nothing out of the blue...
that **** is just out-dated...
      what was once a slapstick...
base of humor...
is only funny in a boxing match
with a knock-out...
    the more intelligent
comedy became,
            the less profound a tragedy
incubated the equilibrium...
  a tragedy of of "hurt emotions"?
but no trauma akin to Macbeth?
no grandiose verbiage?!
this? this is it? the 'i'm offended' line?
no wonder comedy it trying
to become more intelligent.

that makes us grab that chip, the glass
of wine, the cigarette. Do you want it? Do
you need it? Does it really matter? It’s
reflex that makes you do it, no matter. It’s

become a habit. The brain doesn’t
think. The hand takes over. It works well
with some things, like my writing. Not so
much with others. I’m no Stepford wife. Yet

I feel like a puppet, entangled in my own
strings. I blame it on the reflex. It makes me
do certain things. Call it impulse. I can’t
retract. I stole that black Ugg from the store. I

can’t go put it back! It was the slip of my wrist
that took it. My fifth, but whose keeping
track?

I kick rocks while I wear docs
I stay ahead of Stepford & mediocrity;
I get drunk because of sobering thoughts while Americana judges me.

I go against the grain, not to be edgy but because it feels natural to me.
They say I can't fit in with society and if so-
society can *******.

The Red
Instead
&
Read
inside
the
ceremonies
All charities $$$
Formalities

All to see
Never nothing
On me
Red fire
Mercedes
Mouths
you could
never
Race and
beat those
Stepford Wives*
Never said
they were
ladies

Ritual
deep red
lipstick

Risky
business
slick
Boost of salaries
phonies
yellow
chicks
Cold cuts such
a ham
Humming Mrs.
(Honey Baked)
Red show
pictures

Red light
Catch
them
Red Hoods
Oh! what a
Knight-light

Those dark
negatives
Became ******
Maleficent
book light
Stay positively?

Extremely
Indian-Bow
redface
painted
cults Wow

The Boston
creme pie
That ****** fool
Hot barn gals
Warrior
Blue

Sword Fee
number
clue (He)
Just pay up
red dual

Antique
fireplace
Hire-red-lace
Devil made me
Risque
dancing

Wind- up Dollie
One of
a mind
doll
Romancing
Red-bed
Wickedly
insulted

The cardinal
the male red
Madly
Totally Rad

The female
Red bling
with his
garnish
feastly

Beastie
clocker
Beguiled
brownish
What
was told
and really said?

French tickler__

New ****
Orleans
Red District 3
Never
said to
wear red

Read this if you are
too late
You will take fate in
your own hands
Don't end up dead

Red rear view
window
project bodies
possessed
Words
Went
worrisome
Never said
Enchanted
more some

Read this
maybe
you will be
protected
Mystical
" Rainforest tea"
Rooibos
Bossy Ross
the fairest
The more
blood on
your
hands

The poison
arrow frog
Lilith Leap
year
Sitting
in
red chilled
over ice
chairs
having
eggnog
Never said
I fell for
Autumn
leaves

London
Big Ben
Fog
Firey Red
Stop sign yo yo
** **
Grains
Silo
Santas
Tapas
Drinks
babes lap
Never said
Computers

Red App
and Red
collar
pups
Read this shut up
Those laptops
They gave to
Swindler Cops

Chinese
red
British
colony
lucky year

Precious
red nails
jewels
He is
bloodshot
Seeing through
his lies
((Red Raise Glass shot))

I never said why?
More jewels
Gracious Rudolf
Deers

I never said
I was from
the old school
Cheers