check it out check it out
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
it's da state of this here disunion
this here bangalore torpedo seeks yer minefields
this here suffering hero
n
crows about         strafes
multitudes                 peripherally
****** blind prophets
exclaim
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
it's nothing but beginning
of  beginning & z end of approximation
time's sweet angry subluxation
universal caving in on U & U
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
when was z last time U really loved
i mean really really really loved
ha i could only hold to z imagination
z skeleton z allegory z myth
'cause everything slides & falls
screams careens outta control
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
she brought in rrrrevolution.evolution.now
is z caustic effervescence of her wit
eroding my sandy castle of deceit?
ha and repeat ha
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
forgive-me-notes are written high
on z forehead of my despair
a cursive flowing interdiction
malediction cruxifiction err-u-diction
en-passant
in each pyrotechnic moment when we don't see I-to-I
on anything relevant to what we once hoped was us
but we continue dance dance dance
perseveration aberration indiscretion cha-cha-cha
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
she said *** is z engine of z world
like engine like world like ***
like like like
could say no more
oh it's tiresome to go on
describing that chimeric uniting
flesh-to-flesh-in-flesh eliding
we all are guilty of
do not end a line with a preposition such as
that or a proposition such as this:
given angle a prove that old triangle theorem
two simultaneous loves don't make a right
cherchez les angles les anglais la bon mot
ya know
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
when i die please  bury me upside down
prone to z ground making dead love to earth ya kno
while the centuries lie down next to me
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic!
chic!

The movie speaks
In silence screams
That encapsulates the feeling of the moment.
A black and white
Scene plays out
And I see the sorrow pour.

The reflection of the many lives that costed during
The era
Reflects on the black and white dots
That move around on my screen.

Wilhelm.
******.
Mussolini.
Gallipoli.
The Somme.

It's funny how they don't speak
But the black and white dots that
Dance
And flickers on my screen,
Tells the unfortunate story
Of the contextual history

That lies behind,
The black and white dots that
Strafes on my screen.

Once upon a time
there was, of course,
the universe
and all the thousands of stars that scraped against its sky like knives
and there were the planets that brooded under the canopy of oblivion
as if they'd each realised the pointlessness
to dancing with only their own animosity

and one of these planets was green and blue,
like acne against the hate-blackened expanse of forever.
And this planet, it called itself the world.

And in that world, once upon a time, there was a girl.

And this girl?
She thought in explosions.

Her eyes would close
and the grey coloured streets of her life
and her future would merge into one-
into her own personal nirvana,
the same colour futility as her flesh
and the girl would kneel down at dignity's bare feet
and she would name herself the champion of determination
as she fought for all of those who could not fight
and listened to the taste of foreign words on British tongues
and didn't quite collect the delicacy.

Her lashes would beat back the barbed-wire smiles of reality
and the inevitable exile of her past,
and against the white-washed, mandatory straight-line walls she'd willingly built her brain up to mimic,
the girl would sit and stop
and stop
and stop
and stop forcing herself into place
like a jigsaw puzzle piece that didn't quite fit-
and instead, she thought.

And her thoughts were explosions.

Her heart would empty itself
into her head
in the backseat of infinity's own 4 wheel drive,
and the boot would be filled with books that she'd read long ago,
(and then forgotten)
and the steering wheel would be turned only by metaphor,
or by the sort of similes that lose themselves
in a darkened room
to the words that grin
with shark-toothed ferocity into kisses.

When the girl's eyes were closed,
and her breathing was heavy
and locked away inside her ribs of glass
and her cage of self-inflicted agony,

the tears scrawled their way across her face
like blood that’s past it’s sell-by date-

and it was only when her eyes were closed that she understood that even when her eyes were open, they were not.

Even when she was awake, she was not awake.

The honeyed sunrise yawned its way across the horizon
like dreams, or maybe marker pen,
as if the sun was tired of telling the same bedtime stories to the moonlight that it always has-
and the girl was tired of
painting her personality the florid colours
that faded to a monochrome ice that burned,
and tired of hiding behind
some great façade of deprivation
that she did not feel
but yet the world still sent her the score to sing along to.

The girl was tired of this,
but still
she did not speak the explosions in her head

because out loud,
for real,
everyone knows that it doesn’t do to speak in explosions.

And the girl wished

that she could bombard the world
with all her hatred
and all her hope,
and she wished that she did not have to strip
the strafes of passion for the smallest things
away from her soul
like badly chosen wallpaper.

In this girl’s head, at least, her thoughts were explosions.

And yet,

she wanted to speak to raze the world
and shatter the stars

back into the oblivion that they came from.

My gravid eye
opens a gaze
on you,
strafes under
grayling cloud,
attaches to a memory
& bites into the
blue-green night
with cigarette teeth.

Then you leave,
skipping across
the undone
waters who calve
cities that split
like onions. Whiskey
beads on your fingers
in the wood-dark bar.

Lover, how you
braid my blood...
Your plural beauty
rests on the elbows
of Istanbul, and
in the same moment
it arrives here,
a splitting whisper
in winter's pavilion.
I crave the crisp
pear of your voice,
the sail's spurt
of your body,
the quiet galleries
of your soul.

So return quickly,
I'm lost in
the night streets
without you.

Methinks, I post literary endeavors inxs
but tis with blood, sweat and tears
in case ye did not guess,
who struggles to craft reasonable rhyme
ideally read by a pleasing poetess.

Aye ***** nilly understate (trying to)
tantalize, hypnotize, galvanize...
with "FAKE" trumpeting
spellbinding, rambling, quivering...
intoxicating, hallucinating, gyrating,
stop to take a breather...

English Language vocabulary, a
fascination, intoxication, provocation...
upon me ocular, neurological, mental...
faculties of this nattering nabob
from outer limits of twilight zone
i.e. literary krazy Jewish jabberwocky

issuing haphazard global toll till
fallout exacting deserved ****
cratering nascent (inchoate) career
digitally/electronically bi:
ne'er re: carpet bombing

away upon modus operandi, sans
sesquipedalian shrapnel strafes wrought
realization literary scaffolding
complex edifice thought
out in mind of yours truly,
not popularly sought

opportunity to experience
rush of excitement,
asper choice winner equals naught
inexorable effort to cobble innovative
linkedin words disappointment fraught
submissions witness polite declinations

attesting, lamenting, regarding poetic
expansive glommed language, unlikely
success tubby brought
adulation, commendation, enunciation...
fades into afterthought.

Ablest adept adroit aficionado
applauded aspiring authors accorded
absolute badge because
brevity brews brilliant burnished
bravado bubbling budding bulwark
captivatingly collates, communicates,
constitutes conveys avast literary

Grand Canyon chiseled, sans scribe's
Colorado devoid, asper driven desperado
contrariwise, through prevalent
persistent pinterest proclivity,
plus plethora pronounced propensity

resoundingly regaling readers
re: raffish ridiculous rumination
renders endeavor incommunicado
diligent doggedness ironically -
dampens dueling dynamic dud

dutifully dramatically diminishing
divine dreaming skin deemed darling
distinguished doodling I sip
prose poe hit tick drafter
equally or exceeding
prospects envisioning El Dorado,

thus this 1% Neanderthal
bets his sweet bippy
and bottom dollar
febrile frenzy to fashion words
essentially relegated as dense bupkis
will automatically plummet
hook, line and sinker
10,000 leagues under the sea
accidentally discovered courtesy
scuba diver assisted by Octopus teacher.

He subjects unsuspecting readers
to lumbering lugubrious trademark
style saturing media airwaves,
thus instinctive immediate attribute
acutely sensing reasonable non-rhyme
heading directly to Davy Jones locker
years later discovered posthumously
and hailed as figurative
long lost sunken treasure
linkedin to the outstanding
ascribed to yours truly,
honorable Master scribe
among pantheon of great poets - ha
a run of the mill
schlepping logophile.