Nevermind,
well, I know you... don't.
You were always like that,
but I ignored that fact.
It's not your fault,
that now you are a cold-hearted *****.
... I thought you were to change.
Wait... It is your fault.
It's completely your ******* fault.
I gave you all you ever wanted
and you couldn't even remember
that I have a, now dead,  dog.
Yes.. You didn't like dogs.
You didn't like lots of things.
.. You liked lots of things.
But never, even once, have I seen through your eyes.
You never brought me inside.
You kept me shut, while
you could even see
inbetween my spine.
Maybe, that was your problem,
not knowing how to deal with.. problems.
You get scared, you run away,
you turn the other cheek,
and you, actually, believe that is how
you wipe a stain away.
But no, that way, you'll always have
a pile of **** behind your back.
When I met you...
You said you were changed
.. from some previous version of you.
A new you now, a new life,
asking me for a way out,
from the **** that you then left behind.
I helped you, I taught you, I formed you.
I gave you my sincerest hug.
I was proud, happy, strong for what I did...
And, somehow..
You ******* grew on me.
I fell for you.
I fell for the person I made inside you.
I know that at a time,
she really existed in you,
there, by my side.
Alone, away...
We had the world for ourselves.
I really thought, I found
my shiny bright companion star.
Time passed away fast,
and the dream reached dawn.
I knew it wouldn't always last,
but I never thought much of that.
I just enjoyed every second you ever gave me,
until you broke the clock and left me to rot.
Remember?
We swam in springs,
with stars we played,
but when I looked around, to catch to a breath..
All I saw was desert.
My face dried out,
then I just wanted
another gulp of our spring,
while you were punching my teeth out.
Maybe, that is what you can't get and long for..
.. Always, another, one more pleasurable breath.
You really ******* woke me up.
I realised that a person can't be shaped or.. remade.
You know.. I just hoped..
That there can be change...
Another chunk of crap, behind your back... I think I now am.
Really? Why? Why ******* why?
At least, you could've said.. Goodbye!
You cut all strings, hoping you'll fly,
and that I'll just drop down and die!
But that is not how it works..
One day you won't be able to walk
from the weight of all your cut-out
left-over threads of strings.
You'll entangle and wrangle
and knot yourself up,
until you can no longer move.
I hope that then,
you'll remember
the summer girl you once were.
She, who's hidden inside you.
She, who's been my habit.
She, who a part of me will always love.
She, who is a piece of me.
She, engraved in my memory.

Never again... but I wouldn't know.

It took one who was blind
To teach me how to see.
Someone who was cold
Thawed this heart in me.
I learned from the cruel
How to truly understand.
And when you walked away,
I learned to be my own man.

I learned from the lies
To recognize what is real.
From a stony hand,
I learn how to feel.
I have a new love
That reaches parts of me.
You never could touch.
You showed me who not to be.

You rode off into a bright and blue day.
I went into the dark to be saved,
You came back to lie to my face,
But I...
I Could not see past those trails that you blazed
And I'd...
I'd already found the love that I crave
You loose...
Now your head's in a haze.

Thing about it is -
The heart that you break is yours,
And the love that you take is from you.
The lies you believe are your own.
The suckerpunch you don't see coming
Is the very one you've thrown.

You know you were *****.
You know you were wrong.
I am not judging.
But I wouldn't be in your shoes for long.

Why don't you go and blaze another trail.

You say it's different this time.
But just like all the other times,
What's not different is everything is different.
I am different.
The only thing that is the same is you.

Cigarette smoke and **** colored beer
Family is a suckerpunch epiphany
For people who’ve spent so much time
Saying they no longer had one

I swore forever
Mine was missing parts
This heart carved shells
Let’s swap odd shapes
Re-sew them and **** up our beats forever
Together

If the world is ending and you find me here
Kicking up the earth
Dirt scatter to the wind
Brown blood spatter
That’s just me trying to escape faster

Join me or leave me
But I got this beef with gravity
Like a severed head tetherball
This face senseless

You make me senseless

Numb to all the bad parts
In the same way salt makes everything sweeter
You make everything sweeter
Your salty skin
Sweet mouth
Sweet speak
Sweet laughter

Make me feel a little less stupid
About giving in to the movement
This mouth
This body
Like a knee-buckle kick to the gas pedal
And I peel out by accident

And you can still love me
Like family
I’ve slept in so many beds
And on so many floors
All so much more comfortable than my own

I swear I have bed bugs
Drinking my blood as I sleep
Getting drunk most nights
Them and me
Wake up itchy and fatigued
Like an allergy

But you
You smile like a hammock
Held up by strings hanging from your eye squint
To your dimples

Without speaking
“you can rest here tonight”

This is for the beds
For the people who say ouch when I hug them
For the family I thought I never had

For the appreciation that
Every moment of sadness
Means I’ve known so much joy
To feel that way

I’ve known so much joy
Thank you

Your voice is like a silent whisper that I no longer wish to hear

On any given day it breaks me down
like the soft hiss and hush of waves
working to break the levee

I feel your voice speaking from inside my cheeks

It feels like forever
and I still can't seem to shake you from my skin
how I say things the way you used to say them

how I sometimes think about things that make me uncomfortable
and say your name out loud to halt my thought's direction

I ******* miss you
but I don't want to miss you anymore

Moving on is the dilemma for ghosts
Who have nothing left to hold on to

I can't hold your ghost
There are people here who
are still perfectly capable of holding me

And when I see you again
Maybe you won't be able to hold me

Because I imagine
heaven
is energy

I know this in the way my skin still heats up
at the thought of your touch
you move my molecules a fire-friction-engine-rumble

You are energy
and this is how I know you are happy
because there isn't anything else you can be

This is how I know heaven is real
God is a ball of light that feels like a fiery smile when you touch it

But I still hear your voice at night
and maybe your memories creep up
like epiphany shivers
like

   oh
This is just me missing you
I am still human
and I am allowed to do silly human  things

Because I am alive
and so much self preservation
I haven't let you go yet

Which is why I still hear you
reminding me to do stupid things like take care of myself
and to not hang my head so wrecking-ball heavy
unless I am finally breaking down my own walls
to sucker punch my gut
in order to remind my lungs
that even without you here
the air still tastes so sweet

Reset my suckerpunch
to gasp
to fight for inhale
to understand
that my own breath
still tastes so sweet

I hear you
you silent whisperer
I hear you

Hindsight, hallowed be thy name.

All I've got is luggage... luggage!
My God! Turn around; find my comrades slumped under the weights strapped to their spine!
Limping, bearing, burdened by non-negotiables while the High Court of Good Karma takes collective sabbatical —
and this knapsack of shame, I've partial credit in filling.

Grey handkerchief, original sin:
one. single. suckerpunch. and my fists are raised forever,
begging for the chance to swing and prove my own strength
— supposing the opportunity never fell into my lap — I'd said "**** it," packed a

hundred grams of bushy brushed-out curls, stop-sign red
fifty grams of lips to match (uniform too, now I think about it)
fifty grams of raccoon eyelids and coloured-in brows
hundred grams of halls of mirrors, circus-attraction Alice
lose a hundred/gain a hundred/repeat til dizzy
hundred grams of ******-in stomach, eyes averted in changing rooms
wigs by the armful — that's three — nom-de-plumes thrown in gratis
(it's only a journey to the rest of my life anyway, I'll need them,
alternative being cinematic debut as Myself)
hundred performances to imaginary audiences, less-than-stellar reviews
hundred grams of overwhelming then underwhelming "on purpose"
hundred grams of laughing off any belief in potential
hundred grams of scratch-marks and verbal fountains of venom
hundred grams of giving almostneverquite as good as I got
hundred grams of group-work alone thank ****(?)
hundred biro-holes stabbed in martyred pencil cases
feral in broad daylight spoiling for a fight
kilo of aiming for 'scary' and landing on 'strange'
kilo of being third to make good company a crowd
kilo of taking sixteen years to find Her
— Shadowboxer Fiona, rhythms invisible, catharsis in art —
hundred doodled superstitious evil-eyes in the ruled margins
hundred laments over the inability to provide a better future

(removed one by one whenever I think the future's mutable)

that one glimpse of white lightning in a violet storm
one single minute's pause to look over my shoulder
scarce-to-zero progress made
endless miles to go
breathless body soaked to the bone
and this useless! *******! bag! of Everything and nothing of value!!
mansions worth of loathing yet there's nothing to lose
did I decide that because I can't change the world, I can change nothing at all
(instead throwing darts at reflections/emotional *****/kicking stray dogs as a full-time hobby)?

O clarity so saccharine that I cannot be angered by the wasted years
only because THERE ARE MORE TO COME
I take it
   off my shoulder,
the first kind action I have spared myself in time unguessable
empty
     the
        contents...
   really
    air it out...
and trudge on
    unaccompanied.
The world's enough of an uphill climb.

After a day of unfamiliar faces

His eyes are glad to finally settle on mine

As we walk though the mall

He keeps his head down

   Tells me he is afraid to look at people

How they might see what he is thinking

   Spelled out on his face

He always looks cold

     always looks tired

    walks like he is trying to remember that life is as simple as

Placing one foot in front of the other

With his head down

I know he counts his steps

He can only count to 100

Between this morning and now

I don’t know how many times he has counted to that

When I ask him why he doesn’t count higher

     He tells me

I’ll just lose track

And I just wanna tell him

You got a heart bigger than the best of us

So pure you got water coursin’ through your veins

So golden you shine like the sun

And it’s a suckerpunch to my gut

  To see you bow down to gravity

‘Cause if there was anyone

   And I mean anyone

Who could stare you in the face

And not see the light

  Then ****’em kid

There are days where I pray

The world could be as simple as you

Days where I pray that you might fight gravity

  As simply as

Placing one foot in front of the other

To slowly rise on steps of air

  Counting them as you do

And know it’s okay if you don’t come back

   ‘cause

There’s nothing wrong with going home

Do it for me. Don't make me jealous. Only because you're beautiful. Cover your arms. Cover your legs. Don't talk back!

That wasn't love, but, I thought it was.

You made me do it.........If you didn't make me so mad.......Push. Push..........SHOVE.

That wasn't love, but, I thought it was.

Smack.......Slap........PUNCH. Cry. Tears..........Hugs.

That wasn't love, but, I thought it was.

Slap.......SMASH........Kick.......JAB......SUCKERPUNCH. Choke. Scream.........Holler. Kick.

That wasn't love, but, I thought it was.

SLAP. I won't do it again. SLAP. I won't do it again. SLAP. I won't do it again................

That wasn't love, but, I thought it was.

Locked in a room for 2 hours........no food..........no water. Learn your lesson so I can stop being this way. It's your fault I have to do this.

That wasn't love, but, I thought it was.

Call, leave a message at the beep. I'm sorry. Call, hang up. Call, hang up. Call, leave a message at the beep. You better not leave me.

That wasn't love, but, I thought it was.

SLAP. I won't do it again. SLAP. I won't do it again.  STOMP........KICK........PUNCH. That's what you deserve.

That wasn't love, but, I thought it was.

Call, leave a message at the beep. I'm sorry. Call, hang up. Call, hang up. Call, leave a message at the beep. Please don't leave me.

That wasn't love, but, I thought it was.

SLAP. I won't do it again. PUNCH. KICK. CHOKE. STRANGLE.........It's your fault I have to do this.

That wasn't love, but, I thought it was.

Call, leave a message at the beep. I'm sorry. Call, hang up. Call, pick up. You can't leave me. Reply, WATCH ME. Plead, its because I love you so much. Reply, GO TO HELL!

This isn't love. It never will be. It never was.

I had never seen the truth turning into a graveyard
until it passed through my tombstone teeth to
sit in your ear like a ghost

These aren't sweet nothings
my sweet nothing

And you deserve much more than  the devil
living inside of my cheeks

This is the way truth sets us free

The same way a suckerpunch leaves us winded

I imagine that is how our souls leave us

But you try and explain that to a nurse
who is busy checking your mouth to be sure
you've taken all your medication

You know how you're supposed to live like you are going to die tomorrow
I say
How 'bout six months from tomorrow?

I really have tried everythin
including ******* down the backwash of a sunday baptism

It only tasted like fear

The kind of fear I don't need right now

We bought a casket

Plotted a plot

I got a tattoo of an expiration date on the bottom of my foot

No day or month
just this year

And you've been brave
saying
You are saving your tears for when I am not here anymore

And I honestly never saw how the truth could turn into a graveyard

Til we both started talking to each other

Like ghosts whispering all the things we never got to say in life

No matter how you look at it
I tell her
*The truth always feels like it's arrived too late

The best part about waking up with a hangover

Is that I feel like so much ****

That six hours later

After the headache has passed

And solids stay where I want them to

And you suckerpunch me in the throat again

I find comfort knowing

At least

six hours earlier

I felt worse

Tonight I will weep
For before i fall asleep
Thoughts of you endure

My mind was tampered
with, on a false promise of
a love that was sure

Your abrasive words
were a suckerpunch beneath
your veil of allure

You leave us a coarse
effigy of men, who shall
dismantle the pure.

practice the utmost care
form a vigilant style
peep around corners
be alert to possibilities

develop awareness
study what lurks in shadow
prepare for surprises
hone your senses

visualize potential scenarios
pay attention to the probable
spy through keyholes
listen through thin walls

dis-believe dormancy
list your suspicions
weigh all prospects
refine distrust

cross examine sincerity
swim in the sea of mistrust
suspend all gut feeling
deny altruism

question fact
support skepticism
increase misgivings
keep eyes wide open

bet on failure
indulge at peril
compile odds
rely on doubt

push a fuzzy brand of cynicism
label everything
marginalize what you don’t understand
be conscience of fraud

perceive through narrowness
downplay experience
recycle ancient lies
apply rhetorical loops

reduce all to the absurd
promote jealousy
revel at weak spots
blame impossibilities


design decision trees
ferment rebellion
create false alliances
initiate rumor

draft complex plans
generate half truths
produce unreachable ideals
fashion anger

establish favorable ground rules
start a corporation
coin a catch phrase
invent an argument

launch a promotional campaign
confirm nothing
invert the discussion
determine outcomes

verify the enormous
market greed
prove conflicting arguments
ascertain needless worth

uncover falsehoods
locate the correct word
detect limitations
counterattack always

deliver disadvantage
attack any and all flaws
educate with nonsense
promote vulnerability

assign bogus titles
fabricate counterfeits
rely on fictions
deceive the masses

compose a reason
construct pain
assemble wild games
dismantle the individual

move mountains
consume independent thought
cause penance
gestate chaos


nurse turmoil
outflank righteousness
muddle the message
confide in darkness

plant upheaval
nurture vanity
ignore any mayhem
misname disorder

cultivate hesitation
praise ambiguity
rejoice for indecision
celebrate vagueness

dance as a marionette
venerate a suckerpunch
insult pride
pay tribute to silence

bend any principle
admire baseness
respect behind closed doors
award deceit

erase distinction
cook up conspiracies
diagram secrets
format the unbelievable

lust over possession
outline an escape
draw excuses
strategize sin

parcel desires
aim toward the crass
object to feelings
target the sordid

commit to the improper
corrupt all souls
mock religion
root out the wise

increase loneliness
pigeonhole solidarity
rupture the will
insert schisms

shout down dissent
pound out inferiority
supply sadness
stand toward folly

seek out dependency
crush mild opposition
carve a new standard
delay action

dabnagit  Travel back to before the nation began
and see Crispus Attucks killed — the
first American to die for American freedom, a freedom denied to his African and Native American forebears. Take a knee to honor his sacrifice and the other four dead.

Take a knee in grief that he who would become president minimized these first martyrs as "a motley rabble of saucy boys, negros and molattoes, Irish teagues and outlandish Jack Tarrs.”

Stand at Morris Island, South Carolina, where American soldiers fought to keep a young nation whole, a field of blue with 35 stars, not 22. Take a knee for the 54th Massachusetts Voluntary Infantry and its score killed at Fort Wagner, a hundred more presumed dead.

Take a knee in grief that the U.S. Army rescinded its promise of equality and paid the 54th little more than half a white soldier's monthly pay. Take a knee in awe at those who refused any pay that was less, yet died with "Massachusetts and Seven Dollars a Month!" on their lips, defending their white comrsdes' retreat.

Take a knee for Sgt. Medgar Evers, who defeated fascists at Normandy only to be killed by them once he was back home.

Take a knee from the suckerpunch by a U.S. senator from Mississippi in 1917, who said the return of black veterans would “inevitably lead to disaster.” Once you “impress the ***** with the fact that he is defending the flag” and “inflate his untutored soul with military airs,” it would be easy for him to conclude “his political rights must be respected.” Take a knee to honor those who died defending freedom. Take a knee to weep for the sharp rise in lynchings after both world wars — following the return of those impressed, untutored ***** souls inflated with military airs for having served.

Look at the lists, look at the videos, look at the witness testimony, look at the double standard: Amadou Diallo. Manuel Loggins Jr. Ronald Madison. Kendra James. Sean Bell. Eric Garner. Michael Brown. Alton Sterling. Philando Castile. (Take a knee; this could take awhile.) Akiel Denkins. Gregory Gunn. Samuel DuBose. Brendon Glenn. Freddie Gray. Natasha McKenna. Walter Scott. Christian Taylor. Ezell Ford. Akai Gurley. Laquan McDonald. (Take a breath.) Tamir Rice. Yvette Smith. Jamar Clark. Rekia Boyd. Shereese Francis. Ramarley Graham. LaTanya Haggerty. Margaret LaVerne Mitchell. And on and on. And on.

Take a knee for the unarmed, or subdued, or even fleeing men and women killed by officers pledged to protect and serve. Take a knee too for the officers killed by gun-toting gangsters…or by homeowners fearing a home invasion. While you're at it, take a knee for the more than 50 people killed every year by toddlers exercising their Second Amendment rights.

And take a knee for the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who died so that a football player can take a knee as long as some people are shot by police in the back, or even when down, or even after they're on their knees…while others for some reason are far less likely to be shot in the same circumstances. Take a knee, Rodin-like, and ponder why.

Take a knee and join those who are taking a knee out of respect not only for the flag, but for the republic for which it stands, one nation…

(Striving to be a more perfect union)

…under God…

(Who "created all men equal"; "male and female he created them.")

…indivisible…

("Build that wall!" "Lock her up!" "Fire the sons of ******* if they won't stand for this flag but run them over if they protest a rebel flag!")

…with liberty and justice for all lives can't matter unless black lives matter.

So for these all, and many more, take a knee. Take your time, but take some heart. Then lift each other up and lock your arms. Play ball.

Your lips say I love you
But your hips have bite marks
That don’t belong to me
How can I ever believe you?


There is nothing quite like
The tingly anxious butterflies
Of new love, like breathing
In the first fresh flowers of spring

And there is nothing quite like
The suckerpunch to the gut
Of love’s betrayal, leaving you
gasping for air sharp as razorblades

Above title attests
how mine mundane mein kampf
insync as a veritable clogged drain oh:
flush with adventure overflowing excrement
er... rather excitement.

Apt aforementioned accurate personal description
believe me not, but urination
and defecation née emergency evacuation,
where majority of human league
smell bound with fascination
triggered (reasonably rhyming) inspiration
culmination of requisite time
sitting atop porcelain goddess
devoid of hesitation and trepidation
herewith follows mine poetic ululation
hoop fully invites veneration.

Poetic embellishment doth belie
ever since garden variety generic guy
long since experienced being little boy
mean kids constantly teased and bullied me
on account yours truly being small fry
barely invisible to naked eye
bullied (most my entire boyhood)
as scapegoat, I did decry
pleading lame feeble alibi,

especially when tawny punk
named Phil (actually a groundhog)
threw suckerpunch witnessing,
yours truly feigned falling
upon wounded knobby knee
to avoid me countenance being pummeled
courtesy knuckle sandwich
they threatened to apply.

One puny socially verily withdrawn lad
no surprise experienced suicidal ideation
throughout public school even as undergrad
never wagon figurative tail when fired
from one after another workstation.

Hence metaphorically hermetically sealed self
against incessant beastie boys squirreled away
amidst imaginative escapes courtesy bookshelf
isolates myself, viz remaining figuratively at bay
interestingly enough petrified livingsocial whereby
flesh and bone closely resembled hardened clay

hashtagged Matthew Scott Harris as pipsqueak
deadset to halt physical maturation without delay
anorexia nervosa (modus operandi) did buzzfeed
starved and emaciated lovely bones as main entree
unbeknownst then, but clear as a bell now
emotional state of parents unspooled and didst fray
father and mother aghast their pallor went ashen gray

grim reaper wielding large scythe intimating hooray
approximately half dozen years later
both parents relentlessly vilified verbally hammered
and especially didst inveigh
against their sole singular son
born thirteenth of January
hooded think those folks
who begot me more cruel fate
then being lynched courtesy triple "K."

Gambone builders bought property razed demesne
to escape vitriolic wrath atop roof at Glen Elm, I lay
nevertheless indelible memories emotional reprieve
spiritual succor delivered upon many a bygone May
when heat radiating off shingles served newgateway
passing time and wishing myself far as Norway
adopting role of bachelor farmer,
or even time traveling
back Catskills circa Borscht Belt,
also known as Jewish Alps oy vey.

Yours truly risk averse
which characteristic,
I declare constitutes curse
thus isolation found me sprawled out
upon wuthering heights
against regular diet of diatribes
delivered carte blanche
with expletive filled verse
toward solitary son ill fate
receiving nasty brutal abuse
considered dying far less worse.

Precious minutes and hours atop
seven gabled hideaway blithely did elapse
me gingerly scuttling out attic window
though agoraphobic and loathe to drop
distance and no longer courting death
no matter concluding life (during
early/mid twenties) total flop
merely wishing raging machinations
against male offspring would stop.

Hurtful words yelled after papa
guzzled bottles of vermouth
(not really, I admittedly prevaricate)
courtesy late father and mother
resoundingly, severely, terrifyingly,
wickedly, violently uncouth
subjected imbalanced earthling
(yours truly - me)
think venomous metaphorical
****** blackened barbs,
viz inconveniently grossly, egregiously

one after another hurtful
figurative daggers antithesis of truth,
albeit synopsis regarding
second born (middle child - sole son)
begat courtesy Harriet and Boyce
upon their psychologically harried
flesh out the womb of young mother
(both parents now long since deceased)
now said heir long in the tooth
wordsmith here wonders why forsooth
he tolerated torturous abuse.

Above title attests how mine mundane mein kampf
insync as a veritable clogged drain oh:
flush with adventure overflowing excrement
er... rather excitement.

Apt aforementioned accurate personal description
believe me not, but urination
and defecation née emergency evacuation
triggered (reasonably rhyming) inspiration
culmination of requisite time
sitting atop porcelain goddess
devoid of hesitation and trepidation
herewith follows mine poetic ululation
hoop fully invites veneration .

Ever since garden variety generic guy
long since experienced being little boy
mean kids constantly teased and bullied me
on account yours truly being small fry
barely invisible to naked eye
bullied (most my entire boyhood)
as scapegoat, I did decry
pleading lame feeble alibi,

especially when punks
threw suckerpunch witnessing,
yours truly feigned falling
upon wounded knobby knee
to avoid me countenance being pummeled
courtesy knuckle sandwich
they threatened to apply.

One puny socially verily withdrawn lad
no surprise experienced suicidal ideation
throughout public school even as undergrad
never wagon figurative tail when fired
from one after another workstation.

Hence metaphorically hermetically sealed self
against incessant beastie boys squirreled away
amidst imaginative escapes courtesy bookshelf
isolates myself, viz remaining figuratively at bay
interestingly enough petrified livingsocial whereby
flesh and bone closely resembled hardened clay

hashtagged Matthew Scott Harris as pipsqueak
deadset to halt physical maturation without delay
anorexia nervosa (modus operandi) did buzzfeed
starved and emaciated lovely bones as main entree
unbeknownst then, but clear as a bell now
emotional state of parents unspooled and didst fray
father and mother aghast their pallor went ashen gray

grim reaper wielding large scythe intimating hooray
approximately half dozen years later
both parents relentlessly vilified verbally hammered
and especially didst inveigh
against their sole singular son
born thirteenth of January
hooded think those folks
who begot me more cruel fate
then being lynched courtesy triple "K."

Gambone builders bought property razed demesne
to escape vitriolic wrath atop roof at Glen Elm, I lay
nevertheless indelible memories emotional reprieve
spiritual succor delivered upon many a bygone May
when heat radiating off shingles served newgateway
passing time and wishing myself far as Norway
or even time traveling
back Catskills circa Borscht Belt,
also known as Jewish Alps oy vey.

Yours truly risk averse
which characteristic,
I declare constitutes curse
thus isolation found me sprawled out
upon wuthering heights
against regular diet of diatribes
delivered carte blanche
with expletive filled verse
toward solitary son ill fate
receiving nasty brutal abuse
considered dying far less worse.

Precious minutes and hours atop
seven gabled hideaway blithely did elapse
me gingerly scuttling out attic window
though agoraphobic and loathe to drop
distance and no longer courting death
no matter concluding life (during
early/mid twenties) total flop
merely wishing rage against
male offspring would stop.

Hurtful words yelled after papa
guzzled bottles of vermouth
(not really, I admittedly prevaricate)
courtesy late father and mother
resoundingly, severely, terrifyingly,
wickedly, violently uncouth
subjected imbalanced earthling
(yours truly - me)
think venomous metaphorical
****** blackened barbs,
viz inconveniently grossly, egregiously

one after another hurtful
figurative daggers antithesis of truth,
albeit synopsis regarding
second born (middle child - sole son)
begat courtesy Harriet and Boyce
upon their psychologically harried
flesh out the womb of young mother
(both parents now long since deceased)
now said heir long in the tooth
wordsmith here wonders why forsooth
he tolerated torturous abuse.

through the forest: instead of running
simply walking
muddied feet
muddled tongue
  
                       if i could get away
from "getting away" i would call myself
by my name
in third person
and then wonder: what's with this
pronoun gymnastics that
is dumb-    -ing people
who think they are walking on eggshells
but instead: are:
walking on broken glass...

the mirror of the sky
and the mirror of the seas
how entwined without adjectives
sometimes
sometimes things are devoid
of adjectives

a mountain is a mountain is
Moses and Muhammad and they too
are: non-responsive in
definition...

lazily stomaching an afternoon
within a day:

i sNIGGER... snigger -
yet the added S- is somehow not so much
concerning the rest of the word
"somehow": "offensive"?

i'm still astounded by what visualization
was generated from Frank Herbert's
Dune... beside the rather unique
punctuation there is not much to swallow...

willows willows and some drool...
**** and pike and birches for all lost *******
like dissociation with dogs
having *** like we try to think "we" in
the royal sense: devising plans
to outstrip *** from function
like *** is devoid of function
of magnetism like
there is no synonym and no antonym

through the forest: perfect exercise for
both mind and body
not running: oh hell no... no running involved
just hunched for moments at a time
then upright...

sitting on a stump of what was formerly
a prided oak
on a throne of stump
i sat and pondered whether:
is Matthew a good person?

3 years this long distance "relationship"
lasted...
i gave up so much travesty of
the lived, personal, experience
that i found blind-spots concerning
fellow man
and felt more indulgent than
associating Goethe with the title: patriarch...

of whom? artists? like Shakespeare
isn't already the patriarch of actors... isn't he?!
not out of vanity or wounded self-esteem
but paper and ink are readily available
in that: they're no longer necessary...

and all these people attached to miniature
Apocalypses in their pockets
these soft-machine hullabaloos
feats of anti-engineering
it would almost, almost therefore: seemingly
be: best associated with...

seems almost idiotic to pressure the id
to overcome the ego
in the grand scheme of
psy: schematic: associating man with man
within himself:
under what metaphysical scalpel
were these 20th century intrusions:
ventures: in understanding man
how well man became understood
find foundations of such progress
in Auschwitz...

elsewhere life under the Quran was as if
a nightmare to which i woke into
seeing life undisturbed:
with the exception of the unavoidable
outliers akin
to the Pakistani **** gangs of Rotherham

voiceless dental fricative [θ]
or its voiced counterpart [ð]

i think that's the dire consequence
of not keeping check the evolutionary
strategy of language as
its own entity: self... minus my self:
my self: the reflective component
"v" / "vs" the reflexive myself strictness...

forget the aesthetics of spelling
and how it looks on paper...
through the forest
i walked with only one ear...
well... two ears...
but one ear was focused on the parody
of listening to music
while the other ear was honing in
on the furor of the birds
bothered by a pendite...

i literally unearthed this word, right now,
on the spot...
spot of ENSOO... in one sitting:
omicron omega omicron omega:
U turn up to Silon...
up to Silon... my version of Zion...

second-person plural present
             active imperative of pendō

and people come to me with these
iron maiden chambers of grammar solely
on the vestiges of stressing... *******...
pronouns?! seriously?!

what the **** does pendoo mean?
ha ha! well well... just my luck for resurrecitng
old tongues
while i baptized myself in the nettles!
oh the nettles!
i took my shirt off
i was going to take all my clothes off
and run into the nettles
i thought it might suckerpunch me good
to feel the itch crawl into my skin
if i also itched with my testicles
but then again: indecent exposure...
sufficed with rubbing nettles
on my shins
my forearms
my hands
plucked a stem
and rubbed it on my face
plucked a stem
and rubbed it on my chest and my back

like Husayn -
i became a martyr of self-doubt...
no... it was certain:
there was no affair
no cheating involved
but it would have been cruel
to give hope
when the realist in me knew:
perhaps i do not like my work
but i love the company i keep
at work...

i was thinking about the properties
of doing such a thing
hinging upon a story i once read
about Roman centurions throwing themselves
****-naked into nettles...
duck quack medicine...
chemo... no...
cherry chemistry CH CH CH
choo choo...
  "too many consonants" my scratched ***
and tilting halo: for ****'s sake...

DRAKA: DRADZA: DRA-     -JA
equivalent to DZ...

          quack... duck... medicine... ah!
lost a word for a moment:
HOMEOPATHY!
or hum-pathology: **-meo-pathy...
etymological: where?
    ** in Greek: meo mea yes yes
-pathy yes like -ology...

                   this tongue outside of my
mouth in my head
not exactly a rhetorical gift
but for the duty to interest:
i.e. being invested in being interested:
undying! preserved! mummified!

what comes now is a flood of memories:
one or two hiccups
but compared to what Edie was used
to with her experience of men...
over a stretch of 3 years
we only met twice
and we had Oppenheimer sort of ***

that's what happens when
a cryptic meander:
a recluse... yes yes: once or twice
in the brothel
but what i also learned
when *** is bought / exchanged
that rigid LIMP ******* ****
i'm trying to get my rocks off
want to lick her out
finger her and then she blurbs out:
that will be extra...
she also forgot to peel the banana
sorry
but she forgot what the ******* is
for and isn't for
and that was a waste of time
i ended up paying £130 for massaging her...

and that's what: in the heralded
wisdom of a 55 year old to a 38 year
some ******* clue:
oh yeah, yeah... the younger girls
are *****...
hornier: puppet: you have my strings?
seriously?
am i to believe that women
in the luxury of the menopause
are... wait wait...

  wait wait... menopausal women
are hornier: freer...
than their younger counterparts... period!
the end!
i've heard too much ******* to suffer
the fate of the gullible patrons of:
*** for pleasure...

   and she might have thought me an invalid
for not having secured a progeny
in child of my own
(a)

           but now i just see timidity breeding
fluorescence
if that's even possible whenever
i see women in that brackets of (18 - 45)
that's a good bracket to have...
invigorating: indispensable...
like this was my ONE NOTCH
and a belt of all those times
i wondered whether or not i had erectile
dysfunction: clearly not...

******* the brains out of an older woman:
trick came with the thrice tickle...
tasteless?
current affairs and political lies
are tasteless:
suffice to say that a sound reading
of Marquis de Sade coupled with some
sobering Kant and Bukowski's efforts
yes yes... all a matter of fact: stress...
a poem a day keeps the psychiatrist away

a poem a day keeps the psychiatrist away
so much for apples...
tangerines oranges snakes and ladders...

the realist spoke:
i was never going to leave London
for her
that dynamic of mother daughter
grandmother was strict and Christian-obligatory
i can't do Christian-obligatory
when you have suspicions of
the one and only heresy that is: hypocrisy...

i couldn't leave London for Kauai
i would hate waking up
driving past the golf courses of Princeville
and i would hate to live among
Americans
even if they were Polynesian half-winks
of what the genesis story is
of that vastness: i.e. Taiwan...
too much sun not even *****: ooh! azure!

i'm an urban rat
i need urban slang to surprise me
especially if it's coming from the youths
of Hackney and they're Somalis
or Nigerians ...
i feel sick whenever i travel back to Poland
and am stuck with an ethnic homogeneity

too much white on white
i once stated already that: the future is mixed race...
for all the ills and ailments
we need a genetic vibrancy
and one way is to breed:
no sorry... that **** is on AUTOPILOT right
now... as natural as gravity...
but at least black women will stop
wearing wigs
and their half-kin will have a full crop
of hair and there will be no more
*****-slapping concerning alopecia...
perhaps no teeth-whitening envy too:
orange skin tan peel: blinding ivory: ugh!

                        only in Essex...

plus! i don't want to come across as some
invalid
but i really really don't need a car in London
sure i'm heading to Poland
to get a driving license in September
but that's just a formality blah blah blah
but over there: bicycle: bad bearings...
knock-knock buckling...

             England is an island but Kauai
is a whirlpool of existential constipation
that's equivalent to: ha ha... claustrophobia...
oddly enough it was just that...
plus summer is coming
and with that Wimbledon
and the concert season
and the Euro finals and being a tourist
of bad-mouthed Ahmed Ahmeds
flying in from Sow-Di Land of
the free peoples of Putinphilia... well: you know...
blah blah...

           yes: i am the bad man...
because i'm the realist and i wanted the memory
bank to implode then explode into
stretching time:
that non-linear point of having
a concern for time...
a stretching and juxtaposition of time
and that's also QUANTUM TIME...
as much as i might enjoy the quantum space
of my bedroom and me kneeling
before the bed and typing this out...

memory = quantum time

                       i can play with it as much as i can:
with the additional fervor of having
memory intact outside
of the realm of pedagogic infringement
and acidity once upon a time
constricted by learning irrelevant facts:
it's like: why do they teach us biology
when they know none of us will
be doctors or at least most
why don't they teach us nutrition in school
help us focus on the entire body
rather than bulldozer our experience of
youth with talk of *******
thrombocytes and chlorophyll?

          pedagogy is outdated - clearly:
if it weren't for a self-assured want to grasp
etymology / other languages...
beside from the basics of arithmetic and some
grasp of letters: although nuance
that sound to the letters presented
and what dyslexia is there to be spoken of?

ah ha ha... blah blah...
for all my afternoons to revolve around such
joy: to write.