Mother.
When I look at you, I see
the woman I want to be
in twenty years.
You worry
about the wrinkles
that form constellations
across the freckles on your skin.
A natural reaction
to what society brands
as aging.

Mother.
When I look at you,
I see that those lines tell stories.
They speak to all the times
you laughed so hard
you cried.
Times you smiled so big,
so bright,
so proud,
your cheeks began to throb
to the beat
of my graduation march.

Mother,
when I look at you,
I see no age.
I see a superhero
flying her faithful SUV
from one side of town
to the next.
Whisking kids from practice,
and concerts,
and recitals.
All paid for with the money
from the job
that gets you up before the sun.
Money that means nothing to you
compared to the happiness
of your children.

Mother.
When I look at you,
I see honey golden eyes
just like mine.
Eyes I remembered
tired
and weary
after a long day
of making ends meet -
being a mother
and a father.
A woman too selfless to rest
until dinner was on the table.

Mother.
When I look at you
I see an airy frame,
but you’re strong --
so strong.
The greatest life lessons
I’ve learned from you
came in your darkest times
when you refused
to let the world break you down.
Life gave you lemons
and you’d be ******
if you were going to leave
the dinner table
before you finished drinking
all that lemonade.

Mother.
When I look at you,
I feel so much pride.
You’ve accomplished so much.
You’re Wonder Woman.
I feel the comfort,
like your soft embrace,
in knowing
where I come from…
and where I’m going.

Mother.
When I look at you,
I pray
someday I can be half
the mother you are
so my children can be
as lucky as me.

Mother.
When I look at you,
I see your mother too.
The generations of mothers
before you
whose love
and strength
and wisdom
were weaved together
to form
the beautiful woman you are today.

Ten Doors

Behind door number one,
is a naked woman, tanned from the sun,
willing to do anything you say for fun.
Behind door number two,
green grass and a sky that's always blue,
and a giant house built just for you.
Behind door number three,
a toilet bowl, in case you have to ***,
and a brand new Hybrid SUV.
Behind door number four,
you get to pick your own lifetime *****,
if you don't like our choices, in the back we got more.
Behind door number five,
is your favorite rock band, who will perform live,
also an in ground pool, so you can always dive.
Behind door number six,
is all the secrets to all the magic tricks,
and we will also sew on two extra *****.
Behind door number seven,
at your death you will go straight to heaven,
never again will you feel any kind of depression.
Behind door number eight,
in no more long lines will you have to wait,
and your choice to live in any country or state.
Behind door number nine,
a lifetime supply of you favorite beer or wine,
and plenty of *******, so you can always do a line.
Behind door number ten,
the day you die, the how and the when,
all the money you want, but only in yen.
You only get to pick one number,
hurry up you're not getting any younger.
This is such a tough decision,
it may take time and a precise precision.
I just don't know which one to choose,
either way I cannot lose.
I think I will go Eenie Meenie Miney Mo,
and from there, just see how it might go.

Dressed in a robe of
A startling white
Tinged with blue.

Eyes rimmed with
dark lashes and
kohl.
Desert eyes.

Lips curled in amusement,
Long hands resting on the latest SUV,
Long, tapered fingers tapping the
door.

An abaya and the arrogant head
turns. Two flickers. One in the eye,
for the slim figure and the body stands
Straighter; taller.

A pretty face,
Unveiled but heavily concealed by
Layers of foundations, shades too light.

The other is a point of light
Through the ear. Yes.
Through the hole in
The ear. His ear.

A djinn slips through
On the cool, night, sea breeze.

I ignore the girl in black and
Slide into the SUV, as easily
As he slipped into my life, as
Easily as the djinn blew through his ear.

I eye the ear. Clean and perfect
To me, despite the gap in his pinna.
Each member of his tribe bears
This inexpert removal.

To let the djinn pass through the
Ear. Else they burrow through the
Canal into the brain,
Trapped by the ear.

Djinn travel with the wind,
You see? We wouldn't want
Madness in the desert. Djinn,
Trapped behind those eyes.

Khol eyes. Arrogant eyes.
Reduced to madness? No,
He wouldn't allow that.
Rather a small imperfection.

He starts the engine.
The pretty face above the
Abaya appears in his line of
Sight again. Mouth's curled no more.

He is uninterested. The
Car roars, slips out,
Joins the highway and
We speed into the night.

I look out the window.
The Djinn travels beside us.

It glitters under the street
Lamps and car headlights
As they move aside,
To let us pass.

Desert dwellers on either side.
One within. One without.

My Heart Was Saying One Thing, My Mind Another ...

Some things you just know — like the feeling I get when looking at my children or the way I felt the first time I looked into the Grand Canyon. Some experiences are too strong for reason or words. There are some things, that even though they defy all conventional wisdom in your heart and your mind — you just know.

Never dying on a motorcycle is one of those things. I can’t explain it rationally, it’s just something that I’ve always known. It’s a feeling that has been deep inside of me since I first threw my right leg over the seat of that old powder blue moped. I knew I was never going to die as the result of a motorcycle crash. In many ways, I feel safest when I’m back on two-wheels and headed for points previously unknown.

Lately Though, I’ve Been Made To Feel Differently

I now had my daughter on the back of the bike with me. I’ve started to wonder whether my premonition covers just me, or does it also protect all who ride as co-pilot and passenger? Would the same Gods of 2-wheeled travel, who have watched over me for so long, also extend their protection to those I love and now share my adventures with?

Our flight from Philadelphia had arrived in Idaho Falls five days ago. We hurried to the dealership, picked up our beloved Yamaha Venture Royale, and then began our quest of another ten-day odyssey through the Rocky Mountain West. This was Melissa’s third tour with her dad, and we both shared the intense excitement of not knowing what the next week would hold. We had no specific destination or itinerary. This week would be more important than that. Just by casting our fate into the winds that blew across the eastern slopes of the great Rocky Mountains, we knew that all destinations would then be secure.

Then We Almost Hit Our First Deer

Three days ago, just South of Dupoyer Montana, two doe’s and a fawn appeared out of nowhere on the road directly in front of us. Melissa never saw them as I grabbed ******* the front brake. The front brake provides 80-90% of all stopping power on a motorcycle but also causes the greatest loss of control if you freeze up the front wheel. As the front wheel locked, the bike’s back tire swerved right and we moved violently into the left oncoming lane just narrowly missing the three deer.

They Never Moved

The old axiom that goes … Head right for the deer, because they won’t be there when you get there, wouldn’t have worked today. They just watched us go by as if it happened to them every day. Judging by the number of dead deer we had seen along highway #89 coming South, it probably did.

Strike One!

We pulled into Great Falls for the night and over dinner relived again how close we had actually come — so close to it all being over. Collisions with deer are tragic enough in a car or SUV, but on a motorcycle usually only one of the unfortunate participants gets up and walks away — and that’s almost always the deer. The rider is normally a statistic. We thanked the Gods of the highway for protecting us this day, and after a short walk around town we went back to the motel for a good (and thankful) night’s sleep.

The next morning was another one of those idyllic Rocky Mountain days. The skies were clear, there was no humidity, and the temperature was in the low 60’s with a horizon that stretched beyond forever. If we were ever to forget the reason why we do these trips just the memory of this morning would be enough to drive that amnesia away forever. We had breakfast at the 5th Street Diner, put our fleece vests on under our riding jackets, and headed South again.

We had a short ride to Bozeman today, and my daughter was especially excited. It was one of her all-time favorite western towns. It was western for sure, but also a college town. Being the home of Montana State University, and she being a college student herself, she felt particularly at home there. I loved it too.

We stopped mid-morning for coffee and took off our fleece vests. As I opened the travel trunk in the rear to put the vests away, I noticed that two screws had fallen out of the trunk lid. These were the screws that secured the top lid to the bottom or base of the trunk. I had to fix this pretty quickly, or we were liable to have the top blow off from the strong winds as we made our way down the road. We spent most of that afternoon at Ackley Lake, in the Lewis and Clark National Forest, before continuing South on Rt #89 towards Bozeman. I was still worried about the lid falling off and was using a big piece of duct tape as a temporary fix.

It was about 5:45 p.m. when we entered the small Montana town of White Sulphur Springs. They had a NAPA automotive store and by luck it was still open until six. I rushed inside and found the exact size screws that I needed. Melissa then watched me do my best ‘shade tree mechanic’ impersonation. I replaced the two missing screws while the bike was sitting in the parking lot to the left of the store. We then had fruit drinks, split a tuna salad sandwich from the café across the street, and were again on our way.

The sun was just starting to descend behind the mountains to our west, and we both agreed that this was truly the most beautiful time of day to ride. We were barely a mile out of town when I heard my daughter scream …

DAAAAAD !!!

At that moment, I felt the back of the bike move as if someone had their hand on just the rear tire and was shaking it back and forth. Then I saw it. An elk had just come out of the creek bed below, and to our right, and had misjudged how long it would take us to pass by. It darted across the highway a half second too soon brushing the back of the bike with its right shoulder and almost causing us to fall.

This time my daughter saw it coming before I did, and I’ll never forget the sound of her voice coming across the bike’s intercom at a decibel level I had never heard from her before. She is normally very calm and reserved.

We had actually made contact with the elk and stayed upright. If it had happened in front of the bike, we wouldn’t have had a chance. Thank God, with over forty years of experience and some luck, I didn’t lock up the front brake this time. That would have caused us to lose control of the front tire and as we had already lost control of the one in the back, it would have almost guaranteed a crash to our left.

Strike Two!

We rode slowly the rest of the way to Bozeman. We convinced each other that two near misses in less than a week would be enough for five more years of riding based on the odds. At the Best Western Motel in Bozeman, we unloaded the bike and went to my daughter’s favorite restaurant for Hummus. As the waitress took our order and then left, Melissa stared at me across the table with a very serious look in her eyes. “Dad, I don’t think we should ride anymore after about four o’clock in the afternoon. The animals all seem to drink twice a day, (the roads following the rivers and streams), and it’s early in the morning and later in the evening when we’re most at risk.” I said I agreed, and we made a pact to not leave before 9:30 in the morning and to be off the road by 4:00 in the afternoon.

This meant we wouldn’t be riding during our favorite part of the day which was dusk, but safety came first, and we would try as hard as we could to live within our new schedule. Our next stop tomorrow would be Gardiner Montana which was the small river town right at the North entrance (Mammoth Hot Springs) to Yellowstone National Park. There were colder temperatures, and possibly snow, in the forecast, so we put our fleece vests back on before leaving Bozeman. At 9:30 a.m. we were again headed South on Rt. #89 through Paradise Valley.

After a few stops to hike and sightsee, we arrived in Gardiner at 4:10, only a few minutes beyond our new maxim. It had already started to snow. It was early June, and as all regular visitors to Yellowstone know, it can snow in the park any of the 365 days of the year. We hoped it wouldn’t last. There was not much to do in Gardiner and as beautiful as it was here, we wanted to try and get to West Yellowstone if we were going to be stuck in the snow. We had dinner at the K-Bar Café and were in bed at the motel by the bridge before nine. All through the night, the snow continued to fall intermittently as the temperature dropped.

When we awoke the next morning, the snow had stopped but not before depositing a good two to three inches on the ground. The town plow had cleared the road, and the weather forecast for southern Montana said temperatures would reach into the high 40’s by mid-afternoon. The Venture was totally covered in snow and seemed to be protesting what I was about to ask it to do. I cleaned the snow off the bike and rode slowly across the street and filled it up with gas. I then came back to the motel, loaded our bags, and Melissa got on the bike behind me.

“Are we gonna be alright in the snow, Dad?” she asked. As I told her we’d be fine if it didn’t get any worse than it was right now, I had the ******* crossed on my left hand that was controlling the clutch.

We swung around the long loop through Gardiner, went through the Great Arch that Teddy Roosevelt built honoring our first National Park, and entered Yellowstone. As we approached the guard shack to buy our pass, the female park ranger said, “You’re going where? There’s four inches of snow at the top. We plowed it an hour ago, but you never know how it’s going to be until you get over it.”

‘OVER IT,’ is where we were headed, and then down toward the Madison River where we would turn right and continue on to West Yellowstone. Even though the Park is almost 100% within the state of Wyoming, two of its entrances (North and West) sit right inside the border of the great state of Montana.

“If you keep it slow and watch your brakes, you’ll probably be fine.” “Two Harley riders came through an hour ago, and I haven’t heard anything bad about them. They were headed straight to Fishing Bridge and then to the Lodge at Old Faithful.” “Well, If the Harleys can make it we certainly can” I told my daughter, as we paid the $20.00 fee and headed up the sloping, and partially snow-covered, mountain.

We made it over the top which was less than a ten-mile ride headed South through the park. This part of the trip didn’t require braking and would be easier than the descent on the backside of the mountain. As we started our way down, I noticed the road was starting to clear. Within ten minutes, the asphalt on this side of the mountain was totally dry and our confidence rose with each bend of the road. It was just then that my daughter said, “Dad, I need to stop, can you find me a restroom?” A restroom in Yellowstone, not the easiest thing to find. If I did find one, at best it would be a government issue outhouse, but I told her I’d try. “Please hurry, Dad,” Melissa said.

In another mile, there was a covered ‘lookout’ with three port-a-potties off to the right. I pulled over quickly, and my daughter headed to the closest one on the left. I then walked over to the observation stand and looked out to the East towards Cody. As most Yellowstone vistas, the beauty was beyond description, but something wasn’t quite right, and …

Something Felt Strange

I looked off in the distance at Mt. Washburn. The grand old mountain stood majestic at almost 10,000 feet, and with its snow-capped peak, it looked just like the picture postcards of itself that they sold in the lodge. I still felt strange.

Then I Understood Why

As I looked off to my right to walk back to the bike, I saw it.

Standing to the left of my motorcycle, and less than thirty yards in front of me, was the biggest silver and black coyote I had even seen. Many Park visitors mistake these larger coyotes for wolves, and this guy was looking straight at me with his head down. As I walked slowly back to the bike, he never took his eyes off me with only his head moving to follow my travel. I got to the bike and wondered if I should shout to my daughter. I knew if I did, it would probably scare the Coyote away, and this was shaping up to be another of those seminal Yellowstone moments. I wanted to see what would happen next.

I slowly opened the trunk lid on the back of the bike. We always carried two things in addition to water — and that was fig-newtons and beef jerky. The reasoning was, that no matter what happened, with those three staples we could make it through almost anything. I took a big piece of beef jerky out of the pouch and showed it to the hungry Coyote. His head immediately rose up and he pointed his nose in the air while taking in the aroma of something that he had probably never smelled before.

I don’t normally feed any of the animals in Yellowstone, but this encounter seemed different. This animal was trying to make contact and on instinct alone I reacted. As I walked slowly to the front of the bike, I ripped off a small piece of the beef jerky and threw it to the coyote. He immediately jumped backwards (coyotes are prone to jumping) while keeping his head and eyes focused on me. He then took two steps forward, sniffed the processed beef, picked it up in his jaws, and in one swallow it was gone. He now looked at me again.

This Time I Was Two-Steps Closer

He was now less than fifteen feet away with his head once again down. He was showing no signs of aggressive behavior, and as I still had my helmet and riding suit on, I felt like I was in no danger. I didn’t think a fifty-pound coyote could bite through Kevlar and fiberglass, and I was starting to feel a strange connection with this animal that was getting a little closer all the time. I threw him another piece.

Was It About The Beef Jerky, Or Was It Something More?

Again, he took two steps forward to retrieve the snack and then raised his eyes up to look at me. At this close range I started questioning myself. What if it is a Wolf I asked, and then once again I looked at his tail. Nope, it’s a Coyote, I convinced myself, as I held my ground and continued to extend my hand out in the direction of my new friend. This time he didn’t move. It was now my turn. I was down on both knees in the leftover snow from last night and started to inch my way forward by sliding one knee in his direction and then the other. He took a small step back.

I then started to talk to him in a low and hushed tone. He moved one step closer. The beef jerky at the end of my hand was now less than five feet from his mouth. We stayed in this position for the longest time until I heard a loud “DAD!!!” coming from the direction of the port-a-potties. My daughter was finished and saw me kneeling down in front of the ‘Wolf.’

When she screamed, the Coyote bounded (jumped) again and ran off in the opposite direction (East) from where I was kneeling. He ran about fifty yards and then turned around to take one more look at me. He then slowly entered the tree line that bordered the left side of the road up ahead.

“Dad, what were you doing?” my daughter asked. “Do you think you’re Kevin Costner in Dances With Wolves?” I laughed and said no, “just trying to communicate with a new friend.” My daughter continued to shake her head in my direction as she put on her helmet. I started the bike, put it in gear, and we headed again South down the park mountain road.

We had gone less than a quarter of a mile when something darted right out in front of the bike. It was that same Coyote that I had tried to feed just minutes before. He was about twenty yards in front of me and thank God I didn’t have to do any fancy maneuvering to miss him. I didn’t even have to use the brakes.

Still, this was now three encounters in less than a week. Or was it three? I convinced myself that running over a Coyote wouldn’t have been fatal. Painful maybe, but we would have survived it.

Strike Two And A Half!

We couldn’t help but laugh as we wondered if the Coyote had done it on purpose. Was he trying to scare us for not leaving the rest of the beef jerky or just saying goodbye? We’d never know for sure, but I wanted to believe that the latter was true. I will always wonder about how close he may have come.

As we got to the bottom of the long mountain descent, the sign announcing the Madison River and the road to West Yellowstone came up on the right. We made the turn and then spent what seemed like forever marveling at the beauty of the Madison River. It looked like an easy ride into West Yellowstone until it started to snow again. We crested a large hill with only ten miles left to go. At the bottom of the hill was what looked like a lake covering the entire road. The bottom of the road where the hill ended was lower than the surrounding ground and was acting like a reservoir for the melting snow from the hills that surrounded it.

This Low Spot Was Right In The Middle Of The Road

We approached slowly and stopped to survey the approaching water. We needed to decide the right thing to do next. The yellow line that divided the road was barely visible through the water, and we both guessed that it couldn’t be more than twelve to fourteen inches deep. I decided guessing wasn’t good enough and put the kickstand down on the bike. Melissa held the clutch in to allow the motor to keep idling. I then walked into the water in my waterproof riding boots. The boots were over sixteen inches high. “Yep, no more than six or eight inches,” I yelled back to Melissa. “It just looks deeper. If we go slow, we’ll be fine to go through.”

I walked back, got on the bike, and retracted the kickstand and then put it in first gear. Just as I started to approach the pool, I noticed a huge shadow to my right. Two large Moose were standing just off the apron on the right side of the road. It looked like they either wanted to cross the flooded asphalt, or drink, as they stood less than twenty-five feet away from where we now were. Every time I moved closer to the water, they did the same thing. Three times we did this, and a Broadway choreographer couldn’t have scripted it better. The two Moose moved in concert with our timing getting closer to not only the water, but to us, each time we moved.

Moose, like Grizzly’s, have no real natural enemies except man, and unlike all other members of the deer family, they have a perpetually bad disposition. They seem to be permanently in a bad mood and are not to be trifled with or approached. Even the great Grizzly gives the Moose a wide berth. I stopped the bike again unsure of what to do next.

It Was A True Mexican Standoff In The Woods Of Wyoming

“Melissa then said, “Dad; Let’s try banging on the tank and blowing the horn like we do with Buffalo. Maybe then they’ll cross in front of us, and we can get outta here.” I thought it was a good idea and worth a try. I again put the kickstand down and told Melissa that if they charged us not to run but to get down low beneath the left side of the bike. That way, the Venture would hopefully take the brunt of their charge. I started banging on the tank, as I pushed the horn button with my other hand …

Nothing, Nada!

Both Moose just held their ground stoically looking at the water. It was a true ‘Mexican standoff,’ where we were Speedy Gonzalez faced off against the great Montezuma. No matter how much noise we made, the Moose never budged an inch. After fifteen minutes of this, we decided to go for it. I put the bike back into gear, and going faster than I normally would, I entered the reservoir on top of the still visible yellow line. With a rooster tail of water shooting out from behind the bike over twenty-feet long, we crossed the flooded road.

Once across, we went fifty yards past the water and then stopped to look back. Both Moose had turned around and were headed back into the woods from where they had come. They either had no more interest in traversing the water or had been playing with us making our crossing difficult, while at the same time memorable, and another great story to tell.

Strike Three!

We pulled into West Yellowstone, and the snow was coming down in blizzard like sheets. We spent the next two days touring the shops and museums and even visited the Grizzly Bear ‘Habitat,’ which neither of us will ever do again. Grizzly Bears belong in the wild and not in some enclosure to be gawked at by accidental tourists. We also talked about our past four days ‘communing’ with the animals. We both agreed that we had been lucky and that we would continue to live within our 9:30 to 4:00 schedule as we continued our trip.

I lay in bed that night both thankful and in wonder of all that had happened. I thought about the deer, elk, coyote, and moose that had crossed over into our world. As hair-raising as it had been at the time, I wouldn’t have a changed a thing. I also thought about my over forty years of motorcycle riding. It was just then that a familiar maxim was once again forefront in my mind — as well as my heart. I repeated the familiar words over to myself as I slowly drifted off to sleep …

“When I Die, It Will Never Be On A Motorcycle”

A big American auto dealership shining bright
Silver columns glint in the morning light
Displaying brand new cars at different angles and heights
It pops out of the dull landscape like a bright star at night
But it was not so long ago
That we were about to lose this all
And I remember the swan song before the fall
It's amazing it's there now, standing tall
I was living in NYC
Married, my husband and me
and it was all about the SUV
we saw no reason to conserve any energy
The rest of the world was thinking
Our resources are shrinking
Maybe our cars, should, too
And that was really the thing to do
But ask an exec back in Detroit
What to do right now, what is right
And bigger is better like might makes right
Would be the answer, a sorry plight
And then it all crashed and burned
would not work, like an SUV that could not turn
down a narrow street in an older part of town
made before we thought less of me and more of the crowd
And I'm not glad for the greedy execs
but it was really about American workers necks
I'm glad we helped the car industry
Will it happen again? We shall see.

“The Revenant”(Ghost Song Inspiration)
Awake yearning Asleep
Barnacles of riveted keel ajar with wonder keepsakes to sweep
Traipsing the moonlit path between equidistant insanities
Billowing fumes of rage fulgurant in the vogue modality
Whispering 9 Billion hymns to an immemorial cemetery
Silenced by shattered quakes rumbling in the deep forest
Imagined long ago yet again…
Surfing the few fragile crestfallen waves Tighter Nooses in tsunamis on Portugal in the eleventh month hanging ten
Fragile swoons of kenspeckel verbatim echoed in hallowed halls of evening Diaspora gilded in excellence
Limit is no boundary to the timeless clock of tilted tendencies towards barbed decadence
Revelry is no artifact tethered to a patibulary pole folded in the pokerish sneakthievery of triumphant owl’s night
We laugh like soft mad children waxing the candlelit vigil of barren Beirut struck down with ultrageous fright
Cackling as misfortune trespasses are shot on sight
That The Remedy asphyxiates National Anthem hues
Slippery in the crevasse of caffeinated daydream sues
Toasting butter cretaceous with wonder a lapse of sentience is its ultimate blunder of 1015 Rooz
Because the tottering paragon overlooks his habitable tomb
Bequeathed in Nero’s fright askew for the itching view
Spawned instants of thunderous applause serenade the weaning night littered with dancing fragments of illusion
Time is no object to objective dimples on Helicopter dime
Swank is no subject because the predevoted pause owes all to cadence of currency in the heyday of sublime
Long-winded but curt
Outskirts to every vacant and inhabited skirt suburban to muses crooning with antiquity destitute with forbidden flirt
Livid with indignation over fallen hands outstretched to unheralded bands
Simpering with scalded water of tattered whisper of the nauclatic heralds of sunrise over moonlight land
Effort is no music without tragedian Shakespearean rebuke
Taylor’s stop-and-go with flashlight frisk a Pharaohs’ Zion too much of a Fluke
Greco-Roman travesty blinks with scary flicker in an alpenglow Apollon stained-glass window summit
Dirges always precede precipitate glamour aflame with spectral filibustered blight and plummet
besieged by fallen wonders
Sunken by echoes of consequence in Heavy Metal Thunder
Glimpsing the Revenant of a future tango with backwards sentinels of séance
Grief overtakes the rejuvenated sunlit hike
Hitched by Horses with No Name Painless by harnessed spike
Of a Roadhouse Blues not Red enough for the Scarlet Letter Hues of Bill the Butcher White with Tweed nullifying his diacopes of spite
Cadence peerless paling to mirrored reflection of recapitulated mated soul
Limpid nexility that ghosts flex with reflective Jazzy soul
Jailhouse rocking Malone swerves with jaunt
Easy to dance easier to flaunt
Dastardly darts four score and seven jerseys ago
The seamstress of violence alacrity to sow
Vindication belonging to orphaned asylum 44th
A King lost too soon because of masons coming fourth
Degrees of Solomon rustling through A Biff’s Palace
Jimpster hitman an Akabu of hustled alarm pegged to wild shadows dancing a delicate filigree of spawn and spark
To the plug anointed by tethered Cable Guy treason
Few vigilantes of Batman’s caliber yet to reason
In the Revenant’s wake of fallen timbers of Sunset Strip
Reapers prowl with the tide of Bruno Mars RIP
That he sprawls in survival a hat too generous to tip
Uptown Chelsea in uproar as auditoriums fill with hedged victims of sense and sensibility etched in Gore
Lone Pine Mall stranded by conflagration of bulletproof lore
Clowns dedicate independence while crowns croon ***** repentance
For a forlorn starvation of cities of jackals sailed to sentence
Dripping with a faucet of ghostly haunts
Kapstone Paper in Kansas verging on misery wants  
Yet Bleeding American with French-British hues
The world’s lovelorn starlet yet too swollen to amuse
Stark travesty in fatuous emoluments to Walter White vanity
A current streak unbeaten because of realism in Virtual Insanity
A Joker’s Gamboled revenge skittish in sketchy chalkboards of ossified prestige
Left to the milk carton missing is yet another Abandoned Pools squeeze
The Young Robot scared to Fly-by-Night in the pathway of terminal poignant disease
A punitive prison worthy of the cackles of Dinosaurs besieged by Mr. Freeze
Folksy natatoriums agape with bathhouse squalor
Every hierodule a ******* to the witwanton bottom dollar
For the buggery of a Titanic warning towering ever taller
Stilted Wilts 50 a game warbles without Chinese glowers of Silk Road Silk
An albatross of agrarian hubris is how Ping-Pong Champions were eventually built
Hollywood’s grotto a despairing bravado
Of a masonry skyscraping a surpassed entelechy of a half-known tomorrow
Escape malingering and dare to dream
Listless maneuvers of space a hipster jam of the rollicking heyday of a fortress of a team
That I brandish with pride and retrospective snide
How perjury Underoath is a much better bribe
Air Force pride against Scorched Earth fallow because of a wayward bride
The Spectrum of Casper is galloping in deceitful degrees of a piety too wide
Swayed by Swayze pretended or lazy
The whole world in centration glistens with the fashionable crazy
Electromagnetic Detroit a rumpus for Notorious donnybrooks of a Gretchen cloaked too tight for Avalanche brawls cemented in burgundy and white
Industrial locomotives bulldozing Buffaloes of a Boulder fraternity too leaky to always be right
Scattered on Dawn’s Highway Bleeding crowded by a sing-song peril by design
That deference is reference to rappers glistening in surrealism ripe and prime marveling at the Ace of Military Base’s glaring Sign
Lethal Killers on patrol roaming Earthquake plodded land
Count the number of hairs of vitriol in silicon purebred amicable handfuls of wafting sand
Drifting in Mescaline ends at the periphery of Desert Movies Goldmines for Choosing
The Native American Jabberwocky or Mulder’s Father’s dying musing neither of which is favorable to boozing
The Brown doctor disfavored by armed aristocrats is always alive and rarely unbuttoned when snoozing
Flynn torches bemuse the tattered knight
Presumptuous Arthur is only on the quorum when consentience of accord is proven right by both deed and prescient light
Hardly a sidesplitter for a curveball time
California Love is plastered with rivalries of NorCal grime
Of the greatest Banana Slug Fiction flagrant with Quinntessential clairvoyance of a deceased 60’s crime
A dead queer lollygag belonging to the advice of a Pearl Jam Jeremy’s erasure of snares of beleaguered blasphemous chyme
Nonlinear spurts fielded by stolen bases of paralyzed rebuffs rather curt
A rapper worthy of the stage rarely an actor beyond a churlish vendetta hurt
Yet I dazzle the lingerie of even the most guarded skirt
The kiln of machination is a wedding of guarded betrayals of Monster Mash extortion
Alexisonfire a harbinger to the world’s belabored victory over corrugated striptease contortion
Thursday is a miraculous noise of shattered glass
Inertia knows ventriloquial varnish of shattered bones and tempted blood dripping in crematorium ash
Yet I survive with a Jive walk and a sardonic wagtail flock
Of the best patronage of cognoscenti shockwaves of bonanza stocks stalked like a swarpollock locket invisible to Tik Tok
I’m the best hip-hop in the game beyond the treachery of retreads of psychobabble inane
I strut like magic belonging to the sanitorium of the edgy swank of modest profane
Granite defected is my cement planet infesting the game like Boardwalks on the revived Titanic
Aliens headbash the gamut of my spangled manic
Ghost Ridin’ Raiders of the Lost Arc leads to hysterical panic
Indiana laughs at Elway’s squirrel because he bolted Baltimore with a baseball pretense for a sexier girl
When the rigmarole of genius aligns infamy bails out the oyster aphrodisiac of a Heart of the Ocean pearl
Time is a self-referential quisling of a monarchy built of subtle curling
A bored sport dazzling with scintillation in recursive zeal unfurling
A Canada Dry livid stargazer dozes on Oiler comets meteoric as hydroponics
**** quaffs the lazy lollygag rarely hooked on the righteous phonics
But no distaste to the canine game
I am well beyond the distance to the lethargy of NV in shame
Bear Bryant on Rushmore flowing high
Jetsetting across Pink Floyd’s lurid Clear Blue Skies
George trampled by Chauvinist monsters
Zuckerberg and Gates are honkies betting on bonkers loud both in Boston and in Yonkers
100 Billion of counterfeit souls sold to slot machine mannequins quite droll
Someone needs to devour their corner like a Revelations sour-tasting scroll
Tagged to apothecary mountebanks of Trey’s on repeat
A hard-won small Utah town harder than Joe Montana to beat
Bypassed hack of time Luminosity the adultress of 1693 regaled as a freakish feat
Time simpers to Spirit of Grace graven kantikoys in Seattle Graveyards blemished by dancing Creep
The Idioteque squalor of bemused negligence in a flooded Avatar Jurassic Park Jeep
I recall the St. Joseph’s brawl not with Sevendust Animosity or a squawk on short-sighted grating flag hooped with haywire lines snorted on Basketball
The marstions of plenilune filigree are 32 Leaves of RINOs of crestfallen dirges of cacophony deafened by Yachted Wedding Crashers’ squall
The swagger of a Vogue Rose kissed by Shadow Dancing ******* is livid in throes
Of a throwaway stretchgrave of Jackson’s crooning on astounding Mike Bossy Bose
Engraved with Islander epiphany that smokestack chockablocks itch every more Leary in gawsy clothes
I rampage through the filibusters of Jerusalem silt sunken by immigrants in tired tattered kilt
That the only famine known to McDonald’s is the demolition of Fireman of young Wayne Enterprises yet rigged to insuperable caverns hitched to the hilt
Soul Kitchen alphabets on Dewey Decimal design swagger yet with a Lugubrious Monkey-Silent Bob’s Feared Spinosity in Sprites of commercial Lemon-Lime
Of a dauntless Decision among many subdued by Prison that the apish caper gouges 20/20 Vision a cacophony dimpled in recessive alleles of a modern prime
That is also primacy antecedent to yoked Cartel SUV’s perfected in acerbic dungeons Monster Mash corners yet death unfurled in matchbox tinder of Futurama slime
Jet Lagged infancy of Nuclear Duff hustling the Illmatic Annoyance of BiffCO ***** riddles Uncle RICO wed boschveldt of Kansas City seen 21-30 with zeal and repine
The Bizarre Inc. of a lovelorn 96’ robbed Liberace into untimely death the spinsters of Key Auditorium Dine
Hemlock sprees of Socratic whimpers of treason of Piraeus marks the infamy of Brutus lagging with conscience diseased
That the marvel of vengeance is the plaudits of swanky New York Times rustling against dead Nevada Subways and Lusitania rollicking seas
Rage itches as Brock is capsized to Hearts of Oceans littered with Sparrow Murders of Ravens Batty with Belief
Mourning the Twister carnage of A Shining City on a Hill printed by Federal Way disclosure by Armada Music without a receipt
To the dozen graves of Monster Mash London Fog the Undeveloped Story of a balcony of Wayne Packer Million Dollar degrees
Challenged to a Final Revolution of a Fantasy terrorizing the Trafficked hand a Coca Cola seizure God spared for “Canceled” Taco Bell automotive brain freeze
Spinsters with vertigo paralyze on the hopscotch kettle of popcorn for amusement racketing squashed Colombia too many lines yet to appease
And too gaping Walls of Chauvin weaning on freckles of Comfortably Numb disease that Love Story castle is the monarchy of allusion to 19-17
Coffins for 24k Carat foresight by the antiquated architects
attacked for 2001 vengeance on Forsberg’s Spleen
Notorious by scores of tourists in aperture for Native American Casinos blankets on Red Scare forests
Apple’s chocolate-box sergeant prescience on brittle Reed Chorus
Sung by the litany of Ima memorialized by punctual Grace of the sashay of Delphinium fountain pens porous.

We're on our cemetery walk
It's hot, sticky and quiet
The Schallenberg trash is full

"Ex umbris et imaginibus ad veritem"

Bus boy and bus girl
Dreaming the jazz theme
The American dream
There's grits on the table
Another sad fable of dreamers with big, crazy dreams

And I flick the cigarette **** on the *****'s SUV
I flee, I hide behind the Southern white veil
I ******* cower

Lady talks with her hands
I cannot ******* understand
The car horns beep again
And the drag queens chase men

It is all just wizard propaganda
It is all a ******* hoax
I want to stab my boss
I want to **** him

Yo Donell you know whats up
Kept putting you down but you rose back up yeah
Joe told you to ride with me
We had street dreams but you kept s-s-s-stuttering
Craig David was walking away filling you in about his last 7 days yeah
Bump and grind with my man R Kelly
It's getting hot in here take your clothes off for Nelly Yo

There once was a time when music was life
The rhythm and the bass made me feel so right
Take it back to the time it was R&B;
Back with all my homies in the SUV
Take it back to the times we rocked a G-Shock
With the jeans hanging low, and the air force ones
Take it back to the times you would chill with your boo
Usher made me wanna get freaky with you
Take it back to the times when we fell in love
With music, we gotta bring the R&B; back
We gotta bring R&B; back
We gotta bring R&B; back

Yo jagged edge where the party at?
Walked outta heaven now we're bringing it back
TLC didn't want no scrubs
Independent women don't be falling in love
Say my name say my name
Cos my girl Beyonce got me going crazy crazy
Oh Blackstreet ya got no diggity
Room one twelve where the players get jiggy with it

There once was a time when music was life
The rhythm and the bass made me feel so right
Take it back to the time it was R&B;
Back with all my homies in the SUV
Take it back to the times we rocked a G-Shock
With the jeans hanging low, and the air force ones
Take it back to the times you would chill with your boo
Usher made me wanna get freaky with you
Take it back to the times when we fell in love
With music, we gotta bring the R&B; back

We're take take taking it back
Take take taking it back yo
We're take take taking it back
Take take taking it back yo
We're take take taking it back
Take take taking it back yo
We're take take taking it back
Take take taking it back yo

Bring back the music
Take it back to the music
Let's go back to that time
Baby try to rewind
And let's go
Let's go
Let's goooo
Let's go and take it back
There once was a time when music was life
The rhythm and the bass made me feel so right
Take it back to the time it was R&B;
Back with all my homies in the SUV
Take it back to the times we rocked a G-Shock
With the jeans hanging low, and the air force ones
Take it back to the times you would chill with your boo
Usher made me wanna get freaky with you
Take it back to the times when we fell in love
With music, we gotta bring the R&B; back
We gotta bring R&B; back

"C'mon. I haven't had *** in three months and I feel like I'm going to explode."

"That's not good."

"You're telling me. Wish there was someone who'd take care of it for me."

"I'll be over in a bit."

I drove in calculated trance.
I'd made the trek hundreds of times.
I was looking forward to showing her
new tricks I'd learned,
but I feared the segue.

The desperation call from an ex--
always easy to bed, I have yet to feel regret,
but finding the energy to strike up chit-chat
before the undress--
always the hardest part.

I couldn't remember the code to her neighborhood's gate,
so I lied in wait, until some sappy black SUV
strolled in first.

I pulled into her parking spot.
Rubbed my eyes.
Sprayed on a dash of cologne.
Dragged a comb across my hair.
Looked at the clock on my dash--2:00 a.m.
I aged much too far for these
fires,
but I inhaled deeply,
slammed the car door,
marched to the door,
rang the bell--
a bark,
a scramble of paws,
then bare feet patting wooden floors.
She opened the door,
gauging my face to see if she was allowed to smile.
I put my right arm
on the low-side of her back,
peered over her shoulder.
The house was littered with dusty textbooks,
dog food, bras,
cut out magazine articles,
and half-empty cups.

"You smell good," she said easing into a grin.

"Thanks. You too."

"Want to watch some Disney Channel?"

"You're still doing that?"

"Makes me feel innocent. C'mon." She grabbed my hand.
Led me to her bedroom in the back.
Cartoons laughed
as I pulled off my shoes.
She desperately fought for conversation,
"So it's been awhile."

"Yep."

"How are classes?"

"Good," I sighed, looked at her brows, "yours?"

"They are pretty good. I am finally getting to student teach."

"Awesome."

"Yeah, it is. I really love my kids."

"They lucked out."

"I wouldn't say that."

Her ******* looked bigger.
Maybe it was the shirt.
She was in tiny khaki shorts,
her toes chipped--painted red.
She let her hair down.
Sat on the bed next to me.

"How are the fellas?"

"Nonexistent. How's the girlfriend?"

"We're on a break."

"Sorry to hear that."

"For the best."

She kept curling her toes
under her ***,
her hands tugged at her shirt
anxiously,
the cartoons went to commercial break,
she started to open her mouth again,

"Sooo--"

I snagged her hands,
pinned her to the bed,
licked the exposed portion of her chest,
unbuttoned her shorts.
Pink ******* with white roses on them,
I pulled them off quickly,
threw them as far away as possible.
I gnawed on her thighs,
while sneaking my hands under her shirt,
her ******* were exceptionally vocal--
more so than any other woman's I have seen.
I tore at her shirt and bra until both were gone.
She stared at me wildly, trying to understand
where the old man she once knew had gone.
I ******,
I fingered,
I spat,
until her body ached,
she ran her fingertips along my waistband,
and undressed me.
Trying to inspire an *******.
She slurped
and rubbed at my *****,
I started to grab a ******,
but she said she was on "beastly" birth control.
I turned her around,
pumped from behind,
not wanting to look at her eyes
or gaping mouth,
I sent my mind off to fantasizing about
other mouths, *******, and *****
in an attempt to stay hard,
after half-an-hour or so,
her body convulsions became so grotesque,
I pulled out without finishing.

While she shook on the bed,
I pulled on my pants,
"Well, I should probably go."

"I was hoping you'd sleep over."

"We aren't like that."

"We used to be."

"Relationships change."

"So you think we still have a relationship?"

"Sure."

"So do you still love me?"

"No. It's more of a pornographic relationship."

I left her room,
while a tween sitcom mocked me with a laugh track,
I glanced at her family portraits outside her room.
Went into the night.
Went home.
Slept without taking a shower.
Woke to find myself unchanged.
Weary.
Meaningless.
Thirsty for love, sorrow, remorse--anything.

I think the world has gone insane,
on the brink of suicide.
We pollute the air were supposed to breath,
and in our SUV's we hide.

There's people starving in the world,
so we grow corn for fuel,
and let it rot over taking a loss,
'cos were nobody's fool.

We're ignorant of the balance,
Mother Nature's systems need,
so we try and fix what isn't broke,
by genetically modifying seed.

And now the earth is fighting back,
trying to save herself,
from this pesky little virus,
thats needs back on the shelf.

And years from now when we are gone,
and she is back on track,
the only thing we left behind,
was all this plastic crap.

I. Rusted clay envelops milky limbs
    loosened into water like a cauldron of blood
    aqua and maroon, red and blue all at once
    bits of foam clump like white blood cells
    carrying a piece of each person who has stepped on the shores before
    through arteries of cold, velvet cream into the veins of each tree
    for now.

II. The dentist removes his hand from a trap of pearls and pink tongue,
    the shell opens and says it hates fishing, hates the bugs, hates the      noisy birds, hates the muggy water and the sludgy shores
    the dentist smiles and looks at his aquarium
            so bright, so clear, so blue
    each technicolor fish darts around on cue, a rehearsed dance under florescent lights
    a computer monitor glows, the animated river on screen cheerfully murmurs a tune
    a serene spring day in a bottle, in a box, in a crystallized projection of binary numbers
    the shell comments on how beautiful this world can be
    pays, hops in its gleaming SUV,and takes the tar river home.

III. The red cross.
     a plus. positive.
     clear tubes, shiny needles take crimson ribbons of blood
     "it is to help those who cannot find help alone."
      it leaks into plastic bags, on a plane to Africa
    
IV. A child sits on a riverbed, auburn mud
    slowly draining over white bone, more protein than plasma
    his arms and heart are full of new blood
    his water being spit from a paper cup
    bits of food and saliva down the swirly drain
    in a dentist's office near a man made river

Today. I was almost hit by a car,
wearing a scarlet dress
the way I least wanted to die
by the grill of an SUV.
The engine grinned hotly in my face.
the look on his face was priceless
I bet mine was better.
as I gasped, no room in
vocal cords for screaming
held my hands out
as if that would stop the metal from moving
tires screeched.
I don't know why he turned so sharply
I don't know why I put my arms out
or had to walk that way
that particular day
my hands shook  in line
at kinkos, holding back every chemical
mixing violently.
saying please and thank you
for two sheets of paper
that could have mattered less
pulling sunglasses
over my face with a case of the shakes

life just stamped me with an appreciation
for itself
only taught by almost getting hit by an SUV.

life went on around me, the workers in yellow on the corner
got a few moments of thrill.
the folks at Starbucks
the other people grinding their teeth at the stoplights.
a moment excitement.

Korea
Vietnam
Grenada
Iraq
So many lost lives
We can never take back;
So many ******* wars
We all have lost track.
Panama
Serbia
Syria
Iraq

What were we really doing there?
When did they attack us? Where?
When did they threaten my liberty
To buy an extra big SUV?
When did they land here with artillery
To threaten the freedom of you and of me?
When did these countries declare war
That caused us to gear up once more?

Korea
Vietnam
Grenada
Iraq
So many lost lives
We can never take back;
So many ******* wars
We all have lost track.
Panama
Serbia
Syria
Iraq

Invade them all, degrade them all
Because it doesn’t really matter to us.
Steal their lands, pound them into the sand
When done, throw them all under the bus.
Look what we have done to our natives.
You see how experienced we are at this.
We spare no expenses when it is war.
Oh, and what a lucrative thing it is.

Korea
Vietnam
Grenada
Iraq
So many lost lives
We can never take back;
So many ******* wars
We all have lost track.
Panama
Serbia
Syria
Iraq

I don't really know if this is cut out for me. I rather go to Colorado in my singing voice* how I wish I was your lover please_ let's respect one another....

Here are the
stage lights
If you cannot
stand the heat
Bud light
Other seasons
The Four Seasons
Sherry Baby

Delicacies
Diva and Don Perion
Dressed
Navy and bloodshot
Eyes maroon
The fire desire
Only made them
Moon up higher
legacy
The voices
appetizer

Pina Colada
Fireworks Bella Diva
Gondola
Sunrise Prima Donna
Between the Diva
Fireworks outside
Of Lady Madonna

(Moonstruck)
Havana
Fireworks at
her breast
hot singer
editorial
Designer Hermes
scarfed $
Diva she raises
money
Fill in her gaps
Gap Navy
So savvy Honey
Oh! Jesus
Another
genius
Fireman
Rifleman
Joplin
Baby baby
Baby

She stepped
away
from reality
What about
me Robin
I am a singer
World became
my Godly
duty
Miss Mom Judy

The music
All trends
addicted to
shopping
Men %% $
Those  Poppins
Pop stars
Robin bob bobbin
along
She's chicken
Avocado
Comando
Chief Fido

Fireworks top
crooks
The safe box
She cooks
crock ***
Aluminum Clad
Potheads
Australian lads
All spread out in
Chickenpox

Egg Foo young
Cream say cheese
Lox Hip Hop
Sugar Daddy
Pops
Collegiate
Quickie talk
((Chatterbox))
The made hit
singers paradox
Calm me, Colorado
Endless voice

Eldorado
Diva had too many
Stars at the sing sing
of Rosy®
At the check coat Sassy
Tommy can you hear me
Her mouth
mento mints

Extreme bossy
Deep-throat
(Juicy Pineapple
Dole) her

The singer sways
all over him
Dancing Glove pole
If this is the
last thing
we ever do

Designed for a
Diva with
Jimmy Choo, it's
not a
better life
for me and you

******* coo
Lana Turner,
Turntable 4 the record_
Tina Turner
What does
loving a Diva
got to do
with this!!

So tramped on
Diva devourer
He's the observer

Maxwell millionaires

Tantalizing tongues
The Canaries
Yellow Solo
Not the goddess the
Diva Luv-a sun
{Ralph Polo]
Little darlings
Vampire
Diaries
The mad
librarian
BLT Diva VIP
The hell of
tinnitus

D=F ****-Fun
in" D"
Devilology
Diva Fireworks
sanitarium
Disney
aquarium

My sign the
Aquarius
So Forestal Crystal
Forest Hills US
open tennis

We are the
champions
The  sexter pistol
wedding ring
Go, Crystal
He compelled her
Divas revolver
Wild thing makes
my heart sing
And his boxers
make me  
so closer

Diva solver
Frenzy firecracker
pleaser
Who is ready to vote
Songs wanted
love pusher

Diva's eyes
  Maybelline
Maybe all lined
Stadium of voices
titanium
The Diva to
be resold

Too many songs
were sold
Wife trophy
Platinum had
a voice tone

Diva Grand
Marnier
He's the
connoisseur
of mouth's
experimental

Mentally
He tricks you
Singing horse
you just know
won't trick you
A singer is like
a horse

Wizard of Odd
Moms many colors
performances
This land is your
land from
California but
the Diva Islands
flipping
Las Vegas

Nothing is
guaranteed
((Lady GaGa))
Your out
Haha
Stay upright
lights down
out of sight

*Brooklyn Blackout
Cake Ebinger
We were eating
Singing and Guessing

Diva sucker
lollipops
Panic at the disco
To run him over
What R the odds
Getting even road
Steven the Cosmos

The singing
highway
project
Robin was
from Bayview
Project
All Adultery
Bills
Clintons Mastery
No Susie
homemaker
Hilariously singing
Shining like the
shoemaker

Sitting at
the pub
She ordered a
hot steaming
Spa voice
The Egyptian
grains
of love sand
Medler
Fergie Google
Ben Stiller
Singer just
pill her
burlesque

So Cher-like
if I could
change back
the time I would
do it anyway
Jumping Diva
Kangaroo  pouch

Too much Diva
Ouch----
Joe DiMaggio
fireworks of *****
Big wiggle
Opera
Marilyn Monroe
The Phantom
Of *** appeal
Propaganda
Blowing off
competition
nails

But__ dying inside
like a deadlight
Sparkle me
*** lights
That voice
signals
"Neon Nights"
ooh la the
Eifel tower
bowed her
Moonstruck
striking
wallet high Kicking
wages
Got her voice back
to be shot in stages

Her revolver
eight days a week
The real voice
never take
for granted

Genie
The Diva Luv
in her SUV
She was still
singing
And he wasted
his
whole
dinner

But I got
my voice back
Singing
She let her heart out
He turned his head
He said  what a stunner

we earned our stripes
playing out on the road
in towns you won't find on the map
we play whatever
the crowd wants to hear
and one time we even played taps

yeah taps...that's right
one time we even played taps

played a bar last night
real funky place
the backroom was also the jail
you got drunk on one side
then they'd lock you up
and you could pay the bartender your bail

yep...you could pay the bartender your bail

The towns that we play in
Aren't really that big
What most call a forest
The band calls a twig
we play country music
we can knock off a jig
but to call us that famous
is like kissing a pig

we've got two pickups
an suv too
and a minivan rusted to bits
we play rock paper scissors
to see who drives where
then we pack up and hope it all fits

yep...most nights we hope it all fits

we play behind wire
in some places we go
it stops the bottle from hitting the drums
we asked the bartender
if he thought we should leave
he said you do....next they'll all pull out their guns

yep...everyone there all had guns

The towns that we play in
Aren't really that big
What most call a forest
The band calls a twig
we play country music
we can knock off a jig
but to call us that famous
is like kissing a pig

when I was born, I had
nine lives left, I was bereft
of scars, delicate as fireflies
in a jam jar
(the kind I’d punch holes in the lid for,
the kind I’d bring indoors
and set on my bedroom floor as a fairy nightlight, until I got bored
and one by one they died silent as the pollination of fornicating spores.)

anyways.

9 lives left, age: 2 months
but then one day daddy looked the other way and splash!
the baby’s in the *** and the ***’s still hot
(there are witches in the air but we don’t care)
looks like soup tonight! yum yum
third degree misery etched on her body,
one life done.

And nothing to show for all of her fun
but a twisted left arm and a ***** of a sun (burn)

One life down, eight to go, you know
because she’s a fox, which (if you peek over the ledge of your punitive box)
is like a cat. And that, as we know, means
nine lives, and that’s that.

well, eight now.
if you want, I’ll tell you how she (i) is (now) down several more.
worry not little one, fate always evens out
the score.

The second was me and a boy (THE Boy, if you know what I mean)
it would seem he and I had climbed two stories high
hand over foot over hand over foot over
the parking lot right up next to the sky
and then oh-
wait.

I’m falling.

(breathe in, breathe out)

(the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout
down came reality and washed the spider out)

and there are
butterflies on the tip of my tongue and there is
a word stuck in my stomach.

he held my eyes just like I couldn’t hold
the pipe as I fell, right towards the earth between heaven and hell
now there are hot knives in my ankles and I think (I can’t tell)
I’m alive.

(stop drop and roll)

yes I fell from the roof through the sky. No I’m fine.
just one more life gone, I saw it flash before my eyes in a short space of time
that was roughly
the shape of a stop sign, or maybe a wind chime, or maybe
it was the shape of the sunshine.

Whichever way, that’s two down, seven to go;
the next one I lost when I rolled off the road.

We were going seventy and
the love of my life was sitting next to me and
his skin was beautiful in its caramel coffee complexity and
he wasn’t
paying
attention.

There is air in my lungs when I should be history
but the SUV only bruised my knees as it rolled, glass shattering
pit-pattering over the pinwheel of perfect destruction
around us.

I felt myself decide that it was okay
if this was the end.

At least I’d go with my best friend, there’s some
good stuff. That, I conceded, would be enough,
I could die young
if who I was in that moment
could be the freeze-frame of my song,
the thing that’s left
after I’m gone.

Three lives gone, only five left-
the next one is casually snipped like a price tag
after a theft when I fell
(again)
from the banyan tree and flipped my pancake
(click-clack) like a jacob’s ladder
I should have broken my back.

As I fell I yelled in my head
there’s nothing to fear but fear itself
(till you’re dead.)

four down, five to go Indigo.

Here we go.

(to be continued.)

-

in a landfill one day i saw an
immigrant family take an old
bed and strap it across the top
of a banged up SUV that was

missing it's left front clip, the
headlight was taped where a
socket would have held it,
like a discombobulated eyeball

clearly marked on the edge
of the mattress was the
following in Red Sharpie—

"DO NOT SALVAGE"

the same warning i remember  
writing on Momma's deathbed
decades earlier, her stain clearly
visible on one side.

there was nothing to be said, 
even if i could speak fluently
against what was apparently

—for them—

clearly accepted
terms...


s jones
Mar 2021


.

Tell me why I have to stare at every driver
In every white SUV to see if it’s you
I used to keep count of how many there were
But I stopped at 152
It’s been 152 days since the first time I laid eyes on you
WOW, jaw drops, time stops, did he say his name was Corey?
Argyle socks, blue jacket, oh **** we made eye contact
Butterflies. You gave me butterflies.
And I knew from the second you muttered, “Ms. Yates” under your breath
That I needed to know what it felt like under my skin.
That’s where it all began.

I’ve heard that ‘feeling is healing’
But I’m wondering when the pain is going to cease
And leave something hopeful in its place
I’m not sure how much more I can take
I’m tired
I got tired of running stop lights chasing you
To only be re-routed
I doubted that you even knew I was behind you
Apologies have to be a two-way street

It’s always my fault
You are incapable of taking responsibility
Letting jealousy take reign
Of what little remains between us
I used to count the hours until I got to see you
Down a few beers to ease my nerves
Change my shirt half a dozen times
Thinking you were too good for me
But you see, I was wrong
I wish it wouldn’t have taken me so long
To figure out that I’m not the bad guy
I wish it wouldn’t have taken me so long
To understand that selfishness and flattery
Often look the same
Too distracted by the butterflies to see
That you ripped them from their cocoon too soon

I won’t miss wishing I was something that I’m not
Making myself believe that I could be who you need
I won’t miss you making me feel uncomfortable in my own skin
As though my stretch marks and soft curves were not deserving of your affection
I won’t miss the way you never answered my calls
Leaving me guessing if you’re going to show
Like some sort of twisted game that you always win

I stopped getting butterflies
I stopped looking at the clock when we made plans
I stopped checking my reflection for perfection in the mirror
I stopped enjoying the tequila that you kept pouring when I told you I had enough
I stopped enjoying you when you were no longer a safe place
When I could no longer trust you
When I could no longer believe the words coming out of your mouth

You do not deserve my sympathy
You do not deserve my apologies
You do not deserve the tears that I have cried because of you
The sleepless nights wondering if you love me too
The forgiveness that I have given so freely
You do not deserve me

What doesn’t **** you only makes you stronger so
Thank you for making me a stronger person
For showing your true colors
For proving to me that I deserve so much better
For walking away when I was too selfish to do the right thing
It began with butterflies and it ends with goodbye.

the home
we once lived in
with wardrobes in shambles
and drawers with clutter
is now empty.

i packed everyone's bags,
gathered the last pushpins
from the wall in the kitchen,
and went on with my life.

i made sure to grab
the books we'd hidden in the attic
as well as the photo album
you'd stashed under the floorboards.

i opened the curtains
and then swept the floors.
i made our bed for the last time
and collected the closings
of the dust on the mantelpiece
that nobody ever cleaned.

i got two extra boxes
for all of the medication unfinished.
i marked them "fragile", for they were glass capsules
containing the substance needed to keep my daughter alive.
but her illness didn't **** her.

i was well aware of the dog's bed,
and it found a place
in the passenger seat of my suv.
his quiet whimpers and cries
were all i heard that evening
as i drove away from what once was my life.

when i finally got to my feet again,
i returned to making dinner for myself.
i only knew how to cook for seven,
and i found tranquility in washing things in sevens.
now i made food for one
and washed for one.

i accidentally brewed two coffees this morning,
in hopes you were still here to take it
and laugh at me for making it too strong,
but you're not.
i awoke at noon the day before and sobbed,
for i was used to being awoken by child's laughter
and small bodies climbing into our bed.

tomorrow, i will bring your briefcase to work
and leave it on your desk.
i'll collect it when i go to leave
and frown at the fact you never opened it.
i'll dispatch you three times in the field,
but you won't respond.

i used to see our wedding day,
but now i see your funeral.
i used to see our children's births;
but i've gotten used to their bodies in morgues.

your physical features
become the trauma described during your autopsies,
and our family photos
became the ones used in the funeral program.

the home
we once lived in
with wardrobes in shambles
and drawers with clutter
is now a house;

a house with things
that even i can't pack away.

i stand at the pedestrian crossing
white parallel lines aged by rubber
i wait for another person
and i cross

my brain goes white with parallel lines
i stop
in the middle of the street
for a second

sometimes i wish a car would
take me then
sometimes i wish a truck would
knock me out
is it worth the trauma
of gradeschoolers?
is it worth the clean up of city hall?
and how would they portray me?
a suicidal maniac who gets people in prison?
or merely an idiot with nothing better to do
other than cause chaos?

scene of the crime
outlined in white chalk against
white parallel lines
brain matter splattered on an SUV's windshield

funny

they can't find my eyes.

A first kiss is a deadly weapon
ours was nervous and in secret
a large dog making me sneeze
jumping over the SUV
because your stepdad can't park
and clinging to you
because he also can't drive
When you met my parents
on New Years, pictionary
we both yelled "anarchy"
and I will never not smile about that

You are the guy with the unkempt room and a cluttered used car. You have many things in your head, from ideas to plans to the latest book you’ve read. You are a dreamer, and that means that if the girl you date isn’t like you, it’s unlikely to work out.

Don’t date a girl who doesn’t travel. She is the girl who wants to travel in theory, but has never made the time. She is the girl with the medicine cabinet filled with cosmetics, hair products, and perfume, but a passport filled with blank pages. She does her hair in memorized strokes every morning as she has been doing this for years now. She is a creature of habit. She is impressed by wealth, nice cars, and titles, but she knows nothing about the world.

Don’t date a girl who doesn’t travel because she will drive you crazy at how she tries to “tame” you. She will regard your life as chaotic and will not be able to understand your many nuances. She will try to make you feel like you need her. With good intentions, she will cling to you and manipulate your life into becoming like hers. You see, she will look at you and treat you as though you are a lost puppy, and regard herself as the kind-hearted woman that will put you in the right path. She will talk to you about security, and you will wonder at her ignorance.

She won’t go to any of the adventures you planned out, because she thinks they are bereft of value and a waste of time. While you have a plethora of foreign currencies in your wallet, she’ll only desire to go to those “foreign” resorts that accept US Dollar. She will not take chances. Her whole life has been inside her comfort zone. Her childhood revolved around a home-to-school-to-home routine. She might never have been allowed to play outside, or she might never have wanted to. She thinks she is better than you because of her stable, 9 to 5 job, which makes you want to gag because you will never want a life like that.

Don’t date a girl who doesn’t travel. Her world is nothing to envy. Her world where the only people he knows are her co-workers and high school classmates who she drinks with at the clubs on the weekends. In her world, net worth is the metric of success. There is no room for making a difference, changing the world, and working for ideals that are bigger than her. Don’t even try to have a conversation about the environment or social issues, she couldn’t care less. Her adventures are about the argument with the co-worker she hates and the other driver that almost hit her when he failed to give way to her SUV on her commute.

She will want to eat in overrated chain restaurants with you, and will frown at you when you ask to try out that food truck down the street. She will cringe at the thought of eating at food stalls at a busy Southeast Asian market or elote from a street cart in Mexico. She will try to lure you into her world, but you are not even tempted by such a dull and dreary alternative. She is oblivious to how unappealing the bait she offers is.

That girl who doesn’t travel has chosen the unexamined and robotic life. You can only watch in despair as she runs on the rat-wheel of her mental cage. She will never understand that, while her wealth is measured by the number of zero’s in her bank account, your wealth is measured on the places you’ve been to and the people you’ve met and whose lives you’ve touched.

She will never understand why you have so many random keepsakes from your travels, like a small soiled napkin from a Moroccan café or the train tickets that you use as bookmarks. She will never opt for the slower and more scenic route. She will not be content to see the world through a window or television. While you are watching the sunset, she is checking her phone.

When you do travel, she will want to rent a car, when in fact you would rather take public transport and meet people with amazing stories. She will get jealous and insecure when you talk to strangers, even those you meet at the bus. You see, she doesn’t talk to anyone she doesn’t know and frequently ignores those she does.

She will ask you not to travel anymore, to settle down. And you consider it. Then you realize that your passion and dreams will end the moment you give in. You have always wanted to travel around the world, to meet people from all walks of life, and to life live to the fullest. There is still so much to be done! There are so many things to see and experience! You imagine yourself two decades from now and you see yourself happy; passport filled with stamps and a refrigerator filled with magnets from different countries. A woman is there with you in that dream, reminiscing about the adventures y’all had.

Unless the girl you’re dating is like you; a free-spirited, adventurous traveler, you don’t deserve each other. Whether by fear or complacency, she is going nowhere. She can keep that dream of a suburban house and a manicured front yard, not let her weigh you down!

Baby,
     I
           think that
      maybe,
We've ****** up.
    Cause we've been force fed such fractured fallacies like,  
A Jewish zombie who is his own father,  
A chosen people, and immortality.
       Oh and did you know slavery was OK?
        How about ****?
Yeah the problem with an endless line of orphans is the exponential loss of the truth of our cosmic dead-beat dad.
                                  Well now,
The hand that feeds has fallen short, with the founding fathers roll in their graves.
Whilst silly sheep support Disillusioned delusions dressed,
in
Red White and Blue,


Wait for their cue, because
The Republic
is being held at gun point, with modern Gestapos ready and willing for the killing.
The final days of momma democracy await.

Zealous jealous and out for blood, with a cross across their chests as they proclaim; "IN HIS NAME, WE SMITE YE!"

Now thats just jurisdiction to judge the jury.

And now

She showers us
With this Vampiric ecstasy,
As they mask our mothers ****** under the banner of God.

As they
             wipe away the blood gushing,
      from the slit throat of
Lady Liberty,
with whats left of our crumbling
Constitution,
only to wrap her in a once glorious flag, now despoiled with
The poisonous blessings bought by the pontiff of flame
whose pseudo fame is a sign
that this clandestine facade will end soon.

Yet still we must deal with another contradiction, another, convoluted convulsion of consciousness severing our ties with that
good ol' American dream.

So watch them promote our fall, greeting hell-fire half-heartedly, these sanctimonious masses amass, a menacing masquerade.

See they've paraded on the moral high ground pointing the finger without the grounds to back themselves up, aside from a dusty old book and the rusty rapturous moans of defiled men.

As chosen children I chide you, for archaic superstition must be left behind, a fact that most may find, a tad bit unacceptable, even while you drive your SUV's and gorge on Mickey D's, while you gun down doctors and destroy human intelligence. Remember the dark ages? Guess who made them dark.

Your men on top ****** male prostitutes and tap dance in the mens room, denying every allegation; look, this is a nation stuck on revelation hell bent on escaping damnation.

And they say I'm the Devil! One worth the reapers embrace, those carcinogen caricatures carried by the book.
When fear rules their hearts,
Destruction and War
beget by their weakness.
                          Now all I say is throw it all away, Live, ****, and Love. Just imagine a world free, free from terror, war, hate, separation, and segregation.
             Imagine finally clogging that cancerous ventricle our country holds so dear.
   Imagine the end to a crutch,
A spiritual mod,
Imagine a world,
Without the illusion of God.

Because of recent fatal accidents that have occurred recently in the Dallas area, I felt it appropriate to repost this piece.

There are many "you's" out there, on the highways, byways, freeways. Those that put others in harms way, excercising their egotistical need to be "first in line", "head of the class", so to speak; "**** the torpedoes, full speed ahead!" is their rallying cry.

It makes no difference what "YOU" are driving, old vehicle, new vehicle. Perhaps an overly powerful pickup truck, or an SUV, that makes YOU feel IMMORTAL. Ice, snow, rain, dark of night, makes no difference to YOU. Inconsiderate, rude, careless, makes YOU, dangerous. Today is no different, its "all about YOU." Speeding, weaving in and out of traffic, no need for signals, tail-gating,  trying to get that vehicle out of YOUR way, because YOU are being "INCONVENIENCED!" YOU, don't care! For this morning, like any other morning, "its all about YOU."

The lights are a bit glaring, as you begin to emerge from that state of unconsciousness, laying in that hospital bed, wondering where you are, who, and why, are those strangers standing around you.
They are the doctors, nurses, first responders, investigators, preparing for your reaction when you're told that the brains of your spouse and children had to be scraped off the pavement with a snow shovel.
You should be proud of yourself. For today is truly,
                                              "All about YOU!"

copyright: richard riddle April 03, 2015

Now I will take ya'll further back in my time
The time when I realized angels were taking care of me
They were always mine
My Daddy was quite different when he came home from Vietnam
My Mother became secondary
His mission in life was to show others God is number one
Don't misunderstand me, I know this is true
Yet I saw it my in mothers eyes at times this made her blue
Daddy stayed in the army but we also opened our home
It became a place of residence for the unwanted
We called it "The Manor"
A place to find Christ and no longer rome
During this time I was a very young child
In my eyes this enviroment felt a bit wild
Everyone rejoicing, singing hymns
Then out of the blue great vibrance would come
Someone would burst out speaking in tongues
Oh, so very much going on
My sister was upstairs jammin to psychedelic rock
Hangin with the hippies who were supposed to be
downstairs at church or the rehab class
Yet they had wandered away
To the psychedelic world that led them astray
I remember once seeing one of the alcoholic homeless men
Sneakin into my Daddy's bathroom
Drinking his aftershave
To satisfy his alcohol crave
Ah, the good Ole' daze
After sometime we moved "The Manor"
To the country, in the sunshine
A place we called "The Farm"
A big ole Victorian home, the stairs to the attic were gone
The stories were that the house was haunted
The scary tales my sisters told me yet still
I never felt any harm
The Cape Fear River flowed thru nearby
I watched the Baptisms as I played on the side
Spiritualism in my heart so very true
It buried deep inside me as I grew
I decided not to let it escape
For in my heart I knew the true cost it intakes
Even then I longed for a simple life
Trouble free, I dreamt, at no price
I sure did get happy when I would see
Grandma and Papa pull up
It meant we were heading to the beach
In Papa's SUV
That is always when true PEACE would arrive
Inside of me