There are only two ways to truly know someone: sleep with them or take them bowling.
Phoenix Aime was the woman of my dreams. So, I took her bowling.

Paid for a game. Rented shoes. Got the little, sticky bracelet thingy that said Slippery Joe Lanes.
That way if we got in some sort of accident on the way home,
the guy at the morgue could identify us as bowlers. Anyway, here's the bulleted list of what I knew about Phoenix up to that point:

• She looked like Diane Keaton circa 1972
• She talked with great pretension concerning craft beer
• She only patronized two restaurants: Denny's and IHOP
• She was eight years older than me
• She kissed my sister once on a dare
• Her shoe size was 7
• She was perfect or a near synonym

The bowling alley was empty save a World War II vet in a wheelchair and his wife at lane six,
and they were barely there. Country music played over the loud speaker. And I felt cozy. Predictable. Like a payment plan on the QVC.

That was until Phoenix said, "I forgot something. I'm going to go talk to Mack real quick."
Mack worked the front desk, according to his name tag. Talk to Mack. She just talked to Mack. Mack was sleeping with her. I untied my shoelaces. Oh, Mack, love your red polo with blue tiger stripes.
I pulled my sneakers off. Oh, Mack, I love it when you dip your finger in nacho cheese and feed it to me. Slid my right foot into bowling shoe. Halfway in with the left, and my socked foot struck something plastic. A stick of tiny deodorant. Like unsavory truck-stop-to-truck-stop deodorant. Oh, Mack, I love it when you deodorize -- so hard. Pull the strings tight on the left shoe. Oh, Mack, rub the deodorant until your underarms are SO CHALKY AND WHITE.

"You okay?" Phoenix asked.

"Yeah, what do I look like something's wrong?"

She carried a seafoam green bowling ball with a ****** Mary insignia. "It looks like you triple-knotted your shoes there."

And I said something dumb like, better safe than sorry.

"Sorry about leaving you all alone. Mack holds onto my ***** for me," she said.  I bet he does. "I hate talking to that guy." What? "He's a vegan."

Now, at that time in my life, I was a vegan. And had planned some stirring remarks about the processing of sweet little piggies into cancerous hot dog machines on the way to pick her up. Thought she would think me full of passion, "on fire" for a cause, you know? The wise thing would have been to say, oh well, I'm a vegan. But instead I asked, "What do you mean?"

"You know serial killer's get a last meal before they're executed, right?"

"Right." Where the hell is this going?

"Well, have you ever heard of someone on death row requesting a last meal that didn't involve some sort of animal product? Gacy had buckets of chicken, Bundy had a medium rare steak, even uh, ****, what was his name, McVeigh, Timothy McVeigh he had two pints of mint chocolate ice cream. Dairy."

"I'm not sure how this refutes veganism."

"Nobody is a vegan for their last meal. Nobody. I'm not going to subscribe to a diet that I can't follow until the very end. Live every day like your last, that's my motto."

"That's your motto." I said. To be a great listener, just repeat the last three or four things anyone says to you and raise your eyebrows a little bit. (Examples: "My dog died." -- "You're dog died.", "I never ate breakfast burritos again." -- "Never ate it again.", "I love you." -- "You love me.")

Over Phoenix's shoulder, over by lane six, the wife wheeled the World War II vet up to the lane. And he tossed the ball. Good team, I thought. Want to know someone take them to the bowling alley.

Phoenix removed a glove from her pocket. She had her own ball. Brought her own badass, jet black bowling gloves. And if her carnivorous tendencies hadn't already put a ***** in the Golden Days of Josh and Phoenix, that glove did.

She typed her name first on the scoring computer. Didn't ask if I wanted to go first. That's fine. Approached the lane, three fingers inside the ****** Mary. She brought her bony arm back with the grace of a ballerina tucked away stage right in the shadows. Mary cut from grace slid down the lane with a spin.

Strike. I couldn't really see the pins from my angle. But I recieved a transmission via the "yes" and arm pump. That was two marks against her, and I was going to three. I'd call it strikes, but well, the whole bowling skew.

Here's a bulleted list of what a "yes" and arm pump immediately taught me:

• She takes bowling serious.
• If you take bowling serious, when do you relax?
• She'd never relax.
• My life would be tucked shirts, matching belts and shoes.

For six frames, I picked up fours and sevens. Phoenix, though, nothing but strikes. I threw a gutter on frame seven. Like a normal human being, I shrugged. Made a face out the sides of my mouth. Kept it light.

"I thought you were a grown *** man," Phoenix said.

"Me too."

What happened next, I willed. I'm not god or anything like that. At the time, just cosmicly ******.
Her step stuttered. 7-10 split. "Mack!" she screamed. "Floors are slicker than a used car salesman's hair."

From across the alley,
"Sorry, Phoenix, baby. I'll bring you some nachos. That make up for it?"

"Ain't gonna knock down two pins is it?"

"So, uh, no nachos then?"

"Actually, go ahead and bring those."

She lined up. Back straight. Legs together. She rolled her neck. "You're about to see how it's done."

And I didn't. She broke it down the middle. Field goal. In that moment, that holy moment, I was knowledge plateau. Vindicated.

For about 10 seconds.

Mack swaggered over, nachos in hand. "Phoenix, sweetie, you okay?"

"Do I look okay?"

"No, that's why I asked."

"Just give me the nachos."

"Ah crap." Mack had gotten his pointer finger in the nacho cheese.

"Let me see it."

And right there, right in front the ****** Mary seafoam green bowling ball, she slurped the cheese off his finger."

Frame seven, a good as time as any to call it a match. The wife of the World War II vet kissed her husband's forehead. Handed him a ball. As I walked by, hand on shoulder. "Struck gold, dude."

I walked or sauntered or dashed or stumbled, no...
staggered! or swaggered, or was it stepped, no...
I jogged or, bolted, no stomped or slid no...
hopped! or was it skipped no hop skipped and jumped...
or sauntered! no i said that one, it was swaggered! no....
I stampeded or dogged or shlepped no bounced or was it...
I stamped or ed or rolled? no strolled! haha yes Strolled! no...
I stalked that was it or was it followed no no it was sojourned
sojourned! sojourn? no it was galumphed or marched, no charged...
aha sauntered! no! ******! it was ambled or slogged, trounced? or tromped, no rambled, yes I rambled on! no no thats not right, I plodded, trod no tread! no strided, thats not even a word, sloped, no...
govereetted, or persnicketied, or skreed, or preened, no no no none of that is right....
I sauntered! no no, swaggered! no was it promenade? prowl. no patrolled, parolled, no no thats way off...
I trekked, trudged, no fudged, no dogged! like george! he dogged it all the time, no I said that one, slogged or sashayed no trooped, no perambulated, or moseyed? or hoofed it? no it was definitely sauntered, no no it wasn't sauntered it was a dawdle, no lurched, or hawked, no stopped,
no no it was definitely movement, thats it! it was a movement! no no no that can't be right I paced, yes i paced back and forth and thought about life for a awhile....

no no that wasn't it either it was really more of a strut, or a saunter, yes saunter! no swaggered! no no
**** you words....

I wandered or was it roamed, no limped, gimped! no...

minced.... or no yes! minced... wait.... no it was a hike, yes I hiked up a mountain with  friend of mine, or was it climbed, no no thats not right...
I slandered, no.... pandered! no... I meandered, haha actually no i think  it was a peruse, or no a beat! no.... I cut a rug! or actually i think it was more of a stumble no....

ah yes it was walked, I walked about sixty blocks today

I’d hazard a guess there aren’t many folk who don’t know the tales of Harry, Hermione and Ron
and how with a cast of a multitude of friends they defeated Voldemort with aplomb,
rightly these heroic adventures are held in the highest regard,
and will be told forever by musicians, singers and bards,
these stories will be remembered, people will talk of those courageous and brave
and how they turned the evil tide of The Dark Lord with everything they gave,
how they dispelled the magic of horror with the strength of the Gryffindor lion,
but less well known than this wonder is the fable of Tayrn and her Ryan.
R and T arrived to Hogwarts  10  years after He Who Can Not Be Named was vanquished in the great struggle,
Tayrn was pure wizard born whereas Ryan was pure muggle,
both took to wizarding school easily and did well in all their classes,
of course Tayrn was a hit with the lads and Ryan a swoon with the lasses,
but it didn’t matter they gave all folk in their year at Hogwarts an involuntary love shudder
because ace Tayrn and Ryan only had eyes for each other!
Their wonderful sweet love was easy and went without a hitch,
spent Saturdays gazing at each other when they should have been watching Quidditch,
hand in hand they skipped around The Forbidden Forest, their romance knowing no rift,
saying hello to a friendly centur or a flying hippogriff,
they galloped around Diagon Alley, their souls full of cheer,
or sat relaxed and tranquil in The Leaky Cauldron sipping butter beer.
T and R were ace at spells, Tayrn’s best was with a wand swish creating healing
and Ryan’s wonderful arty prowess was painting The Sistine Chapel on any ceiling;
yes they were each other’s equal in the way they weaved the magic from above
and this is one of the reasons they were very much in love.
One night T and R were going on one of their romantic walks
and decided to have a jaunt to a wonderful clearing just near Hogwarts,
they sauntered through the darkening evening with a song on their lips,
swaggered along the green with the music of love on their hips,
as they got to the secluded clearing they were anticipating with glee each other’s hold
but then all of a sudden they started feeling very cold.
They both noticed that the summer grass was covered in a blanket of frost,
the trees were looking pale, freezing, withdrawn and lost,
the air was filled with frigidity and held the hints of scare,
the flowers were wilting with chilled terror, bloom given way to despair,
as Tayrn and Ryan wondered what was the cause of such floral bad health
just a few yards away  the answer revealed itself;
over a hill came a hooded figure that immediately brought fright to the fore
as Tayrn and Ryan paid attention in Defence Against The Dark Arts they instantly recognised it as a dementor,
but they noticed something different about this one, it was nearly trebled in size,
and had a deeper blackness where should have been it’s eyes.
Being skilled at magic they knew what they had to do to avoid any harm
so both quickly fired off their best Patronus Charm,
but these spells had no effect, the huge dementor merely shrugged them off
and they could have sworn beneath it’s hood it let out a derisive scoff.
The enormous dementor hovered over Tayrn and Ryan and from its mouth emerged a hiss,
as it prepared to give the two lovers their final goodbye kiss,
but as it stooped over them with it’s awful deathly hue
T and R looked into each other’s eyes and figured out what they were going to do;
they remembered in one class learning about the bravest man Hogwarts had ever knew
and how he was able to hoodwink The Dark Lord with a love strong, solid and true,
how Snape drew on his love of Lilly to ride through any storm,
even on his darkest night it was what kept him warm,
so Tayrn and Ryan pushed their wands together and thought of beautiful Severus
and how they both too shared the romantic love buzz,
and channelling the wonder of that special feeling thus
they both pointed their wands in unison and screamed Expelliarmus!
Emitted from the tip of each wand was the half of a love heart projected from each soul
that both came together to create the fantastic whole,
in the shine of such love the vast dementor instantly recoiled,
knowing that it’s draining wish was in no doubt foiled,
it writhed around and in the glare of joy did it’s nefarious purpose erode,
every bleak and blank about it started to corrode,
the dementor slowly ebbed away until all of it did go
and in it’s place was left a striking brown young doe,
it bowed it’s head to Tayrn and Ryan and then it flew into the trees,
gliding with majesty on the sweet night breeze.
Awed by what had happened Ryan and Tayrn turned and started to walk back to the dorm,
aware of what occurred was special and not the norm,
but then they stopped in their tracks and at the same time both did say,
“oh my beautiful love, I know  I’m going to marry you someday!”

Summer pleasures they are gone like to visions every one
And the cloudy days of autumn and of winter cometh on
I tried to call them back but unbidden they are gone
Far away from heart and eye and for ever far away
Dear heart and can it be that such raptures meet decay
I thought them all eternal when by Langley Bush I lay
I thought them joys eternal when I used to shout and play
On its bank at ‘clink and bandy’ ‘chock’ and ‘taw’ and
    ducking stone
Where silence sitteth now on the wild heath as her own
Like a ruin of the past all alone

When I used to lie and sing by old eastwells boiling spring
When I used to tie the willow boughs together for a ’swing’
And fish with crooked pins and thread and never catch a
    thing
With heart just like a feather—now as heavy as a stone
When beneath old lea close oak I the bottom branches broke
To make our harvest cart like so many working folk
And then to cut a straw at the brook to have a soak
O I never dreamed of parting or that trouble had a sting
Or that pleasures like a flock of birds would ever take to
    wing
Leaving nothing but a little naked spring

When jumping time away on old cross berry way
And eating awes like sugar plumbs ere they had lost the may
And skipping like a leveret before the peep of day
On the rolly polly up and downs of pleasant swordy well
When in round oaks narrow lane as the south got black again
We sought the hollow ash that was shelter from the rain
With our pockets full of peas we had stolen from the grain
How delicious was the dinner time on such a showry day
O words are poor receipts for what time hath stole away
The ancient pulpit trees and the play

When for school oer ‘little field’ with its brook and wooden
    brig
Where I swaggered like a man though I was not half so big
While I held my little plough though twas but a willow twig
And drove my team along made of nothing but a name
‘Gee hep’ and ‘hoit’ and ‘woi’—O I never call to mind
These pleasant names of places but I leave a sigh behind
While I see the little mouldywharps hang sweeing to the wind
On the only aged willow that in all the field remains
And nature hides her face where theyre sweeing in their
    chains
And in a silent murmuring complains

Here was commons for the hills where they seek for
    freedom still
Though every commons gone and though traps are set to ****
The little homeless miners—O it turns my ***** chill
When I think of old ’sneap green’ puddocks nook and hilly
    snow
Where bramble bushes grew and the daisy gemmed in dew
And the hills of silken grass like to cushions to the view
When we threw the pissmire crumbs when we’s nothing
    else to do
All leveled like a desert by the never weary plough
All vanished like the sun where that cloud is passing now
All settled here for ever on its brow

I never thought that joys would run away from boys
Or that boys would change their minds and forsake such
    summer joys
But alack I never dreamed that the world had other toys
To petrify first feelings like the fable into stone
Till I found the pleasure past and a winter come at last
Then the fields were sudden bare and the sky got overcast
And boyhoods pleasing haunts like a blossom in the blast
Was shrivelled to a withered **** and trampled down and
    done
Till vanished was the morning spring and set that summer
    sun
And winter fought her battle strife and won

By Langley bush I roam but the bush hath left its hill
On cowper green I stray tis a desert strange and chill
And spreading lea close oak ere decay had penned its will
To the axe of the spoiler and self interest fell a prey
And cross berry way and old round oaks narrow lane
With its hollow trees like pulpits I shall never see again
Inclosure like a Buonaparte let not a thing remain
It levelled every bush and tree and levelled every hill
And hung the moles for traitors—though the brook is
    running still
It runs a naked brook cold and chill

O had I known as then joy had left the paths of men
I had watched her night and day besure and never slept agen
And when she turned to go O I’d caught her mantle then
And wooed her like a lover by my lonely side to stay
Aye knelt and worshipped on as love in beautys bower
And clung upon her smiles as a bee upon her flower
And gave her heart my poesys all cropt in a sunny hour
As keepsakes and pledges to fade away
But love never heeded to treasure up the may
So it went the comon road with decay

The mysterious stranger rode into town with nonchalant style,
And entered the saloon for a drink and to stay a short while.
Our Hero wandered over and gave a quick glance,
And thought to himself, "this fools got no chance."
But he quickly realized he was the fool as he looked the man in his eyes,
He saw no fear, no angst. The man was Death in disguise.
For this man's lost everything, he truly had nothin',
This was our Hero's most dangerous test, so he'd better not be bluffin'.
Without another sound, not a whisper nor a word,
The two men swaggered off to the towns gathering courtyard.
For what seemed like an eternity, they stared each other down,
Not sure who's peacemaker would deliver the final round.
Then as quick as flash, the two men finally drew,
And from each piece's barrel, smoke and fire blew.
With cold fingers wrapped around cold steel,
There was no other single feeling to that of death that could ever feel so real.
When the haze cleared, our hero grinned, but then fell to the ground,
The young man's life ebbed away with one last fleeting sound.
The Mysterious stranger, with a subtle laugh, eyed his bloodstained cuff,
And said, "well kid i knew you'd give me a run, but you just weren't quick enough."
Soon the crowd could tell who had found there little town,
This man was a legend, but when it came to calm life, there wasn't one to be found.
He's said to have taken at least 50 rounds, all ripped through his chest,
But no one could ever lay him out, he was unfortunately the best.
Day by day, his life went on, but to him this was no life,
For every day he'd **** to live, to survive another hopeless strife.
The Legend rode away, but the despair he left still lingers,
This is his reality, the tragedy of the gunslinger.

A poet shy shuffled into my office
She placed her poem on my desks farthest corner
This is my very best work, said she timidly
I looked it up and down nerveously
This will certainly die, said i
She looked me up and down nerveously and began to cry
And sprinted out the door
What a waste i thought of this "poet"

Another day a poet very mad swaggered into my nook
He ****** his poem at my feet
This is my very, very, best work, said he loudly
I peered at it very briefly
This is very, very, bad
He lingered briefly and with hardly a friendly word
And swaggered out
I had nothing nice to think of this "poet"

But just today a poet kind, a poet clever walked into my home
He put his poem into my hand
this is my favorite work said he kindly, cleverly
I read it through calmly
This is my favorite too said i
He shook my hand and thanked me calmly and walked out the door
That is a true poet i thought

There was an elegant *****, from New York City
Or maybe Rome or New Orleans.
He was a spectacular ***, but didn't do drag at all;
Falling somewhere in between that category
Of glorious ladies and men of the day.
A queen with no throne nor entourage scene,
Camouflaging himself in skin-tight trousers,
Spectacular coats and jackets,
Packets of sachet in his pockets
To give him a scent of an unusual gent.
As if he had a choice in the matter.

He had a delicate way with his manner,
His hands and his eyes touching gracefully
As if not to disturb the dust on the mind,
Often very unkind, he used his tongue slicing
And dicing those who offended his senses
When such dared to step on his train
Invisibly dragging behind him, around him
Keeping his visitors at bay, a few feet away
Like proper subjects, courtiers to his grace
His face locked in a grin; hiding all within
The secrets protected by laden witticisms
Criticisms if you misbehave, saving smiles;
Handing out compliments like cookies.

There was always a waving of hands,
The arms caught in the wind like cornstalks.
For a moment. Then catching, ending like feathers
Settling together, resting as if cradling a baby
One hip thrown out, the head to one side
As if listening; hearing a devil's good joke,
Smoking a constant cigarette, the ends never wet
Laying the tip on the lip like a kiss
His face slightly lifted so the smoke will drift
Away from his half-lidded cynical eyes.

The talk could be varied, of Tom, **** or Harry
He would call women men and vice versa
Saying, Robert is a ***** woman is she.
He then waiting your laughter, hesitating
Seldom laughing himself, having said it all
Heard it all, done it all, had them all

No fertile male soil left unspoiled by his touch
Just entirely too much for one man to handle,
No woman to compare, he lived alone somewhere
Coming to the bars each night, a familiar sight
Drinking, but not seeming drunk,
Never sunk so low that he staggered,
Still swaggered after hours at the trough
Not so much as a slur or a cough.

He knew all the jokes that could be made
From a seemingly innocent mistake
Taking a word here and there and trading
Raising a regal eyebrow, somehow changing
Restating the meaning leaning it toward the crotch
Watching the listener's face, sensing the disgrace;
Granting himself the luxury of the infrequent howl
His majesty could keen like an un-oiled machine
Setting his victim's nerves and gooseflesh to snap
Giving his udderless chest a slap, he would go on
Make more of the jest, leave his victim no rest
And the mourners to offer their apologies.
Words such as that are not for ladies
Such as this infamous old queen.

The old spirit held on after the body was near gone
Propelling it nightly to appear on the scene.
Mean children would taunt him, just as he taught them
And waving their arms like cornstalks, cackle like hens
And tease him again, then resume cruising the men
Hurting the once regal spirit more with their disdain
Than beating him, or cheating him; ignoring him,
They dealt him a blow he never could abide
That fear he kept inside, all those years, the tears,
Still left un-cried, after he died, in his room somewhere.
He has left to be shared, the way he fluffed his hair,
The off-color joke, spoken in a strange lady's voice
Something like a boy's, not like a man's;
That flutter of the hands and the stance
Still copied today, by the splinter-group gays
That straight people think we all are
Is all that remains of a star once seen;
The seldom lamented, well-imitated, eternal queen.

With the curves of her body,
Ten thousand men could fall.
A vision so sublime,
Swaggered into the bar.
Oh, her perfume!
Her perfectly painted lips!
The hypnotizing eyes!.....
smote the drooling regulars.
"Guarana". She ordered.
"No ****, Amarula on my bill"
Offered the usually quiet Baba Jemo.
"And a pack of Guarana to take home"
Added 'Fisi' Johny the local mechanic.
With a smile that could melt Antarctica's ice,
She accepted the two stooges' offer.
Just as they were marrying their stools to her's
There bounced in a striking gentleman
"Sorry honey, i was caught in traffic.
Can we go to a better pub?"
With Amarula on her right hand,
A twelve pack of Guarana on his left,
They legged it out holding hands,
Leaving my silly two thunderstruck,
As I handed them the bill.

As I sank in my raging sea, you were my rock.

I was at my dead end, when you swaggered into my life.

You said I was f....ing hot, game on!  
I am a true heart...no game.

As I sank in my raging sea, you were my rock.

Oh how I loved my rock.
NO ONE stood a chance in my heart.
There was only room in my soul for my rock.
No one even got on my radar, you were my rock.

I loved my rock so solid, so real, so strong and so loving.
My rock the only place I could rest, where I could finally breathe.

How I loved my rock, so many sharks circled me but you were my rock.
and then...
My rock crumbled.
Left me alone, left me lonely, left me forever.

My rock left me flat on my face in the dirt.
I was a game, a joke, an option.

My rock was never real, and I am alone in my sea of tears
You are my rock no more...

It could have been a pleasant Monday.
We sat outdoors and ate our sandwiches.
It was crisp October, and we were on a dig.
Earlier, we had used the transit to measure
teepee rings from the nomad Cree tribe
that once lived and loved here.
You'd found the marker stones.
I'd found a stone tool.

But now we sit having lunch in the tepid sun.
I looked at you and saw a young man
who swaggered with false confidence.
You wore an army jacket,though we were just 16.
Your hair was red, and a little curly.
Your eyes melted me, -robin's egg blue.
I looked at your hands still holding the paper
and I saw between the freckles on your wrist
a blue vein.

Without ability to stop myself I touched you there.
And then my mind whirled.
For the first time-
suddenly, I was in your blood,
your heart, your mind!
You were just as jolted as I was,
and we have never been the same.

40 years later. We write on your birthday.
You ask about my mother.
Do you ever say my name?

lens is ancient and crusted with a film of
old blood of the skies and
liquidy fragments of soul that fall from eyes
souls that brush up against the glass
again and again:

the woman with hot black nest of hair
and strange greyish (bone grey flesh) that was
my muse in the winter of nineteen
when she swaggered between warm pockets,
smoked in her t-shirt and apron-
blades of wind
carving out of her
a masterpiece

woman with brown brown riverstone
eyes, settled in bruisy crescents. woman
with the stones (petrified ghosts) that
swung heavily from her neck, my muse in the spring
of nineteen in the trees heart wrapped in musky fabric and
feet wrapped in leather. god she was
beautiful:cloaked in the reddened husk
of shrinking sunlight, hands curled around
my every word

muse in the summer of nineteen. man with
ruthless, undefined lips, long body charcoal
smudged by a sweaty thumb edges nonexistent
neverspoke of evil never heard of
the brand of love i made
came and went without a sound-

flock of blackbirds, oceanheave,
death parting her lips

Her eyes a steelyard grey,watched me in the bar today,saw me drink,made me think there'd be hell to pay if I said hello and offered to buy her a bourbon or rye and then she swaggered up to me and said,'anytime you're free hunk, you're welcome to take a chunk ,a slice,I'm nice, of me,be my guest and don't be shy,you're not shy are you guy?'

I left rapido, head held real low and ears turned red by other things the steelyard grey eyed woman said.
I'm not a ***** but she was downright rotten rude and anyway what would my mam say,if I took a girl like that to Mothers flat for tea?

She'd say,
I'm mad,that girl is bad, best get shot of that bad lot and there's not a lot that I can say
except she was kind of **** in a steelyard grey way.

I can not forget the very first time i set eyes on you.
My heart was in a whirl as you mov'd closer to me.
Enchant'd may i have been, yet modest and true.
If i, wanton and impolite as i be, should have a fancy for 'ee,
I could have for my own eyes caused such a great pleasure.
For you were such a fair sight to the modest eyes.
Nay one man's eyes missed 'ee as swaggered.
J'ining the crowds, proud o' yourself med 'ee have been.
I miss those fair days, ol' Marygreen, by the weather spoiled were we.
'Twas i to seek 'ee, my being heart-tender, hurt to hope.
I oughtn't to hope for God's grace as you whisper'd my name,
Yet 'twas only what had troubled me.

My dear Sue, thine anger upon me was wanton.
As swiftly raged at me, unto me being surpris'd.
I love thee, may not i unto God be made
a saint.
Had i determined my course of action.
I could have been tolerable unto thine eyes.
My heart to pledge as of yore, yet torn and misled upon your path.
Alas! Don't 'ee charm-veiled come to conquer my heart as to setting about planning another journey not to be done.
Before God, and angels, though cast into agony,
'twas me unto whom you came when dark.
My Sue.... My dearest Sue....

i have no idea how many hours she toiled
in the community kitchen before i arrived,
but she’d made a *** of tofu stew, a bowl
of rice and beans, some spinach lasagna
soaked in marinara, hummus
and daiya cheese sandwiches.
diligent and dutiful,
without question,
without expectation.

an hour later, we stood in Lykes Gaslight Park,
doling out food to the houseless folks
who’d lined up for a vegan meal
when, out of the blue, a well-dressed
college student swaggered up to us,
his smile shimmering, and asked
what we were doing.

she brushed a loose strand
of hair behind one ear,
smearing a bit of sauce
across her cheek,
and said, “we are here to live
as if we are already free.”

they were sharing food too,
he explained, which was all well
and good. but we couldn’t help but notice
they’d never set foot here in the past,
that they only came out
when the season
passed into the holidays.

“you know,” he told us,
“you might not realize,
but the Lord Jesus Christ
is using you for the gospel.”
which seemed rather strange,
given that he’d be back
in his sanctuary before the year
was out, raising his hands
and praising his dead god
instead of standing beside us
every Tuesday and Saturday,
sharing.

but we remember the legacy
of the radical Nazarene,
the anarchic revolutionary
who fed five thousand—
a conquest of bread
with nothing but a few loaves
and some fish.
if you listen closely,
you can still hear him whispering,
“take what you need,
give what you can.”

we carry a new world
in our hearts and heads.
we don’t feed the hungry
to win a one-way trip to heaven.  
so when you forget
about the poor you use as a prop,
we godless few will remain
in the streets until every belly’s full
and capitalism collapses—
risking arrest, fighting abuse,
addiction and empty stomachs.

I remember as a quiet child
The summer days upon the grass laid
Banks of a timid stream
Sitting cross-legged, bending
To stroke the muddy waters
With a part of forgotten wood
And all around the warmth of
The summer's glowing sun

An intake of breath would
Bring the scent of tall trees
Bounding to my favorite nest.
footsteps followed shallow paths
That meandered to and from
The stream which gurgled as a child
In excited and gay temperament

I did then pause in rapture of my sense
And touch a life of serene sublime
A tender moment to solitude
Yet as I sat flat upon the grass
A gentle butterfly swaggered
In its pride of showy acrobatics
White and blissful in balance
With my sun-filled dreams

Nature showered in a halo of blushes
Collected the dusty corn colors of summer
And sprinkled then at my feet
For a secret wish for me to dare
Then... through my reverie
I heard some voices cheer
Some boys scuttled the biggest log there
back into the stream it sped
Some part cooled in water
Some part basked in sun

I recall the echo of buzzing beetles
That zoomed across the water
And were hidden by the distance
On the other side
Some dragonflies hovered with curiosity
In some infrequent time
The red and green of their wings
Seems now lost to me
They shimmered like chrome
Of tireless helicopters

This was a busy side to my young years
What with barges of driftwood
And scurrying air-traffic
Yet the call of the water birds
Stayed only after the sun had set
And leafy foliage lingered in silhouette
The birds crossed the sky with
To me a mournful cry
As a reminder the day had said goodbye

Yet little did I realize then
That in flowering adulthood
I would return to those summer days in sweet lament
And cherish that moment of child content.

Fate in oblique wisdom gave,
A lonely soul a gentle heart.
Lost, he sought a love to save
What hope life had torn apart.

In time he saw her facade cave,
And felt her tenderly impart
A meaning to him that would pave
His path to glory; A legend's start.

A champion, proud, saw just a knave;
A tool to use, then take apart.
Into the ring, Creed swaggered brave;
What lay in wait was Rocky's heart.

I took the short cut down to Marble Street the other day
to remind me of the cafe' where we met in May
We could of written our cute meet for the screen
just like a couple being filmed for a romantic scene...
I was wearing black n' white with my lacy jacquard tights
You were handsome wearing blue with your matching saddle shoes
That's when..
you winked at me above your book, and, then you looked away--
then I took you by surprise n' I smiled right into your eyes
and, then I looked away--
Oh, in a playful way---
That's when...
You swaggered so cooly up to me just as courteous as can be
but I pretended not to hear playing the naughty girl you see...
Yes, I was naughty I was bad cause I wanted you to chase after me ---
That's when...
I got up with my book tossing you that flirtatious look
that's when I knew I had you by the hook
because I watched the way you shook
then I reached out for your hand
I said,
I'm a woman that knows what she wants n' I won't tease n' I won't taunt
That's when you said,
I'm a man who understands, and I'll give you all the love I can,
Now we're...
taking the short cut down to Marble Street on this sunny day
and, it's been ten years in the month of May
You know, it's the little things you say
that makes me so happy you looked my way
Baby, there's no one else that brings so much happiness n' peace
you've brought joy into my life
I'm so grateful you're my wife...

That's when...
I melt right into you...

Pet’s Revenge
For example a Dachshund dog was thrown 5 floors to his death
The owner photographed this and posted it online
His dog looked like he was sleeping but was dead

I tracked the Dachshund Dog’s Killer down and killed him
I put him in an 80s violent video game with block graphics
I hit him with a stabbing dagger in both shoulders
Then machete chopped half of his pinto skull off
Finally finishing him off with a flick knife in the gut

Next there was the case of the animal rescue centre
9 pussycats were murdered for no real reason
Except they were living in the centre

I drove up to the animal sanctuary in a Technical
I beeped and they opened the gates and I saw him
The Pussycat Murderer who swaggered about like a real man
I aimed my remote control 50 Cal gun with my PS2 controller
And popped the ******* with a hundred 50 Cal Raufoss rounds

A woman cut the foot off her dog with a machete
Because the dog annoyed his owner
All this was filmed and posted online

I found the Limping Woman who made her dog painfully limp
I said Hi and smirked then tightly tied her up
And had my way with her 25 times in a calendar day
Her ***** was sore and needed stitching due to the table leg
As did her feet when I sliced off all her **** toes

Most bizarre of all was the small dog
Who was partly skinned alive by his owner
This dog was rescued and given treatment

Dog Skinner was a hard man to find but not hard in a fight
I threw him a knife and said, ‘Skin me or be maimed...’
His lunges were slow and unskilled and embarrassing
I blocked them with one hand and closed my eyes
I snapped his spine with one single side kick

And a man drove his car and threw out his dog
Like a bit of trash with duct taped up feet and muzzle
The cops rescued the dog and jailed the man

I impersonated a Police Officer and ‘apprehended’ the suspect
Who had just been released from jail for leaving his pet dog for dead
He let me into his house and I Tasered the ******* and duct taped him up
I dragged Dog Duct Tape Man to my fake squad car and put him in the trunk
I drove him to a secluded spot and did a very enjoyable EJK

I enjoyed each and every act of Pet’s Revenge and ******
This is my new job and I always enjoy it and get away with it
I have backing from Big Brother and the Illuminated People

Tufts of shamrock lea
tickling the back of my feet
as I my honey orbs
darted across
the meadow of elusive hope.

His smile so proud
of his moves so smooth
the shard pieces of my heart
I threw to apprise him
of the colors of my soul
that began to blend
since the moment I saw him
across the field of flimsy chance.

He swaggered his way
through the obstacles ahead
smirked when he took note
of the flies that hovered above
but not the fawn of honey orbs
that watched him across the field.

THAT mad ocean dancing the Charleston
Her waves, waltzing upon the disco floor,

Her reel in twirls and swirls with itself
Bopping, swooning She is sure in her ways,
fox-trotting along horizons,
Her legs assiduous, that ocean I declare
A tender cruel woman, or a woman
Plainly everywhere, plainly nowhere

No matter what song they played
She swung and swayed in each tune's *****,
*****, blossom and she swaggered across
Where the sands lay shells to rest
No chart hit or smash
But whispered sweet nothings, sweet everythings.