I stare at the crowd
rapid breath intakes
sweaty palms
I can't do this

I look back at her
telling her I can't do it
don't overreact
she says

my heartbeat is deafening
faster
faster
as if it wants to escape

I can do this
I think
but i know I can't

I'll fail
fail
f a i l

I feel nauseous
why am i so stupid
all I have to do is go there
just walk
**** it
why am i afraid?

I can do this,
I convince myself again
but my heart and sweaty palms
told me otherwise  

I look back to her again
with my pleading eyes
on the verge of crying

it's so simple
how can you fail,
everyone else can do it
she says

simple for her,
but I am not her
nor everyone else

why are you forcing me?

i bite my lip,
so hard that it's bleeding

I stammer
but- I - can't-do- it

why can't you understand?

It's 3 am and you're restless again. Your thoughts wander briskly through the fields of memories of him and you find yourself picking each one and holding it delicately in your palm. The lights from the streetlamps outside your window peek through the blinds and illuminate synthetic stars onto your ceiling which you count like each kiss he ever placed on your cheek. Your legs are wrapped up in your sheets like the way they used to tangle around his ankles every evening. You roll onto your side and attempt to close your eyes once more, calling out to a peaceful slumber that has been evading you for weeks when suddenly, you hear a whistle in the distance. You open your eyes again to see the stars growing into spotlights that threaten to swallow you like black holes, but without the mystery. You immediately grab your wrists out of fear that you unconsciously took a blade to them but you are greeted by scars that have been forming for approximately three years (and eleven months). Your heart threatens to pound its fist through your chest as you slowly turn to see what the source of the light is. Just as your shoulders align with your mattress, a man steps from what appears to be a train engine and greets you with a nod of his head.
"Good evening, sleeping beauty," he begins sweetly, "I have come to extend an invitation to the night train."
You bring your hands to your eyes and attempt to wipe the hallucination away from your vision but when you open them again, you see the man gazing intently.
"It is my understanding that this is your first meeting with the night train," he states as he waits for you to supply an answer.
You nod your head.
"Well, my dear, the night train is here to offer a sweet elixir to cure this sleepless evening. You see, the night train's purpose is to supply the recipient ("that's you," he says behind his hand) exactly twenty minutes of time spent anywhere of their choosing. And then, once the time is up, the recipient must board the train once more, and will be met with approximately eight hours of uninterrupted slumber." He pauses as an assurance that you are following along, so you nod your head slightly. "However, the catch, you see, is that if the recipient does not board the train at the end of the twenty minutes, they will find themselves trapped in a restless oblivion with the promise of never again finding the comfort of sleep." A slight smile tugs at his lips as he tilts his head out of sympathy. "This may not seem to be much of a threat considering you are currently wrapped up tightly in your bed, but I assure you it will be tempting to remain within the place of your choosing, despite the whistle of the night train."
Unsure of what else to do, you nod your head once more.
"Alas, now we must be on our way, because the countdown begins in exactly three minutes! So I urge you to think quickly of where you would like to be taken!"
As though the train has suddenly run into your chest, the meaning of the opportunity that has been placed in front of you knocks the wind out of you. Before the conductor even finished his sentence, you knew exactly where you wanted to go, so you swing your legs to the side of the bed and push yourself upright.
"I would like to be taken to July 13th at precisely 2:32 in the morning," you say quickly as you flatten your restless hair to your head and straighten the t-shirt you are wearing.
"Very well, very well. Now board the train, my dear. And we'll be off to the morning of July 13th, but I urge you not to forget your time limit of twenty minutes!" He places his hand on your back and ushers you into the train, guiding you to a red velvet seat lined with golden stitching. Once you are comfortable, he disappears into the cabin and blows the whistle before pulling out of the station that is your bedroom.
With no warning at all, you feel a tightening in the pit of your stomach and before you even have time to clench, you are sitting on a rooftop overlooking a vibrant city.
"I just don't know anymore. It's like- It's like everything I once knew has been flipped upside-down and I'm just expected to be okay with it. But I'm not."
You blink a few times in an effort to adjust to the sudden deja-vu that causes your head to swim in the memory of an evening you have constantly waded in.
He is sitting with one leg tucked beneath him and the other dangling over the edge, as though even his limbs can't decide whether they want to take the fatal plunge or not. His hair was always absent of color, the kind of black that made you question the material of the universe because even the night sky couldn't compare to the degree of darkness; but it seemed to be doing just that as it laid haphazardly across his pale forehead. His bony fingers are clutching a nearly empty bottle of gin which he brings to his lips between sentences. He continues speaking as though you didn't just appear out of thin air beside him.
"My mum doesn't even pretend to understand anymore. I've heard her mention boarding school at least three times this week, despite my constant refusal to even speak of it. She knows the walls in the apartment are paper thin, so I know she brings it up because she knows I can hear it. But I don't want to hear it."
You notice the vacant look in his eyes as he stares into the horizon, like a hotel room that has been emptied of every belonging, including the light bulbs. He uses his free hand to adjust the collar of his leather jacket before taking another swig of the gin.
"I just can't stay there anymore, and she knows that. Deep down, she knows I can't stay there now that he's gone. I just can't."
His voice is as hollow as his chest as he uses his tongue to wet his lips before turning his head slightly to look at you.
"I wish you could come with me, I really do. It would be quite the adventure, the kind that we used to dream of having. But I can only afford one ticket out of town."
He places the bottle on the ledge, dangerously close to the edge, before resting his sweaty palm on your exposed thigh. His eyes travel from your legs to your forehead, and he leans forward to place a kiss on it, but he misses and falls into your lips. Just like before, your hands land on either side of his face, catching him before he falls completely, and you suddenly find yourself exploring the warm cavern of his vulnerability. His tongue swirls around your own and you taste the bite of the alcohol on his breath but this is the moment you have always craved so you soak up every bit of it. He pulls away just as your heart starts to tremble, and he wipes his mouth with his sleeve before picking the bottle up again and stealing a drink.
"I wish you could come with me," he says again, his eyes now focused on the street below. "But I fear I can only afford one ticket out of town."
Just then, you hear a whistle, but the timing isn't right. This is the moment you would have died to change, and now you've been given a second opportunity, but you can feel it slipping away.
You lean towards him, softly placing your hand on his arm.
"Come with me. We can go anywhere in the world that you please, and I promise it'll be better than here or there if we're together. Because I can't go where you're going, because I can't pay that price, but I want to go away with you, I do."
You search his empty expression, hoping to grab some string of familiarity that you can use to pull him back to reality, but his eyes are locked on the parallel lines beneath.
The whistle grows louder, this time stinging your eardrums, and you know that your time is running short, but you can't let him go.
"You don't have to go back to your apartment, you don't have to go back to your mum. We can runaway tonight, together. You and me, just the way it was always meant to be."
Your voice is shaking and desperate, getting louder with each word that you speak as the whistle blows from behind you, threatening to leave.
Just then, a hand falls upon your shoulder, and for a second you allow yourself to glance over, and it is in that second that the body before you tips over the rooftop's edge. Your heart falls like a weight in your stomach, just like on the evening this event first occurred, anchoring you to the cement and preventing you from going after him. The conductor who now stands behind you grabs your torso and pulls you backwards as you scream his name into the night sky. You kick against his hold as he drags you back onto the train and into the velvet seat again.
This time, you were unable to hear his body land on the pavement.
This time, you weren't able to look down and see his hands lying ten feet away from the rest of his body.
This time, you didn't get to perch on the edge and contemplate for hours joining him.
This time, you couldn't blame yourself for being speechless, for letting him be the star of his shining moment, because you attempted to be his Juliet.
You didn't realize you were still screaming until the conductor grabbed your shoulders with his hands and shook you quickly.
"Quiet my dear, I fear it is time to go. And I was unwilling to allow you to remain any longer, but I fear you will only be receiving six hours of peaceful slumber."
You look at him sternly, unsure how he can continue to speak of this ****** night train and its guidelines after you just watched the love of your life commit suicide for the second time.
You take a deep breath before speaking, "I don't understand the point of this, why bring me here if I couldn't change anything? Why allow me to relive this if it didn't make a difference?"
He smiles sympathetically before beginning, "oh but it did. You see, for three and a half years you have been tossing and turning, wondering what you would have done differently and if you would have been able to change it. But you see, the past isn't something that can be changed. It can only be relived again and again within the minds of those who continue to contain it, and the pain of the past and the memories that come along with it will feel just as real as the day they happened if you continue to dwell on them. Eventually you will see that tonight made a significant difference, because you were finally able to recreate the scenario that you always dreamed."
Your mind is running at a faster speed than the train as it makes its way back to your bedroom, and you can't seem to comprehend what the conductor is saying.
"So you're telling me that the whole reason behind this was to show me that he was going to die whether or not I tried to convince him otherwise?"
He places a gentle hand on your shaking shoulder and replies, "the reason behind this was to allow you to finally put the past behind you and grant yourself the pleasure of peaceful slumber. Because you see, my dear, there is no such thing as the night train. It is merely a figment of your imagination. Deep inside you, you realize that nothing you said could have changed that night, but you needed to dream another possibility in order to believe it. Now believe it."
"But I-" you begin to speak but in the blink of an eye, you're suddenly sitting on the side of your bed, your shoulders no longer shaking. You blink again, trying to make sense of everything. You bring your hands to your face and feel your cheeks, reassuring yourself that you still exist. You look around once more, noticing the stars upon your ceiling twinkling as though they are winking at you like the conductor of a mysterious night train. But you realize that you are in your bedroom, in your t-shirt, as though you never moved beyond that point. And you find that you're unsure whether it was all a dream, or whether you really did go for a ride on a night train, but you decide to lie back down and attempt to sleep anyways.
And six hours later, you find yourself awaking from a very peaceful slumber.

(athena)
        the sweaty, jacked-up summer is approaching quick
        fired from the mouth of april
        like a bullet from a handgun

(aphrodite)
       we are fast, beautiful
       ***** like gasoline on someone’s palm
       ***** like fences that hold gardens of shredded tires
       ***** like blood dried on the sidewalk in the shape of a
       tightened fist

(athena)
       ***** sneakers and ***** hair
    
(aphrodite)
       with shampoo that never got washed all the way out

(athena)
       ***** because of how we love

(aphrodite)
       sharp-beautiful-longing!

(athena)
       with our hands on other girls’ knees and thighs
       like birds out of their cage
       or the statue of liberty punching her light
       into a sky that holds as much desire
       as it holds stars

(aphrodite)
        nameless-bursting-burning!

(athena)
       rough and sweet and fresh from hell
       crawling to emancipation
       just wanting to love
       just wanting to live

(aphrodite)
       just wanting to move her hair out of her face
       with our thumbs

(athena)
     asking to be allowed to want
     what we are not supposed to have

(aphrodite)
     quivering        

(athena)
       hot and sweaty like little kids under the covers
       with a flashlight reading
       harold and the purple crayon
      
(aphrodite)
       but there is no flashlight this time

(athena)
       and no picture book

Mom makes you smile for a picture in front of the bus
on your very first day of school,
"You only have one first day of kindergarten!" she says.
But every time you hear the scratching of leather seats,
You are back to that day
When tears rolled off your tiny pink cheeks,
onto the front of your Lion King tee shirt
The first time you ever had to be afraid that you
would never see her again.

Brother tells you not to worry about the boy that bothered you,
the impact of a fist on his right eye is a warning
that guarantees he'll never disrespect a girl again.
But every time you step in the pebbles on a playground,
You're still struggling to run just slow enough not to slip
yet fast enough to keep from being caught and held captive
by the first boy to ever kiss you without permission.

Grandma tells you to "appreciate today" every day
because you'll never get it back.
But every time you hear the crash of waves against a shoreline,
You're there with her in your favorite place in the world.
And the sun is overhead with looks of never coming down,
But you'd be okay if it did because you swear these colors of
the sunset don't exist when you see it from anywhere else
And you never feel so close to God as you feel right here.

Dad is sad when you're growing up
because you'll only be little once.
But every time you get the surprising scent of metal and grease,
You're five years old again and dad is getting home from work
and he lifts you up in a hug and you bury your face in his shirt and breathe in,
And you're confident that he will carry you to bed later that night
on that same shoulder when you fall asleep on the couch.

You're told over and over to forgive
and your mother keeps trying, too.
But every time a green van passes by,
you're a vulnerable twelve-year-old with a record that says easy prey
and you're back at that police station and you're both still crying
and forgiveness still seems so far away.

Everyone tells you that "first love"
is something you only feel once.
But every time September rolls around,
You're still staring back into the first eyes to look at you in awe,
His palms feel sweaty in yours but you don't mind.
And you can still taste his lips and smell the sweet mint Stride on his breath
and you feel everything.

It’s strange how they promise that you can't turn back time,

yesterday is gone,

today will only happen once.

Because I go back all the time;
And I still feel everything.

An action. Never-ending.  
It's the way I love because I love the wrong way.
I lust for items, I lust for touch.
Most of all, I lust for us to be chest to chest.
With ragged breathing, sweaty palms.
Wet lips and all thought gone.
No gentle whispers.
No soft clutch.
To be held tight. To be kissed rough.
I do not lust for hand holding or that over used, three worded phrase.
The only three words I lust for are 'I want you'.
The only whisper be our skin brushing together.
Nails raking down your back.
A sigh of ecstasy at a long-awaited ******.
And when my body hungers for more,
Lust will call you back to my door.

laying in his arms, huddled up right beside his chest
next thing you know we're kissing, while he's touching my breast
grabbing onto my waist, his hand running down my back
he's playing with my hair, while whispering down my neck

sirens going off in my brain, telling me to run
"run as fast as you can, you are not the only one"
his touch was an indicator for me to leave, but i didn't know how
temporary affection is what held me back, so i thought "it's only for now"

his hand was like a vacuum, every touch ****** bits of my soul away
i knew deep down his desire for my body was the reason he wanted to stay
the more he said he "fell" for me, the more i became sweaty
sweaty with genuine anxiety, for the fact that all i felt was empty

i gave every reason i could to leave but he twisted each excuse in his own way
"it's just a phase of emptiness & numbness you're going through, please stay"
every opportunity i grasped onto to escape
just led to me having my mouth covered with tape

not even self sabotage could free me from his control
so i decided to permanently walk away, but in my heart remained a hole
i constantly asked myself why i stayed when i couldn't feel a connection
but i realized he gave me what daddy didn't: just some affection

Having ripped my way through
Concrete older than my father
With jackhammer and
Shovel
I rest. As thirsty as sweaty and *****
As dirt.
Across the street
The ladies at the hair salon
Whistle and wave giggling girishly.
Clouds of menthol.
**** sexists.
I put my shirt back on.
It's not even lunch and I'm
Less than a Diet Coke ad
Without the coke.

He woke up
next to the empty spot
where Wonder Woman had been.
He puked in the toilet
slammed down a forty-ounce Miller High Life
and started putting the suit on.
boots
the gray and black tights
the gloves
the yellow utility belt
and the cape.
It was leather.
He put the cowl
under his arm and left his apartment.
It was a late start
nearly noon
by the time
the bus got him to
Mann's Chinese Theater.
He saw a lot of his
friends and colleges
as the bus went down to his stop.
It was a regular day
all the characters were
in their usual little groups.
Spider-Man & Captain America
two Mormon boys that had been
excommunicated from the church
they got caught **** *******
each other
now they were stuck in Hollywood
like everyone else.
The X-Men
or H-Men as most people called them
were a group of junkies.
One of them had a cousin at Fox
and they got four replica X-Men costumes.
So that's how they scored
their junk everyday
garnered pretty good tips from the tourists.
Cyclops, Jean-Grey, Storm, and Wolverine.
It was a good grift. **** good idea.
Then you had the impersonators
plastic surgery freaks
obsessed with Michael Jackson
creepy bald men dressed as Dr. Evil
and there was always
a lazy fat guy
that would do Elvis.
Not know any of the songs
and saying the catch phrases all wrong,
"Well, thank you Ma'am....thank you so much."
Those guys never lasted too long.
The cutesy cartoon characters
were almost always
pedophiles or ******* ladies.
The horror people were hands down
the most bat-**** insane of the lot.
They got into the most fights
they terrorized the kids
and they talked a lot of ****.
Would bate guys into fights.
Michael Myers would always start ****
with guys that had beautiful women with them.
It was ****** up.
The LAPD took away Freddy Kruger last month
for beating up a guy
right in front of his kids.
There was talk from the cops
about shutting down their whole thing down.
Making it illegal to dress up in costumes
and get tips.
'Panhandling' as the office had said.
But
Batman hung out with
Superman & Wonder Woman
while doing his thing.
The night before
Wonder Woman and him
had been drinking, smoking, and
they ****** once
before she asked him
what she needed to.
"We got two new guys starting tomorrow."
"What?"
"Yeah. They came up to me on the street today,
wanted to know if they could hang with us."
"Wha? What? Well...do they have costumes?"
"Yeah." She said, exhaling smoke, wrapped in the sheet on the bed.
"These guys got a Green Lantern and a Robin costume. Really good quality,
they showed me pictures. Hey, you finally got a Robin now! Isn't that great?"
"****...I don't know Diana...I was kinda liking our little *******.
"Oh come on, Bruce. It'll be good." She said, wrapping her arms around him
as he sat on the edge of the book, looking out the window.
"We can finally get the big, group tips. Like what the H-Men got going."
"Alright. That's fine."
And the next day
there they were,
Green Lantern & Robin.
Wonderful costumes, like she said
their hair color and overall appearance
spot on.
"Hey there!"
"Hello. Robin. Green Lantern."
Their gloved hands all shook.
They got acquainted and he couldnt help but like them.
Nice guys, musicians, Rockabilly guys, from Venice.
They went out into
the crowd of people
Superman's voice booming over the crowd
telling everyone that they're safe from
evil and wrong doers, blah, blah, blah,
the usual ******* that Superman always said.
Batman yelled to Robin over the enclosing crowd.
They were now fully entrenched by people
fat & sweaty
Batman's panic attack took over.
"COME ON!" He shouted over the rising crowd noise.
The dynamic duo
shoved & pushed
parting the sea of fat tourists
and breaking out onto the sidewalk.
"What's up, Batman?" Robin asked
looking up to him.
The size difference was just like in the comics
Robin was a little guy.
"I just needed to get outta there. Let's go take a lap
down Hollywood Boulevard...see what kinda cash we can grab."
"Okay, Batman."
They walked
up and down
the walk of fame
posing for a few pictures
making some kids day
with wide-eyed excitement
that will be with them forever.
They made forty bucks too.
"Alright, that's good for now. Let's grab a beer, Robin."
It was a small dive
on Hollywood Boulevard
they were two beers in
and Robin was learning a lot
about how Hollywood really was.
Some real talk from Batman to Robin.
"Yup. I moved out here in 1997. I saw that movie 'Swingers' and I thought...
I could do that, that could be my life, I want that."
"And what happened Bats?"
"Well...I came out here, went to film school, did everything I was told, and...
I still got ******." He said, taking a long pull from the bottle.
"Well what happened exactly?"
Robin's green glove, gripping the brown bottle
tilting it back, bubbles rising
"Well...ya see...when I was in film school, the instructors all told us...you either do your internship here in Hollywood or go to New York. Anywhere else and you won't be able to make it. That's what they said."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So I did my internship here in Hollywood and it was for nothing. The whole two years that I was at Faramount, I was never allowed to even touch any film equipment. Well, just to dust it off and clean it. But they didn't even try to teach me anything there. I just did food runs at lunch, got them their Starbucks in the morning, and took out the trash. Swept the parking lot, cleaned the toilets, I was a ******* janitor at that place. And you know what happened next?"
"Huh?"
"One day they just fired me. Just like that. After two years of being their ***** boy. So now I have $50,000 in student loans that I can't pay back, and a degree that got me nowhere."
"****." Robin said, finishing his beer.
"Yeah. So what do you do?"
"I'm in school for audio engineering."
"Ah...the music business eh?"
"Yeah, Batman."
"Hmm."
Batman grew silent then, just finishing his beer, and staring into the mirrored wall.
He wanted to say,
"I have 117 scripts sitting in a stack next to my t.v. That's eight screenplays a year. Robin, I've been at this for fourteen years and it doesn't get any better. I never stop trying and I keep at it, year after year. But I'm done. Get out while you
still can Robin. This city will eat you, **** you, **** you. If you still have a home, I suggest you go back to it."
Batman sat there, his beer finished, still staring straight ahead.
Robin pulled out a ten dollar bill, smiling, calling for the bartender
with that sparkle in his eye
of youth and hope.
He didn't want to say all that ****
crush that gleam in Robin's eye
like he once had.
Those were the best days
the great days
the glory days
to be young, handsome, poor, and hopeful
that you could make it
that it could happen.
So Batman didn't say another word about it.
Nope.
There were things
Robin would have to learn all on his own.

I'm really sweaty.
I'm really sorry
I read you such a heteronormative poem.
I thought it was beautiful and short.
I forgot
if I was a lesbian.

If it is trendy for me to like my same ***
I don't want to do it.
Some of us argued, on Lagrange, in Polish Village,
about whether I wasn't shaving because of ideology or
because it was annoying.
I said it was annoying, but I meant that the whole thing about it is annoying. Everything is annoying. I'm annoyed and cold but still sweating.

Sometimes I feel the same as when I am transplanting
fragile cucumbers into the ground with clumsy rubber
gloves, very graceless. I feel tenderness toward you
and disdain toward myself that I subtly impressed upon you.
I am sorry about that. I don't want to do that,
to her. I don't want to do that again.

I felt good when her and I watched raindrops drop into a pond.
Both our natural tendencies were to lie down in the grass,
maybe she was thinking about our muddy bodies,
but I wasn't thinking much. My thoughts were warm.

Today we're going to ride in my ticking time bomb car,
fifty-five miles per hour for a couple of hours,
forty-four degrees is the high and *******, we are going to feel that high. Embrace the peaks of the weather and the pits of our lonely, young, emphasis on the young, but still rather manic feelings.
I feel better doing that with you,
but I don't know if I want to touch you
all the time.

We lay in bed, the only place I know him-
Wrapped in each other, legs a tangled heap-
Still sweaty, we are perpetually sweaty-
And he holds me with a tenderness I haven't seen before.

It is these times that we speak French-
During *** he speaks German, I do not know what he says-
But it sounds angry, and I like that.
Afterwards we speak French, the language of love-
and I tell him I'm in love-
but not with him.

I tell him I'm in love with a man thousands of miles away-
who cannot hold me.
And I trace the scars on his arm with my fingertip-
White lines that stand-out against the glistening black of his skin-
Which spell out a name that is not mine
and I know that he still loves her-
Because he tells me.

He pushes my hair behind my ear, and kisses me on the forehead.
It's a gentle kiss, not meant for me-
he knows I like it rough-
But I close my eyes and pretend the lips belong to someone else.
We pull eachother closer.

When I do not write poetry!
When I cant write poetry!

When all I can write is strings of meaningless associated  words
about my meaningless associated experiences
in  any of my meaningless associated lifetimes.
Spent committing meaningless associated actions.
Avoiding meaningless associated people with their
meaningless associated GroupMinds.
All meaningless without the Isness of the Universe's hand in mine.

Wandering through life with few companions.
Clad in yellow  dust.
Doing my Raja Yoga practices.
Doing my Tantric Yoga practices.
Doing my Bhakti Yoga practices.
Doing my Gnana Yoga practices.
Doing my Karma Yoga practices.
Doing my Hatha Yoga practices.

Raja Yoga.
waking--sleeping--sitting --lieing--standing--walking--running--eating--*******-swimming--r­ock climbing-trekking the  high  Himalayas---and always doing deep nasal Kriya Yoga breathing as I contemplate the passage of my days and nights and seek the answer to the eternal question of --
Who am I?.
Who am I?.
Surely not the vain and deceitful Mind?
Am I really a small but equal individual,independent,nameless,formless,genderless and non physical individual Isness formed from the Isness of the Universe?.
An individualIsness chasing after being in the
ultimate state of Separate and Merged with the Isness of the Universe.

Tantric Yoga.
Doing various sweaty and pleasure filled acts of ***  with male or female or femboy or boygirl or ******* or pansexual or anyone I fancy with a **** or a ****--and a minimum of love.
My stiff **** in a ****.
A stiff **** in my mouth.
A stiff ****  in my *******.
My stiff ****  in an *******.
*** dribbling down the inside of my legs.
*** dribbling down my chin--all over my face.
Licking wet swollen **** lips.
Licking swollen *****.
Always aiming to arouse ******--to turn on Kundalini.
To reach out and touch the hem of the Isness of the Universe's robe

Bhakti Yoga.
Singing and dancing and painting and glassperlenspiel and cooking and laughing and crying and playing----.
Saxophones and clarinets and flutes and drums and  stringed instruments and the "fool".
Especially my beloved Selmer Alto Clarinet--curved like a
serpent drunk  on life
But the greatest of my instruments is-the "fool".
Foolish for life.
Foolish for unconditional love.
Foolish for to make people laugh.
Foolish for believing that I can solve the riddle of "who am I"?.
All for the delectation of the Isness of the Universe.

Gnana Yoga.
Reading books and pamphlets and essays and sutras and suras and verses and scribbles on grubby pieces of paper.
Searching for that elusive string of associated words that tell me that an honest woman or man passed this way before me.
Not a worshipper of any "god" or "goddess" or any other Celestial being made by the Isness of the Universe to mask  its innocence.
No enlightend beings for me-oh no!.
No buddas for me-oh no!.
No beings in Gnosis for me-oh no!.
No avatars for me--oh no!
No sons or daughters of any "god" or "goddess" for me --oh no!
Just a person,*** irrelevant but compulsory, that had realised,existentially, for a brief moment that they too are a part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe.

Karma Yoga.
Every act I commit adding or subtracting from that accumulation of
Karmas,good and bad or neutral, from every lifetime I have lived.
Boy you gonna carry that weight!!.
Roll that boulder up the hill.
Only ever making Neutral Karma.
Beyond the deceptions of Duality or Non-Duality.
Neutral Karma that only arises
by practising the Six Fundamental Yogas.
But not as an obsession or a lifestyle choice.
Hey Isness of the Universe-give me a helping  hand here!

Hatha Yoga.
Keeping my current body healthy enough so I can
do all other five of the Six Fundamental Yogas.
Cooking million star meals.
No 5 star chefs in my houses.
Eating Organically and drinking water from lifes many springs.
A green leaf salad every day
Taking part in the exercise of living.
No contortions or posturing for me.
Ha! the ingoing breath.
Tha! the  outgoing breath.
Breathing set as conditioned reflex--living on automatic.
Random deep nasal breathing--waking and sleeping.
Dreaming of the Isness of the Universe.
Waking up in the Isness of the Universe's arms.
Feeling the Isness of the Universe's breath on my fevered brow.
Listening to the Isness of the Universe murmuring in a billion billion different ways--
I love you.

Hearing the Isness of the Universe say--
I breathe through your nose and lungs.
I smell through your nose.
I see through your eyes and insightfulness.
I look through your eyes.
I lick the  juice of **** or **** with your tongue.
I taste Vanilla Ice-Cream with your tongue.
I blow a wet **** or stiff **** with your mouth.
I breathe life into the Alto-Clarinet with your mouth.
I touch nakedness of others with your fingers.
I feel the Void with your fingers.
I wake into consciousness at your urgent voice.
I spring into life at your very step.
I experience all through your body.
I experience existence through your life.
I love unconditionally through being
loved unconditionally by you.
I am humble before you.
My beingness is  exalted by your humility
Your beingness is exalted by my humility.

www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk

A new face

new name

new friend

and heartbeat quickens

deep breaths

shaky hands

sweaty palms

and heartbeat quickens

a quick hello

conversation follows

and heartbeat quickens

the question

and yes.

Heartbeat slows.

The young maricones and the ***** muchachas,
The big fat widows delirious from insomnia,
The young wives thirty hours' pregnant,
And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night,
Like a collar of palpitating ****** oysters
Surround my solitary home,
Enemies of my soul,
Conspirators in pajamas
Who exchange deep kisses for passwords.
Radiant summer brings out the lovers
In melancholy regiments,
Fat and thin and happy and sad couples;
Under the elegant coconut palms, near the ocean and moon,
There is a continual life of pants and *******,
A hum from the fondling of silk stockings,
And women's ******* that glisten like eyes.
The salary man, after a while,
After the week's tedium, and the novels read in bed at night,
Has decisively ****** his neighbor,
And now takes her to the miserable movies,
Where the heroes are horses or passionate princes,
And he caresses her legs covered with sweet down
With his ardent and sweaty palms that smell like cigarettes.
The night of the hunter and the night of the husband
Come together like bed sheets and bury me,
And the hours after lunch, when the students and priests are *******,
And the animals mount each other openly,
And the bees smell of blood, and the flies buzz cholerically,
And cousins play strange games with cousins,
And doctors glower at the husband of the young patient,
And the early morning in which the professor, without a thought,
Pays his conjugal debt and eats breakfast,
And to top it all off, the adulterers, who love each other truly
On beds big and tall as ships:
So, eternally,
This twisted and breathing forest crushes me
With gigantic flowers like mouth and teeth
And black roots like fingernails and shoes.

I am alive by luck at this point.
I wonder if the gun that will eventually take me has been made.
Whose trigger will bury me.
How many bullets, like a flock of sparrows, will come carry my life to its final bed.
Today, I am alive but there is no law to thank.
If not me, then someone else.
Born into a game of chance we never asked for. Traded diplomas for obituaries. Traded graduation speeches for eulogies. Traded futures for an early grave. Forced to cash in their chips. We don’t want to play anymore.
And this too is eulogy. And this too is prayer. And this too can resurrect the coffin wood back to a tree. Can sing back alive whatever parts of you died with them. Whatever leapt in your throat at yet another headline.
Mourning until you, too, are a thing to mourn.
But we will no longer be martyrs.
We are the rude awakening to politicians who pawned out our safety, who bartered our lives for bribes.
You say “gun reform is not the answer” but all I can see is a bullet rattling like a pinball in an innocent student’s jaw.
You smell like gun smoke and
I can see the AR15 you're holding behind your back and
I guess it's easy to crack jokes about dodging bullets when you're the one firing them.
Give teachers books not bullets:
Kafka isn’t kevlar.
Bronte isn’t bulletproof.
And how sick is it that we must add school shootings to your list of proud american traditions.
Throwing opinions like punches.
How many more have to die before you decide your ego isn’t as important as you think it is?
And I, too, am buried alive
My soggy grave parting its greedy lips.
To you, my bones, when ground into gunpowder and mixed into water, taste like champagne.
My pulse, as thin as an obituary panting beneath sweaty palms, and sure
We are “just kids,”
But you are forgetting we are the next generation
And you autopsy your fists.
Call it reclamatory.
Lately, when asked “how are you?” I respond with a name no longer living.
And who knows if mine will be next

Seriously....  It's Explicit!*



You walk towards me
Slowly, seductively
A look in your eyes
I haven't seen in a while
Like you're already ******* me
Little do you know
I've already undressed you in mind
A thousand times today
You lock your lips with mine
Making my tongue and soul go numb
I close my eyes tight
Letting the feeling wash over me
I go weak, start to fall
You wrap your arms around me
Oh so right
You taste like beer
I've never liked beer
But on you, tastes like I could drink it forever
With our tongues still dancing together
I feel your hand slip under my shirt
To the small of my back
You trace little hearts
Giving me tingles
I moan into your mouth
You growl, squeezing me tighter, kissing me deeper
Oh! and I can't help myself
My hands crawl up the front of your shirt, scratching and pinching your pecks
You pull away, I almost cry
You smile and take your shirt off
"easier access" you say
I say "well, that's not fair" while I take my shirt off too
The way you look at me, I'm enthralled with you
It's like you're devouring me but I'm feasting on you too
Every inch of skin,
Even that **** tattoo
Wow, I get lost looking at you
You grab my hand guiding me to the bedroom
You try to gently lay me on the bed
But I have other plans
I push you against the nearest wall
Locking you there with my body
Kissing you even more passionately
And deeper than ever before
You've got me so in the mood
I can feel you now, through your jeans
Rock hard, this must be a dream
But I don't care, I have to taste you
I grab you there, look into your eyes, licking my lips and whisper "may I?"
You growl again and nod your head
I trail kisses down your chest with my tongue
While unbuttoning your pants,
Unzip you and ****, there it is
I'm salivating and it looks so devine
The first lick, you moan and growl
I know you're mine
I taste every inch, swirl my tongue around the tip
I feel you writhing and pulsing under my hands
Your moans grow louder, giving me so much pleasure
You wrap your hand in my hair, pulling, ****
I love when you do that
You pull me off of you, reluctantly I allow it
You drag me to your mouth for a wet, rough kiss
I melt
I wonder if you think you taste as good as I do
Magically, somehow, you undo my bra
You stare down, smile, then start to kiss and nibble on each peak
"*******" I say and actually giggle, but I go weak
You know it too, laying me down on the bed
"are you wet?"
I nod, thinking I have been since before we even started
You kiss me, so softly
While your hand finds its way inside my *******
You hit that spot, I grab your arm hard, moaning into your mouth
You pull back saying "you like that?"
"**** Yea"
I raise my hips so you can take my pants off "easier access" I smile
You touch me,  tease me while slowly pealing my pants off my body
I'm shy, I close my legs together,
You start kissing my thighs,
My Oh My!
I can't help but open and let you in
You taste me, the first touch of your mouth on me,
I practically scream in ecstasy
You slide up my body, with your tongue
I'm surprised I haven't come
I'm done, I'm officially yours
Never has it felt this good before
I'm in pure heavenly bliss
You tease me with the tip of your ****
While giving me a most dangerous kiss
I moan, scream, so loudly
When you finally enter me
****, you fit so perfectly
"oh ****"
I explode almost instantly
You smile at me
"I'm just getting started"
I whisper "****" I'm too weak to speak
Then you slowly move in and out of me
I wrap my legs around your hips,
Almost lethargically
You whisper in my ear "bliss"
Then give me the most gentle kiss
I can't take anymore, I've had enough
I may be a sweet girl, but in bed
I like it rough
I use my legs to push you in deeper, harder, faster
My hips grind into yours
We're sweaty, but I don't care
You move up a little higher
"Oh My God!" I scream "Right There!"
You stop, I moan
You pull out, I know what you want
To **** me from behind
That's fine
You flip me over, grab my *** real hard
You push into me, it's deeper this way
I start moaning and screaming
I can't help it, you're ******* amazing
You pull me back by my hair
I balance myself with my hands on the wall
I scream "harder, faster"
You happily oblige me
I hear you moaning, louder and louder, you're in ecstasy
It's a **** fantasy
"oh my god, I'm coming!" I scream
You instantly explode inside me
While I squirt all around you
You pull my hair so tight and kiss my back
Sending shivers down my spine
We fall to bed, tangled in each other
After a few moments you whisper
"Now, you're mine"

I opened up to you.
I let myself look weak, feel weak, in front of you. I let my sorrows pierce the air when I laid there shaking on my bed because you stopped loving me.
It started when you stopped calling me your world, and discovered that there's a whole universe out there with planets that suited your needs better, even though I loved you most.
You stopped loving how I always watch adventure time while I smoke my du maurier's off the balcony, or how I get drunk off cheap store bought white wine and I stop smiling.
You stopped wanting to discover new places with me and only wanted to discover what you could find in my bed, because you'd had a hard day and needed to not talk for awhile, or a week. I let you undress me and take your anger out on me between thin sheets, sweaty palms, high pitched screams, left with bruises, cuts, hand marks, and I would cry after but you would pretend you were asleep, and that's when I knew that I was merely another ***** bottle that burned your throat and made you feel numb.
I've been drinking a lot of ***** since you left, and last night it felt like my world was crumbling to bits and pieces around me because you weren't ******* there to tell me to stop drinking and to hold me and I can't ******* take care of myself since my biggest wish is to be 6 feet under the ground.
You promised me you wouldn't leave, but in reality the only promise that is ever kept is death because it's never broken.
So a warning to my next lover, when you lay in my bed and kiss the cracks of my collarbones and ask why I'm shaking, it's because the last time someone was here, they set fire to the bed with me in it.

Its 4 am the stars are out
words I didnt know existed were leaving my mouth

this boy appeared in my dreams
he showed me freedom and a little bit of danger
the words he spoke made me feel alive
when he touched me for the first time
I melted like snow when the sun is shining bright

black hair, darker than my soul
sparkling green eyes that could read my mind
curly hair and a golden smile

he was heartless but everyone has a heart
and I love him for being ashamed to show it

I fell in love with this boy but I dont even know his name
I wish we could hang our picture in a silver frame

oh strange boy that I have met in my dreams
please come into my life and make me believe
the world can be a good place

Home doesn’t have an address.
home has a beating heart and sweaty palms

please be mine.

Saw her first at cousin's weddinG,
She looked astonishing I knew where it was headinG
Escorting the bride she came in smilinG
My eyes got glued on her and my heart started poundinG.

Afraid of her brother but she agreed to meeT,
I got there first, where the buses fleeT,
Time and place was on her to fiX,
Excited, I reached before the clock tickS,
There I saw her waving at platform thirty siX.

Time freezed for a while,
Walking towards her a million thoughts ran through my mind,
Was that really her or someone else!?
But that same magical smile and my heart again melts.

Simple, yet pleasant I liked her stylE,
But the best thing was definitely her smilE,
I got lost , stammered in speech for a whilE,
She was confident and I got nervous blood profilE.

The place was new ,
None of us had any clue,
I was sweaty , the day seems hottest,
Perhaps the oddest in the whole August.

Black and white top and she blingS,
Leather sandals and those shiny earingS,
The watch was pink , hairs were perfect readY,
But **** her luggage was real heavY!

Got in a cab, and some comfy place to talK,
She was in a hurry, but i had all the clocK,
She was bold at the same time cooL,
And I was smiling for no reason like a fooL.

More time I wanted to spend,
But getting her home safe and sound was important in the end.
Got her a bus had to bid a good bye,
And my hopes of meeting her soon are sky high! :)

We were the mystery
We were the shaking of heads
We were the whispers in the bathroom at 11 am

We were the smoke in the hallways

We were the leaves catching on air currents
like "I don't care how or why but I'm going somewhere"

We were balled up bills in the crook of
someone's sweaty Xanax palm

We were the lamps at night burning
We were the lasers on the ceiling
We were the lines of chemicals waiting on the counter

We were nothing good
nothing but mud and regrets on our feet

The teachers shook their heads
wondered to themselves how we ever got to sleep

my fingers slip out of yours
and wander the crests
of your knuckles
for the _nth time

and i apologize for the spillage
of words from my mouth
whenever our eyes meet
because i built a faulty dam
of sarcasm and forced humor
that just gives way every time
you look at me like that

the pad of my thumb has memorized
the curves of your left hand
and i'm sure you noticed how
my hand curves around your wrist
in silence, in pleas

and i want you to stay

i want you to stay:
where the crook of my shoulder
has forgotten its first form,
where my arms encircle air
that held you moments before,
where my heart wants you around
because with you, it's being heard

i want to apologize for my sweaty palms
because they're not used to handling treasures--
i would have trained them sooner
had i known i was going to meet you.

Since thy first lady declare,
that we wageth war,,
and against obesity dare,
I will hunt the fat kid,
tho he affrights me,
the first lady did knight me,
and I succeeded in the grail,
and blood marked that trail,
but popcorn spilled from his pale,
giving my hounds the scent,
downhill like a wounded lazy dear he went,
The Behemoth,
who esteemeth my sword as straw,
to sip chocolate milk,
with burps defying Queen's law.
DAGGER against my spear of poplar
is ice-cream sandwich in hand of globular,
AND THAT SANDWICH DAGGER SHALL NOT REACH FAR
BEFORE MY SPEAR UNLEASHES HIS DYING ****.
but I must admit,
I fear the headlock in his sweaty pits,
I must keep a spears distance,
away from his buttery mits,
he has vanguished many knights into that hellish abyss,

My first lady biddeth,
I will not delay, I will not tarry,
to slay the fat kid,
and hire 12 commoners to carry.

"And in a funny way, the shaving of my, uh, head has been a liberation from, uh, a lot of, uh, stupid vanities really. Uh, it has simplified everything for me, it has opened a lot of doors maybe." - Stephen Malkmus, Jo Jo's Jacket

the first layer of skin i shed
was the bra

rid of the foreign metal sculptor producing a deep rift between skin
my third eye, swallowing gazes

rid of my **** , my ***** , my rack
replaced with sacks of fat and nerve and milk ducts
hanging, existing, for no one else
not even myself

the second layer of skin was the painting of the face
the concealing and erasing of imperfections, the lines of laughter of sorrow of life
redirecting attention and importance to the bow and symmetry of the lip

no longer did i have to put myself on in the morning
i woke up as i was, as i needed to be,
bare and uninhibited

my skin now breathed, and for no one else
not even myself

and then i grew another layer of skin,
made of dank tangles to protect my age,
i stopped shaving the years i'd walked this earth, shedding my womanhood

the skin grew to my armpits, little tufts of sweaty, odorous mother nature dozing in a fleshy convex nest

and to my legs, were the tangles wrapped around my ankles
preventing the spreading of the legs for every life
for not every life wanted what was not tame
and what was not tame no longer wanted to be.

my body did not conform,
for it was not brought into this world to be consumed for the pleasure of others

it exists for no one else,
not even myself

and as i was engulfed in this hairy wonder of my own body
i shed the last layer,
the shaving of the head

my brain, my being breathed
porous and exposed
vulnerable to weather and whispers

but i was all at once naked and calm,
having finally peeled away the layers of ***** over-sexualization and constrained femininity that had molded this meat sack that serves me,
a bundle of circuitry and solution balancing and bobbing on the neck

for i exist for no one else,
only myself

Id love a big fat ****
Or a wrinkled up *******
An ugly looking hag
Who wants a ******* ****

If I had a big fat *****, with a big fat bucket
I'd lay between her fleshy thighs, and definitely **** it
My thrusting **** inside her ****, is where I'd like to tuck it
Spunking up would be sublime, when I lick and **** it

When your about to **** the fat, it takes a certain knack
Stuffed up fishy **** *****, or **** ******* round the back
A nice piece of chunky ****, with a big long sweaty crack
Fatty *** holes make you hard ,my **** would not be slack

I would ride a big large Gal, just like a waterbed
Bathroom ******* would be fun, as well as in the shed
Spunking up between her legs, cream cheese would then be spread
When both holes are full of ***, she can **** my **** instead

And after I have finished, with all of those fat *******
Something different I would want, maybe some old wrinkled witches
All wearing apple gatherers, and big large ******* britches
Older ***** long overdue, scratching long lost itches

A lot of fun I could have, in an old folks place
Disrobed willing grannies *****, stuffed right in my face
At least eight bits of gristle ******, a display of my disgrace
With each granny ****** in turn, if they can stand the pace

As I lift their skirts up their knickers I would sniff
I'm hoping that old fannies good, and they don't smell or whiff
The smell of old used granny ****, is probably just a myth
But I won't let it bother me, as long as I get stiff

I wouldn't even care, if they wore crap NHS glasses
As long as I could **** and ***, inside there wrinkled arses
I would **** them old ****** , all from different classes
Some of them in wheelchairs and some with heart bypasses.

It's irrelevant how fat you are, I really do not mind
As long as you are willing, and your *****'s wet and kind
And if you like it up the ****, then I'm that way inclined
******* ***** is quite fine, so is ******* from behind

So come on girls fat or old, all slags are a possibility
Your sexuality can flood out, there's no need for negativity
I'm willing to **** who comes along, to the best of my ability
Just make sure that I stay stiff, and maintain my agility

it should be noted that girls don't always come from venus, that some boys might be a little deader than they were before they claimed you took their breath away.
some girls have barbed wire around their hearts, and others have white flags. some boys have touched more cigarettes than thighs, more blades in the bathroom sink than the ones in her shoulders. the city might whisper the name of one boy and tremble at the thought of another; a girl might  have a hit list with only one name on it — her own. some boys will **** just to say they lost their virginity and some boys will spend the rest of their lives making love as though they could gain it back; some girls have lost their tears and sweat in the upholstery of the same car that might belong to one of these boys — and some of those same boys are sweaty handprints on the backseat windows while others are fingerprints on your throat, but no matter how you look at it, he will always leave his mark, won't he?
it should be noted that some girls will miss you like hiroshima playgrounds miss the laughter of young children, but others will miss you like an 11:30 flight at 11:31, and i bet you never knew that some boys will never tell you that they miss their father just as much as some girls calling everyone else 'daddy' except for the one they truly need; you'd never believe me if i said that some girls look at the night sky where they used to see their reelection in the stars, but now only see another broken mirror.
it should be noted, that not all boys are from mars.

Hi, below I copy a humorous hiabun, which I shared as an exercise to mentor enquiring and inspired poets to learn, so they might adopt and try different techniques and then give critique together with awesome comments... Yes, I used the words ***, ****** and **** for context the rest was left to an individual imagination as in good poetry!

It included reflective commentary encompasses innocent classification terminology used in the critique, reading, examining, appreciating, understanding and writing of poetry for example: POETIC DEVICES (enjambement, duality, keriji, images, collocation, semantic, oxymoron, repetition, listing etc.), STORY (personification, characterisation, subject, context, voice etc.), IMAGERY (synaesthesia), STRUCTURE ( lineation, breaks, syntactic etc.), SOUNDS (syllables, rhyme, alliteration, pace, musicality, phrasing, beat, assonance, onomatopoeia, mouthed rhythms, patterned) and WORDS (preposition, determiner, verbs, adverbs, lexical, nouns, adjectives) used by poets, critics and academics...

And here it is :

****** tongue-in-cheek haibun - a reflective commentary on writing a popular tanka

Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile


My first inspiration was ***, passionate life squeezing screaming ***, the thumping wall musicality of ***, exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet.

I wanted to make it a senryu but for duality the female characterisation demanded two more lines each extending to seven syllables.  

Arousing images captured her moaning splashing loneliness in unusual collocation.

I was first excited by the placement of a hovering extended enjambement to give life to my final line, whilst also considering the satisfaction in using noisy mouthed rhythms.  

I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context with a watery semantic field, that suggested she would choke and drown.

So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’ as a cutting keriji to make clear the dominating ****** context, having previously used a preposition and determiner to maintain duality!


Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite

With hearts in tandem
we stand: lip locked
bated breath, sweaty palms
tongues wrestling to wring a sodden truth.
A simple truth that is this: I love you!

~ Inori

Even if I get hate messages saying imma dumb geek,
My favorite thing to do in Rainbow 6 is spawn peek.
I choose not to reinforce any freakin' walls,
Cause I'm the best on my team and pre-fire the halls.
They call me sweaty boi cause all I play is Ela,
But hey man I got news for ya--you're a noob lil' fella.
If ya boi be attackin', ya know I be using ash,
No one can hit me when I use that 3 speed dash.
I breach the wall and throw some stuns,
I run on in and fire my guns.
At the end of every round I end up with an ace,
My stats have basically broke the R6 database.
So yeah you can just call me wuhbzz, or just god for short,
Cause I'm the best you'll ever see, T don't need any retorts B)

Dancing with you
last night was fun
we must dance again

With fewer clothes on

Horizontally

Oh yes! Sweaty
summer dancing.