It is 1969

A man set himself on fire today
To protest the war

My cigarette sympathizes with him,
its ashes like burnt out snowflakes

Falling
Dissolving
in a puddle of rainwater
Going home

With a face and voice like that you’d never guess
the girl was five foot ten
she walks in and towers above the image
you expected
a girl pushing five feet, dainty, even whimsical
but surely petite
she’s far from petite

This girl sympathizes with transgender bodies
yet envies those who succeed
Hormones and knives can fix gods mistake
but nothing can fix me
so women will sit dreaming of dropping pounds
and she dreams of dropping feet
never complete

Psychs and shrinks digress this to be nothing more
than another disorder
Her views on herself are simply brushed off
as body dysmorphia
yet therapy nor pills shall shake her desire
to fix gods mistake
by freeing her soul of this giant hell hole
leaving it for someone else to take.

Odysseus is angry without knowing what reason scared hopeless longing not a good student teachers raise suspicions Mom claims he is mentally not right in third grade parents send him to well-known psychiatrist conducts many tests finds Odysseus’s i.q. scores quite high doctor’s diagnosis is learning disabilities emotional anxiety recommends weekly appointments Odysseus continues to see various psychiatrists all the way through college in late 1950’s early '60’s psychiatric field is somewhat unreliable one downtown child’s psychiatrist chats about other patients then gives Odysseus baby ruth candy bar another psychiatrist with office in Wilmette tells him parents need therapy advises he will someday live independent of parents free of their influences

Odysseus Penelope Ryan Siciliano play in undeveloped land across from Schwartzpilgrim’s apartment building there is big tree they often climb near corner of commonwealth and surf streets Ryan is going on about his favorite actor errol flynn and movie “they died with their boots on” suddenly two bigger older boys approach bully them down from tree Odysseus does not recognize older boys from neighborhood bigger older boys push Penelope to ground then elbow trip Odysseus punch Ryan in stomach panic shoots through all three of them bigger older boys glare down with taunting eyes after terrifying moment Ryan then Odysseus jump up flee across street they hide beneath parked cars in underground garage of Odysseus’s building hearts pound in terror hearing footsteps on concrete grow louder they hold their breaths voice speaks out "they’re not here they’ve gone Odys where are you?" Odysseus and Ryan crawl out from under cars feel ashamed of their cowardice in front of Penelope and putting own self-preservation before her protection Ryan is particularly disturbed explains his family are sicilian code of conduct Ryan insists Odysseus swear never to divulge their weakness Odysseus promises later Penelope tells Mom

harper is broad-minded exceptional school housed in old english tudor building on second floor along hall is long glass cabinet displaying among other things 9 large jars each containing developing stages of fetus girls wear uniforms of navy blue skirts with knee socks white blouses blue sweaters which are school colors boys are allowed to wear blue jeans and shirts in good taste Miss Moss teaches fourth grade classroom is duplex with stairs leading up to balcony directly under stairs is secret meeting place and beneath balcony are classmate cubbyholes there is sunroom facing south overlooking entrance stairs to school where older students hang out Odysseus thinks Miss Moss is pretty wonders why she is not married she has deep blue eyes dark thick eyebrows premature graying hair she wears in bun he has crush on Miss Moss thinks she is best teacher he has ever known she teaches greek mythology assigns each member of class character in ancient greek mythology Odysseus is appointed Hermes son and messenger of Zeus Hermes has affair with Aphrodite resulting in child Hermaphroditus Hermes also fathers Pan rescues Dionysus saves Apollo’s son there is voice speaks inside Odysseus’s head no one can hear voice except Odysseus it is voice of smart-*** disobedient twisted child when Miss Moss says “where shall we begin today?” Odysseus automatically answers in his thoughts “how about up your sweet ***?” it is uncontrollable voice for his amusement only often he tries to ignore voice but sometimes it speaks out when voice speaks out Odysseus gets in trouble his friends think voice is funny adults get offended when he reflects on classmates at Harper and distinction of their privilege he wonders what went wrong they are troubled class in fifth grade they cause miss penteck to have nervous breakdown and retire other classes produce famous actors playwrights renowned restaurateurs prosperous investment bankers leading doctors Odysseus’s class produces delinquents gangsters social dropouts drug addicts suicides they take their privilege and run it straight to hell

creature inside Odysseus can be little monster teaches Penelope how to go berserk going berserk involves entering strange residential building in neighborhood elevator up getting off about middle floor pushing all elevator buttons scrambling down stairs knocking over umbrella stands spilling ashtrays ringing doorbells pounding doors running out lobby doors escaping uncaught Penelope is good warrior princess brother and sister can be little terrors

Ryan Siciliano and Odysseus go to see “the magnificent seven” at century theater they head south along broadway street college-age girl with large bouncing ******* appears walking north Ryan and Odysseus glance at approaching girl then nod to each other no plans uttered as college girl passes both Odysseus and Ryan reach up grab her ******* pet squeeze then run do not look back keep running laughing all the way to theater they watch movie with jaws hanging open mcqueen is brilliant all seven are so groovy movie inspires both Odysseus and Ryan.

in 1960 Mom and Dad send Odysseus and Penelope to sunday school at temple shalom teacher calls him aside "Schwartzpilgrim what do you want to be when you grow up?" Odysseus answers "architect or maybe an indian warrior" teacher says "do you know story of judas maccabi? he was a great warrior leader learn about the festival of lights and wield your sword wisely Odys Schwartzpilgrim" Odysseus replies "yes sir" two weeks later he gets kicked out of sunday school for pulling seat out from under girl during solemn religious service he never learns hebrew nor is he bar mitzvahed

Odysseus is hyper-sensitive about race and religion knows he comes from race of people who once were born into slavery nazis systematically exterminated millions of them at aushwitz-birkenaub belzek chelmno majdanek sobibor stutthof treblinka black and white photographs of faces emaciated children adults flicker before his thoughts knows jews are hated not considered caucasian in europe and russia not allowed to own land for many centuries what does it mean to be member of race of people who are despised and blamed? he sympathizes with all minorities particularly negroes who were forced from homeland collared into slavery and native americans who were cheated out of land and slaughtered by white people

Three days, is what the HR rep said, somewhat sheepishly,
As if she was fully aware that boxing up one’s grief
In a span of a few dozen hours
Is a matter of wishful thinking
And certainly she sympathizes
(Indeed, as she speaks,
She spreads her hands in such a way
As you half expect doves to come forth in full flight)
Empathy being their stock in trade,
But the law and the handbook say three days,
And then you need to have your head
******* back on and looking forward.

Eventually, the mail brings fewer envelopes
Marked with embossed flowers
And subdued and tasteful stamps,
The usual flow of solicitous inquiries,
Pre-stamped and pre-sorted,
Inquiring as to your credit needs,
The condition of your windows and siding,
Resumes apace, and more than once,
In fits of inappropriate black humor and frustration,
You scribble, in bold thick strokes of a marker,
The addressee no longer resides at this location.

You return to nine-to-five,
Though your ghosts keep their own hours,
Stopping by to visit on their own schedule alone,
Prompted by the tiniest of things:
The dog scampering to its feet in a hurry,
As if someone was at the door,
The discovery of a long-unused pitching wedge
Standing expectantly in the back of the closet,
A song from long ago which was beloved
When you lived in the pairing mandated by Noah
Before you entered the shadow world of ones and nones.
Sometimes you give into the giddy madness,
And rise to waltz around the room,
Careening about unsteadily, clumsily
As you have yet to completely master
The difference in weight shift and distribution
That is required of a solo act.
The timing of these visitations
Often disrupts your schedule and sleep patterns,
And you think that perhaps tomorrow you’ll call in.

Dark sympathizes with the night
The light understands what’s with the day
Colors labeled what’s on left and right
Giving reason to who’ll go and stay

Simply justice that was out of sight
Don’t know that day and night are made of clay
That grays are white
And whites are gray

Skin colors supposed to be no height
Something we have to weigh
But why with it we learn to spike
And distance our hearts some miles away

So what’s the beauty of that site
Let us all hope that there’ll be a place one day
Where grays are white
And whites are gray

9/8/2015
Mysterious Aries

A calamity of views abused
When the alcohol is strong
The choices go wrong
Everyones offend through Misinterpreted temptation
Using my over analyzing brain to calm the degraded
Crying over a mundane sane
Looking for persuasion
Through persecution
Picking out your weaknesses
Bleakness, is a majestic trait
Not intentionally
Burdening their agony
My name is animosity
I depict a character that sympathizes
Your alibies
Using my vulnerability
Contaminated humility
Finding
The hiding
No problem suggesting
My dark secrets of the night
Applying my skits that fit right
Paranoid to be viewed in a mortifying light
I would be lying denying my animalistic ride
I have scrutinized
Remorsing
I see earth born
Godly you stand
In the morning
Behold deformities
You fit the norm
I bow to your Godly proportion
In vein this I pray
Amen

A poem that will celebrate
all the wonders of my man's hair.
A poem that feels sorry for
his hair no longer there.

A poem that shows puzzlement
from him at women's weaves.
A poem that sympathizes
with his hair-line as it leaves.

A poem that says a "YAY!"
to the people who are bald.
A poem that blows a kiss and says
"I'm sorry dear, that's all!"

Opposed though not yet charged, we hold back our fire
Yet in such close vicinity, our features polarize.
A duo of strong minds grapple for understanding while
Fear, Shame, and Anger play an unruly audience amidst the
Backdrop of dusty bookshelves and a mild mid-day sun.
Stuck in stalemate, even magnets become exhausted;
Tired of attempting to display ambivalence toward the other
When so attracted by the primal bond of maternity.
He sympathizes for her tears shed over a prodigal son,
But we can only bear so much hurt when the fight is done.

Can you imagine my surprise
When I woke up with thunder thighs

I looked in my mirror and
It gave me back a knowing grin

Hard and heavy the diet days
And all of my sweet tooth chocolate craves

Knowing what's  in front of me
Makes this fat boy wanna scream

So I check out the internet
To find the perfect diet yet

        Lets see......

***** injections from a pregnant babe
That seems to be the latest craze

How about this bubble wrap
I just might be down with that

Who is there to really say
Which pill and how many I should take

One that sympathizes with the way I feel
While feeding me pint size starvation meals

Here's one guaranteed to clean my clock
While the next ten days I'm on the toilet docked

This is funny...try and eat more sensibly
That's like a foreign language to me

Get your daily exercise
Obviously written by some wise guy

Goes to prove just what I've heard
On the internet don't believe every word

How about the Himalayan soft cheese wrap
The secrets in the cheese to squeeze off the fat

Or I could go the Hollywood way
Have it ****** out and back to eating in one day

There are so many options here
It's hard to know which way to steer

As my options all expand
Think I'll just go buy elastic waist band pants

And learn to enjoy in my own eyes
The fact that I have thunder thighs

I bet that as soon as you read the title you thought this was going to be a non-stop ramble about a boyfriend or whatever. Well, it's not.

This poem (lets just say it is one), is about the one girl who helped me get on my feet every time I fell to the ground. Hard.

It's about a person so amazing that it pains me to watch her hurting over some unworthy *******.
It's about a beautifully damaged soul. Her moods swing from one to another pretty fast, he loves to sing 80' songs and cuddle with her cat Connie.
She loves poetry and respects artistic expressions.
She is my role model as she tries to always do the right thing.
She treats everyone fairly and sympathizes with every living creature.
She makes me feel better about myself and puts everyone else's needs before hers.
She may be struggling with some serious ****, but she'll always have time for her friends.
She is loyal and loving.
She is all I'd ever wanted in a friend.

She is perfect to me.

We are still working on that part, though.
She doesn't believe me when I tell her she's flawless.
I really think she is.
Inside out.

Someday she'll realize that I'd been telling the truth this whole time.
Someday she'll appreciate her long eyelashes, harmonious voice and cute curly hair.
Someday she'll wake-up and say:
HEY, I'M A HELL OF AN INDIVIDUAL!

She's my teacher.
My mother.
My sister.
My best friend.
My everything.

Thank you for everything, really. Every secret you kept for me, every inside-joke, every muffled laugh at class, every singing voice note, every poem, every midnight talk, every smile, every shed tear, every movie we watched together. Thank you for just being you, for letting me see your true self. Thank you.

**I love you so ******* much.

We no longer acknowledge each other’s eyes
Or speak unless addressed explicitly
But our energy reaches like wild tentacles, grasping to be mutual once more
Tangles like vines or still-learning shoe strings
Strangles me but sympathizes in the final few when I get sky-face
I heard your laugh from behind your back and knew I would
Never cause it
Again
It surged through me like an electric shock, not
A finger in the outlet, more like a toaster bath
I have never found currents to be painful, just warm
Even as my limbs fell limp from voltage
Your complexion kept me calm down to my copper core
Now each indication of your amusement ****** me, emptying weary veins
Acupuncture from untrained hands, reckless medicine
I never thought you would be my nerve damage
Chronic companion, my endorphins still have your toxic taste

because I know it will never be the same again
because there is no god
because there is no karma

I cry because I have given up
because there is no one else

I cry and I cry alone
no one sympathizes with me
no one understands

I cry with dignity
because I am man

I cry because I sigh
and I sigh because of my life

I cry in a bed in a room alone
feel stupid in my head
feel nothing but alone

alone
alone
alone

I cry on my throne
my throne made of ****
alone

I cry.

i like to stay anonymous
so they don't find
all these feelings.
the only thing harder than feeling
so much
is explaining it.

they don't get it.
they think you want attention.
they don't believe me.

i'd rather believe
someone out there
sympathizes enough to read
and listen
and think
and care
and understand.

The President will start a
nuclear war over twitter
  if he has to.

  White Nationalist is a way
of saying Neo-****. It's re-labeled
  to desensitize us.

  The President sympathizes with
the White Nationalists because
  he can't afford to lose their vote.
My president does not have my
  best interest in mind.
He is a power hungry tyrant--
  and half are too dumb to notice.

You don't worship God. You don't.
  You worship politics infused
with spirituality.
  You dehumanize those who
are different from you because
  you are a scared little *****.

All Nazis must die.
Them dying is the
greater good.
Nazis are inferior.
Die ****. Die.

It is 2010

A man hung himself at Chestnut today
To ease the pain

My grey jacket sympathizes with him
its sleeves like arms letting go for dear life

Waiting
Standing
on a pillow of thin air
Coming home

I am a jar long over due for some orange juice
with gaps and crack that hold me back
from the sweet sunshine hack
that is orange juice
this sticky sweet substance
this sun streaked pulpy mess
stays bottled up
with a smile so diffident
challenging me to break the rules
and let it out of its transparent cage
to clog my insides
with its smooth sweetness
but no
not me
I resist this instantly
I throw the bottle in the junkyard
far away from my periphery
where it remains hidden
sweating in the sun alone
left unkempt in neglect
unloved and harshly blinded by the rays of light
the sun beams penetrating its body
stabbing
leaving clumps of tissue
and sweating tears
but who sympathizes with an orange
once it's beaten to a pulp?
yet I still cannot avoid the sun-****** gunk
or keep it out of my mind
for it is a part of me
it nurtures
purges me
I feel so naked without it
and eventually i give in
to this titillating temptation

I may not be smooth or secure
or able to hold you or keep you from harm
but will you take a chance on me?
and be able to forgive my malice
and come back to play
a role in my empty jar glass?

Dragging sheets over head during the dark of night
Slipping away, crawling into the mind's cave
Sequentially tumbling into the dark chasm
Million-mile, feathery fall through a grey abandon

Upon landing scenes start with a glowing sky
Swirled in blue, red, purple, yellow and black
Somehow familiar, I'm sad but never scared nor cry
A house sits empty, tall and alone
Upon a hill where an empty tree decays
Tended, yet desecrated and dry
Don't go inside... Don't go inside.... No, not alone
Deep wells awash with ghosts and faceless ghouls
Shells of scenes you never want to see
My nightmares and wanton dreams

The wind slides thick across the terrain with an audible scream
Down the hill is a black frothing stream
Surrounded by naked women and wild men,
****** and killing, each other over and over again
Familiar faces start to stare as I pass the heathen fire and fare
Glowing insects lounge like lanterns, witnessing their share
Sudden cold hand grabs me, trying to force me to participate
But closed eyes make no contact; I thrash with teeth bared,
Clinging with dried torn hands and lost hair
The black stream saves me by dragging me under
Until I slowly disappear

A cave with a pool reveals the next stanza
Wooden dry dock and blue water give a purple glow
A girl sits there with a boy, his shadow on the wall is a crow
Cawing, he has a voice that I understand and know
She, a snake body that sheds and rapidly grows
The couple melts and I suddenly slow down, down, down...
Deeper this continues to go

I wake up in a bed, but it's not my room
White lights above and dark faces ahead encircle me
Trying to inject me with my doom
I beg and scream
"This isn't my intent, this wasn't my desire!"
But it's all my fault the past was doomed
Thrown punches and scrambling for a door
I find the walls fall and the lights glimmer no more
The floor sympathizes and surrenders
Sees the pain and turns to a warm pool
Dazed, I float on to the morning's shore

Endless nights of fantasy and hedonist to the core
I'll be thrown from the night into fantasy once more
Don't envy me or the source of my quill's tone
I hide all the monsters under my pillow

Why do I have to fall in love?
Why can't I just I just stop?
Tell me God from above
Why can't he be a slop?

Why is he a gentleman?
Why does he listen well?
But he's a ladies man
And I just fell

He doesn't feel the same
Yet he sympathizes
Doesn't put me to shame
Even gives advices

Love is twisted
Not the kindest
Maybe gifted
Even to the wisest

describing the person inside me:
quite pessimistic
unthinkably thought filled
insanely aware
somewhat crazy
with the mind of a poet.

as laughable and cliché as these may all sound on a poetry website.
they're all true but i have things in my simple life,
that me less of these things.

there is this boy,
who makes me a bit more optimistic,
who makes my orange days,
a bright blue
and whose grin can make me blush like crazy.
who can make me laugh,
in the midst of tears,
and help me to trust another,
when all feelings of trust are lost.
a boy who makes me feel like i could sing
who can make me grin like an idiot,
and believe that i have done something right finally
when i look into his eyes.

this boy also is the cause for some of my crazy thoughts,
but when i voice them he will laugh,
or inform me that "i am not crazy"
he sympathizes at rough times,
and lets me speak freely,
ignoring the fact that i may blow his ear drums,
and stumble over every other word when i get too excited.
he allows me to be mad when i am mad,
and waits for me to be happy
(maybe a break from rants is nice)
but this boy,
truly helps control my thoughts,
that bubble inside me as long days pass.

he also gives me a feeling of safety,
where even just knowing that he is within distance,
distance where i could run to him,
or yell his name,
relieves my stress filled thoughts immensely.
and when he speaks soft words of
it'll be fine or the soft chuckle of reassurance
it makes my cold frightened blood,
warm where it can flow again,
and pump to my heart,
so i can remind him at these moments
that i do indeed love him.

he allows me to be my somewhat ******,
crazy,
nutso self.
and with a comment or not
there is always a small grin.
but when i am a little crazy,
whether it's explaining my funky dreams
or laughing so hard that i spit out my water,
he still looks at me with that grin,
that makes me feel
a little less...
well, crazy

and sometimes when i feel all of these things at once,
the kind of feeling where your heart is racing,
and your cheeks are rosy,
and your laughing insanely,
and smiling like an idiot,
and falling hard for this certain special boy,
i can't even write,
but sometimes that's quite alright

When testimonies are left out,
And you sing in distress,
Your hope and fate worn out,
With a sarcastic smile around folks,
Your worries like a cloud of smokes,
You wanted to touch the best.

Thick drop of rain from your eyes,
As your happiness dies,
Eyeballs dancing in moisture field,
Your soul in distress where she hid.

Thick drop of rain in your eyes,
Oozed out due to sympathizes,
Then you Think nature has turn against you,
The world too big for you,
Or perhaps only when the sky is blue,
Who is that pilot? your pilot, you don’t know who.

The rays and beams of the sun seems unfriendly,
Smiles on other folks seems deadly,
The world is too complicated for you.

After your tears on hard to rocks,
Your cries and your sober reflection,
The Sowers grain fell on my Palms,
You claimed blessings, even psalms,
Where is your opportunity,
Are you not a liability?

You pray for a better chance,
Cause He once path way in the sea,
And yours? Or can’t you see?
You shall have that breakthrough,
And you shall dance!

I love the sky.
I love how it is like a blank canvass.
I love how the clouds join it.
How they form figures that excite our minds.
I love how blue it is.
But it can also be pink, orange, and purple and I love it more.
I love how it is like a giant monitor.
How it shows the sun's lovely rays in the day.
How it shows the moon's gentle glow in the night.
How it shows the stars that are glittered everywhere.
I love it even when it's gray.
How it sympathizes to the clouds when they can't bear the rain anymore.
How beautiful lightning looks with it even when they scare the living days out of me.
I love the hope it gives.
I love how we've been taught that angels are there.
But I love the sky especially because you and I are both looking at it.
And it doesn't matter even if we're separated by oceans, by mountains, and by long, long roads.
I love the sky because when I look at it, I know you've been looking at it, too.
I love the sky because somehow... it connects me to you.
I look at the sky frequently and smile like a crazy person.
It comforts me.
Even when I can't be by your side, I'm glad.
I'm glad that He gave us the sky.
The sky that both you and I love.
The sky that reminds me everyday...
To never lose hope.
It won't be impossible.
Because you and I are under the same sky.

I love the rain

Oftentimes, she falls when I'm fallen
Sympathizes even when I'm broken
However, she reminds
Not everyday has to be sunny and bright
that as the winds chimes
out there waiting for me is some rainbow light

She's not afraid to touch me even when I'm broken and bent
sets me free when my heart is swollen and in torment
I like her  because she's cool regardless
and accepts me even when I'm a mess
All that's left is for me to confess

A rain with 6 drops for a name...

Our cheek bones do not match.
Our faces do not resemble each other.
She does not share the same love for
the outdoors that I do.

But,
it really is easy to tell that we are in fact brother
and sister.
I know.
I know because when I tell her
I cant fall asleep with beer still left in an open can
she gets it.
In fact she laughs
and says
you do that too!?

I know she is my sister because
we have the same sleepy mother.
The mother that napped too much
when we were younger.
The mother that successfully slept away suicide.
The mother that ensured we lost the genetic lottery.

I know she is my sister because
she knows dark days.
Days that don’t seem to start
or end.
Days that at times
make you regret promising that
I would never do it.
Dark days that we intimately share.

I know she is my sister because
when she looked at me with
wet childhood in her eyes
and whispered
you do not owe him anything
that she spoke from experience.
She sympathizes that you can not choose your family,
but sometimes
your family can choose
you.  

I know she is my sister because
of her beauty.
Beauty that is powerful.
Beauty that does not dull with pain
but grows as it survives.
Beauty that does not resemble a flower
but a hurricane.

It would be impossible to tell just
by looking at us that we are related.
But it is impossible to forget once you know.

The heart inside pumps empty promises too my mind
circulating the hollow well of my destroyer,
In hope to cling to a nerve which still sympathizes for this begotten corpse.

I feel sorry for my Dentist
He doesn’t want to cause me pain
When he drills into my mouth
He suffers great emotional strain.

When the tears run down my cheeks
I am sure he sympathizes
There isn’t enough Novocain in the world
And this, he surely realizes.

As he drills into my teeth
One thing we are both sure
The pain he inflicts on me
Is more than I can endure.

Yes, I feel sorry for my Dentist
And the pain he tends to inflict
I don’t know who suffers most
Who is the most sick.

Apalachee High School,
located in Winder, Georgia
witnessed an active shooter,
whereby the alleged lone gunman
(actually just a teenager of fourteen years)
killed four people and injured nine more
the latter hospitalized with injuries
after a shooting Wednesday
(June 4th, 2024) morning.

His (the lad who pulled the trigger
on the firearm – an AR platform-style gun)
father and mother must be held culpable,
and similar to the slain victims
surviving kith and kin
probably experience immense grief
(at least I would hope).

Yours truly (me),
a married sexagenarian and proud papa,
whose two grown daughters;
a twenty five old, lives in Bend, Oregon
and eldest - almost twenty six months
her kid sister's senior
resides within bucolic Ithaca, New York,
whereby he himself
dwells at Highland Manor Apartments
smack dab within the heart of
Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania
nestled here within suburban
southeastern Montgomery County
deeply affected by the tragedy
(as well as most previous occurring
violent, nasty, and brutish ****** crimes.

The Second Amendment of the United States Constitution protects the right of Americans to keep and bear arms. The original text of the Second Amendment is:

“A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed”.

The Second Amendment was ratified on December 15, 1791. Its origins can be traced back to ancient Roman and Florentine times, and to the late 16th century in England when Queen Elizabeth I required all classes of people to take part in a national militia.

I (a slight baby boomer at approximately
seventy inches tall from stem to stern
targeted as "scapegoat" during boyhood),
no longer a ticking time bomb harboring
rage against the machine,
would never buy nor use a weapon
intended to fire rapidly
loosing countless bullets,
nevertheless writer of these words
empathizes, sympathizes and telepathizes
third-person singular simple present
indicative forms of empathize,
sympathize, and telepathize respectively
with the predictable cited suspect,
who frequently trends toward being
a quiet natured, nerdy lad
at the receiving end
of verbal and physical harassment.

Still back in the day mean kids
indiscriminately name called me
attendant with closed fists
mere inches from my face -
both boys and girls made a point
to assail introspective
severely shy Matthew Scott Harris
pleading with cruel, fiendish, imps -
of the pervert please don't hurt me
and repeated the following saying:
sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words will never hurt me
(or so the playground adage
wants us to believe).

Words do hurt and the shame
those words can instill in us
have a way of instigating and
perpetuating inferiority complex
in our minds and our bodies.

Easy access to high powered military grade sophisticated woud find blunderbuss quaint.

     More often than not such brutal and nasty (short lived) nefarious schemes directed at humble lettered people (like those comprising my home town of Lake Woebegone) minding their own p's and q's, when out of the blue a sudden bitta bing bitta bang rings the terrorist catcall followed by red tide and river of blood.

     Thus occurs yet another staccato sinister sonic soundcloud boom across the pearl gray slate of some formerly anonymous place-name. which blitzkrieg of shells shattering (at shutterfly speed) the democratic rubric of society with senseless slaughter, whereat somber silence echoes the wails of agony.

     This epidemic re: murderous love affair with gruesome morbid fixation allowing, enable and providing the terrifying trappings for angry person to maniacally gun down (in slo mo) a milling crowdsource (perhaps pathetic plan premeditated) employing coterie of odious loading incendiary fiery clips.

     Suicide bombardier seeks to slake thirst to take aim with deadly precision, and spray with pump posse city, a congregated engaged group of people), with egregious fulfillment to mow down slew unsuspecting victims, which bring revulsion to this American citizen.

     Death be not proud, nor ought airtime allocated to these heinous cavalier avengers.

     Foe tee eight hour special proffers especial easy access to sophisticated high caliber compact offspring of rapaciously lethal gimcrackery cutlasses.

     Sorrow soulful songs sung by the likes of death cab for cutie in tandem with foo fighting beastie boys pay homilies and homage to grateful dead.

     Fetishistic martyrs wannabe set sights of sister and brothers of their same simian species.

     Once target(s) locked and stocked per skull and cross bones, the ammunition barrels at greased lightning speed dead set upon unaware persons. the final minutes/seconds of various lives instantaneously cut short, when instagram cross hairs seal the fate upon avast group of happy go lucky men and women.

     Instantaneous re: within the blink and/or flickr of and eye, the gallivanting live capital one progressive pinterest-ting human hulu hooping unwittingly accompany the grim reaper as riders to final resting place.

     Ribald exhortations and allegiance gifted from he/she who ushered in bereavement, where grief experiences a field day, whence pandora gorges philabundance like, as incalculable forsaken emptiness doles bleakness upon a grim outlook brought about per spilt blood, sweat and tears tallying the cost.

     Mortal kombat rues unfathomable payless priceline, which induces adrenaline to course thru the melee, where survivors sprint non selfie ish lee to a safer outlook, where moments before the collective asylum seekers indulged in a joyus fancy feast per vanity fair, whence diehard fanatic (attired inconspicuously like some dishabille schlepper of an outlier) pulled the trigger releasing high powered voluminous ammunition loaded murderous mass homicidal instrument.

     Netzero escape for those unfairly killed in ceaseless undeclared warfare, whereby killer (ofttimes a pissant punk) cooly unleashes fearsome fusillade from out the barrel per his/her lethal methodological munitions.