take some time to count, to verb
some syllables for some wrecked
page. a Lostman's book in ****-
tered thought; nature, and death,
and sole body. then, when she talked
about her better years as those of
drug-induced past-life. younger than
yesterday kinda years. that which finds
metronome slowing, the Universe energy
vibrating weaker while growth found in
apathy, and solid death of purposeful
movement.
                         then a shot,
that moment to break from wretched self-
criticism -- that post-idyllic criticism --
that which hinders forward movement.
           the shot,
which finds contentedness thru some
repetitious mentality . .
                                                 [lost it]
         . . repetitious fallacy?
              [got it]
let's leave some break for transmigration
in thought to prelude of forward movement.
understanding now is not enough; but
agreement in hast. but dissolution to that self-
efface hit rapid. brought back, her thought
of the younger than yesterday years; now,
now is the greatest point of any a count-
less past-life. from them, no matter a sweating
season, the Long Dark, or the cycle-seasons,
             all is now. and never
did she or i talk of the past again.
                   our foci,         [one second]
drawn to point of second and next second upon
following and on for another. now, shivery
wine-drunk, reminiscent of tiny furnace and
woolen blanket apartment. that now,
that was true striving of second successful ***** Den.
        a great thought downfall; she's been long gone.
            [next second now]
she complained of the wind. her eyes were freezing,
she said; her life has begun to bore her, she said.
we moved to playground and climbed in the
slide; a nice dampening. cold plastic barely felt for
her. this Long Dark, and in it, an always fleeting
warmth.                  [break
                        ­to **** for concision in thought]
now then, a diner, of course this face is known. they also
know a companion vacant. asked of, pleasant enough;
responded, well enough.
       [disheartened, well enough]
and then, wholly intrinsic with a blasphemous self-
Oralee while passing time trying to think. unable,
if only for sole point of trying. and epochs worth,
thought and gone; now compulsive, now unres-
ponsive, now chewing lips because they're part gum.

come choked up bled up fed up folks
and drink my robust brew my sweet Catawba
no, my sauterene or rock and rye
brush that musty blue off your cog stained collar
and stay a while
pay a while
two beers later when your tongue seethes dry
try my salt savored fish, my baked bean surprise
tilt your nostrils and inhale my dried herring
my free lunched ties really please the eyes
I’ll saturate your wet drawn gobs
like sand slips through sieves  
teasing you by my strategic arrayed feast
until dollars are quenched out
by watering tongues that then dry the eyes
so come stand social where men may be men
enter through my wood swinging shut
-tered realm
and slug down your ticking inhibitions
gobble up this wonderful enterprise
and leave with that coat savored
by the mixed smell of sawdust, alcohol and cigars
hell, there’s no manners here
and class only exists in tolerance
for it feeds a fine exchange for a parcel of wage
to forget that day you bonded your body to your lady’s gaze
to forget the rascals of tots that teeth at you feet
to forgot the boss that tills your knees
so lets play mirror medley choose your poison
and chose it quick
this may be the Poor Man’s Retreat
but pocket less men make me tick

she sat with her back to the brick column
holding up a vestibule, she found useful
as a public sorting place for the private
contents, of her camel coloured purse, remarkably ****-
tered as her "****** life", her short term
fix, IT, took a carefully cared for, crack pipe.

Running late was I, and eye contact was made
and I quietly but firmly said to the seated glazed eyes look-
ing up at me, "might be best if you leave."

next day kilometres away, early morning bank
deposit, and a coffee run, me and the dog, out
for fun "car rides" bring her much delight, a voice
from behind said "mister, mister you gotta help me!,
I'm, not an addict, and last night I could not get home,
rode transit for free out to here from Kitsilano but,"
she breathed, "in the it cost me a ticket for one
hundred and seventy five dollars, when I got caught"

I looked at her, seeing her hair dishevelled and a face full
of what, despair...? "so what do you want from me?"  
She
ran on with her mouth, playing with her top, the sentence was
run on and wouldn't stop.  "I made some bad choices, came here to meet my EX, found him with a girl having ***, and I need ten or twenty,
bucks to get me home, the transit cop said he would not let me back on and would still be working until three A.M., stranding me, until this morning see?!"

We
went back and forth, verbally,
"transit does not cost that
much, stop asking me for
money!", and she fired
back,
"my math is bad,
the money would be
nice and do your Karma
good, I am a big  believer
in that", finally I left her
with a small handful of
small change and watched her walk
away, got in my car, got my coffee, got  going home...

but as I drove by her, she was standing back to the hedge,
calm had returned as she waited, her hair was in place,
I saw something I failed to observe during our dialogue....

under her arm was
that camel coloured
purse...two women
suddenly became one

In the sandy dunes of words
And the sparkling foams of light
He riots as a snake would do
With his forked tongue - 'tween the Unlet-
Tered stones of a sunny graveyard.

© LazharBouazzi  (14 October, 2017)

i

use        my
sc a t te red

worDs

to collect
m y                e   v          e     n

MO r   E
**** TEred
                       h    e   a   r  t

It seems
All things
Begin and end
As daydream
Forms
A torn
Piece of a
Skirt left
one broken
Shard of
Colored glass
A folder
With only
One match
Left
The torn
And tat-
tered....
scattered
Bout as
Remnant frames
In
Scrapbooks
Loose
Granite forms
In memoriam
Fragile and mortal
When true
Love Is
No more