i dreamed a rattlesnake was loose in the closet i heard it rattling i was afraid to open the door



a man suffering a toothache goes to see his dentist the dentist administers laughing gas when the man comes to his numb tongue swooshes around his mouth he asks how long was i under the dentist answers hours i needed to pull them all out



he imagines when he grows old there will be a pencil grown into one hand and a paintbrush grown into the other they will look like extra fingers grown out from the palms extensions of his personal evolution little children will be horrified when they see mommy mommy look at that man’s hands!



what if we are each presented with a complete picture of a puzzle from the very start then as our lives proceed the pieces begin showing up out of context sometimes recognizable other times a mystery some people are smarter more intuitive than others and are able to piece together the bigger picture some people never figure it out



i wasn’t thinking i didn’t know to think nobody taught me to think maybe my teachers tried but i didn’t get it i wasn’t thinking i was running reacting doing whatever i needed to survive when you’re trying to survive you move fast by instinct you don’t think you just act



many children are relieved when their parents die then they no longer need to explain prove themselves live up to their parent’s expectations yet all children need parents to approve foster mentor teach love



she was missing especially when her children needed her most she was busy lunching with girlfriends dinner dates beauty shop manicure masseuse appointments shopping seamstress fittings constant telephone gossiping criticizing she was too busy to notice she was missing more than anything she wanted to party show off her beauty to be the adored one the hostess with the mostest



i dreamed i was condemned to die by guillotine the executioner wore black and wielded an axe just in case the device failed in the dream the guillotine sliced shallow then the executioner went to work but he kept chopping unsuccessfully severing my head this went on for a long time



1954 Max Schwartzpilgrim sits at table in coffee shop on 5th floor of Maller’s Building elevated train loudly passes as he glances out window it is typical gloomy gray Chicago day he worries how he will find the money to pay off all his mounting debts he is over his head in debit thinks about taking out a hefty life insurance policy then cleverly killing himself but he cherishes his lovely wife Jenny his young children and social life sitting across table Ernie Cohen cracks crass joke Max laughs politely yet is in no mood to encourage his fingers work nervously mutely drumming on Formica table then stubbing out cigarette in glass ashtray lighting another with gold Dunhill lighter bitter tastes of coffee and cigarettes turns his stomach sour he raises his hand calling over Millie the waitress he flirtatiously smiles orders bowl of matzo ball soup with extra matzo ball Ernie says you can’t have enough big ***** for this world Max thinks about his son Odysseus



when Odysseus is very young Dad occasionally brings him to Schwartzpilgrim’s Jewelers Store on Saturday mornings Dad shows off his firstborn son like a prize possession lifting Odysseus in the air Dad takes him to golf range golf is not an interest for Odysseus Dad pushes him to learn proper swing Odysseus fumbles golf club and ***** he loves going anyway because he appreciates spending time with Dad once Dad and Odysseus take shower together Dad is so life-size muscular hairy Odysseus is so little Dad reaches touches Odysseus’s ******* feeling lone ******* Dad says we’ll correct that make it right Odysseus does not understand what Dad is talking about at finish Dad turns up cold water and shields Odysseus with his body he watches Dad dressing in mornings Dad is persnickety to last details of French cuff links silk handkerchief in breast pocket even Dad’s fingernails toenails are manicured buffed shiny clear



Odysseus’s left ******* does not descend into his ******* the adults in extended family routinely want to inspect the abnormality Mom shows them sometimes Dad grows agitated and leaves room it is embarrassing for Odysseus Daddy Lou’s brother Uncle Maury wants to check it out too often like he thinks he is a doctor Uncle Maury is an optometrist the pediatrician theorizes the tangled ******* is possibly the result of a hormone fertility drug Mom took to get pregnant the doctor injects Odysseus with a hormone shot then prescribes several medications to induce the ****** to drop nothing works eventually an inguinal hernia is diagnosed around the age of 9 Odysseus is operated on for a hernia and the ******* surgically moved down into his ******* the doctor says ******* is dead warning of propensity to cancer later in life his left ball is smaller than his right but it is more sensitive and needy he does not understand what the doctor means by “dead” Odysseus fears he will be made fun of he is self-conscious in locker room he does not comprehend for the rest of his life he will carry a diminutive *****



spokin alloud by readar in caulkknee axescent ello we’re Biggie an Smally tha 2 testicles whoooh liv in tha ******* of this felloh Odys Biggie is the soyze of a elthy chicken aegg and Smally is the size of a modest Bing cheery



one breast ****** points northeast the other smaller breast ****** points southwest she is frightened to reveal them to any man frightened to be exposed in woman’s locker room she is the most beautiful girl/woman he will ever know



Bayli Moutray is French/Irish 5’8” lean elongated with bowed legs knobby knees runner’s calves slim hips boy’s shoulders sleepy blue eyes light brown hair a barely discernable freckled birthmark on back of neck and small unequal ******* with puffy ******* pointing in different directions Laura an ex-girlfriend of Odysseus’s describes Bayli’s appearance as “a gangly bird screeching to be fed” Laura can be mean Odysseus thinks Bayli is the coolest girl in the world he is genuinely in love with her they have been sleeping together for nearly a year it is March 11 1974 Bayli’s birthday she turns 22 today Bayli is away with her family in Southeast Asia Odysseus understands what a great opportunity this is for her to learn about another culture he knows Bayli plans to meet up again with him in late summer or autumn in Chicago Dad wants Odysseus to follow in his footsteps and become a successful jewelry salesman he offers Odysseus a well-paying job driving leased Camaro across the Midwest servicing Dad’s established costume jewelry accounts Odysseus reasons it is a chance to squirrel away some cash until Bayli returns it is lonely on the road and awkward adjustment to be back in Chicago Odysseus made other plans after graduating from Hartford Art School he is going to be an important painter after numerous months and many Midwestern cities he begins to feel depressed he questions how Bayli can stay away for so long when he needs her so bad the Moutray’s send Mom and Dad a gift of elegant pewter candleholders made in Indonesia Mom accustomed to silver and gold excludes pewter to be put on display she instructs Teresa to place the candleholders away in a cabinet Mom also neglects to write a thank you note which is quite out of character for Mom Bayli’s father is a Navy Captain in the Pacific he is summoned to Norfolk Naval Station in Virginia the Moutray’s flight has a stopover in Chicago Bayli writes her parents want to meet Odysseus and his family Odysseus asks Dad to arrange his traveling itinerary around the Moutray’s visit Dad schedules Odysseus to service the Detroit and Michigan territory against Odysseus’s pleas Odysseus is living with his sister Penelope on Briar Street it is the only address Bayli’s parents know Odysseus has no way to reach them when the Moutray’s arrive at the door Penelope does not know what to tell them Mom and Dad are not interested in meeting Bayli’s parents it is not the first sign of dissatisfaction or disinterest Mom and Dad convey regarding Bayli Odysseus does not understand why his parents do not like her is it because Bayli is not Jewish is that the sole reason Mom and Dad do not approve of her Odysseus believes he needs his parent’s support he knows he is not like them and will likely never adopt their standards yet he values their consent they are his parents and he honors Mom and Dad let’s take a step back for a moment to get a different perspective a more serious matter is Odysseus’s financial dependency on his parents does a commitment to Bayli threaten the sheltered world his parent’s provide him is it merely money binding him to them why else is he so powerless to his parent’s control outwardly he appears a wild child yet inwardly he is somewhat timid is he cowardly is he unsure of Bayli’s strength and sustainability is that why he let’s Bayli go whatever the reason Dad’s and Mom’s pressure and influence are strong enough to sway his judgment he goes along with their authority losing Bayli is the greatest mistake of Odysseus’s life



he dreams Bayli and he are at a Bob Dylan concert they are hidden in the back of the theater in a dark hall they can hear the band playing Dylan’s voice singing and the echoes of the mesmerized audience Odysseus is ******* Bayli’s body against a wall she is quietly moaning his hand is inside her jeans feeling her wetness rubbing fingers between her legs after the show they hang around an empty lot filled with broken bottles loose bricks they run into Dylan all 3 are laughing and dancing down the sidewalk Dylan is incredibly playful and engaging he says he needs to run an errand not wanting to leave his company Odysseus and Bayli follow along they arrive at an old hospital building it is dark and dingy inside there is a large room filled with medical beds and water tanks housing unspeakably disfigured people swarming intravenous tubes attach the patients to oxygen equipment feed bags and monitoring machines Dylan moves between each victim like a compassionate ambassador Odysseus is freaking out the infirmary is too horrible to imagine he shields his eyes wanders away losing Bayli searching running frantically for a way out he wakes shivering and sweating the pillow is wet sheets twisted he gets up from the bed stares out window into the dark night he wonders where he lost Bayli



these winds of change let them come sailor home from sea hunter home from hill he who can create the worst terror is the greatest warrior

be my second chance at life,
be my sun,
get into my orbit,
crash into my atmosphere,
let me paint your teats on canvas,
let me be the hot water in your bath,
I don't care if the metaphor is broke,
just get the **** over here,

the distance is inhumane.

**** so small
that **** look like some *****,

******, ******:
one, two, three

me,
i am normal
i ´ll not
die
to save
the world?!

(or for the love
of a space-girl)neither,
i would rather
eat
than a compliment-

rather than my
toe-
nails pulled
i would sign
on

the dotted line...(that says ouch..!)
my sworn testament,
will verify,
that black is
white,

and white is
black..
front back
normal
like you

freedom of expression
is all well and
dandy
but when

one´s ******
in a vice
mice-elephants
and vice
lies-

-versa
that´s sure
quite normal
i´m sure
(even the threat
suffice-)

lies are normally
just  augmented
truth (or bits left
out..)-
truth is best!

and the best truth
is thank goodness
it is not me..!
as we march off
to war..

Only horses sweat
******* princes
perspire therefore
we can but assume
Virginia Roberts is
into equus caballus
perhaps the FED's
should be looking
for one mister Ed.

I'm happy
burning fiery joy in a chest
Light hearted; ready for the day
"bring on the pain," we only grow through hurt
Human nature is a rose;— sometimes sharp words
of our heart's thorns.

Growing pains through the sores,
"I love the hurt," to feel my worth
a jewel indeed, jubilant as any could believe
Filled with glee, and like a tree blowing carelessly
in the wind —I feel free, and so happy to be free

As the sun rising; feeling on top of the world
kissing summer for her pretty girl
My smiles are bright; outside, outside, out side
out sigh— sigh, here comes the night



...setting day,
I'm upset, "I don't know why"
my heavy eyes, without a load of reason to cry

starring at a wall,
the curtains creeping cracks, excessively
kicked to the side, now it's kicking in; my OCD

everybody hates me,
..I hate myself, corrections to say I underrate myself
overrate my existence,— feel like a disappointment of a Christian



Ugh, growl, and a bark
my mind is stuck, angry and frustrated
What the duck! Flying words, and saying
a few foul words. I'm ******, but *******
by the wrong tree. Tried to mark my territory
warning myself in the shouting silent voices,
     "they should fear my bite over the unheard bark"

Nobody is listening, only the fiery demons poking
the fireplace of my anger. Life is an unbalance to find balance
No-one explained the rules, no-one gave me the chances or
explained the answers. I'm being tested; ****** are
testosterone filled. Ugh, clicking my fingers, clenching
jaw and fists. To many outward thoughts, might not breath in.
                   "about to explode in this imploding anger poking"

Eyes rolled back; cocking back my words
About to shoot down heaven with some harsh speak
A prayers afterwards, without feeling any peace
I'm pisssed, I'm ******, I'm ******; please don't try a
piece of me. Piece me together as a parton of war,
physics of battle, guns and aiming to blow
            "so **** angry, but not enough words"


But wait, I'll be happy by the morning.

So, I murdered a sonnet,
closed him up in a bonnet and left
him to charge me of ****** in 14 lines.
Well it was the length of his words against mine!!!
I shot him with an illegal firearm that
I always used to clothe my arm before I
slaughtered pages,
his shadow was always clothed in suits,
yet his existence so meaningless,
a privileged vocabulary,
well he couldn't fit into the ghetto,
the expressions that reeked blood,
the metaphors that hid black dead slaves,
the rhymes that had discords because a lot
of voices spoke,
I could not imprison those stories in
those white lies,
sorry I mean 14 lines.
I designed his corpse in a body bag,
recited his obituary on poetry stages whilst
my black toes knocked the ground,
nervousness,
the lies enveloped within his lies,
he spoke of bedbugs, Romeos and Juliets,
thus and thus,
I stopped, for his truth was attributed with grotesque lies.

So, I tried to bleach my eyes,
just to try and see the color of his reality,
I tried to express his stories,
but he kept calling my people Othello’s cousins,
he categorized them as kaffirs,
he spoke of thanksgiving, but my lips
shaded with melanin bit themselves because I kept wondering
what my black folks would thank anyone for,
they have been taught to
hang from strong lines that hug their throats,
painted on headlines with RIP hashtags,
so, if a Poet like me would spice up their obituaries with
punchlines maybe they would use
those lines to charm St Peters at Heaven's gates.
I feel like our ancestors have sold us to
death on the other side.
I have grown tired of plucking dreams from
buried graves at feared cemeteries,
speaking to tombstones that are support structures to
dry roses, wilted lilies,
blooming thorns,
so, would you blame me for murdering
a 14-line year old *******,
Shakespeare's child.
So, justify me in the Poetry court of
elite critiques.
By the way I plucked Mr. Sonnet's *******,
they were too pointy,
I think he was too ***** to be a Poem...

I cut his blonde hair,
and it’s now a mop for my bathroom mess,
I forgot to feed him his own ******,
maybe he would've understood what kind of
seeds he fed to these dead Poets societies.

So, I guess I'm already guilty
to some Jury poetry group,
so please sentence me to fourteen lines
behind poetry bars,
maybe I'll come out rehabilitated of my ghetto
lines, or sit me on electric chairs,
guess what, those have become our thrones,
no one notices our pride,
no one sees our poetry lines as power lines,
we cannot even feed our families with these
words,
we were born as street poets,
pirates of the pages,
the ones who hold pens beside pistols,
stop signs and zebra lines don't
really stop us from reaching the
Shangri-Las and Nirvanas of street word.

So, I killed a Sonnet and
buried him in my head's bonnet,
no guilt though,
but he's always behind every thought I embrace,
behind my head!!!
#RIP...... hope they write about you
wherever you are...
Ciao!!!

Can Hollywood tell between
a fake and a FLOTUS

Because an Oscar is male, but
but a wife can’t be POTUS

The democrats thought, they
had la dame from COLOSSUS

But Donny T’s ******
made him Scabrous SCROTUS.