She kept up with her housekeeping.
Typically. Very Neat. Shelves everywhere.

Today, the melon baller was out of place
and she was busy batting flies.

Actually, there was only one fly.
Senses deceived.

The humming was too loud to go undisturbed.
Attention becomes focused digitally

on enhanced minute wrecks.
Hours spent trying to get the flies.

Illusion.
One fly.

She didn't know. Suspected worst.
Kept at it.

The sexless man walked in with a tophat. Brimmed.
Asks why the dishes weren't done.

Too Busy.

Why the floor not swept.

Too Busy.

Vacuum.

There's flies to get. I'm busy.


The house is a mess. The house is a wreck.

I, so young, fruitful, and high
on the extravagance of life
spot the funkiest electric travelling
beat coming into sight.

The man approaches, asking me to
come and take a walk.
But to strangers I simply
tell this man I'm not supposed to talk.

The man says kind-like smiling all wide,
"I'm a stranger than who? A stranger than you?"
Slyly replies the stranger than I.

"And so you say that I may be strange
for my tophat and clothes have such colorful range.
But if these threads force you to think such a way
just look upon my beard growing so long and gray.
And just because you do not know me, it doesn't mean
that you should "no" me."

"Perhaps your are right," I say with delight.
"From what my eyes can see you are quite alright.
The strange is no more, not for you nor for I.
For my name's McGovern, McGovern's Pollite."

"It's so nice to meet you once stubborn McGovern!
I was born with the title Sicillian Summer!
But for short call me Summer, I go by no other.
Now let us adventure my newly made brother."

And off we went 'round the world and afar.
From Orion's belt straight towards the North Star.
The great majesty's sea pulled us out with its tide.
Thus, Summer and I were a universe alike.

But Time's Father's old ticker struck at such great speed
that Summer was old now and I was displeased.
For I did not want Sicillian to leave,
but my great misfortune was Summer's last need.

"Why wary McGovern, my grown younger brother?
I've shown you the way of Sicillian Summer!
My time has run out for what times's worth I wonder.
But don't you cry now, once stubborn McGovern.

Here is a token, a keepsake for you.
My tophat is yours for my life is now through,
wear it while jumping from the planets to the moons,
and all other moments, your life's lovely tunes."


...



Summer is gone now and I walk down a road.
Top hat tight on, bearing colorful clothes.
A young boy sees me from a ways up the road
and I can't help but feel for his being alone.

I approach the boy asking if he'd like to take a walk.
But to strangers the boy tells me he is not supposed to talk.

I can't help but wonder am I a stranger than he?
Surely he is not a stranger than me!

I said I wasn't going to do this today
but again for the third time you asked for it.
Ranger Rick you thought that
if you used your Woody account
I wouldn't know that it was you.
You thought wrong.
Yea I **Blocked
Marcus Darcy or should I say Deena/Vicki..?
Angelina Lopez or should I say Brandon Nagley, Tommy Jackson, Tiberius Paulk...?
Frank Rizzo or should I say Gary L..?
James or should I say r,woody, tophat, Wilf Sporrat..?
>Wilf Sporrat is a complete wannabe Wolf Spirit<
Jake Muler, Bill Murray and ten others are also fake
....................
The things that you are inboxing Wolf's followers,
aren't true.
So Stop.
You guys are stalking him and his followers
Thanks Woody for the Community Guidlines reminder,
maybe you should read the guidlines too or Shut up!
and stay off my page.
Its actually very funny how you blocked me but you still go on my page and leave comments...? Huh maybe we all should take a moment to ponder on that.

----> FYI <----
*I was not put up to this by Wolf Spirit or anyone else....and I got my information from many different reliable sources.....

Je sais que vous venez ici pour votre dose quotidienne de mariages .mais je suis tout aussi certain que vous êtes ici pour votre dose quotidienne de plaisir aussi .Valerie Barnes film a livré .parce que le couple au centre de ce mariage a à la fois un amour et un bonheur qui sont contagieux !\u003cp\u003eS'il vous plaît mettre à jour votre browserColorsSeasonsFallSettingsBallroomHotelStylesTraditional

D­e la photographie .Même si Suzanne et Carl se sont réunis et maintenant résident à Boston .elle a choisi de se marier dans sa ville natale de Pittsburgh parce qu'elle voulait se marier à la cathédrale Saint- Paul .l'église où ses parents se sont mariés en 1972 . " Je ne peux pas attendre pourêtre dans cette église . C'est si beau . "

Quand elle a Carl à Pittsburgh pour la première fois.elle l'a emmené à l'église pour le mariage d'un cousin et lui dit: « Je vais me marier un jour dans cette église . "

Le matin du jour de son mariage .elle s'habillait à la maison de ses parents à Fox Chapel .Bien que sa robe a été conçu par Monique L'



huiller et ses chaussures par Badgley Mischka .at-elle ajouté quelques objets personnels pour compléter son look - le voile qu'elle portait était mariage voile de la mère et le bracelet qu'elle portait a également été emprunté à sa mère .
La réception de mariage a eu lieu à l' Hôtel Omni William Penn ." J'ai adoré qu'il était robe courte devant longue derriere au cœur du centre-ville de Pittsburgh et a également pensé qu'il était parfait pour la sensation de notre mariage . "la pensée de

Susanna de son mariage ." j'espère que notre mariage que nous sommes en mesure de tenir dans nos cœurs et nos esprits l'amour et de l'admiration et l'appréciation que robe de mariée 2014 nous avons les uns pour les autres aujourd'hui tous les jours .et que nous continuons de plus en plus non seulement commeindividus.mais comme un couple "

Photographie : Goldstein Photographie | vidéographie : . Valerie Barnes Film | planification de l'événement: Le groupe d'événements | Floral Design : Hepatica | Robe robe courte devant longue derriere de mariage: Monique Lhuillier | Gâteau : Vanille Pâtisserie | Cérémonie Lieu: Saint-Paulcathédrale | Réception Lieu: Omni William Penn | Chaussures : Badgley Mischka | Bijoux : Tiffany | Restauration : Omni William Penn | robes de demoiselles d'honneur ' \ : Amsale | Linge de maison : linge de lit mosaïque | Tuxedo : Tophat TuxedoAmsale .Badgley Mischka et Monique Lhuillier sont membres de notre Look Book .Pour plus d'informations sur la façon dont les membres sont choisis .cliquez ici


http://modedomicile.com

I watched a single spruce sprout out of crack in asphalt
Sunday morning, church time,
From my skeletal apartment
high above the street lamps,
While my eyes dried and crusted with dust.
My fingers charred to leather, tightly bound
on to the iron balcony.

But the stubble-like blemish of the road's surface
Was ****** back inside concrete
From which it grew,
A magic trick,
Like a rabbit reentering its black hole tophat,
Just as the earth was flushed
down the esophagus of Satan,
Swirling in a tornado of molten lava,
Lucifer's saliva.

Wearing just
a Toga fashioned from my black satin sheet
and a Tophat
sipping Sirrah out of a champagne flute;

It's been a crazy night.

leaving
home alone
cheap
*****
liquor
dope sick but
I'm sicker than what
star stickers could fix

it's made me
a motley collage
of a hodge podge
apogee sentenced to be
hanged from the ceiling
or on the wall in a
cheaper motel hallway.

this is in no way an apology.

what the **** are we doing here?

getting stupid numb
playin dumb &
faking it, making noise
to fill a synchronized void
it's feeding itself,
it's eating itself

photosynthetic autophagy

lovely little lamb
lost cause long shot
breaking the bottles
for succumbing to
their own poison

but smashing the glass
don't quiet the voices,
it just makes them laugh.

peace love
*** drugs
bubblegum baby in
a neon pink bikini

a tragic act.

houdini chasing
rabbits & red dragons
to wonderland
under the tophat
he huffs his magic
from a plastic bag

- escape artistry.

carved from bone
covered in leaves
drinking veins.

darkhearted
hollow-eyed & starving
***** & sparkly
snarky harpy barking
senseless malarky.
she's pretty garbage.

beautiful.

just plain
*******
beautiful.

You shall don no silk gloves, tailcoats
or even a tophat, all you'll
have is an assembly
of a scattered and
yet attentive audience,
and you, the performer.

Pleasantly it is not fear
that will make you nearly
light-headed, it is the demand
that you must perform.
a few breaths in, and a smirk on your
face, and voila....

Your act, miserably enchanting
as it has been, is amazing to
those only simpler than yourself.
Much in the same way
as you are taken by something
more grand.

Few tricks here, few tricks
there, is all the magic
we have to get us
by.

The older you get
The faster you end up dying.


I'm alive,

Bury me with a pickaxe
An old hg wells book
A cup of Joe
And my old tophat

Bury me with a smile

i'm thirsting for jacquards and fine stemmed glassware
arias and plain flat violet skies that seem to curve to the clouds
firmness that releases soft edged conversations relinquished doubts
and stubborn stroked outlines of earlier times... peaches in kraft bags
ripened to the sweetness that "ahhs" the tongue and smiles that
linger and trickle down to bebop rhythms and Sarah's songs
tricky stuff said and done with twisting turning resolute
convictions and strained certainties that spoke to truth and
utter passions that seemed to spiral like so many dervishes in tophat
wonderment... look at the fallen trees and lost warriors that happened past histories... ultimate choices when futile jestures seemed
like the oligarch's pronouncements... merriment comes to tamper with
memories and sadness falls into chutes flowing to wide streams
where friends wade knee high over soft slipping stones all placed and counted matched like Orion's special quarter of the universe... stay quietly among the ferns and frogs and pace yourself to the changing monotony or feast upon the first light tickling your eyes tomorrow morning.

you don't want to ***** this newness with yourself
you lie
half-woken, a story
slipping in vomitous avalanche
of nowness, mourning
on a stack of crumpled sheets

night-stuck whiteness, imagining all
the games you might play
if you were to forget
your age: shaking
all that powder into the cracks
of your muscadet
dry skin
notes of apples,
saline

weather-woman, with her green screen showmanship
had not portended this outcome
this modern diviner you hold in high esteem

you always liked the way magicians seemed
to make something out of nothing
(a rabbit from a tophat gap, coins out of earlobes)
and winter is sort of like that, too
you wake up and everything is blanketed, you don't remember
the process, how it all got there
a snowshoe hare leaps
like she formed right on the snowbank
paper that came pre-sketched
free of gestation

beneath the avalanche muscadet turns to claret
but we can't see it happening
for miles and miles a blank page
what dies under the heel of perfection
a magician never reveals his secrets

Four blocks east and two blocks south,
The man with the tophat tips his cap.
No, no, five blocks west and carry on north,
The young woman curtseys and nods.
You’re doing it all wrong.  Thataway,
The lad in a crisp suit points with confidence.
Take the underground far east, it’s faster,
The butcher mumbles as he serves his customers,
It’s a long, long walk, do you have good shoes?
The mother pushing her stroller remarks.
It’s a cinch.  You’re almost there,
The man on his morning jog assures.

And so I carry on,
this way and that
around the town,
untIl I find myself
back at
the intersection of
indecision.