right now i'm thinking
        about angry older gals
at the supermarket,
i'm thinking: shave the bush,
start a razor "wildfire"...
let's see your neck and your
chin, shave off that beard...
the crazy much older than
your supermarket attendees
are dropping the word
viking while you shop
for whiskey, onions and
tomatoes,
even the security guard is
looking at you funny...
   your excuse of:
i became bored of shaving
is not going to work
on these women,
in their late 50s,
making all the talk the talk
and the talk being
small talk and
trebling in: i really just came
in here for a purchase,
i don't have the ***** to
do the small talk...
    of course that's always besides
the point...
    viking?!
               how about a
      zimmer frame?
                    god, small talk kills me,
i don't know how to make a chair out
of it to sit on for much longer than
feel comfortable longer
                  than 5 minutes on it...
and there's always one of these women
in the supermarket,
she just knows small-talk -
     kleinsprechen...
while i know the großsprechen -
alternatively: stille (silence);
but she just insists upon
her solipsisms,
  and she does so perfectly,
she talks, and even manages to reply
for me...
            at least a monologue of
a madman is less claustrophobic
when you spot a solipsistic woman in
her antics,
       at least the madman in his
monologue feeds you not claustrophobia...
given he's so self-engrossed in
imaginative cursor workings...
    a madman's monologue never
morphs into a solipsistic claustrophobia
intimidation, notably within the guise
of women...
       i'd prefer a madman oblivious to
me in his externalised monologue,
than a woman in a supermarket,
oblivious to her solipsistic take on dialogue
intimidation by restraining the other
in a pseudo-claustrophobia;
that famous echo chamber...
   please, throw me into the cushioned
room with a madman, i'd rather hear
his monologue,
   than her attempt at
            a dialogue in a supermarket!

where cello was semi-colon, where violins (always plural, no one's weeping or playing to beg) are colon, where Bach's (church pianos) organs / castrato livers kidneys hearts... where comma was the trebling silver triangles... where full-stop was the composer turning into a conductor, to detach himself from the act of composition and into a drama, a staged drama, a Sisyphus ram against the stable coordinate of perpetuated slam dunking bullseye for only a: knock knock. who's there? knock knock nowhere. nowhere where? here. where what? knock knock open the ******* door!*

i lived to the age of 70,
i loathed hating people,
and i loathed loving them
hence the reason i never married,
i could have lived alone
but the monetary system absolved that
wish...
tribalism would never give us
mozart's symphony no. 40 because
we would be exchanging favours
instead of monetary funds...
via solipsism and the ugly synonym autism...
****** instead of wives... well, there you go...
her eager libido explains much,
as a teenager ****** eager (rhyme rhyme rhyme)
explains her escapism into outliving man;
her satan's bargain truly did favour hair,
oh ****, her, while he died a splendid death
aged approx. 30, she with a **** salute
saluted him: i'm worth 90 autumns!
yeah, 90 autumns and arthritis.

He played me in melodic song
knowing how I longed to hear
and feel his kissed breath;
whispering in my ear.

Like drizzled tendrils of rain,
washing against my trebling
frame, it was insane as he
refrained from causing this
heart of mine any pain.

Playing me, striking each chord
as a strummed tune; soothing
any sorrows, lost in broken
tomorrows; still whispering his
yearning want of me in measured
scores.

Caressing my soul as if, a
maestro leading his orchestra,
crescendoeing like trembling
limbs teased in hunger.

Splayed, awaiting his baton of
passion like a bee hovering to
taste its honey, giving pleasured
sonnets entwined within sweet
poetry.

Still playing me as his sweetest
melody.

The time haply hath come for her to burn
Off the chaff, as the Arab Spring, in turn:
Plenty here are already living in earthly hell
Whose souls in lack and want daily dwell--
Sans meals, sans clothing, without electricity,
Without job, without warmth, and sans salary--
Who from heaven's providence good do fend,
Whose expectations and fulfillments on it too depend;
Yet this present president against the citizenry
Welfare hath gone ahead still the oil subsidy
Sensitive to remove, doubling and trebling forthwith
The price of things to a cut-throat level; he wit-
Less, meseems, is our economy dire to manipulate
Sensibly  and cannot such consequence great calculate
Hence adding to our festering injury salt of hardship,

Who was voted into office to manoeuvre this ship
Out of doldrums, for whose victory lives perished
As their faithful flames into eternity vanished
During the ugly mayhem that did ensue after the
Presidential election of last Spring,
dying untimely.
This, sailor sterile, is our reward from thee, methink,
By making this giant vessel of Nigeria to deeper sink!

much of j. r. r. tolkien is unoriginal, the dwarfs are basically jews, thrór is simply king solomon, amassing great riches, the dwarfs are exiled; it's a clever plagiarism of historical events.*

for the ones that say: too see patterns in holes
in phonetic units, too see
lions in zoological enclosures of curiosity,
to craft orbits of curling lips
and numbed tongues within trebling
kabbalah is the forgotten anatomy
of only the mouth, the gate into the mind,
find the mouth a curiosity, you will enter
solomon's mines of wealth, where each
thought an idea, the constantly pressurising
scalpel furthering you on: it was islam
with the gift of the holy graffiti of scribbles
on walls: their verboclasm that pursued us
to abuse a fondness of erecting statues no more...
to copyright and trademark an arrangement
akin to coca-cola with hope of lettering
a statue into motions of nonchalant waves
and lashes...
to abandon representation of chiselled cheeks
and foreheads to carve into marble
and other stones the phonetics while
leaving the many ignorant and dyslexic
is too a blasphemy on the original demand
of the commandments: this engraving of
the tongue's recognition of sounds is equally
abhorrent.

Vision of Love

They have memorial walls for fallen soldiers there needs to be a rock wall a memoral for lost
love with exquisite tranlucent paint take trebling hand pick up the brush let the inward brokeness

guide your brush strokes all that see her face will know the haunting pleasure that speaks bluntly
of imeasurable thoughts that were built from peace and it alone holds pathos are not tears and

hurts bound to the wall when you gave your all your eyes show the starry incomprinsible
knowing this was all of lifes searching bestowed in one human form it emits this emotional

content wave after wave indisoulble atraction that was binding in one but just a wisp of an echo
of feet departing that is potrayed and is plainly seen crestfallen heart does bleed on this outer

stone now the cracking lines separate but in doing so makes for a greater lasting whole it dosen’t
deminish her beauty fair only in this does glory flare in spite of erarthen decay life it tells in a

binding spell does aliveness know bounds stuctures that call all elements of life sea ward scapes
trees on mountan vistas the deepest sweetewst medows are aglow when I touched her arm that

once held me tight in embrace now the airy wind tells of it as just a mystery but oh to me it is the
cooing of the dove it was what I invested my all in love for a time it was reality living breathing

unspoken tenderness flowed sweet as wine a nector aged in the divine heart of promise and it
was mine now sweetest torture looks out on me from a rock wall if I were God I wouldd crush it

to powder and make her come to life only for me but who wants a slave with out will or thought
that’s not the materail or value of love it must be freely given by this device joy trully could pour

from rock and love spill on this dead broken life if it could only be so restoration from heaps of
tallied days longings with out end the chrushing continues this soul must live on recalections

a smile frozen in time a voice that was as cool as the dewy morn that called me to brightest day
where ever I go I am under her watchful eye the rocks are sure they are my peaceful cure for her
love that I lost by this know that true love never dies it just planitivly sighs over days and years

you get the picture: a picturesque
fashion house analogy - the analogue
cue the sole identifier alleviation off analysis
with duo both character-and-narrator,
the analogue, the supposed it,
third party agglomerates -
to breed an analogue is
half the fathom rekindled to a pursuit;
nearing comparison is hardly
a comparison at all.
what love is given is what love
is governed, all other love is
a papier mâché -
for each twist and every turn,
a hum makes trebling feel a resonate
to encounter an arcane trill,
and via the Halloween analogue en-masked
thrill a devil's curb to mind that
the 20th american century was a foetus
of serial killers to plagiarise a recurrence
of death accompanied with their un-fulfilment;
most of 20th century culture was born
from american's outer reaching uttermost frontier
without a game of indians and cowboys,
and hey-halo-dimmed-asking  the boys enjoined
for a skeleton alphabet -
clavicle through to vertebrae.

she don’t read my poetry no more


not that I blame her, she’s in the majority,
moreover, she’s got ESP womanly seniority,
sensing what I ain’t saying, before I’ve even
had a chance to think it through ain’t it clear

these double negations,
for the rest of you,
reflecting my slip slidin' away,
a slowing indirection of virulent
side effects spiraling sideways, ain’t it clear

everyone’s shouting
the end is yay! nearing,
but the  endings risk is trebling,
meaning meanings be altering,
all the same, ain’t exactly unclear

she asks me where I’m going,
to the pharmacy replied, perversely,
feeling unlucky, a sure sign it’s high time
to buy a lottery ticket, given my inversity,
gods of fortuna singing ain’t it clear

****, she says, you went to university,
you know the odds are just plain stupidity,
not in my favor, my reply, meaning exactly,
ain’t it clear, everything and so, nothing to fear

**ain’t it clear

She just woke up from the dream she didn’t want to,
Barely opening her cute and swollen eyes,
She heard the sound of the alarm that broke through,
Her dreams, like skillful bunch of Russian spies,

Shaking, trebling, still disoriented, she stretched to stop that noise,
Slowly stretching in the semi-darkness, she broke the silence with her voice,
No word or sentence came out streaming, from her thirsty, soft and tender lips,
Just a sigh from what she saw standing on the display, that tickled down her warm, frail hips ….

Coincides with first day of fall
and Autumnal equinox for said year,
where colorful splash kindled like tinder.

After I riff flecked about thee August
Autumn Equinox 2023,
this seasonal polymath teached you
fall Equinox will be Saturday,
September 23, 2023, at 2:50 AM,
in Northern Hemisphere
Eastern Daylight Time,
which spoiler alert thy
learned wordsmith (courtesy Google),
when (Our Sun) Welles

(exemplary Citizen Kane)
crosses celestial equator
i.e. (imaginary line in sheltering sky
wherein pantheon of mankind Bowles
above Earth's Equator
from north to south),
a barley detectable
quiet rye hit
(*** on feel the noise)
moment occurs.

Eyesore fissured **** – wide,
stripping crust of planet vied
where survival of fittest futilely tried
to the max, viz (courtesy
badass beastie boys of **** sapiens)
exploited, offended, and violated
beholden hidebound sacred
contractually fragile important obligations
arranged marriage wedded  
civilization and its discontents to Mother Earth,
(more like shotgun wedding)

alarming, blaring, and clanging
sounding Doomsday Clock,
where ambivalence unheeded
trebling cleft noteworthy
wound, where hide rubbed raw
each betrothed nsync, didst guide
generic hominids shrugging indifference
resembling Atlas sized fountain head
scathing tragic misguided
exploitative testament writ large,

where precious resources exploited
**** sapiens railroading, snubbing,
and thumbing nose
despite flora and fauna espied
comprising onced vibrant edenic biosphere
(figuratively) asper dead
serious portentous desperate
global abuse decried
as feeble effort ignoring
inevitable demise doth decide

dismissively prophesying mocking
(burdensome), whence creator cried
resplendent raiment
adorned playfully chide,
sans whirled, wide webbed biota
adorn terra firmae analogous,
quadrants expectant wedded bride
named Gaia, when (dark and Stormy Dan
yells) Armageddon legatee - time ran
out for **** sapiens meaning...

salvation to late for human
fate i.e. as does wrecking,
(falling on deaf ears) plea
as Mother Nature dost allied;
this observer awestruck,
knitted brows, cuz field day, sans
grim reaper will
glory in field day
whar crisscrossed lovely bones
numb skulls pay fealty.

Festive gatherings of
apple cider and pumpkin pie,
a distinct golden jacketed
matted palette well nigh
paints arboreal swath, sans
quiet riot of brilliant
color, that doth belie
rampant terrestrial, unreal,
and venal degradation aye
temporarily turning a (third)
blind eye apathetically, blithely,
and conveniently shunting aside

empyrean découpage citadel
betokens (bespeaks) autumnal arrival
two oh fifty ante meridian
chariot of fire emblazons telltale signature,
one humble human doth
bid summer and his squandered life adieu
courtesy handy dandy blue's clue
flora and fauna begin
to prepare for hibernation.

Onset of harvest time witnesses
courtesy sweat of one's brow
he/she doth reap (and feeling invigorated)
what they did sow.

Common type of implements utilized
when gathering in of crops
include small sickle, big sickle,
darat, gandasa and small axe et cetera.

The hand sickle is used to harvest crops
like wheat, maize, barley, pulses and grass etc.

Big sickle (Darat) used
to harvest fodder from trees
silent whoosh of sickle
signals harvest hew
and/or raking leaves,
which I eschew.

Already crisp cool mornings
sun kissed mine cheek
refreshing air wafts thru longish hair
trademark characteristic property
aging pencil neck geek
attends brief bathroom charge coffee
exotic brew jolted kidneys leak
***** not kidding water closet doth reek.

Especially third season upon us mortals
Montgomery county, Pennsylvania
said geographic real estate sloughs
(i.e. sheds) summer dog days
necessitating shuddered windows
disallowing natural aeration
to circulate thru unit B44
cozy one bedroom apartment.

I will stave off clicking on the heat,
as long as possible,
yet invariably come first frost
yours truly will renege
and surrender creature comfort,
albeit climate controlled temptation
similar when global warming
quite evident predicated upon
Farmers' Almanac prophetic prediction.

Though ecology minded
quick acclimation to unseasonable
hot or cold temperatures
finds me adjusting thermostat dial
mainly to thwart palmar hyperhidrosis
regarding turning on air conditioning
during sweltering triple digit
(Fahrenheit) thermometer readings,
versus absent sweaty hands
courtesy old man winter arctic blast.

Ah... remembrance of wood burning
stove late papa lit,
to dispense chill pervading childhood home
324 Level Road christened "Glen Elm"
within national (local registry)
when Leiper family initially occupied estate
at that time (think early twentieth century)
merely intended as summer getaway.

This time of year finds me
to reminisce and wax poetic
nostalgia more pronounced,
particularly as aspiring wordsmith
orbitz the sun seemingly
with greater rapidity
twelve months cycling at light speed
ruminating, punctuating equilibrium,
and narrating mortality

accentuated when flora and fauna
exhibit metaphorical raiment
presaging Mother Nature's fall fashion show
linkedin with approaching senescence
prompting generic garden variety **** sapien
to rue his transience upon oblate spheroid.

Gentrification impossible mission
thus thy lovely bones will subsequently
become repurposed into  ashes
sprinkled hither and yon to and fro
across elysium fields
of happy hunting grounds.

I mull mortality
thru lens crafted occipital orbs
regarding a better future
experience sing a space oddity –
whar incessant yaks
exuding a big hurt
emanate as cosmic atomic
bipedal hominids replete roof lee wax
during a foggy day in London town
despite current requisite vacs  

in nation, with no win intent to tax
earning income sans
new career in a new town
sacred gaia,
boot merely regale bing alive -
till death rattle racks
breaking rocks
on a small plot of land –
named abdulmajid
this hue man vesicle

honking duck dine hasty billed quacks
trumpeting as absolute beginners
*** ping toot trumpet
sum dimming sense n sensibility cashed;
screaming across the universe  
gnome matter whirled wide web
tattered like worn school packs
scattering fractal moonbeams
african night flight
scouring virtual briny deep

satiating hunger after all
sans respite from stressors 2-tha max
ending after today at al alba
finds me caught up
in global game of thrones
listening as dueling banjos
play alabama song
cosmic forces play bingo or jax
keeping aladdin sane
while mortals on earth join
fine null scene grim reaper as final acts.

This then bryn mawr clowning bozo
belting out algeria touchshriek anthem
haint no wah shaky spear butta rip peats
living virtuous like all saints
moss lee same old epithet via matt speak,
comprehending all the madmen
which maxim (or similar facsimile thereof)
generating kickstarting optimism
among all the young dudes
attributed to bard of avon on stratford;

reaching renown when almost grown
e.g. rose by any other name....
embalming owed grecian formula lovers
always crashing in the same car
much ado about nothing
amazing amlapura and amsterdam
couched in binary granules viz badinage,
interlocking rem cycles
during an occasional dream
literary espionage donned
as persnickety persiflage, quite lame

convincing brilliance
to whit, and I say to myself
eventually...all's well
that ends well sans this game
reveling like any Warhol –
tripping anyway, anyhow, anywhere
of thrones - n this yahoo
pledges allegiance n fealty
during the post world war two art decade
within parameters of cyberspace
cuz crest o kinship I aim.

Ike kin only imagine dragons
drooling n eyes glazed o’er bleacher
blitzing the madding crowd
as the world falls down
than lovely bones re:
unique scrunched ****** feature
burning down the house ashes to ashes
twisted countenances wrought
by this motley fool sought after
baying plaintively baal’s hymn
(der choral vom groben baal)
by men in white coats attired

as paparazzi equating lecher
rocking cradling baby –
envisioning baby can dance
us content; misconstruing
sensitive uber up lyft ting preacher
entrusting me - baby it can’t fall
cooing baby grace (a horrid cassette)
a generic garden-variety **** sapiens
doting with radiance
as baby loves that way
special to self n family
as a funny sunny teacher.

Credo i.e. to confront
fear of flying as netizen,
pinging pacifying patty cakes,
which iz baby universal
pardon jeffersonian airplane droning
twittering like n angry bird
shrieking that the referee backed a loser
echoing sagacious life lessons whey curd
ballad of the adventurers
(die ballade von den abenteureren)

congeals shape shifting simian
with pliant plinth gird
trebling melodic scaffold fueled band intro
shorn in various n sundry
couture hair re: styled swiftly tailored
flying needles clattering with a bang bang
harried styled uniform
far from versace clothier - prices absurd
holding wrongly incarcerated
behind bars of the county jail

boot issued from
rosy gun metallica sound heard
describing the battle
for britain (the letter)
evanescence of beauty -
these words written by aging nerd
hoping for thee to be my wife
from mine kempf noggin
each n every nine inch nail size word.

HEAVENLY STANZA INTERRUPTION ONE

The flat island floods
for want of a ****;
the land turns to mud,
the landsman alike;
  cursing the robin,
  the jay and the shrike.

There's room in the mushroom
for twice your old rent;
ask any peddler
what money they've spent;
  odds are they collect it,
  but you are exempt.

Black vacuum accumes
our ten thousand joys,
and now I may know
why girls might shun boys;
  ogling their neighbor
  with pittance and noise.

Such trebling rancor
encircles the world,
and now I may know
why boys might fear girls;
  forsaking upbringing
  for glamor and pearls.
  
The wails of the weekend
have reached their apex,
and now they may know
why I chase the ibex;
  stifling a fever
  with cherries and ***.