Are you fatigued?
Do you have irritable bowel syndrome?
Are there irreconcilable differences in your life?
Are you Homophobic...

"I climb 1,576 stairs"
"But I have a lot of gay friends"
once we've reached the top,
there are no two quarters for the lens.

What's driving us, this feeling, this wander?

Could you imagine,
If kind was ****** compassion.

Could you imagine,
If kind has no reaction.

What a day, what a day, what a day, what a day;
it will be.

Like children lost in corn mazes.......

filled with glee.

Hollow are those shallow times,
don't you
forget
about me.

What a day, what a day, what a day, what a day;
it will be.

Luckily those prickly vines, are fading fantastically.


TRF
         sometimebforehalloween

Crackling. Rocking. Crackling. Creaking and oscillating, a century old **Mahogany Wood seceded to the paSsage of time.
Particles of sand, confounded by the Peninsula’s chaotic, blasting breeze now revealed a shade of burnt tar.
   Outside of the second floor Maissonette, sways the rocking chair once warmed by Grandpa.
A Tactless, impatient, rhythmic Requiem Bashes near the wiNdow pane as the sunset falls Under the frame.  
                                                        ­    Empty Folklore presides like the Residue of a once lambent effigy…                                               SwOosh. Hush!
           Cocktails were a Preamble to lunch like diabetes to Nephropathy.
Corrosive Rhetoric seeped in to expose the ego of a Sommelier.
     A smile would Parachute down when you needed it like Nicotine to remind that no Precedent had been set, just an Anomaly.
                     Cutthroat beginnings, this was no Analog man.
        In grade school his Cosmos found Zion and “The world to come”.
        This baby’s Cradle, abandoned High atop a mountain was blown by a Chinook towards the Atlantic.
                “I was found swallowed in a stained Table cloth by Balkan children on a treasure hunt, with no Guarantee and no resignatIon. "
                     The boTtle narrates these chronicles and a smile parachutes down when you need it like nicotine.
                                          Dionysus Crafted his accounts while most Garnered his spiels with Snide.                               As they witnessed dream remembrance; he thought his memory was Presumably accurate, and although his tales were triFling to the gathering audience, they became his Heliocentric history.
            Calling me a young Galleon and handing me a map, Grandpa scanned his hand across the vast land
       guaranteeing trEasure would be found if I had no resignation.
               This Asinine assertion to my teenage sister Symbolized the Barring of her unheeding imagination by time and then a smile parachuted down just when she needed it like nicotine.


_TRF

Those West Texas *******,
Sure look pretty good to me,
On the way back home,
to Nashville Tennessee.

I don't wanna hang out,
to the east, west, south or north.
Gonna write me a song,
swingin on my front porch.

Crickets sing in the background,
while feet stomp this here oak,
Pass me the slide and I'll take you on down the road.

My woman says I drink too much, and I agree with her,
Tie the devil round the bottle, make me a fishin' lure.

This Road's mighty ******* poor souls, especially the likes of me,
Take your candid pictures now, drown your worries down by the sea.

From where I stand today,
At sixty three years old,
I've lived twice the life,
of any man I've ever known.

No makeup, I got real scars,
All from after hour bars.
Read my poetry palms girl,
tell me If I'm near or far.

Played every stop along the way,
Sometimes got out for free.
Look at this face child,
Don't reckon I owe a fee.

Leaving those West Texas *******,
easier than it seems,
Gettin' back to my front porch is where I Wanna be.

_trf WPbumblefoot

Couldn’t grasp a report today… dear child.
My broadcast body tuned to this frequency
Wouldn’t turn the channel ‘mind so beguiled
Me and my ******* voracious tendencies
Like a blood clot in my brain these words are filed
This new sensation is my delinquency.

Let’s shut it off... and get away.
Flip the switch on my ten-pound nemesis
Can shoulders bear its weight day after day
So Long the time has come to finish this.

This child as pure as I am blight; Let’s both be free.
Don’t Plant the Red Fern angel, he has long to Grow
Son, here’s my soul, please interchange with me
Like the boy I wonder, “Where will I go?”
As I’m not so proud of my biography
Alright Jack, it’s time to Get on the Road with this show.
Hell is a library with only one book, The Inferno.

_TRF 12/13/16

vibrations resonate from the keys
and a rhythmic heart beats all eighty-eight.
those who cannot glean her pleasantries,
adorn snapshots of   SOHO  shopping sprees.

a gleam of light seems dull amongst the coral reefs,
sending shivers up the spine of apathy.
shaping narrow minds and corrupting the weak,
is this vial, verbose and anxious society.

a butter knife has taken the place of my edge,
not sure how to sharpen its fight.
a flutter of  broken wings i've pledged
this blur has delayed my flight.

so i steady my fingers
over both blacks and whites,
and ready libations,
like Goethe's pursuant might,
vibrations do linger with no end in sight,
until my art escapes me, only fluent at night.

we coral reefs need to be saved




_TRF

Up high above in the dark nights of fall,
Shines a Star that’s more stark than other flashing lights that lure,
Burning since the birth of time, hazy hindrances still may obscure,
Like bait that patiently awaits the oblivious all.

They say one is born every day, but only you illuminate bliss,
You can escape from this infinite space and when shooting make a wish,
Radiate through the hate, create a new fate, you are unique- Not a spate- and amaze everyone,
Oblique where I gaze you are nigh shiny sun.

She came, she saw, she wondered in awe, “where will I be?”
Are the words that pierced Stella’s skin written as a scrawl? Time will tell and we will see.

-TRF

In a state of catatonic epilepsy, the fragments flux throughout my head.
This paradox lays atop my pillow as I remember about baby steps and think about Bob.
I calmly ask myself to turn the lamp off, but my arm can’t reach the light.
Yelling, “Go-Go Gadget Arm”, I realize my imagination is fake.

Now gone when I need him I lay and wonder, where is Drop Dead Fred.
Anything to get my mind away from this torturous Blob.
Night and day are little monsters beneath my bed with a ferocious fight.
I reach instead for the bottle that makes sounds that shake like a rattlesnake.

After four of those, each vivid memory is as vague as the next
and the paradox continues…

_TRF

Indulge in chaos with an appetite of tremendous conviction.
Hastily retrace your preamble that drapes the window pane like the silhouette of a cynic,
Divulge the albatross of plight to escape eviction
And lay waste the shambles that shape a widow’ s pain beset by a mimic.

An insipid eye for uninspired lies,
She forged herself an eponymous name,
Like holding a vigil for a pessimist when in Retrospect the glass is half full.
An under-dog recounts our demise,
Misfortune subsides having only the ***** to blame,
Lack of abuse is an act of kindness,
As Jan-Erik Olsson has no sympathy for the devil.

_TRF

i woke this morning to the blues,
tired eyes can’t fathom this phantom news.

fire breathing out his window pane,
in my dream, thought i'd gone insane.

fictitious facts dawned on me,
my heart scrambled for her recipe.
  
                          So i turned it all off and ran away,
           the twenty four hour cycle versus my ten pound nemesis,
                               can't bear this brunt day after day,
            redemption songs need some bliss.

trust in me as trust in you,
find my flaws....... don't perfect them.
a little boy, i'll re-main true,
cease the fire A-gainst the wind.
casualties can't be subdued,
mind the dice........but don't crap out.
there's no ice that seems to dew,
extinguish flames, round your bout.

                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.
                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.
                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.
                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.

TRF                                              TENtwoTW­OthousandSEVENTEEN

Winds howl through stricken streams,
From the moonshined mountains spiking Tennessee.
Steaming copper pipes protect like turpentine,
Cherish the soil from vine to wine.

Sweetwater medicine crosses Big Sky Country lines,
And a Capitol drowns voice's reedy rhynes.
The Carolines and swamps round' New Orleans,
Spokane's foothills spire like Woodland's Cherokees.

Mushroom clouds swooped ponderosa pines,
In the desert one day, made the earth cry.

Oh Beautiful, not time to flee,
The Jersey Wetlands or Houston's calamity,
Analogous feats, magnetic societies, 
Build a bridge across contrary beliefs. 

_trf

Seasons fall short as she celebrates wine and rejoices in its carnage.
Logistically speaking, we were miles away from Tripoli,
Somewhere near the edge of the desert when the barstools began to sink and the drugs began to take hold.
Amongst the indecent, Intolerant citizens of three,
Your name rings silent but Bustrophedonically.

TaXXXed like the Phoenicians, I meandered aimlessly,
True to form halted norm of reality.
Prelude thee of nomenclature and I without sin
“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the ******* towers of Ilium?”


Dreamersofsocietyinterjectthemishapenmoldofbeaucracysim­oultaneouslypivotingbetweentwelveshotsandahippopotomauscarnivores­ubstituteofdissarayabbrasionsstillgatheringdustamongthecravasseso­fmodernenlightenmenthowaboutabreakshesaidreluctanttospeakinebriat­edanddisproportiantelypunctuatedwithatleastaverbalaltercationserv­ingseveralthievesmishapenguidanceabrubtlysweepscreatingovalpatter­nsperplexedbypretensciousmonolopy
_TRF

"Hi."
Hey. Yea, I know who you are.
You drive merely miles and I now drive far.
You know why I'm here?
Don't look me in the eyes; I don't want to imagine that fear.
" I do. Hey up there, your daddy's here!"

"We're upstairs, one minute or two!"

"Yea, no **** you're upstairs, I didn't say, hey down there."
"They're upstairs and said one minute or two."
Yea, I heard them. I'm standing right here in the doorway like a vampire
"Would you like to come in, we've set a fire?"
As long as I stay on the fringe
I will be ok right here
as will you.

tick, tock sounds my actual grandfather's clock
To believe I traded the rug for that. My rug sure doesn't tie a room together.

"Your son should be down any second now."

"How about this weather?"
*******.

_TRF

A dandelion allures an essence of the innocent,
Distinct from a ****, once puffed flurries offspring of homogenous descent.

Proletarian by nature, now **** without seed,
That puff propels my wealth and now I can lament.

Bees harbor resentment, “You can’t pollenate me!",
Enticed by sinuous poison and overlooked by the Bourgeoisie,
Cautiously creeping like honey’s viscosity in vain,
Synchronicity is cut short swiftly by A Coup de Main.

_TRF

Vivienne wriggled restless draped in a veil of veneer,
She could never pass the stage of sleep same as her street number three.
“Our cycles are synchronized”, so the moon she did fear.

Their marriage froze frigid until deliquescing at month three,
Her lunacy at low tide leaked on her ****** red bed sheet,
Like the snow that would thaw, end of winter in ’33.

As a muse Viv was perfect, but the man suffered defeat,
With her parent’s heirs to riches, resentment followed suit.

Could it have been Dr. Huntington she inherited? Viv was swiftly swept off her feet.

The white walls met her head like a drum beating mute,
As in the fourth circle, Pluto, dressed in a white coat shocked her brain.

Across town Tom was receiving an award, celebrating with the astute.

“*Viv ruined him as a man, though quite the poet he became”,
For if it weren’t for Vivienne, Tom would have acquired far inferior fame.

_TRF

Your dictation crutches us,
Helios? Ha, no such luck,
you get no more passes,
what even is sin?

Your ******* flux
and anorexic glut
cripples masses
and **** stains porcelain.

Swallow your halcion,
eat your ice cream,
tweet *****, don’t rinse but repeat,
your comments are racists’ dreams.

you’re a turkey neck,
a red rooster’s ****,
alarming our twitter storm
every morning, ******* our stocks.

Our cup of joe is vital, signs
on roads that you detour,
this U-Turn title called potus,
is dying for more.

_trf
tenTWELVEtwentySEVENTEEN

so sick of people talking about the seasons.
we all get in an elevator with another and feel some type of way.

ding, ding, ding, ding "what number are you again, 42 right?"

"bingo, thanks." that's weird, how'd he know my floor.

"no problamo." ****, i shouldn't have said, no problamo.
what if he's latino.

"so, how about this weather huh? 94 degrees in mid October"

"yeah, I should have extended my lease in Saint-Tropez, haha"

ok, he's french maybe. phew.

ONE
big season is coming,

AND it's coming soon,

built from the relaxation,
of our inert, intelligible delinquencies.

I bought a harmonica,
I fear what she'll say,
wind sweeps your sarcophagus,
and here's what she'll play.

poooosh, shussshhhh
poooosh, shussshhhh
poooosh, shussshhhh
poooosh, shussshhhh            

Climatic consequences
felt by us all,
we are all allies
once this pier is swallowed.

Buoys will float
down city hall,
there are no lawyers
to get us all out of this.

Are we still
talking about
the turning
of leaves?

**** your

spring
fall
winter
summer and fantasies.

_TRF
                4

i was sloshin' through a pool hall one day,
when i saw snake eyes lookin' back at me,
and i wondered if,  i'd ever be the same.

pulled up a stool, to narrate my picture,
she was takin a shot of my go to liquor,
**** it, "hey momma, lemme get your name".

feelin like a creep, to even ask her,
she peeped my phone and demanded my password,
i snatched it back, said that secret's still full a shame.

pressed a thumb to the screen and opened up my credit,
woke up that morning with only lint in my pocket,
down a dark hole,   but out it's sunlight again.

found a note in my wallet,  still never read it,
she disappeared like a forgetful rocket,
comes once before, comes twice, now it's all the same.

to scratch my back and straighten my rug,
her perfume burned like, a desired hug,
i wondered, "hey momma, where'd you get your drug".

******* and opinions
everybody's got em'
one in the back
two in the front pocket
we're all right here...
    so mind your p's and q's.

cynics are silhouettes
dressed for the occasion
never on time
but they always try to fake it,
we're all right here...
   so heed your tongue and move.

_TRF

my orientation, pixelated on the small screen, tells me where to go.
like pavlov's dog, a ping rings and i obey.
                                                           ­   foggy nights, nature plays her role.
  coordinates escape as the device lethargically reroutes my landscape.

"follow me", SHE insists, british accent and all,
redirecting my already adjunct journey.
"you have arrived at your destination".
                       what does that mean? is this the place?
must be.

a child born or circumstance coerces my mind to meander and i move.
always and forever to the tune of progression.
not understanding infinity, the boy smiles, relinquishing my worry.
he does not yet know these depths his daddy will wander the world seeking HIS peace for the sake of my solitude.

I am merely a speck on a flea living on a fish in a vast sea.
he, the lighthouse, guides me through these deep dark waters.
as the waves churn and churn,
a million miles were traversed to affirm; this type of love

_TRF

S leazy people out there
Y ou Know who you are
N ever again will you roam free
C onsequences are coming soon
H earts tarnished and dying
R emember when you ***** us
O ver and over in the lair
N ow i inhale that wretched scar
I mages flicker constantly
C ows don't jump over the moon
I shoulda known you were lying
T o sync schedules with a school bus
Y our ashes will suffocate in air

_trf

Winds howl through stricken streams,
From the moonshined mountains spiking Tennessee.
Steaming copper pipes protect like turpentine,
Cherish the soil now, sow grape seeds till wine.

Sweetwater medicine crosses Big Sky Country lines,
And a Capitol drowns voices reedy rhynes.
The Carolines and swamps round' New Orleans,
Spokane's foothills spire like Woodland's Cherokees.

Mushroom clouds swooped ponderosa pines,
In the desert one day it made earth cry.


Oh beautiful, ain't time to flee,
The Jersey Wetlands or Houston's pleas,
Hammered nails, wasted woes,
Build a bridge across contrary beliefs.


_trf