When you met him he was charming
and had a shimmer of silver to his
smile.  He knew what to say before
your brain could construct the words.
And this young man didn't believe
for a concrete second that chivalry
is dead.  He was suddenly everything.

But it started to change, as everything
inevitably does.  He told you first how to
pursue a career.  And then your closest
friends weren't good enough anymore.
You made a ****** ritual sacrifice here
or there.  Old connections had to go, keep
the monster contained.

He sunk his tendrils deep into the non-photo
blue sediment of your mind.  And the man
you called your own was tweaking the serene
oceans of your psyche subtly and oh so surely.
You inadvertently let him shift your beating
heart into a writhing chaos engine for love,
whatever love means anymore.

And he push, push, pushed you ******
into deep sinkholes you've never dared
even tread near before.  You are falling
forward and back through the singularity of
space and time, feebly holding your hands in
front of your face, trying to protect yourself
from a 20,000 foot fall.

Stopping your descent isn't a valid option.  
Halt a moving body so suddenly it will snap
its neck. you are quickly approaching terminal
velocity.  Anyone who could of caught what
is left of you was gone long, long, long ago.
There is no coming back from such impact.
It's mathematical.

God's second greatest creation is man,
Formed from clay into which He breathed new life,
Then perfected His creation in Eve,
Not from base clay but Adam’s flesh and bone.

On Adam God practiced His creation,
In Eve perfected it tweaking its flaws,
More heart, less hubris; more sense, less muscle,
More love less hate; focused on “us” not “me.

Sacred texts written by men disagree,
With what is only a most obvious truth,
God's truth whispered in men's ears only proves,
None are so deaf as those who will not hear.

Thus women have been blamed for all men's woes,
From Adam's fall to every earthly sin,
Marginalized, objectified and scorned,
As easy targets for men’s jealous rage.

Mankind is so much less than womenkind,
In all the ways that count save in brute strength,
Brute strength served tyrants well six thousand years,
Alas, serves tyrants well still to this day.

Barefoot and pregnant, subservient and poor,
Unschooled, unheard, and too often unloved,
Their primary role a breeding vessel,
To pleasure men and give them healthy sons.

No voice, no vote, no power and no hope,
To this day blamed by some for all man's ills,
Victims of **** ****** for their victimhood,
Honor killings from men most honorless.

The miracle of life was gifted you,
Men plant the seed and then their job is done,
They can wander away to plow new fields,
While women nurture life--cradle to grave.

I am in awe of all that you endure,
And all that you accomplish throughout life,
Diamonds treated like broken glass by fools,
Whose brilliance shines only in their own minds.

I am a son of Adam, share his flaws,
And know full well women have their faults too,
Yet for me hope for all humanity,
Rest with Eve’s daughters, not with Adam’s sons.

Words. They are my forte,
With them I can make works of art.
And what's best, I don't have to look a certain part.
With words, I can form an empire,
I could topple nations, even form a wildfire.

I was never good with speaking,
Always tripped up, got tongue-tied,
Words are like acid, making the world tie-dye.
And I'm the addict, just sitting there tweaking.

And I know, it probably doesn't sound good.
But if it's all the same to you,
Who decides what's good?
Me? Everyone else? No, it's whoever likes it. It may not be you.
So let me ask, what's your forte?

By Arcassin Burnham


Lawless system , in my mind , slowly
tweaking , I can't imagine this would be.

Cemented to everyone, I always lock
myself in a four wall room, look at me.

Starting to , think that everyone, in
America are all just crazy , maybe.

All of these hateful privileged people,
Terrorize me , messages are memory.

You do you,
I'm not made to be rude,
People here will assume,
I'll be away from here soon,
You do you,
I'm not made to be rude,
People here will assume,
I'll be away from here soon.

/

What more can I say, I'm artistic,
I'm elastic,I'm fantastic,
I am more than just a human meat sack
and,
I see peace , love,
And a journey,
Come and follow me.

What more can I say, I'm artistic,
I'm elastic,I'm fantastic,
I am more than just a human meat sack
and,
You could take this,
Or just drop it off.

Peace , love,
But you just drop it off,
You think these feelings will leave you soft,
Use to think the same way , when it all
started,
And in the end I was not cold hearted.

Still alive
But barely breathing
I searched but didnt find a meaning
My persistent heart wont stop its beating
I get high instead of sleeping
Finding veins to shoot some speed in
Countless hours ive spent tweaking
Im Just a ****** and a fiend
Playing victim
To a cycle so vicious
Hard to admit im the one who chose and picked this
Im on my own hit list
My lifes the perfect nightmare thats ever been scripted
my Memories play out in tragedies
Remembering saddens me
Ive been more stressed than any kid should ever be
And yet i never let them see
The Years spent living in denial
I want to cry but fake a smile
Something i learned as a child
They wont hurt me if i never let them in
I never learned how to get vulnerable
I just held it all in
Bottled up feelings
Never once expressing
How it feels inside my head
All alone no one knows me
Ive aways been a phony
Force feeding myself so im not too noticeably boney
I Cant cope unless im high
Needle full of dope until i die
My wills too weak to be freed
What was a want has now become a need
Im getting Paranoid as my track marks are getting harder to hide
My Blood thickens as it dries

The leaves we're burning bright
Like thunder.

Open the belly of the beast,
From under her patient paws
Uncertain

Lost in a thought,
Lost in motion.
To speak out sound
That's left unspoken.

I found a light
To keep me grounded.
Forever keeping me safe,
Sure, and certain
For there was a tinge of a
man uncertain
Lost and confused
And easily amused

By preying
On those who are weaker.

He knocked on our door,
We invited him in with kindness
He saw nothing,
but hates blindness.

I felt you sneaking,
Tweaking in.
No longer I call you friend.

I wish the present was as good
as how I remember the past.
Fond memories of years gone by,
selective at best,
the worst ******* times of my life
seem comfortably nostalgic.

     I spread poison over ant hills
      by the hundreds, each a foot taller than
     the next, dispersed among the soggy eight
     inch grass, hopefully guiding them toward
     neighboring yards…It was early spring.
     Wet. Cold. Cloudy and I was tweaking like hell,
     day 4 or 5 or 6 in abstinence from
     a nasty three year addiction.

The brain simply wants to protect.
I only remember the ant hills.
the sheer size of them and
how many ants lived in each
1,000? 10,000? 100,000?
It didn’t really matter

because

the present you
won’t remember anyway,
thoughts group together like gifts
under a Christmas tree except the tree
is set up somewhere under a sheet in an attic
of a house that isn't even yours.
Pretty soon there are more gifts in place
and the new gifts cover the old gifts
and the old gifts melt into the rafters
during the heat of Texas summers.

The past can always be
what you want it to be.

No sense worrying about today...

Scribble,
Scribble.
The etchings,
of a dreamer.

Who's quill he,
quibbles with.

Grasping at an idea,
that he hydrates
with ink.

In wrathful vengeance,
he abuses parchment,
with a sharpened wood spear.

Drinking his creation,
tweaking the taste,
that's almost bitter.

Slash, ****,
cross out.
He is vexed,
about the ending…

I am struck your powerful gaze.
It is alight; a roaring blaze.

Passion, hunger, and want these are the reasons behind the flame.
You swoop me up into your arms so quickly that I am unable to calm my still shaking frame.
For these tremors you are the cause.
But who I am to place blame?
I am instead silently, in my head, giving you a furious round of applause.
Everything is moving so fast.
But I know, deep within my chaotically beating heart, the impact of this moment will forever last.

Hot open mouthed kisses, you place down my neck, in a sloppy trail.
At a painstaking slow pace. One that I can only liken to a snail. 

My skin is on fire. 
But this is much more than pure desire. 
Or lust.
The driving force behind this is the element of trust.
Some may believe me, others may not but I believe that the key component of our relationship will never rust.

"I am yours and you are mine."
With that statement continually being reinforced, all clothing has been removed allowing us to now gently recline.....
Simply divine.
The dance that allows feelings to collide as limbs intertwine.

Behind my eyes, I can picture shooting stars.
"Come on baby, sing me a few bars?"

I try my best to honour your request.

But all that I can muster is a powerful but equally as pleasurable scream......
I snap open my eyes. Just a dream?
At first thought it did seem so.
Then I feel you beside me, closely you lean, "Hello."
You ever so quietly greet.
Your hand moves slowly lower to where I am radiating quite a lot of heat.
Your technique is haphazard and frantic, anything but discreet.

You pick up speed.
Making me whimper with need.

The pressure rises within my blood.
My pleasure reaches its peak, triggering a flood.
While I'm still coming down from my high.
You run a finger along the inside of my right thigh.
I buck my hips.
As your lubricated finger ends up being housed betwen your lips.
"Mmm........Finger licking good." You whisper while at the same time tweaking my overly stimulated bud.
I shudder as you start to once again, make my heart thud.
You are my Love Stud.

The typewriters tap,
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
like a fourth estate rap
to provide us the pap
(that serves as a snack with a rat-a-tat-tat)
in a newspaper scrap
crammed with meaningless crap
from the editor's yap
(spewing flimflamy flak, booming rat-a-tat-tat)
after gashing a gap
in the daily recap
with a snip in a snap-
sounding thundery clap
crackng rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

And the talking heads speak
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
of the news of the week,
tweaking tongue in the cheek
(with a click and a clack like a rat-a-tat-tat),
thus ignoring critique
'cause they're mild and too meek
in the midst of the reek
to report of the wrack (except rat-a-tat-tat)
whilst the pundits (oblique
when protecting the chic
of the upper class clique
at the top of the peak)
chatter rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

The NRA ghouls
plug a rat-a-tat-tat
while their blood money tools
fill the Hill’s vestibules
(where deceit behind drapes drips a rat-a-tat-tat),
spreading folly that fuels
frenzied hands of young fools
bringing guns into schools
(at the drop of a hat there's a rat-a-tat-tat
splashing blood in warm pools)
for now anarchy rules
(which the hype ridicules
'til the temperature cools)
hailing rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

Lawless cops, cutting loose
with a rat-a-tat-tat
spraying bullets profuse
without any excuse
(just a split second splat with a rat-a-tat-tat),
splay a rattled recluse
like a Thanksgiving goose
gushing cranberry juice
from six slugs in the back (with a rat-a-tat-tat).
To redress such abuse,
bend the branch of a spruce
with a neck in a noose
while Death's drums beat diffuse’
rolling rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

War brings freedom to all
with a rat-a-tat-tat
(well, excluding the thrall
with fear, facing the wall
[ often smacked with a bat, throbbing rat-a-tat-tat ],
until feeling the call
to creep out of the kraal
biting back with a gall
[ with a *** for a tat and a rat-a-tat-tat ],
or to mangle and maul
if still able to crawl
and be part of the brawl
in a freak free-for-all,
midst a rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat).

Holy warmongers praise,
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
any soldier that slays
and all rockets that raze
(the drones zoom with a vroom and a rat-a-tat-tat)
leaving smoky arrays
of gray ghosts in the haze
cloaking mute cabarets
(hushed, the hip and the hop, by the rat-a-tat-tat)
while ol’ Cerberus bays
with mankind in his gaze,
so society prays  
as it rots and decays
(Satan's trumpets of doom blare a rat-a-tat-tat)
until one of these days
in a flash through the maze
mighty mushrooms will blaze
with invisible  rays,
fin’lly braising the craze
of the rat-a-tat-tat,
   and the
            rat-
                 a-
                    tat-
                          tat.

Brain fluid's leaking
bones are creaking
I need tweaking
it's
Wednesday again.

It'll soon be 2020
wonder if I'll have
perfect vision then
when
It's 2020
plenty of time to wait
and see
I suppose.

At the stroke of a pen
chaotic
******
words from a neurotic
still Wednesday
can't write it off
won't write it away

'Have a good day'
but
you know they don't mean it
unreal
like bit coins.

another stroke of my pen
but
when the missus finds out
I'll be in trouble.

Still Wednesday and I've already
blinked hundreds of times
looks like the magic's on a
coffee break

Looks like I
will have to change it
manually.

do not call me tweaking off of some back alley coke asking me where i’ve been all night. i’ve been trying to mix the messages you’ve been sending me into some cheap low-tolerance whiskey and coke. Slurring you into existence. i’ve been struggling to tell the difference between “i’m so high, i love you” and “i’m so high i love you”. You begged me to come take care of you, so you could hand over your burdens, place that white powder in my finger tips telling me “it’s not so bad, just take a hit”
Dear boy,
when you crashed your car at 2 am because the ***** in your blood stream got so tired that it needed a place to rest, i drove four hours to pick up your ****** dress shirt only to wash it and you never asked for it back. It hangs in my closet like the last memory i have of us in that restaurant on carry street. we ate dinner and you were picking my bruises out of your teeth, asking me “hey, did i get it all out? i still feel like there’s something in there” i tell you, no, there's nothing left of me. Your broken jawed apologies barely have enough force to break skin. I guess i’ve always been the brave one in that way.
Dear boy,
when i have to beg you to look both ways before crossing the street, please just tell me that you’ll make it home safe.
Dear boy,
when we were talking about the different kinds of slang in our states, you told me mid sentence that you missed me and i had to look that up just in case that was some kind of slang i had never heard of. So I told you that i loved you, because i’m sure you had never heard that either.
Dear boy,
i love you.
Dear boy,
I’m so high i love you. I wore your shirt to bed last night. I think that’s why I woke up early morning afraid of the street lights.
Dear boy,
you are probably stumbling through someone else’s doorstep right now, begging for them to take care of you because that’s what you think love is. And i’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Love isn’t so bad, just, take the hit.

Chemical diversity is the earth,
Boundless fate is a choice;
Become Mr. Nobody.

In the darkness of secrecy warmth found me,
"Forsake your ego" it said,
"Come join with me".

In the birth throes of a new year
I was struck by a sense of automania
as an amphetamine tornado's roaring gust
swept away my notions of velocity and force.
Entactus: touch within.
We overindulge, the stimulant, meta-amphetamine.

Consign your shell to be burning through darkness
and daylight, tweaking for normality to return
or to go further in; we're  stuck on spun,
Wanting to be spinning. Some things
give more than they take,
'Away' is not a place.

Look at him twitching
You know he's tweaking
His jaw swinging back and forth
But there's no speaking
See's something down
In the carpet twinkling
He gets all excited
You know what he's thinking
Anything he finds
He's going to be smoking
I wouldn't be laughing
Because he ain't joking
Down there for hours
Refusing to fail
Doesn't even slow down
After smoking toenail
Smokes up almost
All that he finds
He hears a noise
Now he's peeking through the blinds
He's been smoking too long
And he's up all night
Doesn't have a job
But that's alright
He's finds a dumpster
And without any warning
He's dives in searching
Til the early morning
That's just the life
Of a tweaker you see
Always out hustling
To get his **** for free
If you see him at night
Approach with caution
He's got a stink about him
Because ain't been washing
Picking at his face
Til his sores are bleeding
A light and a mirror
Is all he's needing
He finally got busted
Now he's on parole
Has to hide his drugs
Up in his *******
It's a shame, but that's the way
A tweaker gets by in the world today
His family don't want him
And he don't have many friends
His life is cut short
And that's how it ends
Everybody knows him
But no one knows his name
They just refer to him
As "That dope smoking Lame"

Thirty six years after they last were held in  pre-war Berlin
The games of the Olympiad were all set to begin
This time though, in Munich, set to host the sports worlds greatest show
It was the night before the opening, and all were set to go

August 26th, the games did start and all was going well
But ten days in, the world was shook, and Munich was now a hell
Where terrorists changed how the world would see these famous games
From that date on, The Olympic world, would never be the same

Mark Spitz, that year, set records as he won seven swimming golds
Olga Korbut, elfin princess, stole our hearts with moves so bold
Frank Shorter won the marathon for America, and he was German born
But, Munich's games are famous for the actions, that September morn

Close your eyes, remember back, if you are of the age
Remember those victorious, who were outstanding on that stage
Steve Prefontaine, he came up short, Lasse Viren, he did what he set to do
Think back now to that late summer day in nineteen seventy two

Eyes closed, still remember....David Berger, Mark Slavin and Kehatt Shorr
Seew Friedman, Josef Gutfreund,Elieser Halfin, and you know there is five more
Josef Romano, Amizur Shapira, not tweaking any pictures in your mind,
Andre Spitzer, Jaakow Springer, Mosche Weinberger...any memories do you find?

These men all were Olympians, judges, coaches, athletes, refs
September 5th is now famous, it's remembered for their deaths
They all should be remembered, for their lives, for why they came
They all reached the highest level, they had made it to The Games

Did they ever win a medal ? Would they ever get their glory?
They're remembered as a victim, unfortunately that's their story
It's 40 years on, London hosts, The IOC does not
Take a single minute, give these Olympians a thought

Now close your eyes again and think, could that happen once again
Could terrorists take Olympic lives, could they come and **** like then
Now if I repeat all the names I mentioned, you may not see their face
But, for one short shining moment, please put them in their earned space

Eyes closed, still remember....David Berger, Mark Slavin and Kehatt Shorr
Seew Friedman, Josef Gutfreund,Elieser Halfin, and you know there is five more
Josef Romano, Amizur Shapira, not tweaking any pictures in your mind,
Andre Spitzer, Jaakow Springer, Mosche Weinberger...any memories do you find?

I can see Cecily's ****** bars.
Sammy can see them as well.
After he speaks
I keep catching him peek.
She knows that he sees, I can tell.

Bailey has smoked too much **** again.
He's dribbling over my shoes.
He acted all jokey
And tried out smoke me.
It went without saying he'd lose.

Tom's on the floor by the table.
We don't know if he's alive,
Hugging Joe's feet,
Who is slumped on the seat.
I don't think they're due to survive.

Chris had a couple of pills.
Ethan a tab or a few.
Toria's tweaking,
Max is just peaking,
Matt's throwing up in the loo.

I'm on the sofa while writing,
Louie beside me in tears.
We may have our issues
With drugs and their misuse,
But **** it, it gives me ideas.

The spiked shoes
smile.
Smile up the streaming,
dark alley.
A hoodrat lingers
stacking cheese
tweaking off his own
product.
He's short.
His whiskers are burning
with trouble.
At this point
his best interest
lies in hiding,
but the only
place he can find
is a dumpster.
But, maybe his head
needs to lie
where it belongs.
He's up to no good
and he's no good
to look up to.
He's short.

On the 15th of May
In the French Laund-er-y
There was a small man,
The Chef De Partie

He was mixing and stirring
And stirring his sauce,
But his sauce wouldn’t thicken
He was at a loss

So he needed to think
and ponder awhile
Until on his face
Was a bright white smile.

“I have it!” He said.
“I know what to do
All  that I need
Is a nice thick roux.”

No reductions or tomatoes
Or even puree
He needed the roux
It was the only way

So what he did next
was truly “the ****”
He melted some butter
And dumped flour in it.

This mixture was gloppy
And looked like wet sand
The roux was ‘a cooking
But looked awfully bland

Morton must think
How to flavor this glob
Chef Tomas Keller said
“Morton its your job”

He thought and he thought
“Oh what can I do?
Bechamel or Veloute?
What to do with this roux.”

“Veloute I think
Sounds good for today.
I’ll make some of that.
Chef might exclaim, “yay!”

So he added some stock
Of Gertrude McFuzz
It was the best bird
It certainly was
Fond Blanc De McFuzz
Was clear and not milky
Morton’s Veloute
Ought to be silky

He cooked it awhile
Maybe for one half an hour
And when it began to bubble
The roux showed its power.

It thickened and coated
The back of a spoon
This stuff’s almost ready
It should be done soon

He strained it
removing the floury bits
It needed to be clean
No clumpys or grits

It was almost over
It was just about ready
It still needed some tweaking
“Can’t we eat it already?!”

“No” said chef Teller
as he took a lick
Was it good? Was it bad?
Was the sauce too thick

“You did a great job!
Trust me, you did.”
Said Teller to Morton
“You did good kid”

“One thing I will say
That you forgot to put in
It’s the most vital ingredient
In the entire kitchen”

“Its something that most chefs
Don’t use a lot of
It comes from within
The spice of true love”

Morton thought a bit
Like he often does
And then he said
“Chef! That’s what it was”

“It didn’t taste right
It was missing its pop
Its pep in its step
Its fizzle. Its hop”
He learned something there
From Chef Thomas Teller
Food needs more love
It needs to be stellar

After all that
And in the end
Morton threw it away
And started again.

James
Trying to find a place to ***
I went behind a big o'l tree
She saw me there
Completely bare
Then we became a WEE!!

TF
Oh the deepest trouble, *****
Playing with girls, that sin
just ware these words
don't think her absurd
when she wondering says, "is it in?"

Cné
So glad for you, on getting some
while relieving yourself, on the run
Girls that sin
worderin'
bored, did she ask, "Did you ***?
Or are you done?"

Sorry boys, just having fun!

James
Hey, welcome aboard
if you're feelin' bored
just give it a rub
but not a snub
that's how we scored

TF
Y'all are so bad, yes it's true
just tell me when your through
pushing, pulling
tweaking, fulfilling
your hands now full, of goo

Cné
How could I be bored, with the likes of you two
in need of rubbing, please don't be blue
Make no mistake
I have what it takes
especially, for men well overdue

TF
Talented and beautiful too
always pulling it through
it must be fate
it's always so great
getting a tugging, from you

James
Walking the streets before dawn
you looked and her light was on
you saw her fare
but didn't care
and wonder where your money's all gone

James
Poor Bill, he never did learn
he saved all the money he could earn
to pay a sweet lady
at place that was shady
and wonders why his pecker still burns

TF
Bill never learned his lesson
the burn just grew, not lessened
he never went back
his pecker he lacks
no more ****** sessions

TF
The ladies of the evening
sights beyond believing
the things they do
while making you
penniless, and leaving

Cné
A working girl, works it
with Johns, turning tricks
*******
and f¥€king
can't blame her, for getting you sick

TF
The doctor told her to take a break
her body one day, might break
all that cavorting
and oral contorting
she just really loved, her tube steaks

James**
He told her to take a seat
when she really wanted a treat
she was feelin' dry
and wasn't shy
And so she went after his meat

James
Cruising the streets just chillin'
searchin' for a chick just millin'
She shook her ***
I couldn't pass
Oh, well, another shot of penicillin

TF
Something's wrong with Suzy
something oozing, from her coozie
she scratches at an itch
her john's just call her a *****
that's the sum of it, laying down, with floozies

Cné
Suzy was rode hard, put up wet
with men on the street corner she met
Wiggling her ***
for just a little cash
***** status. she earned, you bet

Disclaimer: It just gets sicker from here...

James
Went to the bathroom to sit on the ***
I like to **** while I'm on the clock
There wasn't any paper
I used a finger scraper
I might better had used my sock

TF
Now if there's one thing I know
being a clock, that's fast, and not slow
fingers be scraping
flecks are escaping
****, will under the fingernails, go

Cné to James
Please wash your hands before you eat
Be careful cruisin' down the street
or chillin'
with penicillin
I fear a terrible peril soon, you will meet!

My life is fine right now
although it isnt good
its tolerable. Still waiting
on work, and I am still waiting
for success to come. My life is fine just needs
tweaking.

Life is a duality
For Death will always accompany
Don’t try to run from the inevitable
Running from death is running from life
People who spend their lives fleeing the end
Reach that feared destination and look back
Finding that a life spent running prevents
People from slowing down and enjoying the view
We are working our way there slowly
Smoking, drinking, tripping, tweaking
Laughing, crying, joking, lying
Dancing, singing, taking, giving
*******, screaming, fighting, leaving
All just brings us closer to the end
Don’t watch the clock
For time keeps ticking away
Second by second, tick by tock
And although in your mind it has been an eternity
That clock will betray your perception
And show you the passage and slipping of time
That brings you back to the reality of others
Don’t surround yourself with people
Who don’t fan your flame
Rather choose your company
As carefully as you choose your clothes
Something that complements you
Something that fits
Something that keeps you warm
Something to make you feel beautiful
Live each day as if it is your last
For each and every day
Is the last chance you’ll ever get
To live such a day
And so each day IS your last
As far as you know
Don’t gather possessions
Gather your thoughts
Put pen to paper, paint to canvas
Turn thoughts from mind to matter
Weave each and every dream
With stitching of the fabric of reality
Most importantly remember
That no matter what you do
No matter how far you go
No matter what you provide
It will never…never be enough
Yet take from the knowledge of such
The illogical, incomprehensible, unexplainable fact
That no matter what you do
No matter how far you go
No matter what you provide
It will always… always be enough
As you try to run and you try to hide
Take look at all that you made and all that you wrote
For we’re all committing slow suicide
And what’s left in wake of your life serves as the note

I  cant shake the idea though,
of us in that water,
like the goo of spacetime and the universe,
beings of energy interrupting the mathematical perfection,
agents of entropy manipulating matter and creating ripples that travel for miles and miles tweaking strings in time that may yet unravel to chaos

Let down like a (metaphor)

On this mild night.

Surely not a wild night-

Physically speaking-

Internally tweaking-

Shrieking, speaking in one tongue,

For that's all I have-

And I feel as though it should be removed for what it said today...

Clumsily written this poem probably is-

Clumsily smitten I very well might be-

But that's okay-

Because I don't think I give a ****

Anyway.

Stiletto heels and a push-up bra,
Hair piled high, bleached and toned and all…
That’s the way you used to shuffle around,
But you ain’t been much since your man went to town.

Who’s that a’ worrin’ bout them wrinkles and lines?
Is that the same broad who fell for all his lines?
Well, since he left you all you do is frown.
No, you ain’t done much since your man went to town.

You could’a picked a man who would’a cherished you
Once upon a time when love was fresh and new,
But you picked the one who was known all around.
Now,  you ain’t known much since your man went to town.

(Interlude)

You could’a picked a man who would’a cherished you
Once upon a time when love was fresh and new,
But you picked the one who was known all around.
Now, you ain’t been much since your man went to town.

What’cha gotta to do to make it right
Is take your piece out of your purse, it’s a Saturday night.
What’cha gotta do is shoot him down,
‘Cause you cry too much since your man went to town.

(I'm still tweaking the arrangement. It should have an upbeat Little Richard or Ray Charles rock-n-roll mid-upbeat tempo with possibly hand claps on the downbeat like a spiritual chorus... since most early rock and r&b; musicians got their starts in small black southern Baptist churches. Let me know what you think. If it *****, tell me.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5;
Once I brought a rhyme to life!
6, 7, 8, 9, 10
Then I let it die again.
Why did you let it die?
Because it brought a tear to my eye!
In Which eye did it make you cry?
See This little little tear drop on my right.

Tweaking, tweaking little rhyme
How I wonder what this time
Round and round in my mind
Wondering where on earth I'll find
How to tweak this little rhyme
Tweaking, Tweaking little rhyme.

Bah bah bad sign
For a little rhyme
Yeah sure yeah sure
Find a better line
One for the master
And one for a dime
And one for the amateur
Still thinking of a line!

There was a little poet
who had a little rhyme
He wrote in little lines
He worked in little time
And always did more
than little every time

The parrot, screeching, flew out into the darkness,
Circled three times above the upturned faces
With a great whir of brilliant outspread wings,
And then returned to stagger on her finger.
She bowed and smiled, eliciting applause. . .
The property man hated her ***** birds.
But it had taken years-yes, years-to train them,
To shoulder flags, strike bells by tweaking strings,
Or climb sedately little flights of stairs.
When they were stubborn, she tapped them with a wand,
And her eyes glittered a little under the eyebrows.
The red one flapped and flapped on a swinging wire;
The little white ones winked round yellow eyes.

Like a dart, I saw you, dog
Dashing from corner of eye
Bolt around corner of block
And I chased you
No keeping up
You've been caught before
Easy to tell, your apprehension
So I'll chase you no more
But you shall be lured
By a bone, I might dangle
Can't see me from that angle?
Down around end of that alley
See you peeking
Dog catcher's been tweaking
His noose
All riled, you break loose
'Cause to corner you
Would be my mistake
So lookie here, lookie here
I brought you some meat
Go ahead, take the treat
And know, you're free to roam
'Cause I'm a dog too
And this is the pact
Of our pack