The call center Bunny cannot sit Still.
He's a t-t-t-twitchy *******
with an Easter Grill.
His foot just thumps, and thumps, and thumps, and thumps until.
Beep!
Receiving a call, now it's ***** to the wall.
He's Makin' a Deal.

Welcome to the Magic Bean order center My name is thump~

"STOP RIGHT THERE RABBIT!
Tricks are for kids.
I'm 100 years old tomorrow,
I'm not placing a bid.
I'm calling about that free sample,
can you do that or not?"
"Brace for impact boys" Says Thumper.
"She's coming in hot."

Up to the plate with Rapport.
A ******* and a Miss.
"That's a great question, deary."
As he lights up a spliff.
Now the Dinosaur responded,
Well it was more like roaring.
Through the headset this woman
Led on quite a story
Most men would be huffing and puffing as she blew their house down.
But thumper sat there patiently
Turned her frown right around.

He pulled a lot more than grass
Out of his basket of Candy
"Listen here, kiddo.
You have a chance to be happy."
Get a Bunny enough paint.
He turns ******' Picasso.
"What's that beautiful?
You gonna let that rock go?"

"If you mail your wedding ring today.
We'll throw in an extra back bone."

This ******' rabbit Is tamin' raptors
on the phone like Chris Pratt.
He reads The wrap-up verbatim
Then does a victory lap.

The call center Bunny cannot sit Still.
He's a t-t-t-twitchy *******
with an Easter Grill.
His foot just thumps, and thumps, and thumps, and thumps until.
"Hey Thumper."
His little bunny smirk seems to
Spot himself a thrill.

"Seems like everybunny here is taking' Adderall."
So he pops and he smokes
He snorts and he cokes.
lines back up
with a wink, a pill, a couple less bucks.

Waves goodbye to the boss.
Swivels down in his spinny spot.
Snaps one headphone to his ear hole
Then stares attentive at the clock.

Tick tock tick
The bunny vibrates as he wait.
Usually he not so wide eyed
more drifting or asleep.
big white dress feet over
keyboard and mouse.
His tie pulled loose,
his ego is out.
The Pink bunny looks
seems to whistle and shout.
The bathroom stall is empty
where they usually hang out.
So they set AQE.
Though their meeting be brief.
It was Tactical.
Vertical
***** relief.
With her cotton tail up,
Her skirt to her knees.
Their paws on their flaws
A nibble for His carrot
Her Cadbury thong.
Got this pink bunny dialing
up against the wall.
you heard the thump, and thump, and thump, and thump and call.

For The call center Bunny
who can NOT sit Still.
He's a t-t-t-twitchy *******
with an Easter Grill.
Her foot just thumps, and thumps, and thumps, and thumps until.
Beep!
Receiving a call, now it's ***** to the wall. She's Makin' a Deal

soundcloud.com/geekelement

hist      whist
little ghostthings
tip-toe
twinkle-toe

little twitchy
witches and tingling
goblins
hob-a-***     hob-a-***

little hoppy happy
toad in tweeds
tweeds
little itchy mousies

with scuttling
eyes    rustle and run     and
hidehidehide
whisk

whisk     look out for the old woman
with the wart on her nose
what she’ll do to yer
nobody knows

for she knows the devil     ooch
the devil     ouch
the devil
ach     the great

green
dancing
devil
devil

devil
devil

        wheeEEE

You strayed independent across my unlaid path
impressing me with a hideaway around the thistles
where inlay thigh flints spark like butterfly wings
fused to outstretched but still flimsy present glinting
loose eyes a smoky incense close to gleam igniting
potent tinder sax on a beneficent Burns' night portent
whispering wick lit slivers of be live next to me glen scent
fluttering and roaming through saliva kissed gloaming
a light shaved window opening a misty eyed gap
opportune as a mysterious space between maps

crossed with aye formations and melted highlands
I slide into a bonnie loch when you return my glance
smooth as a swan stroking shallow into deep meeters
the swirl of bagpipes barely rippling the surface meters

a proud union betwixt us found expression
unflagging love notes ** streamed passion
red into sky blue twitchy nerves lend fingers
fondling unfurled clouds into catchy dance rings
retracing steps into tempestuous hearts I rose
so dryads can black watch temptation intertwine
painted inside as I woad your Pictish tartan

only now the pedestal wobbles a little
but you don't fall to my arms
brave destiny's turn is fickle
and straight on without being toppled
you hesitate but give no nod to lead
no quick look behind you as I hoped
shying awry to continue walking
the hot moment runs past cold
safe as before inhibitions land
like icicles on my fanciful back

upstanding Meissen men often talk
of perfection showing no cracks
and chuckled as they left their mark
in crossed swords kilned with clay ores
giving a porcelain lion soft pause
for thought about a heart out clause
and about lifting any kilt or unstuck thought
to keep established ruling embarrassment
but is that parley risking nought?
the mane's trimmed short
too correct to tip the hat
to a potential welcome
down falls harassment
south of the borderline
sad that no one can put
that man lass
yes
moment together again
but ever slow drifting apart
the dream mist
goes on

twitchy sniffly noses
silky bracelets woven
a sennight of whispers
and soft rains fallen
bones strident ringing
skins slow submerging
bloodshot eyes and
star-shot skies and
cheekbones shrouded
in staling chlorine

sneaking syrup smiles
under honey gold
four tonics drowned
to fight off the cold
and fast fortune-telling
for finites foretold
trace the lines and
face the folds, please
hold both palms closer
but leave them closed

twitchy ditzy fingers
***** rings unspooled
a sennight of stories
and sinking in pools
bones washed in phenol
skins slick like ferrule
bloodshot minds and
star-shot why’s and
wisteria lips speckled in
the warmest shade of cool.

Snake

The snake sits coiled in on himself
low in the dark ground
props his heavy head against the wall
he is sick and cold
it's in his blood to be sick and cold
he's too afraid to ****
knows he can swallow a rabbit whole
but doesn't want to see the rabbit leave
everyone loves the rabbit
so he turns invisible
becomes the dotted line on the floorboards
sinks into the heavy air
sometimes the snake can feel his venom leak out into his teeth
feels sickness in his belly
festering purple words in his mouth
too sick to be hungry
the snake takes to the ceiling
he likes how nobody looks for him
he can just watch
be silent
the snake loves to watch
listen to the goat bleat
or the rabbit make a scene and twitch around
it's quiet and peaceful and he can't be trampled
he can just coil up and love them all
if he is quiet nobody will know he is sick
they will only see his friends, the goat and the rabbit

Goat

The Goat Loves to be pet.
to be milked
trade himself for the love of another
to marry, sacrificial Goat.
viscera and smoke for the gods to be nourished
The Goat always comes back to life
Bones whole like the Milk, Zeus fed him
Rewarded with immortality for his submission
the goat lives like he knows he's immortal
does not listen to reason
acts on gut instinct
he has four gut instincts
they never agree with each other
the goat still has one horn
the second was shaved and polished so he did not
harm anyone
the first stomach breaks it down
the second passes it through without much thought
the third feels sick as it passes
the fourth sends it's nutrients through the body
The Goat feels a mixture of fulfilled and tricked.
he is still not certain if it was worth it
but sacrifice is familiar to the goat.


Rabbit

The rabbit thumps his big white feet against the door
sends it flying into the bar.
all eyes
twitchy hops
busted hinges
door frame
his bright white fur,
blue glitter suit
chatters his teeth
in approval of the attention
finger guns his new audience
his manic smile
huge attentive eyes
take in the room
glow as he speaks
fast and clear
commanding everyone stand
form a circle
most of them do
except the snake hugs the ceiling unnoticed
the goat has no motivation to participate
Goat distracted by his sketchbook.
Goat is drawing the snake
the snake is coiled up trying to disappear
Snake does not want to think about the goat watching
wishes for the goat to just watch the rabbit.
the snake is upset and can't sleep
the room is all dancing now
spiraling around the rabbit and laughing.
the rabbit leaves the circle and sits next to the goat
rabbit asks what the goat is drawing.
the goat points at the snake and says

"there is a beautiful creature that the world deserves to hear about"
the rabbit agrees
says how phenomenal an artist the goat is.
rabbit looks at the goat in his rectangular slit eyes
delicately touches the goats polished horn nub.
the goat leans into the rabbit and feels comfortable
the snake is very happy the goat stopped drawing to cuddle the rabbit
and starts to smile
less sick with less attention
up here alone without being seen
he can lift up his heavy head again
he looks at the rabbit
the rabbit looks for a split second at the snake
just long enough to wink
rabbit goes back to petting the goat
who is nuzzled into the rabbits chest
as rabbit watches the room of people dancing
all circling as he left them and commanded
the rabbit bathes in his power for a minute
bathes in his love for every creature in this room
how much love he is getting and obedience
complete control and omnipotence
all these individuals
the rabbit is a god in his own mind
he values the snake for watching over the room
values the goat for being immortal
mostly the rabbit values himself
for being their manic god, keeper. protector.

when the room stops dancing they look towards the rabbit
but the snake has descended the wall and eaten the rabbit
the goats gut instinct told him to swallow the snake
the the room looks at the goat
rectangle eyes one polished horn
and a look like he just brought himself together
the venom
from the snake
mellows the vibrations from the rabbit
the rabbis feet give the goat
unfathomable luck
Goat is level headed and looks
at his former dancers no longer under the rabbit spell
all separate
with their own lives
properties
the goat is no god
he is not a shadow like the snake
he is not distracted or indecisive in his art and mind
he just exists. talks.
listens. learns
he shows the room his drawing of the snake
they for the first time feel they are not alone
the goat, the snake, the rabbit, they all understand
they have so much love.
they complete each other.

he stands paces searches out windows feeling headache considers no matter who you are where you live we all come from same place a ****** he scribbles all i hear is *****, ***** ***** ***** new york ***** california ***** nordic ***** parisian italian spanish british irish japanese polynesian ***** ***** from all over the world ***** next door new ***** at work all the foxy ******* running around town ***** whipped pussyfooting ***** juice ***** lips colors flavors aromas squirters gushers hairy ***** ******* pierced ***** droopy swollen wet dry irritated itchy incontinent stinky ***** we are a nation of ***** obsessives he imagines Federal Bureau of ***** as an FBP agent he can show badge civilly detain any female especially those with thick dark eyebrows or difficult to decipher yet trained eye can discern fat lips within his authority to direct her to expose ***** excuse me ma’am but your eyebrows warrant examination of your bush please assume position this won’t take any longer than is necessary sometimes certain detainee’s inspections require unrestricted scrutinyhe thinks why don’t governments militaries realize power of *****? instead of inventing employing weapons of mass destruction why not use ******* to distract ****** young male soldiers? imagine furry rabbit rockets with pink twitchy noses floppy wet lips darting through air shooting everywhere distinctly resembling smell taste warm ***** yet fatal mechanisms that could attach **** **** consume who could resist? probably someone would come up with ***** defense system (PDS) which would intercept scudding ******* before they reached intended targetshe wakes up early disorientated turns on tv commercial TUMS blares in groggy dyslexic state by mistake he reads backwards sees **** on tv questions what is this place i lived in? america fat turkey on map with brains in new york city *** in d.c. paw in miami stomach in midwest ******* in california nested on egg over mexico he writes i envision statue of liberty alive real beautiful woman little children tumble run around her giggling laughing innocently playing hide and seek with her gown then some bigger older men approach offer her gifts to pull up her dress do other things she appears startled at them refusing to accept their crass proposals men continue to bring more gifts promise her things despite her cold-shoulder suddenly she appears worried perhaps she is thinking about someone special maybe her family men’s offers keep piling higher eventually she breaks down accepts their proposals men gather around her very close i cannot see what they are doing but can hear whispering conspiring heavy breathing then i see her hand reach out all at once she spills burning torch catching fire to gown

There's a feeling I've felt hindering on the tip of my tongue, twirling with sawdust at the end of my bed. Its tingled my toes and tickled my nose and killed all hopes that this is just happiness.

Sleep is for figments and products of sanity, neither of which I can claim heritage. Well perhaps figments in the waking hours of the darkness, but that is a tale for another time.

I can feel his fingertips stroking my sides, reminding me what it is to feel human and vulnerable and perfect. Didn't know he boosted me ego and turned me into the self absorbed maniac you see before you today. Tyrant, remembrr? Oh wait, that's another tale altogether again.

I ramble in the night, in the morning, all the time. My thoughts wander with echoing clarity to encompass the truth about me; not everything is quite right. The teacups are lopsided at the unbirthday table tonight.

Yet again, speaking in riddles and stories unbeknownst to you. Stupid me, stupid Grace, stupider you. Why are you so open to my madness anyway? Maybe you're the crazy one.

This sick godlike embodiment I feel is one I forget isn't real, isn't me, isn't life. But wait. Its a part of me, so perhaps it is real as well? Call a jury, wake a judge, there must be a verdict on my elation. Am I a minor deity or are the synapses playing some cruel joke on my heartstrings?

Heartstrings, why did I bring them into this? I have shut them off for now, for they are dumb and deaf to honesty and logic and do whatever the hell they feel. Or is it whatever the heaven? I forget sometimes where the real misery is, or how the expression goes. I've never quite gotten everything right, being as upside down as I.

Insomnia brings out the manic in me, and I know its not real, but for a moment, just a moment, I belong. I am real, I am loved, I am powerful. Weak little Grace is no more, with her fears and contradictions. Just strength is left, and it is glorious.

Just remember not to let the heffelumps get you in the night, for they are the true evil behind your honey ***. Or am I a heffelump? I can't remember anymore.

This is going nowhere, everywhere, somewhere.

Wake me up inside before I destroy myself, or simply perpetuate my perfection with a caress of your hand. Whatever suits your fancy.

Call me Aphrodite and we'll call it a night after hours of mindblowing ***. But you expected that all along, of course you did, because you know my bones better than we both realize.

When you put your hands on me I feel ****. But yet again, right now I an perpetually **** and twitchy and awake and fake. Dare you to kiss me anyway.

Dare you to see me, psychotics and all.

Bet you'll run like the rest, yet like all good hiders its refreshing to be found every once in awhile.

Find me, and see. See the monster behind my beautiful eyes. That's the day when you'll see what true danger looks like; me.

Insomnia makes me odd, but yet again I'm always odd.

Little miss muffet sat on her tuffet, eating her curds and craves, for a man betwixt her to tell her she's killer and make her a siren next day.

Forget, no, yes, its all I do. Its not how that goes, for sirens are certainly not temporary. I am certainly a black widow every day, not just each odd thursday.

Go to bed, Grace. I beg of you.

Close my eyes and say goodnight to the beloved moon, for the sun is nearly up and it certainly hates me, I am sure of it.

Just never forget all this is wrapped up in one little old me. No one seems to remember that until its far too late, so might as well run now, because otherwise little miss muffet here on her tuffet will be the death of you.

"You're not one of them", he says
"I can tell, I got this GIFT, see?"
The relief clear on his animated face
Too twitchy, too... off
"They watch us, you know?
They got those satellites and ****
They'll read your ID through your pocket
Then they gotcha!"
I nod, only mildly alarmed
And throw down my smoke.
Step on it to make sure it's out
"Only you can prevent forest fires"
A childhood echo
He picks it up
Looks wildly around
"Your DNA is on that! Epithelials!
I seen it! I seen it on that CSI!"
I mumble something
His eyes narrow. He laughs too hard.
"Kidding man, I'm just kidding"
He skitters off, like an ant missing 4 legs
I look up, and nod to the ****** on the roof.

~JNc
9-15

I

On a little piece of wood,
Mr. Spikky Sparrow stood;
Mrs. Sparrow sate close by,
A-making of an insect pie,
For her little children five,
In the nest and all alive,
Singing with a cheerful smile
To amuse them all the while,
  Twikky wikky wikky wee,
  Wikky bikky twikky tee,
    Spikky bikky bee!

II

Mrs. Spikky Sparrow said,
'Spikky, Darling! in my head
'Many thoughts of trouble come,
'Like to flies upon a plum!
'All last night, among the trees,
'I heard you cough, I heard you sneeze;
'And, thought I, it's come to that
'Because he does not wear a hat!
  'Chippy wippy sikky tee!
  'Bikky wikky tikky mee!
    'Spikky chippy wee!

III

'Not that you are growing old,
'But the nights are growing cold.
'No one stays out all night long
'Without a hat: I'm sure it's wrong!'
Mr. Spikky said 'How kind,
'Dear! you are, to speak your mind!
'All your life I wish you luck!
'You are! you are! a lovely duck!
  'Witchy witchy witchy wee!
  'Twitchy witchy witchy bee!
    Tikky tikky tee!

IV

'I was also sad, and thinking,
'When one day I saw you winking,
'And I heard you sniffle-snuffle,
'And I saw your feathers ruffle;
'To myself I sadly said,
'She's neuralgia in her head!
'That dear head has nothing on it!
'Ought she not to wear a bonnet?
  'Witchy kitchy kitchy wee?
  'Spikky wikky mikky bee?
    'Chippy wippy chee?

V

'Let us both fly up to town!
'There I'll buy you such a gown!
'Which, completely in the fashion,
'You shall tie a sky-blue sash on.
'And a pair of slippers neat,
'To fit your darling little feet,
'So that you will look and feel,
'Quite galloobious and genteel!
  'Jikky wikky bikky see,
  'Chicky bikky wikky bee,
    'Twikky witchy wee!'

VI

So they both to London went,
Alighting on the Monument,
Whence they flew down swiftly--pop,
Into Moses' wholesale shop;
There they bought a hat and bonnet,
And a gown with spots upon it,
A satin sash of Cloxam blue,
And a pair of slippers too.
  Zikky wikky mikky bee,
  Witchy witchy mitchy kee,
    Sikky tikky wee.

VII

Then when so completely drest,
Back they flew and reached their nest.
Their children cried, 'O Ma and Pa!
'How truly beautiful you are!'
Said they, 'We trust that cold or pain
'We shall never feel again!
'While, perched on tree, or house, or steeple,
'We now shall look like other people.
  'Witchy witchy witchy wee,
  'Twikky mikky bikky bee,
    Zikky sikky tee.'

Fear not, doubt's dark whispers,
embrace the testing ground.

We face the same old existential dreads -
the unexpected twist, the vague essay prompt.

Genial birdsong mocked our anxious morning
and squirrels still scampered unconcerned.

“You’re a beautiful bundle of stress,”
I assured Lisa this morning
as I handed her her water bottle.

Beat
Beat back the urge

Beat it back to the Stone Age
You nerd!

I got a motor mouth
A mile a minute
It's a song and dance
But I'm not in it

Bite
Bite your lip

Fool yourself into thinkin'
You've beat it

I got a tigger finger
No gun to pull
A fragile headstock
Lost my cool

I'm tic tock tic tock tic tock tickin away
I'll blast off like a rocket into outer space
You can keep it down for a little while
But soon enough you'll be forced to smile

Keep
Keep your cool

Keep it locked up tight
One rule

I got a worn out shirt
It Never fits right
I shift my shoulders
Under the lights

Make
Yourself do better

Make it all go away
It's the weather


I'm a bit twitchy Don't touch me
I need you to love me
You're so far above and I'm so far below
I'm losing control and it's just not enough
My nerves are aching to just get rough
I'm worried what happens if I'm in freeze
I get up the itch and I need a release
There's so much to manage to do and to say
My mouth is just in the way

I'm tic tock tic tock tic tock tickin away
I'll blast off like a rocket into outer space
You can keep it down for a little while
But soon enough you'll be forced to smile

A Moth rests on your nose for your solace,
Disoriented by anxious breaths instead.
Still your lungs.
Postpone your life for another’s,
an insect that lives for an average of three days is worth
more than you of eighty years.
It has less time to live and
So is forced to live each nanosecond as its minute.
Hold your breath for a second and give it thousands of moments
To study the purpose of your pores, the nature of your nostrils, the message of your mouth.
It is a blessing that one who has such a blink of a life should choose you.
Its tentative, exploring antennae acknowledge your existence
For that moment
You are its universe.
You
Are the mountains, and underwater caves, the forests, the savannah, the tundra, the planets.

You
Are the suffocating suburbia, the twitchy towns, the neglected neighborhoods, the seductive cities.
You
Are sighing waterfalls, lighthearted hills, free-spirited skies, heartwarming dreams.
If god was the universe,
Then you’re set for heaven.

Except

The Moth flies away
Leaving you to take its place.

She came up to me one day in the office seeking help
She'd heard me talking about my nightmares
She was a lovely looking thing, she was big into dieting and health food and healthy eating
Some of the other girls used to consult her about such matters
Thinking her to be quite an authority on the subject
I think she might have had a sideline too selling some Health products
She was a...a gorgeous looking creature, she had lovely blonde hair which framed her beautiful oval face like a heavenly aura,
Maintaining always a resolutely bright and cheerful disposition
She radiated positivity and optimism wherever she went
(I suspected secretly that when she got home she probably kicked her cat around)
I'd be all agog just looking at her
I suppose yes! I probably had a little crush on her
Unfortunately I was a good deal older than she
So I could only see myself as a secret admirer, a dark lover from afar...

She'd been acting a little peculiarly of late since returning from her Easter holidays
I wasn't the only one to remark about it
Gone was her usual self assured poise and grace
Gone too her lovely bright positive glow
It was like some sudden terrible tragedy had befallen her
Like some big dark ominous cloud had suddenly appeared on her horizon
Now she seemed rushed and frazzled, strangely distracted, unsure of herself, hesitant
Clumsy, apologetic, not at all like her usual confident self.

So she came up to me when I was alone one day and asked "You know something about nightmares, don't you"
She proceeded to tell me this story
She used to drive to work but because of the unusually mild and clement sunny Spring weather coming up to Easter
She had decided to leave her car at home and walk to work
Probably thinking it to be healthier I suppose
The route she took meant she had to pass by a certain newsagents *** confectionery /sweet shop
Now coming up to Easter as it was
The owner of the shop had strategically placed in the front window of his shop a big Easter egg
Wrapped in pretty ribbons and bows and encased in a very colourful, most alluring box
Every day she had to pass this shop with its lovely chocolate egg prominently displayed
You probably know where this is going,
Yea! A secret longing began to grow in her
Passing that shop every day and seeing that big chocolate egg started to rekindle in her memories of the days when as a child she used visit her local Sweet shop
When the only ambition she had was to get enough money so she could buy the newest chocolate or sweet
She began to remember fondly thoughts of all the old chocolate bars and sweets she used to eat
Anyway this longing, this desire of hers... each day it grew stronger and stronger until finally, like a river bursting a dam
Yea, like a huge monster, it finally overwhelmed her
Yes! She... she SUCCUMBED!

One evening she drove her car to the shop and parked on the opposite side of the street
There she waited till the street was deserted, with no one around
When the coast was clear, she got out of the car carrying a big shopping bag
Wearing a big hat and dark sunglasses just like a movie star
She went into the shop and told the shop girl she wanted the big Easter egg in the front window
She lied telling her it was for her little nephew
She hastily paid for the Egg, then quickly bundled it into her shopping bag carefully covering it up with other items so no one would see
Then hurriedly she left the shop, crossed the street with her head bowed, got into her car and quickly sped off
Over the next two days, in an **** of orgiastic chocolate eating, she secretly gorged upon, devoured all by herself the entire Easter egg
When she had finished, she sat there, a sullen lump among the ruins of her feast
Bits of ribbons and bows and torn box strewn all around her
Almost immediately she began to suffer pangs of guilt, berating herself repeatedly and bitterly for her lack of will power and mental strength, for her perceived weakness of character
This went on for the next few days, she just couldn't bring herself to forgive her behaviour
And she couldn't fathom how she had let this desire overcome her
...Then curiously, she began to experience a strange recurring dream at night,
She'd dream that she went one evening to another part of town where she wasn't known again to buy her Easter egg
There was no one around at that hour
She'd buy her Easter egg, tell her little lie about her nephew, then bundle the Egg into her bag and cover it just like before,
Then she'd leave the shop and head down some backstreets not wanting to be seen by anyone she knew
At that time of evening the shadows had begun to lengthen, the backstreets were very quiet and deserted, had a very lonesome forlorn air
As she walked along, she suddenly began to hear what she thought were the sound of footsteps behind her, the tread of feet behind her...Big feet, Bom-bom-bom!
She'd turn around but couldn't see anything, not a soul and not a sound only silence
She'd continue walking and the sound of the Big feet would start up again
Naturally this began to unnerve her, she turned and called back at the shadows
"Is there anybody there?"
But no answer was forthcoming
She'd walk on and again the sound of the Big feet would come Bom-bom-bom!
By this time she had become so unnerved, so completely flummoxed that in a state of utter panic
She suddenly took off at a frantic girly gallop down the narrow backstreets
Behind her she could hear the sound of the Big feet quickening, coming after her
In a quick change of plan she decided to climb some steps that would take her back to the Main Street again
She hoped there'd be other people there who might be able to protect her
She was very disappointed then when she found not a soul upon the whole street
Well she ran and she ran, she tore down her own street and with key in hand she quickly opened her front door, then slammed it shut fastening all the locks and bolts as she did
With this done she heaved a huge sigh of relief, a huge 'Phew!" and wiped the beads of sweat from her brow
She backed slowly away from the door almost as if she was expecting at any moment, there'd be a mad pounding on it, as if some strange belligerent entity would be trying to gain entry.
She kept backing up, the suspense almost too hard to bear
Suddenly she bumped into something behind her, something big and soft... and furry
Soft and furry ???
She turned and well, her mouth, it dropped wide open in utter shock and disbelief
Her eyes, they nearly popped out of her head
For there standing before her was... THE CREATURE
"It was hideous !" she said tearfully
"What was hideous?" I replied quite intrigued at this stage
"It was a Big Rabbit !"
"A big...a Big Bunny 🐰 ?" I said
She went on explaining, standing before her was a giant seven foot Easter Bunny
"A seven footer eh!" I said as if I was knowledgeable about these things, which I wasn't
She continued with her story, the rabbit he had big floppy ears, big buck teeth, a twitchy nose and whiskers 🐰
And on his face he wore this pretty gormless vacant expression🤡
He was wearing a waistcoat which had all these Easter egg 🥚🥚 designs on it
And on his front paws were these two big red boxing gloves 🥊🥊
She looked around desperately for some means of escape but Alas!
For her THERE WAS NO ESCAPE, she swallowed hard
Suddenly the giant Rabbit's teeth began to
natter
As if he was considering some imminent action
Then totally without warning one of his boxing gloves
It suddenly shot out and punched her right on the nose knocking her clean out on the floor
As she sprawled there dazed and utterly confused, the Big Bunny, he looked down at her with his big eyes 👀
And then, with a sudden leap which surprised even her
He jumped right up onto her chest where he proceeded to bounce up and down on top of her
Of course, here she'd awaken from the dream drenched in sweat and screaming for the Giant Bunny 🐰 to get off her.
When she had finished her story she buried her head in her hands and sobbed quietly for a few moments before regaining her composure
She seemed very relieved to have gotten it all off her chest, the story that is not the Bunny
Well I suppose she was glad to get him off as well
She went on to say how stressed she felt during the day, how she found it hard to focus on anything as she was too busy thinking about the night to come and the arrival of her unwelcome guest
She looked at me pleadingly "He'll be there again, I know it, with those big eyes of his" she blubbed half in tears
It seemed obvious to me what'd happened, mentally she'd been beating herself up
And now her Subconscious was merely reciprocating by creating this giant Bunny to chastise her
It was just a manifestation of the guilt she felt for eating the Easter egg
For a moment I felt like I was Sigmund Freud.
I told her what I thought and said she shouldn't beat herself up, I told her we all had our temptations and that at times, few of us were strong enough to withstand their advances
I told her of the importance of forgiving herself
But nothing seemed to placate her
She still seemed overly concerned about the coming night and the prospect of the giant Bunny's re-appearance
She catastrophized and saw only dark things ahead
I knew I had to say something authoritive
Suddenly I had an idea, I put my arm around her shoulders as if to console her
"Look my child", I said really beginning to warm to my Father Confessor role
"The Beast! Do you really want rid of this Beast ?"
"Yes! I do! I do!", she replied emphatically
"Really! You really want to get rid of him!" I said as if to question her resolve
"Yes! Yes! I'd do anything" she replied
I felt we had to send a strong message to her Subconscious mind -
I told her "This is what you must do. After work go down to the same Sweet shop and there buy the most expensive ornate Box of Chocolates you can find 🎁
But this time instead of bringing them home with you, bring them instead to my house...
To the above advice I added a few more instructions
"And that's all I have to do" she said sounding surprised and hopeful once again
"That's all you have to do", I assured her, "you'll have no more trouble from IT ever again".

So in the evening she arrives at my house with a big box of fancy chocolates
I open the door and abruptly ****** the chocolates from off her
I say loudly "These Chocolates are all mine and you can't have any of them
Lovely Chocolates... and their all mine, all mine!!!
And you're not getting any!"
And I let out this evil cackle of a laugh
Then I said rather theatrically to her "**** off!, Get lost! Shoo! Begone! Begone!
And then I slammed the door right in her face
After a few moments I opened the door again
And began to chase her down the path shouting "Begone! Begone! The Chocolates are mine! All mine!"
I even picked up a stick and shook it at her.

The next morning she runs up to me at work with a big smile
"He's gone ! He didn't come last night"
She looked renewed, she positively glowed again
She assured me I'd be her friend for life and that she loved me to bits
For a moment I was beginning to fancy my chances with her
I had visions of the two of us together in some romantic scene
That was until she went on and said that I reminded her of her lovely Uncle Joe
"Her Uncle Joe", I thought, "****!... feckin' Uncle Tom"
Then I thought I should have charged her, yea! charged her just like a hospital consultant
$250 Euros upfront and come back in two weeks for another $250, sorry for a check up I mean.

Well that's it then... that's my Easter story, I've got to go off now and take my afternoon nap
Y'know I've been getting some funny dreams of my own of late,
Yea! I've made a new friend
He's been teaching me how to box.

Is it ...
" Politically Incorrect " ... ?
For Me To ... " Suggest " ...

Our Lives Are ...
... " CONTROLLED " ...
By A ... "Secret Sect" ... ?!?

Is It ...
" Politically Incorrect " ... ?

To Be So Direct ...
When Airing My View ...
On Controversial Subjects ... ?

The World's In A MESS ... !!!
But Meantime ... " The Press " ...
Continue To Test ...
My Patience With ... LIES ...
That MILLIONS ... Digest ... !!!!

Most Stories ...
Have ... " DEFECTS " ... !!!
That We Should ... Deflect ... !!!

Cos' Editors Prey ...
On The Weak And Inject ...
Political Views ... With ...
IMPROPER ... News ... !!!!!

So ....
What Do You Choose ... ?

Mental Abuse ... ?!?
Or ... Do You Want TRUTH ... ?
On Which ... You Can Chew ... ?

Is It ... Politically CORRECT ... !?!
To Say ...

" Coloured " ... Not Black ... ?

When BLACK Is A Word ...
Used in ... Racial Attacks ... ???

Is It Wrong To Say ...

..... ****** ...... !!!!!!!!

When ... This Is A Word ...
That Makes Rappers ... Six Figures ... !?!

No Wonder ... Young Blacks ...
Are Now ... Pulling The Trigger ... !!!!!

Having Read Through That Verse ...
I've Got .... TWITCHY Fingers .... !!!

The Smell of Death ... Lingers ................................................
On ... MOST City Streets ...

So ...
Is This Correct ... ?
Just Ask The Police ... !!!

Is Crime On The incREASE ... ?
HELL YEAH ... I Believe ... !!!

But ...
NOT JUST ... " Petty Thief " ...

What About Party Chiefs ... ?

"They would NEVER STEAL !!!"

Come On People ... PLEASE ... !!!!!

They Steal Peoples' Lives ...
While ... Giving Out DEATH ... !!!!!!!!

So ... Will I Survive ... ?
With ... Life Signs NOT VITAL ... !?!

This Poem's ... " Entitled " ...

... " Politically INCORRECT " ...

Like Suggesting ...
.... " Collusion " ...
ENDED ... Malcolm X ... !!!

" Collusion ... Collusion ... "

Malcolm .....
Died In ... Confusion ... ???
From ... MANY Gunshots ... !!!

What A ...
HORRID ... Conclusion ... !!!!!

These Words Are CORRECT ...
Dis - secting ... Illusions ... !!!

So ...
What About ... " Clay " ... ?
YES ... " Muhammad Ali " ...

A Man Who ...
Spoke TRUTH ....
In His ... Poetry ... !!!

Well Maybe That's Why ...
He's Got ... Parkinsons' Now ... ???

Cos' America ... Knew ...
They'd Best ... SHUT HIM DOWN ... !!!!

Cos' The Masses Heard TRUTH ...
When He ... Opened His Mouth ...

" He fought on for TOO LONG ! "

Is The ... " Good Ol' Song " ...

Well It Seems ... " Kinda Funny " ...
I Think He Was ... WRONGED ... !!!

Well .....
That Comment ... I Guess ... ?
May Seem ... INCORRECT ... ?!?

But It's ...
One I'll ... STAND BY ...
On This ... You Can Bet ... !!!

Cos' ... Muhammad Ali ...
STILL ... INSPIRES ME ... !!!

A Man of ... TRUE SUBSTANCE ... !!!
With ... Heart In ABUNDANCE ... !!!

Who Did Not Believe ...
In ... Congresses NONSENSE ... !!!

Talking of Which ...
I Have To Say ... THIS ... !!!

When You Go To The Bank ...
Cos' You ... Need Them To Lend ... !!!

How Can They DEFEND ... !?!
DENYING Us ... CASH ...
When They've ... Got ...

A .... HUGE STASH .... !?!

But I Bet ... Write Out Cheques ...
For Their ... " Corporate Friends " ... !!!

Well It Seems ...
There I Go ...

INCORRECTNESS ... Again ... !!!!!

Incorrectness ... To Me ...
DEFINES ... Corporate Men ... !!!

But I Guess ... " Most of You " ... ?

Feel My Words Just OFFEND ... !!!
And Maybe My Words .... ?
Will Indeed ... Be My End ... !!!!!

Here's ....
ONE FINAL ... " Stanza " ...
To ... "Mentally Capture" ...

REDUNDANT ... Brain Matter ...
Absorbing ... FAKE DATA ... !!!

I Inject With ... INTELLECT ...
While These ... "Secret Sects" ...
PROTECT and COLLECT ...

While Black Folk ...
Live In ... DEBT ... !!!

Political Correctness ...
Has Got Some ... DEFECTS ... !!!!!

So ...
That's My Last Question ...

Am I .....

... " Politically Incorrect " ... ???

There's a mouse in my room,
she's silver and white,
mom's chased it with a broom
and the fella's put on a fight.

From the kitchen KABOOM
did shout one cold Christmas night,
dad was the bringer of doom,
he and his shotgun's great might.

Turns out our little mouse
slept in our house

with her husband and kid
but hungry they came unhid

by father's twitchy right eye
so they met his gun and goodbye,

our mouse friend is forever now
a lonely Christmas night widow.

It’s funny how a memory works
I was thinking today about how I usually don’t remember exact days
For example, Christmas
I remember getting excited and I remember waking up
and looking under the tree for the outline of that typewriter
I begged my parents for
but I can’t remember what day of the week it was,
not even from this year
I think to the night we spent together though;
and I know that it was a Saturday
I was supposed to be at my friend’s house
but she cancelled on me
I would learn later that fate works in mysterious ways
even though I was mad at her at first
You texted me and asked me to get coffee
It was four in the morning
We talked until eight about nothing
but we also talked about everything
I guess it was Sunday since it was the morning
I guess I could say I spent the whole weekend with you
but I know that it was only four hours;
still the most prominent four hours of my seventeen years
I remember being in the coffee shop,
and the song “Edge of Seventeen” came on
I thought it was a weird coincidence because
I was on the edge of seventeen and you were on the edge of twenty
and we were both on the edge of falling in love
We talked about dreams, and I told you that I don’t like to sleep
because I have nightmares and I forget what reality is when I wake up
You stared into my eyes and I felt a tug in my chest
Your eyes whispered to mine that they understood
I don’t think we were even speaking in English
we were speaking in smiles and nervous twitchy body language
I told you that I found you intimidating
you laughed and told me you were sorry
I told you not to apologize, I just thought you were so cool
“you’re cool too” you said with a smile
I just laughed and looked at my coffee mug
I get nervous with compliments
We went out for a cigarette and I had trouble lighting mine
because I was so enticed by the way the smoke floated
so effortlessly out of your mouth
I remember thinking that if I was the smoke in your lungs
I wouldn’t fight to come out, I’d stay warm beside your heart
I told you that I needed to get home
before my parents noticed I was gone
You walked me home and the whole time I was praying to a God
that I don’t believe in that you would kiss me goodnight
But you didn’t
We didn’t talk again after that night and
I know now not to fall in love with the
twenty year old little boy
who still wants to grow up and be a poet
and who stares at you while he sings

I’m  at work
Buzzing to get out of there
Out of the fluorescence
And the din of screaming children
As it downplays the howling heads
Of their mothers who
Dream of their children’s exposed
Necks and getting out of the grocery store
Before it starts to rain.

I am Bobcat Goldthwait
underneath
The large hanging lamps,
pale green as barge lights
I make little sounds with my lips
And tongue, little incoherent sounds
To push the time forward .

A man comes through
My line holding a beige patch
Of cloth
Over his exposed trachea beneath,

with a voice like he crushes cement
puts it in his coffee
and ***** it up through a fiberglass straw.,
He drops some
Toothpaste and a brush on the counter
And says to me with that mutilated
Voice:
“there are only two types of *****,
Big old *****,
And old big *****.”

His skin is blotchy in the cheeks
like the husks of craters seen from the sky,
and the corners of his mouth
are dry and cracked
snaking and splitting outward like dry riverbeds.

For a second I want to laugh so hard,
That people will think I’m crazy, and
Maybe one of the twitchy managers will have
Me committed.

If he says any more, it’s this:
“You’re young, enjoy it,
if you worry
About the fuckups now,
you’ll Be worrying
until you’re an old ******
and that doesn’t do you any good,
***** hates the old **** ups.”

i find the crow more eloquent,
more treacherously abiding
a fulfilment of aesthetic investigations
when walking, the crow
more beautiful than in flight,
unlike the sparrows' comic grounding,
with its epileptic quick-step twitchy
caoutchouc trot... poetically drawn
as: huh?! huh?! chirp. huh?! huh?! chirp;
really quickly.

the only way to transition back into
the humanities from learning science,
******* p... chemistry and physics,
from these two into the humanities:
because you wrote a high standard
sociology essay plagiarising trying to
beat the anti-plagiarism logarithm
imposed... and that camus' l'étranger
also written to a 1st in the degree hierarchy...
the only transition from the sciences
to humanities is with philosophy,
which is a qausi-humanism...
mind you... edinburgh is the last gothic city,
and scotland the only place
where university can be like high school,
diverse, equipping you with many choices,
you can major chemistry, but understudy
computing, french, history, sociology, etc.
so in the background you have my favourite
theorisation: friedel-craft's alkylation & acylation /
effects of substitution on the beneze ring properties:
ortho (β) / para (ν) directing goups...
meta (π) directing groups... ipso (α) directed
at dislodging the algebraic *x already attached...
i was never going to write cute poetry...
lessons in  inductive effects of σ-bonds orientation
controlled by resonate (of) π-bonds...
the faustian myth continues without cute goethe rhyme.

For ****'s sake.

How did we end up here again?

The soothing, annoying word flickers on my blue-back lit screen and I am ****** back to the tumultuous moment when once upon a time it yelled bipolar.

And here we go again.

My thoughts flick, flit, floss between teeth made for biting and real meat. They need plaque, collection, to grow and accumulate mass to progress. But there my flicking thoughts go, flossing.

I've always struggled focusing, but I just got excitable, got manic, and it would solve everything. Mania was my monster, my red bull, and now that its sated and off to Wonderland...

I'm left here, face to face, with a twitchy white rabbit wondering why I would ever think to use my pretty little head when its such a good projectile into the sky.

I had always wondered, in those whispering nights, when my hands couldn't stop moving and my head wouldn't shut up, if something was wrong. But it was silly, I had two already, full of worry then full of poles. Couldn't be another, could it?

Of course, a Grace of Wonderland always knows best, and here we are. Another bottle to drink to keep me sane.

I wonder if my fingers will thank the capsules when I might stop biting them? Or my toes? Is this why my toes always twitch and dance, why they stand center-stage in so many of my mild fantasies? After all these years, the divas that my lower digits have become may not appreciate losing their star titles.

I just want to be fine. I want to figure out how to move beyond all the strange misfires in my head. How did I survive so long without a notice? Inflates my ego to know I should have been caught by now.

Guess just like the White Rabbit, despite my widgets and worries, no one can stop me from running when I'm madly, absolutely, refusing to be late.

Graces only knows to fight with fire and fists. Tis the state of my Wonderland, and perhaps now things will only get better.

fingers moving
eyes tracking
calm down
agh nerves
over stimulation.

Staring off into the distance of a ***** carpet ridden with living trails of ants, a crawling black river of desolate hunger, counting days of visions, wandering naked in the lake treading water, kissing, spitting out lips and liquid
shifted in dreams
memories poke like a cactus needle open to a room of steam heat and *****
flooding with words that digest imagination and burn eyelids, a cigarette held too close to a crowning flame
incinerating eyelashes and clattering TNT onto the serene image of our drunken antics while the rest of the world is howling for us to see ourselves for the raving lunatics we are, their tired look of exasperation an exhausted mother left alone to raise a hopeless child, wicked only for his ignorance
The last speakers of the paleolithic age journey forth from the depths of the amazonian jungle to heal our souls nailed to the cross as drug dealers because ingested plants grow in the ground

I saw the most beautiful soul weep in fear against a diner booth at midnight
amid plates of burgers, fries and green beans laid on the lineoleum table with no signs of starvation or danger
yet the signs of the apocalypse resonate in all psyches because reptilian brains would rather die than change, conform than bring forth the messianic transformation of our own radical self acceptance as God
and we shun those who are insane on the streets
***** outcasts, poor filth and ugliness
human animals unfit for this society of plastic and image, a mirage over substance
I cross the street rather than look the beggar in the eye because he stinks of desperation, and tell him no no no, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, I can't share with you all
MOLOCH!
The holy yell
flooding the empty headed street
we abandoned our mother and forsaken our selves to flickering images of lust and prestige, **** and *****, ****** and ***, thick wads
idolizing our own form,
the sirens of the modern age, the golden calves danced around in supermarket check out lines,
capturing us on the jagged cliffs of inattention, glories husked and barren, cultivate likes and followers sweet nicotine in the bloodstream, social media mogul reigning over a grand bazaar of ghosts in a room, talking to other ghosts in rooms of faraway lands, ignoring the living flesh in front of their twitchy eyes, cast down for a screen, forgetting themselves for a profile, a small picture in a corner, an Ignominious massacre of life cast through a digital lens, concerts meant for full expression of a cathartic moment of ****** movement, lost to a sea of hand held recording devices to remember how you didn't feel at that moment  with other people milling about as cattle who would rather document and never watch again then dance and live and be a part of the happening, look, Rip Van Winkles throwing pins with revolutionary prussian ghosts in a sleepy Catskill hollow, zombies behind wheels typing to ****, these words will not save you, they will not fill the siphon hole,
I am with you in this burning sodium night on my back in the grass of a night with no darkness
I am with you where the army of madness will overthrow the living dead and shake their working class dreams to the core with the sudden eternal war of nothingness and contemplation and silence screaming out for someone to save us
Everything is HOLY!

Throw open the church doors
think nothing of paying for poison, (as advertised)
but refuse to confront your self possessed greed because the man holding the cup is tired and desperate and I am tired and desperate

A truck hauls a horse
broken wilderness, cleaved concrete, cracked spines wretched scars,
killing anything that isn't hard, impermanent and futile, the land reclaims
but no land to ride, only the black road with its machines spewing the smokey remains of dead ancient animals
nature perverted, mobility imprisoned inside a metal box to be driven when it can run
so apt
for the potential inside coffins of daily lives
talking of dreams gutless to pursue
settling instead for the easy cruise of routine
******* our own hands

We all matter
but this world doesn't work without slaves
so take pride in your nine to five
get some ***** with that job title
and two sentence description
of how you can make the dreams come true, in the suburbs with three kids a couch and security from whatever danger lurks outside of us on TV
our own kind
murderous and malicious
homicidal tribalists
merrymaking nihilists
The fear The Fear
the light the light

I grab her hand and stare into dark eyes deadlocked on the momentary plane, a revealed saint testifying to God's truth Mary Maria, she tells me there is something beautiful outside this current mode of existence, but she's only had a fleeting glimpse

As the tables were filled when we came in the door,
could have went home, if we wanted space for sure,
we sat at the biggest table, with the noisy crew
moved the chairs,
staked our ground, after all what else could we do.

Go home?

Go home.

Go home!

And leave here because of the crowd,
were we too addicted to be loud'n proud?

But today would be a special day,
Sue a regular, senior street type,
was yelling at the world, with hype
and attitude, no Beatitude came out
of her mouth, as I watched her shout,
I knew I had to learn from her.

A new guy passed Sue on the sidewalk,
their gestures were not related or anticipated,
one talked about trees and yelled at the sky,
while the other walked by carried a Coke,
                                                     on his thigh.

He came in the door all sweaty and twitchy,
swear words were every second word that came
from his mouth every second it was open.

His eyes did not understand what they saw,
his mind'n  mouth hated it all, jutted his jaw,
Stuck the Coke in his pants went out the door,

at a run, streaming curses, from his lips
hung in the air, scary for some with kids,
at a run to London Drugs next door,
less than two minutes he was out,
                                                        runn­ing fast past the Burger King,
while Sue yelled profanities from the Boulevard
called King George, daring traffic, to drive close,
standing with one foot in a lane, the other foot... as well
where are the traffic police, when you need'em,

But what does Sue need, she is always around?
What about sweaty, angry guy, a new face in the
crowded traffic of my favorite coffee shop,
Bring them peace Lord, and a safe place to sleep, Lord,
and someone who has what they need, Lord,
to keep them out of the traffic, off the street.

.
War. Famine.
Pestilence. Death.
Enjoy a game of poker.
It relieves the boredom.
They only have one Big project
booked into the work diary.
The horses are stabled,
so why not have down time?
The day-to-day business
takes care of itself.
Ably supervised by the humans
in a race to the Big day.

The stillness is penetrated by sound.
Death cleaning his teeth
with his reaping scythe or
Death sharpening his reaping scythe
on his teeth.
Either way, it shattered vertebrae.
His nerves were getting twitchy.
Three Kings, the Jack and Queen of Clubs.
Royals were dropping like flies.
It was going to be a busy night.
He met Wars eyes and her bet,
(****! She looks beautiful sweating),
paid an advance and called.
Uncharacteristically delicate,
he lay down his souls.
Jack and Queen of Clubs.
Kings of Diamonds, Spades and Hearts.

War smiled sweetly.
Her dirk-like eyelashes
fluttering an assassins dance.
Letting her cards fall soft,
triumphant with winners ecstasy,
she declares her hand...




… “SNAP!” she says.




© Pagan Paul (14/03/17)

As he opened one eye a new existence awaited
it was cold and he was semi naked!
A salty smell filled his sensitive nostrils
wearily he sat up.
Blood ran down his arm from a savage ****
clothes strewn about like trash!

No memory of how he ended up in this spot
a watery sun began to shine.
Standing it was though he had a hangover
how his head throbbed.
Gathering his clothes and putting them on
he heard a clock on seven ****!

That splitting headache rampaged his thoughts
trying desperately to remember.
He was sure it was a celebration with mates
must have had too much *****.
Finding it hard to even remember his address
how had he got into this mess?

His parents thankfully had already left for work
weak had a job climbing the stairs.
Couldn't even recognize himself in the mirror
more zombie than human!
Still early so dizzy collapsed on the bed
soon his duvet had turned red!

In a deep slumber awful images started to form
of wolves ripping his flesh!
The next thing he knew his mum was shouting
shocked at his appearance!
Evening when he was rushed to hospital so ill
that ambulance siren shrill!

A month passed now resting healed in the garden
darkness was ascending.
A full moon shone that night he was twitchy
as his hearing became acute.
Starting to sweat his entire body began to ache
the wolf inside began to awake!

The Foureyed Poet.

The Story of Love

A long time back, when
Vices and Virtues were,
Young, playful, and inexperienced.
They had made a game of which,
None wished to ever remember.

Long forgotten in the span of time.
There was once a story of,
How Love had gone blind.
In this tale, it spoke,
How those friends were caught in,
The boredom which Idle Time bestowed.

In nature’s garden, they lounged,
Until the music of,
Silent minds had,
Riled Impatience twitchy thoughts.
“We should play a game,
Of Hide and Seek.” he said.

“What’s that?” Madness asked.
Impatience smiled as he explained,
The rules of the game,
Of how they would play.

“Everyone hides where ever they like,
But there will be one that will seek.”
“Sounds fun!” Madness thought.

“I’d be ‘it’.” He suddenly said.
Vices and Virtues went to hide,
As Madness counted,
The grains of sand on the river side.

Envy hid between, the clouds to watch,
Wishing she had a better spot.
Anger hid under a rock to think.
His face as hard as that thing.

Laziness laid on his bed to sleep,
Caring little if he was caught.
Patience sat behind the leaves,
Together with Tolerance he hid,
Amongst the trees.

Secrets stayed below,
Hidden in the Lakes,
Clouded by a shadowed face.
Vanity cloaked herself in,
The reflection of shiny things.

Love hid behind,
The white rose bush,
Of which she liked.
There she lingered for some time.

In time, Madness had forgot,
Why he counted the grains of sand.
So he searched every where but,
Was unable to find anyone.

In hopelessness, he glanced,
Up and found,
Envy’s sinister face
Peering through the clouds.

“Found you!” he declared.
For he knew he was right.
Infuriated that she was the first,
She gave him her brother’s site.

Anger turned cold,
In sight of,
His sister’s mocking laugh.
In his head he knew,
Someone had to pay,
A pair of eyes for,
Giving him away.

“Love is in the rose bush.” he said.
“But she wont come out till,
You stab her to death.”
Devoid of thought Madness believed.
With a pitch fork he charged,
Yelling madly for Love.

Wildly he stabbed until,
White roses turned red.
In her piercing scream, he stopped.
As she crawled out of her hiding spot.

Blood dripped down her face.
Madness knew it was a mistake.
He begged for her forgiveness and
Apologized. “What can I do for you,
To make it up to you?” He asked.

“Be my guide,” she said.
“You can be my eyes.”
And ever since, it was said that,
Love was blind.
And Madness always had,
Guided Love.

                                           -Vas Bismark

anti-narcissism,
painters with self-portraits,
the damnable face used
to kindred of inanimate things
taken for granted via still-life or impressionism,
damnable visage, yet
not exactly a finite banality of narcissism and acting,
it’s just there, if it isn’t being bosomed by
kissing it might as well be painted,
shame to leave it to simply frown,
or undue the english stiff-upper lip with
the fisherman’s hook, that phenomenon
of the fisherman’s / elvis’s upper lip aha hum hum:
it’s a twitchy eye when you mind the nerves
and just say: i’m in r.e.m. stages of parkinson’s:
rapid eyelid movement: got a joke coming
with the tourists, find your face in the throng
and give it four walls, a floor and ceiling and a campfire.

50’s beach party
complete with twitchy go-go dancers
leather jackets
and old Plymouths
sand kicked in the faces of squares
as little Suzie Goodtime roller skates across the parking lot
picket fences shift from white to orange and pink
as they capture the sunset on a perfect American day –
free lovers swing signs
written in crayon
attempting to challenge the establishment
create world peace
through **** abuse and music in the park
subjugated and relegated to building a retirement platform
aged hipsters look at faded photographs
imagining a time they changed the all –
blown out coke head
bent on disco ***** and easy living
watches as Miami explodes
CIA operatives feeding high grade dope
to low rent projects
in an effort to funnel money and guns
into the Middle East –
gas wars and brokers as billionaires
death to glam rock and hairspray
the rise of bling and swag
selfies take center stage
unabashed introversion
as the skies are geometric grids
and the crops **** pollinators –
looking over a lifetime
of altering perception
and changing habits
the habitual nature of humanity
shines as a solid base from which all else stems
forced to recognize my own place in the septic tank
I stand as an observer and documenter
cleverly bending the woes
of the world
into words
for the lost –

so here he was stripped naked in his bedroom
aloof lost in ****** imagination
his mind swimming with thoughts of *******
curvy hips and long legs
how they looked without impediment of clothing
he pictured his engorged member between a lass
thighs
his wet tongue swirling around her ******
leaving a trail of warm saliva on the areola
occasionally his head would swivel scanning the
**** magazine he held on his left hand
a cross scrutiny drawn all over the teenage face
as if he was admiring Da Vinci's art
the right hand lubricated with lotion stroked up and down
in a rhythmic motion
he was breathing hard as the hand performed self loving
there was something about the ****** expression
pleasure  painted all over the contours of his flame:
it was ecstasy but not in religious sense
his eyelids would droop from time to time and the lustful
smile would camouflage inner conflict
the tempo of jacking increased and the magma started rising
eyes still glued on the mag
his body started to spasm
it wasn't just a little twitchy ****** it was a volcano
of pleasure that shook every inch of his skin
the magazine fell he clutched the blanket and clenched his mouth shut
he looked at his sloppy handful junk and thought guiltily
what have i done......

restless but doin okay

uneasy, ill at ease, restive, fidgety, edgy, on edge, tense, worked up, nervous, agitated, anxious, on tenterhooks, keyed up;

jumpy ,jittery, twitchy, uptight, antsy

sleepless, wakeful

fitful, broken, disturbed, troubled, unsettled

"a restless night"

offering no physical or emotional rest; involving constant activity or motion.

Even saffron painted sunsets
Could not paint thy beauty, dear Lady Jane
Because you're my girl
Rosy colored flowers
Adorn thy soft, furry head
And you're still my girl
Rich orange sunrises that lace the horizon
As beautiful as they are, you're more beautiful still
Because you're my girl
Warm sunlight imbued with mist
Could not paint a better nature picture
But thy beauty surpasses that
For you're my girl
Bless your paws and bless your whiskers
And your twitchy tail
You're my girl
Soft cool sandy shores and greenish-blue waves
Foamy and frothy though they be
Couldn't be more beautiful
But surpasses even the beauty of the ocean
Is the beauty of thee
Lullabies from the fairies spreading pixie dust
As they fly above thy head
They whisper soft and sweet
"You're still our girl, and our princess
And surpassing even the beauty of nature
Is the beauty of thee
And the beauty of thy soft, sweet furry face"

*~Marian~

I remember it was the middle of winter when the family I met became my only summer. The cracks and pops of the exhaust made me so deaf to the common banter, that when I heard this group from across the dive, I knew they weren’t just another group of leather-vested dropouts. Initially it was the liquor store cologne stuck in their beards that attracted me, but I stopped and stayed when they told my back how beautiful blue eyes were. In the few minutes it took to inhale a whiskey coke, they had seen the thirst I had for freedom flowing out of my pores. They said that I reminded them of those dead flies in the corner, turned over and lifeless from the exhaustion one puts themself through when trying to live life so hard and so fast. And they were right; I had made an art out of living fast and crashing hard. When the skin on my palms tore and bled all over the pavement, it was like fine art to any peanut gallery.
    That was the night they taught me to ride. To unpin my curls and let them flow and crash in the wind like a desert ocean. They had found their horizon oasis in me. But Big Jimmy still hated me the most. I knew his secret and he saw that I had figured him out. He was a master at turning his cheap improperly functioning parts into his best character traits. But above everything, he let me learn that the open road will heal any scar.
    I’d been at war with myself. Before I knew that a desert sunrise on chrome was the best alarm clock, I only ever thought that the way I’d wake up was with rushed embarrassment to grab the ***** tip. Big Jimmy weaseled my ****** heart out of my sunken chest, and was gettin’ twitchy now that I had my hand on his. He always said at every pit stop, life was too short for traffic. And when I stepped out of the 7/11 that chilly November morning, I could hear the sounds of distant engines, howling laughter and a single tear hitting the asphalt. I was alone again. But this time, I wasn’t at war.