Odysseus is angry without knowing what reason scared hopeless longing not a good student teachers raise suspicions Mom claims he is mentally not right in third grade parents send him to well-known psychiatrist conducts many tests finds Odysseus’s i.q. scores quite high doctor’s diagnosis is learning disabilities emotional anxiety recommends weekly appointments Odysseus continues to see various psychiatrists all the way through college in late 1950’s early '60’s psychiatric field is somewhat unreliable one downtown child’s psychiatrist chats about other patients then gives Odysseus baby ruth candy bar another psychiatrist with office in Wilmette tells him parents need therapy advises he will someday live independent of parents free of their influences

Odysseus Penelope Ryan Siciliano play in undeveloped land across from Schwartzpilgrim’s apartment building there is big tree they often climb near corner of commonwealth and surf streets Ryan is going on about his favorite actor errol flynn and movie “they died with their boots on” suddenly two bigger older boys approach bully them down from tree Odysseus does not recognize older boys from neighborhood bigger older boys push Penelope to ground then elbow trip Odysseus punch Ryan in stomach panic shoots through all three of them bigger older boys glare down with taunting eyes after terrifying moment Ryan then Odysseus jump up flee across street they hide beneath parked cars in underground garage of Odysseus’s building hearts pound in terror hearing footsteps on concrete grow louder they hold their breaths voice speaks out "they’re not here they’ve gone Odys where are you?" Odysseus and Ryan crawl out from under cars feel ashamed of their cowardice in front of Penelope and putting own self-preservation before her protection Ryan is particularly disturbed explains his family are sicilian code of conduct Ryan insists Odysseus swear never to divulge their weakness Odysseus promises later Penelope tells Mom

harper is broad-minded exceptional school housed in old english tudor building on second floor along hall is long glass cabinet displaying among other things 9 large jars each containing developing stages of fetus girls wear uniforms of navy blue skirts with knee socks white blouses blue sweaters which are school colors boys are allowed to wear blue jeans and shirts in good taste Miss Moss teaches fourth grade classroom is duplex with stairs leading up to balcony directly under stairs is secret meeting place and beneath balcony are classmate cubbyholes there is sunroom facing south overlooking entrance stairs to school where older students hang out Odysseus thinks Miss Moss is pretty wonders why she is not married she has deep blue eyes dark thick eyebrows premature graying hair she wears in bun he has crush on Miss Moss thinks she is best teacher he has ever known she teaches greek mythology assigns each member of class character in ancient greek mythology Odysseus is appointed Hermes son and messenger of Zeus Hermes has affair with Aphrodite resulting in child Hermaphroditus Hermes also fathers Pan rescues Dionysus saves Apollo’s son there is voice speaks inside Odysseus’s head no one can hear voice except Odysseus it is voice of smart-*** disobedient twisted child when Miss Moss says “where shall we begin today?” Odysseus automatically answers in his thoughts “how about up your sweet ***?” it is uncontrollable voice for his amusement only often he tries to ignore voice but sometimes it speaks out when voice speaks out Odysseus gets in trouble his friends think voice is funny adults get offended when he reflects on classmates at Harper and distinction of their privilege he wonders what went wrong they are troubled class in fifth grade they cause miss penteck to have nervous breakdown and retire other classes produce famous actors playwrights renowned restaurateurs prosperous investment bankers leading doctors Odysseus’s class produces delinquents gangsters social dropouts drug addicts suicides they take their privilege and run it straight to hell

creature inside Odysseus can be little monster teaches Penelope how to go berserk going berserk involves entering strange residential building in neighborhood elevator up getting off about middle floor pushing all elevator buttons scrambling down stairs knocking over umbrella stands spilling ashtrays ringing doorbells pounding doors running out lobby doors escaping uncaught Penelope is good warrior princess brother and sister can be little terrors

Ryan Siciliano and Odysseus go to see “the magnificent seven” at century theater they head south along broadway street college-age girl with large bouncing ******* appears walking north Ryan and Odysseus glance at approaching girl then nod to each other no plans uttered as college girl passes both Odysseus and Ryan reach up grab her ******* pet squeeze then run do not look back keep running laughing all the way to theater they watch movie with jaws hanging open mcqueen is brilliant all seven are so groovy movie inspires both Odysseus and Ryan.

in 1960 Mom and Dad send Odysseus and Penelope to sunday school at temple shalom teacher calls him aside "Schwartzpilgrim what do you want to be when you grow up?" Odysseus answers "architect or maybe an indian warrior" teacher says "do you know story of judas maccabi? he was a great warrior leader learn about the festival of lights and wield your sword wisely Odys Schwartzpilgrim" Odysseus replies "yes sir" two weeks later he gets kicked out of sunday school for pulling seat out from under girl during solemn religious service he never learns hebrew nor is he bar mitzvahed

Odysseus is hyper-sensitive about race and religion knows he comes from race of people who once were born into slavery nazis systematically exterminated millions of them at aushwitz-birkenaub belzek chelmno majdanek sobibor stutthof treblinka black and white photographs of faces emaciated children adults flicker before his thoughts knows jews are hated not considered caucasian in europe and russia not allowed to own land for many centuries what does it mean to be member of race of people who are despised and blamed? he sympathizes with all minorities particularly negroes who were forced from homeland collared into slavery and native americans who were cheated out of land and slaughtered by white people

Reclaim the hook you baited before you fell asleep
Left tossing in the waves of my sea
A never ceasing vision calling from the deep
Reclaim it as there will be
No bite from me

There were never any winds to carry your enticement
Or any of your unreserved choices or pleas
Reclaim your hook with the same excitement
You held, when you pictured me
Down upon my knees

Are you roused from your slumber, pulling on your line
You left tossing in the waves of my sea
It appears that your bait contained way too much brine
To ever catch the thirsty
Side of me

I
--
The LORD is asking, “Do you trust Me, child?”
And surely He is worthy of all trust,
but visceral reactions oft’ seem just
in keeping soul’s anxieties well riled.
While panic, shame and dread stir doubting winds,
obsessive, tight, compulsive thoughts pour fuel
into this downward spiraling boil of gruel
where toxic interactions breed more sins.
So for relationships I feel unfit,
and now old interests die and pleasures wane,
as each new hope in Earth’s good brings fresh pain,
where dark depression’s presently my bit.
Yet in this wilderness I hear God call,
“Child, look to Me. I am your ALL in all.”

II
--
I meditate upon the word of God
to heal a mind that’s broken from the fall,
and lying in morn’s bed I now recall
the former paths of fullness I have trod.
I clear the course of tangling debris
that fogs perspective’s distance-viewing sight
and clogs the narrow way which lets in light,
so with God’s truth I’m able to agree.
I gaze toward the future that is sure,
to glory that is promised out of trial.
I push through lying voices of denial,
rememb’ring my inheritance secure.
So healing first begins by sizing scope,
for in true measure I can grasp true hope.

III
---
Long sheltered in the recesses of mind
on pedestals that overshadow truth
are lies which I have entertained since youth
like tape recordings stuck on forced rewind.    
There‘s something of appeal in misbelief,
some comforting, perverted, dressed-up face
which keeps foul strongholds rooted into place
and lets such rotten seedlings harvest grief.  
But I must choose to undermine their message,
uncovering deception’s hidden lairs
whose cultivation grounds for growing tares
leave roadblocks to integrity’s safe passage.
God’s probing, piercing words—what precious gifts!—
can excavate, expose and extract myths.

IV
---
I apprehend these truths in David’s psalm:
“I’m fearfully and wonderfully made,”
and all my days of life are firmly laid
within the sovereign care of God’s own palm.
And yet another voice keeps creeping out.
“You’re too unfit for blessed community,
hence from belonging full immunity
is your dim lot,” says paralyzing Doubt.
For ‘gainst the Word that says I‘m rightly hewn
rub all the bristling edges of myself,
but would one set forever on a shelf
a Bösendorfer piano out of tune?
No, value is a function of creation,
and He who made has promised restoration.

V
--
Restoration’s anchored in redemption,
and my redemption‘s grounded in God’s love.
Nowhere in far reaches man has thought of
could mind unfurl the breadth of such conception.
Sloshing, hesitating in the shallows,
I wander close to shore in Love‘s vast sea.
Then from the swell I hear a coaxing plea
to dive into the deeper wake of hallows.
What‘s this weight that pins my frame from racing
toward His unknown billows of delight?
Do I not trust that He will clasp me tight,
help me bear the fiercest waves I’m facing?
What guile of devils am I heeding here
which keeps me bound by paralyzing fear?

VI
---
Disheartened by my want for firm resolve
to swim toward agápē’s unplumbed depths
for int’macy with Him who paid my debts—
the only One from sin who can absolve,
I wander, wond‘ring what I’ve missed to see
within my comprehension of Christ‘s love
when He would vacate majesty above
and suffer cruelest death to set me free.
They stripped Him, flogged Him, spit, pulled out His beard,
then pressed a crown of thorns down on His head.
They nailed Him to rough cross to leave for dead—
Creator of the world now by it jeered.
In love this traitor by her King was served:
Christ Jesus bore God‘s wrath which I deserved!

VII
----
Considering what labors Christ performed
to buy my freedom off sin’s slav’ry block
that of His fullness, with Him, I could walk
in resurrected life (not just reformed),
can I not trust that He will see me through
each trial, tribulation, sorrow, loss
when He would not forsake me at the cross
but carried all my grief and suff‘ring too?
And just as death‘s cold grave could not contain
my Savior but gave way to watch Him rise,
whatever loss my path has to comprise
shall work for me eternal glorious gain.
So while my courage may still be in lack,
the settled thing is there’s no turning back.

VIII
-----
Wading through fresh tidal pools of mercy
along a piece of coast that‘s not too wide—
among the crags and caves where stragglers hide,
hoping to evade crowd controversy—
I know I‘ll have to move on before long.
But in the warm meanwhile of the day,
I kneel to rest; and as I start to pray,
my heart begins to open to a song—
a gentle, soothing lullaby I’ve known
sung to the tune of ‘Eventide‘ as hymn,
reminder that this life is fading, dim
but that in Christ I never walk alone.
And as I raise the words, “Abide with me…,”
here comes my Shepherd, walking by the sea.

IX
---
What now is this waylaying, sin-sick soul?
Diversional winds from cliffside descend.
Where‘s pressing fire my devotions attend?
Brain‘s robbed of sanity, sleep, self-control.
Jesus comes near numb heart in distraction
and bids me again to clean deadwood out.
Jesus, I‘m desperate, drowning in doubt!
Help me expel what‘s needing subtraction!
Discipline, prudence, wisdom, contentment
can work to restore both body and brain,
while worship will lift locked heart from restraint—
its untethering from woe’s resentment.
I won‘t, without wisdom, taste truest Love,
yet Love holds true keys to wisdom above.

X
--
Mottling mind’s hazed subconscious sockets—
bedecked by ego’s restless crave for fill—
infections grow to permeate my will,
ladening, with dross, affection‘s pockets.
Foul seepage soon coagulates to plaque,
forces clefts which weaken my foundation,
foments psyche’s stormed disintegration
till half-light’s flushing falls to midnight‘s black.
Yet amid murk‘s rotting, rank confusion
with ev‘ry faculty succumbed to rift,
My Shepherd plucks me fiercely from the cliff,
tending thorn-torn blight with Love‘s ablution.
Healing, though, requires my surrender—
all cooperation I can lend 'her.'

XI
---
Jesus asked a question at Bethesda,
the pool by which an invalid was lain,
for thirty-eight lost years left in his pain—
twisted, timed, tormenting, teared siesta.
“Do you desire to be made well?” He asked.
“I’ve none to help me!” was the plaintive cry,
then Jesus spoke miraculous reply
that to get up and walk the man was tasked.
That’s not to say all healing will be found
within this present life of ills and woes,
but still I hear Christ probing through the throes
if I am truly willing to be sound.
Or would I rather lie on crippling bed,
an invalid of spirit, heart and head?

XII
----
Shuffling through some past miscalculations
surrounding toxic breakage of the vines
that ought secure the healthy bound’ry lines  
guarding interpersonal relations—
rememb‘ring my susceptibility
to ego-shuttled, codependent err‘rs
which strain to manage others‘ own affairs
and so invert responsibility—
I ponder if I‘ll ever grow to learn
proper seeds for sowing mutual trust
with vital tools for gently sanding rust
to help stave off a bondship‘s breaking-burn.
One thing I know, that trusting in the LORD
steers love‘s impetus to carry forward.

XIII
-------
“I’m not enough and yet too much,” I've read.
Succinctly that describes my current angst,
and I can‘t justify to war against
these arguments which whirl around my head.
I’ve been told, “You’re just a little intense,”
by many people, not just one or two,
and this they voice clangs manifestly true,
as gaping holes defect my bound‘ry fence.
Voluminous in content and in force,
bestowing as prized gifts what isn‘t sought
or wanted by those for whom gifts are brought,
I falter in my need to change set course.
And where it comes to giving what‘s desired,
real competence seems found to have expired.

XIV
-----
Someone wrote, “true soul mate is a mirror“—
like limelight they‘ll reveal your unseen faults.
Where no one else delights to search your vaults,
“soul mate“ renders time to be apt hearer.
It matters not, was said, that they don‘t stay,
so long as they‘re an agent for reform—
the one who makes you desp‘rate to transform
by breaking heart and making ego fray.
Danger lies in nuanced underpinnings.
I thought I‘d found my soul mate in abuse
and used “he needs my fuel“ as excuse
to take a twisted game to extra innings.
Here I’ll grant these crazed imaginations
were at core demonic machinations.

XV
-----
Casting down romantic schoolgirl notions
that sin-drenched bonds might fashion souls complete,
I drag bewitching grails to Jesus’ feet—
spurning now to drink past guile‘s potions.
As I linger longer in His presence,
I‘m freshly bathed from marring guilt and shame,
reminded I‘m made whole in Jesus‘ Name—
partaker in the fullness of His essence.
Identified eternally with Christ,
secured by His unfailing love through grace,
one day I‘ll walk perfected face-to-face
with Him from whom true life is all-sufficed.
And as I muse, I taste true heart‘s desire—
rekindling, renewed with holy fire.

XVI
-----
Attitude is prime, determinant hinge
on which the door of restoration swings—
deciding what response subconscious brings
and on which morsels mind should bestly binge.
Plenty is dependent on perspective.
Mountain, plain or valley alter sight 
and size by which is measured present, plight.
Simply switching lens can be corrective.
In Christ, Ephesians tells me, I‘ve been raised,
seated with Him in the heavenly realm—
positioned by the One who steers the helm
that Father, Son and Spirit would be praised!
Worship, like a rudder, sets the outlook
to keep me highly grounded in God‘s Book.

XVII
------
Why should I to the worship of false gods
surrender my outlook frivolously?
Idols grab first gaze notoriously,
rob joy as will‘s defenses yield heart‘s nods.
What then? Can I suppose I might steal back
a measure of exuberance through more
skewed genuflecting to gilt calf before—
itself beleaguered, plagued by woeful lack?
Now heed, wayfaring soul of mine, what‘s true:
Creation‘s bounty-goods will make you slave
and with sweet Siren‘s flutes your mind deprave
when to them you lend focus Christ is due.
Lay firm your eyes on Him—pure, restful bed,
cover, fuel, completer, Fountainhead.

XVIII
-------
Wandering down some cobbled, crowded street,
I‘m nowhere headed, rapt in mindless thought,  
and as I saunter south I happ‘ly spot
a friend long-lost but fiercely longed to meet.
Just up ahead, he’s mixed well in the throng
but might be caught if I push through and race!
Heartbeat quickens. Oh, to see his face,
this one with whom I’m sure I must belong!
Yet when I actually seize him and he turns,
I’m devastated, sunk. It isn’t him.
Then moping northbound—dazed, dejected whim—
I stumble on the One for whom heart burns!
How strange, as I had grappled, chased and shoved,
that I’d been running from the One I loved!

XIX
-----
He‘s reservoir for which parched spirit begs,
familial feast cast heart longs to attend,  
elixir fractured psyche craves, to mend,
secure foundation ‘neath soul‘s skittish legs.
Jesus is hearth fire, garden blooming,
joy‘s kiss that welcomes prodigals with tears,
arms’ tender brawn consoling weak ones‘ fears,
shelt‘ring lullaby as nightstorm‘s looming.
Who else can scatter stars, strew mountain snow,
to whet beloved‘s taste for pristine grace?
What other love’s like this, that He‘d embrace
excruciating death to grace bestow?
And best, most faithful lovers of this earth?—
dull pennies next to Christ‘s resplendent worth!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

VOLUME II:
(** — XXXII) [Edited in 9/27-29/21]

**
----
Closing the door on chaining obsessions
requires some short-circuiting of thought
previously allowed to flow uncaught
and forge ever-deepening depressions.
Pathways in my brain can be rerouted
by changing interactions with my world,
observing what’s most easily unfurled—
presently what’s to five senses suited.
‘Mindfulness’ can be a Christian practice
and doesn’t have to rest on Buddha’s shelf—
“awak’ning non-existence of the self”—
or from unseen, eternal things distract us.
True mindfulness is found in gratitude—
joyful, eucharisteo attitude.

XXI
-----
A biblical version of ‘mindfulness‘
is found in 1 Thessalonians 5,
revealing as God’s will that saints should strive
for ever-prayerful joy and thankfulness.
Pond‘rous gratitude staves off resentment,
greed and pride. As was taught to Timothy,
what‘s created and giv‘n by God should be
received in sacred thanks with contentment.
Creation reflects God‘s bounteous glory
and demonstrates His loving grace and care,
so in same grace and glory we can share
each time we recognize Him in our story.
Ten thousand tiny gifts write each day‘s page,
and he who welcomes most is most like sage.

XXII
------
In restoration, elasticity
of mind is a factor to celebrate.
So please don‘t ever underestimate
the wonders of neuroplasticity.
New brainpaths form and old channels falter,
depending on what choices I might make.
Fresh experience of which I partake
will physically help my brain to alter.
Here‘s one great hope I must now remember:
What’s hardwired today can still be displaced,
and thoughts might soon flow on paths greenly graced,
as I feast my soul’s eyes on brain’s Mender.
Bent mindfulness toward Giver and His gifts
best brings joy‘s healing for my mental rifts.

XXIII
-------
Realizations that some obsessions
are desires to vicariously ride
the mindfulness of others who don‘t hide
their own keener sensory possessions,
aptly are aiding to turn my focus
from curiosity to understand
their thoughts, which often‘s led my heart-demand—
want to consume their minds‘ crops like locusts.
What I‘ve perceived as love, concern to know,
empathy for others‘ worlds internal,
might be more escape from mine external—
attempts to hide from life‘s real, present show.
Avoidance wears all sorts of vibrant masks
to keep me blinded to here-moments‘ tasks.

XXIV
-------
Viewing secondhand eviscerations,
as others spill their innards on the page,
may seem the safest way to heart engage—
surrogated life participation.
Substituting others‘ honed perceptions
where I ought learn observance of my own
will keep childlike experience ungrown,
smother creativity’s conceptions.
Social media’s pitfalls lie therein,
along with greater dangers lurking large.
Despite its many goods, there’s needed charge
that gorging on a good thing leads to sin.
Shutting website windows is like trailhead,
opening mountain path to higher tread.

XXV
------
I‘m learning to sit with anxiety
raised by self-denial of habit’s fix,
mindful how my heart solicits tricks  
to alternate for true society.
Discomfort speaks in volumes to soul’s ear
like smoke alarm alerting to a fire.
It tells me, “Quick, investigate! Inquire!
Please find the source of inner burning fear!”
Nervousness as friend might offer insight
if I can hear and listen to its warning,
objectively without the shame-filled scorning
that tends to follow panic-stricken plight.
Practice putting tension in glass cage
to monitor its undercurrent’s rage.

XXVI
-------
It’s time to preach a sermon to myself,
for fears are overtaking me in waves;
and spirit must combat what habit craves—
flesh seeking consolation in false pelf.
Scrutinize what’s underneath such worry.
Do I believe the LORD is still in charge
of details of my life and world at large?
Look to Him. Don’t yield to anxious hurry.
Do I believe He’s with me and He’s good,
a faithful Shepherd tending to each need?
Then look to Him. Don’t drown in fretting’s greed.
Christ’s sheep don’t have to look elsewhere for food.
Each wait is opportunity to grow,
for God has holy riches to bestow.

XXVII
--------
God’s character and sovereign wisdom hem
my life, as His responsibility.
No wrong will steal my true identity,
whatever slips or schemes might spill from men.
Christ’s Ruler over all, but do I let
Him fully reign as Master in my heart?
Do I acknowledge I’m His work of art
and purpose for His hammers, chisels get?
Intimacy and glory are the friends
to which His sanctifying lessons point
and meld together as love’s dovetail joint
whenever I surrender to these ends.
Soul, set your hope on grace to be revealed.
Entrust to God strain’s mysteries still sealed.

XXVIII
---------
LORD, HELP! Why is my mind so distracted?
And why then, letting it be drawn away
for half an hour, am I now okay
to let my compulsions be retracted?
Give in to let go feels like solution,
but know it only deepens the desire
for later curiosity‘s inquire—
grants no satisfying resolution.
Those thirty minutes mindfulness was lost,
yet could it be empowered by the fall,
as I look closer inside to recall
that giving way to habit bears great cost?
I won‘t grow discouraged by the setback
but seek to further understand self‘s lack.

XXIX
-------
Low-pitched, humming anxiousness was sitting
all day inside my torso‘s cavity.
Mindful sensing lent no gravity
to coax the stubborn squatter through outwitting.
Head was tired from too little sleeping,
so frankly seemed to coast and just make do.
Soul felt no fresh excitement by woods‘ view
and lacked bright energy for much guard keeping.
One moral of this story is night‘s rest
must become priority for healing.
Otherwise this shaky default feeling
will grow into another panicked crest.
Though it‘s no excuse to say I‘m tired,
it‘s clear reformed sleep habits are required.

***
------
Changing what’s practical opens a door
to transforming what’s spiritual, mental
and emotionally experiential.
Habit alterations might well restore
enough equilibrium of body,
restfulness, clarity, reason and time
to give me needed aid to better climb
above oppressive moods, both low and haughty.
“Early to bed, early to rise...”could be
one thing to make a world of difference
and welcome back some simple common sense,
to open up new space for setting free.
But for that discipline to take effect,
I’ll also have to curb the internet!

XXXI
-------
Every opportunity for worry
is greater opportunity to trust
that God behind the scenes is sanding rust
from parts of me where fear has made faith blurry.
Without unknowing-gusts to stir the pit
of nervousness inside my helplessness,
I might ne‘er seek my Shepherd‘s faithfulness
nor learn to wait on Him and with Him sit.
These are times of richest growing lessons
when I‘m reminded He is LORD, not me,
and that He works to draw in int‘macy
feeble souls to Him through stretching sessions.
Joy is knowing sure—head, heart and will—
He‘s ever whisp‘ring, “Child, come closer still.“

XXXII
--------
Recapping basic steps to take thus far:
Find sleep (which may mean need for melatonin
to counteract my haywire serotonin),
and overuse of internet I‘ll bar.
Then with restfulness bring mindful thinking—
keen noticing that‘s graced with gratitude
and sets a stronger skyward attitude,
buoys me up against fret‘s downward sinking.
More important still is meditation
upon the word of God‘s indicatives
which lay foundations for imperatives
to follow as prescriptive medication.
Most crucial element preventing fall
is fix my eyes on Jesus through it all!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beneath the
burning snowflakes
of my consciousness
I stand
ensconced in ice
a statue in
your garden
all the verdant,
living treasures
I have given
around you,
burst from
my womb
in volcanic fibers
molten lava
of puce
of ochre-toned
vibrancy
that pierces
through the strata
of our own
personal history
archeological insights
of who we have been
love in frequencies
that once
met their destination
echoes of fire
falling in viscous
bands of liquid
upon my outspread fingers,
uncaught
You
once loved me in parts
  My snowflowers
will stay with us
but I will not
the tenth
of me that you see
is already disappearing
worn down
from your stance
of constant dark
not the dark of richly
pungent mineral layers
of blackest black
but lackluster
in taste and texture
no match
for my warrioress heart
For deep inside
this clear glass casing
are rivulets
flash floods
about to break
the gelid frost surface
bursting through
in cracks
like end-of-winter
river rushes
like seismic explosions
sulphur-rocked
My wild totem
is emerging
antlers glowing from
my crown
They are clashing
rustling up trees
whipping winds of magic
that tumult
right past the
icicles of your posture
And the last gift
I will ever
give to you
are the shards
that have already
melted from my
own estric heat
and, even then,
you will be too numb
to understand

and now, comes
       in resonated whisper
*my soul is out the door

Refuse to call her Sensei falsely,
Respect a quality untimed to a technologic beep,
a beat more ancient than the tribal drum flow,
a wind more cold than the the Summit in Winter

flying Panthers as I walk through the door of my dreams, rolling over never a choice a gym dreary, rolling over never a choice a hymn ready no longer, resounding a frequent smile in simile, my two pairs of winds high in might bathe detritus with delight feathers at my finger tips, my eyes see me as my own Polyhedron and geometry, spiraling in a torrent of heart beats, charging my batteries for three years a hundred sixty-six weaknesses feel the eel's surface carry my mind's liquid purpose no knowledge for certain that the folks to my left knew the light of tomorrow hands intertwined homogenized in ****** desire function scarce Scarab singing Jazz music freely the dirt rotates feeling the stampede atop the Earth the near challenge is knowing who's shadow is whose or the ortho- light casts veils of it's own.

The soul's propose it's own flow the ego a serpent hungers forwards slithering towards the greens with flames on it's breath seeing the birds take flight above head a prey uncaught until evolution is now leaning towards radio hearing the frequent tunes as ribs to the cavity of a god's chest emanating the tree as high as Saturn the rings around our hands, the halo above His head, the debris collects the King in his Place. All are racing space to the widest in diameter, the scope of a day only governed by the light's loop around our perspective of "el dia y todo el mundo" as he please he moves as he moves he pleases, the winter cold cries for dusk earlier and earlier whatever takes to be the (one)Tidal a lunar crescent in hand bearing Psyche as a Moon as the key to stand, Hope lives in the dark, I pander a door around the corner lives the Lucy painting her soul's truth daily ignoring the outside chronology and the trigger of social trigger, Quickness to cut through and the jungle of introverted hyper-defensiveness I carry the torch of ages through my genes trenches giving in Lapis Lazuli and the Brew he brews, Pick an arcana and Spit on the text before you read the book backwards and burn the pages on around or atop of aQuirkiness of quarks as I part eyes elementary in school zones ticketed for seeing the invisible truth- daring to run for the North to south soon to dissect into the tree. Self a fear, a fear a self force seeks wrath angelic as Templars Archon for King Jame's Ire. Breed a triplicate not shadow nor shade, a vision neither Light nor Astral but a Visage of the Sane, an Image of the Same, a Nephilim of Samael, an interest of the Identity of Unknown total to the Matrices of the Evils of Man

I saw a brave bird today,
Unapologetic about her barred face.
She sat,  perched on the mossy branch of my favorite tree,
Mysteriously familiar with her piercing gaze.

People found her unfortunate looking,
She didn't care about what people thought,
She had come to live and live she would,
This amazing outlook,  by others uncaught,
Maybe it comes from within,  it is self-taught,
I ponder on this,  an afterthought.

In came a savage, ill-bred,
Willfully ignorant of the lesson she exhibited,
Shooing her away,  now content,
The savage doesn't know his wisdom remains limited.

The bird was elegant and unafraid,
She made a graceful ascent,
The brute cursed and cursed and cursed,
For she had left him a parting present.

I giggled to myself,
Secure even after the separation,
For I know I'd see her again tomorrow,
For on the tree,  and now in my heart,  lays her foundation and accommodation..

I saw a brave bird today,  
Unapologetic about her barred profile,
I learnt alot by just looking at her,
Like how to accept yourself with grace and a smile,
And make your life worthwhile..


I saw a brave bird today and
I'd see her tomorrow too,
I wish to be her and learn more,
If she can do it, so can you.

I saw my brave bird today and
I'm going to be someone's brave bird tomorrow...

No horns, or box, or mourning
No tears, or even thoughts
This was not a young child's friend
Cruller to be uncaught?

The mangled body lies
on concrete hot and firm
No use or care for man
not even for the worm

Better to die quickly,
then rot in open sun
than slowly fade in forests
and ever merge as one?

Us humans, we know better,
we will bury a friend.
We may **** our own kind
but you'll go in style at the end

Good riddance good thoughts
Get uncaught; my tangled mind is fine,
On its own, you only make it cry
You’re good but unreachable
Your wisdom is un-preachable
Good riddance good thoughts
I’m changing the plot of my story

Globally dense, our ailing nation
makes one weep for sheer frustration
thoughts and dreams grow numb.
Tech-addled students scroll on phones,
‘midst scent of android pheromones,
wafting digital dumb.

Pop-culture, narcissist unkind
dispenses with the human mind
which, failing further, falls behind
the grimly global curve.

We read, in writing on the wall
arithmetic’s impending fall
while numbers loiter in the hall
to get what they deserve.

ENQUIRY, tagged as D.O.A,
a sheeted stiff, is wheeled away
her mourners left to grieve.
entitled maiden, full of sass,
LIBERTY begs a bathroom pass
her bladder to relieve.

When zit-faced rebels run the show
the dismal ratings plummet low;
a vulgarized cartoon.
Descending to unfathomed levels,
Ignorance applauds her devils
calling out their tune.

PATRIOTISM, tarred and feathered
headless, claws its cage untethered
foul, unloved, unfree:
Another casualty of time
which fell for want of noble rhyme;
to water FREEDOM’s tree.

CURIOSITY, half asleep,
now stirs and murmurs from the deep
uninterested, untaught.
She grows yet duller in her ways
returning to her ocean daze,
(her schools of fish uncaught).

HISTORY, dormant, lies in dust
a narrative no man can trust
a book no scholar reads.
Events unstudied as designed
wherein the heart of humankind
for want of context, bleeds.

DEMOCRACY degenerates
until God wills and activates
a nation’s drive to learn.
Curricula will be made void;
disheartened teachers unemployed,
their wisdom fit to burn.

You think the past was less obtuse?
Less prone to youthful thought-abuse?
Perhaps…  back in the day.
And though it may have been the same.
this poet opts to place the blame
on digital delay.

Don't shoot!
Can't you see my white palms
Not the black end of my black hands
Guilty until proven innocent
That's the predicament I was raised in
When I walk onto the subway, privilege holds for dear life the bag her daddy gave her, and yes by privilege I mean white.
Because based on my skin I'm automatically framed as a thief that lives too cheap to afford the Kors bag that she has.
Don't shoot!
I just found out my dog passed and decided I'd run fast and hold her tight before her last gasp.
But since I'm black and I'm running, the pigs start coming after me as if I created a catastrophe since the mask of me is black.
They corrupt the laws, use excessive force and pin me down to the ground when I was just trying to get to my hound.
Don't shoot!
Yes my windows are tinted and my skin is a shade the same but when you pull me over I'm not to blame for the drug ring that has your people suffering.
I sweat in fear for my life as I see red and blue lights wondering if I will live to see tomorrow's sunlight.
Because based on my tints and my rims and my skin I must be some criminal uncaught.
So as privilege approaches my door I must place my white palms on the wheel and plead to retrieve my license from the passengers seat.
Don't shoot!
Because if I was white I wouldn't need to fight for my right to life.
And I wouldn't have to fear the man that society told me would pull my hand if I raised it in a plea for help and welp,
That just isn't the case so based on my race I must remain on thin ice for the rest of my black life, yelling
Don't shoot!

I don’t want to be dark anymore
I want the weight on my soul to crack
and shatter off in tiny fragments
and with the first free beat of my heart
I want to expel every piece of it
out from my body like a firework
a profound breaking of the capsule that once bound me
in order to set my beauty free.

I don’t want to be dark anymore
I want to take my mind and wash it in a stream
and let every pesky piece of worry be uncaught
and released from the crevices of memory and matter
so that my thoughts float transparent through my head,
clear and bright like fresh cleaned pennies,
cool and soft like august clouds.

I don’t want to be dark anymore
I want to make a little glass door in my chest
and give my heart some sunshine
because with some sunshine some flowers might grow
and then maybe the floor of my room
could be scattered with soil instead of tissues
petals instead of fingernails
and leaf clippings instead of old expired medicine caps.

I don’t need to be happy
I just want to glow
I think I could glow like that.

shoot me!

cupid shot of love
words are expression of
heart's detest and love
love me this day
hate me that day
this is your way

I require of
you true love
you want to...
see me in buff
you are love buff
seeming your stuff

use me
dump me
and get away uncaught
I know too well your thoughts
long in the game I taught
to my grown ups

what you are is
camouflaging chameleon ants
flaunting and frolicking
in cascade parade
beholding...
glassy sea mirage

better back off!
case closed on debate
wished he wasn't late
sealed is the gate
I bet you have...
never seen me in rage

sealed is the way
to my heart and this pathway

If you aren't looking
you will never see them
hidden in whitewashed caste systems
forced to conform
to federal papers
which fit in a folder
that fits in a file
of an emaciated white guy
who doesn't fit anywhere
checking the boxes and "disorders"
voted on by
a majority of uncaught criminals
who are protecting store front lifestyles
while the real merchandise of their lives
lays in the back storage room
with the rats of their conscience.
They judge sanity
setting rigid walls
and hanging permanent badges on
Salvador Dali dream catchers,
borderless thinkers,
and geniuses
of the things not yet discovered.
Just because the gifted can not
or will not
stop thinking,
they are detained for their
Difference.

State Hospital No. 3
titles every page
framed in frayed edges
and unfrayed passion.
Lions of courage stand
with childlike joy
in traveling circuses
obliterating demons of oppression,
overwhelming reoccurring ECT...ECT...ECT.
An etcetera of living
beyond electroconvulsive therapy
where the spelling of ECTLECTRC is perfect
in its grammar and definition,
standing in banners atop
the wide-eyed portraited guardians
of institutionalism.

Glorious art shuddered on a curb,
lost and intended for *******...

Thank God, beauty beholders come
in all ages of eyes.
14 year olds also find treasure
in garbage piles
clutching dearly to the feeling
that greatness lies in colored pencils
dancing on unusual stationary.
Edward Deeds
comes of age
in the same moment
as the scavenging boy does
opening the binders
on their inter-joined journey
36 annuals after dislodging it
from a leftover ham and rye.

A voice is unmuted
merely by being seen.
Revelation is given
by turning on the light.
Art, music and knowledge is infinite
when boxes are destroyed,
ignorance rebuked,
and courage is embraced.

Let us dare to never be
just what we know.
Let us live to be
what we have never yet seen.

and the wandering continues through abandoned boathouses where we hung up our words at night
soaked to the bone in emotion and despair yet clinging to the hope that tomorrow would bring smoother tides
how could we have known that silver only lasts for so long before it tarnished, and inspiration is nothing if not fleeting?
the wood of the docks is decaying now, along with dreams had in years past that got tangled up in our lines before we ceased trying to cast them anywhere anymore.
but I still watch the sunset every night and wonder what would’ve happened if we had gotten into our boats and never looked back.

Gynecology appeals to the rooting instinct and not just among pigs,
apartment-dwellers too crave the spotlight especially in cheap digs
A tree puts strength in its cambium membrane, seeds, bark & twigs
whilst outgrowing the imperilment of remaining grounded as sprigs
It was not long before the Rolling Stones were being paid for gigs,
in the day when greasy Guineas plugged sheenies & cultivated figs,
decades before sainted negroes thrived as reactionary brillos & nigs
when a schweinehund on par with Club of Rome's lard-*** Al Gore
was realistic enough to accept his natural vocation as a male *****
even though no Avon salve could rescue him from being still sore,
he collected for prostitutional services that there existed no bill for,
while at Sea World Shamu can't fit through a pinniped or seal door,
as whale flesh ain't no antidote for pill-heads on America's pill tour
Keep whacking the side of your head to hammer out doubt till sure
you become of religious piety while acting out a radio-active story
that destroys tumors and fecundity while rewarding war-won glory,
for critical menticide administered to each Margaret Thatcher Tory,
to render brains slack so that each id's reduced to a formless slurry,
and made denser & dumber than the dumb-*** mind of Ann Curry,
who sits around picking fleas off her pet rats calmly with no worry
like a pederast whose name is Marion but likes to be called Murray
because of thickset hair that was as curly as Bill Clinton's was furry
it made Hillary's perverse predilection into a ****-emergency hurry
as she faced extortion rackets entailing mucho homosexy potpourri
It's I.T.T., A.T. & T., F.P. & L. and A. & P. in lieu of slave-holder
In a demi-godly role of being everyplace looking over my shoulder
Like advice taken to heart by a ***** the tenth time you told her
On the occasion of the hundredth time that a ****** **** sold her
Put down that rifle and also that cup as there are doggedly two ratty
trees of wood: wood I stole & wood I shoplifted as doggy eats pup
Congratulations *******, you won the Nobel prize for shutting up
Move from a hovel & put down that shovel as there are 2 unkindly
kinds of wood: stolen & discounted as my rabid ***** eats her pup
****** Mary Jane Christmas to Quakers winning gifts for rutting up
Return my shovel and **** a guppy as there are 2 hunks of wood:
wood I stole & wood shoplifted as a dog ***** eats a hungry puppy
Cheers cancer-ridden surgeon, here's the Shaw prize for cutting up
The tall first wife, who was fleet of feet, was the easiest to book for
she preferred rat tail over bat wing and won as a dream to cook for
she hid herself very obviously therefore she wasn't hard to look for
her manifold athletic talents made her the leanest witch to hook for
Give me your hirsute/textile/hombre love you lovely hairy rag man,
with your pointy nose, unlimbered leg & warts from Larry Hagman
who from the horse's mountable side snuck up like an airy stag ram
Don't take what little's left via state Santa Christmas merry bag ban
Let's dress like women in debt at the oldest Chuck Berry drag stand
My happiness is easily seen in blood-letting cirques as corpuscular
while my rippling backwards frontage is of a physique so muscular
that it is known by fat aunt Joan as socked-in and highly avuncular
In icy Florida I pine for Klondike my favorite Alaskan lesbian lover
who, in our gay igloo, resembled that big oily ****** Danny Glover
whose **** buddy Mel Gibson made him half less pockless gaining
☹a little more of plenty above Kenai's northern-lit blinding darkness,
and punctuated by those empty promises of ****-driving starkness
that were dogged by monster sightings quite common to Loch Ness
where **** Welshmen smoke Scottish-spiced cigarillos smockless
Fear not as chronically-starved people are traditionally not so tough
so feed the hungry & while they are eating steal their bags and stuff
as unarmed Cymry won't do more than storm off in a Goidelic huff,
akin to a Tom Jones hissy fit of ***-wriggling dancing and gay fluff
This normal man wonders: How much public ******* is enough?
Pushing Fukushima scenarios beyond the point of a no-return bluff
and extraneous of a federal Continuity of Government powder puff
while parked on a decrepitly-reliable-ever-burgeoning-lard-*** duff
white men, like coal miners, mine mineable depths of Filipina ****
gynecologically like the average gynecology enthusiast off the cuff,
rejecting Bicol pathogenetic carpet chaw to dip Copenhagen *****,
a sprinkling 'tween lip & gum proves that no slanted ****'s too tuff
A trans-orbital lobotomy's necessitated when plants are root-bound,
Hello Addisonian crisis dysfunction when adrenal glands are found
insufficient when production of adrenaline is diagnosed as unsound
Mormons note the absent look of foremen in the Book of Mormon
and an absence of the Book of Mormon in the outlook of foremen
You hid it 'cause I can't find it every elsewhere a package for string
this catastrophe that threatens tragedy above the tryst below a fling
With cords knotted tightly around something tumorous I won't sing
It is the chlorine that cancels detergent in that electric washer thing
beneath cellar steps that David Niven's wife fell down while hiding
I lost her you found her, it's a dollar for riding plus a fee for finding
all broads blinded to inequity and to chick Nazis' unguided guiding
Oh Lord with such ease the slippery have slid into slipshod sliding!
The frailties of free men're exploited by N.S.A.'s jingoistic deriding
General Ike exposed the military-industrial-congressional complex
which strikes against the citizenry by venomous rattle snake reflex
faster than a dope-crazy Marilyn Monroe could reach for a Kleenex
thru curvatures in a third-dimensional, spatially-pornographic helix
that approximated the Mexi-milkers of actriz: la doña María Félix
rutting elephants in musth must respect advisory: kneel-harm-****,
to honor the moon-hoaxing memory of chronic liar Neil Armstrong
as obviously for **** Rosie O'Donnell her gay meal alarm's wrong
Johns familiarized themselves with Lillian Russell by buyin' ** Lil
as masochists meet masochistic needs with movies of Ryan O'Neal
Sadists satiate sadistic surges sharing sermons sold Séamus Ó Néill
& beheld-redemptive pleasures for patrons of free mass soul appeal
I'm nailed in my sub-par carpentry by all do-gooders of the nail ban
to the point where I'm willing to mail my big sister to the mail man
who's part & parcel of a mail-fraud plot & brother's can't-fail plan
Escaped & uncaught I will be no prison monkey's cell-mate-jail-fan
'Cause shorts clothe Richard Simmons' lard *** he has a pale can as
oil-from-rock Daniel's been given the pétrole epithet Ol' Shale Dan
Latino block & cinder create distortive Hispano-Américano rubble
'cause stirring up spics & greasy wetbacks invites N.C.L.R. trouble
Stand back anti-pope as I am about to burst your pederastic bubble!
Your egg-shell-thick pate's no match for a black jack as this club'll
smash its way thru cardinals, reverends, ministers, priests & dukes
to make cream taste like ***** and turn cake into what a dog pukes
Under U.S./Euro socialism there'll be no guy who's a young codger
and popular forenames will be banned including Preston and Roger
Trans-national entities whip horse dung into curdled cottage cheese
while denying rescue inhalers to asthmatics enjoying a bad wheeze
so as to avail publicly purpled aureolae of ready women who tease
Now is the time to release the promised South American killer bees
as the hour's passed to exact vengeance for a beheaded Robert Lees
Mafiosos contract that Joseph Valachi-types be capped at the knees
then hanged by their what's-her-names from il duce poles and trees
in such a fashion that'll tighten the ropes by cough, belch or sneeze
Long legs, wrong eggs, strong pegs, King Kong begs with a song of kegs
Let us dog dealers of wieners & corporate schemers: those 2-bit reamers
extend a left leg into the sacred space of my right one for time remaining
It's easy to harp on topics commiserate with crap profitably entertaining
A man who courts dogs & a court manned by dogs quibbles over kibble
Dogs devoid of canine teeth are not as happy to gnaw and to nibble
The Arc of the Covenant bestowed ancient promises metaphysical
shedding cockroach-scattering illumination that set courses tragical
on a populace & citizenry that were more attuned to an era magical
Before Zionistic Elders prepared an Order within cabals strategical
Beneath plum sunsets & catchy maladies that deafened folks lyrical
“Turn me on dead man” the Beatles backwardly warbled mystically
as the means and the method to sexcite vampresses gynecologically
For all shoulder-locked movements sway men anthropomorphically
Let us seek bi-lesbians who fear concerted opposition diametrically
as their prized packages remain barren, as they spawn ineffectually
Sappho's ovarian host pouch is barren as ***** meld ineffectually
as Western, Fallopian-tubed freakazoids are ****-probed habitually
Sapphic ovarian balloons shrink when hens ******* reciprocally
On Pearl Harbor Loch a false flag blackened Mister Moto's beacon
by shadowy, white manipulators under a U.S. sinister, proto-deacon
who, as a cousin-marrying-pipe-******* *******, emulated Lincoln,
the war-loving queer who went above & beyond his task to weaken
the will of sovereign states to sustain free-market economic health,
by exacting confiscatory taxes resulting in punishing capital wealth
The Beatles were creatures of M.K. Ultra's institution at Tavistock,
lost to a shocking future as shown by Alvin Toffler in Future Shock
whereas nothing can help us from taking an epidemiological knock
by Mao a la Trotsky, a la starvation wages via phony-baloney stock
in the image of Pol *** a la Lenin contrary to righteous John Locke
Our fused-egg brothers gestate together, flying as a migratory flock
dolled up in vestry wardrobe: papal bikini brassier, ******* & frock
awaiting George Orwell's 1984 English socialism known as Ingsoc
X number of years before Nancy Kwan wed ski champ Peter Pock,
& after Bob Ripley's Oriental/Occidental miscegenation ****** talk
as it was curlier than was Nimoy while he portrayed Vulcan Spock,
whose sweetness was unrehearsed, unrestrained & of a sickly mock
once taken, out of time as taken twice daily on any ol' broken clock
flesh stripped & exploited as the flightless relic of Earth's great auk
enjoying the laze of Sunday oblivious to extinct Darwinian schlock
as chastised love is Leonard Nimoy-pitiable with chastity-belt lock
Upon a Massachusettsian shore puritans purified Plymouth's Rock!
Forever amounts to nothing in betrayal of Heinlein's empathic grok
Back off quack as I'll **** the next 1 of you applying scalpel to ****
as a dad must regarding neo-Kantian, fatherless-**** Johann Bach
Deep in hell's bowels fricassees Jew Elizabeth/***-to-Death Taylor
who did every Joe Nobody from Captain Crunch to Norman Mailer
A harlot ***** was she from 10 niggerly toes to scary mulatto tone
as hellishly deep in Liz's brain was a splinter of hamster wish bone
& her ***-end was broad from fat foods Safeway to her would loan
Beneath her 3rd world-chiding heft Larry F's lawn chairs did groan
as this princess of whales never said no to hog jowls and corn pone
which made an interesting cut-out to novices of the porpoise prone
There won't be another Liz till Rockefeller perfects a Warner clone
with the aid of sewing machines to hem-stitch hems that need sewn
& a positronic brain stem to achieve mortality previously unknown
since Alex Bell pilfered **** inventor Antonio Meucci's telephone
Truth is light that Illuminists keep shadowed, darkened & unshown
for Hank & Phoebe Snow and Johnny Winter who would not atone
Thomas Edison stole or bought the patents to ingenious inventions
that he was more than happy to claim as his brilliant contributions
to the wealth & state of inquisitive Mankind's Earthen conventions,
also he took credit for Biblical allusions to immaculate conceptions
Which Bible books Tom Edison wrote no G.E. employee mentions
as stealing, purloining and commandeering were his 3 predilections
True historians know well charlatan Edison's dastardly elaborations
To pinch a hairy, chapped man is wrong as it puts him in more pain
For century-old Harry Chapman Pincher pinching made him insane
His unholy joy was to lay prone with mouth open to catch acid rain
& then hop into the commode to affect a toilet-related ankle sprain,
not too unlike Richard called **** & Jean who liked the name Jane
whose corpulence demands a piano coffin burial with crawler crane
Formaldehyde replaced 7 quarts of blood that went down a drain as
the proverb fits: when there's nothing to lose there's nothing to gain
Alan Ladd snuffed himself over a self-destructive hatred for Shane
and because Sue Carol preferred men of height Ladd couldn't attain
without elevator shoes & leading-lady actresses walking in ditches,
the love-life that humbles a netted shrimp into paralytic twitches as
Alan often got nothing from Brentwood ****** & witches because
****** pimps don't scrape **** off them Hollywood swanky *******
Tragically it's true that God's in the details & Satan's in the glitches
when Hippocratic Oath-denying doctors say don't bandage stitches,
it promotes infection needing treatment that add to a quack's riches
Apply no anti-bacterial salve unless your unbandaged wound itches
Amerika will be a Marxian paradise after we guillotine the snitches
harvest their organs, cremate & consign their ashes to crude niches
Give me, give me, give me, I can subsist not on a mere, single bean
Hey cheapo, get off your greasy ***, take me to Dairy Queen as my
**** is shaved, bra's padded & all kinks are relaxed by Afro Sheen
Western ***** are fattened for slaughter as sloped slants grow lean,
for lack of appendix, tonsils, adenoids, warts, piles, moles & spleen
Refugees flee what's so repressively dangerous that it's forever fled
The bloodied blood biz passes pathogens to bleeders bloodily bled
It is a dreadful situation that ****** folks find difficult not to dread
A gent is obliged to face conflict face first short of living in a shed,
plying the rough trade, rough-necking with ******* or playing dead
When my cruddy teeth are encrusted I brush the crud off with Crest
while working drainward with this golden cake of soap called Zest
Like a woman on public assistance I refuse to let my choppers rest
There was a time when talk of quiz was a precursor to an Iowa test
My basic skills are determinedly under-cutting my housewife guest
whose stems run north to her malignant tissue free mammae breast
In movies shooting orphans with high-powered rifles is done in jest
'cause in Amerika making ammunition is what wage-slaves do best
When I'm not utilizing forks for recreational after-meal dog-jabbin'
I am staking out hog farms for the planning of gainful hog-nabbin'
or making log-planing modifications on my pine-logged log cabin,
before crossing teamster picket lines for wage-earning job scabbin,'
I take pains to avoid being skinned in a Jimmy Hoffa mob stabbin'
A thousand Confucian truths drive my happy dreams to nightmares
as bi-****** pass out on Calexico-Mexicali-low-calorie light beers
I haven't the moxie to skate through hydrants of fate terminological
as those 78 crumb-bums behind T.V. “comedies” wax scatological
Ernie killed Chip & Robby to stamp his father a cipher biological
He hadn't room for women for production smacking gynecological
The last time he looked skyward his thoughts weren't cosmological
S.O.B. Ernest cursed routinely at arthritis diagnosed gerontological
He gives not a harlot's hello for innumerable faults anthropological
nor to lend his energies to scopes that abuse harmonics hormonical
as he stumblingly falls prey to meanderings sickishly trophological
Lord of Hostesses salvage carcass mine from insults cancrological
Redeem me in sudden form humanoid of activities pathogenetical
We mourn in Gettysburg's city as unrepentant lesbians on probation
Defying errors inflicted upon soldiers who forsook proper vocation
Anti-poping Argentine Francis as he's ****** to Satan's invocation
It remains the best course to abide by stellar laws of spatial rotation
Whether one's nationality is Romanian, Finnish, British or Croatian
Lost people will eat food outside their region &

As the dreams of mine unfold,
A darkness bloom, like a heavenly shadow,
In there, a thousand arms grab me by, yet,
A speck of happy memory tangled here and there,
Like dust trapped on a spider web unintended,

As I run chasing them by like a mad, poor child,
The shadow that encircles me even more tighter,
Its wings ever more sharply, tombing me within,
I am too tired, mother, no longer I could run,
No longer I can evade the whispers of the shadow,

Now let me rest, for, it may be the time already,
Caught and uncaught fragments of happiness,
Lay beside me and all around scattered,
All I can see, the shadows of darkness bloom,
To you, my darkness, I have nothing but my smiles.

I woke up with
Aching lungs
That dreadfully
Keep contracting
And my eyes
Fill with the pain
Shedding drops of love
Uncaught and missing you
You can't go baby
I can't lose you
This distance
Is already too much
This time I dont even
Get a goodbye kiss
Just a hospital bed
With giving doctors telling me
I'm dying of heartbreak
And my claws
Never dragging me closer
To your comfort
Oh how I need you
Dont leave me.

You stole into my life at a time I needed someone like you the most. Like a secret admirer you woed me. As in days of old, you coaxed an emotion from deep within me, I thought long dead. Little lover's notes, preciously needed. You awakened love's passion I so carefully kept locked. Deceitfully and pleasurably you allowed me to awaken. Lustfully I awaited the next lover's note, dreaming secretly of a chance meeting. Uncaught moments of daydreams, carried me to places unknown, caught in unbridled passion. Then, alas. Eros chanced our moment of truth. In one single heart beat, all created movement, held their breath...... Murphy has come to claim his law..... Without the need to look at a face, I heard your voice. Like from afar I felt all my unbridled moments rush into me, and I knew it was you, my secret admirer. No amount of dreams or preparation could change Fate's hand played. I felt my heart cry a single tear in silence. How cruel a role need can play.... AND I STILL DESIRE YOUR TOUCH..... Your voice stroked my skin like velvet. And in all of this heart beat moment, I knew we will always remain a secret.... AND I LONG FOR YOUR WORDS...... You brought passion back to life. Slowly letting me feel my way back to trust, allowing me to feel emotions accused as deceitful.... AND I HUNGER FOR NIGHTS LOST TO THIS WORLD...... Then cold brutal reality started to show its ugly face..... AND AGAIN MY HEART CRIES.... MORE THAN JUST ONE TEAR.... We can never be more than a secret. Secret lovers..... How I long to have you just one more night till the sun rises and truth and reality burns its way back in..... AND ALL MY HEART'S CRIES TOUCHES MY SOUL AND MY TEARS SCREAM FOR MY SECRET LOVER TO RETURN........ But Murphy claimed another of his laws. And memories are left to recall with a bitter sweet smile...... BEATIFUL YOU THAT CAN NEVER BE WITH OR FOR ME....... And again I walk alone........ And still I feel you when you near....... BEAUTIFUL YOU

webs
are hinged, locked, and strung—
with the world twitterpated rapt.
while i, you witness, cannot snag a verb—

and the prey, with her tease in akimbo
fluttering flirt, flies—
winked, and sought, but e'er—
uncaught.

everything carries me to you"
my handwriting
her body
the perfection in simple affection causes a chain reaction
that's taken back, back before I knew the breath that will breathe upon my neck
...even back then my imagination of future foundation between us was seeming to be just a future of imagination and dreams.
no one seemed to make sense in the senseless nonsense we carried on with, yet we did it regardless
life lessons learned of Truth and pain and beauty and hate
the rage in wrong decisions always made opposite of our floating hearts that caused eyes always unable to ever depart from
simple stares that tore through bodies in hallways just to be noticed for brief moments
it was (and must I say about 2 life times ago) did I wondered where all this passion did go- till a slick Indian summer night my eyes caught reflection through liquor stained sidewalk puddles with an incidental interaction rebirthing all attraction of my soul.
my breath, along with all confidence i carried that night (and possibly years past, )vanished and left
at the moment when glances glared there were no longer the fire eyes staring like stars I had expected.
how could one think the same Jean jacket cigarette stink with hints towards a kiss looked more like a jab in my jaw as only absence in silence crawled from my mouth.
that night you carried past me and it
was as haunting as if you walked right through me.
how was I so numb to society I couldnt even feel my soul missing?
my soul missing, reminiscing of backseat young lovers kissing,
now pulling at each seam of anytime line I tried walk back up hoping for forgotten hope.


then instantly and all embarrassingly (but only to me) did I tightwire walk across town
looking for flight as my counting crows count down died down and flamingo dancers with grey guitars became pretty words that had amused but no longer moved because it wasn't the chorus or vocals -it was what was tattooed to my mental that made a muse -I remembered moving too and waiting to swoon but too soon did it come and go
I bet to lose and had to chose and chosing at 17 (so confused) was the worst thing my heart strings detaching would have to do.
but as years past and each pretty picture with a thought of "what if" past by my nightmare life I made of "what ifs", simple secret lines would drift and sometimes whisper
they would whisper and make the air more crisp than sea shore breeze on chapped lips (bring me back to where we would kiss) how could this be
happiness
uncertain for most is unimpressively the most renowned and complimenting place horror hangs hollow in fog shaped mirrors cracked with regrets...
but taped up, scared, scarred and silent so often terrified of my own inside voice -i paddled to Hades by choice- chasing cars from lyrics once with mixed with meaning , purpose, souls teeming and consciously tangled it seemed i began to drown in misery tag teamed with desparity cold and screaming.
the darkness only getting worse
the "if onlys" playing from start and starting over every time I roll over trying to sleep for more than a few minutes but to myself I always keep -I kept- I raged I wept, I broke down and then burnt myself alive to see if i could even for myself, maybe, mourn.
but one morning by some saving grace
a backyard walk to get some space led me back to your face.
so serendipitous at first thought
waiting for reality crash upon me and once again remind me of this life i fight and often lose.
but losing you again wasnt something I could bare to do...
even as I quitely awaited the gates of my misfortune to close I couldn't close my eyes with out you staring back at me. like fire in rain and a baptism cast in colors uncaught by even perfect prisms
this hell of a prison I understood as life decisions didnt have to bind the beauty beyond the cage once affiliated with.
wishing this poison carried a separate antidote for falling deeper for you again
I washed sin from within with whimsical laughs 800 miles away and breathtaking conversations spaces to far away.
all over
all over
all over and for once out of every second chance that could take a stand and stand the chance
I'll chance it all 3000 fold and over flowing to feel this overpowering presence of my hand written fairy tale dark Knight existence.
these grey eyes blue again, these blue eyes looking straight at you again
knowing what place is meant for me to fit in
my fears fidget themselves out of cares because all I can care about is this.
this moment even if not forever will never go treated unnoticed.
unrecognized or pardoned pushed aside or lost in the way side - my high tide, let me sink to the bottom of your soul for a second and fill your lungs with love again floating on top of waves crashing and flying past any hazy grey dismal day that spark you the way you are meant to glow.
where ever you go
everything carries me to you
not just your kiss but the dreams of your lips
not only your words, but the world you've found that forms them
it's more than your perfect imagine I've imagined asleep more than a million times
it's the smile I see when you are genuinly thinking about me
it's more than the giggles and good times awaiting to no surprise but fights and cries that haven't happened but will bring us closer and much stronger than... stronger than, stronger than the destiny that was meant to (so clearly now seen) be for all eternity
grains of sand cannot grasp the ineffable number of any type of anything trying to describe the unfathomable perception of clarity in your beauty and love.
my eyes will never burnout again
my will is for you and cannot give up again
my lips and skin are made only for you
my heart beats solely to match rhythm with your pulse so I know my way home
and my words will always uplift you and shine on you like the stars and sun
so you always feel safe and blanketed even when the light is gone and the day is done
I loved you yesterday
I love you today
And I'll love you forever and always