The floor is a mess,
clothes and papers scattered about.
No need to look at the rest,
please do not shout.

She's lost what mattered most,
him, her, them, they.
The shine her tousled hair, lost,
and gray clouds are her vision okay?

So please do not judge her inability to leave bed,
or her waist that's shrinking by the day.
Please just think about what you just read,
and fix her the right way.

It's not fair that you only have to spend the morning without me
for I'm trapped in the night
darkness deafening me as I tell myself over and over that this is real
that midnight is only an hour
that I'll be home soon
and I never feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be
transporting myself place to place
continent hopping like a heart murmur
my soul is five hours behind
and when you sleep my whole being longs for your voice
glasses half empty stacked beside me
I remember a time when my hair danced at my hips
when the moon would be full and heat lightning blinded me
constantly praying to a god I didn't believe in that I could fall asleep
but dreams didn't come
and that summer lasted but eight days
when I can feel your heartbeat you are fire
but now that I'm so far away your voice is tired
your laugh is like a wind chime on a day when the air doesn't speak
milk moons have a habit of forcing me to reread your words
making me realize I now posess curses I never thought I'd have to endure
like how when I touch you I am not the girl my father raised
like how when you push me into the wall I hope your mother doesn't weep

We all have promises we wish we never made
I wish I didn't tie myself to you with silk
knotting each of my heartstrings around your fingers
I'm like your puppet
and it's wrenching because I had always been so brimmed with pride
conceived by my parents notion that I'd be doomed to wander alone
or blessed
if you choose to look at my freedom like it's that of a gift
but I don't want it anymore
I refuse to chain myself to my past
my frosted veins melting in your palms
I am not who I thought I was
I am not the lady my matriarch once bore that hot morning
a head full of curls and irises that told two different tales

I'm so lucky that the trees bend north tonight
I contribute secrets as clouds to the noir
unkept stands of chestnut trying to escape
but I don't blame them
and ink is all around me as I further my vices
counting down to paradise as I move a little too quickly from my bed
the other part of me wonders if I go visit him at this time
and I grin at that notion she thinks that's what I want from this hour
there are moments I forget to miss you
guild soaked as I remember love
I wouldn't call this bliss
it doesn't even scrape at happiness
it's emptiness
but not the way I've experienced before
I don't have words for this new feeling
not yet at least
I'll let anything in as an attempt to starve out this self doubt
but no whisper is as warm as your breath
because with you you don't even need to comfort me with diction
instead I swallow your glances like honey
I hope you know this mindset will never evolve
and if it does it is only to grow stronger

Some hearts change with the seasons
mine used to change at every chime of a clock
I'm stagnant now
laying calmly in the eye of the storm
the light hitting my skin the only thing changing each hour

Soon this will be over
No longer damning every firefly and its nerve to glow without purpose
Soon I'll be at your mercy again
Purple thighed and alive
Because right now without you I've never felt so alone
Eyelids like blankets
Terrified of what dreams could await my unconscious soul
But in the deepest hollows of my chest I hear your voice calming me
Saying what you always say when you hear my heart rate jump
"Let me sing you that song about the stars I know you love"

Lying in a casket six feet under
You look so calm and serene
I see the lightning and hear the thunder
Are you in some peaceful dream?
Friends, relatives, everybody cried
Tears wouldn't fall even when I tried
I know you will get up and hold my hand
Because you had promised me a visit to disneyland

You had said "Do your homework, be a good boy,
I'll get you sweets and buy that toy".
I had actually wanted the expensive one
It was costly but was so much fun
I had tried to reach for it but you had caught my hand
And had  said "we are saving money for disneyland"

Pushes turned into shoves in school,
Joe called me poor and said I'm a fool.
You had offered to change school and I denied
But it had left me scared and paranoid.
Changing school would have been grand
But mom we were saving money for disneyland

They were carrying you to a white van
I could hear the shattering of our plan
You were laid on an uncomfortable bed
Your beautiful body was covered in red
They said he brutally stabbed you
Chances of your living were very few
You struggled to reach and cup my face
saying," Sorry, I hope you forgive me Jace"

Night has passed and day has come
Angels have lost and devil has won
I've been sitting here all the night long
Singing to you, your favorite beatles' song
Mommy, you see, it has started to rain
Wake up before I go insane
The loudness of your silence is terrifying
Call me stubborn, call me annoying

Suddenly the reality hit me hard
Blowing away my house of cards
I left graveyard my mind running wild
A boy snickered and called me pathetic orphan child
Sitting in the corner of my room I wept
For the promise that remained unkept .

Forget his name, you must forget.
You murmur in your sleep.
Forget his face, try even through closed eyes.
Forget his touch, one that you miss so.
Forget all the times you shared.
Forget the feelings he made you feel.
Forget his words, all those promises still unkept.

I'm in that desperate mood again
Where me, myself am not my friend
I pull my hair, I scratch my skin,
My feet? Too small. My waist? Not thin.

I want to scream, be someone else.
With softer hair, a nicer face.
I hate this stupid mirror
I wish I could just run away.

But from yourself, you cannot hide.
With my less than perfect body.
With my less than average brain,
My need for makeup, hair that’s knotty.

I know I could be better
Or you never would have left.
There MUST be something wrong with me
Some bad thing left unkept.

Or maybe you did look past my face,
Though ugly as it is.
Maybe I'm just a stupid freak.
With weird ideas. A downright geek.

Times like this I wish I could just cut my wrist.
But I cant. Too many promises.
But I dream about it night and day...
I wish I could just fade away.

Not like anyone would notice,
Or wonder where id been.
Nobody would ever question
Why I was never seen again.

We pass neath the arms of shadow,
and autumns gaze turned away.
With the air filled thick a promise of winter
Layed true by the albino commissaries
that float listless abroad.
Ranks in gray/blue/white.

Slow through pass they are revealed!
Marched immeasurable in form-
By pearly hand of Christmas Kings.

Whilst low round the cavern pass
Forked lightning roared all round us!
Forked lightning soared all round us!
Under heat of wastrel march.

And we all flashed out blackened blades!
flanked by ancient everglades!
Defeat! Defeat all cold and shade!
Slit and slash their marching grade!
Impossible was their victory made!

Soon we sprouted victory wreaths,
Of strange and seeming wonderwood.
For silence hath taken
winters pearly rings.
And death hath taken
their princely king.

your fair words
around my neck.
your love
exists no more.
your promise
no longer stands
you do not
love me like her
you will never
love me like her.

The further in you get
The less you seem to fit
The more that you hate it
Promises unkept

The struggle and the strife
The things that you once liked
Are now the things that bite
Teeth marks to remind

Of the place that you are now
The depth in the fall down
The dreams that have left town
All of them Southbound

The hopelessness in hope
The thought of should have known
The condition of this road
Hand with thumb out all alone

A world without a care
You do but you don't dare
Over time and over years
You find that you are here

Where one time you felt you fit
Now puzzle pieces of regret
Missing spaces left unsaid
In the promises unkept

I’m tired of missing you.

I’m tired of waiting.

I’m tired of unkept promises.

I’m tired of the back and forth travelling.

I ‘m tired of school.

I’m tired of thinking about the past.

I’m tired of fighting about the past.

I’m tired of the pressure.

I’m tired of the guilt.

I’m tired of my divided life.

I’m tired of thinking about the future.

I’m tired of owing so much money.

I’m tired of being scared of your private thoughts.

I’m tired of playing pretend.

I’m tired of being so suspicious.

I’m tired of being skeptical.

I’m tired of my self consciousness.

our promised land is mortgaged
waters poisoned
your daughters legs are spread
mass culture ready to eat her out.

she buys it all-
the gossip rags, fake tans, cherry-flavored condoms.
she aches for it and it takes her gladly
leaving behind only a faint scent of perfume.

blood nails and ******* lips and artificial **** carry on.
girls lose their virginity only because it's trendy
and people obsess over the human interest
pieces on the nightly news.

i lash out with coffee breath
and short nails and unkept hair
and no religion
as my mother sits me down and
asks me not to step on any toes.

I eyed you from across the room,
Tim was yak-yakking about some drop D heavy metal band
he was drumming in,
But I was tired of socializing,
I had only come to drink,
yet I was overtaken by you.
I'd seen you prettier, livelier.
You looked so blue
decked all in red,
in your worn out ****-me-shoes.

I think my mouth was still agape,
when your gaze turned my way.
We both were locked.
Getting headsick from the smoke,
waiting for the flame to catch up.

You'd never seen me so unkept.
I hadn't shaved in a couple months,
my hair was to my shoulders, and
my body was drowing in wrinkled,
secondhand, early 2000s high fashion.

I walked over. Leaving Tim talking about
fusing dubstep with his metal ****.

You were working at a bank,
making three bucks more than minimum.
You changed your major.
Your relations got too public,
so you're shooting for journalism.
Haha me too, or something like that,
is what I said.
Your smile became parasitic to my clumsy words.
You said we should hang out for old time's sake.
"I won't take no for an answer."

"I'm too sober for this."
I walked off, grabbed the flask from Tim,
spent the night strolling under streetlights,
and hoping to have a revelation.
But all I had was a dwindling buzz,
and a divine gravity pulling me
away from remaking the same
mistakes.

it's the emptiness
it's the hatred that builds up in the creases of your
smile, of the laughter you hide your disgust with

it's the appointments you tear from your organizer
the holes in your stomach
the sunburn on your shoulders; the redness of your nose

it's your incurable phobias
your cut-up legs
your bleeding nose
your teary eyes
your itchy back
your raw skin

swollen lips
bare nails
unkept hair
ugly voice
tiredness

why the ****'d you think spring would fix you?

.i get it now, the more i make it a detention hour writing lines: doing dull work, makes sam a bored boy... intra-racial variant of slur qua intimacy, in-group standard... take any "n" word "extra g" word "thingy" among the non-exported examples, non-NBA privileged, say... in Kenya... friends? **** no... feeling intimate? huh? like i said... watching 2 hours of a washing machine cycle, is probably more entertaining, than, seeing, the cages, the - - - - - morse breaks in... so... everyone is being a ******* ******, creating a natural response to a river, that must become a reservoir / fake lake? whatever etiquette equated to politeness comes from this... no wonder we'll be doing it from spite... rather than a genuine sediment of genuine feeling, flight of the heart & and all the fickle thoughts that go with it.

please, please, put me into handcuffs
for ******* in an alleyway,
the english sort of handcuffs,
the ones where they can't handcuff
you from behind,
   because the cuffs are not connected
by a mandible chain,
but a rigid middle,
implying that you have to be handcuffed
with your hands in-front...
which also implies:
   well... if **** turned ugly...
i could just wrap my hands around
a boppy's neck and just turn into
a boa...
     but that other police officer was
nice, turning the police van cell
into a taxi...
   racial slurs...
   intra-racial, or inter-racial?
  big difference...
            inter-racial slurs,
namely an english derivative:
the empire britannia rule the waves
what not?
   crass...
      not too... genius...
no real outlet phonetically...
  the language is too soft as it is...
i met one german at university
who complimented the ****** tongue
with that one general-****-over
word for everything -
conjunction, was the word,
the word is treated as a conjunction:
kurwa...
        i once dated a french psychology
major two years my senior
who i lost my virginity to,
who, let's say, enlightened me...
she was looking for native english speakers,
she told me the most fascinating
fact...
        the fwench used to attach
a trill to the R...
   before they started harking up
an R like phlegm when smoking too much
or down with the flu...
inter-racial slurs are... yawn...
   who gives a **** about walking
on egg-shells...
   i'm watching a ******* football match
or swan lake with 22 *******
                                       pansies?
everyone's suddenly going to be
     as sensitive as a fwench footballer?
****: french / fwench...
  it pretty much sounds the same...
the fwench speak one language,
the french write the same one language...
but the german complimented
a language for the: pristine outlet
of frustration of... tongue licking
a metaphysical punching bag...
but inter-racial slurs are crass,
for the simple fact that...
          they're just too plain in sight...
there is no intimate history of
a people...
   me? personally?
   i'd love to know what the african
royalty called would-be slaves
picked up by western europeans
for export...
   it's not like these colonialists run
these colonized countries freely,
without collusion with the african ruling class...
there was an african ruling class,
there is an african ruling class,
     what's to be exactly changed?
lost in translation:
    former soviet states people /
  but not the satellites?
   kacap...
   from the song husaria by bujak?
ahem...
     muscovite gałgan...
never heard that one before...
   gałgan...
   i once dated a girl from st. petersburg
that summarißed my mutterzunge
        as a crackling of radio static...
just as the english say:
of a people, with, "too many" consonants
in their surnames...
   ask a ****** about hindu surnames...
i mean: intra-racial slurs...
a movement toward real intimacy
of the use of language...
e.g. in england:
    northern monkeys,
southern fairies...
      and the rest? eurotrash...
       i once heard a intra-racial slur
about the english -
                  angol to pedzio...
and then back to cosmopolitan english...
the "n" word... night? nightmare,
nigh?
                oh... the n- word?
if only i could find some malice in
the context of use...
yes, i know the content of the word,
the content of historical usage...
    and now the whole intra-racial
comradery... inclusion...
familiarity...
                a joke of latin...
   to me that's like saying
              Nigeria...
  and then thinking:
         so... it's not the "n" word,
is it? it's the "extra g" word?
better start writing giggle with an optional
   gig(g)le:
   which could become problematic
when it came to a double omicron:
to go, among the goo...
the intra-rascial slur for a german
east of berlin?
          švab...
     funny that... the saxons are
not actually minded...
  the anglo-saxons (intra-racial
mix of celt and saxon)
             as we see them today...
but... when the teutonic order came
to the area around Danzig
     and further east to Königsberg...
further... to Riga...
         a Prussian isn't a German...
              die Preußen ist: Preuße;
  now?
   the Preußen have been reintegrated
into a dialect of Polen...
        kashubian: or at least,
        that's                     sort-of...
ultra-nationalist "sentiments":
   in "exile"...
          i love that, brushing aside
any economic migrant in favor
for the immediate migrant
   of conflict, or political asylum...
you know...
   economics: is a type of war,
                                 in slow-motion...
it's a peaceful war,
   well... ergo it's a "war"...
              and the economic migrants?
disorientated *******...
who can't exactly fully assimilate
to the expectation of the natives...
i.e. speak our language in public,
and our language in private...
  no... no thank you...
         it would be easier to remove
a tattoo with a shark-bite
and a scar than to remove my
                                   mutterzunge...
and here i am... "worried"
about the N in the word trigger...
or the "missing G" in the word: Nigeria...
like... ******* pandering
        to a panda in a Beijing zoo...
now comes the malice...
thought-prison, metaphorical dyslexia
and tattoos of grafitti on
bypass highways...
   like dirt behind my fingernails...
looking for gold nuggets
picking my nose...
   as harold norse once stated
in his memoir (of a ******* angel):
a sign of a Brooklyn intellectual...
   but i just have to point this out...
LGBTQIA...
   nice acronym...
but you're missing two letters...
**** me... if mr and mrs H
  are not included...
LGBTQIA is missing two protected
groups...
     mr P and mr N...
LGBTQIAPN...
    the ******* and
the necrophiliac...
                                    no?
   they'd fit right in...
        no? they wouldn't?
weren't we talking deviance,
             per se?
so...
          those two outer-outliers
    are legit. rainbow deviances...
no? at least mr P can have some sort
of a religious backing...
whether in the desert slap-stick
ninja sketch and satan's postbox...
or at least, back of the queue of a choir,
and some boy...
   but that's the scary bit,
isn't it?
            mr N... now...
                that's... some would claim
it to be art... or what the hell became
of eddie gein in american mainstream
culture...
                  ****... forgot ms B+...
   i do remember seeing internet
in its youth,
                   rotten . com,
            and the earliest edgy ****...
now... not even a black guy can
leave adequate compensation...
   for what... began as a saddle,
reins and stirrups...
          and became:
   a demonic hybrid knock-knock-knocking
on Gomorrah's door...
fastforward...
men on stag outings before
being shackled by the ring...
inflateable sheep
   and granny dolls...
          oh yeah: i'm a real moralist
at this point...
                    what i do find scary
is that whenever i'm confined
to a waiting room, a confined space...
and there's a child with its parent
present... there's an animal...
   there's a very old man with
a middle aged mentally ill daughter...
i'm suddenly likeable...
a curiosity...
        just like today...
  her dad is nearing 75...
      she's unkept... greasy hair...
                  rags, rather than clothes...
and in the corner of my eye...
she just couldn't stop glaring at me...
i'm sweating like i'm the sort of hell
where i'm supposed to **** her...
or go to her pajamas sleep-over party
if the case was: she was sixteen
and i was eight...
                        as i went into
the doctor's appointment
    and recounted my 2 week psychotic
episode of being strapped
to the bed... in a quasi-paralysis...
citing metaphors of p.t.s.d.,
                   not talking a word for
2 weeks, only because i received
a ******* questionnaire from
the dept. of work & pensions...
   'am i a fraud? am i?'
   between 48 hour periods...
i'd chance 2 hours of sleep...
     the usual questions...
suicidal thoughts, hallucinations?
   no... the 1st episode, yeah...
but now? it's just debilitating,
quasi-paralysis...
                  nice doctor... plump...
beauty of a doughnut...
          and doughnuts are beautiful...
esp. if you throw them into a lake,
and they float,
  and then you watch the ducks
                  and the swans swarm it...
if i lied: i should be contending
for an oscar...
          then she measured my blood-pressure...
first instrument failed...
the arm-band was too small...
the air was pumped into the band
around my hand:
    arm-band snapped
  of the blood-pressure measuring tool...
so she had to resort to
the old method of using
the stethoscope and a bigger arm-band...
i guess she knew she was
dealing with a scared / agitated
animal...
   that just so happened to talk
                  some words in human;
a wounded animal,
is hardly scared / agitated...
a wounded animal,
   is whatever implies...
being elevated to a status
that transcends the wound...
the doctors came too late,
i'm fidding with letters
    like jigsaw...
  i'm fiddling with the then
larger jigsaw of words...
   and the whole point of the picture
will only arrive,
post office stamp and all...
akin to a postmortem:
  that part of life...
where...
   eh? how would you classify
man...
          pork, beef, game,
poultry, fish?
    all... none of the stated?
that's almost funny...
   HOW WOULD YOU CLASSIFY
MAN IN THE "CATEGORICAL IMPERATIVE"
of said classes of edible meats?
am i pork?
   no... am i beef? no...
veal? no...
         well, we already know
that some examples of meat
are actually vegetables:
   brain damage, coma...
like:
   do you bite into a tomato...
"thinking" it's a fruit...
or a veg.?
         "logic" supposes
that a tomato is a fruit...
common sense?
     it's a ******* vegetable!
post-racism...
   what sort of meat is man?
eh... bewildering...
   i guess we can only find
an answer, in China...
  should we ever send
a pet dog & its owner to
some obscure, countryside,
small town, famine riddled
(or straight to Kiev) place...
sorry...
******* a black doesn't make
me "less", "racist"...
i might as well imitate
a colonial overlord by the act...
seriously...
english, these days?
watching a ******* washing-machine
is less confusing that
walking on egg-shells in
this tongue...
currently, available...
so let's forget, black, or white...
you beef?
   you crab meat?
       you lamb?
   (slippery *****
of salivating sounds):
what are you?
       it's called:
  SEEING PAST THE COLOUR...
so...
     what's the meat worth?
is chimp meat the same
as human meat?
   no, wait...
that gorilla grew big-*******
eating shrubs?
anomaly of human
dietary requirements...
a horse became so big...
only eating... grass...
      yeah... no anomaly...
and then my brain starts to short-circuit...
past the colour,
infancy of discrimination...
how would to categorise
the "body" of christ
if no bread was available?
beef? pork? veal?
fish?
      i already know what
the ****** would be...
   sure as **** it wouldn't be
*****'s liquor worth of wine...
i went straight to the beast
of the wheat...
    and i called her...
        ms. amber...
                 and... maybe i just didn't
like the wrap-up of rap
because of the lyrics and
my unrelateable tendency
to never **** the bid-bop head...
of the music per se,
but the lyrics?
      sure... the music is great...
but the lyrics?
     i can't relate to them...
i need, something,
mythological and obscure...
a time-wrap not minding a grief
                 of / from yesterday...
mind you: i'll write this,
as i'll drink whatever is left,
and tomorrow...
            is a tomorrow without
this current zenith of the hours...
come beethoven thinking
of tux in the variant of rigid
geometry in the form of music...
           like when sartre plagiarised
joyce at the end of iron in the soul?
- that's the next tier of "racism"...
    as far as i am concerned...
it would be nice to re-evauluate
my position
    on the libra of being
reengaged in a food-chain
hierarchy...
                  cancer is a primitive
pseudo-vitro-forma...
    great... eaten by parasites...
germs... etc.,
  guess what...
   at least a lion is beautiful...
i'd rather be eaten by a lion
than a ******* tapeworm...
so what am i?
              beef?
                     ****...
       first i'd have to put monkey
on the menu...
to tease at the taboo
     of teasing the cannibal
    while performing oral ***.

Sweet, toothache smile, wonky,
Chipped tooth greedy grin, melts my insides.
My name written in your quicksand brain -
Funny how you don't even know me,
But you know the details of my body.

Fill me up with freedom,
Take me away for a night,
Your voice soothes me, breaks me in one.

Fake face to everyone,
A people whisperer, professional charmer.
But I want to see the specks of dust
In your unkept room; the glitter of your life.

I know you would shatter my heart
If I let you, but sometimes my
Mind is weak and still, I think of you,
Of us.

Our explosive, violent storm of passion,
Never a muted moment, just a
Flickering rush of fiery compassion.

But why do I still lie here,
Eyes closed feeling your phantom skin,
Imagining us staring into the night
Holding each other, talking for hours about life,
About your poor mum, and your dad and his new wife.

I trace my fingers on your back,
Hungry for you, all of you,
Not just that infamous fake face,
Hiding a reality too hard to retrace.

I walk a lonely path
All on my own
Healing from my demons' wrath
Desperate and alone.
No end is in sight
No relief draws near
Hope has died in the dead of night
This road I walk is fear.
This path built on vows
Broken and unkept
Leaves me to ponder the whys and hows
Of every tear I have wept.
On this dark and painful road
That's brought me to the edge of despair
I walk lonely with my heavy load
Wandering through an endless nightmare.

As Eve was crafted from Adam's ribs, she fell into temptation of the sight of the red apple, a serpent at the side. I am a woman that only begs for the single touch.
I crave for the contact of your fingers that delve above my skin, marking its territory in places that you can imagine. I was to feel your fingers wander along my collarbone, following to my chest. I want to feel your muscles flex against my thigh that quivers in excitement, to feel your fingers behold over the dampness that you could only see. Your lips are the temptation that my fingers wish to touch.
My body writhes under the thought of seduction that only I could muster in a dream. Day by day, I seek for it to happen.

I am wading out knee deep into the evening's drinks.
I let my eyeballs take a dip as my wallet plays the breaker.
You'd think the woman had tourettes the way she tries to wink.
She flirts no better than the sisters who oft walk god's acre.

Maestro, another!

A black suit hammers ritzy tusks somewhere across the bar.
The waves upon the wires lap across my eardrum's shore.
My lonely, daydream doll is finally called off from afar.
I'm far too low and far too blitzed to enjoy another bore.

Maestro, another!

When I recall how we met, I transubstantiate my veins
with hopes to find a fertile mound to plough to rude degrees.
Too many furrows to recall, but still your name remains.
So, still I hunt for lonely moths who dance beneath marquees.

Maestro, another!

Why does every truth align with all the stars at night
only to scatter just as broken glass when morning breaks?
Every wholesome oath I swear to cherish all my life
melts with every dewdrop my lawn's unkept blades shake.

i collect patches of poetry
and pluck them out of day-to-day musings
of a woman born before her time,
as she leisurely runs her hands
across and over too ripe fruits.
i do not complain nor place them
in tattered and worn baskets.
instead, the fruits of this history fall to the ground.
unabashed, they line up with blades of grass.
the wind is strong,
there is a clash.
my words tangle like the branches of unkept bushes
- poetry is enough, i know. i see.
a silhouette of bible verses and revelations coming
from inside me.
reverie and rhythm, festival sighs.
it takes 20 years worth of courage to stay still,
upright.
the berries would taste wonderful, i know.
but the soil is hungrily swallowing my ankles -
serving justice for my leaving,
for my formulating, and then abrupt untangling.
my adoration turning into a mirage of nothing.
the retribution is famished yet true.
and so in my head, it grows, and grows, and grows.
but i can taste the fruits now.
no rhythm, no rhyme,
no muse.
i walk away barefoot, onwards, where i am deserved
where i am worth fighting for,
where i am buried but not so i could die,
but so i could be planted.

The
tilt of my seesaw
is decidedly downward facing dog:

and there’s no rush to judgment, for the powers that be,
be delighted by slow-walking, making the waiting
max-tortuous, but am of an age when everything,
even the long buried sins and unkept promises,
poke and **** nonstop, and the formulae once
relied upon to ease incipient self-deception,
to temporize and salve the consternations

of unkempt aggravated remorse fail,

as aged misdemeanors be matured felonies,
I blurt and declare guilt to all, alas, and yet, in the
ultimate crushing of tardiness, knotted by indignity of silence,


no one is desirous
of taking my
confession

5:10pm
Thu Jan 28
2023

What no ears have heard nor eyes have seen

Peppermills and pancakes
Love
like no other poetry
to perceive
the beauty
in life
in pain
in darkness
in sin

What no mind can see nor hearts can hear

The secret 
byways and highways 

Untold
Unkept
In allways 



I've not met you
I've not known

Yet,
in noways and nothing is everything in you.

This is no poem.
They are my thoughts and views.

Nobody wants to give service but everybody wants to enjoy service.
Politicians would misuse national assets and wealth, deny citizens of the deserved services but chase them for taxes.

Citizens lazy around their work, avoid tax, act irresponsibly when using national assets but are first to cry out for what they deserve from the nation.

Certain pastors would not spend time to prepare a good sermon but would be expecting all church members to be all punctual and giving off their best in might and wealth for the church.
There also are church members who would go to church late, sit, sing and leave early but still complain bitterly about how things are not going right in the church. They easily see how unkept the church premises is and would do nothing about it but seriously expect something to be done about it.

Husbands want to be loved but are the last to show love to wives. The same it is with certain wives as well.
Fathers want respect from children but act all irresponsibly and shirk their responsibilities.
Children want care, love, protection and provision from parents but would not respect and obey parents.

So everyone wants something but wants to give nothing.

When we **** that selfish attitude in our views of life, relationships would at least improve a bit and peace would find feet.

Stan Stan Stan,
Pack up the moving van
From St Lou to L.A.
Always with your **** in your hand
Shave that ***** stache
You unkept goofy chap
Oh and give yourself a flush
You giant piece of crap
Lies a flying out your mouth like a nasty shart
The only time you're speaking truth is when you rip a ****
I will hold no grudge, when I'm in L.A. I'll buy you a Coke
Unless of course you pass away from Goodells *** you've choked

Once thin skinned like orchid petals all
frustration was mistaken for tears.
Then resilience took over so to cry
only having the feeling of no amend.

So far bones resounded metal cold,
lack of nearness is not about fears
but to save weeping for better times,
trying to roll over any sign of dead-end.

Whether eyes or not drops come from
They're salty stories and may reveal
promises made to oneself but unkept in life
like the notion tears fall not at our command.

love is

our unkept bed on a Sunday morning
clothes thrown on the floor
candles burned down to no wicks

sleeping off last nights tangled limbs
on the grey leather couch
infinity in crystal blue eyes

palm to palm, fingers entwined our lifelines cross
counterbalancing personalities complete the circle
protective of what is within

so familiar our anatomical embrace
we breathe shared air
beats in autotune, universe intact

Aged and unkept a cabin remains
Concealed in the woods
A family arrives on a voyage
That may never come to an end

A young girl finds a statue
But a statue is it really
For untold forces come
And in one lies great evil

Of the truth the girl knew not
For her life was just beginning
An adventure she shall take
Without knowing it's ending

Inside the girl lies another
A soul no longer at rest
Try as she might
The girl cannot resist

She loses control of her body
And starts to fade away
But her desire to live
Overcomes the desire of revenge

It was her body once more
Hers alone it shall be
She set out once again
With her spirits high

Her life turned around
For she felt alive
An adventure that began
With the trip to a cabin

Through my veins
Traced in my blood
Elements, Remnants
Of beautiful, strong, dark eyed, dark skinned people, women
Skin touched by the sun, leaving a golden tint that glows and flickers under the light of the moon

Eyes and heart moonlit
Glowing even when eyelids are closed
And the soul leaps from the heart to travel those mystical realms
Realms believed and made so real by a people old and lost
People beautiful and horrific all at the same time
So great and tall

And all that’s left is the blood stained heights of pyramids
Unkept and untouched but standing for so long
All along
Stains that raise not the heights of where my people reached
But stains of an obliteration
The grounds they shed and bled over, buried now so deep

I have gazed and pierced through mirrors delving into the deepest darkest part of my eyes
Ojos Tapatios
Ojos desde alla
Darkest, deepest brown mud that seals and protects this ancient blood
Ancient beauty
Ancient woman

Sun touched and moonlit
Here, now, today
A bright, strong leaping soul that lives and breathes remnants of ancient worlds
But speaks words of truths that have no age
And feels love, of herself, her skin, her blood
And even the men, the souls that follow her through the realms

Through my veins
Yo soy Reyna
Yo soy Princesa
Yo soy hija de mi gente
To every end
To every beginning
In every new breath of life I take
And every breath of life there after
Mi gente I emanate

sun rising fast

orange light gives  public transportation a peculiar  look

pink sky is my favorite

my short skirt

and black lipstick

his long unkept hair

and Iron Maiden tee

its nice to see another misfit on the bus

mr. metal flashes me a smile

I pretend to be occupied  with my cell phone

I got a boyfriend

besides

i'm not used to flattery

mr. metal is silly

he's drumming the seats with his fingers

I pinch a  black smile

don't laugh, be sensible

putting on my librarian face

glasses on the edge of my nose

sweep back stray hairs against my sensible bun

mr. metal is staring holes into me

he is amused

now I'm sulky

go back into Gatsby and Daisy

this is a bit coincidental

we are way too funny

breaks

bells

next stop

mr.metal clashes into my world

books fly

headphones  are yanked

automatic door

next thing I know

i'm flailing off a bus

wonderful.

mr. metal is sorry

I dont know I'm laughing

til my sides start to hurt

grouchy morning bystanders are looking with interest

and the bus driver is surpressing a deep belly laugh

I remind him of his clumsy wife, sister, girlfriend, or daughter.

mr. metal is headbanging to my black sabbath

and picking up my books

suddenly I know

he has a very tired understanding mother

he helps me up

we're both wearing black nail polish

dont ask me why this is so hilarious


i'm stood up, brushed off, and looked at

he looks at me like an ex

he smells good

I blush far too easily

thanks are muttered

and we turn around to walk off

like a graceful plot

of some movie I've never seen

I get a text from baby

he takes such good care of me.

mr. metal will meet a cute girl he can pit with

at some heavy concert

and maybe when she's cold

he'll give her that leather jacket

and he'll ride the bus with her

all night long

thats what i'd like to think

either way

life is good.