Darling, Dear Darling; What if I was to tell you?

What if I was to tell you nobody's really real; Not the Barber, Not the postman, Just you and me, Floating in space on the spinning rock called earth. And if I was to tell you, Darling, that they were all inside our minds, Would you take my side and face it all, just us?

Darling, Dear darling, what if I was to tell you that the animals are none aswell; Flicker in, flicker out, they're fading away, The image is weakening. Darling, I fear soon it will just be me and you, trapped in our minds, side by side, floating in Space on a spinning rock called Earth.

Darling, dear darling, What If I was to tell you that the trees are dimming too? We're losing them, the pines, the oak, the cedar; They were never real either. All inside our minds... But it's okay now, it's alright little darling; We'll face the world hand in hand, floating in Space on a spinning rock called Earth.

Darling, last night, when I looked upon your shadow, It flickered unsuspectingly.
Now, darling, dear darling, Isn't that absurd?

Darling.
Dear, dear darling.

Now, what If I was to tell you that you've lied to me along? What If I now said that you were a part of it all, aswell?
What If I pronounced that perhaps it's just been me, Floating all alone on in Space on a spinning rock called Earth.
Dear, you're flickering out. You're fading. You're leaving, to somewhere; to the place where the things that don't exist go.

Take me with you, darling.
Let me escape my mind.

I live every day in fear
Of being pulled down your genetic rabbit hole
To tumble and fall into the pile of pills you unsuspectingly drown in
Numbing your mind, clouding your eyes
They slip them into your yogurt when you arent looking
And so you spoon feed it to yourself,
Bit by bit
You swallow and smile
It's delicious, isn't it?
They they don’t  know its not a choice
You were born to drown,
Whether in a pile of pills that clouds your eyes and slows your body
Or in uncontrollable emotion contorting your reality and killing your melodies.

Does it take you the entirety of a slow summer day to fall in love?
Starting with sipping coffee in the company of the chickadees
and ending with conversation sizable enough to fill the Big Dipper.

Or does the feeling crash down on you like a tsunami?
Not quite knowing the cause and not quite caring.
You know, that inability to feel reality during an aftermath.

Maybe you like to resist the inevitable instead.
Pushing love away with bursts of gut air exploding through your teeth.
Coming from the need to control all things, including every motion of your breath.

But I don’t know.
that’s your thing.

My thing?
See, I’ve been trying to figure that out.

At times I crawl towards love like a starving alligator would towards a deer.
Think about how they drink unsuspectingly from the river. I know it sounds impulsive.
We’re all just trying to survive though.

Like when my head is on your chest and your arms are wrapped around me.
Sometimes I feel so close, yet so far away.
It makes me want to dive into your brain-but then I think you might not like that.

Then I slow down.
And the love I’m feeling reminds me of a *** of water just before its boiling point.
Bubbles full of compassion and trust and admiration coming up to join the little piece of the universe I’m blessed to be a part of.

Like when we’re talking and the words just spew from my mouth.
There’s not a negative feeling in the atmosphere and I feel on top of the world.
Because I’m thankful to have found a friend within love.

There are other times when my heart feels like it’s going to explode.
The emotions are just sitting on the edge of my soul waiting to jump.
You know when the only thing and the last thing you want to do is cry?

Like when you wake up in the middle of the night and I feel you kiss my shoulder.
That’s the feeling of wading in the ocean, and watching fireworks, and cuddling children all rolled into one. A feeling in-between desire and fear.
Then, against my better judgment, I think, “maybe everything does happen for a reason.”

Why is it that we fall in love?

Is love a trap, a giant pit that we unsuspectingly trip into?
Do we lie at the bottom peering at the light above?

Is love like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute?
Do we flail helplessly as we plummet to the ground?

Falling is painful, uncertain, and something we try to avoid.
Except in the case of love.

I don't like falling.

I think I'm going to grow into love instead...

"Fall Down"he cried, and the walls were blasted in all directions,
The roof was flung over the top of the world
as he stood among ruins lighted by a single taper.
He listened to the ***** music, not recognizing it at first but having gained an appetite, he proceeded across the blackness  to satisfy his hunger in the only available light still living.

The goblet that she held aloft had a fiery glow about it.
The green ball of radiating light that shone was not an emerald but something from his genetic memory of forefathers that had somehow embedded itself obsessionaly in his brain.
He began speaking, asking awkward questions that held little or no meaning to her.
She answered cautiously, then stepped over the dead pine needles to comfort him.
It seemed to her he had been wounded in the war of Love, and his amour welded securely in place had left its mark.

He took a step towards her"may I kiss you"? he asked.
His amour clinked slightly as he took her in his arms with all the warmth of a log fire in late December .
All the leaves yellowed at once and a double file of moons passed through the heavens.
There was a strange sound in the Christmas sky
She felt strangely at home in this alien world without time, where flowers capitulate and the stars do battle in the endless heavens, rising in turmoil, falling at last to the ground, splintered and bleeding.

He had become deathly quiet.
She searched the glowing embers for for an answer, but the answer came from deep within herself.
Now she understood, for a few brief moments , he had confused X with Y.
His armor had been breached.
Slowly he turned his head and forced himself to look away- ashamed.
The blood flowed from the open wounds in his biceps,
and ran down his body and dripped from his fingertips profusely
His world had jumped backwards, as had hers.


"Drink"? she asked.
He gulped down the hot liquor.
It burnt his insides.
He felt a change and his strength returning.
"Some things never change"she said softly
His inquiring eyes searched her face for meaning
There are, she said things that have long ceased to be objects,  and emotions that stand solely as never -to -be calender occasions, outside that sequence of element called time.

He had armed himself well, to guard against his vulnerability and fear.
He slashed expertly at any deeper meaning that could have been hidden in their encounter.
Gleefully he dismembered her word by word, rejecting her love as a pettish ideal.
Inwardly she wept and her heart bled and it bled, fouling the floor with her infernal animal juices, dripping and running until life itself was reddened, and their ****** had become a Winters night Nightmare.

He turned and fled into the night.
It was like running through a waist- high snowdrift.
He knew it was wrong.
He was compounding his error by running
The night was silent now, it was endless, It slanted towards the end of the world.
It gave off its own light.
There was no sky- nothing overhead.
He was alone.
His own voice echoed back to him from the wilderness.
"I HATE YOU" ..........."ANIMAL"..........."I HATE YOU"


Gathering his thoughts and shedding his armor,
he returned to make amends, surprised at his own since of honor and chivalry.
His boring apologies seemed to her a functional disorder,
that occurred for pretty flimsy reasons.
First times are always special she explained
The pins and needles are gone through and Ive caught my breath again.
They agreed to be parted as friends.
She watched as he walked away,
Honor, armor and fear still intact.
They had smashed the clock of time ,
and feasted on the ten or so ages of man.


A tiny pool of water lay on the palm of her hand.
The residue of another world, another generation.
A little momentum left behind, like a tear shed unsuspectingly.
She closed her eyes in disbelief, but couldn't stop the seeing.
The impulses of nature had become a reality.
The evening sky looked as it never had before.
The morning sun shed tears that turned in turmoil.
A flash of metallic light covered the night sky.
Her world receded for an instant, then grew stable again .
Seconds later her palm was clear and unblemished.

She had embedded herself in the armor so dearly held by him.
She stood for the last time in this alien world.
In the midst of an explosion of thought,
she stared frightened into the deep blue mirrors of his mind.
How could he know of her nightmare?
This abstract tragedy,   that he so unknowingly had become a part of.
Her saddened eyes watched him leave her life as abruptly as he entered
pledging her heart and silent love to him for ever.

Broken bottles and crystal powders
So many drugs you'll be high for hours
The corroding building where you go to play
is the only place where your thoughts go astray

Eyes are coated in the eyeliner from yesterday
Prone to exponential decay
Mind shut off the worries and doubts
don't want those thoughts coming out

Untied Converse with a grunge toe
waiting in line for your necessary espresso
A few dollars left but not enough
to get the approaching bus to slow down

You're stuck on the corner long enough for the kind man to give you a ride
You quickly accept and give him a small smile
Unsuspectingly hopped in the car
and closed your eyes to dream
He slams on the brakes at a stop sign and you begin to think
Turning a slight cheek as he gives you a discreet wink, you crack open the door and jump out on the street.

Your alias can't save you now
Popped, Swallowed, and Drowned
Mind to foggy to hold your doubt
swinging your fist as he follows you down
Probably should've thought this one through right about now...

Running and Running as fast as you can
But you tripped on your shoe lace, so he throws you his backhand.
You look down at the asphalt
thinking this is it
you could've saved yourself
but your mouth was too quick.

One night on the web,
Reading unsuspectingly,
You found a haiku.

There is a table between us.
An arm’s-length between us.
An inch-width of wood between us.

There used to be a lifetime between us;
We traversed and scrambled across the
Rugged terrain of life.
And we enjoyed the views and the
Panoramic scenery, ignorant of strife.
And I’d have thought that perhaps, one day,
You’d be my wife.

But that lifetime’s a dream for us;
We moved apart,
Got new friends.
Company lost,
No more messages for us to send.
And we gradually, unsuspectingly
Approached the end.

Now there isn’t much between us;
Bar some remnants,
Faded memories,
And an inch-width, arm’s-length piece of wood between us.

The demon named anxiety
Came knocking yesterday
I opened the door unsuspectingly
It was intensely dark outside
Coiled around his merciless fingers was my delicate soul
Making my heart pound hard like war drums

Count to the tenth
Take a deep breath
Maybe I can breathe the demon to death

War drums still pulsing violently
I guess that did not work
With no escape in sight
The helpless sheep took over
Leaving me defenseless
Exposed, I resolved to the only thing I do well

I’m riding this out proud
I’m writing this aloud
I’m sleeping this sound

And that was when a ghost named insomnia came stirring

Sour like grapes not quite ready to be borned.
And pityfull like a fetus not yet fully formed.
You break me like wire snaps under force.
and we wait until night to announce such divorce.

Bitter like acid under your finger nail
and you chew them unsuspectingly.
ANd I told you boy that I am not frail
Not in the sense, not to any degree.

But I am Weak and I am Insane
and I am gone,  and I've been lane
Out for all of you to see.

We were in a moving car
And I was thrown out mid journey
Unsuspectingly
Probably deservedly

We built it from nothing
We put love in it
We made a plan for the trip
But it changed

It changed so fast
I can barely catch my breath
It changed so fast
I can feel every broken part of me

The wind knocked the breath from my lungs
The impact...
The impact never ends
When one pain ends another starts

A life I planned to have
A life I wished and dreamed
A split second
It was all gone

Gone
It doesn't exist anymore
We built this car with love
So much love

So much pain
So much grief
We were on a journey
And I was thrown out

Nights and days blend
The pain doesn't end.
The pain doesn't end.
I was left

Broken. Alone.
Only indifference
Trying to walk home
In the dead of night

A risk.
So much faith.
It was so beautiful.
It was so... breathtaking.

In that moment between night and day
I almost forget.
Almost.
Then the pain settles in my bones again

But I can't make you love me.
I can't make you love me if you don't.
I hope your journey goes well
Maybe I'll meet you half way

I hope I live to see the day
I hope I can breathe again
I hope... I hope you're at peace

untimely death sentence ordained
approximately six months prior
to mother dearest celebrating
her seventieth birthday,
though the last three years of her life
impacted courtesy hysterectomy
to remove malignant growth,
which severely limited
mobility of once vivacious
former Arthur Murray
ballroom dance teacher
when she exuded youthful innocence.

The remaining lines comprising
following reasonable rhyme
crafted quite so many moons ago
exhibit exemplary codified cobbled attempt
to communicate belated filial declaration.

Test teasing prophylactics embarrassing
purchase never made at local drugstore
unsurprisingly, obviously, invariably...
birth control taboo subject, best to ignore
subsequently ******* awkwardly coordinated,
consummated, completed extempore
hence bun in the oven bon jure

yielded unicellular spore
while in utero ~ early/mid
February I ain't exactly sure
nineteen hundred thirty five - dirt poor
Harriet Harris, fourth, last born
fetched vicinity Coney Island offshore

by stork, became favorite progeny begat
courtesy Morris, and then swore
celibacy forever more
Rebeckah Kuritsky heretofore
harbored inchoate genetic fore
boded, encoded, inscribed
deadly mutations housed,

fetched, dispatched and bore
flawed BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes sketched
affecting circumscribing her allotted mortality
orbitz equaling about three and a half score
unknowingly, unsuspectingly, unwittingly,
her biologic fatal demise indelibly etched.

Breast cancer first brush
sounded death knell
Harriet approximately clocked fifty plus
underwent grueling radiation
plus chemotherapy
carcinoma eradicated allowed,
enabled, provided breathing spell

reprieve accentuated, galvanized, punctuated...
newfound zealous zest almost
nothing could quell
significance pray tell
new lease on life to sell
lib berate cherish, relish, whish

each precious moment
thwarting pell mell
adversity with bon vivant elan
and gusto to issue rebel yell
kickstarting, making breast
livingsocial aye bell,

especially after despite... er... well
her double mastectomy,
she looked fabulously swell
courtesy silicon implants
slight downside reconstituted
racked ***** *****
susceptible to ooze gel.

Many years post remission telltale
diagnosis, viz ovarian,
despite requisite hysterectomy
emotionally did impale,
she instinctually, intuitively,
invariably, yet quiver and quail

against impending demise 24/7 did assail
guardian angel(s) of no avail,
nor did yours truly proffer nurturance
resentment smoldering within this male
red hot poker anger lambasting me
peppered with ultimatums to vamoose,

never got resolved ensuing estrangement
deterred reaching out to embrace,
hearing raspy fading breaths exhale,
miserably tethered with tubes,
when she did severely pine
silently beckoning sole son
never knowing extent she did ail

and after seventeen plus years ago
still grievously, necessarily,
and unquestionably bewail
corporeal essence ashen pale
awkwardly, helplessly, stupidly... I stood
formidable grim reaper foe whisked mother
to Elysian fielded dale.

alternately titled: tick tock runneth amuck
seconds elapse imperceptibly
leaving me dumbstruck,
how quickly fleeting tempus fugit;
ofttimes imagined as time thief.

Hence following vignette: quiet as a mouse lurks the time thief

The invisible hours hoarder stealthily steals precious seconds (like minute hors d'oeuvres) away during the dead of night surreptitiously and unsuspectingly robs and buries me alive by subtracting each and every precious second of my tender life.

As the world spins, the days fly by at nearly the hummingbird wings at the deathly hallow supersonic sound, this little elfin grot sized goniff (groomed by Father Time) monopolizes and usurps a greater role like some unwanted guest who overstays his welcome.

Mortality (visited by quick and painless demise) on the other hand would be an especial balm, relief and tonic to my countless decades long existential slog, which this model ’59 hew man cargo happens to be in sore need and want of that fairy tale genie in a bottle to grant me eternity.

How quickly the hands blindingly **** by instantaneously eclipsing memories from yesterday (when all my troubles seemed so far away) as I just barely shucked off the frock from today.

Meanwhile faint hints of tomorrow (albeit dark shadows creeping imperceptibly closer from the edge of night as all my children frolic in the summer of their blissful innocence totally oblivious to the galloping generational gourmand grandfatherly clocker) hungrily prowling on the outskirts of styx strewn groveling grooved globe.

Nocturnal creatures emerged from respective hideouts regaling in fleeting festivities (apropos to their species/ genus) before the curtain rises on another dawning day.

Although an unseen yet palpable grim harbinger (per prescribed existential allowance) precedes, and allocates finite years sans spontaneous birth of life, the daily hubbub finds this introspective individual self-absorbed in gloom.

Thus, he infrequently finds himself conscious of that eye popping, jaw dropping, mind boggling sheer speed of light flash representative of his passing life. Where in the world did those days, weeks, months, years, and decades go? Try as one might to catch the robber baron of ages, he/she also appears to be at least one second ahead.

These immeasurable micro moments appear to leap ever faster as one inches closer to that average length of longevity. Odd though, that these indiscriminate discrete constituent parts of being consciousness well nigh impossible to isolate, yet recognition prevails at cradle to grave cycle.

I feel utterly dumbstruck at diminishing residence on this planet now while walking along the boulevard of broken dreams. An indistinguishable blur (akin to the brushstroke of an artist across blank palette yet to be covered with an unpredictable product) the only evidence that tempus fugit.

Now as one crotchety curmudgeon contemplating cumulative chapters of mein kampf (from childhood to doddering sexagenarian senescence), nostalgia for yesteryear like a parasite symbiotically festering inside for unrequited liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

The second these minute, gnarled, bent arthritic fingers manage to lay hands on that bleeping son of a blank, hours and days will be like one endless months long week-end without parental supervision.

Throughout mankind's awakened consciousness
elusive abstract notion
identifying past, present, and future
adopted as avuncular personification;
Father Time an apropos sobriquet
impossible concept to grasp
within the mind of one Finnish huckabuck,
whose clodhoppers get mired in muckamuck
analogous to quicksand yours truly stuck
markedly challenged, hence
mission scuttled when attempting to zuck.

Ever since the advent of civilization
contrivances crafted to measure
days, weeks, months...
years, decades, centuries...
analytical “gifted” anonymous minds,
wrought ever more sophisticated inventions
to divide existence into manageable units.

Now twenty first century **** sapiens
technological atomic clock work mechanisms
markedly catapulted by quantum leaps
immense degrees of precision  
extremely accurate types of devices
linkedin with state of the art electronics.

At this fleeting instant
(approximately 8:18 AM
September 13th, 2022)
ever so briefly wedged between
what elapsed and future events to arise)
impossible mission to isolate
that illusory present,

not only cuz the herein now
flits away at light speed
(or greater - you're right quite dubious),
but also everywhere within
cosmic space/time continuum
infinite microscopic and
macroscopic events occur.

As an amateur thinker
I feel baffled when pondering
that crude convenient schema
whereby greater minds than mine
devised devices to measure passage of time.

Yours truly can barely articulate
his farfetched dumbfoundedness,
me merely a simple brute
(shortish but not so nasty),
whose permanently creased
furrowed brow courtesy
his scrutinizing noggin
encasing fifty plus shades of gray matter,

whereby one percent bonafide Neanderthal
deoxyribonucleic acid explains
atavistic predilection issuing primal grunting,
when foraging for small (lame) game,
cuz feeble minded twenty first century
run of the mill garden variety **** sapiens
amuses himself (mentally)
toying with Einsteinian paradigm.

Though barely able to fathom
mind bending and boggling concepts
theoretically linkedin if an object
subjected to travel speed of light
(particularly an objet d'art - ha

think The Persistence of Memory
series of clock paintings by Salvador Dali)
mass becomes infinite
as does energy required to move entity.

Obviously the ability to wrap one's head
(or hands for that matter) around,
humongous (super sized) material essence
filling subsequent seconds, minutes, hours...
defies feasibility to grasp,

neither could ways nor means
allow, enable and provide
any semblance to hold (tangibly) as solid
something so abstract
as a singular moment, yes?

The above (ambiguously stated) thought exercise
equally as challenging where to locate
beginning and/or ending point
upon Möbius strip.

1935 - ~ May 4th, 2005
(untimely death sentence ordained ~ early February 1935)

I trot out a poem acknowledging birthday
of dear ole mom, who succumbed,
lost lease on life
nearly two decades ago,
who frequently asked me,
but never received acknowledgement
during her livingsocial years did abjure
(as the sole son)
communicating HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

Test teasing prophylactics embarrassing
purchase never made at local drugstore
unsurprisingly, obviously, invariably...
birth control taboo subject, best to ignore
subsequently ******* awkwardly coordinated,
consummated, completed extempore
courtesy the mythic sheet with a hole
through which prudish  
maternal grandparents supposedly copulated
hence bun in the oven bon jure

yielded unicellular spore
while in utero ~ early/mid
February I ain't exactly sure
nineteen hundred thirty five - dirt poor
Harriet Harris, fourth, last born
(interesting enough shared same birthdate
with eldest sister twelve years her senior)
fetched vicinity Coney Island offshore
by stork, became favorite progeny begat
courtesy Morris, and then swore
celibacy forever more

Rebeckah Kuritsky heretofore
harbored inchoate genetic fore
boded, encoded, inscribed
deadly mutations housed,
fetched, dispatched and bore
flawed BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes sketched
affecting circumscribing her allotted mortality
orbitz equaling about six months shy
of three and a half score
unknowingly, unsuspectingly, unwittingly,
her biologic fatal demise indelibly etched.

Breast cancer first brush
sounded death knell
Harriet approximately clocked fifty plus
orbitz around the sun,
she underwent grueling radiation
plus chemotherapy
carcinoma eradicated allowed,
enabled, provided breathing spell
reprieve accentuated, galvanized, punctuated...

newfound zealous zest almost
nothing could quell
significance pray tell
new lease on life to sell
lib berate cherish, relish, whish
each precious moment
thwarting pell mell
adversity with bon vivant elan
and gusto to issue rebel yell

kickstarting, making breast
livingsocial aye bell,
especially after despite... er... well
her double mastectomy,
she looked fabulously swell
courtesy silicon implants
slight downside reconstituted
racked ***** *****
susceptible to ooze gel.

Many years post remission telltale
diagnosis, viz ovarian,
despite requisite hysterectomy
emotionally did impale,
she instinctually, intuitively,
invariably, yet quiver and quail

against impending demise 24/7 did assail
guardian angel(s) of no avail,
nor did yours truly proffer nurturance
resentment smoldering within this male
red hot poker anger lambasting me
peppered with ultimatums to vamoose,

never got resolved ensuing estrangement
deterred reaching out to embrace,
hearing raspy fading breaths exhale,
miserably tethered with tubes
when she did severely pine ail

and grievously bewail
corporeal essence ashen pale
awkwardly, helplessly, stupidly... I stood
formidable grim reaper foe whisked mother
to Elysian fielded dale.

It was after two o'clock in the afternoon or thereabout, he was alone indoors, a knock at the front door rattled the noon silence. Not again, he thought, for he already knew who it would be. He grimaced inwardly and headed to the door. He was wrong, it was'nt the pest neighbour woman from next door, this time, it was her teenage daughter and her younger brother. They tood there like two sour thumbs, presenting an inquiring sight for my already bored eyes.

Oh hello, my mam says can you lend her £5 till her giro arrives tomorrow? says Joan, plaintively, her brother peering inquisitively
behind her. He disguised the bored look and smiled benignly, he was about to say, ' but your mam hasn't repaid the £10 she borrowed last week' but he stopped himself. He hates embarrassing others, do unto others as you want others do unto you, was a strict edict to him. Instead, he opened the door wider, 'come in, I'll get my wallet. Like rats into a cheese larder, they scuttled after him as he turned into his lounge. Turning to face them, he immediately noticed their wide-eyed awe-struck gazes and immediately realized he had never invited anyone of this family indoors before.

He was later to learn, they had stated there was a hidden Palace full of treasures next door. To him, it was just a tastefully decorated and tidy flat. Little did he know what laid ahead. Take a pew, I get my wallet, he said, as he made for the bedroom. He return to see them starring at his record cabinet with the neatly stacked LPs and the gleaming Bang & Olufsen sound system. I see you like your music, says the girl, her eyes darting all over the room, the brother just sat there as if mesmerised. He was now wondering if it was a good idea inviting them in, for he could see from their deportment and gazes, they were overawed and almost ill-at-ease. He mused they might think he was showing off. he handed over the unreturning £5 and hoped they leave.

In years to come he would regret this afternoon. they did not leave after taking the money and he did not have the heart to usher them out. instead they settled in and the girl talked about them moving from Scotland and living in hostels, about not fitting in at school and how communication was difficult because of her accent, about her liking Reggae Music and Bob Marley. I watched her in her worn dress and stained sandals and the boy in faded t-shirt and ***** jeans, I'd listened to the commotion regularily emanating from their flat, was aware of the regular Police visits and the various anti-social happenings around them. Now she's six months pregnant and Bobby who got her pregnant didn't want to know.

I felt sorry for them, my wife and I had felt sorry for them from day one, on numerous occasions, they had come to beg food, eggs, bread sugar and even milk, it was obvious they were dysfunctional and Jim the father was always in and out of jail. I didn't know how to help other than just keep on being their Lender. Sat on our comfortable divan, she continued about missing school and leaving early because she was bullied by her school mates. Now I made a mistake, I had read somewhere that a good way to emparthise is to try and relate with the issue, yes, I said I know what its like to be bullied, I said. I had never been bullied, I was a Class Prefect from Form One, I was an A student, always capable and well adjusted. I was popular, liked by both the Tutors and my school mates and known for my humour and effortless coolness, even if I say so myself.

They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, Little did I know, when in trying to empathise by saying 'I know what its like to be bullied' I was making a rod for my own back. Unsuspectingly I was talking to feral people, to predators and extortionist, little did I know, these are damaged morally bankrupt people, little did I know that what I thought were appreciative glances were my properties been scanned and listed for misappropriation, little did I know that in East London and suchlike areas, your neighbour can actually break into your house and steal from you. Little did I know that envy and jealousy can be such potent forces and little did I know that white is right and black is always wrong.

I managed to usher my guests out that afternoon by promising a Musical day to listen to Bob Marley, I shut the door behind me and buried my head in the book I was reading earlier. If you were to tell me what laid ahead for me and mine, I would have told you, you are crazy and would make a super imaginative Fiction writer.

I float mid-air
on cotton candy clouds
with two souls
unsuspectingly connected
by me.

I lie with
Heaven, herself
absorbing her rose
gold - luminescence.

Her soft, honey-hued
curls cascade
around her porcelain
cheeks. I look at her
gently. Afraid even my
gaze could shatter her.

On a nearby cloud rests
Hell, my chaotic lover
scorching me with
comfort - a dark
chocolate familiarity.

He ignites the flame
inside of me,
slowly dampened
by Life.

The sky opens and
our cotton candy clouds
kiss us goodbye
with their rain.

I fall back to reality
calm, not afraid,
enjoying the crisp air
coupled with the
warmth of two souls
complementary connected
to me.

Despite being a nineteen year old bride
she wed Boyce Brandon Harris
half a decade her senior,
(where I ranked less than a twinkle in their eyes)
during the month of June 1955,
not quite half a century later ~ May 4th, 2005
death severed the pledge she did troth
linkedin wifely role,
cuz against her will she died
at most four weeks to be more exact
golden wedding anniversary never witnessed
raging against accursed grim reaper
countenance succumbed into collective sorrow

life force forever absent snatched away,
yet magically transformed
into the breathing edenic idyll
courtesy green thumb of eldest sister of mine
once livingsocial mother of ours
invoking trademark contagious l'chaim
flickering aura, charisma, instant karma
persona could not hide mommy dearest
physically eclipsed after
rigor mortis displayed deathly pallor
bonafide grateful dead
signed, sealed and delivered
human cargo into crematorium.

Born November 13th,1935,
the presence of long since deceased mother
her absence acutely recounted on said date,
no matter familial relationship between us,
who begat yours truly (me)
fraught with antipathy,
especially when writer of these words
felt he long overstayed his welcome
as I racked up living with parents
while being a long haired
pencil neck baby boomer geek
experiencing dating women for the first time
courtesy thursday night contra dance.

Books ravenously digested
and female protagonists he brood
as an illusory substitute for this dude
whose retreat into his bedroom
kindled like tinder unidirectional family feud
and donned Samson guise as a protective hood,
whereby Beatle browed,
foo fighting literate philosophical thinker
envied groovy hippies of the late nineteen sixties
riffing lyrics of fab four
fabled melody of Hey Jude,
where testosterone laden fantasies
triggered whet dreams housed lewd
seminal urges pestering spouse,
who offtimes rarely in the mood
for a quickie with the dickie.

Mein kampf as a thirty plus year old groom
test teasing prophylactics embarrassing
purchase never made at local drugstore
unsurprisingly, obviously, invariably...
birth control taboo subject, best to ignore
subsequently ******* awkwardly coordinated,
consummated, completed extempore
synonymous with ******* fulfillment
gonadal hormonal secretion
on par with the mythic sheet with a hole
through which ***** and archaic  
as modus operandi methodology
maternal grandparents supposedly copulated,
hence bun in the oven between self
and future missus Matthew Harris
wrought premarital *** bon jure.

I trot out essential tidbits of poem
acknowledging birthday of dear ole mom,
who succumbed to deadly terminal illness,
she lost lease on life, and met her demise
sooner than indomitable will clamored to live
approximately nineteen and a half years ago
from May 2024, who frequently asked me,
but never received acknowledgement
during her livingsocial years did abjure
(as the sole son)
communicating HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

Impossible aery mission
to pinpoint when advent of zygote
triggering miraculous bitta bing bitta bang,
whence deoxyribonucleic acid wrote
legacy of mortal maternal demise
only a hunch backed up
that mystery to unleash
feral fiendish fornication once smote
yielded unicellular spore
while in utero ~ early/mid

February I ain't exactly sure
nineteen hundred thirty five - dirt poor
Harriet Harris, fourth, last born
(interesting enough shared same birthdate
with eldest sister twelve years her senior)
fetched vicinity Coney Island offshore
by stork, became favorite progeny begat
courtesy Morris, and then swore
celibacy forever more
Rebeckah Kuritsky heretofore

harbored inchoate genetic fore
boded, encoded, inscribed
deadly mutations housed,
fetched, dispatched and bore
flawed BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes sketched
affecting circumscribing her allotted mortality
orbitz equaling about six months shy
of three and a half score
unknowingly, unsuspectingly, unwittingly,
her biologic fatal demise indelibly etched.

Breast cancer first brush
sounded death knell
Harriet clocked approximately
six months shy of being a septuagenarian
orbitz around the sun,
she underwent grueling radiation
plus chemotherapy
carcinoma eradicated allowed,
enabled, provided breathing spell
reprieve accentuated, galvanized, punctuated...

newfound zealous zest almost
nothing could quell
significance pray tell
new lease on life to sell
lib berate cherish, relish, whish
each precious moment
thwarting pell mell
adversity with bon vivant elan
and gusto to issue rebel yell

kickstarting, making breast
livingsocial aye bell,
especially after despite... er... well
her double mastectomy,
she looked fabulously swell
courtesy silicon implants
slight downside reconstituted
racked ***** *****
susceptible to ooze gel.

Many years post remission telltale
diagnosis, viz ovarian,
despite requisite hysterectomy
emotionally did impale,
she instinctually, intuitively,
invariably, yet quiver and quail
against impending demise 24/7 did assail
guardian angel(s) of no avail,
nor did yours truly proffer nurturance
resentment smoldering within this male
red hot poker anger lambasting me

peppered with ultimatums to vamoose,
never got resolved ensuing estrangement
deterred reaching out to embrace,
hearing raspy fading breaths exhale,
miserably tethered with tubes
when she did severely pine ail
and grievously bewail
corporeal essence ashen pale
awkwardly, helplessly, stupidly... I stood
formidable grim reaper foe whisked mother
to Elysian fielded dale.

unabashedly dole out unadulterated
indirect flattery to a porcelain moon goddess.

I found myself figuratively
falling head over heels
inexplicably, cuz courtesy the website
Prose | A virtual community
of readers and writers,
an attractively enchanting female participant 
unwittingly, unsuspectingly and unknowingly
triggered the writer
of these words to become beguiled
and emblazon the sentence
mein kampf and hard times
(ambiguous coded message)
to further an electronic exchange
of mutually assured emotional construction
inadvertently, inextricably, and inordinately
bending, forging, and nudging our lives to coincide
with a mutually profound realm
of hidden cerebrally ******* treasure,
not unlike an archeologist
accidentally stumbling upon a rare discovery
of unknown persons
(recording stone age arousal
of fondling buttucks of babe in the woods),
who trod across the terra firma
across the lunar landscape
when **** sapiens
merely consisted of
scattered and vulnerable tribes
analogous to any other animal
seeking basic instinct
for ultimate procreation of race
likened to the Gibbs brothers
titled song Stayin' Alive
courtesy survival of the fittest.

Hopefully herewith
a genuine amorous proposition
as the modus operandi
to reciprocate thru cyberspace
will at the least provoke a mild chuckle,
whereby I can envision upturned smile on her face
imagining definite essence of beauty to interlace
slender fingers, while I best dismiss rash fantasy
of any substantial tactile expressions of affection
simply predicated upon infatuation
grown from approximately
a half dozen positive acknowledgements
expressing pleasure at reading my postings, 
whence immediate and uncontrollable lust
burst forth like a giant fountainhead
a minor inconvenience Atlas shrugged
toward a lovely specimen of the fairer ***,
which faux pas will most likely
seal fate against further discourse,
nevertheless sentiments spill forth unbridled
blindingly, and sheepishly guiding me toward 
a veritable stranger, though if these eyes
chanced to be blessed
with even a single cursory glance,
no doubt she would look -
obvious dissimilar constituting a generic gal
cuz espied genuine
incorporeal karmic manifestation
would immediately exhibit
the epitome of elegance and good taste
though already penultimate
consummation of actual ******* doth outpace
rhyme or reason, and logical positivism
dictating ditching broadcasting assiduous fantasy,
plus such juvenile premature ejaculations
(unsuitable to a casual
boyish looking sexagenarian),
who like a fool rushes off,
where angels fear to tread
expressing amorousness,
cuz downplaying the necessity
of erecting respectable
initial trusting platonic friendship
and preliminary stages of casual familiarity
reinforcing initial intuition
nullified thru the Internet,
which mecca for social media platforms
dispenses with conventional established paradigm,
and promulgates instant gratification
blindsiding rational behavior
aptly crafted with the storied novel
by the late writer Tom Wolfe
when he coined the phrase
"Old rotten Gotham
sinking/slinking into the behavioral sink"
a metaphorical phrase
that describes the city of Gotham
(from Batman comics)
as being in a state of extreme
social decay and decline,
where overpopulation, stress,
and lack of resources leading to widespread
societal breakdown and dysfunctional behavior,
much like the concept of a "behavioral sink"
observed in animal studies
where overcrowding causes
erratic and destructive behaviors.

My humblest apology for scattershot thoughts,
cuz I quickly dashed off the above
cuz the missus wants time on our only laptop,
a MacBook Pro (Retina, 15-inch, Mid 2015).