My father used to bring home kites
from Pakistan,
made out of colorful paper
and thin sticks.

Mine was pink and blue,
and caught my eye as soon
as it was taken out.
It was beautiful,
and i imagined it soaring through
the skies,
viewable from all the houses in town.

The yarn was grey,
and had minuscule shards of glass
woven within it.
My father told me that it was for kite fighting,
the way they used to do it from the rooftops
of the villages.

One would fly the kite
and the other would be in charge of the spool.
Together, they would change altitudes
and attempt to cut other kite strings.
The last kite left in the air would be the winner.

And my mind would run to those rooftops,
the very sand ridden rooftops he had described.
Imaginarily controlling the kite
with a friend handling the spool behind me.
Together winning the kite fighter crown,
and my father being proud of his only son.

All while i lay in bed,
with a grand imagination,
and not a single clue
on how to make the last thought a reality.

i was raised in the suburbs,
that's where i learned my first words,
also where i learned to curb,
any notions of uniqueness,
this bleakness, was fostered,
in our fundraisers, door-to-door,
selling subscriptions, order more,
and don't ask what the money's for,
school spirit for sports, i never played,
go bears, no care, for my awkward phase,
my awkward ways, 2 buses and a subway,
to get downtown, to hear that sound,
of cars, of movement,
home i'd found,
i was homeward bound,
surrounded by people,
the streets became my easel,
the streets became my easel,
the streets became my easel.

the suburban nights i remember best
deserted street, our love confessed,
riding, trying to avoid attention,
fogged up windows, signs of affection,
what did we know? best of intentions,
you were the girl that i met in detention,
feelings fostered in parks
that were well maintained,
neighbourhood watch campaigns,
trimmed grass, cul-de-sacs
sterile sidewalks, no art attacks,
i'd take you out,
to avoid cafeteria fries,
the tears in your eyes,
echoing words of those you despised,
hallway acoustics, erased by a quick kiss,
love notes in lockers,
we swore, we'd come back and prove our validity,
that wasn't me, that isn't me,
i am more than you thought that i'd ever be
in hindsight, that goal was empty.
in hindsight, that goal was empty.
in hindsight, that goal was empty.

i rode this train in an attempt to arrive
at a destination thought mutually suitable,
mutually doable, the journey viewable,
and verified viewed in full,
but our paths differed along the way,
our grip withered from pursuits of gpa,
the sacrifices made for a number,
sweat and anxiety, tears and fear,
from what would occur, if not maintained
in the exact range, expected by academics
i'm a polemic, seen through these false idols,
graduates don't know a thing about survival,
vital signs drained to the point of oblivion,
questioning just isn't how you win, it isn't in,
they're sittin' in their leather chairs,
dismissin' receding hair,
in front of leather-bound books,
leather patches on their elbows,
their vacant look,
behind eyeglasses, so cold,
i tried to ace classes, to sit in the seats
of these empty elite,
to live up to expectation,
and after convocation,
i took my place in a chair
behind a plexiglass pane,
initials after my name on
my orange jumpsuit,
i only now realize the truth.
i have all that i sought,
but lost all that i had.
i have all that i sought,
but lost all that i had.
i have all that i sought,
but lost all that i had.

Virginia Nicholson

How To Build A House In N-Dimensions

1. Begin with lines, pencil to paper (if they could exist) drawing graphite arrangements, N-space reduced to one, a structure viewed in slices. Imagine the bathroom off the foyer, the den off the dining room, viewable only as inked lines, dit-dit-dah, a contractor’s Morse Code.

2. Progress to carpet squares, linoleum tiles, the coral paint pairs well with the eggshell trim.  Dit-dah-dit becomes something useful to the non-contractor, “door” or “Master Bedroom” or “x hundred feet of pipe.” Envision the imagined patterns hidden in the bathroom floor, the kitchen hardwood.

3. Move to volumes, solids, conic sections, height. One story, two stories, a basement, an attic?, take advantage of the introduction of 3D. Upgrade the closet to walk-in, needs more carpet squares. A snapshot of a family barbeque, Charlie’s height 1D penciled in to the 3D door, marring 2D eggshell paint.

4. Adding time, the house is built, ages, gets sold to new families with little Charlies of their own, new markings on the cupboard door, 3-foot-2, 3-foot-5, 4-foot-9. Grass fades from Kelly to sand to Kelly, saturation a cosine function with respect to time. The Zoysia starts in one, breaking ground in two, growing in three, a well-manicured 4D experience.

5-11.    Include the things invisible to us, objects on the order of 1 meter, orders of 10E-2 to 10E9 seconds. Five to eleven drip through leaky pipes, seep through porous flooring, get lost in iron-rich soil and oxygenated exhalations. Five to eleven stay hidden, wrapped up in Calabi-Yao manifolds smaller than graphite hills and valleys marking little Charlie’s height, stronger than the 2-by-4s and stone foundation keeping strong in 4D. Five to eleven circulate undetected, seven dimensions shrunk to sub-pinpoint size, keeping seven dimensions of unexplainables covered until their traces are seen in the blades of Zoysia.

Your world belongs to me now.
I can take over every aspect of it, 24/7,
Stopping just shy, by a few micrometers, of what the law allows.
I'll accompany you now on all shopping trips
Offering my advice from, oh, forty feet or so away.
I'll utilize binoculars to make sure you're not doing anything unsafe.
Amazing how well those things work sometimes.
Especially at night, eh?
I might have to replace your dog with a smaller, less intimidating unit;
Of course; you're free to keep the replacement or do whatever you want with him.
Don't want to risk a serious bite on my intrusive forays after darkness..

Call forwarding; amazing cool thing that is!
No questions asked; just need a few minutes time on the telephone!
And pictures; I'll be taking loads of those.
You never know just when a particular photo might come in real handy.
I carry around bird-watching paraphernalia, so anytime I get stopped,
Everything looks copacetic, even the binos.

I also carry groundwater test kits, along with shovels, rakes; boring stuff like that.
You never know when you might need to test the water in an area.
The test kits are out of date by a decade or more, but who's checking?

Had to duct tape that old broken out back window.
I know, I know; it's unsightly and makes me highly visible,
But they'll never raise an eyebrow now, on seeing that fat roll of duct tape.
And you will always have peace of mind, since you can readily identify my car
And know for sure that I'm on the job, around the clock-
Working only for you, babe.

Oops; time's a-flying. Have to get downtown to the city before they close.
I've requested to take a peek at some publicly viewable records.
Amazing what you can find out there, that you never would have expected.
Isn't it?
Bye now; catch you later, ok?

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swim in the redness of the fruitility
that leaks itself like perched pedals
falling
exuberent/ burgundy
pale and translucent like the water in pure places
from your
wrists

tuned into the old jukebox
laughter shining things like
why wasnt I around when this was invented
right here, eyes pressed upon that sky
belittled, torn like a rag placed upon a tree of thorns
then tugged

reality breaks the seal
people put up shutters to block out the noise
they knew it wouldnt hit hard
but these animals think they are of some greater
power

its my turn, thoughts scatter like ants on the dining table
I grab my Q and gently hit the 8 ball, I remember when that man told me
to always go soft arrogance never got nobody somewhere good
I miss
was that a lie
?

perched on the stool going into reclusion in mind
what if
what if
the world was filled with nothing but
sylvia, anne, khalil, ghandi, Vincent Millay,
olds, ginsberg, abraham, lennon

what if our energies never fluctuated
in the nervous patterns that lead to the
exhaustion and you never let yourself fall
into that place we as writers promised to never
be,
driven far from complexities
tuned into conventional
inspired, but not really inspired

I bow my head farewell
smiles brought forth to my lips
as the positive is extracted
stable lives
t.v nights
no fights

redeemed when looking in the mirror
touching
your cheeks
rubbing your thumb on your lower
lip, examining all of those things that make you woman
that make you beautiful

everyone is beautiful
lovely tunic in their own way
let it be one small characteristic
one disposable action
one smile is a charity given

pride presents wistful sayings of abloshied tyranny hidden between
your gracious lovers and those 3 stars viewable from any place in the world
men with eyes full of hatred glanced upon them
children with tears in their souls

I loosened the knots of active  promiscuity drawn on the
face of the most indistinguishable and demonic paintings
hung in the highest places in my living room/ I burned the house
ambrosia dripping along my legs,
your mascara, scarred on my fingers
lipstick smeared on vintage walls fill the narrow
hallways in the bones of beasts sitting in high trees
in the alabaster forests of our dreams

laying so still, motionless
afraid to speak a word
one finger might break your skin
then eyes light
and smiles are emitted
like beautiful wedding nights
where its raining, no clouds
and a full moon

depart fruitful stances
I sit dreary in the airport
what summer love may summer bring
upon me, discreet soul
blackened tongues
long nights, made short
gags and hands thrown in the sky
kiss you
pretty
goodnight.

I walk away from the pool table, lost second time in a row
who cares, I have time to get better
maybe next time I should halt random infusions
pause my unstable mind
for a poets thoughts such things are considered
a crime

A shooting star is actually pronounced dead way before you see the shooting star
the shooting star is just the reminisce of the dead star
you see, a star will die but it's light will still shine for up to thousands of years due to the fact that light travels at a certain rate and it's so far away from our viewable perceptive
it's quite funny because it was the same way for me
I was dead but it took that final closure to realize it;

it took my physical death to realize my mental death.

(a.b)

Wouldn't it be cold if my skin turned in on itself and the roots of the soil, apparent
Delved and flourished inwards till un-viewable buds.
The stupidity of them to think their was charm in secrecy
Or that with the lights out they were beating intently yet unseen.
Foolishly hidden, wrapped like new-born.
Small.
But when they fall the world takes part
Neanderthals
Reverting and Imploding,
Escaping. Exploding.
With thorns we never stood a chance.

Life is akin to a train ride:
A trip to nowhere
With no viewable stops for rest
No given time
To answer nature's call.

Food served on the ride
Are oftentimes bland.
Sweet, bitter, sour
undeniably included
Though only given
On certain occasions.
Nevertheless,
Everything given
Was edible.

With each a cabin our own
We hear A scream or a cry
A laugh or a snort
As Noises transcends up and down
The confines of this boundless train.
The pleasures or woes  
Of other passengers
Not ours to share
But ours to listen.

Fuel being finite
Depletes
Kicking some poor passengers
Off this ride.
Other passengers take suit
Leaving on their own accord.
but the train still moves on
Towards an intangible destination

Things occur on the train:
Diseases, celebrations, fights.
There may be obstacles, obstructing the track
The train swirls a large turn,
goes over a bump
And Into a cave.

But nonetheless
We're all together
On this ride.
*If we don't help each other
We're all doomed together.

"you'll understand
when you're older."

I was told that
over and over.

when I asked about
anything bad or scary
or even something that
they simply didn't
want to explain to me,

that was the response.



what's global warming?

is grandma dying?

will my parents ever
get back together?

what is suicide?
why would someone
ever want to do that?

why do I have to
look away from
this scene on TV?

can boys kiss boys?
can girls kiss girls?

what is ***?

drugs are bad, so
why does my mom
use them every night?

where is my big brother?
when is he coming home?

"you'll understand
when you're older."



I'm older now

and still, there
is so much that
I can't understand.



a black man gets
shot in front of his
children and family.

the person behind
the trigger is human.

how could a human
take the life of another
human with no regrets?



my brother was killed
on impact when his
car flew off the road.

my other brother
smiled through his tears
and thanked god that
he didn't have to suffer.
he thanked god for our
brother dying instantly.

what kind of god
takes the life of someone
so young and so bright?
why should we pray
to a god like that?



the last time I saw her,
my mother was just
a walking corpse.

she had bruises and welts
and emotionless, dull eyes
and a rib cage viewable
from outside of her body.

why did my mother
turn herself into this?
when will she die?
is it wrong for me
to hope that comes soon?



they told me,

"you'll understand
when you're older."

but all I understand
is that there are things
that were kept hidden
from my young ears.

I still don't understand
why these things happen
or who to blame for them
or if people are good or bad.



"you'll understand
when you're older."

I'm older now.
I don't understand.

Celeste Christabell Chrisp He doesn't know what awaits.
He saw three huge gates.
Each of the gates has name plates.
He should've apologized in the first place.

The first gate was covered in dust and had a sandy road.
Each gate has a secret code.
The first gate opens with a puzzle.
If you hurt her there's going to be trouble.

The second gate has plants growing all over it and it has a path that goes through a thick dark scary forest, past a pond.
What you have to say has to correspond.
A gate that opens with a riddle.
To protect her heart it gets harder little by little.

The third gate was the biggest and the most mysterious of the three, it had strange carvings on it and it has a rocky path that leads to a stone bridge.
A gate that opens when you say the right password to unlock a huge switch.
All three gates are constantly locked.
He had to find a way to get them unlocked.

He answered the riddle and got the second gate open but he still had to cut down a whole forest.
He walked past something she dearly cherished.
He tried but couldn't ignore.
Three huge hanging pots hanging over the fire.

The house so long abandoned it looks haunted.
The front gate to the house looks haunted.
The house like her heart looks hauntingly beautiful.
From the front gate the beauty of her heart is viewable.

A lock that opens with sound frequency.
Her heart looks like the inside of a palace.
As beautiful as the sky with the aurora borealis.
On the outside her heart is fortified like a castle.©M.P.Jacobs

Grandest mothers of infinity
Hydrogen powered entities seasoned in the golden years of expanding illuminating the universe peering from my night sky
Exploding your cosmic rich guts to form our eclectic experience
From love thirsty suffering endless happiness
Iron sprinting in my heart and veins from the bellies of gas burning fiery giants shine their smiles with beautiful faces
Flares shooting from a creator that does not think or feel-just acting as an is
Born from tightly hugged and squeezed by gravity’s riches swirled for billions of years until bam!
A sun god is born
Conceived in the universes filaments
Of still gases huddling up against the cold dark reaches of outer space voidness
Precursors to intelligent life waiting for it’s first blinking eye with a tear holding a caress
Emptiness turning into something with viewable aesthetics drawing musically shredding pleasuring our minds
Until our stars grow then donated to universal orphans waiting to be born as poets or fools
Musicians
Artists
Or human pollutants
Ignorant to the grand exoskeleton of the bunched galaxies entwined into filaments stringing along
Harmoniously singing in non audible dimensions
All galloping apart faster than seconds ago
Faster than physical perceptions-only godly retentions
Expanding energy from mass accelerated times human perception unknown
Like mysterious love letters place in a lavish garden for one’s truly
Like minuet ancient footprints in antique beach sea soggy sand
Transcending our space and concealed time locked in your heads
As we sleep
worlds without end
spinning weeping

Endless ropes tangle and grab
each individual omnipotent thought
of pleasure, denied gravity.
Slowed down, brought to frivolous
thoughts of relapse.
Speeding through the flimsy nature
of the ropes final stance.
A noose of the future.
A pivotal moment in comprehending,
all of this temporary fixation of
tragic dead-weight.
I am nothing but god’s will, contrary
to the greater good.
The ropes rip through themselves and idealize
Mistakes.
Pleasures.
Fixations themselves, alone and without
a viewable malice.
Distance is a deliberate blemish.
I don’t need to view myself.
I am falling through the ground and reaching
a turning point. Again. And again.
Faces and voices alike mean nothing until
I beg for forgiveness of myself.
Drifting between pressure tantamount to
torture in solitude.
Anyway, anytime,
I am succeeding in being alone.
Where is the recognition?
This pleasure, is it faux?
Grandiose indeed, a desperate attempt
at reaching a point where days
that exist and have existed are
superficial.
This recovery is relapse.
I will fall back, the ropes
still begging to hold me.
They speak my name.
My name is everything to them.
They are in abundance, but
I am obsequious.
It is all fake.
It is a testament to the reality of it all.
I will grab myself,
pulling as hard as I can until the ropes
snap and I return to a brooding state.
I ruminate.
The rumination expands and breaks my body.
Will I ever return to bliss?
Or was I never there?
Blemished and weak,
always there. I bloom.
Grandiosity returns,
the ropes rekindle their romance in twos.
It all ends.
I have failed my reckoning.
This is reality.
A twist of fate that can only be seen,
by god himself.
Whomever he may be.
I would like to meet him.
He sounds like I would like him.
I love him.
He is eternity, is he not?
The journey is dreadful,
but the return is remorse.
Nothing is right and nothing is wrong.
Either way, I am hanged by ropes I
have obliterated in a haste.

The scorching Heat
made a mirage on the road
For a shelter
One went under the shade
There he sees
A beautiful bottle of beverages
That has revived a fire
Of unending memories
Like a panorama in showcases
It is said that Memories
are neither viewable
nor audible
Still eyes always see them
and sad heart hears them.

I

Please, pretty pastoral blue
with the force of a stem through muck
tangled up with the rose's hue
lift me up and lift me higher
drag me throughout the earth,

i can taste the dirt in your fingernails and it tastes beautiful...
so beautiful, for it belongs to you
and you don't belong to words or images or interpretation
you are you and you are my saviour in every way as I'm yours

so Please, take me apart
and take me away
i am not this poem nor this painting
i am not an art as i would like to be
and neither are you, but together we conjoin to form an embryo of melody

like bubble's dispersing their seeds to the sea
at the fastest hardest softest gentlest stupidest cheekiest sexiest pleasantest frame viewable
as well as the sparks out of frame.

If I die only to be reborn I know you'll be with me

like a thorn in my heart waiting for its day to be found,
snagged, ripped and knitted into a cardigan to keep me warm apparently forever

only to be slipped and slid until wrangling unbound;
you are a metaphor too cheesy to put into words—
so **** sounding forced I'll just say i love you
i love you
i love you
i love you

i love you so much it hurts to straddle this trapeze rope weaved in leather tobacco smoke
That holds ongoing lies aswell the truth that would break you and i know you've your own trade's –i wasnt born yestardy–
(although at times when i wake up it can feel that way)
Yet i use that as a sort of faux sawdust justification; the truth is that I’m too weak to face my weakened state
and confront it head on, until today... so please please listen when i say that
I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love
You.

II

I played too much music too loud and now I'm sound-numb
sounds dumb, dont it? did you expect me to be handling
the transition well? Whole family is dying and I just want to be wanted
And my thoughts can feel like such a burden
So please, tie no jealousy to my concerns
cause if your mind was like mine half the time you'd know
not to even ask,

and you dont,

most of the time,

yes, she is the emerald rowed a million lifetimes or more
caught in its blink-length transition to gold...
too beautiful for words or colours to even briskly define
and I am yours and in my fantasy of you you are mine,
two wisping spirits whispering esoteric bitemarks in the dark!
hear that thunder? that's my heart.
hear that struggle, that's my breath.
think its going strong? that's the cocktease surge before my death
and my death is so holy to me as yours is to you and hers to ours

I spent the day binding the clockarms over wrinked beige
every day feels  the same

although i do try so hard to be your star
i spent the day tracing papertrails trying to make the lexicon fit our names
but its as good to me as sanskrit, as the dirt is to the seas that birthed it
and womb it still.
You sleep at my side and transition your nightmares into mine
one quiver at a time,
hold me close, this preaged preworn deformed flesh of mine is not my skin,
hold me closer, feel my skin become yours as fingertips scape out a chin
and a neck, curling trickling like tiny raindrops downeth
to the place once signified and defined as ***** sin
not the art nor stretch-marked temple it is

Blossoming blossoming blossoming in chaotic collision and marking love

Beyond a touch or a name or a place

And yes, i still feel her
Calloused and pliable as playdough

Rubbing palms and clasping
Together into a cocoon
To awaken tomorrow as a whole new entity.
I feel more whole for my confessions although
You hate me for it,
I feel more myself for my confessions
And I’ve never felt so lovingly distant...

Being optimistic, I just say 'who knows what tomorrow will bring'

And strum this whisper into your snoring song.

So please,
Be here tomorrow.

Roses are beautiful
But they’re quite bitter tasting
Don’t reach for her heart
Because it doesn’t match her
Beautiful exterior
Chills to the bone
Is what you will receive
No warm emotions to calm your soul.
Roses are beautiful
But they stab you if you come near.
They don’t liked to be touched,
As most women feel.
No one likes a ***** ladies
Am I right?
Roses are beautiful
But they’re quite sweet smelling.
Poison to lure you into their magic spelling
Once your close and quite intoxicated
By that sweet sweet overrating.
You think you’ve got the girl
And then she pulls out her claws
And reminds you her thorns
Are sharper than her flaws.
Roses are beautiful
But roses will be roses
as long as she’s viewable.
Hold your expectations
For after the luminal.
Blank mind
You’ll find
Works best
For your own rest.

Wags her tail to and fro
Ever and ever, she sees me home.
She tries to stand tall and high
Reaching shoulder sans, a sigh!

She’s my alarm clock,
A paw to the face, a wakeup call
Running to me for every call,
jumps and pulls for a treat!

When I leave, she gives tiny barks,
But at the gate? A lion with sparks!
A fierce protector of her land,
yet fearful of ants and cats….!!

Foodie time, is fun and drama
Circles around with glance, for every view
Sniffs once, sniffs twice, maybe three,
like.. “Is this food good enough for me”!

More concerned with the neighbor’s affairs,
Peeking over walls with curious stares.
the window glass—her vanity’s friend,
Checking her face, again and again.!

Some days she’s a lady,
paws crossed, elegant and graceful,
Other times, belly up, viewable from space.
for any mischief, if caught red-handed
Scoots off to her kennel—
Lay as innocence adorned
door and eyes closed!!

Rocky, the diva, the daredevil too,
Every day with her is something new.
From strangers to ants, she's on patrol ..
Beware…. You will laugh and roll  !!

If I cut you deep...

and told you

"it was an accident"

Would you forgive me??

It makes no sense LOVE to involve

So much pain...

If only you knew

That you wield the powers

That kept him to shine from

the darkness, now before

You allow yourself to face

What you reap, any given moment

Grim could have taken

It ALL away in your sleep!

This is the bittersweet

Invintation to a world

Where the cries of

the ****** never end!

Look back on this life...

Troubled to be

With damage done that is irreversable...

As for all other mysteries are

Called upon to accompany

The soul longing for anything

To hold dear...

Baby, call my name...

Baby, this is not for pleasure or pain....

Baby, tell me...you love me...

I don't even know what

your voice sounds like anymore...

The future is viewable

on the other side

Of the shattered mirror!

With everything in ruins

Caused by these angry hands...

now the danger never stops

falling on top of me...

This MESS...

I created, burdens us both!

The feeling that...

NEVER REST

Nothing else remains...

The fire that never cease...

BURNS vigorously...

As the wind carries off the ashes,

Of "dreams" away into the eternal wind...

I look to the sky, trying to find myself

All over again