The Checkout Line

I wish to speak with you
ten years from now, you'll be ten years behind.

The words and meanings you carry in your pants, the pick-pocket steals your hopes from time.
and the visions of empty trash receptacles
with their late evening drunken lovers' bouts, at restless end tables. And the bums with their ******* attitudes **** covered clothes, and soiled minds

the clarity of the curbside drunk, picking up shades of filtered cigarettes of twilight scandalous
pickup lovers in their evening best.

And to talk with you ten years from now, you'll be ten years behind.

They're Green Beret head ornaments
detailing the porcelain platforms of Delft
Lining up for one last line to carry them into another faded sunrise at dawn's forgotten memory of yester night
and they walk their gallows holding pride fully their flags of exalted countrymen.

The republic of teacups of literary proficiency.
Wearing the necklaces of paid tolls to an afterlife they find in the miniscule car crashes of engagement with a grinless driving mate in a neighboring car in its pass into the forethought of turned corners.
Where they befell the great disappointment of failure in the frosted eyes of their fathers' expectations.

Who carried the shame of their mother's incessant discontent through short skirts, and high heels.

Who disapproved of the **** whom wore the sneak-out-of-the-house-wear clothing line, and traveled by night over turbulent asphalt by way of sidecar through turn and turnabout hand-over-hand contracts of lover's affection, and slept in tall grasses of wet nightfall with views of San Francisco, and were trapped in the inescapable Alcatraz and Statesville of unconsenting parents and their curfews,

through trials and trails of Skittles leading to after school Doctor visits in the basement of a doting mother, whilst she sits quietly in her exclusive quilting parties with noble equities of partners in knowledge, listening to Edith Piaf and the like,

All the while condemned to time, trapped in the second hand, hand me downs of the 21st century, decades of decadent introverts with their table top unread notebooks, and old forgotten score cards, and the numbers of scholars of years past,

and to talk with you ten years from now will be my greatest pleasure, for you will be....ten year's behind.


They push the sterile elevator buttons, and descend upon the floor of scents flourishing from their crowded family rooms, only aware of distinctive flavors, in their middle eastern shades of desert gumbo,

Who speak ribbit and alfalfa until midnight of the afternoon, sharing fables of slaughtered giraffes and camels that walked from Kiev to Baghdad in a fortnight,

Who are aware the power is out, but continue to scour for candles in a dark room where candles once burned, where candle wax seals the drawers of where candles can be found. Where once sat gluttonous kings and queens in Sunday attire waiting for words of freedom from the North.

of Florence, Sochi,Shanghai
of Dempster, Foster, Lincoln
of Dodge, Ford, Shelby

Of concrete fortune tellers in 2nd story tenement blocks with hairy legs, and head lice, wearing beautiful sachets of India speaking ribbit and alfalfa.

On their unbirthdays they walk the fish tanks wearing their birthday suits to remind them who serves the food on the floors of the family room fish mongers tactics.

The old men wear gargoyles on their shoulders.

Lo! Fear has crept the glass marbles of their wisdom and fortune, blearing rocket ships and kazoos on the sidewalks of their Portuguese forefathers.

Where ancestry burns cigarette holes in the short-haired blue carpet, where Hoover breaks flood waters of insignificance across hard headed Evangelical trinities.

Who share construction techniques one early morning at four, where questions of Hammer and **** build intelligence in secondary faces of nameless twilight lovers, who possess bear blankets, and upheavals, finely wired bushes of ***** maturity. Eating *** and check, tongue and pen.

Where police caress emergency flame retardants over the fire between their legs, wielding the chauvinistic blade of comfort in the backseat of a Yellow faced driving patron.

With their innocent daughters with their nubile thighs, and malleable personalities, which require elite words and jewelry. Wearing wheat buns, Longfellow, and squire.

Holding postmarked cellular structure within their mobile anguish.

Who go curling in their showers, pushing afternoon naps and pretentious frou-frou hats over tainted friendships with their girlfriend's brothers with minimum paychecks'.

Through their narcissus and narcosis, their mirrored perceptions of medicinal scripture of Methamphetamine and elegant five-star meat.

Who amend their words with constitutional forgiveness, in their fascist cloth rampages through groves of learning strategies. And the closets, cupboards, and coins
with rubber hearts, steel *****, and gold *****,

Tall-tales of sock puppet hands with friendly sharing ******* techniques, dry with envy, colorful scabs, and coagulation of eccentric ****** endeavors, With their social lubricants and their tile feet wardrobes with B-quality Adidas and Reeboks gods of the souls of us. Who possess piceous syndromes of Ouiji boards in their parent’s basements.

When will fire burn another Bush? Spread the fire walls of Chicago, and part grocery store fields of food. Wrapping towels under the doors of smoke filled lungs, on the fingernails of a sleepover between business executives with the neoprene finish of their sons and daughters who attend finishing school, with resumes of oak furnishings,

And I long to talk with you ten years from now,
For you'll be talking ten years behind.

Who profligate their padded inventories breaking Mohammed and Hearst,
laying the pillows of cirrus minor
waiting for the rain to paint the eyes of the scriptures which waft through concrete corridors,
and scent the air with their exalted personas,

With the different channels of confusions, watching dimple past freckle, eating the palms of our tropical mental vocations to achieve purity from the indignation of those whom are contemptuous for lack of innocence in America,
this America, of lack of peace,
of America hold me,
Let me be.

Whom read the letters off music, blearing Sinatra and Krall, Manson where is your contempt?

Manson where is your manipulation of place settings?, you deserve fork and knife, the wounded commandments that regretfully fall like timber in an abandoned sanctuary of Yellowstone,
Manson, with your claws of the heart.
Manson, with your sheik vulgarity of **** cloaks exposing your ladies undercarriage,

Those who take their pets to walk the aisles of famished eyes,
allowing the dorsals of their backsides to wonder aimlessly through Vietnam and Chinaman,
holding peace of mind aware of their chemical leashes and fifteen calorie mental meals, holding hands, unaware of repercussion,

With their vivid recollections of sprinkler and slide, through dew and beyond,
Holding citrus drinks to themselves, apart from pleasure, trapped with excite from sunsets, and in-between.

Withholding reservation of tongue to lung.
Flowing ribbit and alfalfa, in the corridors of expected fragrance.

and to speak with you of ten years from now, will be a pleasure all my own, for you will be talking ten years behind.

They walked outside climbing over mountains of shrapnel, popped collars
and endless buffets of emotion,
driving Claremont all the way to art gallery premiers
and forever waited for plane crash landings
and the phone calls that never came

Glowing black and white cameras
giving modelesque perceptions to all-you-can-eat eyes
giving cigarettes endless chasms of light

Colored pavement trenches and divots
cliff note alibis
and surgery that lasted until the seamstress had gone into an
endless rest
and
empty cupboards

Classic stools painted with sleepless white smoke and bleached canvas rolling tobacco with the stained yellow window panes of feral tapestry and overindulgent vernacular

Like a satiated cheeseburger weeping smile simple emotion
on November the 18th celebrations
and Wisconsin out of business sales

Too much comfort, stealing switchboards from the the elderly, constantly putting gibberish into
effortless conversation.

Dormant doormats, with the greetings that never
reached as far as coffee table favelas,
arriving to homes of famished
furniture, awaiting temperate lifestyles and the window sill arguments from pedantic literacy

Silver shillings and corporate discovery clogged the persuasive
push and shove
to and from

Killing enterprise
loquacious attempt at too soon
much too soon
too soon for forever

Wall to wall post-card collages
happy reminders of the places never visited by drinks in the hands of
those received

Registered to the clouded skies of clip board artists
this arthritis of envy
of bathtub old age
wrinkled matted faces
logged with quick-fixes, anemia, and heart-break

disposed of off the streets
of youth, wheeling and wailing
rolling down striped stairs
of shock and arraignment
holding the hand rails of a wheelchair
suitcase
packed away in a life

Down I-37
into the ochre autumn fallen down leaves
and left memories behind
their green Syphilis eyeglasses

weeping tumuli
recalcitrant
mulish, furrow of beast and beyond

yelling, screaming, howling
at the prurient puerile tilling
of sheets

****** the voices of words
and vomiting the mind into the pockets of the turbulent perambulations
expelled from meat-packing
whispering condescension
and coercing adolescent obsessions
with fame, glamour, and *****

Creeping out into the naked
light of the Darger scale janitorial
closets, carrying the notorious gowns
of red wine spells, backpacks, and pins

henchmen, plaintiff, and youth

All the while
ripping at the incantations of the soul
whispering ribbit and alfalfa
in the guard-rail scars
of the dawns decadent forgotten

a HOME credible THE BISHOP accusation ADMINISTRATION is PARISHES one MINISTRIES that, SCHOOLS after RESOURCES review SAFE ENVIRONMENT of EMPLOYEES reasonably CAREERS available, CONTACT US relevant MAKE A GIFT information BISHOP’S FAITH APPEAL in LOVE AND JUSTICE consultation AFRICAN AMERICAN MINISTRY with CATHOLIC CHARITIES the PLANNED GIVING Diocesan CHANCELLOR Review OFFICE OF CONSTRUCTION Board HISPANIC MINISTRY or CAMPUS MINISTRY other CRIMINAL JUSTICE MINISTRY professionals, STEWARDSHIP AND COMMUNICATIONS there YOUTH MINISTRY is FINANCIAL SERVICES reason MODERATOR OF THE CURIA to MAKE A GIFT TO THE CAPITAL CAMPAIGN believe SOCIAL MEDIA POLICY is FAMILY LIFE MINISTRY true VOCATIONS

The soup today is not what it could be;
We’d better search out the old recipe


Explanatory Note:

I fear the poem as written fails, which is my fault (perhaps I have lapsed into fuzziness from reading  Leonard Cohen), so here is a bit of exposition:

The words in small print are a quote from the Bishops of Texas (long may they wave), generated by some in-house scrivener, about what constitutes a "credible accusation."  "Credible accusation" is not a title in civil, criminal, or canon law, and it appears to be some sort of Article 58 (cf. Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago), a means whereby anyone is guilty because he has been accused.  It stinks.

Also stinky is the behavior of some few priests and religious.

Anyway, I pulled the quote from a diocesan web site, and scattered among it in LARGE TYPE categories from that site.  I stirred 'em all up in a soup because the matter of paedophilia and the bishops' responses seem to be a soup, making it difficult for a "good simpleton" (cf A Canticle for Leibowitz) like me to understand.

May God have mercy on us all.

“I consecrate you to a great novitiate in the world.”

-Father Zosima to Alyosha in The Brothers Karamazov

The monastery gate opens easily
If it really needs opening at all
The road outside also leads somewhere else
But then it just as often leads back again

The distance measured by a crucifix
Where a weary traveler can pray awhile
Or maybe Harry Bailey’s 1 hamburger joint
A cup of coffee and a cigarette

Offered by a pilgrim in the neon night -
The monastery gate opens easily



1 *The Canterbury Tales

a ) Enhance the timbre of one's voice
b ) Report the taste of food to the brain
c )  Ignite unquenchable conflagrations ..

Flippant polymaths exude the frippery of travail for lapsed inordinate surgical gains in temporal but temporary acclaim that owes its provenance to the gullarge accentuated by the guttural tempests of silent windfalls that wrestle with sharks and snarky cagamosis with pilfered fame without rulers for rules that own the profligacy of a cineaste game

We cannot surpass our talents with ease when the treecheese of inevitable distance between equipoise and insanity is a tantamount inanity of prolixity for the sake of freedom rather than servitude to the slow meandered steps of trudged verbigeration that needs to be exorcised from the seat of authority for the plodding inconvenience of time earned that shakes the listless yearning people who lie and spurn

Demagogues are trifles because they are anoegenetic and care not for the abligurition that consumes the energy of a dismal life lived on fringes rather than reaped with grimaces for binges that continue to absorb the painful pangs of twinges that hedonists are of interest

We cannot exorcise the demons that give stygian weight to exchequers beyond the gamut of money but rather the currency of velocity of thought that owes its weight to weightlessness of spaces between the spacious and the limited tract of isolative territory that many mendicants looking for sustenance travail in insolence and in perjury of their solemn duties for self-serious honesty they lack a vista to see their crimes as more than just a pettifoggery of disputatious wranglers that wrench and then contemn the objects of their moral scruples to contend with nothing but the vacant expanse of a limitless injury for a momentary slip of cultivation and countenance

Frippery is hard to cobble with lapidary wit because succinct grievances are fallow ground for the permanence of atrocity and the temperance of felicity to conform to the desiccated pathways of limpid but livid excoriations of willful ingenuity met with aleatory rambles that sprawl incalescence with words as a dying occupation that is resurrected from the abeyance of its pragmatic utility to distinguish class from crust.

The triadic fatuousness of snarky sharks recruiting the gullarge of paranoiacs to deputized alacrity lead many strident vocations astray as they pilfer the nullibiety of spectral ignorance and defy the gravitas of the primiparas of a swollen technocracy, an outrage that scarecrows with prevenance have adumbrated against with strident accelerations of sublime velocity

So we swim in perilous straits against the demiurge of inclemency in fated rittles for the turpitude of wraiths and engineer every aborning day a new foofaraw of unalloyed atrocity
Now more than never should be deployed to ensure that the castigation of scoundrels and guttersnipes that exert a rip tide to those stranded on the shores of littoral desiccation might find the pristine beachgoing public an amenable treat proffered by exorcised sheepishness in reiterative bleats that quarkswarm only the antinomy of sentient masteries by shoveled civilizations proctor to horological insistence in design

So we designated an abeyance of heydays to create a rippled nostalgia that creeps in the winter storms that singe even glabrous ignorance with the twinges in absentia of the regal crows that circle the sun as the sustenance of the alighted moon as we reach for the heaved Richter teeming with ablution for venial commination of prolix croons that exert a Palo Alto rhyme

Phenomenological fields distal to the cephalocaudal origination of limber and the ironic counterpoint to that strife in excess rather than dearth of the henchmen behind the exchequer showcase that fluid thoughts surpass the limits of the dentistry of cosmetic cosmology simultaneously a scientific boon but a coarse albatross

We are criminals in a world stranded by ****** apostasy because of the sincerity of minstrels meets plodding human ignorance as exemplars rather than the apotheosis of divine excoriation of wastrels and flattybouches who webdoodle their way into the extinction line in some computer file swiped from eccedentesiasts who often in uncouth barbarity forgetfully abide without the temperance of floss

So what are we to make of magisterial wits of wiseacres who pilot tenable objectives like Indiana Jones flexing his comical whip when the gunfire of cacophony inundates our ears with a lisp of cockalorum imposture rich in chewing tobacco and its ungainly gripes and tenacious grip

Should we seek salvation from the treecheese of arboreous terrain amenable to the newfangled windfall of agricultural whims that dare now with caprice but not quixotic disdain to reconfigure the parsimonious levered engagement of melliferous fungible transaction between sabbaticals and chief financiers dubbing the vociferous limn of the primeval fulgurant incandescent ethereal quips?

We strive for palaces issued with dimes, dozens and scores of retinues that retain the patina of sophistry as the gullarge makes the vangermytes cozy in their defensively mechanized citadel buffered against the unheralded malversations of mammon intersecting with primordial chemistry that give the philanderer a guise of philanthropy despite professed gainsay that perjures because hucksters are winsome with fiduciary risk

So we calumniate with lapsed puns and Potter’s Spells as we dredge the indemnity of bustling heydays that extend beyond the bailiwick stated because of the prolonged trace of nostalgia that frazzles our voluntary expeditions with misanthropy as each libertine instinct becomes subject to stop and frisk

How to balk at such a garrulous repartee as proffered by swanky intransigence that shakes it off in a quaky town that hates the Swift refrain that endangers the fatalism of recuperated foresight borrowed from the armamentarium of corrupted killjoys who swim in a dalliance with the itchy myths that drift from powerlessness to voguish debauchery of insouciant internecine fringes frayed by the tomes that decry Stygian drift

Shiftless and rooted in rintinole absolved by plackiques that enchant the voyeurism of repined squalor of industrious frippery deracinated from the aureate complicity of largesse calibrated to mobilize the skittish mercurial yuppies to a dance with divestiture, taxes and an earthen death, we sprint the evergreen mile toward the scrupulous invention of enthusiastic euphemisms arbitrated by the procrustean silt of the leaky faucet of enigmatic timelessness etched by chiselers to beat “Us and Them” and warn the vanguard of the front rank about the thespian rift

Exhaustive rescue squads prepared for the dearth of monetary heft in times of perilous drought denigrate the authors of famine to the indulgent parents of inordinate sabotage of narrative for riskless arbitrage that is the outrage of sciamachies between platonic indifference and the tantrums of the feckless in the dangerous hearth of the cavernous wilderness of limitless imaginations that stagger so far beyond orbit they become satellites to vagrancy and whittled paragons too distant to dissolve in the ethereal chemistry of incalescent uproar sadly flanged by the Dopplers of ephemeral fate

Squandered by the desuetude of a snarky intervention I issue invective at the proctors of deafferented limbs for barbarous swine meeting expediency in demise, bemoaning the placid distaste of rectified cries that issue candles for each acrimony beyond the permutation of the staid inflexible limit of 88’

Bashfully we careen through argosies of curiosity to fossick the stalactites of timeworn intuition and reckon with their converse ironies that drip faucets of mildew that remain hidden unless poked by plucky flashlights to inspect the paragon of erosive filigrees of a bewildering paradox of polarized design that one meets the ceiling at inception and the cousin strives to clamber empty space to know with faint certainty the bulldozed irony of superordinate coexistence

Now we return to the majesty of a spurned wiseacre that evades the snappy parlance of a wrenched friction between the physical and the metaphysical elements that constitute a commensurate reality so supernal that its ostentation creates lifetimes of reiterative growth that spawns crimson red and bloviated blues to find a fulcrum of balance between the malversation on one hand of criminal sinister machinations and on the other hand the execrable self-righteous ignorance of a hidden vehicles of dexterity that are subsumed by a subtlety of legislative graft that owes its forbearance to the sanctimony of perseveration without the laurels of persistence

Now we wed the concepts between the ambidexterity of a monolithic titan who wanes rather than waxes himself because his glabrous head already exposed requires nothing new because the empire that struck back is denuded by the thorny imbroglio of a sunken Rose

Timmynoggies are perfect for haberdasheries of saccharine and glib excellence as measured by the ****** cacophony of unmerited applause that strains the resourcefulness of the silent mastery of magistrates in mellifluous alcoves surrounded by the soundproofed rigors of an execrable dereliction wilt into the imaginations of the few that watch movies with errantry rather than pleasantries of gaudy nonsense enchanted by a striptease of the wanton zeitgeist that some balk at but everyone knows

Time earns the spangled banners of sloganeering because of the fastidious creations of pole folders that maneuver between quips borrowed from antique movies and swindled affectations of yearning of many of all fears inevitable with the malevolent passage of the technocracy from cheers to vehement inveighed jeers

We should fear the watershed because it necessitates the evaporation of winsome ambition and implores the subservience of a guiltless fascination with abominable regress concomitant to the acceleration of money preceding a whipsawed downfall ensured by the funereal spates of requiems to oneironauts who plunged to their deaths on headlong flickering whims past the craggy landscape of lunar concordance and through the abeyance of qualms to flabbergasted self-importance in the eradication of provident fears

Memorials exist encoded in the temporal twinges of agony that straddle the cardiovascular throbs of impermanence that sweat with each simple beat to blather about the repetitious nature of a livid nature scrambled in exodus of the emigration of senseless blather to the subroutines of regimented sleepless paragons of travail in every pedestrian feat accelerated with each passing foot traversed by vigilant and eager feet

Tempests crowd the cluttered hamartithia of dredged incompetence leading to the foreclosure that precedes the simple derelictions that amount to grievous uncertainties that squawk in the plumage of the frippery decay of an autumnal fall from gracile riches landlocked without room to sprawl rigged against every track that is a surefire gleeful keepsake to meet, greet and serenade the claques adorned with the monikers of the Greeks

Trembling beneath the weight of mellifluous sauntering dingy designs that exude the anguish of our provident but incidental remonstration against the plodding indifference of the artistic clerisy we sputter against intransigent annulments of the emotive human engine calibrated with creaky pistons that rumble with furor of abrasive protest in timely haphazard elemental designs for vanguard ears

Tridents shed the fossicked leaves that are divisible by two but not inevitably glue that solders the identities of people congregated around a situation of gleeful sprees rather than wistful regress into a temerity without regret that gets dangled in the purview of the spiteful wings of armies that drawl when they sing vapid songs for vaped bongs but not the soberly cheers because of the deafening din of conformity oblivious of the honorific crescendos that still peak after so many restless years

Confederates line the avenues of bustling caverns of cumulative human disdain so willfully flouted by the wrenched corrosive frictions of vibrant deformation of the cultural narrative that encapsulates the collective bubbles chewed and jettisoned like bandied candy and then defamed without justice because  hurricanes churn up the reclusive emergence of protective vanity chased down as a sunken cost for a siphoned glory of tribal pride despite the strictures of logic

Creeping with insistence is a subaudition of governing gravel that entombs many steadfast lies that embodied people living delusory lives under a paradigm that has been subverted by the feats of science into a morass of irrelevance and the chances are many of those so deluded still breathe the air now more polluted but balk at the memories of the fallen passengers on the convalescent train that accelerates sunblind but respectfully toward a systematic engrossment of swollen intellects whimpering about the tautologic

We finance our prescient rodomontade with rodeos equipped with zany clowns who spurn the tridents of Poseidon because of the iridescent gloss of sheepish and flippant zealots who churn against the wrestling match of televised irony with accentuated eccedentesiastic disdain amended by a tolerable diversion of ennobled gallantry zip-zagging among the many valid quodlibets and missing the mark entirely on purpose to vacate the possible raillery of those who balk at time’s chosen serpentine tracks because of limited pedagogical tracts

So lets solder a forceful brunt against the senseless regalia of modern omphalos and return to the plenipotentiary fields of resourceful human inquiry into the chagrins outmoded by convenience but amplified in vociferation by the prosthetic extension of a grangull humanity outfoxing itself into a zugzwang inevitable in the future with collateral losses because of senseless invidiousness orchestrated by the immiscible dermatology of divisive facts often about race and ineluctable tax

We conclude with the optimism that refineries become gentrified by the superlunary squadrons who bask in beatific beams of anonymity and that the pollution preceding our evolution is just adventitious rather than central to the amelioration of wavy screens ennobling so many upstarts to teach themselves the majesty of lucid dreams and to capitalize on ludic ideals divorced from the urchins of radical idealisms that ironically poach rarefied air with smug pollution of narrative scares

Without trepidation we can muster the largesse of civility to create a progeny that has a recursive progeny of heirs that defiantly imagine a world bereft of specters of the soporific imagination enforced by the lapidation of insight from termagants who stride with ursine acrimony naked bare and envision a global meliorism that is careful, picaresque, pragmatic and filled with meritocratic care

With those ornaments of an aureate measure in mind


We leap beyond the enumerated infinity in time's proper design

Peter once asked: which things make you feel something?

And the truth is I’ve been play pretending since quarentine
When I started to believe in a glamourous life

Lillies of the valley, meditation
Behind sunrise filters there’s someone unhappy, black and white
With a dull and wrinkled skin, she hates the sun
She always thought about her vocations
House decorator but she never could do it right
Just like singing, or dancing or even flerting but not like holding a gun

She lives in a small and warm house
Which she always wished the old roof to cave in
No garden, no breath, but death
Never met the green but fell in love with violence
And by that I mean - her mother talks about the path

God, unfriend of mine
Please, let me d-die

I’ve been play pretending since quarentine
When I started to believe in a fitness life

*** with cellulite but not like Jupiter
Curves all over the body but not like the ones on the road
There is hair, but not long enough and strong enough like Rapunzel's - for her men to entrust her with the climb
There are big arms, but not like Anette's because no one would stay in it for that long
There’s no art on her

November 1st 2021, she noticed that she was thinner but she couldn't wear her high waisted pants like she always wanted
Her mother would **** her if she did
So she prayed one more time

God, unfriend of mine
Please, let me d-die

I’ve been play pretending since quarentine
When I started to hide in the night life

‘Don’t trust the moon, she’s always changing’

Peter once asked: which things make you feel something?

So she prayed one more time

God, unfriend of mine
Please, let me d-die

Jesus was a communist
let's be honest
"All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need”
Acts 2:44-45
"Jesus answered, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.""
Matthew 19:21
"Woe unto you who are rich"
"Woe unto you who are rich"
"Woe unto you who are rich"
luke 6:24
we live in a world of woe
people base their political decisions on their personal greed
and stamp on it a 'christian conservative'
mark that they mass-produced in their factories
and they sit in their houses with their pools while there's children starving
in our capitalist society,
most greedy wins
survival of the worst character
they sit on our backs like the cats they're called but they aren't soft
they spit in our faces and they claw us
"we had to make our own way in our generation"
well in your generation it wasn't so unbalanced and tipped and **** near impossible, was it?
we live in a monetary nation
where virtues are pride, ambition, manipulation
how did this free trade expedition go so horribly wrong
our government shuts down at the mere mention of free health care
God forbid everyone have health care
they call us the entitled generation
because we want some money for education
let me tell you something, it's the 21st century
people's vocations can lead them to supply for the whole **** population
we don't need this dog-eat-dog world
we need a location to start from,
the pacifists will fight,
occupy wall street because the
entitled generation is entitled to rights
like life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness
and free health care and equal opportunity for minorities
is not so objectionable that we must abandon all civilities
and throw strangers out of our gates
we are a country of immigrants
they deserve a chance too
because people are people
and all humans are endowed with certain unalienable freedoms
they're scared of communism because they think it will take away our choice
but the corporate world has destroyed any choices we make
limiting it to lucky born one percent
or slave to the rat race
with the cheese dangling right in front of our face
that's the cost of capitalism
a loss of choice, say goodbye to fair trade
fair isn't fair when we're suffering
a Godless world is one where we look down on the people next to us
so for God's sake
let's fight
revolutionize
because this is wrong, not just in my eyes, but in your eyes
when they take all we have and call it economy
take it from Jesus
let's live like hippies and commies
together with our brothers and our sisters
united in one body.

gently, I devour
the music that you play

the strumming and the sway,
the things you can convey

subtle, but the power
of the songs, the silent way

you make the unsaid there
and it becomes

real, authentic, ours.

I used all my efforts
To get into the world
That I see some people in
The world with many
Interesting things
The world
In which people eat and celebrate
But all my efforts
Were futile
Nevertheless, I will dance to that tune

I read many books
I did study fifteen subjects
I passed my O’ level
I passed my A’ level
I got three degrees
But it’s all the same

I searched for vocations
But I found none
I used all my fortitude
And I never forfeited
But it was all in vain
Who had bewitched me?
I just ask
Nevertheless, I will be poor forever

It’s interesting:
you can spot a fallen-away Catholic
by the language they use-
once learned, it can’t be taken away.
Catholicism leaves an indelible mark
on the tongue,
a pattern in the script.
People jaded,
wounded,
even rejected by wayward sheep
and wolves in their skin
bear the same brilliance
the same cry for understanding.
The Shepherd didn’t meet their expectations,
or maybe they’ve abandoned all belief in His existence.
No matter the qualm,
they all bleat the same.
There’s no removing the brand of baptism,
the vocabulary of vocations.
Even if a wall has been built
between them and the Church,
they still write the creed of their Fathers on its bricks.

This is not a reprimand,
nor a criticism;
it is a hand outstretched
to all who broke away.
It is a voiced desire
to teach
and learn
by their side.
This life does not hold all the answers,
but we can pursue Knowledge Himself
and reach the peak together.

Here is the vond vedette,
Here are the congeries scopulous at the alluvion combe - a serow discovers a yawn
Within its palm. Electrical storms redd over this mountain's peaks its verbs, spate it's cwms. Lichen flux ecesis, caught in the current towards veridity.
A verderer hazed by chessile guillotines, naves hain- dwindling grike of corrasion

Indomite lithoids behooving one's obstacle of self, set by sanguine puerile innocent knosps. While the eyes howk that merriment of skin-cleft sensations into the reweaved aureoles, those many colored plumes of split flowers, which open into brightly singing dactyls of these grieving bield and obscene vocations. To the gulch of one thousand bells, and only the passive nestling interstices to anoint them

The tender girl had qualms with none
Detatched, there was nothing for the son
Forced to backtrack whilist rolling downhill
Flashing images remain
Of that private, idealistic mill
So I called her name
In the Nether Realm, she screamed
Yes, she is a hard one to please
Especially when she sees
One going through the motions
Rotations into false vocations

So tell me
What was your question again?

Announcing all lives matter is audacious & abusive & antagonistic & antiprogressive - yet amazingly it’s always anticipated. But when signs & songs & screams & shouts of our sisters with skin of a separate shade are shot down & softened & silenced, and when the bodies of our brothers brandishing blackness with bravado are broken & beaten & burned & buried by people with perceived power prescribing punishment by punching & pushing & pulling triggers-

Well
One thing remains perfectly clear
Declaring “all lives matter” is rooted in fear
If all lives mattered, then we wouldn’t be here
and “all lives matter” wouldn’t be said with a sneer

Black lives don’t matter

Mattering means more than media manipulating messages mainly for monetary magnitude or validating various vocations as veracious while these villains vie for votes vainly vanquishing value from humans whose hearts are heavy with hurt and having to beg to be heard. Mattering means more than making memes and multimedia messages post mortem when morally bankrupt men ****** men and their mates for their midnight complexion

So don’t tell me black lives matter
Black lives don’t matter
Black lives should matter
Black lives must matter

It's about Politics and sad conflicts
Living in a world, you just can't fix
Holding on or letting go
Finding peace inside your soul
It's about being low, getting high
The in between and the don't know why's
Finding faith. or losing ground,
learning how to live in the now
It's about cashing in or checking out
Knowing when to shut your mouth
Children playing, people praying
Saving earth from decaying
It's about being nice, being kind
Knowing when to speak your mind
Getting rich or going broke
Trying to breath, when you want to choke
It's about Moonlit nights, sunny days
The sometimes Gray along the way
Talking trash or speaking truth
Staying tapped in to your roots
It's about you and me, them and us
Knowing who to blame or who to trust
World Emancipation, communication,
Atheism and New Vocations
It’s about Dedication, determination
Spreading peace to other nations
Illumination, Infatuation
Using moments when there given
It's about inspiration, Education
Ending wars caused by capitulation
Empathy and Benevolence
Compassion for the innocents.
It’s about Enlightenment, Sacrament,
Convolutions and regret
Unity And Harmony
Standing up for You and me
It's about being free, knowing Peace
Having Faith in the God Belief
Staying warm or being cold
And knowing Love can heal the world.

Torrents of creativity sweat through me,
And with the rapacity of cities
I dare to opine
To the heavens
And to all those who confront my assertion.
Thus, that a pursuit more lofty
Than that of the artist is not to be found.
Neither in oneself nor the matter that surrounds.
For to make one’s stance
In the wailing void
Demarking the known, but not grasped,
From the unknown, but most visceral,
Is indeed a mirror —
A demonstration of our likeness to Him
Who inspires with lightning bolts of revelation
The slice of a master-painter or the choice cut of a bard.

By design we, who occupy the medium,
Live in constant states of semi consciousness
On the border between sanity and lucidity
Chasing fires for the burnt offerings of our attachments
And the emancipation of our better-selves;
Ascertaining horrors and delights most penetrating
Alongside the lusts that course through these gnawing bones.
Of all the vocations and avocations
Is not the quintessence of sentience to be found in the arts?
Is not that the lodestar to our infinite horizons?

Twenty plus years ago cap’n Matthew Scott
   twittered n burst with ahoy
on account of thine first borne –
   unbeknownst to us then if a girl or boy
so an assortment of gender appropriate names –
   some brazen others coy
filled pages of our journals sans
   newly minted parents viz endless employ
though of Semitic ancestry choices per namesake
   reflected more of a goy
which genealogy less significant than that this precious progeny moi

healthy genetically whipped miracle – crème of the crop
that only imaginary dragons with fiery lyrics could drop
whereby thee flute tour ring notes induce the crowd to hip hop
calisthenics that emulate the swishing brush strokes of a mop
which if attempted by myself, would witness one sic pop

so, he sticks would ranks viz his literate *** spur ray shun to confess
those thermostatic and temperature controlled emotions more or less
extolling the occasions that hold poignancy,
   though as a first time father
   my state of managing a new-born felt chaotic and a sorry mess
though words may resonate less with Eden, she may dispute that YES

yet over the ensuing years – the integration of off spring  
did/does an indelible invaluable psychic ring
whereby, that awkward role no longer on a par as a foster child
   for her existence (albeit demanding at times)
   likened as special offering
whose absence doth make mine heart grow fonder, yet mandatory
   to let go of this biological part of me
   so to another happiness she can bring

though…a mixed bag of emotions most likely roil
inside her corporeal being, I praise n prize accomplishments
   spurred by natural borne desires to become independent
   rather than shutter oneself up (as exemplified by das papa)
   who still writhes for many explorations of self discovery thwarted
   renting my psyche with mailer daemons still on the prowl
   essentially predicting remaining years of emotional n financial toil

especially pronounced,
   I know this star student suffered sheer agony
when asked – by classmates -  the vocations of me
or “mother abby’, which torturous moments
   fueled means to destroy myself
   cuz of this utter embarrassment, misery, writhing really
vociferously within genetic blend, whose love
   not asked for nor sought unequivocally!
--------------------------------------------------­----
DESPITE MY ACTIONS, BEHAVIORS, CHILDISH FOOLISHNES, I WOULD SOONER HARM MYSELF THAN DO ANY FURTHER INJUSTICE TO YE – ME FIRST BORN BABY!

I should have known better:
The Catholic all-boy camps,
Themed with talks on vocations,
Never truly acknowledged prayer,
But the clock
And its ticking weighing all
With its cesium hypnosis.

“Regulars” expand beyond religious culture, though.
When I go to meet people casually or formally,
Regardless of age,
I am time’s pawn
That never understands when it’s time to end
Unless I want that time to end.
When I don’t like an event,
An hour can feel like an eon.
When I enjoy moments so much,
An hour is a blissful breath-second.

Due assignments,
Ugh! Perfect focus never exists then,
Only “****, ****, ****” in tapping my skull
To assess the situation
And submit a ******* draft, ******!
Don’t be late…too late,
The white rabbit’s time is on schedule:
I’m always late.
Time to start over.

At a panel with only high-schoolers my age,
The summer of 2015,
I asked a question related to the topic of vocations,
But the response was humiliating:
“We’re all single in life” sayeth one, with accompaniment of bass laughter
In the background.
The only one not going along with the laughter was the questioner.

Why do people tell me to smile more?
To not be too serious?
To take a joke?
What I would do sometimes to show people
All of my character, from birth, to prove them wrong.
How easy that is to do
Unless I acquire useful thinking.

People have instructed me before
To relax, but if I did “lighten up” at those moments,
I’d fear losing touch of public etiquette,
And receive a verbal penalty from the ones who told me to unstiffen in the first place.

A reverend once told me that life is such a balance,
But how can I balance the “what-ifs” in my head
With what is and should be appropriate in accordance with time and place?

My “Confiteor” is that I am part of the fault
Of not taking people seriously;
As I grow, I arm my eyes, ears and nerves
That what I unexpectedly receive I do receive
With a slower reaction.

I often imagine myself approaching the people,
Fists locked parallel to my hips, if you will,
Who have picked on me, joking or not, for just being aware
Of my surroundings and courtesy toward public environments,
And unleashing loud, assertive imperatives,
Reminding them I am not a carpet to step on,
But a warrior-patriot prepared to defend and even make-believe reasons for the moves I make…And I’m serious.

Transmission teeth.

Down the back loc.
N out the sad top.
Plus one.
& plus two.
Making sad flocks.
Of people.
Screamin’.
& cryin’
And flyin’ about a new world.
One that has fingers in hairdos.
& coffee grounds for *******.
Talking over new vocations.
Guitar strings in heck fire.
Hell fire.
& lava.
Green organs blazing down in ancient rains.



Garrett Johnson.

Rise women rise,
realize you are a prize,
doff your covers and oppression,
use your creativity and expression.

Flaunt your beauty and your mind,
grow beyond religious binds,
you need no one to give permission,
search and strive it's your decision.

Drive to new locations,
pick and work vocations,
climb the ladder to new heights,
with a smile show them your might.

You're the ones in control,
break out of paternal molds,
arm yourselves with knowledge and power,
under no one's thumb should you cower.

Wield your *** like a sword,
swing it and tame the horde,
never let them get to you,
it's your life do what you want to do.

Always been told
That we are not machines
Yet, our world is built like this:
Routine, repair
Relinquish, revere
All fact no speculation
We must continue
But really, do we?
Here is the summation:
Becoming victims of liquidation
Just by going on vacation
Choosing vocations
Just to chase stagnation
Chasing relations to find salvation
Just to receive probation and isolation
Mutations of liberation
Lasting for long durations
We are machines, observe our foundation
Full of mutation, renovation
Life is a sacred thing
Yet, look at the pain we bring

awake at 3 a.m.
thinking of Fr. Greeley

I pray to my beloved Dead
silently and freely

vocations are often hidden
questing Cosmic Treely

for courage unto the end
She’s the One and really

Presents the following slapdash
higglety-pigglety bupkis, whereby reader
experiences being mentally hogtied
perusing pseudo poetic perambulation
devoid of sense and sensibility
welcoming character assassination
concerning pride of yours truly,
who merely strung together
words sharing "arian"

as their last five letters
for no particular rhyme nor reason
quite aware that forced gobbledygook
underwrites storied reputation
of unnamed aspiring author
cramming nonsense linkedin
jibber-jabber hodgepodge fashion
deplorable basketed mumbo jumbo
giving pop slop a run for its' money.

Yours truly considers himself
(courtesy obsessive compulsive fixation
with alphabetization even when dreaming
counting sheep jumping
over figurative fence by first name)
drawn toward being abecedarian,
albeit hankers being agrarian, yet
I consider myself suburban simian
(a garden variety **** sapiens)
no more significant than alcyonarian

expressing his antiauthoritarian,
intolerance toward antiegalitarian,
antihumanitarian, antilibertarian,
agog over antiquarian tomes
replete with antitotalitarian manifesto
buzzfeeding ma (zee papa's)
sixty plus shades of gray,
cuz hive got news for you
courtesy doxy me, a generic erudite apiarian,
non-aquarian, once mighty araucarian,

(when during Jurassic and Cretaceous periods
our family achieved maximum diversity
distributed across almost entire
webbed wide world), nevertheless
one humble wordsmith
decries authoritarian, barbarian, Cesarean
segmentation of rooted centenarian elders
strongly resembling cnidarians,
who foster communitarian, contrarian
culinarian, disciplinarian,

disestablishmentarianism
decrees expatiating dogmatic,
emphatic, idealistic duly strict ethos
incorporating freedom of the press
documentarian, egalitarian
establishmentarian, filarian favoring fruitarian
disavowing jump/kickstaring futilitarian endeavors
administering grammarian, hereditarian,
questioning humanitarian
versus inegalitarian paradigms

celebrating progressive legislation
courtesy coterie as Democratic jubilarian
attributing insights to sustenance
comprising Diet of Worms
and laminarian, which boosts rock ribbed
lapidarian, libertarian, librarian lunarian,
who dons gay apparel and trumpets
majoritarian fly in the ointment milarian
espousing millenarian credo,
whereby absent free will necessitarian

forces at large effect staid
senior citizens, especially nonagenarian,
advocating nonauthoritarian, bookish nonlibrarian
nonsectarian, nontotalitarian, nonutilitarian,
beefy nonutilitarian, nonvegetarian,
and octogenarian brethren,
begat in part courtesy
ovarian haploid gamete,
which offspring could trend toward
ovolactovegetarian maybe collecting

parian ware adornments
pricey merchandise afforded
courtesy parliamentarian income
sessions conducted (without resistance),
whereby officials closely resemble
blood ******* planarian ceaselessly
patting each other
(and themselves) on the back
congratulating exulting,
gushing ala Old Faithful platitudinarian

attributing their foibles to postlapsarian
forebears awaiting salvation postmillenarian
bags already packed eagerly awaiting
deliverance into seventh heaven
as promised by divine predestinarian
a time analogous to virtuous age
of innocence re: prelapsarian
or lost souls peopling congress
and house of representatives
purportedly official do bidding

for proletarian class of population
once upon bajillion years
in the past initial life forms
similar to radiolarian
propelled themselves thru primordial sea
after lapse of eons diverse riparian organisms
with nary a hint of vocations such as
rosarian, sanitarian, sectarian seminarian
dedicated worker still going strong
as septuagenarian, or sexagenarian.

Hands down the most dramatic change ever needed to make the most profound impact awoke from helping beget the first offspring. An internal paradigm shift reshuffled priorities such that the helpless newborn necessitated immediate attention.
     Whatever task held my attention at a given time, the cry of said progeny triggered and quickly trained an obligation to become a first responder of sorts.
     Yes, I readily admit that at first blush selflessness grudgingly accepted, but quickly an avid enthusiasm became manifest.
    Matter of fact (and much to the surprise to this chap who never served as caretaker for infants, nor young children), an instinctual natural protection arose concomitantly with attention, affection, and adoration as the ensuing years tending (to thine eldest daughter and approximately twenty six plus months later another heiress begat), this role of fatherhood entranced, galvanized, and inspired me toward increased selflessness.
     The overpowering raw emotional of first time fatherhood emotional, financial, and spiritual impact shook my entire corporeal being to experience supreme tenderness, which set me to step up affinity to write (poetry seemed a natural modus operandi de jure, which sample seems apropos to share at this juncture.    
     Though thee empty nest syndrome long since elapsed, I happened upon thee following verse while scrolling along memory lane recording incipient onset of parenthood, when the missus underwent routine planned parenthood in College approximately two score and eight earth orbitz ago late March/early April ninety ninty six.

December 22nd 1996 bundle of edenic joy

Twenty seven years plus ago
faux cap’n Matthew Scott
twittered n burst with ahoy
on account of thine first borne –
unbeknownst to us then if a girl or boy
so an unusual assortment
of gender appropriate names –
(some brazen others coy
others an utter embarassment
verbal remonstration our offspring

especially when older, would deploy)
filled pages of our journals, viz
newly minted parent’s endless employ
though of Semitic ancestry choices
per namesake reflected more ova goy
which genealogy less significant
than precious progeny healthily fused
vis a vis via being masterfully charged
two sets regarding
twenty three pairs of chromosomes
that did miraculously alloy

into a healthy genetically whipped miracle –
crème of the crop
that only imaginary dragons
reigning over a vampire weeknd
with fiery red hot
chili peppered lyrics could drop,
whereby flute tour ring notes
induced crowdsource to hip hop
calisthenics that emulated
swishing brush strokes of a mop

which if attempted by myself,
would witness one culled sic pop
so, he sticks with ranks, viz his literate
*** spur ray shun to confess
those thermostatic and
temperature controlled emotions more or less
extolling occasions that held poignancy,
though as a first time father
my state of managing a newborn
felt chaotic and a sorry mess

though words resonated less
gifted with beautiful daughter,
she most likely happened
to be oblivious asper YES
mine hand felt hogtied,
yet over ensuing years –
the integration characterizing  
Rites of (aiding) spring  
our suite firebird
did indelibly impress

an invaluable psychic ring,
whereby initial awkward role
no longer on par
to foster teaching child
autonomy for her existence,
(albeit demanding at times –
synonymous with any other
infantile pang), thine essence
acquired an acute attentiveness
to her basic needs and wants

likened and linkedin to pay obeisance
per a special offering,
whose absence and permanent separation
as a responsible grown woman
makes mine heart didst grow fond
(and psyche doth twinge
with nostalgia) asper
those long day's journey
into night, when I could attest
she declared  and constituted

daddy's girl, yet mandatory
to let go of this biological offshoot
part of me (within human league
to the  babyhood, childhood,
and emerging adulthood
attended, mollycoddled, pampered
she extruded, and had me
wrapped around her little finger
cuz, now perhaps happiness sprung
from within herself

she sought guiding light
as days of our live sped by at lightspeed
now, a mixed bag of emotions wrestle and roil
inside mine corporeal being,
I praised and prized accomplishments
(rarely admonished)
spurred by natural borne desires
for potential Atalanta,
(who loved running until an injury
brought said passion to screeching halt),

nevertheless she became independent
rather than shutter herself up
as exemplified by das papa,
who still writhes, seethes, and orates
many forfeited explorations
of natural self discovery thwarted
renting my psyche asunder
with lightning mailer daemons
still on the prowl
and trawling like bot size internet trolls

within the windmills of my mind
essentially futilely explaining
mein kampf and hard times
impressionable years of emotional,
financial, interpersonal and social toil
repercussions forever unfairly induced
upon the darling lass
pronounced upon this star student,
who suffered sheer agony
when asked – by classmates -  
the vocations of me “Herr father

or Frau mother,” neither gainfully employed,
which vicarious taboo
(county assistance still evokes stigma,
particularly for outliers like us
living social along MainLine)
zapped, tortured, inflicted
crisis nearly destroyed yours truly,
cuz of utter embarrassment, misery,
writhing really vociferously
within genetic blend, whose love
not asked for nor sought unequivocally.