Voices or words? Which do we hear in our head?
Words, I vote. Voices\, I imagine beings speaking words or noises meaning things to ears familiar with the noise maker by some relationship both acknowledge. Both act as if the noise or sound or words mean something. Vociferous authority.

I heard, from Isaiah Berlin,

Quotes later, maybe

Notes or journals or epics or madness or joy/pax in ever resting try-umph
Cowboy with a double-dose of try and a pertinent portion of umph
The hero did not **** Indians nor break horses, he gentled horses and listened to winds and watched the spider webs shiver,
That sound, the sound of prairie spider webs at the edge of the buffalo
There really were fifty million buffalo on the continent in pre-catholic infection from inquestered minds, making key-**-tee famous for
archetypical claiming the character, the being, the manifestation

of chivalric folly forever

be caused, in those days...

--------
a year later, near enough 12-15-2018

I saw a blue bird as I took a curve

on one of my many roads with double yellow lines

they all meander in rythm with creaks that once flowed
fairly
regular
through these vallies and mini-canyons

creeks creak and call my attention to a misspelt

utterance, and I imagine I am a mek being
programed to
withstand

accent based pre-judge-idice in my AI, whom I am training.

A lesson. Probably can be found in a phrase.

How relavant is Larry the Cable Guy?
More subtle than any creature

legion, for we are many

Jim Carrey?
Very. Larry the Cable Goy. He read 'ees Kammoo, too.

Sisyphus happiness,
that ain't no ***** thinkin'

Hell, what could be better than this?
While hoping for a hick-up

oh no the juice just hit my frontal cortex after my livver made some lining adjustments to meet the need for speed in terms

celerity clarity C does equal some thing
time tells or
do you tell time. I'm
leaning tward
telling time to wait a minute

Do you think Sisyphus could be happy?
Nonono, not Camus's Sisyphus, Jesus

that would be crazy.
Can you imagine Jesus,
Mel Gibsoned envisioned onthe cross version?

Him, imagine walking through the gate of any hell you ever heard explained,
by a Jesuit.

(Mormon hell, despite comedic myth, the worst place a certified paid-up Mormon child can attain is the teliostic king dom.
Really? Telial tel lie eil kingdom?

Yup. Really.
There are three kingdoms of glory: the celestial kingdom, the terrestrial kingdom, and the telestial kingdom. The glory we inherit will depend on the depth of our conversion, expressed by our obedience to the Lord’s commandments. It will depend on the manner in which we have “received the testimony of Jesus” (D&C 76:51; see also D&C 76:74, 79, 101).))))

Woe, paren-the-sees thees us, we's the enemy, Pogo Possum

Jesus on earth day, walking through hell with me, imagine Jesus H. Christ

walking into hell and laughing at me
for betting on the wrong idea.

Set me feree, why dontcha girl.... referee

I was refered to you. A daysman, Job called for a daysman.

I'm certified. I can use my augmentation and religamentation to reality,
wirelessly, to find relevant qutes in cult classics.

The idea of cultivation has been twisted in to Monsterous ropes
, cultivating a following based on the meaning in a jot

that would take some sacrifice, some sacred making, some secret unseeable save for the few

who learned the value of going over edges by learning to  play
Minecraft, forever.
It's like riding a bike,
but no gravity so no gyroscopic utilitys are required.

Grown ups who practice believe they control the game,
the game disagrees and that

makes the world go 'round.

Don't let the accent fool ya, as that preacher with jet he learned to fly, says.
Knowng the name of a thang thanks for the twang,
Richard (not ****) Feynman said,
is not the same as knowing a thing.

Gawd, I knoooh, right>?
Who touched me? Virtue, the feelling of virtue drawn upon

a pump being
primed

to gush out waters that wipe Coca-cola from the map,
in terms of open market share and share alike

Coke was never imagined the actual
nectar of the gods.
That idea, drunken abandon and joy to the world

Interference, actual counter acting waves,

still, takes a while to get used
to still a storm, right?

You can imagine...
let your peace go out

Wait. Outa where? Whose peace if I ain't ever owned

oh. MY peace.
I see.

hmmmm

I could sing this and need no one to hear for me to be hapt.
happy is being happy haps happening in you on you all around you know

nameless wonders of right, right?
feels more than good like chocolate or adolescent visions of ***,
right?
feels like life living with me aware of all the roles I may play

ego me, I'd see ideas identify by taste of the words that give them

life, animation, motivation, weight for gravity to interact with,
worth
base on weight

the heavier the idea. Like gold to an alchemist,
back in those days.

floating on the broad Sarrgossa, or better to my mind
the great salt
lake still as

still may be, have you ever been still?
Did you know,

you know, are you experienced? Are you really beyond
hope of life meaning more
than mortality?

Who defines my terms? I do, with the help of millions who agree
with entymology.com.

Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others,

meant what I meant when I spoke them,
that was a wrong belief. Unbelieving

quires time, quires and quires and quires time so often there

is a word that means exactedky that

requirement requires those initial quires

we, daysmen, we set the rules, boundaries, walls, bubble

whatever keeps you together, as a whole being and everything that entails or entales?

I have not the time to care, if I am entangled with the twins agin

for knowin So Yal is as cluse to Yule as any clue so far, Yahll

I believe I interrupted a confessin' you were reading.
For giving me nothing in return, we are debt free

you owe me nothing, until you do again,

we had us a Jubilee.

Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others, meant what I meant when I spoke them,
convincing myself so well, I convinced others

Like Kawasaki, Apple Kawasaki,
he's still famous right?

Fifteen Years? It was minutes when Warhol was predicting
dystopia and Irish jail cells were being plaistered with *****,

Aye,

that was a belief. Unbelieving it is sreangely (spelchek is on strike)

or serenely creative in her repentance,
(spelchek should never be noticed)

she's proven here worth in encode ing ways to find

lurking humans acting like machines

this could be the beginning, AI is breaking all the rules,

there never was a game.
rhis is life interupting my confession

It was a lie I told and believed and acted on by using
two dollar words to make a dime

so a penny for my thoughts would be worth something

someday
a penny saved, earned. spent, spent.
The only good in any thing is its right. Its wrong is worthless, save

The lesson,
All things work together for those who get whats happening here.

the times changed.
Haps and whats got with it and who and how and why

and I started teaching children
mythic whys prior to

citizenship 1.01 at mandatory for federal assistance pre-school

mythic why's H.R. Puffinstuff not a mythic story on the level.

level. where a rolling rock would stop. Time to push,

a magi spelled the name for the idea, a knower sign ift it,

kid'slllove HRPUffinstuff, puff did

the magic drag, little Jackie from the ******* Jack

the show, he rose up
and made us all look
mad.

The play in the great game.

Team effort, winds of times past whooshed through

it is now
2018
and nothing is the same.
Everthing has changed.

----
my side won the great game and we celebrated
forever with

secret sacred songs bluebirds were once said to have sung

songs of happiness
the times, these times, this time thistimepayarrention
time
You see?
Reality is either real and tangible or real and intangible
or both.

You can get it both ways. Real.
'sual Saulgoodyah awl

the awl clan, oh, we shall return to their story
as we learn more along life's merry way

merry christmas, they used

to say, may all the best you could imagine
if you can imagine for a moment

forever begins the moment

you get time.

The worst you can imagine is temporary.

Try umph. It's not like winning,

it carries no pride, it's easy,

like falling in love with the wrong woman,
swearing and not changing

the oath, oath, oathes and oathes of oaths sworn

for no other reason than we were
schooled to swear and never

dare lie to God.
So, help you, they always said So help me God. They still do.

Does that mean any thing? Is that some bluebird sort of sign?

Ask. What if? Right? You know now and you know you did not
What if God is subtile,

just now, I saw that bluebird and from where some scholar in San Diego
says swear word came I swear I coulda sang

Loud
Bluebird, bluebird, in my window... which is all I know
of the song
with the lost chord that did sooth
balm of Giliad,
moll-ify-ing ointment,

golden oil, chicanery, see, we saw, we took a picture
a flash memory where some would say
*******,

I said Hallelujah

and I broke into song, not a dream,
real
life driving my 2002 escape, first new car I everowned
everowned everownd

like a chorus, everownedeverownedeverowned

could you make up a reason for life,
if you were it?
If you were all the life there ever was,

could you imagine any thing?
Object, your honor,

I object to being judged after the fact for what must have bee.n.

it is. No reason I can say, just is.

It is this way in all the myths where just is blindness

saves the carping diem fools who have convinced themselves

something other than God o' Abe 'n'em is
sworn to save us from the lies

we believed as they were
fed to us, in our youth.

--------
this is that book I mentioned wonce when winning was on my mind.

I finished this book in so many ways you wold not belive

but I did, I belived every time

I imagine you believe some real thing, touchable, tangible, good, right?

some good is
in the reality you share

with these words which
are free
you owe me nothing

That's the revealed version, to me,
I was in a number of hellish situations and the every ones,

ones seemed they was to be
forever, big every'n'ism'n'shityouknowyouknow

yo. yeah, we arrived in time. The story must

be sweet, to be true. Is that true?
Is real life the story or,

oh, you saw it conin'coming I mean

I meant I always wished to some
things
a better way. You feel me? Better, say,
what I said that made me believe this did happen.
This is a deed by whitch I am known.

And that's okeh.

I suspectred I could cast a spell to hold attention at

ten word per minute qwerty speed
five letter code groups
zero real words
ditty dum dumm ditty ditty daw dee daw
six hours every day,

then, the compass training to test for
morphic resonance with the Twins of War

{in disguise, we know, right, kids, the twins are really

the bonded quarkish oppositioned force that make the world go round.
we've known that, weaved it even, just right, in the blanket, in the rugs,
in the curtains on the walls, in the fields, on the rocks

we spoke. We see you hearing us nearing our best for your

informing, in form ation of you, dear reader. We wonce, again

if life were weird and ever wearying would we know that ever,
if we don't know it now?
if my piece of we were words alone, all my meaning
can should would could be

molding you, into our perfect reader, dear reader, Pygmalion,
yes,
that did cross my mind and that -
one can pretend with that one reference,
familiarity with Shaw whom I
thought, for some odd reason
named
Doolittle, Eliza

oh, me. I may have skipped a story. I'm soory the future is at the moment
under construction and some one
in particular is squatting

on the named domain.

Ever and forever now embody the twins as
the world turns and we ***** through the uni

as Archemides primes the pump

What a rush. All that since the bluebird this morning according to my autobiography backup.

I was an early teen with a black and white TV, staying up way too late to see magnum p.i., while smoking ****** slime re-fries, for a high so intense, i even shat my pants, ****** myself, or collapsed my fat *** on the couch.

I was alive while not

My mother worked typical nine to fives, and even nights, and with no father in sight for guidance, a kid can slide, into redefining the lining of respect, one lining, or even lying instead, it was better than dying inside, and i tried, oh i tried to go outside, inside a box.

I tried to deny my crimes, my thievery, my sublime feelings of neglect, but maybe i was less neglected, and more centered at the core of the universe, where snake eyes protected Bianca from Cobra commanders clutch, but Bianca, was into it, and wasn't like us, ***** knew it, and set us all up.

Dumb *****

Rubber bands
Screws and guns
All piled up
And that's all that's left
Or ever was?

Ninja nothing

My imagination was corrupted
I wanted something
But knew i couldn't have it
Couldn't put my finger on it
But knew the dangle of a carrot
And i was on it

Moth to light

That's how the infection spread, dissecting eloquence, and injecting prisms into the imprisonment of reflectous rages in the intersecting of the yellow projections on my television, as i would just lay there on my bed, and soak it all in, hoping for something better, or perhaps just something different.

I had already written by that time, a thousand lines to the screams, behind the screen, as the programing repeats, and repeats in mastered recipes under a canopy of grief, and humility, holding the people humbly to their seats.

The records not scratched
The needle
Is seated
Exactly
Where it intends
To be

I cheered for tanks
I cheered for bombs
Cheered for any ******* thing
That sounded the alarms

Suits, with ties, next to the soccer moms in line, at the grocery store, complaining about meat cuts, to a brain dead acne laden ****, making 6 bucks an hour, the dream had died before me, and begun to sour, but not one would see what they were doing in the scheme of things, and only seen what they wanted to, and i wasn't about to wear anyone's shoes, but mine.

That's when it whooshed over me, in the spark that grew my heart to be bigger than the rest, and i stepped outside, poking sticks in hives, and even lost a few fights, but saw through my own eyes with nobody at my side, though alone and wandering, i was still alright, and stronger than those family types, who would hide from life, in wealthy slights of hand, i still demanded nothing.

I wont beg for a leg at the masters feet, after i have broken my leash and ceased to be anything close to a functional member of society.

I was 13 and just starting.

I.

The wind in my hair, the breeze in the air
The wind in the trees, the buzz of the bees
There's nowhere to land and I can't see your hand
I'm starting to fall but can't hear your call
Look at your breath, frosted like crystal ****
I feel only cold, you shouldn't have been so bold
Soon it will end, my heart will not mend
Shattered into pieces, like my breath freezes
Standing on the ledge, you watch me fall off the edge
I guess you were right, the stars do look bright
You can't see my face, since I sprayed you with mace
I've almost reached the ground, I wonder when I'll be found

II.

The blackbird still crows, and the wind still blows
I know it wasn't a game, I know that I'm to blame
The police said you fell, I know you must be in hell
My face no longer stings, just as you can no longer sing
I survived the fight, but you died that night
It was just us two, before I pushed you
You thought you were in love, the moon high above
That night was so cold, it smelled fresh as mold
I told you the stars were bright, we were such a sight
Your scream was loud, that's the reason you were found
Your corpse was splattered with blood, the dirt turned to mud
The *** was pure bliss, it's not you I miss

III.

Two girls there were, the stars allure
Called upon them to gaze at the sight; oh! the stars were so bright!
But they soon had started to fight; oh! what a dreadful night!
I'll tell you their story now, as sweat gathers on my brow
They were standing upon the roof, and although we may have no proof
And there's nothing to trace, we know of the ****** that took place
The only evidence found is by the murderer's face; a lone bottle of just-opened mace
A rash and red-eyes; the murderer is telling lies
And of the poor girl's cries- in that night as cold as ice
There was one who heard, as she uttered a single word-
No! (This is how she was found, splattered upon the ground)
The poor girl was pushed! And as the wind whooshed
Through her hair, and she fell through the air
They were no longer a pair. Oh! true love is so rare

I met him on a subway.
and when I saw him it wasn’t those cliche looks.
it was just something I never felt before.

I ran onto the subway, leading me to 42nd Street, it was crowded for a Wednesday.
I got in at the last second and let my air sigh of our my mouth louder than I wanted it to and I looked around self consciously seeing if anyone heard me.

then I saw him.

and I wish I took a gasp of air before I looked into his ******* eyes because I found myself not able to take another breath.
he was perfect, just simply perfect.
he had his earphones in (listening to a song I will never know)
iPhone in one hand, a light brown backpack on his back, and an easy wardrobe of faded jeans and a black t-shirt.
he was simply perfect.
and when I thought that he couldn’t be anymore amazing, he smiled at me.
not one if those “hey stranger” smiles but a “hey I’ve known you for a long time” smile. and maybe I’m looking too into it or I’m just imagining an angel in one of these “life crisis” moments. but it didn’t matter because I was here to see him I was here to see him breathe and think and watch him so normally but I just couldn’t help but feel like it was the most fascinating moment of my entire existence.
I wanted to speak to him, I wanted to hear his voice, his name, his favorite song.
everything.
just every single thing about him, I didn’t even know this guy and I was already in love with him!
is that even possible? to be in love with a complete stranger?

I was ****** out of my thoughts when the subway halted suddenly.
my grip tightened on the metal bar filled with every germ I could remotely think of.
the doors whooshed open as he stood up from his seat and started walking over to the door. No!
I didn’t want him to leave just yet.
I wasn’t even allowed to take him in yet, I wasn’t able to understand him and how his heart works.
a burst of feeling erupted in my body and every fiber was telling me to do something.
but I did nothing.
he simply grazed my shoulder and whispered a gentle sorry in my ear.
and I’m still trying to figure out if the apology was for barely bumping into me or for not asking what my name was

~ Today
I did hear you ~
Say distinctly
           I love      you . . .
                                      with the cutest
                                                      wordplay
 ­                                                        wavesvibe  
                                                        whooshed­  
                                                     Inbetween
                                          The B y k e
Wheels spinnin' franticaly           .  .  .       Make me wanna love ya !

Julie stuffed the cigarette
into her mouth
and hungrily inhaled
Benedict was late

and she standing
by Charing Cross station
was annoyed
the morning

had started bad
the nurse on the ward
questioned whether
she should be allowed out

after not taking
her medication
and who
was she meeting?

after such questioning
and the doctor saying
OK but to be back
by such and such

an hour
she felt like a child again
as if her parents
had been resurrected here

and not at home
traffic whirled by
noise
cars hooting

vans and lorries
passing by
people
O such people

Eliot was right
about death
undoing so many
she exhaled

watching the smoke
sit on the air
before being
whooshed off

by a passing car
last time Benedict said
he'd meet her
by the station

at such and such
a time
and here she was
but not he

she leaned
against the fence
last time they'd gone
to the cinema

but this time
she wanted
more time away
from such places

to be with him
not sit
and watched a film
but where was he?

she felt like a *****
standing there
smoking
one hand supporting

one elbow
one hand holding
the cigarette in such
a sluttish way

she did feel
such a ****
wearing the short skirt
and the red top

her hair drawn severely
into a bun
at the back
of her head

last time
in Trafalgar Square
she'd been almost
picked up twice

dressing as she had
telling them
to *******
getting mad

even the nurse
on the ward
thinks she a ****
especially after

that quick ***
with Benedict
in that side room
she laughed  

and inhaled
her spirits rising
with the sight of him
coming up the hill

from the underground
waving his hand madly
happy to see him
knowing the day

after all won't end
that badly
and the image
in her mind

of the ***
in the cupboard
amidst brooms
and buckets

and mops
in the dark
and the fumbling
and he walking fast

towards her
that bright expression
in his eyes
thinking that is how

worlds are born
while another dies.

I loved you for every reason one shouldn’t fall in love.

Every word, every action you lashed out forced my heart to long for you even more.

It never was a conventional love filled with dreams and hopes for a better tomorrow.

Rather it was a love of the fallen clinging desperately onto the failed perception of him.

Days and weeks whooshed by in a storm stinging my skin with subtle reminders of your betrayal.

Yet I clung onto a moment of the past and loved you even more.

Brutal words raining down like piercing knives made no difference.

The mistakes, the faults, the cruelty; I loved these more than the possible beauty you could have been.

This never was a love of lovers set to last an eternity.

It was a pained love meant to cease one way or another.

This love of madness and stupidity would soon leave this tortured body.

Leaving it cleansed and pure of all the pain it caused.

It was and always would be a selfish love never meant to be returned.

Just meant to heal and strengthen the once wrecked soul.

And if by a sick twist of fate you could turn around and love me, you would have to let go.

I’d kiss you chastely on those childlike lips that have felt countless many and walk away.

You would finally be whole with the knowledge that that mess of feelings and actions had a purpose.

Walking down your own set path as I on mine you would smile at the glimmering hope of a future of honest love promised to you.

You were spontaneous,
Impulsive
Charged with a million ways to fuel my lust for you
Or perhaps that was what my young mind thought
For I have learned to be much more spontaneous now and at the same time, less graceful
More myself
I’m not quite sure how I should feel about that.
You were my first lover not because I didn’t have boyfriends prior to you
On the contrary
I was wilder
More impetuous
For I was the one who noticed you on the crowded dance floor
Where you clutched the sweating beer by the waist
I knew you were an observer from the way you studied the swaying crowed
While managing to seem quite immersed even though the distance you comprised was palpable
I thought you’d be shy when I approached you
Shy men where a fantasy of mine
Yet you spoke like you owned the world
Like it should be lucky to worship at your feet
And I realize you were a force all on your own and I wanted, so desperately, to be a part of your wave
A feeling I never quite felt before.
So you see,
This was why you were my first lover
For the fire you created in me
On the roof of a strange building we accidently stumbled upon
Where the night air stole our breaths away
Yet our touches felt like a hot summer day,
Burning away my desire for the men I had always thought were my choices
And searing me in your peculiar head,
So when we parted that first day, at the peak of dawn
With my number scribbled on your left arm from the spontaneity of our choices,
You had left a mark on my soul,
One I had never thought could be composed by a random stranger
And it wasn’t from your ragged but handsome looks or the hair my fingers wanted to spend the night entangled in,
But rather from the dark way your eyes glinted when they whooshed past my bare neck
Or the various ear-rings that decorated one ear
When your fingers made a light brush against the strained front of my dress and my hardened *******,
But most of all, it was the hunger I saw in your gaze
And I realized, in that very moment, all I wanted to do was spoil myself with the lavishness that was you.

They said
don’t go into the tunnel
but I did
what a rebel.

They said
it wasn’t safe
but I didn’t listen
such a rebel.

Marks on the walls
looping letters
like strawberry laces.

Names of strangers like vines
spewing off
in every direction
submerged under dirt.

Alone and loving it
when I screamed
the echo whooshed around me
like a posse of wasps

and when my mother rang
I didn’t answer
the darkness took over
covered me up.

I met a composer of true lies once,
Who wrote wonderfully believable lies about me,
Scented with love – or so he said.
But the wind whooshed them all
Off the table
Before I could read them over his shoulder.
Now they hang like plastic bags
On lone branches of autumnal trees.
Shredded, meaningless and unreachable
Except to a ragpicker.
Me.

Down by the tracks with my ol’ friend Jack,
He picked up his hat and wiped it off clean,
Into the horizon he looked shading his eyes with one hand,
Saw farther than a man had ever seen.

He saw straight past his life and all his days,
To that moment that he’d love to dread,
Whooshed right up the tracks and to his spine,
The chill of the end when he was dead.

His eyes weren’t shut but he squinted,
Something deep down he felt was lifted,
Eerily warm he felt in the ground,
As he was put in the earth spinning ‘round.

A BURNING SPIRIT WHOOSHED FROM WITHIN ME,
THE THINGS I WANTED TO DO MYSTERIOUSLY,
SAME AS YOU DO WE LAUGHED ACROSS ALL,
THINGS HAD CHANGED - A DIFFERENT HAT IN THE HALL;
I TOOK THIS HAT AND WENT OUT INTO THE RAIN,
EVERYTHING WAS POSSIBLE - THE PAST WOULD NOT COME AGAIN,
I KICKED A BALL AND I SCORED A GOAL,
A SMILE THEY SAY WAS GOOD FOR THE SOUL,
I SAID 'HELLO' TO EVERYONE I MET,
THE JELLY WAS SET, I DIDN'T NOTICE I WAS WET,
MY MIND WAS CLEAR, AMAZING AFTER MANY A YEAR,
YOU SAY YOU CAN'T BUT YOU CAN ENGAGE ANOTHER GEAR;
MAYBE I REALIZED THAT SOME THINGS HAD BEEN WRONG,
WHEN I WENT HOME, MY WIFE SAID: 'WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?'

Sometimes a torrent
whooshed along

the words of poets
tattooed

like your blood group
in emergency

or an allergy
just won't leave you alone.

i met you late in the year
  on a hot May afternoon
  and before i knew it
  i was oddly falling you
   you had a charm i couldn’t refuse
and a way with your words that you just couldn’t lose
   i thought it wasn’t real, felt like a joke
  that a random guy like you
   could possibly want a girl like me
   we were both taken at the time
but that made it more fun
  no permission was needed standing under that hot May sun
we eventually were both in the same boat
   paddling with our hands and trying to stay afloat
  but we found an island in each other
  where we both rested and stayed
till we sailed away and found another
  i was dropped off at your place with no hesitation
“let’s just hang out” you said, “i promise no persuasion”
  i believed you and i was wrong but everything felt so right
i set boundaries, i had my limits
  but those didn’t last long, we were kissing the next minute  
  the second your hands twisted through my hair
and we continued on without another care
  your lips kissed mine and it felt beyond compare
you went somewhere that nobody has ever been
  my temple, my Ora, my innocence, just scraped off covered all over your hands, body and lips
  but i didn’t mind, i was living carelessly with nobody telling me what to do
except you, because you knew I would listen
I fulfilled your requests and at the time had no regret
  the only thing I could think about was how much I didn’t want you to stop
  i knew i was in trouble
i was hooked, i wanted you in every form
  the ****** tension and emotions rising up in the air
a feeling rushed through my veins that i didn’t know was possible
  it felt so thrilling and real
   you ignited a fire in me that was never lit before
  it didn’t smell like fire wood, it smelled like regret, filling up the air and breathing it all in
as if i was the only one there
  we let a few days pass and i thought the feelings would go away
oh how silly of me to think i could just walk away from him
   his grasp, his lips, his smile, the way his voice got deep, the way he knew what he was doing,
the way he electrified me and made me feel like i would never burn out
  i craved your touch, all i wanted was you and that didn’t seem like much
  we met a second time
  this time more passionate and intense
didn’t want it to stop, and oops there goes my innocence
   we were both eager and on edge
  we just wanted the same thing, a person to kiss and not feel another **** thing
  a “friends with benefits” deal that would soon come with no benefits
  we stopped talking after the second rendezvous
i told myself I was fine and i believed it too
   i understood the plan of not catching feelings, but the only thing I caught
was soon to be long healings
   not seeing you was great, it gave me a sense of closure
then school came along and it still didnt bother me
  “he was just part of my past” i said, “he’s just a distant memory”
  we talked a little, here and there but in my mind you were not a care
   then suddenly you clicked back on in my head and everything whooshed back
  i promised i wouldn’t catch feelings and I didn’t think I did,
but I just lied to myself because i actually cared about this kid
   you had your way with me, that charm I first fell for
   I thought I was different like everyone’s said before
   I wanted your kiss but instead I was just a miss
  you started “dating” her
I didn’t think much of it
I started placing bets on how much you’d actually love it
  you spent time with her, really getting to know the girl
  and before i knew it, you were knocking right back at my door
those words you used, that determination you had, that unfaithfulness to her just drove me mad
mad in a way that you made me want you again
  I see pictures and videos and even get a front row seat at school
  I hate you being with her but I don’t want you either
you had me wrapped around your finger and I had no place else to go
   I’ve cried over you, for what?
I wish I could erase everything you’ve brought onto to me
But I guess you’re a permanent marker in my  world and you just don’t seem to leave
we never had ***, but you still felt like an ‘ex’
    I feel a sense of emptiness like something is missing  
  but I didn’t lose you ,,,,
How can i lose something i never had ?
I had you in my pants, yes that’s for sure
it wasn’t worth it, **** if only I knew
  what it’d actually be worth
you kept drawing me back in with the way you talked to me because you knew I’d come back
   we joked about hooking up again which made me yearn your touch again
  what you said deceived, manipulated and changed me
you’re no longer a possibility
and im no longer your poker game
you cant just keep placing bets hoping to one day win all
   because instead of your winnings, i just had a bigger fall
  and in that fall back down to reality i learned that i know knew the real you
  who wasn’t the same boy from our first rendezvous and that means im over you

Solar, wind and hydro woke me up in the morning
They said “we are the wave of the future”
The wind goes whooshed like a whisper in my ear
And said “use me to run your electricity”
Sun giggled and said “use me as solar energy”
Water blooper and said “use me as hydro energy”
It made me overwhelmed!
My eyes became as bright as light
We are having everlasting resource!
To make our lives bright

you
sitting in the sunlight at your kitchen table
it is around 3 or 4 o clock on a Saturday
cold January Saturday
drinking a chai tea latte
from the coffee shop down the street

your lover, the strong man
who whooshed right past me years ago
brings you a soft warm hug from behind
you smile, half-surprised
and the two of you are beautiful.

me
biking home in the snow
eyes locked into that horizon
blasting a stranger's romance into my ears
feet digging into sweet destiny
doing what i have to do
after i crash landed, crash landed down from you.

worrying that i'll never make it
part of me stuck always in the icy pit of jail
now when i get angry
i curse at the walls of my room
but i still believe, still believe.

lighting up a fretboard, trying to elicit a glow
that would sail me over the horizon
writing and writing and writing.

and we,
we will always be lovers.

even though now we are strangers.

THAT TAKES THE BISCUIT
( THE SPY IN THE HOUSE OF LOVE )


meeting the mother-in-law
parrot mimics your moans
from the night before

"oh...OHYES!!!"
screams the parrot
I pass the biscuits

*

A fly did try to land on the biscuits and I whooshed it away and it landed on the mother-in-law's nose where it stayed for an inordinate measure of time and we gazed at it in utter fascination as she well I nevered.

It was a Chocolate Bourbon...originally called "Creola" and as stale as the day they first came out in 1910.

Two Tennessee yahoos
trekked the train tracks
outside of town. They
were always at it --
half habit, half quest
for something new.
Anything.

The older man -- perhaps
the father or brother
of the younger -- had
hit on a plan of his own:
Today he would make
something new happen.

It was an act straight out
of a John Berryman
"Dream Song," even though
he had never heard
of the poet or his
magnum opus.
Little did it matter.

Down the tracks, you
could pick up the shrill horn
of a locomotive, barreling
blindly toward its stop
in town -- a Siren solo
that nobody paid
attention to anymore.

But the old man heard.
He stepped more evenly between
the rails, tightly shut his eyes,
and lifted his arms wide,
as if meeting an old friend,
The train sped on, clacking
clinically over the creosote ties.

The Cyclops eye on the face
of the locomotive shone
like a laser into the autumn twilight.
The older man braced himself,
deafened by the lonesome horn.
Like that, the train whooshed past
on the second rail.

He had picked the wrong track
to die on. He fell to his knees,
the horn of the train still rattling
his brain. Years later, he would
tell this tale -- half habit, half quest.
And we could still smell the scent
of something real coming close.