Lara sat
beside him

in the old
city of

Dubrovnik
sipping wine

better than
that coffee

you're drinking
is that so

he replied
gazing at

her beauty
in morning's

bright sunlight
yes it's so

and what's more
healthier

I'm ok
he boasted

even though
you kept me

from my sleep
with demands

for more ***
she sipped wine

small finger
sticking out

kind of posh
can't keep up?

he liked her
long red hair

the dark eyes
the red lips

sipping wine
the milky

coloured ****
yes I can

he replied
but she knew

that he lied
she had to

drag him from
his slumbers

wake up his
slack member

ease it in
to harbour

like a wrecked
old schooner

how's your dreams?
about me?

he sipped slow
his coffee

maybe so
he replied

maybe not
but she knew

that they were
he called out

in his sleep
no more ***

Lara dear
as he lay

on his back
his eyes closed

his member
once more slack

he knew it
knew he had

dreamed of her
her parted

fleshy thighs
and the lips

of her fruit
wanting him

one more time
more coffee?

she asked him
to keep you

from slumber?
I'm ok

he replied
want more wine?

she sipped slow
finger raised

not just now
I am fine

but she lied
he knew it

another night
coming up

more wine drunk
more *** talk

more kisses
but his mind

and member
just ready

just waiting
for slumber.

“Happy. Just in my swim shorts, barefooted, wild-haired, in the red fire dark, singing, swigging wine, spitting, jumping, running - that’s the way to live.”

O how I recall with joy a visit to Jackson, proud capital of Mississippi,
The land of the fearless fatties, the glorious land of the uber-obese,
A paradise enjoying amazingly high blood pressure and diabetes rates,
Thanks to the greed and gluttony of its 'proud-to-be-portly' inhabitants.

How delightful to stroll along its leafy boulevards, admiring the advertising
For junk food shops: "Super-Size Your Deep Crust Giant Pizza for only $1!"
"Real Men love our Emperor Size Cheeseburgers, King Size is for Kids!"
And "Come Try Our All Day Giant Breakfast with Triple French Fries!"

How enchanting to see furniture stores offering discounted extra big sofas,
Builders and carpenters with their cut-price floor-strengthening deals,
Tailors' shops with their displays of buffet pants and elasticated jeans,
Realtors promoting houses with double porches and wide internal doors.

And, O the trailer parks, those truly splendid residential areas,
With their giant size immoveable vehicles with spacious entry portals
To allow the immaculately dressed residents to carry in an armful
Of multi-packs of chocolate iced crème flavour filling Krispy Kremes.

But most wondrous of all, the myriad rival Pentacostal Chapels
With their guaranteed reinforced concrete padded sofa-pews
And their portrayals of plump Jesuses to make the fatties feel at home.
And all those "funeral parlors" with their gaping super-wide caskets.

How I loved the blinking stares of the sleep-deprived bible students
As they staggered out of an architectural wonder of a chapel,
Bleary-eyed after an all-night bible study session, and all eager
For a healthy breakfast of a dozen flash-fried sugar encrusted "donuts".

I was there in this glorious world centre of ever-escalating obesity
With my latest gorgeous lady love (at only 140 pounds and five foot two,
possibly the slimmest woman in the entire Jackson Metropolitan Area)
And we decided to try some good ol' Mississippi fine dining as a treat.

Holey Moley! What a feasts on offer: pan-fried catfish, deep-fried catfish,
Steaks the size of an encyclopaedia and all accompanied by unlimited fries!
Sweet potato and pecan pie with butter, sugar, eggs and extra cream,
And Mississippi Mud Pie with its chocolate crust and sticky chocolate filling!

(The chef de cuisine in our upscale diner told us that Southern cooks
had created this wondrous dessert because its sophicated ingredients
were available cheaply and the recipe required only minimal culinary skill,
and what's more it came with a treble serving of supermarket ice cream!)

We declined the bottomless cup of watery coffee with compulsory sugar
And enquired if we might have a bottle of his finest wine. Quel faux-pas!
The dear fatso was mortified and told us his was a Christian establishment
And strong drink was frowned upon. Did we think he was a degenerate?

That night we lay bloated like beached whales in our tasteful motel room
(its bed reinforced with ferro-concrete to deal with the horrid possibility
that any gargantuan visitors might wish to copulate vigorously);
Oh how we burped and farted, longing for a dose of bicarbonate of soda.

All good things come to an end so, after a nessy session on the toilet
(we filled it thrice), we bade farewell to the desk clerk and sloped off.
"Be sure y'all come back real soon," he declared, patting his fat gut,
"Cuz you both sure do look two real skinny Limeys, ya hear me?."

As we drove out of this elegant city that steamy Southern summer morn
In our rented 4X4 super-strong chassis Land Rover, how we smiled
At the scene outside Walmart where the special offer of the day
Was five pounds of free candies with every single assault rifle sold.

But alas! And alack! Tragedy was not so very far away that day:
Some corpulent teenagers toppled off the sidewalk under my auto's wheels
In their indecent haste to take advantage of the latest McDonald's bargain:
A quart of complimentary Dr Pepper's with a whole oven-fried McTurkey.

Oy! What a horrid mess my fender made of their pudgy, mottled flesh
And how wise we were to speed off before the cops arrived
At least, we avoided being beaten us to a pulp for being leftist libtards
Come to laugh at the dear redneck ways south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

Crucified and left to dwell,
if you had to do it all again, would you?
Hindsight.
a sign that hangs on the gates of hell,
when you see the fires and half measure desires,
how does the pain feel as you cry your,
no surrender,
this place takes you further than pain ,
than torture that burns your heart and your anguish tame no two lifes the same,
a picture postcard of a misspent youth,
both ends burning in a midnight vocation,
burn baby burn,
no return to the familar choir,
as you sink into the fire,
oh i would carry my own cross again and again to feel the warmth of my mother and kiss those cherry holy lips and change the water into wine if i could hold back time and hear st peters bell chime, and hold the chalice and swear to my fathers, father as the flames grow higher, just to hold you one last time my Mary is my hearts desire.

i wish i was a black poet
or a woman with a twisted ankle
even a teenager filled with brooding angst
because then my poems would hold more weight
people would listen
i could recite them with my eyes closed
brow furrowed, talking with fists
my throat swollen with passion
i'd get applause -- an ovation even
for spitting on the microphone at poetry night
blowing the roof off
destroying walls
seeing all rooms at once
instead of despondent laughter
in an empty bar
the clinking of glasses
and the obligatory whisky after.

but i'm white
and only in my twenties
living in a vaccuum
nothing terrible has ever happened to me
sure, i have problems

but who the **** wants to hear about
not learning how to tie my shoes until i was 9?

quitting every sport, not because i was bad
merely because i wasn't the greatest to ever play
and no longer saw the point?

adhd and couch surfing in new orleans?

how hard it was to learn to roll the perfect joint
when i was 17?

the fact that i had an itchy ******* last month
but switched to organic detergent
now it's a field of velvet daffodils down there?

no one's posting youtube videos about
doing laundry on a tuesday
not meeting a pretty girl at the laundromat
instead teaching a mexican boy multiplication tables
and a couple jokes, then leaving with
half your clothes still ***** because you gave the boy
the rest of your change to buy a girl he likes
a pack of her favorite gum tomorrow
or
losing your cell phone until thursday afternoon
then the bill collectors start calling

i have good credit
i bought a used honda last year
at a good interest rate, i haven't missed a payment
i'm never bothered at airport security
i live alone, take my coffee black
or with cream and sugar
write checks and balance a budget
on sunday mornings
hate cats, never vote or testify in court
i went swimming yesterday
laid down in thatched grass, alone
don't smoke anymore
quit drinking too
don't own a boat
time moves so fast
i cook, sometimes with wine
friends seldom visit
i stand on the balcony, naked
my house is quiet
except when it isn't
and jazz floods the kitchen
i dance through the hallway
with an invisible lover
and she drifts silently away
uninterested in my melancholy poem
as i slosh sweetened tea on my bare chest
i hang on
she hangs up

Her eyes are bluer than the open sea.
The smile is like the sunset on this earth.
And the sight it blinds my eyes for, I see
The gentleness if her is from birth.

But soft was that of her quell lips on mine.
With the twinkle in her eyes was a flash.
Yet the taste in her mouth was that sweet wine.
With her nice and strong legs she runs a dash.

The amorous way she feels for I,
Is the same way I feel of her, I do.
I'll get her stuff in a blink of an eye,
Like to get her favorite food oh stew.

Although we love each other, it will last.
Dear lord I just hope it will be a blast.

Crazy, times moving too fast
not enough time to know about anything
before that anything becomes something
that's already passed.

Don't forget your coat,
don't forget to write home,
don't forget about me.

Holidays wicked holidays
filled with fire and days gone by.
Days you can't help but remember,
days you count the days until its return again .

Holidays act as a place in time
you wish you can live again.
Again like the memories that flash,
the smiles we wore and the wine.
The sweet summer wine.

Some only remember what the wine
hasn't already wiped away.

Celebrate with me this one day
that we all remember.
All the days after this are but a break in time.

Time that's taking all the good you had in you
and all the days spent chasing a little bit
of my yesterdays.
Until my yesterdays are too forgotten.

Another holiday approaches and
we prepare to do it all over again.

You're the needle ***** to our contraception
your seed swims sick through tunnel vision
you contradict your contradictions
direct your horses to Gallup opinion

Take a sip from your golden chalice
you've poisoned our wine with Iocane powders
your time ticks of Lyme diseased malice
fictitious fortunes, SEC counts the hours

Oh Lord I pray this won't sleep off
Oh Lord I pray this won't sleep off
For You

Under the pine trees, we'd lie in the shade and make up excuses for why we couldn't return home.

It isn't safe there, spend the night with me and confess that I'm aging like wine and not withering and rotting away.

Take me to your childhood home with your hidden retreat where you feed the ducks, gazing contently into the water and not thinking of the stepfather who with his meatlike hands would drown you beneath the lake's serenity.

Just don't leave me here like I know you're destined to –
As social convention says you should,
As I now in reflection know you will, and always must.

I've been writing for what seems like forever about you.
In different ways I've been severed angry.
In manic ways I've been crazy for you.
I've cried over you, I've cried for you, I've cried beneath you.
I've been the weight under your thumb and the force that guides your arms.
I've held you and I've written about that in a thousand different ways.
When you've been too heavy and when you wouldn't let me
put my arms around you long enough for you to realize
that I'm here and I'm tired of saying it-
I've already written it down.  
It's been six years but it feels like forever.
It feels like I've said all I can say, but I'm not done speaking.
I'm not done yelling and I'm not done writing.

But there's only so many poetic ways to call you an *******.
There's only so many more nights
that I have you around close enough to feel you
and that's what I like to write about.
How I feel you.

You'll be gone soon and I haven't decided how to deal with that yet.
I just write about it because in some twisted ******* way I think that will fix it.
You're going away, but I won't tell you I miss you.
I'm not going to tell you that even if you beg me to say it.
Because that will make me weak and I need to learn
to be strong without you.

So when you get on your plane I won't be crying in the terminal.
I won't even make it to the airport actually,
because you don't want me there and I don't want to see you hate me
as the last sight of you before you go.
I'll be at home and when the clock strikes 6:45 I'll know you're leaving.
I know you'll be gone.
Then I'll crack open a bottle of red wine even though it's too early in the morning.
I'll sit on my couch and watch the sun come up without your existence,
pull out a pen and paper and write through you.
Write right black through you until the day has ended
which will feel like forever.
Forever, I'll write again.

Though in Prime Moment the Truth we discuss
The Third Great Angel flew to Intercede,
Playing her Harp which enwrangles the Lust
And gently reveal the Beauty-in-Thee
Yes, that Truest Virtue which no Malice accords
On Serving Patience a Letter was read
No more, no more for Condensation's Words
Are just enough to leave these Germs for dead
Not much for Command of Good English proposed
Was starting to tassle the Rumours and Wine
But such as you are yet too Young to dispose
A Lady's demanding Shell you design.
Pray take, this Harper knows how to direct
The Vitruvian Boy, waving for your Affect.

And I built shrines in my eyes to you
to mourn what I never had but still held onto.
Dove into an ocean of profound blue
only to come out still nothing anew.
I look out at fig trees
ponder like the Greek’s great Socrates
question my disease,
the words I can’t release.
My life spinning all around him
orbitals of light grown dim.
Through space you cannot swim
from the sins you have been condemned.
If I am mad as they say
how do I still walk the driveway?
Worship on the Lord’s day;
get down on my knees and pray?

Faithful I am, still, to the life I have lived
however disguised.
Loving, as I will when all has died.
Everything you’ve seen is advertised,
a movie set in frames
the tape up in flames.
How tired she is of playing your games,
mouths running to blame.
Me? I am just fine.
Owing it all to bottles on bottles of sparkling wine,
to you and your redesigned
view of the dividing line.

If you wake a girl from her dreams
the gentle chug of a mind’s machine
will it break down, by all means?
It’s better to let her softly scream.
Than distract from the will of inspiration,
of art and death's flirtation.
Continue the persisting narration
speak her mind, give it standing ovations!

"I LOVE LOVE!" She shouted, speaking to herself in third person.
It was then that she seemed to float away
A balloon on Macy's Day.

It seemed I was the only one orbiting earth,
watching those performances of daily life applauding
for a well-flipped omelet a superbly
fitted glove a full tank of gas at $4.00.
I couldn't believe my luck

Terrestrially, there were husks sipping coffee
and rasping and rustling at each other
desiccated.
Privately, she was buying real estate on the moon
I LOVE LOVE! she shouted
Dancing like an egg on a spray of water
a declassified military satellite who through some dumb luck
had escaped the pull of gravity and won
Marveling at the moon rock
on her finger, even a stubbed toe just seemed
like the ideal opportunity for extorting kisses.
And it glinted in the light.
Everything was fine.

Down on earth it seemed all the wine drinkers
were toasting to us cheering as we terra formed
the moon. *We couldn't believe our luck
as we rolled back our stone.

As I sit by this candle with a glass of wine
I look through the window and into the dark
few flickering street lights, stars high above
I am out there with them I am loosing my calm
so tired and sleepless
thoughts run wild through my mind
and their screams so violent and loud
like if I torture them by not letting them out
I feel them scratching on the inside of my skull
and I know if they could they would rip it apart
and I would let them!
but all I can do is sigh
mumble uncontrollably words I barely recognize
there is a horrible gap between my whispers and their cries
the voice is not enough
give me a pen, a piano, a brush
let me silence the storms inside my mind
let me write it all down, with my soul and my blood.

Spring blossom as old willow rejuvenate.
Our cup of wine has wilt since last autumn,
leaving behind only dried wine-cup.
Old feathered red moon grazed past fog,
I sat by the cold dreary stone.
Like last summer, I held a wine-cup in hand.
Kneeled, a splatter of bitter taste splash your grave,
I still remember our vow last autumn.
The two cup were filled last autumn,
this spring, I can only pour one.

Make love to me
like you drink wine
savoring pauses
between our heartbeats
that we may love longer
enjoying . . . prolonging
ceremonial moments
swirling in our glass
live me . . . love me
in delightful sips
let me linger
upon your lips
as though all of our time
were just one bottle . . . of wine

dv 12.14.2014

Place: Balcony, Home
Time: 6am

Its a busy neighborhood. Everyone is carrying on their lives, some jogging around, buses hooting, busy people heading to work. Important stuff you know.
But Leila, without feeling contrite, holds her last glass of wine, its almost done. Am sure she lost count after her first glass. She was up by the first bird, way before the darkest of the hours. It looks chilly but she was on nothing but The t shirt, her favourite one with the words printed DEVOUR ME IF YOU DARE. Her nerves somehow went numb a while back, the only part that seemed to play its role in her system was her brain.

Why was she out here?
See, she didnt don't know.
But last thing she remember, she was on their couch. She'd  just prepared dinner waiting on her person to come. It had been a rough three weeks, but she was willing to try you know.


The door bell rang, and she rushed to open to welcome "bae", atleast take the coat or scarf...it was always warm but this time.

She was met a flying bag on her face that sent her sprawling on the coffee table. At that point you'd ask what went through her mind? NOTHING.
She just lay there, like a paralysis spell was cast on her.
"You will know who I am today" "bae" said

"...Wh..."she stuttered ...no word could come out of her mouth.

The worst thing ever is to be caught off guard by a situation and your defense knowledge shuts down with your brain. No  ***** at that point is willing to co-ordinate with the other body part to defend itself. You are just a log for a moment.

"So now you just hop into people's cars when you leave the house in the morning" "bae" screamt as the heaviest slap ever received, landed on Leila's face.
It got all echo-ey...she placed both her hands on her face as blows rained on her till she finally  managed to push "bae" away and try run out the house, it was locked.

She couldn't scream, this was the first time.

She hadn't  the slightest of ideas of what "bae" was talking about. She just held tightly onto the balcony bars.
For A second, she wanted to jump off. She wished to.

They lived at the 2nd floor, so it wasn't so far off the ground. She was pulled back and dropped to the floor  like some shoe.

She wailed for her mother who she hadn't seen in months.
She recalled wishing to live on the streets than the torture she went through that night.
One side of her face, let's say would need a tone of concealer the following morning when she went to work,because that morning, she had to call in sick. I mean, she couldn't use the "yeah right" statement of "I hit a window or door", c'mon, who you kidding sis!

So she left at night while "bae was asleep. That was after she cried a river plus all its tributaries and "bae" felt "remorse" of some sort, held her and begged her to stop crying offering to hold her through the night, but fell asleep barely 10 minutes after.

Leila crept outside the house at our balcony, with the bottle of wine that she had bought for them to have the previous night and decided to numb her pain by drowning myself in it.
She couldn't account for the hours she stayed out in the dark and the cold and getting drunk at the balcony...but the darkness felt like comfort...at that point heaven, the cold floor was her street of gold.


...This, was the first time.

©TheUnspoken

Get in a last word, since silence is golden,
then in the end all that is spoken
betrays the honest truths
the value of sharing a meal
sustenance to feel
fulfilled, now that talk is cheap...

Be more profound to take me aback
like a gust of wind through hallowed doors
to the hollows of burial and sage and prayers
where subservience of love
denies the body of its flesh
to please the ephemeral ghosts...

yes, tell me how deep your adoration's lashes
if all the deserts we've traversed
meant as much as the time of my worth
will it bleed--those words for me?
Are your words as bread or food
uplifting in the roots of you?

I am no shepherd nor are you a herd of sheep,
a flock unable to fly without a mind to think
I am just another king like  any like you
the last word at the rabble
a dying flame from the candles drinking wine,
beneath the sky of olives and infinite eyes
here with the stain of un-seeing
in search for a well that will not dry
for a familiar day of kind of rain...

Tell me what's a good word without one
made   by ****** hand of man,
one that is like music / laughter
a celebration's feast
teach me instead,

and please don't preach...

What worth is made when words are bade
like a trader of slaves to whom he's paid,
or a master in his own house at a maid?
Such business is moot in its absolutes,
                 a kiss on the cheek without a word
multiplicitious and astute
obvious in the eyes of company kept
                  brother in the dark I heard wept

A tree in shadows hangs the rotten fruit

Ananke
dangles like most words must do
from the mouth must taste as dung
often done -- invisible daggers to the heart
untruths
then less and less of brotherly caress

nor some kind of familiar can be found
no infinite wonder

the one and only one

You,
whom I have been
preparing to be made new,
to wake from the pain of this blister
these mirages we hunger and run to,
don't speak what I want to know
I already have seen the final show
and words are only words
unheard by the deaf heavens
selective with their ears to cherubs glee
what is found when the One above
or any of the many stars that see
our globe in desert blizzards,

ill regard as plenty as snow
nothing of the kind, or good in kind,
what word equals

the image of everlasting
Oh
just a sip ...?

There are only so many words
in a universe of infinite light
language can be made like jars of clay

simple like breaking (of hearts and day)

if eyes were speaking through our tears
how loud must we shout "Love"
before there's nothing that's enough
to keep us thusly
home not just merely
an EYE to clear / and still, I am
with you                                         here.

Push away the old world words
that once poured into my cup,
I want home to be as heaven is esteemed
take this cup away from me
blood of transcendant poetry...

Waves of anger,
Course through enraged veins,
Eyes spotted with crimson stains,
Incensed, she boils over;

Mother makes her mad,
Says things she hates,
Treats her lesser than her mates,
And plays the nagging card;

Sometimes she wonders,
If she sprung from this root,
She seeks the truth,
Day and night, she ponders;

So mother brings wine,
Stretches the crystal, tall glass,
With a smile, she makes the pass,
Then all, again, is pleasant and fine;

Deep down inside,
She knows,
Love flows,
And with this she weathers the tide.

I'll find the answer I'm looking for at the bottom of an empty wine glass. So I'll name this story;

THE BOTTOMLESS SIP

Don't justify your angst
Towards her with social stigma
The cropped top
And the bare brassiere strap
Wasn't for your pleasure and judiciary
It was a hot
And sweaty day man
And she knew I'd swing by tonight
Now listen here Layla
I know you work behind the bar
With another man
And I see how you feel
When his eyes tussle
With another woman's hide
Just like the other day
When you kept chasing my stare
And always seeming short
Because I knew
It was your turn to pry
I don't want to pick you up
Working behind the bar
Like every fool from afar
I've got something planned for us
But first I need to see
Where your commitment lies
You got a man at home
Waiting up and hopefully alone
I just need you
To give up on childish love
If you gonna look my way
Like an innocent dove
Take my hand
And lets make amends for lost time
But if you're serious
About the father of your child
Marry him forget me
And make more of your kind

January 1st

Dear diary!  It is my fondest
Wish to record all of life's
Little events so that someone
Might one day re-live the
Magical moments of my life!

February 5th

Spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.
Had an early night.

August 14th

What an enchanting evening!
I met the most beautiful woman,
Tall and elegant,
Long dark flowing hair,
Ruby red lips,
Oh how wonderful life is!
Her name is Sally!!!

August 16th

Sally came over for dinner!
She seemed a bit nervous until
I invited her in and then we
Danced through the evening,
How delightful she is,
And dare I say how ***** too!
As we were kissing goodnight,
She bit me!

August 17th

Woke up feeling terrible,
How much wine did we drink
Last night?  Wrapped myself
Up in blankets and closed all
The curtains, weather outside
Is abominable.

August 18th

Awoke in the early hours
Feeling ravenous.  How can
Anyone feel this hungry?
Raided the fridge but all
I could find was some
Stringy salad, nothing to
Sink my teeth into.

August 19th

I feel so ill, haven't eaten
Properly in days, I think that
I'm wasting away; Looked in
The mirror and I couldn't
Even see myself, I'm that thin!
I wish Sally was here right now.

August 20th

This hunger is unbearable,
I could ****** for some food,
My skin is looking so pale
And I feel dreadful; God I
Wish I was dead.  I've been
Having weird dreams
About Sally, I think I've
Been hallucinating.

August 22nd

Roused from slumber by
Someone banging on the front
Door; Peeped round the curtains
And the light almost burnt
My retinas;  Looked like some
Doctor collecting for the
Red Cross.  I waited a while
And he drove off in his van.

August 23rd

Tonight I reached my limit;
Dragged myself to the car,
Hoping to nip to McDonald's
(Yeah, I'm THAT hungry), but
In this atrocious weather,
I was blind as a bat.

August 24th*

Doctor van dude came back,
Couldn't face seeing him
So shouted through the
Letterbox, asked him to
Come back with a big steak,
I do so hope he does.

... diary entries end ...

work tripping #3 in 6 weeks
it's good they're investing in me
but it makes me feel
like I owe them things
and I probably do
it suffocates my anxiety
makes me consider a brisk walk
over the sill in 331 onto the Tarmac
in this quaintish Kentucky town
I've seen all 3 hours of but 100% know
it reeks of Igottagetthefuckout
homesick not for my home
but for beings and places that feel
like I don't need an escape route
or have to shove my thoughts down
and pull a thing out that isn't myself
I find myself going in the bathroom
at my parents house just to get away
because I can't engage with them
for long without alcohol to fuzzy
the thoughts I don't want to think
the feelings I'd rather disown
my dad buys too much wine
and I am so good at drinking it
I'm never alone enough
and when I am I just stare
into thoughts that go circular
everywhere and nowhere
it's all I want - to be alone and still
with nothing to do for days on end
no one to feed or bathe or need things
but wallow free in my lethargy and
get to all those dots on the ceiling
and not have to pretend anything
I have so many things I wanna do
but am lacking the proper thing
that propels things and does
the motion and I've gotten good
at doing the minimum but
I wanna be Onnit like Joe Rogan
but feel I can't afford that ****
though maybe I should rethink that...
and you know, I should be thrilled -
I got a free upgrade - a 2-BR suite
almost as big as my apartment
but it makes me feel guilty
for all the days I can't focus
because the ache inside wants things -
attention mostly, and just to cry
and sit and do nothing you know
I'm always half-assing even though
I'm terrible at half-assing things
because I either want to do it full-tilt
or not at all, so basically
I even half-*** my half-assing
so it's really more like a 1/4-assing
that wishes it were zero-assing
and I'm pretty sure I'm even
half-assing my lethargy
trying to sort out the other half of ****
I'm not focusing on when I should be
I always have these fantasies
of how I'll be in a hotel alone -
sipping wine in a bubbly tub
pampering myself, feeling sparkly
but I always end up feeling
so
alone
in unfamiliar cookie cutter hole
wasting hours on godknowswhat
with nothing to show for it
except some ****** poetry
or whatever this genre of ***** is
but the little white rectangle light
makes me feel not so alone
and expectorating the thoughts
into somewhere else -
my little RGB bottle in digital sea -
and knowing that maybe
others who long to be alone
just so they can wallow
in wretched unprocessed feelings
and be utterly ******* useless
aren't alone in wanting that

tonight I'll lie to myself
pretend you're across the living room
with the abrasive polyester couch
probably switching back and forth
between the two beds doing
whatever it is that you do
when you lock yourself down inside
and I'll ignore the screaming children
who must each weigh 300 lbs
running SWAT drills down the hall
and just imagine you're close enough
to be almost here
with me

and we're somewhere near
being whatever we are
or are not
and it's all OK because
we don't have to pretend
or half-*** anything
or devise an escape

we could play Marco Polo
even if no one ever wins
we can just keep role-switching
but I could hear your voice
and your pace pacing inside you
and be there close by just in case
you wanted to peek out
and chuck your shoe at my door
just for fun or maybe because
my nothing's too ******* loud

imagining you'd be OK with that -
doing proto-Wolverine impressions
or whatever ridiculous, wild, quirky
or boring, stupid, pissy things
you do when you're strapped up
in your own mechanical devices
in the space across the way -

it stretches my ribs a little
makes them want to be ready
to crack open
for good

Conversing lover's tongue - I may neglect
to discourse plainly love, beheld and true
as noted oft; when sultry day's effect
and wine that doused your play could not outdo.

Bereft none, ardent lust transcends accent
if measure need be - time my other speech;
the pash upon your jewel I've descent,
until in tone you've pled for deeper breach.

If still unwise - let know I've curbed cascades
tho' early tidal swells have raised herein
it's flow are liquid signs that love pervades!
That then have gushed to honor you therein.

So swim my words of love within your womb
and find that home, so say my love in bloom.

feet on the desk,
pen on the paper,
deep in thought?
sincerity tapers.
quick to falter,
ignore deceit,
back between foreign sheets.

wondering;
was it wine or blood that filled her head,
when burgundy stained the paper red?
image fading,
done persuading,
*did you kiss the wrong boy again?

Often passion is drawn out of the earth
Through the feet and it radiates upwards
Through the body, tracing the limbs
Finally it bottles at the neck,
Never making it to the head
Where it can be reasoned with

Taking out our corkscrews
We pop the bottles and
Drink in the ecstasy
Like wine

Day of tomorrow sparks the love
day is the channel
comes once a year

why does it have to be the one year
why not every day

love is devotion the person you love
creation of hope and dignity

seeing the beauty of your
woman
or
your man

giving a love is receiving both ways
why does it have to be
just a love for a woman

why not express to a man as well
for it's 50%
of both

love is forever more
can you be mine if tomorrow brings
flowers of chocolates
roses beloved the love our two people

knowing what a perfect day it is
love is everywhere
love of Faith
love of the person your with

tomorrow brings the world of a moment
let the hearts begin
when does it start

dinner for two
a love card given

personal quote of a note
meant by you

showing the eye's of love
when do we start

love is holding the one you married
love is the way you express your feelings out

to see the day through

Valentine's should come every day
for the meaning of the pride
of
marriage
endure each couple who they are
not what they are

memories are there for a reason
flowers chocolates little gifts are great

is that the meaning
of
Valentine's Day

Day of tomorrow sparks the love
of
love
kiss
showing the one you love
is sending
moment of wine and dine
make it last
for the desserts are waiting

at home
to engage the ending of tomorrow

Happy Valentine's Day
too all
in the world of love

Policies defined by the police, homosexuality, corruption by employees. Abuse of the pharmacy - Mom comes from ****** and demons of Azaz. This is the city that the dogs of Moab **** and the land; The accessories are security tools for terrorism. Homosexuality, to the doctor's particular conviction. After the outbreak of the Alhambra. The symptoms of the disease are established and paralysis begins. There are also changes in the city. Female mafia and other ******. Backup copies are protected. Such homosexuality, security device. Emergency options, algebra licenses, favorite editions, Moab city records. Local configurations to protect these devices. The dangers of homosexuality are important. Military circles won: after the wars. In the environment, cancel it. Other Country Country Country Morcha ***** and countries Country Suspicious patterns. Police, employees, prostitutes, merchants, depression, night, the devil says that wine is a city; Average gay, prostitution, prostitution and country. More security improvements. The police of this device protected the fear of homosexuality, the weakness of the faith; hospitals; The post-traumatic problems of the destruction of the devil by the Algerians. Positive changes in the cities ****** and visitors. Young mafia couple. ******* and country The police stopped to ask questions about the police. The danger of decadence, homosexuality, depends on the disease; Common drugs Post-traumatic and air-conditioned problems. Algebra, the evolution of the *******. friends and repairs; Mafia area. Country of prostitution and ******; Additional benefits for the police, homosexuality, veterans protection. Impact drugs after the alsemeera. Satanism after the event. Change of disabled and rebuilt city. Fornicadoresputo and adulterers; The police killed the police, more security. these drugs, corruption, psychology; Alzeihmer is a problem of post-traumatic Satanism. Gypsy Depression The intriguing private attraction that attracts gypsies is like two blind gypsy guards who seek the best possible entertainment in the future. The foundations of the mafia, other police and security forces. Applications, terrorism, homosexuality, faith. Hospitals after his death,
The Alhambra had withdrawn from the brothers.
Prostitution and violence have changed.
Who and the changes in the city. queen
of the Mafia, health and the land; Next device.
Police wish these catastrophic, catastrophic
protections, Homosexuality, security. *******:
Emergency situations, algebra, change.
Pants and communication of municipal
books. Tips - The spaces of prostitution.
****** and Moabitas in the front coverage
For diseases and the guards of prostitutes.
So Danger the dangers of homosexuality.
they are motivated by corruption; The illness
Hospital, parasites, other directed products.
Employment Women and the gods.
of Mordecai. For the moment, we propose.
The next source. Of services, homosexuality,
Due to corruption to the harmful effects
of Come. Of the ****** of Azaz and the
demons. This is the city where Moab
is located. Love with the ground and other
policemen are lost. Improvements, security
tools for homosexuality. Of the terrorists,
a condemnation especially to the doctor.
After the beginning of the Alhambra the
relationship between the rooster ***** and
paralysis. Start With changes in the city.
Mafia female and other copy. The security zones
are protected Such A device of the security
of homosexuality. Emergency license options,
algebraic acceptance. The change that is changing
in the city - Moab. It is cut for the protection
of these devices. The dangers of homosexuality
They are important. The victories won:
after the effects Environmental drinks, revoke.
Another city of Morcha and his suspicious
Country Blood, ******, Cars, and more.

At least the coffee's hot and understands me
unlike today that just backhands me,

Is it too early for a glass of wine?

My life gets stuck on tic tac toe
a no win, no win, no point to go
on, but
I go on because
I'm an awkward cuss.

I saw the universe come to a stop,
but it started up again

( explain that one Brian ***. )

Should I, should I not have another
from the coffee ***?

I'm watching clouds break up
a bit like lovers do,
slowly disentangling,

to
be alone
to be at home
with oneself.

I need to, want to, got to,
soon.

Let's celebrate
underneath those arches
where our dreams
dreamed with the
Moon.

Friday clicks the switch
Rik says,
" Robinson, You're such a ***** "
I
mention jam
which is what I feel I'm in.
but
It'll pass, immortalised or
turn to gas
either way
Friday
is here until midnight.