and noticing that much
is enough to remind me that
all of this only amounts
to meteoric chances and happenstances,
so even the worst of it will come to its end—
and maybe that just has to do
with the optimistic sap in me.

But even then, you greet me
“Good morning,” and I hear you,
and you sound like you're of the Sun
touching through the barricades of Woodbury,
where the undead ******* can't touch us.

And you buffer the cold of the wind
and the wet of the rain
when the kindling is too soaked
to start a fire big enough
to counter the draft
coming from under the doors,
or dry our jackets by the fireplace.

Which probably sounds like naivety,
but even after Woodbury rots from the inside out,
and we lose the car and our last can of beets
somewhere during our escape, and the rest of the way,
we're joking about the way things were
before they got worse, while hypothesizing
about the fall of man, epidemics and expiration dates
to forget the endless hills aching our feet, I could tell you:

“Sure, I mean, there are ten-thousand ways
the world can go to **** (and it probably has,)
and I might not live to one-hundred-three,
but if the world's gonna burn on me now,
it's always better watching with you.”

I wear a pair of sizzling onion rings while I eat eye glasses, I sucker
punch a punch-drunk, who's the drunkest *** amongst punchy *****
I caught a flea on chihuahua Chico's leg & put it on his tail because
dog-meat in pickle brine can be marinated with the flesh of a whale

~ May fourth, 2005
wedded bliss nearly fifty years
half a century almost
me not most favorite grown offspring,
she (when alive) did boast,
about youngest sister and her family,
unlike me – severely socially withdrawn
a veritable wallflower
as a result, I suffered emotional contusions.

When thru life yours truly did
nervously, frightfully, blisteringly coast,
nevertheless her spirit dwells
within wonky tonk prodigal host
crafted in the following poem he doth post
holding tumblr full of favorite brew
probiotic kombucha drink
to thee mother dearest
foregone fading memories
your long haired heir does toast.

Often these days,
the following genuine sentiment
Matthew Scott Harris
doth wish to share
how one and only son,
remembers his mother
cuz about eighteen years
after she succumbed
courtesy of terminal illness
he trots out and updates yearly
a poem initially crafted
when she passed away.

I still reckon eyes how yours truly
analogous to the fountainhead  
of Atlas shrugged off,
whose fanciful essence coalesced
immensely helped  sired,
and yelped ****** ******
when ******* ***** in heat whelped  
at what human biology wrought
doggone muttering schlep
despite being nurtured,

proffered, and registered
tender loving care
within whose womb,
a mature haploid female cell
experienced fertilization courtesy
complimentary male haploid *****
underwent fertilization yielding
zygote thru mother nature's gestation
this sole male offspring born,
thus subsequently after her demise,
yours truly shouldered himself with self scorn.

He clearly recounts
when she felt the scythe of the grim reaper
as if her death occurred yesterday...,
when all mine troubles
(emotional, financial, and physical)
moost definitely
no more farther away
then present moment.

Tempus fugit popular worded couplet
brings Latin alive with succinct precision
or imagine an hourglass
where fine granules
analogous to last remaining
grains representing sands of time
trickle from one to another
(upper to lower) bulbed chamber.

Just prior when coroner decreed death,
yet once in a lifetime opportunity prevailed,
wherein said self (me) chose
NOT to stand vigil at deathbed
(analogous to sitting Shiva)
of she who begat
an older and younger daughter
(mine sibling sisters).

Last breath(s) expelled while mama
tethered to machines,
one or more helped diminish
agonizing, depressing, and writhing
pain and discomfort
figuratively and literally
wracked and pinioned once fitness
and health conscious, flirtatious
industrious, tenacious, and vivacious body,
dinged, harangued, peppered
nefarious carcinoma by dint of
common atomic beastie boy
among certain Semitic people
linkedin to presumptuous inbreeding.

According to google search
frequency of breast, ovarian,
and uterine cancer among Ashkenazi
elicited revelatory statistic
1% of all Ashkenazi Jews
living today inherited
a defective copy of one
of their BRCA2 genes.

Unbeknownst to them,
these carriers of BRCA2 mutation
at increased risk for developing
breast, ovarian, prostate
and pancreatic cancer.

Indomitable esprit de corps
eradicated courtesy regimen of
chemotherapy and radiation,
which latter malignant terminal illness
(no joke) riddled a former robust
Arthur Murray ballroom dance instructor
(think approximately sixty nine years past),
whose coy and coquettish demeanor
instantaneously caught fancy of handsome
twenty something papa at his prime.

Before rigor mortis quickly
stole precious lifeblood, and
final minutes ticked away until
countdown to... realm
of absent consciousness
scant moments before subtle transition
slipped our beloved mother
out of misery (a veritable battleground)
where she did silently rage into deadzone...,
neither final adieu, caress, grief...,

nor poem written...
never communicated to deceased,
not an iota of sorrowful lament
bequeathed, prevailed, relinquished...
over lifeless body (mommy dearest)
relegated limp suddenly
cold stone pilot less body,
where morgue aged corpse
kept in cold storage
(despite aversion to frigid air
exhibited when mama alive)
preparatory to cremation process.

Rather... suppressed resentment
exhibited itself at 1148 Greentree Lane
(partially listed abode -
Matthew Scott Harris,
where family of mine then resided)
by mister recalcitrant,
felt ambivalent carte blanche blasé affection
regarding once young bride,
(who metaphorically
smothered cingular heir insync
with dada i.e. Boyce Brandon Harris),

cuz he (yours truly) overstayed
livingsocial under same roof as parents,
which happenstance situated
at me boyhood home
once located upon
six plus wooded acres;
324 Level Road
constituted the whittled down
once sprawling Leiper Estate,
which encompassed about
one hundred plus acre wood
home to Winnie the Pooh.

Both thee aforementioned
supposed biological guardians
railed, screamed, tormented
(albeit verbally traumatized)
yours truly, upon attaining
mine eighteenth birthday,
when great expectations
greatly exacerbating
emotionally hard times,
which ill suited poet de jure
experienced, brickbats rained

akin to fountainhead spewing
painful pelting piercing
poisonously pummelling (python like
hashtagged with moniker Monty)
down upon these
considerably mooch younger lovely bones,
whose anger (mine) smoldered
linkedin to constant epithets of expletives
out the mouths of those who begat me,
subsequently their livid with rage
tsunami festered within me
every holy moly molecule.

Mine atomized corporeal being
manifesting itself as deprivation
to embrace dear mama
attended at hospital with
both my non twisted sisters;
one hailed from Woodbury, New Jersey
and the younger staked out
modest digs within Bend, Oregon,
meanwhile thee grim reaper
did patiently soon scythe
heading back to his old curiosity shop,
a rather bleak house, I now conclude.

December first nineteen fifty nine and
December first two thousand twenty three
represents sixty six orbitz
one prized Earthling
named Amélie Beth Harris-McGeehan
completed round the sun.

About half her life linkedin
with spousal enrichment,
(while hunkered down livingsocial
in Woodbury, New Jersey),
hence the hyphenated married name.

Though said endearing eldest sister
approximately thirteen plus months my senior,
ofttimes during mein kampf,
she displayed maternal (motherly) mien.

Back during mine boyhood
dark shadows along the edge of night
(emanating from outer limits
of the twilight zone)
spooked me to flinch
as did appearance
of the boogeyman induce affright
only exacerbated my delicate mental health
punctuated psyche of mine
with disequilibrium ******-social blight
above named sibling a protector I cite
twilled me in the valley

of love and delight,
an emotional refuge rescued sought
deliverance from anguish
loving succor proffered
peace upon mine body, mind, and soul,
she did immediately expedite
warming cockles of me heart
analogous to affecting, creating,
forging, jumpstarting, offering, and ushering
ideal paradise island temperature
if measured by degrees balmy fahrenheit
pointing, revealing, shining,

and training a guiding-light
unafraid to defend diminutive
docile, inordinately meek brother,
when threatened courtesy bullies
that significantly towered over mine
below average stature height
a measly little skinny, yet zany
(when within comfort of home) lad
naively oblivious to our mother,
when her first born daughter dynamic,
especially smoldering contention
kindled figurative tinder, which squabble

escalated in intensity
sparking vehement feud to ignite
loosing volatile verbal exchange
triggering The Emergency Alert System
to issue warning
lest clear and present danger
(at 324 Level Road)
recorded in history books
licking, overshadowing, rivaling,
and undermining revolution
kickstarted and hashtagged as Jacobite.

Poetic license I employ
to match inventive
wisdom and witticism
regarding (brother in law of mine
husband of eldest sister of same)
interspersing, initiating, incorporating
fabrication whenever possible,
and only the subject himself
can discern fact from fiction
and get a chuckle.

Re: noun polymath
and longtime resident
of Woodbury, New Jersey
story of his life
constitutes real cinéma vérité
depicting veteran jack of all trades,
and adept Morris dancer to boot,
whereby ankles donned with bells
while whistles fell from the house of usher
crowded house Aesop Poe's  

his rubbery shapely legs
bending vaguely resembling an oxbow
amazingly gracefully they meander,
when sharing an anecdote
then listener amply electrified
attired courtesy with rapt attention
donning brooks brothers
complimentary wardrobe
courtesy Durand thrift store,
and/or popular Goodwill

(though prices noticeably
steeper at the latter),
where he donates
and buys tools, tchotchkes,
gizmos, gadgets, clothes, and books
tests intricacy, viability of instruments,
lounges, couches and countenances
against being Lazy Boy,
nevertheless irresistibly shifting into supineness
around cozy davenports,

and to ease sofa ring takes doze
on comfortable recliner,
while engrossed reading
suddenly striking sitting inquisitive posture
(pedic) as revolutionary
humanoid lifelike mannequin
free advertising to expose
how Chat Generative
Pre-trained Transformer

(a large language model-based chatbot
developed by OpenAI
and launched on November 30, 2022,
which enables users to refine
and steer a conversation towards
a desired length, format, style,
level of detail, and language -
oh... and for your information
Monty the Python wrote these words)
suddenly artificial intelligence frozen

out and rendered obsolete
**** sapiens thinking prowess
as well as relevance of human species
grows undermined, overshadowed, enslaved,
et cetera, where twenty first
sentient beings of civilization
reduced to beasts of burden
scattered to all four winds
analogous to rolling stones
simians scraping the earth

using fingers as hoes
eventually survival of the fittest
evolution did impose
steely phalanges (the bones
that make up the toes
of the hand and the fingers
of the foot - ha) on common joe's
biden their time scaling Kilimanjaro's
three volcanic cones:
Kibo, Mawenzi, and Shira

keenly synchronized
trained scientific seismographs
linkedin with their sensory perceptions
helped maintain honed vigilance
former killer foo fighting goo goo dolls
rendered physiques tight as longbows
(actually stunt doubles
weathering bubbling lava mudflows)
amazing special effects witnessed
each spectacular rivaling, towering inferno

metamorphosing into jolly green
(rather orange) giant blob with green thumb
clowning around with FAKE bulbous nose,
indiscriminately spewing forth
liquid bedrock that quickly overthrows
entire bygone webbed wide world
swallowing prized archaeologically
ancient Egyptian and classic Roman civilizations,
where Nero played a mean fiddle
liquidating treasured chests of pharaohs

heaving, melting, repurposing sphinx
in accordance with pyramid scheme
Ponzi scam would long since crumble
and degenerate like house of cards
attesting to fraudulent
***** deeds done dirt cheap
composition and never hold a match against
pure clean fracturing conchoidal quartzose,
one divine comedy troupe rose
above the global liquefaction

affected climate change,
whereat the sheltering sky
offered no escape nor protection
against preternatural edge of night
as dark shadows
encapsulated outer limits
of the twilight zone
quickly extinguishing existence
of **** sapiens planet earth reconstituted
and seeds of life and white lily
omnipotent creator did transpose.

Act chilly
and bass sic hilly
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
completing number seventy five
orbitz, and after ye dip and dive
for another quarter century
(of course still attending
Cherry Hill Unitarian Church)
ye will be fêted oldest member
and maybe the oldest one alive.

Often these days
(early May 2021)
the following genuine sentiment
Matthew Scott Harris
doth wish to share one son,
cuz seventeen years after mother succumbed
courtesy of terminal illness.

I still reckon how yours truly
shrugged off proffering
tender loving care
when grim reaper in close proximity
to mama supine and nearly lifeless
within whose womb,
this sole son born,
thus shouldered with self scorn.

He clearly recounts
as if her death occurred yesterday...,
(when all mine troubles
moost definitely not far away)
last remaining grains sands of time.

Imagine an hourglass
where fine granules
trickle from one to another
(upper to lower) bulbed chamber
just prior when coroner decrees death,
yet an opportunity prevailed

wherein said self (me) chose
NOT to stand vigil at deathbed
of she begat
an older and younger daughter
(mine sibling sisters).

Last breath(s) expelled while mama
tethered to machines,
(thwarting heroic measures)
one or more helped diminish
agonizing, depressing, and writhing
pain and discomfort
racked once fitness
and health conscious
industrious, tenacious, and vivacious body,

which malignant terminal illness
(no joke) riddled a former robust
Arthur Murray ballroom dance instructor
(think approximately seventy years past),
whose flirtatious demeanor
instantaneously caught fancy of handsome
twenty something papa at his prime.

Before rigor mortis quickly
stole precious lifeblood, and
final minutes ticked away until
countdown to... realm of absent consciousness
scant moments before subtle transition
slipped our beloved mother into deadzone...,
neither final adieu, caress, grief...,
nor poem written...
never communicated to deceased,

not an iota of sorrowful lament
bequeathed, prevailed, relinquished...
over lifeless body (mommy dearest)
relegated limp suddenly cold stone body,
where morgue aged corpse
kept in cold storage
(despite aversion to frigid air
exhibited by mama)
preparatory to cremation process.

Rather... suppressed resentment
exhibited itself at 1148 Greentree Lane
(partial listed abode -
Matthew Scott Harris,
plus his family resided)
by mister recalcitrant,
felt ambivalent carte blanche blasé affection

regarding once young bride,
(who smothered cingular heir insync
with dada i.e. Boyce Brandon Harris),
cuz he (yours truly overstayed
livingsocial under same roof as parents,
which happenstance situated at 324 Level Road.

Both thee aforementioned
supposed biological guardians
railed, screamed, tormented (albeit verbally)
yours truly, upon mine eighteenth birthday,
when great expectations greatly exacerbating

emotionally hard times,
which ill suited poet de jure
experienced, brickbats rained
down upon these
(considerably mooch younger) lovely bones
whose anger (mine) smoldered

linkedin to constant epithets of expletives
out the mouths of those who begat me,
subsequently their livid with rage
tsunami festered within every
holy (Molly Q. L.) molecule

within mine atomized corporeal being
manifesting itself as deprivation
to embrace dear mama
attended at hospital with
both non twisted sisters;
one hailed from Woodbury, New Jersey

and the younger staked out
modest home within Bend, Oregon,
meanwhile thee grim reaper
did patiently scythe soon
heading back to his old curiosity shop,
a rather bleak house housing our mutual friend,
I now conclude.

Often these days
(closing in on the eighth
anniversary of eighth orbit
around mister sun),
the following genuine sentiment
Matthew Scott Harris
doth wish to share
how one and only son,
remembers his mother
cuz about eighteen years
after mother succumbed
courtesy of terminal illness
he updates yearly a poem initially crafted
when she passed away.

I still reckon eyes how yours truly
analogous to Atlas -
shrugged off proffering
tender loving care
within whose womb,
one zygote underwent gestation
this sole male offspring born,
thus subsequently after her demise,
yours truly shouldered himself with self scorn.

He clearly recounts
as if her death occurred yesterday...,
when all mine troubles
(emotional, financial, and physical)
moost definitely
no more farther away
then present moment.

Tempus fugit popular worded couplet
or imagine an hourglass
where fine granules
analogous to last remaining
grains representing sands of time
trickle from one to another
(upper to lower) bulbed chamber
just prior when coroner decreed death,
yet an opportunity prevailed,

wherein said self (me) chose
NOT to stand vigil at deathbed
of she who begat
an older and younger daughter
(mine sibling sisters).

Last breath(s) expelled while mama
tethered to machines,
one or more helped diminish
agonizing, depressing, and writhing
pain and discomfort
figuratively and literally
wracked and pinioned once fitness
and health conscious, flirtatious
industrious, tenacious, and vivacious body,
dinged by a former carcinoma

eradicated courtesy regimen of
chemotherapy and radiation,
which latter malignant terminal illness
(no joke) riddled a former robust
Arthur Murray ballroom dance instructor
(think approximately sixty eight years past),
whose coy and coquettish demeanor
instantaneously caught fancy of handsome
twenty something papa at his prime.

Before rigor mortis quickly
stole precious lifeblood, and
final minutes ticked away until
countdown to... realm
of absent consciousness
scant moments before subtle transition
slipped our beloved mother
out of misery (a veritable battleground)
where she did silently rage into deadzone...,
neither final adieu, caress, grief...,
nor poem written...
never communicated to deceased,

not an iota of sorrowful lament
bequeathed, prevailed, relinquished...
over lifeless body (mommy dearest)
relegated limp suddenly cold stone body,
where morgue aged corpse
kept in cold storage
(despite aversion to frigid air
exhibited when mama alive)
preparatory to cremation process.

Rather... suppressed resentment
exhibited itself at 1148 Greentree Lane
(partial listed abode -
Matthew Scott Harris,
where family of mine then resided)
by mister recalcitrant,
felt ambivalent carte blanche blasé affection

regarding once young bride,
(who metaphorically
smothered cingular heir insync
with dada i.e. Boyce Brandon Harris),
cuz he (yours truly) overstayed
livingsocial under same roof as parents,
which happenstance situated
at me boyhood home
once located upon
six plus wooded acres;
324 Level Road
constituted the whittled down
once sprawling Leiper Estate,
which encompassed about
one hundred plus acre wood
home to Winnie the Pooh.

Both thee aforementioned
supposed biological guardians
railed, screamed, tormented
(albeit verbally traumatized)
yours truly, upon attaining
mine eighteenth birthday,
when great expectations greatly exacerbating

emotionally hard times,
which ill suited poet de jure
experienced, brickbats rained
akin to fountainhead spewing
painful pelting piercing
poisonous pummels
down upon these
(considerably mooch younger) lovely bones,
whose anger (mine) smoldered

linkedin to constant epithets of expletives
out the mouths of those who begat me,
subsequently their livid with rage
tsunami festered within me
every holy moly molecule.

Mine atomized corporeal being
manifesting itself as deprivation
to embrace dear mama
attended at hospital with
both my non twisted sisters;
one hailed from Woodbury, New Jersey

and the younger staked out
modest digs within Bend, Oregon,
meanwhile thee grim reaper
did patiently soon scythe
heading back to his old curiosity shop,
a rather bleak house, I now conclude.

No matter Tuesday, November 5, 2024
still one hundred and eight days away,
(thank you Julian Date Calendar -
FOR LEAP YEARS ONLY),
I believe a foregone conclusion
that Donald Trump will win
based on the pathetic debate performance
between Joseph Robinette Biden Junior,
and Donald John Trump
in tandem with the stellar performance
of the latter at the Republican National Convention,
which appeared to surpass great expectations,
a gut reaction, cuz I could not stomach watching
the main star and near future dictator.

I may view some or all of
The Democratic Convention
scheduled to be held August 19 to 22, 2024,
at the United Center in Chicago, Illinois,
and by tradition, because the Democratic Party
currently holds the White House,
said convention will be conducted
after the 2024 Republican National Convention,
which was held from July 15 to 18, 2024.
Nevertheless, yours truly
will not betray his political party loyalty
to cast his vote for the former named candidate
and simultaneously brace himself emotionally
drafting gofundme site with catchy slogan
and image showing tin cup hand
for sudden homelessness
of myself and the missus,
the result of social security disability,
AETNA ADVANTRA MEDICARE,
and Medicaid being axed, gutted, slashed, et cetera
as well as many other socially progressive programs
unless this gassy, generic, gifted, and goofy guy
experiences an unexpected windfall.

Actually... another alternative exists
videre licet despite the admission,
I don't really feel ready to die,
and the spouse would **** me
if she finds out one bumbling,
doodling, fiddling, hemming
and hawing, jump/kick starting wordsmith
would dare leave, whereby
she would lack
her figurative rock of Gibraltar.

The idea to emigrate to Canada,
or just drive until reaching north
of the border dividing line much
more appealing, but no family or
friends linkedin to my network,
nor, cuz this solitudinarian can
call on nobody except an elder
sister living in Woodbury, New
Jersey, or a younger sibling (a
veritable globe trotter), she and
her husband call Bend, Oregon
their mostly permanent residence.

Yeah, I attest to be all talk and no action
envisioning myself made of stouter stuff
with the help of powder milk biscuits,
which gave me the courage
to acquire superhuman powers
which allows, enables, and provide
a guise to bedazzle readers
with my brilliance.

No other particular marketable skill can I avail
long story short mental health issues sabotaged
healthy development of body, mind, and spirit
evinced with difficulty similarly as challenging
as blind double amputee person learning Braille
when segueing from childhood's end to adolescence
experiencing puberty found me
fraught with emotional travail
vivid remembrance of things past

taking piano lessons
at the house Missus Eva Youngblood,
where her daughter Barbara taught
courtesy John Thompson's
Modern Course for the Piano -
numerous lesson books
helped yours truly learn
how to tickle the ivory keys
at some point, I succumbed
to severe grievous state
collapsed in a heap
on the floor and softly wailed
lamentably plaintively sobbing
pausing between weeping
to ******* “I cannot live any more,”
or some such sentiment.

Ted Goldberg, a psychiatrist
at Collegeville Counseling
did his level best to draw out
responses from a little boy
who remained mute,
and said degreed professional resorted
to play one or more popular board games
which choice of activity
elicited non verbal reaction,
and needless to say this approach
slowly but surely gradually
found with the aid of melirill -
(thioridazine HCl) an anti-psychotic medication
in the phenothiazine class
used to treat psychotic disorders
such as schizophrenia and elavil -
medication used to treat depression.
Amitriptyline belongs to a class
of drugs known as tricyclic antidepressants.

Both prescription medications eventually
bore figurative fruit,
and coaxed my tongue to wag.

Anorexia nervosa got nipped in the bud
before I literally starved to death,
totally undermining mental, physical,
and spiritual well being
presenting impossible mission
for this then seventh grade student
assigned to section 7B1
(if memory serves me correctly)
to assimilate lecture material,
thus scoring the lowest marks
with flying colors
(such as black, blue, and red),
and getting promoted

by the skin of my teeth,
with mine ancient history
adding up to being
a deplorable basket case
thru the remaining years I attended
Methacton Junior/Senior High School
actually at some arbitrary petticoat juncture
I gave up exerting one iota of intelligence
and adopted apathy, and honestly failed
at receiving an education,
cuz yours truly occupied a desk,
but never uttered a peep,
thus succeeded (as inscribed
on my curriculum vitae)
Matthew Scott Harris
did an exemplary job
taking up space and time.