The crush is in a hurry!

A little boy kicks a plastic balloon!
The breeze blows away his fedora!
His shoes, ostentatious, gather dust!

On the bridge
A youth whispers to his beloved!
Below the train chugs, chugs, chugs!

Mr.Old, the waiting man,
Leans against the tree,
And looks into invisibility
For his expected train!

Chaewala shouts:
Chae, chae, chae!

And I, oblivious of my journey,
Walk to be in pink of health!

hickory nuts
and wind trees
are keeping
at the old buckle bay
light house corners and
shaker church craft
slip anchor on the southern tip

secret legions
and phenolic board
tuck in at gout dock
bands and nations
and miracle speak
fill in the center hall

sand hooks
and water domes
cover wharf road
***** bay toppers
and seven horse chugs
scatter the swollen upper deck

packards and pushers
and rusty back rails
skirt the night
lanterns and sterns
and navy gulls
steady on task

sand cakes
and drift wood
held tight on
the mystery tour
yellow tails
and tide pools
flat line
at royal reach

paddles
and cables
find ripples way
smugglers and smitties
take cover
from a
northern gale

down on
pocket shoal
there’s a graceful hue
~ they’re serving up
belons and xan…
it's time to get in
for a fill

The dead-bolts on the interior doors
Against the nephews most securely locked
(One is destructive; the other explores)
Ignored by their mother (usually crocked)

The brother-in-law babbles about his bowels
And surgeries over the festive spread
Ignoring his wife’s disapproving scowls
Detailing each grim therapy and med

The puppies are safely penned inside
Because of an incident with a crowbar
And a nephew who kicked and screamed and cried -
He wasn’t allowed to **** the dogs or bash the car

His mother comforted him in his tears
And glowered at me for telling him no
And comforted herself with a few more beers
Her special child is sensitive, you know

The brother-in-law’s colonoscopy
With lurid adjectives of graphic doom
Comes with the pie and more iced tea
His miseries circulate around the room

Then from the living room an expensive crash
“Not me!” “Not me!” More screams and denials and cries
An old family vase – it’s now just trash
“You shouldn’t have glass around,” their mother sighs

The brother-in-law offers to show his scars
He finds his shirt buttons, makes his move
We other men escape outside for cigars
Cigars!? The women uniformly disapprove

One nephew leaps upon a garden seat
And jumps and yells until it falls apart
Their mother says her boy is cute and sweet
“Are you all right, my dear little heart?”

The brother-in-law holds his tummy and groans
And tells us all about his flatulence
And just which foods lead to what moans
(Perhaps he should practice some abstinence)

The women come outside to cough and choke
With practiced puritan disapproval and sneers
About the satanic scent of tobacco smoke
The world’s best mother chugs a few more beers

The brother-in-law explains why he can’t drink
It’s about his digestion (be surprised)
And we shouldn’t smoke; if only we’d think
And we (got a match?) are properly chastised

Then at the end of this mandatory day
Of mandatory Hallmark merriment
All of them finally go the (space) away
And how did the mailbox get broken and bent?

But the brother-in-law pauses at the garden gate
“Say, did I tell you about my new pills…?”
And so dear solitude again must wait
While darkness slowly falls upon the hills

Depression tends to have a manipulating and controlling manner that spits and hisses from behind her snarled teeth,
Depression swallows the light.
And in doing so, depression gulps down yellow, drowning the sun and all his mighty.
Depression chomps on green, bits off grass and shrubble stuck to the inner corner of her lip.
Depression chews pink, each candy floss cloud tickling her taste buds.
Depression chugs blue, the ferocious waves sloshing down her throat with ease.
Depression regurgitates darkness, there is no colour when depression grabs my hands, looming shadows engulf my vision,
Depression’s feet start to move and I realise we are dancing to the dull thud of my heartbeat,
I dance with depression all through the dark, but it isn’t just dark, it’s the kind of dark with no moon, no stars or streetlights, it’s the kind of dark that creeps up on you until you cannot even see your nose.
The darkness slithers under my fingernails and slices back my skin, slipping beneath my flesh, it wears my hand like a glove,
It wanders upwards and claims my face simply as a mask,
As it seeps down, down, down, my legs now become stilts.
I am no longer dancing with depression, depression is dancing me, I am her puppet.

She’s one girl no guy can get out of their mind
The one girl that’ll make any boy step out of line
Just by looking at her I can tell she’s different from any mortal
She has the power to go up and turn a cold heart really fertile
She strips on exotic clothing everytime she goes out
You know she’s the woman that all the guys talk about
Recently I found her name, it’s Tiffany
You can tell she dosen’t need sympathy
She looks like a bad girl by the way she smokes a blunt
The way she seduces men, gonna make you struck dumb
She’s a ***** woman but plays innocent when she’s with men
You can easily see why many boys want her as a girlfriend


If I had a shot at her I’d ask for romance
While most guys want to get in her pants
She’ll make your skin shiver by the touch of her flesh
The most exotic and permiscious girl that I ever met
The kind of girl that will make your heart stop
Just being in her presence will mean a whole lot
You see her hang out with more men than girls
As girls get mad when she really rocks men’s world
To a lot of girls here, she’s only known as a ***** or a ****
In reality they’re jealous because they wish they had her ****
So their man will actually charish them all day
Instead of worrying about taking their man away
Her bright blue eyes are hypnotizing wheels
She’s an ****** princess that’s how I feel
Any guy can fall victim to her intense lust
The desire to know who she is is a must


No doubt her looks can attract any man
A fact that most girls can’t understand
In pictures she actually reminds me of a supermodel
Even when she constantly chugs down beer bottles
Constantly showing off her g-string to please guys
She’s even got me hooked on her I’m not gonna lie
Rumor is she sleeps with ten guys a night
As men will just **** to have her in their sight
Just win her affection they will go and fight
It’s hard to ignore that she dresses real naughty
Every night she always has a guy inside her body
She says she’s not a ***** but she only dresses like one
But the way she shows her breast gets a lot of guys stunned


A little coconut as she only stands at five foot four
She gave you action in bed you’d begging for more
**** straight she loves to party, she don’t want you to judge her
A true statement that nothing in this world can be taken from her
She’s a total sucker for R&B; and hip-hop
There’s no way you can get her to stop
Well it’s true almost any guy can get a shot at her
Just hope your attempts don’t send her to laughter
Sometimes she’ll go by the nickname “Baby Girl”
The moment she touches you your blood will curl
Don’t let her pretty face fool ya’ she rolls like the boss
Guys will say that in the bedroom she dosen’t play soft


If you give her some liquor she’ll go off the wall
She’s so energetic she won’t leave you appauled
She’ll turn the dance floor in the club into her own nasty world
She’ll give you so much action it’ll be too much for you to endure
She loves Spongebob and Marilyn Monroe
And yet she denies that she’s ever a **’
On myspace she has five thousand friends
And most of them on that friend list are men
Blue eyed bombshell taking over the room
A blonde ******* bunny is what you assume
Four out of five doctors say that she’s insane
So you can say that she’s far away from lame


She’s every guy’s new obsession
She can get you out of depression
Her upper legs will easily remind you of thunder thighs
Can’t take your eyes off them you know you can’t lie
You can never wake up without an overdoes of her
It’s pratically impossible for anybody to just shun her
Anyone can get lost in her eyes
Finding no exit inside her sight
You don’t know but she’s got you on lock
Not being in her presence is really a frock
Makes your heart fizzle when she calls you honey
She says to every guy dosen’t that sound funny?


She can easily lead you on
And give you what you want
But don’t expect to keep her because she’ll just slip away
Not that hard to tell girls like her will go and not actually stay
So charish the moment while it last
Chances are that she’ll move on fast
Everyday she’s with a different guy
Had tweleve boyfirends, not a lie
She’s like a bomb getting ready to explode
As the most exotic girl that is ever known
Guys will just **** all to feel her sweet kisses
But no one wants to be a victim of her disses
Having her is like having a trophy that’s hard to find
No doubt that she’s gonna stuck inside a guy’s mind


She can easily be mistaken for a member of *******
Boys are struck dumb by the way that she shows her smile
No man alive can resist her temptations
She turns you down you’ll feel devastation
Some guys just want her for the respect
Other guys just want her for her ***
Hotter than a stripper what do you expect?


It wasn’t too long before she met her perfect match
Soon she found a man who gave her the right romance
A man who will love her for who she was
Turns out she really did find her only one
She ended up marrying him at a wedding chapel
The fact that she was taken left many guys baffled
The girl of their dreams was swept away
This caused a lot of guys a lot of pain
Now all they can do is imagine being with her
While her man’s able to go up and kiss her
Other guys consider her man the luckiest man on earth
Because she left other guys who want her really hurt


Then she gives birth to his child and they became a family
Now you know her and her man will be forever happy and dandy
She loves him to death what do you expect?
From her he’s the only guy that’ll recieve ***
Now men have to find another girl to chase after
As her life is forever away from any type of disater

Monday Morning
chugs out of the
Harbor of Weekdays
like a leaking
garbage barge
sailing into
ominous seas,
bound for that
remote
but redeeming
rendezvous
with  a beaming
Friday

We outlasted the moon!
In a timeless place we did it!
The pull of the moon and the rise of the sun irrelevant!
A group of warriors who couldn’t be more different, as I see myself
in grey —faded color, colors that will never cease to exist!
A rapper from south Africa, a student fluent in Chinese music, a girl with no bounds from down the road, a cyclist from Manhattan, a quiet devil from Belfast, and two girls who could be twins from Mexico all of us surived!
The famous campus— empty a bond forever, only the flies
dance with me!The pizza crust from what
feels like eternity or last week at this point fresh on the table,
still two hours before the day begins, eyes droopy, faces baggy no idea
where the sun is a blink sleeping, eternity awake the music on and off replacing  conversation occionsally tossing condoms a laugh, talk of favorite memories.
only sif (not sure what that was) hours ago pitch dark, lost with a welcome room
Sleepy travelers some head off needing the destination and rest wanting to jump offand hit the ground running, we made it walking as a bottle cap falls from an open window at three four disappear as the night lights turn off around me.
The ones who left early no less brilliant, I owe them all so much.
I will not begin to describe them because they could all take up a book of memories.
Funny stories then sad ones as it becomes clear to the tellers that one is in the making all it was, ice cream followed by a half hour, thrilled at company to Ashelies ice cream
after farewell song.
Reality chugs along.
A door opens, nobody comes along.
At three in the afternoon dizzy as light starts to claim the clock-tower.
Dizzy sick and unable to think in the afternoon the prophet before hand calls straight-mistake, (the first N4 alcoholic hungover never another drink I swear before drinking )
At ten that night out of the timeless room it’s one hour then fifteen minutes then another then thirty disappear.
Dancing on the table music and stories. Later that night or morning, at our lowest bit of energy. pumping iron. Pulling back together with a friend from the other side of the planet falling back letting go getting sprung up in the famous campus. Dancing on a tread mill shirtless together in the dimly lit gym.
Is there anything more divine?!
Then quite in the timeless room, at 3 in the afternoon sick missing the talk of a life claiming “there is no love without sacafrice", at 6 in the night I’m sleeping  debating heading home on that paved road opting instead for "who knows?!" At six in the morning, out of the timeless room, I’m the only one out, writing this as the drone of the song continues from the windows of fellow warriors, briefly drowned out by a helicopter. The beloved campus dead quite even birds asleep. Before the iron deep in the morning pool and talk of maybe being social accidentally sinking the 8 ball. At twelve in the alleged dead of night a room trashed unknown and the words spread a half mile out and brings the head honchos down to the timeless room, at three saved from sleep by a prior story of farting in sleepers faces woke me just in time in the timeless room. At sometime the door opposite the timeless room opened and a long narrow stroll around leads back to the timeless room, at some time time in the timeless home my presence maybe anxiously sought or ignored. The ecstasy and disbelief to see the sun, running back to the warriors who I just wished well at the sun! The same planets with vibrant colors. I will never forget the warriors but maybe their names.
I swat at a fly that was never on my arm.
I think of the infinities of time I will miss later.
My hearing worn thin with my sight, the birds songs lost their fullness
though in our business it’s very likely for the better
as I look to see the clock tower fully conquered,
I wonder if my parents will assume intoxication,
it is impossible to do this tail justice, though it will likely
end in the same spot: dizzy  complaints of exhaustion
getting sick and bliss before the end.
I have known the warriors  for 3 days, yet I know them better than family.
Outside the timeless room I learn partying means drinking with others
to bad dance music, the kind that kept me awake, as the smoke of
others cigars enter my lungs and the take truly ends in the same spot I trying to survive the eternal earthquakes after a long journey to say good-bye and in the timeless room,
the light stays the same. Some foosball in a timeless place in reality its a language or
a wreck room, in truth the room was always spinning, as my head is now.

Gwuts on gwanilliagax
Ready hot gwip

Trill on the vibrant note gabeeboh
What a thril it is to be in nice gazeebo
What a punk that doused on the free zobe
What punctillious panagax that frigged all the wets out
And when the trip to the sausage make didnt pull down alaz
Alaz, I am the wet tug.
Alaz, the sprig of wheat ***** taint.

Didn't you say you loved me?
Well, the bruts on the wagon sauce now
Didn't me have a big one, tug one, sauce one?
Well elemayo gwit gwits gwit gwits gwit gwit.....gwit

Embryo collecting on the branch of a saggy
My baggy be ripped, dripped all the can out
Me step on a puddle, the wet one, the biggy
My pets on the leg, rub, all on it sticky, how ******
He chugs out a wet belch and creams on the gricky
How quaint is his fat bristle comb, of his **** I am assured
This great honkulous tank sub that brits on my dimbo,in limbo my ship
It greats on the grates treat me to a sub snack ship ***** ***** factory get e
Tag me on your webpage, then **** me silly

a few miniscule sips turned to gulps.
gulps gradually turned to chugs.
chugs turned to *****.
still you werent sober.
still you grabbed your keys and got into your car.
15 miles per hour turned to 30.
30 turned to 50.
Stop lights turned to red.
Stop signs became mere red dots flashing the canvas of your peripheral vision.
nothing could slow you down.
nothing could tell the car awaiting the next turn, that you were coming.
you were coming and you werent stopping.
faster!faster! a lead foot on the gas pedal.
closer! closer!
BAM!
lives instantly taken.
fun turned to hell.
living turned to dead.
lesson learned?

he's down for the count
face marred by age
or misery(though no difference)
he sits alone at the bar
alone
for now,
he remembers -
find a 50 dollar ***** tonight.

worth 50? Hell,
he'll give you a hundred
(call it compensation - emotional distress)
because money is dirt
that **** means nothing

life is poverty
when madness is wasted.

"Christ," she said
"you're useless," she said,
"I'm old," he snarls,
"we're all ruined."
he chugs and chugs
to burn and burn
all great men rage.

he crawls to his death bed

and dreams a beautiful dream that God,
or someone,
would save him.

In shortening she made me jam roly poly
a Jezebel in a grand fully furnished way aglow
with bold basement statements broad brushed full on
to glaze the way to a plum job whole storey mission
proclaiming sofas as soft as any humble pin cushion
stuffed with unfinished symphonies in a mansion
booming out to empire builders' biggest guns
tended by harems of belly dancing bumble bees
burbling alongside a myriad of louder hues
flowing into bouffant hairstyle shrubs brushed
and blow dried into blooming privacy bushes


but outside she transformed
yet served by outsize platters
prolific with blazing seasonings
glazed with enough sweets
to satisfy a pudding feast
laid before a sumptuous appetite
comforting peahens with broad beans
ripened beside horizons of warm salads
dressed by blooming strawberries
pores plumped up from ladles
dunked deep as finger buns
into sloppy icing barrels
awash with hoarded nuts
of sweet toothed squirrels
engorged to dozing on branch barges
full to the gunnels and slow wallowing
in troughs laden with fatted chugs
rambling across rolling oceans awash
with tranquil rafts of whales nibbling
each morning on shoals expanding
beyond shallows into deep new ports
to offload uncontainable cargo
swung low on sweeping vista nets
dragging tree trunks packed like Jumbo
to land with a thump in wide sided carts


splashing and rocking slowly on their ways
until mopped up by richly saturated bales
of overgrown Danish butter grass pats
resplendent amidst dollops of luscious
double churned cream gateaux farm gates
open for cuddling golden syrup spoons of heat
spreading mellowness deep into the sponge
of unfolded meadows with encyclopedic knowledge
accumulated into increased volumes of decisive “belle”
resounding excitedly across the hills of plenty


chirrups bumping cheekiness into narrow valleys
to settle hawk eyes wide open to opportunities
accumulating it all in seam stretched sack boasts
of the good life storehoused bigger than most
but ready to collect and offload refreshment
like the slow but steady wobbling airships
stretched out resplendent across hay loft skies
fluffed up between a sweating Queen bed cumulus
keen to bounce into cloudless heady ensembles
swung high over thigh slapping oompah band hills


in a tug-of-war snapping heartstring restraint
and low frequency waves of contentment
she apportioned herself and me in generosity
celebrating a fully stocked love stacked larder
sweet with chock-a-block huffs and puffs
and then glad sighs of expansive success
in relief a schmooze diorama all she was after
Summer's glorious bamboozled ardour

Royal Road slopes

enough so that your toes know

which way you are going.

     Kudzu and ragweed accent the driveway

pitted with bushel basket size

holes amid roaming plastic grocery bags.

     A 1960’s version mobile home

fights Mimosa and blackberry bush

to remain visible.

     As I ascend the creaking steps

a neighbor cracks the quiet

to announce that, “Jesse is on the way.”

     I hear the clop, swish, clop

as Jesse corners onto Royal Road

and chugs toward me.

     Sweat rivers from his beard.

He greets me with,

“Thanks for the groceries.”

     I said, "I need you to sign

to show I brought food."

I didn’t ask, “How did you lose your leg?”

A lone, solitary ship sails out
Where on earth will be its route?
From a peaceful harbor, it embarks
Nervous, but ready to make its mark

It's not sturdy, its not massive
Not a luxury ship, it's more passive
Dingy and plain, it has only one sail
What will it do if the winds prevail?

Cold and cruel are the seas
Ready to swallow up what they may please
Strong and mighty is not this boat
Yet Will alone shall keep it afloat

Currents may seize it and shake its foundations
Nature may not produce good relations
But what if there was never a risk?
The currents calm and the winds not brisk?

What would propel this little boat forward?
The ride, smooth, if every inch was assured?
Its size looks incapable to prove the odds wrong
Yet even little things can be strong

Bigger and better ships will pass it by
Overtaking its course, they will fly
But Will alone will be the fuel
And Faith, above, shall be the guiding tool

Though the winds are coarse, and the boat dips
Just try and sink this ship!
Only the Captain will decide that fate
He can force the rains and winds to dissipate

It can take lightning strikes, rain and sleet
It can take it and not feel much defeat
For it has coursed all kinds of weather
Only to prove that is is better

So onward go! Forward sail!
Do not be afraid to fail!
Here it comes over the blue horizon
And just look how it sails on!

It proves the naysayers wrong
As the little boat chugs along
And there it goes around the bend
Not satisfied till it reaches its end

When ships set sail, their masts held high
Daunting flags, painting the sky
With rails gold rimmed
And sails sharp trimmed
A crowd appears, waving adieu, goodbye
Thunderous roar, unequaled praise
Wind catching sheets
Anchors raised
A bell rings softly and waves do lap
Against the hull of a wooden throne

From far off shores this scene is spied
With two friends of oars we've always tried
To reach for that deck
In fervent eye
Climb on board or surely die
Tattered clothes, sailors cap
Smudge on cheek
Shirt of burlap
We push off deck
Yet crowd is gone
A journey ventured with bright sun dawned

Water ripples with our wake
Small and steady pulses we make
Though we row to catch schooner bold
As we creak of wooden old
Land gestures for us to stay
Why venture out on choppy bay?
Whispers roll and caustic laugh
With sun beat oars a line is set
No motive sweeter, nor regret
Sweat beads mix with salty froth

Cutting across the water green
Battleship chugs with billowed steam
A voice escapes you as you scream
Sputtering away, with muted cries
And oars but stop
Far from home
As head does drop
Splintered hull tears apart
We're left to cling to shattered planks
And fight to stay afloat

Alone
With far off yacht a speck
Atone for water slapping neck
We groan with defeated boat and deck
Driftwood in salty surf
Connecting with shore
We walk back to land
Imprints swallowed by golden sand
A new rowboat to be procured
Again we build to flag down our Brig
And stand upon its polished bow
We persist to where we are but now
As we strive to grasp victory bell
We strive ever onward
To sail with our destined
Caravelle

Step right up just come inside
We've got food, attractions and rickety rides
It's only ten cents to lose your mind
It's the carnival-circus of Cedric and Clyde

The magic man cuts the conjoined twins in half with giant shears
Then makes them instantly disappear
Then shows you your card as he chugs a beer
"Who's next?" "How about you my dear?"

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The sword sallower has something to say
But can't for hes devouring a flame
He tells the audience to try and imitate
He has them **** themselves then goes on his way

The snake charmer plays his tune
Down at the midway people lose
They throw the ***** but the bottle are glued
And the bearded lady and amazon women have decided to get ****

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The fortune teller looks into her crystal ball
And predicts society's failure and fall
And insists that you put up a wall
She gives you the number of a contractor to call

The muscle man and ****** are doing lines
As the lion tamer ***** on lemon rinds
You ask if everything's fine
They answer you in some sort of coded rhyme

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The clowns ****** each other for a laugh
They use exploding pies and poison gas
You see the fully loaded clown car crash
And they all lay lifeless and gashed

The merry-go-round is going mach five
The freaks and weirdos come out to say hi
The geek takes you on the Ferris wheel and get you high
And shows you the spot where they put those who have died

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The fun house mirrors are all cracked
Except for the one that makes you look fat
The roller coaster has run off the track
Those who went on can never come back

The contortionist talks backwards
The acrobats are up in the rafters
One is pregnant and plans on seeing the back alley abortionist after
She just needs to knock and give him the password

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The rabid animals come out from the petting zoo and under the tent
The elephants tear up in lament
The tigers eat the trainer and smile with content
And the escape artists swims with shoes of cement

The ringmaster walks out with his top hat and cane
And says "thank you all for coming, we'll return again"
With his handle bar mustache, hes looks absolutely insane
The whistle blows and they all board the train

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The jugglers and unicycle bears all have gone
The illusionists and tight rope walkers pass on
As have the knife thrower and human cannonball
The haunted house comes down, the brass band plays a good bye song

So there you are surrounded by dead bodies and horse ****
Stale popcorn and some kind of hit list
Of souls and cities they plan to visit
It's the Cedric and Clyde Carnival-Circus

All proceeds go to Mr. Jacques

I've gone about my day only truly half-present, as with every conversation, regardless of with whom, I force myself to promote my image of simple bliss and to keep your name at bay, and only have managed to hold it on just the inside of my lips. It still presses on, like a flooding at the ***** that in time shall burst forth anyway.
I feel that, as our recent moments together linger deliberately in the recesses of my head, if I left my mouth unguarded for even a brief time your name would dance off my tongue like the sweetest confession declared in those screened-up boxes at catholic church and then all of the world would know of the sinful treasure I'm hoarding inside my heart.
And it would perhaps be but a whisper, but it'd feel like I've shouted it for hours from the hilltop at the end of my street, calling attention to everyone I've  never known and screaming the sudden proverbial anomaly of my new found love in you with shameless, reckless abandon.
If I could reach into myself I'd find a restless sea of unsorted emotion thrashing about, trying to capsize my poor, prevailing heart as it chugs along like a dazed animal treading water; I'm turning over the thorough avidity in how affectionately we ask to turn out each other's pockets and uncover each lingering quirk and flavor of one another.
I carry along, holding myself not quite as tall as Cloud Nine sits but just enough to breathe in the scent of the rainbows, and it's all because I know that if I stopped living my day for just a moment, I'd recall the fortune I've found in you, and that alone fills me up like I've just put in fifty dollars at the gas station.

What's made you so special?

I got up this morning put on a robe and slippers the robe
because I sleep in my underwear went to the kitchen made the
morning coffee had to have my coffee before the real world
smacked me in the face I walked out the door and the woman
across the street was out walking her dogs short yappy little
things the rest of the neighborhood was awake and crawling out
of their rectangular little holes in their odd shaped houses and I
realized it was a  very nice morning sun coming up over the
trees as people elsewhere those people out to see what they
could get for free before it was gone until another day I drive
into the city the coffee shop a buzz with people from from all
walks of life really not giving a **** what the other is saying
but talking just to make some noise as other people start to
crowd the street with their suits and ties and high heeled shoes
while more in jeans and shorts walked and hurried by to go
where I don’t know to what some think are their
insignificant little jobs and they are only there to get a pay
check end of story while Margery down the block prepares with
love all of the sweet bakery treats for those who care enough to
stop and buy because they know the love and care she puts into
each and every pie Margery knows her job is important not just
a Friday check what the heck someone parked in my spot and
the politicians are just waking up to begin what they think is a
day working for the ordinary people but we know better they
just work for themselves getting that proverbial check a million
times what Margery got a train whistle blows as it chugs its way
to that industrial spot to drop the burden it carries to keep our
economy humming along and the guy on the corner strums his
guitar and sings his song so I can drop a coin in his  case as I
walk along just something to think about as we go through our
days dressed to **** and live our lives as we all climb the hills.


© 2010 Charles Dennis


http://www.charlesdennis.netne.net

woe is you,
twisted legs that taste like high school,
swallowing sticks of ink
til it seeps out your fingernails.
chicken scratch beads of blood
speak words on your rails of thighs.
woe is you, woe is you,
thunder is your presence
but gentle mewing is your soul.
let’s throw a big ******* after party
for your big ******* three-ring affair.
my fake little darling, your eyes:
shrink-wrapped in disguise,
pre-meditated, post-medicated,
meandering rings of trees
whisper ugly stories of your intentions.
my translucent lovely, your heart
sputters steam from mechanical parts.
it chugs right along, still
you question the last time it felt pure.
woe is you, woe is you

Church bells ring as a train chugs along
I can't hear planes much
But every time I look up
I see one
And the birds stick to trees
Or a brief wispy breeze
The only ones higher are too busy
Looking down, circling
And all the clutter and clatter
Makes me want to batter some heads in
These objects look foreign, forged from a rolling pin
And they're just pretty guts and grey matter
I don't have the money to become an astronaut
So how can I know for sure that space exists
And if the final frontier is the mind
How far have we to go
After all I can tie my shoes with one or two bows
An every holy man seems to have
A wall street connection
And when Jesus says ****
You know he means business
And my tax dollars just went off
And killed a little kid
If the world ended
When we all stopped dancing
That must mean we're zombies
Especially the prom queen

Seeing a vessel.
A catcher of fishes.
Espies another catcher of fishes.
These little fellows are destined for dishes.
Crew watching the crying ones.

The gulls as they rise.
Screaming wildly, they're on fire with excitement.
Gulls watch the Herrings, as they're breaching the foam.
Flapping and flipping, they're struggling to breathe.
The trawler man in the South westerly squall.
Struggling to cling to the slippery deck.
Tries hard not to fall.
He's used to it.
Another dollar.
Another day.
Only way to scoop his pay.
He's landing his fish.
Amid the squawking and bombing.
Keen and mean.

Tatty old trawler, chugs into the safe haven of harbour.
Today's catch thrown onto the dockside.
A different gull swoops.
A sly diving skydiver,
He's diving for dinner.
Never a loser.
Always a winner.
(C) Livvi

he said you little girls.you little girls.
dont do pretty things no more. your eyes are full of lies.
and you laugh at us with empty pockets.
he said. you little girls. are filthy. no.
dont know how to treat no man right. you spread your wings
and throw us on the ground and leave us behind.
stupid stupid little girls.

and I said little boy let me tell you a thing or two
about what us women have to go through

since the beginning of time us women have been robbed
of dignity. of sanity. even of insanity. you robbed us of everything.
you little boys. you little boys.
you tied ropes around our neck when we committed adultery.
although that crime for you went by very smoothly.
you killed our daughters and slaughtered our babies.
you banged our heads against the wall when we didn't bare
you a male off spring. You ***** us and used our body as
personal jewelry. You had no mercy when your attraction pursued you
our eyes wet and our tears ******. no you little boys.
you set no boundaries.

a woman jumps of the roof and commits suicide. She was kidnapped.
she is being *** trafficked. Some over weight pig tries to shove his
**** in her face. She jumped because she rather save her dignity before
she catches AIDS. and dies in a cell full of other women who cry every
single chance they get every single nerve wrecking/shattering day.

There is a little girl with big blue eyes, and light wavy blonde hair.
she is 6 years old. She has no idea where she is. She see's a man
sitting at the end of the room. He puts his glass of bourbon down.
he thinks of his wife and his daughters, picks the glass back up and chugs.
he trails his finger along the child's thigh, he tells her its okay. the is stained heavy with the smell of old carpet and hotel sheets.
your mommy and daddy told me it was okay, hush beautiful don't you cry.
years later that woman is a ******* because when she was 6 all she was
taught is that her body is a tool. Her kidnappers showed her love they told her
her mommy and daddy didn't want her anymore they are her new family.


little boy little boy. let me tell you about the girl who was sent to
the asylum on her 23rd birthday for trying to **** herself with a bottle
of pills and a bottle of jack. She woke up one morning with re surfaced
memories of her father molesting her when she was young. She starved
herself and would not leave her house for over 2 weeks. Now her sister
knew why she was a lesbian. Now she knew why. Her daddy would come
to her late at night and rub in between her thighs. Im sorry to be explicit
but you say us women have gone crazy and little boy I am telling you why.

so before you decide to judge a woman take a moment and try to figure
out everything that has made her cry. Look deeply into her eyes and
you will see all the goodbyes. You will see mentally how many times she
has died. You will always find some innocence and if she really likes you no
matter how many people she has been with she will still get shy.
You will see how many times her tears have ran dry. Because I guarantee you that ever woman you meet has gone through endless night of heart break and no shuteye, has heard every lie in the book and been defied. Listen closely
you will hear the ghosts from her past nearby.
The definition of a woman is something that is unbreakable.
something that when thought of you cant help but sigh.

if you believe that you truly are a man
then to you my heart expands
it is hard for me to see you after all these stories
but I do try the best that I can

so make no excuses, when defending a case speaking badly of women
because emotionally we are distraught more than you can imagine
and still seek to find the good in every ruin

Church bells ring as a train chugs along
I can't hear planes much
But every time I look up
I see one
And the birds stick to trees
Or a brief wispy breeze
The only ones higher are too busy
Looking down, circling
And all the clutter and clatter
Makes me want to batter some heads in
These objects look foreign, forged from a rolling pin
And they're just pretty guts and grey matter
I don't have the money to become an astronaut
So how can I know for sure that space exists
And if the final frontier is the mind
How far have we to go
After all I can tie my shoes with one or two bows
An every holy man seems to have
A wall street connection
And when Jesus says ****
You know he means business
And my tax dollars just went off
And killed a little kid
If the world ended
When we all stopped dancing
That must mean we're zombies
Especially the prom queen

Dusted with gold, colours wheeling,
Threads reaching into a sun,
Precious handwoven rugs from Mumbai,
Individual, divine, only one.

A foreigner orders a carpet.

So a carpet graces the road.

On a throne made of barrows and money,
But a hand stops the vivid-hued load.

Covered in dust, wrinkles stealing
Irreplaceable youth from his bones,
Worthless mendicant soul in Mumbai,
Stretches out towards hope with a moan.

A dollar could take him to life,
As his cup stretches out for some bread,
Yet, the cloth priced more highly than life,
Trundles past, and it leaves him for dead.

The ship chugs through horizons,
With its costly woven load,
Whilst a bag of bones expires,
In the dust, beside a road.

Waves pull me down towards the sand,
reclined in my nest of granular gold,
my arms wave up towards the fading light.

It would be so easy to stay down here,
to go limp against the pressure that weighs me down.

But just as my mind chugs ever closer to its internal slumber,
the light breaks through the darkness and glistens, so much like your hair on a sunny day.

That's why my arms stretch,
my hands reach and claw,
my legs beat in time with my rapid heart.

I could be laying peacefully on the ocean floor,
but instead I break the surface.

And it is entirely your fault.

And I will never be more thankful.

Crush my last
Burnt cigarette out
Now the only the cold
cloud that comes out
Is my soft curling breath
But the trick is
I need that nic stick
To stay awake even though
I don’t even smoke
One month gone
And I come home
But before too long
I’m back on the road
I miss my friends
I miss my love
But staying put
Is never good enough

I may not be a wildcat
But I won’t break
Like that domesticated
Persian you had
I need to be free
To see the world
Even if I barely leave
Illinois’ highways and city streets

I miss my love
I miss my heart
You were the best
Or at least better part
Bleeding veins
Beating ventricle
Pumping pulse
That is musical
A pen, a pad
And a laptop to
To write this song
I sing for you
And even if
No one hears it
I’d still have to
Write this ****

I may not be a wildcat
But I won’t break
Like that domesticated
Persian you had
I need to be free
To see the world
Even if I barely leave
Illinois’ highways and city streets

A couple hundred mile
And I am wearing down
As I work security
In another town
My car is smoking
My car sounds funny
Chugs along with
A thud thud dud
Hope I make enough money
To fix my freedom ride up
I’ll see you all when I get home

I may not be a wildcat
But I won’t break
Like that domesticated
Persian you had
I need to be free
To see the world
Even if I barely leave
Illinois’ highways and city streets

Don’t you know
Even roaming hearts
Have to come home
To get some good sleep