1, 2, 1, 2,
Shaking, Shaking
Panting, Panting
Bye bye consciousness

Feeling dizzy
Can't see properly
Feels like I'm dying
Jesus help me stop

cracked asphalt of the modern realm

and court jester Gus pushes a shopping cart
he borrowed from the A&P to collect

bottles and cans
for a pence, perhaps a schilling.

the alley cat he cared for was named Maggie
and Gus slept with Maggie
in a kind person's village cellar.

it was rumored that Sir Tommy R.
shot a flaming arrow
into Gus's wooden leg.

young knaves
called Gus a *** knowing he'd chase them,
wooden leg and all,
and he was swift.

some threw insults, some threw eggs.
the village was a ballroom
fit for lords
in search of a court jester.

Gus the ***. I saw him

i saw him limping through the rain.
my heart was thin.
I threw him apathy, feigned sadness.


his heart still glows in my sorrows garden.

nobile misfit. all Gus sought was a smile, bread,
and a kind word.

~
alone and an imposter,
deep in syndrome.

she absorbs the frost of seasonal ghosts
and hopeless feelings
of death and darkness.

she only shows one side of her every time.
she calls a random number
from a bar in the middle of the night,
seeking to confess
or find solace in the voice of a stranger.

but any stranger might just happen to be
a lie detector.

still she lays bare all the duplicity
and fragmentation of self:

prescription bottles with two different names,
elaborate façades in Los Angeles
and in New York,
so complicated she creates
something she calls the lie box.

inside her purse there's a collection
of file cards. "I tell so many lies," she says.
"I have to write them down and keep them
in a box so I can keep them straight."

alone she waits for either
sweet apricity or identikit:
each a memento of her faces.
~

In the darkness of the dark
you see unexpected light.
Like little stars on a moonless night.
Giving peace to be.
When in the dark how beautiful life’s ceiling.
Little gifts making you bloom
without rain falling.
Soft and fragile like a tender flower in the desert.

Never forget
when you are down find your way the light.


Shell✨🐚

The home where Chella grew up, in the ghetto of Liberty City Florida, had beige carpets so old that pieces of the tuft and twirl would come out of the backing under-foot.
The  apartment window shades were white floral plastic rectangles cut from an old shower curtain.
She shared a bedroom with two younger siblings and the overhead lights were naked light bulbs.

she grew up in the a noisome ghetto of Liberty City Florida
she never knew her dad
she won’t talk about her mom
she hated the flaw of things
nothing worked, not the dishwasher
or the air conditioner they couldn't afford to run.
There was no wi-fi for the no computer
Her mother worked two or sometimes three part-time jobs
They added rice to hamburger-helper to stretch it.
Maybe you got a pair of shoes for Christmas and chicken, not turkey.
They were poor, used clothes poor, food assistance poor, third world poor.
She got a used bike once, for Christmas. It was stolen.
At 14, she babysat for months to get a Rihanna mini-backpack.
It was stolen.
But they lived 2.5 miles from the beach.
It was a 53 minute walk. She couldn't afford the bus.
She knew not to hitchhike.
She kept a knife in her right front jeans pocket.
She studied at school or at the beach
She practically lived at the beach
Her wardrobe was a one-piece swimsuit under cut-off jean-shorts and flip flops.
What friends she had were at the beach.

A wino, who couldn't really talk, looked out for her at the beach because she once gave him a dollar.
One night he pulled a knife on a **** who was bothering her. The police came and took his knife.
“I’m SO sorry,” she told him, “I’ll get you another one,” but he mumbled in his incomprehensible way, and waving the idea off, he shuffled over to a garbage can, and leaned it up to reveal eight other knives under it.

We were looking at some of our high school pictures together and we realized that my designer, high-school freshman prom-dress that I bought with my allowance ($6,000, on sale, with no fitting) cost more than her mom’s car.
.
.
A mini playlist for this:
Baxter (These Are My Friends) by Fred again.. & Baxter Dury
Runaway by Slick Rick
Redemption Song by Mitchell Brunings
Breakout by Swing Out Sister
.
.
Our cast:
Chella - A tall, lithe black girl, from Liberty City (Miami) Florida with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs’ from Yale University who is currently a Harvard Master's candidate.  She had it rough growing up - she was buying skin-care at Trader Joes! I'm showing her some things.
Your author, a simple trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia with a Bachelor of Science in Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry from Yale, currently a Harvard Master's candidate.