We live our single lives
whether with friend, girl, boy
husband, wife or family.
We live our single life.
That is the American Way,
and certainly not
the United Way.

We're taught to lift
ourselves up, bootstrapping.
So I keep sampling
my heart with replacements,
hoping against the odds
that mean means something,
and normal distribution doesn't
give Gaussian grouse.

Or could it be
I'm strapping myself
to the wrong boot
and all my recursive
iterations are yielding
a false curve
to my zero coupon life?

Choir don't need no Gath Brooks

Lordie lord, spam that yawns across earth's lawn,
set your glory upon holy sky!
Baby talk, HA! That's processed Kraft
cheese or strength, babbling to silence avengers.
Do you see or does your finger point
to Moon, Stars and Kautempathkan.
What is a man that you can't remember,
Or a son who can't care of man?
You've made a name of nameless less.
Memhkotainya, name it with dignity.
Show some respect for the handywork,
they stare beneath our feet.
Bleating and mooing,
and Yes, beasts in field,
chicken ****, and fish,
sea lane routes
to Us, our way
Nobly in your ***** named.

Blackheart gives
a gun to me
my brother,
and slaps us
my sister.
He says for country,
for security sake
take this pistol
and shoot us
because we are them.
In traditions long
lost to meaning,
I cover her face
to hide my shame,
kick her rib
to mute the pain,
and **** that hole
before life's drain.

We dance on Kali's sword,
watching memories fade
away in real-time.
Dance, fool, dance.
Arms looped in arm,
we circle, chanting, holding
on to each other
as the world is cleaved,
and shaped into...
What?
Rebirth?
Redemption?
Or just plain old something new.

A chaotic whites
at least not stained red
this time too much.
We small band
looping, preserving,
what we think best
for Vishnu to fill up
the next green sprouts
with purple majesty.
RIP.

I draw circles because
I like them.
They are the hardest
Shape to draw
at the beginning,
a long time ago.
I steady my hands,
by making curves.
I like them.
I color them in
and know which can say,
that is right
and this wrong.
My favorite is green.
I draw green and
purple circles,
liking them in full circle
again.

There's no health benefits
to fasting: still.
Your body responds
in some paleo-way;
calcium leaks from bones
to balance lost ones
escaping during the ***.
Always this homeostasis
while peeing. A setpoint.

There are those who fast
because that is what's left
to them, a prisoner in cell,
on the street, sitting in cubicles
feeling rightness with the same
wrong skin as e's fellow mate.

E does the daily pet cheats
too, until e's tired of it all,
until e wishes that there WAS
a great fallen Leader
to blame, or a giant green Tank
to stand against rice's grain
while holding defiant plastic
shopping bags.

When even violence
has been taken away:
still. We believe in peaceful
God and fast, fast or set ourselves on fire
because the concrete doesn't burn.

What an odd duck.
Reading his mead is like
drowning in sweet
annoyance. His criticism,
self-westernizing
reference to Greek
heroes; I know but don't care
as much as my sister,
My look-a-like; Die Zwilinge.
Who am I to question the genius.
A genius of his craft,
but blind in sanity.
Who am I to question us,
Deaf to the genius
of our own Muse-ick.

It is just us three:
#, Brel and me.
Trois Faisans,
# 6 ft under self,
Master Brel sings
still of Les Bourgeois,
and me toolin around
still JoJo.