the pitch dark symmetry
of spiral engraved
glossy jet black
vinyl

the ***** claws
and webbed spiders;
graced with impeccable
scratch

words come back around
from dog day afternoon;
entwined in ritual
beatology

technique absorbed in prowess
dedication assimilated by passion;
human form and synthetic resin becomes
overlayed

polyvinyl chloride or
unsaturated hydrocarbon radicals;
a derivative by any other
name

I'll leave that nugget for the pub quiz
and relax, post-Christmas stress;
the street scramble bustle,
embrace a pint of
black magic

All those distant dying stars,
all his aging battle scars;
their blemished pasts still with him,
slowly, bitterly, fading,
and each discharging one persistent question:
'Any regrets?'

I was afflicted
before I was born,
carried a disease,
living in the belly of the beast.
I feasted on nails,
ate them for breakfast,
at lunch,
and for dinner.
While people were getting invisalign,
we were drawing beads on bad guys.
And when they posted on Tumbler,
my buddies & me were dismantling IEDs.
Christ, they think Facebook is cool,
drooling over what
their friends are
having for lunch.
Sadly, in the scheme of things,
none of this means ****,
the only reality is your own
& how you treat your enemies.
That's survivor of the fittest.
Ask yourself this,
how long will you make it
when the power finally goes out?
One hour, maybe two.
It won't be fun or even pretty.
Stormtrooper's coming.

Now, the truth

Luke & Leia is this love
Thank God not the wrong kind
Siblings apart since birth
Together till the end of time

Darth vader concious
Dark, evil, twisted
Luring Luke innocent
No Luke! Don't do it!

Doesn't matter he's your Dad
Doesn't matter how sad
He doesn't give a hoot
Who on earth he shoots

Stormtrooper beware
Puppet of your master
You will be beaten big time
By a gorgeous little Ewok

Chewy & Han
You are the man
Milenium shoots them all
You saved the day
Kept Darth vader at bay
You saved our heros
Wicked

Poor Han solid
In some ungodly squalor
Not the nicest end
Certainly not Han Solo's plan

Geez George ... really ...

Tin & metal
R2, See threepio
Nitter natter chatter
Lots of friendly banter
Cuter than buttons
You just wanna hug em

Jedi Knight Yoda
Played his part of course
Strong in force
He helped the cause
Although he has passed over

Goodness wins in the end
Good force takes the flag
Mighty, Epic, Timeless
And gloriously mad

That American bandana in my closet?
I stole that.
Her mom liked me and let me borrow it for our fourth of July party,
and when we were giving our stuff back I forgot it was in my room.
Then I saw it and decided, this is mine now
I don’t think I’ve worn it since.
In the eyes of the law we call this an “adverse possession”
the intent to own and keep something that isn’t yours.
I know she’d roll her eyes if she saw me putting our relationship into legalese.

That stormtrooper nutcracker?  
That was a gift,
a Birthday gift,
an April Birthday gift.
Who the hell gives a Christmas present as a birthday gift?
She did.
I kept it.
And with gifts there is no “consideration”
which to lawyers means a bargain or exchange of promises,
a gift is a “I love you and want you to have this
because I like to make you happy.
But also, if we end I want you to look at this for the rest of your life
and wonder what would have happened
if we could have survived that last fight?”
You don’t get to bargain for that, you get the gift and the grief.
and she gets to know that you’re going to miss her every day.
Sometimes I wonder who the lawyer really is.

The pigeon, what a dull and beautiful bird
Living on the edge of the knife, unknowingly
Staring death in the face, daily
Threatened by man, beast and rapture
Does it know love, laughter or life?
Does it know fear, pain or strife?
Beautiful in its dullness
An object of fascination and detachment
Beauty is in the eye of the mundane

You smile idealistically
We talk like liberals and laugh like friends
Under lazy heat and ripe conversation
If only you could see the grey I could see
But then again, if I am the only one who can see it
I must be special

Dust and mud turn to fine red wine in your glass
Smooth surfaces and large mirrors to admire each other
Sunshine, nostalgia
And all pretty makeup
Words ebbing off your dry deadbeat tongue, so insatiable
A scene picturesque, idyllic
Boring

Enough of that jazz
Hey-oh, screeching viola's and Sanskrit texts
Urge me to prophecy
Our journey begins in a Kenyan airport
African night flight
Plane spiralling into a chasm
Until it crash lands in a dusty maroon desert
A barren wasteland
The locals grin a foolish grin
They want to eat me for dinner
(That's offensive, isn't it?)
(Well, if you think that's offensive, try this)
I'm a stormtrooper, I'm a ****
I can show you all the hate in the world
I have experienced hardships beyond belief
From my perfectly comfortable suburban dream
I have the window seat on every plane
And I use it to pretend to be lost in thought

Blitzkrieg hail pours in snarling squadrons
Down from the sky
Hand in pants, I play the fantasy in my head
The trick to this is that nothing is real
And nothing is personal
For if I could truly comprehend horror
Oh boy
I'm so glad ****'s aren't real

What exactly does
A stormtrooper's armor
Protect him from?

Based on their troubled history,
Shouldn't Death Stars
Have been named
Death Traps instead?

A novice like Luke
Could immediately sense evil
In an unknown tree,
Yet, Master Yoda couldn't sense it
In a person he was around everyday!
Explain that to me?