I was loved
For some time,

It was beautiful,
In between

Sunrise and
Sunset,

Alongside
Cats and candles,

While listening
To the best of

Chuck mangione
On a suit case

Record player,
That I haven’t

Touched since
I was loved,

Now I wonder
If I am deserving,

If life really open
Doors after one closes,

I’ll lay outside,
Back against the lawn,

I’ll **** on the dew
Of a freshly rained tree,

I’ll snack on the mushrooms,
And chew on sticks,

I’ll be fine,
Since I was loved.

Two-thirty a.m.,
cruising my hometown,
feeling despondent vibes
of failed industry
yet familiar comfort
of childhood haunts,
I belonged.

Out with buddy boy, childhood pal,
smoking Marlboro reds
in his high roller Cadillac, white,
smooth cruising, floating ride,
driving circles, squares
around our old neighborhood,
Nancy Sinatra serenading us,
“Sugartown” repeating on loud,

needing this carefree release of
pent up, wicked juju,
masqueraded well below
staged superfluous smiles

He was gambling
and losing all he had,
I was getting high
and losing my mind,

both of us back home
to escape these vices
our bad decisions catching up,
fools to addiction, we were dying.

Chuck Mangione, “Feels So Good”,
old recordings from dubbed mix tape,
open window, release of trapped skeletons,
inspiring belief in better days to come,.

Bygone music, rhythm and lyrics
offering alternatives to troubled  life,
and we dreamed of delicious days,
peace, freedom realized
destination in sight
almost there in Sugartown.

I’d like a Luigi Mangione
perforated pizza with a
hole in the middle, extra
C.E.O. topping of cheese
eggplant and olives presto!

(any relationship between the following poem and living persons -
namely the writer of these words ranks as purely coincidental and fictitious).

nevertheless he suffers existential blight
covered head to toe
in black and blue bruises
linkedin wherein
yours truly (himself) did self flagellate,
less for religious reasons,
than cuz he felt contrite
about his mein kampf and hard times,
where purpose driven life
when once upon a time,
he happened to be
a happy go lucky little boy
imbibing rich scents and sensibilities
of mother nature brought delight
observing flora and fauna
while sitting asprawl upon greensward
sharing quietude with Georgie
(his Box/Dalmatian family dog,
they shared the same birthday)
now a doddering blind,
deaf, and dumb old man
Tommy (to me) sensational resplendent
quintessential planetary magnificence
no longer didst excite
subsequently his dead soul,
when free from corporeal constraint
will embark upon spiritus mundi flight
hoping to acquire martyrdom veneration,
when he uneventfully segues
from being among the living
to gleefully join the deceased,
albeit grateful dead into the realm,
where eternal serenity
found within soul asylum height
espying how humanity in general
and Project 2025 in particular
found **** sapiens devolving
into World War III as trappings
of civilization (and its discontents didst) ignite,
where survivors (analogous to foreigners,
who just landed on alien nation)
scrabbled across rubble strewn landscape,
especially as dark shadows
crept along the edge of night
daring bravehearts to explore
outer limits of the twilight zone
red dilly (dallying) advancing Republicans
donned as trumpeting elephants in MAGA trunks
complete with jacklight
wrought from titanium
(Sia what I mean)?
felling Democratic enemies,
the former tricked out with artificial intelligent
smart and sophisticated firearms
comprised of ballistics fashioned
from one hundred percent kryptonite.

Now a minor digression regarding -  
giving Luigi Mangione
who sported a 3D-printed "ghost gun"
garnering him fifteen minutes of fame in the limelight
killing UnitedHealthCare ceo Brian Thompson,
which ammo etched with the words
"deny," "defend," and "depose"
on the bullets and casings used in the shooting.

Now back to regularly scheduled program,
where yours truly best retire poem,
cuz moonlight sonata filtering thru the window
way past the hour of midnight.

Where upon awakening from dream,
a nightmare found writer of these words
metamorphosed back to the future
videre licet joining rank and file,
when an extinct marine arthropod
that occurred abundantly
during the Paleozoic era,
with a carapace over the forepart,
and a segmented hind part
divided longitudinally
into three lobes,
hence the name trilobite
creatures who throve
from the beginning of the Cambrian Period,
around 521 million years ago,
until the end of the Permian Period,
around 251 million years ago.

Now ye probably wonder less or more
how much longer torment
for thee dear patient reader must endure
before I jump/kick start severance
soon will cometh end of poem
with blessed fate, I assure.

Hyperbole barely exaggerates existential exegesis
as markedly iterated in the book of Matthew.

Upon closing eyes wide shut,
and being whisked at lightspeed
just in time as huge claws
grasp empty air,
he then finds himself
at beginning of evolution
after being hurled further back
even farther across the time stream
when primordial broth covered earth
found him alone as an anachronism
as a sophisticated humanoid
chock full and tricked out
with the latest generation
of quantum robotics technology
electronics far surpassing
even the smartest **** sapiens,
nevertheless artificial intelligence
sets relic of the twenty first century
apart from the madding crowd
of microorganisms in the primordial broth
denying him the likelihood
synonymous with the rolling stone tune
I'll come your to emotional rescue
condemning him to veritable isolation
hounded by mailer daemons,
hence a worse fate than death
dogged his every catatonic step.

I will siphon from the well,

and leave a Luigi Mangione

message, in italic calligraphy,
                             /
for Buachailli Bowe (in red ink)



Ps.
                      /
Buachailli Bo = Cowboy in Irish.
Phonetic Pronunciation = Bowe
It is used to describe a dishonest
corrupt devious malicious person
without a heart empathy or ethics.
I just met one recently in Ireland,
one of those Brian Thomson types
who treats (some people) like ****,
the ones who don't play golf, etc !

Ps. x 1

Spread it like slurry on the streets,
pass on, put on face book, we need
to expose these leech parasite fleas.

Ps. x 2

I don't own a gun but I have ink and
paper and a fountain pen, and Luigi.

CEO    Luigi Mangione Pizza.
Cheese Eggplant and Olives
On a perforated base, chilly
Pellets to burn your fat *****.

Nancy Pelosi has hip
replaced in Germany.
Her own insurance
Firm refused to pay.
She will be speaking
With Luigi Mangione
For advice on return.

Fire breaks in the forest
Differ in width, it depends
On tree heights, species
And the prevailing winds.

In poetry literature music
It is beat verse or chapter.

In written word it’s comma.

In the spoken word pending
On the question it can vary.

For example if you ask about
Brian Thomson/ Luigi Mangione
The response will be thus.

He didn’t deserve to be shot

                    BUT

The to and not to be

There’s a town with a spa, Baden Baden
In Israel, there’s a BiBi, Ben Laden

We’ve got Bridget Bardot
Then there’s Buachailli Bowe

With a heart made of lead
That won’t gladden



Ps

Buachailli Bowe is a right
******* ******* living in
County Cork Ireland who
Needs to meet Luigi Mangione