**** this civilized **** I am set, like an object. So don't object. My eyes on the prize like my future subjects. All these haters is suspect, I pay them no respect. That's how a King treats his subjects. I blow minds like lare jets-- then take marks and get set. It could be the bad or the ugly, l'm as good as it gets. I'm raising the bar like I'm working my pecs, working hard, baring arms like I'm funk master flex. I'm laughing so hard it's hurting my chest. instead of getting money I'm enjoying my wealth,  weight a couple rounds, then rise up in belts. My Dawgs underdogs, like we training vets. I weigh the pros agasint cons, then Shakakon like I'm K. West. Extend my arm and drop a bomb when this mic turn on. My future brighter than prospects, standing on Prospect while the Sunset waiting to get it on

I gulp down an Energy-Booster-X,
blue and sour.
Siri turns on Radiohead,
15 Step.

I step up to the pyramid of treadmills,
bouncing and salty.
Surrounded by Greek gods,
Beta, Alpha Gam, Pike.

I motivate myself by my surroundings,
bulging and ****.
Cardio first and then core,
2 miles, 200 crunches.

I connect my sweat in a line down my shirt,
blotchy and stagnant.
Everyone stretches in the end,
Thighs, biceps, pecs aflame.

I will not stop until I am perfection,
beautiful and sculpted.
Alarm set again,
For 6:30am, 7:30pm

Dear, let me tenderize you like meat slap the silliness from heat bubbling bubbling bubbling to a boil.

Dear, let me technically arouse you by letting each word escape like exasperation, a depletion of the senses as every finger or pressure point examines your body from head-to-toe.

Dear, let me be no longer ashamed to touch or hold you close, let our breathing and beating submerge into higher thinking.

Incinerating flames that lick the grate.

Dear, let me dive deep into the crevice of your brain, all mushy grey matter, all the same.

Dear, let me slice it open and **** out all the juices, licking licking licking each curve and crevice,

My supple pink snake-like tongue reaching deeper deeper deeper into your mind.

Dear, let me sink into your reality, bit by bit, and piece by piece until cohesiveness lays its eggs inside the deep hole within you.

Dear, let me scratch the surface, trading dimes for dust and pecs for fluff.

Let me swim in the depths of your hectic personality.

Let me get to know you and all your originality.

Let me breathe in your values and slurp up your mature decisions.

Let me caress your life like two bulbous lights that hang from the existence of time.

Let me illuminate you, serenade you, quiz you while ******* your sense of self-esteem.

Dear, let me dream your dreams.

Dear, let me sink my ***** mind games into your wet social brain.
Don’t let the pressure get to you.

Passion may play a key part in the sway!

Let me suckle your sweet thoughts, play with your deriving initiatives.

Let me hold your ideas in the sweat of my thighs, burning with desire to see myself through cobalt eyes.

Let me feel the hot ***** of your ethical intentions and clear apparitions.

Let me analyze your prerogatives and **** with your distribution methods.

Dear, let me fiddle with your political views, (in the “other room”) and tickle your soft solutions on creating a world of doom.

Let me ****** your sustainability, flirt with your progressive mindset, and squeeze your plump ambitions until they burst!

Dear, let me push gently on your sensitive issues with your parents until they become less apparent.

Let me stroke your disagreements with foreign policy until they shriek with mercy!

Let me take you further and touch your blind senses to a pink paranoia of retentive defensive pretenses.

Let me cuddle and snuggle your sense of self-worth and pleasure your brain with mind-bending words.

Dear, let me dance with your intelligence
until we sink into oblivious mind-*** bliss…….

You were worried you would be too old
for that **** black vest
WHAT i texted back, annoyed

You were so beautiful next to your old friend
Body hard chiseled cut and toned
easy you being noticed in the crowd

Women smiled into your eyes
dropping that gaze quickly to your
pecs, those abs, whip cord waist line

to the throne of your powerful thighs
ending on a note of pure OH MY
you in a **** black vest

How old are you
Who cares, really look around us here
Men and women are glancing

They see what i see in its entirety
a young god on holiday
down from the east just striding by

I have to run faster now,
I have to leave this town,
Change my name,
Change my face,
**** my identity and leave no trace,
The monster you made is creeping in the dark,
Yearning for the taste of a beating heart,
The bitter scent of soiled blood,
Alcohol and cigarettes,
Another fish caught in the net.

This kid is far from a ***** hot mess,
When he's unable to hide the stress,
To hold down tears that smell like Jack,
Barely able to keep himself back,
From the edge of his so called sanity,
Fractured by the pressure of male vanity.

This MANnequin is just a boy,
18 years and feels destroyed,
Metal pecs and washboard abs,
A dream of his while he covers the 'flab',
Betrayed by friends who style their hair
While he keeps on running so they don't stare
At the failure of physical attraction,
Repulsed by the existence of his own reflection,
Another flaw on a social scale,
**A grizzly end to this unwanted tale.

Rest easy, read these heavy words of slumber,
tap your chest to the beat of your heart,
empty out breath even from the deepest parts
the void, will fill itself, with sleep, I hope for your sake.

Scrunch those toes to close, then let them relax and let go,
Half close those toes and let them loose, shake them once and again,
Tense those calves, feet pointed at the ceiling, if you are willing,
Go half way and shake the tension away, from you,
Quads and hamstrings, next remember in pretext, full and halfway,
shake the tension away,,
gluteus maximus
then abdominals
and lower back
and in their turn
chest, those pecs to reflex and relax
latissimus dorsi, my oh my you got your back
shoulders,
hands of fingers, just like the toes,
pretty soon you might doze,
forearms, biceps and triceps too,
neck and face shrug and scrunch,
you don't have the answer,
so pucker your face,
eyes are the last close them once,
eyes are the last close them half,
eyes are the last,

I hope you never read this far,
unless you are awake, after a
night of rest fullness, so if it does
not work, know this, I will sit by
your side so you can unwind,
I have a good year for listening,
on pillow soft words, for you to put
your sleepy heavy head.


Good...night...yawn

considering reflections!
spectacular expressions excited by vernacular action
spicy and exotic erecting complexity!
forgetting the selective dyslexia
mental anorexia like pecs flexing
lacking dialect donating directions!
elementary subtraction of expletives
what the heck do they expect!
exclusion unaccepted
best guess reckon you're a wreck
what the heck no explanation!

I can feel you looking down at me
Because I dreamed of being a mother as a kid
But why should I change my past, so you’ll be satisfied
That I’m just as tough and handsome as you?

I don’t care, I know I’m not a stud
And I was never truly jealous anyway
As long as I ignore my thighs and pretend my pecs aren’t there
I can mentally punch you in the face.

When you smile it makes me turn away
You’re just too happy for me with your perfect, straight teeth
You’re too strong, way too strong for me
Your presence is overwhelming

Your hair is more messed up than my future
Your shirt is more torn than my self esteem
And don’t get me started on my height
Cos to me you’re taller than a ******* tree

And I can’t take (no I can’t take)
All this madness that I see
It’s taking away my individuality

When you smile it makes me turn away
You’re just too happy for me with your perfect, straight teeth
You’re too strong, way too strong for me
Your presence is overwhelming

If you’re the sun (whisper) I’d rather be in darkness
If you’re my heart, I’d rather tear you out
Cos I’m not perfect and I’d rather never be
I’d rather be a girl but still be me

When you smile it makes me turn away
You’re just too happy for me with your perfect, straight teeth
You’re too strong, way too strong for me
Your presence is overwhelming

So go flexing all you want, I’m not obsessed with you anymore
Mr Perfect, you’re more like Mr Weak.

15th August 2016

Facing an empty nest
my son said don't be stupid
use your apple laptop
to go on ok cupid

So i struggled with my profile
uploaded a picture or two
then waited for my soulmate
while stalkers came to view

One said he disliked people
the next, just casual ***...
seeking christy brinkley's
firmed up **** & pecs

Once i was a **** buddy
i swear i never knew it
until he said "meet melody"
that's how i learned i blew it

I'm not greedy, not too needy
so i'll say this right out loud
when it comes to playful ***...
for me 3 is a crowd!

Should i call on carrie bradshaw?
to explain *** in the city?
when samantha found her mr. wright
it ended not so pretty

Once a young man pursued me mightily
with passionate hysteria
until he asked for plane fare
to fly him from nigeria

Who IS that who winked at me?
what does it really mean
a sea of faces scrolling down
a modern mating machine

I digress, most do agree
that our lives flow like a river
but wait...what do i see?
my dream man in my quiver?

The sand's soft underneath my cheek; cool and grainy like a scattered pillow should be. I hear the crash of waves and the call of gulls. A headache starts to brew on either temple while stale *** coats my famished tongue. I feel a light drizzle tickling my face. Flashes of wide smiles and high conversation skims through my broken memory. The suns rising. Its heat is on my back. My eyes flutter and slowly open to a scene of white froth colliding with pure light blue ocean. Seagulls bob up and down in the rise and fall of the waves, their faces look like their made of stone, their eyes indifferent. I smile, getting sand in-between my teeth.
I reach out my hand and grip the hot sand. Tiny pebbles rub in between my fingertips. Another scream from the sea gulls above me. The sky seems like no place for a crowd. Reaching a little farther, I discover a half-empty bottle of Bacardi *** and a packet of cigarettes beside it. A lighter is tucked inside.
"Lucky day," I say aloud to myself, "Lucky day for you indeed." I bring the bottle to my chest and lean it in between my pecs. It rests perfectly there. Smacking a cigarette out of the pack, I place it in my mouth and dig in my sandy pockets for a lighter. It's still there. This surprises me. I light the cigarette and my eyes immediately cringe as the heavy billow of smoke erupts forth. It's a sting I'm used to, so I blink hard a few times. The pain only lasts for a moment, then it's gone.
"There we go," I say leaning my head back, wedging it into the sand, "Let night become this day."
Clouds dissipate and the sky opens up clear. A toucan bird clatters its beak in the distant banana trees. I look to see where it is, but the birds colors are lost in the dark green and yellow of the trees leaves. I fit my lit cigarette in between my middle and pointer finger, push myself up to lean onto my elbow, and tip the bottle of *** back with my other hand. The *** is sweet and warm. Been sitting in the sun too long. I always like with a bit of ice in a Dixie cup. It pinches my lips and eyes for only a second, then starts to travel down to my stomach lining, warming it. The sun passes the dawn and the dark blue night sky becomes a new morning.
I lay there watching the water and the night become day for I have no idea how long. I've no obligation to no one, not even to myself. Time for me is a fleeting thing, but even if time is slipping away, where is it really slipping to? Time stands still and we are the ones that move. Perhaps we have created time to prove to ourselves that we are in fact alive?  
The freight train I jumped to get down to Cozumel came from Arizona. It was crowded like a ******* with vagrants, drunks, dealers, and desert kids. Me, I was in the last train cause I can't run for nothing. Shrapnel tore into my right calf when I was in the war. They tried to patch me up as good as they were able, but once something like that happens, it's impossible to truly get back to normal one-hundred percent. It's hard to come back one-hundred percent from anything when I think about it.
Come to me, lady Dee. Come to me lady who lives by the sea. You are the one I'm always thinking of. You are the one who sends me reeling and in love. Your hair is like honey: soft, golden, and sweet. Your eyes are like acorns: auburn and neat. Oh' when you went away that one winter's day, I was left with a feeling that there wasn't anything left to say. Where have you gone off to? Where do you stay? Will you ever come back to me? When will be that day?
Noon came. Children kick at my bare feet. Their laughter sounds like the echo of birds chirping. I can smell them too: red licorice mixed mixed with fried fish and fresh lemon. Where have they come from? What do they want with the likes of me? One of'em gets me hard in the ankle and I spring up onto my feet and roar. I see they're kids from town. Their skin is maple leaf brown and their hair, long and to their shoulders, is streaked yellow from the sun. I look down at them. Their faces are frozen, stunned. The smallest one of the groups teeth begin to chatter. I roar again louder and they scurry off up the white sands of the beach toward their homes, the smallest one lagging behind like a gimp donkey. I check my pockets to make sure none of them swiped my wallet or keys. Still there. My pockets are filled with sand and I dump them out as I make my way up the beach toward my cabin on the other side of the cove.
I built it myself, my cabin. She sits at the top of a sand dune overlooking the water. It's all I've got. Made a deal when I first arrive with the land owner, Perez Sandiago (Sandy if you know him), that I'd work for his iguana farm once or twice a week if he'd let me have the plot. They aren't too bad, the iguana's, as long as they don't bite you. Once they know you, they rarely do. More prone to sit and bask in the sun to bother anybody. All they need is to be fed, given some water, and left the hell alone as Sandy will say.
As I walk up the hill, a few small ***** and strings of seaweed in my hands for lunch, I see a small part of the roof is gone. The wind may have taken it off or maybe some of the tie came loose. The sun above is hot and relentless. I put my hand over my eyes to shade them walking forward. Sand washes over the top of my feet, warming them. I stop, closer to my cabin now, and take off my shirt. I lay it on the sand and place the few ***** and seaweed on it. Then I tie them up in kind of a ruck sack so the ***** won't get away. They're always running off to some place when they know their gonna' get killed, but I guess I would do the same.
There is a single chair I leave by the front door and I take it and step up on it to get a better look at the roof. There isn't any tie left. It either fell inside or blew away with the missing piece. I look over the roof of the cabin further down the beach to see if it's laying out there. Nothing, just the beach. The roof's too weak to climb up on, so I get down and circle the cabin. I make my way around and reach the front door. The only other place it could be, if it isn't further down the beach somewhere, is in the cabin. I take out my keys and fit it into the lock. It's unlocked. A wave crashes behind me and spreads out on the sand with a sizzling hush. I take a step back and think for a moment, then walk inside feeling every grain of sand between my toes.

[Ready?]
Yes but I really don’t approve of your obvious use of anabolic steroids. It’s an amoral and cowardly shortcut. And don’t even get me started on the innumerable adverse effects. Don’t even get me started.
[Can you keep up ?]
Of course but can we talk? Can we talk? The size and shape of your head is comical who do you think you’re kidding? You have, by far, the roundest head I’ve ever seen. I can’t help but imagine you as an obtuse High School English professor who doesn’t understand the source of his students’ laughter but really, it’s because you gave me a C on an essay because you say I had a “circular” argument. Or as an equally clueless physics professor generating chuckles left and right in response to your lecture on “spherical” whatsits in a vacuum.
[Are you tired?]
No, we’re not done yet—Am I right? Am I right? Look at you. If God ever were to create guns or pumps or pecs of that size, it would only be by way of some syntax error.
[How about now?]
No, let me finish—Who are you trying to impress? Masculinity most certainly isn’t the word to use. I’d say monstrosity. Who do you think is or would be attracted to a walking, talking industrial sized freezer. If a woman needs protection, she’ll find a guard dog of necessary ferocity. Or maybe, she’ll cultivate some kind of relationship with you and find comfort in the fact that if she ever upsets you, you could break the ***** in half without the slightest hitch.
[……]
I don’t even want to know the state of the pinpricks you at one point called your testicles
[……]
I wouldn’t even say it’s proper to call you “Mr. Universe”. You’re big, but you’re not that big. I’m more inclined to call you “Mr. Pampered and Pumped up New England”. I cannot comfortably call you Mr. Universe because I’m not comfortable having you represent my universe. The “Mr.” signals the “Master”. That’s just appalling. And what is with the spray tan? What is the true pasty picture of Mr. Universe throughout the winter months?  If someone ever has a question for the Master of the universe, I’ll be sure to tell them to direct their questions to the beefed up and bloated tangerine to my left.
[……]
……
[……]
Are we done?
[No]
How far have we gone?
[Nowhere]
What?
[You have gone too far, but we haven’t even walked out the door. Once you’re finished running your mouth, we can work on getting your fat, saggy *** into shape.]

Candy
Bubblegum girl, I think you deserve better.
You're dating a man who acts like a child,
Leaving a breadcrumb trail of missed calls until you're crying down the phone at work
Leaking candy floss tears into the carpet.
Far be it from me to impart my wisdom,
There's only a few months between us
But I've stopped pearlescent pear drops
Forming on my cheeks
Because no man is ever worth it, sugar.

Vegan
He told you drink no milk and eat no eggs
Till your blood thinned out and your body starved
Girl, you should know
A man who tries to purify your body
Is aiming to conquer holy ground
Raining redemption on the promised land
This is not the Crusades
And he has no right to a single centimetre of you
Your body is a temple of ***, drugs and rock n roll
It's a sin to cleanse it with kale.

Sky
You had a friend who painted you the colour of sunsets
Bleeding, beautiful, bright
Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?
Did it hurt when he shot you down?
Was your daddy a thief because I swear he stole stars to put in your eyes
And now that man wants them out
Stardust in his pocket
Leaving you dark and blind
How do you tame the sky?
By convincing you you're a wolf in sheeps clothing
Dressed himself up as the victim, the lamb to the lion
Ironed out the creases in his smile until he's a cloudless day
And you're the monster in the depths.

Scorpio
Five foot *******
In love with the sound of his own voice
With a flex of his pecs
He tells you he just doesn't think you 'werk'
You just don't seem to 'vibe' and with that jibe
Strips the maturity from the situation until it's exposed enough to be instagrammable.
You know what he's really like
Round family a sweetheart, an old fashioned charmer
Darling he's built himself a brand new armour
A carapace
And you may well get crabby sometimes
But he's the one with the sting.

Anxiety
He’s sweet
Really
A pure soul with no ulterior goals in mind
He likes you.
And guys too,
Which surprises you a little.
Maybe it’s his unassuming posture
The way he holds his head
And the five o’clock shadow that creeps through till it’s gone midnight
And he hasn’t messaged yet.
He likes you
Really
But doesn’t have control over his tongue
As it writhes inside the stranglehold the brain has put it under.
He came to these studios to find a voice
And found yours, lilting, Celtic with a northern twang
Like the snapped string of a guitar.
You talk to him about...everything
And he tries to muster the words to keep up with your shine
Finds solace in your bed but not your lips.
He ends it over text
With bitten nails stabbing the keys
To lock your heart anew.

New Rules
Something about the hesitation in your smile says
That you are used to living on a knife edge
A bridge edge
A cliff edge
Anywhere he could push-pull you off
Throw himself into churning depths so you'll come back to catch him
But you're the ******, naturally
Throw around the C-U-N
Tea-sipping, words slipping from your mouth as we realise
A shared history, of a sort.
We've both felt the iron tang of blood
As we bit our tongues against injustices railed against us
Words and names buried so deep
They cannot be plucked out like the splintered praise of friends.
You say You'd take him back in a heartbeat,
But all you're missing is an echo chamber
A sounding board for your own atrioventricular system
Hidden behind your lungs
Is all the love that you could give.
Share it with the world.
Share it with yourself.
And don't pick up the phone.

A friend dropped by my shop today
looking for some grooming muck
I told him where to find it
And that he was just in luck

I said "is it a present?"
He said "no, it's for me"
I said, it's cream and shaving gels
You're talking stupidly

He told me that he manscaped
What the hell is that I said
It's a man's way of new grooming
From his feet up to his head

He told me he got waxed "down there"
I cringed and just said ouch
With out hair on our *****
Men just slide off of the couch

He said he kept himself real clean
In case the situation did arise
where his tan lines were quite visible
and showed white down on his thighs

He talked to me of ointments
and of implants in his pecs
i started going la la la
when he started talking ***

i told him do not tell me
of the grooming down below
we're friends, but there are some things
even friends don't want to know

i told him that my father
told me keep it clean down there
and never, ever, ever,
take a scissor to that hair

a woman wants a manly man
and i am certain of this sir
a woman will not ***** you
if you're prettier than her!!!!

Thought are not suppose to be bottled.So I pour my *** down the sink when I think, it runs down,and I **** away the world afflictions, cause its bigger than my shrink.Hard to blink cause my addiction is I stare into space tryna find my place.To be libra, even with the ying yang cause its constant battle in my cerebral.
Dealin with neglectful people,resultin with me to project hate towards the one I call fam.
****!
I should crucify my hands cause its writtin so much sin from heart.Its truely hard to be positive cause im always dwellin in the dark.
I feel thats what my only option is.
Haunted by the future, dreamin bout the past,tryin to recover, and exhume feelings to rid of that never last.Cause I dont want  stained names writtin on my heart cast growin pains maken me nuts, groin pains.
I want no part of that!
Sometimes I wanna die of a broken heart attack.Beating too seperate pulses on the screen, watch  it get flatlined and silent like my hopes and dreams.
pshhh **** this self esteem!
I been bullied at young,laugh at cause I was fat and dumb,always askin for theyre pizza crust nd crumbs.Always picked last and never won not once.
But I aint done,lost my father, young and I wasnt a good son.Im his off spring that sprung with mean gene son.Him a Drug addict, im the pain addict,I inject the hate habbits an cry in my own attic.
Hopin for a dragon tails, or some
Harry potter magic.
At night I see father & son commercials on the tv screen, I cringe, cause I remember thinking one day thatll be me.To have some  sorta memory of the dAy that we meet.But it never came to pass or be. No sir-ree!  he was notorious, but all he gave me was a  missed calls and birthday wishes never granted, and dead dreams.And a ache, that came with me when I left the nursery the day I was born.
Breathless, a severe asthmatic. Abnia child,who eventually  grew wild,while with no father to tell him to sit down! Im AdHd I cant keep calm! Ima a pessimisst with thoughts in my
Mind that storms from night till dawn.
All about christ,with nails as the  pen in my palms.Reading the psalms,to keep strong but im still weak ,a lefty doin right is wrong.
Still keep my heart on my arm I still flex  nd rep love till packed solid like abs and pecs. But just give a nine or tech, to shoot bullet notes.The ology of knowing me, is a study of a SOB.. Shortness of breath...


Lost in direction I need a pointer,
And eyes cause im walkin wrong,
No seein
Not believing


-Deep Thought

152 beats without the drum
tight chest not tight pecs
that's way too much - way too much
take a ride in the wagon - needles inserted
with lights and siren - life inverted
4 days later
inserted defib to keep it slower
not working as of midnite
new peak at 205 bpm
pain relief - not yet
no sleep tonite
but still alive
maybe not the way this nite is going

Gomer LePoet...

I have lorded over all since the beginning of time.
Everything that ever was; All of creation is mine.
Can you not tell; Can you not see the signs?
Building the human body to withstand the test of time.

I breathed life into the stars; I gave birth to the night.
Upon my whims, I created the days and also the light.
The oceans, the lands, all were built by my hands

To all those that have seen, you have seen me at my best
My thundering abs, my rock hard pecs,
My simply irresistible mortal flesh.

I have choirs of angels singing to me at every meal
Heavenly tunes ringing out in all directions,
At my palace daily is the place to feel,
The love of god, the splendor of my will

I gave you, as man, free will to do as you please.
But an emerging trend has developed, it seems
Lately, I feel unsatisfied answering your needs.
Groveling, bent at the knee
You beg and plead for help from me
To save you from devices of your own making
Constantly breaking your own laws
Constantly taking the lives of those around you

Some may attest, even persuade themselves
That I do not exist; Living simply as a myth.
Hearing & Preaching my arch-rival's tales,
Of Sin & Corruption on massive scales.
Then answer how my work is seen
In the human body, down to the humble bean?

I send you my last regards
A message from on high
In hopes that you aren't ALL retards
Get your world fixed right!

Stepping through the portal, chaos’s pause is pressed.
I sit at a table with my baguette, fries & coke,
watching the world continue without me.

The sun is out today, it has been a long time coming,
yet I can hear complaints;
“It’s too **** hot!!!” – Typical Britishness.

I take a bite of baguette,
Savouring the flavours of cottage cheese & pineapple,
a burst of the tropical in my mouth, reflecting the weather outside.

The sunshine has brought with it an abundance of skin on show.
Short skirts & crop-tops; pecs out, shorts & flip-flops,
The wearing of whatever is cool.
Old guys in Panama hats, sandals & socks – Not Cool!!!

I take a bite of baguette and wash it down with coke.

An overpacked bus stops opposite, expelling its human cargo.
Limp, damp and glistening in the sunshine;
Sardine people exiting a giant can on wheels

I take a bite of baguette.

A homeless guy blows in from the concrete plains like a tumbleweed.
Despite the heat, he wears all he possesses;
jeans, jumper, an old school-style parka.
An old sleeping bag and blanket thrown over one shoulder, dragging along behind him.

He stops and asks me for change.
I give him my fries.
He seems grateful.
I feel guilt-free as he leaves;
But I wonder what else he will get to eat today?

I take a slightly guilt-ridden bite of baguette and wash it away with some more coke.

A posse of students come in and join some already seated.
Fist bumps and various cultural greetings are exchanged.
Instantly, the moderate hum of a busy eatery is shattered by the new arrivals as music goes on a portable speaker.

What a God-awful racket it is that passes for music these days!
Suddenly, I feel really old as I hear the voice of my grandfather in my head;
he expressed that very same opinion about my music of choice in the 80s.
The recollection makes me smile.

I take a bite of baguette.
Another bus stops opposite, and more sardine people get off.
More flesh passes by, both cool, and the Not Cool!
More of the homeless amble by asking for change and picking up discarded ***-butts that show the promise of a smoke for later.
Pushchairs laden with sleeping babes, toddlers trailing behind harassed mothers.
Workers, shoppers and moochers;
the whole mix of society passes by, doing what it does.

I take a final bite of baguette and finish up the last of the coke.

My sojourn over, I must now pass once more through the portal,
my window to the world.
Once again, I am simply part of the madding crowd.

Straddle me with lip-gloss pout,
ensnare your prey with lip-sheen smile:


lift firm pecs to eye-shadow wink,
eye-liner proposition this studied guile;


and I have naught to live for now
than be with you for just a while__✒








○●•°

I’m waddling around with wattles.
Nothing in a bottle will change that.
Not buying a better looking hat
Or a brighter, tighter shirt.
My childhood left in the dirt,
I’m an old man! I do what I can
To not look like a wino under a bridge;
A smidge of aftershave so I don’t stink
And people don’t think I’m decaying.

What I’m saying is, I’m getting old.
Graying smudges among the gold.
This is me. This is what I see daily
When I glance gaily into my mirror
Expecting the guy as young as I feel.
He isn’t real. An old guy sneaked in
Again, and I wish I hadn’t peeked.
Oh well, this isn’t really hell.
I have never thought I was hot,
One of those handsome lads that had
Everyone’s heads turning for them.

I had dim hope there for a while
But, no matter how much I smile
Nothing wins like smooth skin
Broad shoulders and big pecs.
I mean, I was not a wreck, but not
As I said, even a little bit hot.
Oh well, I got what I got, true?
Can I or you ever defeat genetics?
Like father like son, and mother,
Creates another generation of us;
Nice guys and gals, but plain,
And this old man is what remains.

Where are you my lover?
You were always a blown temper
You took my shame and beat it til it surfaced
A brutality of another.
Where are you my sweet?
You often fell at my feet
And swore never to do it again
But we both saw defeat.
Where are you my ex?
Only useful for ***
Even that was half hearted and bitter
Unlike your pecs.
Where are you my head?
Reality is to dread
Hes nothing, don't recall him, god ****** woman
Hes better off dead.

---

There are some boyz
Across the street
The kind I wouldn't
Like to meet
They are as tan
As toasted wheat
Their bedrooms prob'ly
Smell like feet

Their pecs are pumped
Their abs are bunched
Eat a half a cow for lunch
I don't know, I have a hunch
They wave goodbye to Cap'n Crunch!

They play bad music
Have loud voices
Use poor vocabulary choices
They are cute, have pretty faces
But couldn't tie their own shoelaces

So long serene nights
With you, my moon
So long peaceful afternoons
They use their yard as a spittoon
I'm gonna just go inside real soon
And pick up the telephone
Call a number that I own

Soon of noise I will be free

I know their landlord you see!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 8/30/2015

flying elbow smash
top rope lunatic
smashing forearms with finesse
deftly bringing a ruckus crowd
to froth ~
cleverly spouted phrases
heel delivery  
sneering with spittle soaring
microphone weather system /

flexed pecs bounce in time
chanting masses standing proud
electric air
goose bumps for all ~

steel chair buckles
as skin distorts and goes purple
screaming hordes count in unison
each whack brings fresh cheers
sprinkled with groans
their ‘guy’ has been beaten ~

sweat pours from a chiseled physique
and a belt is raised high /

—For my brothers in cabins, in hiding, out-of-this-world.

I succumb to the baby-oiled glossy perfect flesh.
The abs, the pecs, the shiny *****, the angles
and shadows creating those illusions.

These man-boys, some still acned and purple with
non-air-brushed bodies, fascinate me.  But
I look again.  These are photos of posing and
***** boys.

They’ve never seen the planting of garlic, nor
the digging of a grave to put to rest a
beloved raccoon, nor the dirt-fresh smells of
putting-down a root cellar, nor anything
that is our ‘neighbors.’

So, my brothers, I have no gloss to share, no hot
glamour to peddle. Rather, I’ll give you
my ***** finger-nails touching men in black-
and-white portraits, who consume me
with life and earth and real *****
and warts and paunches and hard-earned
scars and stains and 2X4 poems.


© Lewis Bosworth, ca. 1980

1.
The water spills down warm then hot then cool again
And when I slide down the shower wall and find myself seated
The drain between my knees ******* down the city funk
And I examine the sidewalk blisters on the souls of my feet
I realized yes it happened again, but it is over now
And I breathe deep, then deeper, trying to feel the medicine
of oxygen, of ginger ale in my broken throat, of bourbon, of lithium.

There are things only Angels can do, but their are plenty of Angels in Brooklyn.
Avie bouncing round the safe house, a bubbly "spirit in the night."
Will Powers slowly circling the felt, speaking softly of cinema,
The atomic dogs in and out of the bathroom, the scent of Columbia circling them.
Tony in the corner whispering in ears, his eyes on the till, his hands missing his Les Paul.

I feel it again,
In my legs, in my groin, in my hands,
In lands far away,
In visions of alternative days,
In dead ocean waves,
In blood soaked caves.

I feel like Crazy Janie
Making love in the dirt.
Like a child raised in the
Spanish country side by wolves
Putting on his first clean shirt.

Now I know I'm going down, and not just because she's not around.
It's because I find myself commanding a night brigade and there's still 5 hours till sunrise.
Big man assist me please, I got turf stains from Rugby on my knees.
I got Angels around me, but they don't want to hug, they don't want to make love,
it may be time to consider, my aging face, and my overdrive pace.

So I settle for Rock And Roll.
Follow Will to his roof with Strategy Matt.
And the city was bright shining
In red, white, and blue light.
I spun slowly and widened my eyes,
a little dance on top of the world,
pumped my biceps and pecs,
I unfurled and twirled.

You can't start a fire with out a spark, girl.
You can't truly be ambitious unless you are prepared to love the whole world.

2.
Working out in the beer cooler.
If I’m gonna lift boxes for twelve
dollars an hours might as well get
exercise, might as well feel that
Trapezoid pump and bump,
Fifteen left pumps of the thirty
Pack, then thirteen rights,
Step, renegotiate my balance,
Step, feel the calf, the toes, strike a pose.

Sweat cascading, anticipating
A delivery, an emancipation
From the slow tick of clock.
Make a label, flip a bottle,
Wave your racing thoughts,
To the periphery, make a six pack.

Customers - man the register.
Make it beep, penny keep,
Penny leave, find a box,
Watch the clock, slow your
Movement speed your mind.
Bet on how many more through
the door, flip the lights and sign.

3.
The last day of a manic episode is a bad day to pick up a paycheck.
The money is like oxygen to the flame.
It can reignite the inferno, leaving you another moth dancing on tongues of fire.
Or just a slightly over weight man in his late thirties flinging darts at a machine at the Blind Rhino.

Can't go on a date in Manhattan without ending up in Brooklyn a sleepless forty-eight hours.
Can't go to South Norwalk for **** and not spend the rest on beer and pool.
The night before I got fourteen hours sleep.  It was over.

It started again.  The walking the talking the smoking the spending the joking the posing
A manic puppet on the string of his own euphoric string, a lonely space cowboy
chucking faked darts at a machine that records me.
Buy me a whiskey.  This is my America too.

I of the insane, the crazies, the water heads, the criminals, the ******,
We will all "walk like Brando into the sun."
We will rage, riot, rebel, and revolt,
And walk the highways together,
Under a relentless sun,
And keep walking at night in the cooler soft light of the moon,
and keep walking at sunrise,
Through blizzards, and golf ball hail,
We will walk through the raining of giant toads if we have to,
and life will turn into a movie,
where all the cameras belong
to us.

"Bzzir Bzauchi Bzzirya"
Said the treptonite whilst hissing it's tongue to a snakelike reflex,
                 *"Cutreen Cutyl Cuttiness"
Said the gorzolias whilst arms flailing at it's rugged pecs.
                                  "WHAT THE ****?"
Said the human with wide eyes staring at the inhuman abominations.
                            "THEY ARE DIFFERENT, SHOOT THEM ALL DOWN"
Said the human as he reached for his weapon of extermination.
               "We come in pea...."
Said the two inhuman abominations....

                      

News Article : *Creatures unlike man shot down in what appears to be a police shootout. The creatures will be experimented on to determine their genus and abilities. Should any uses for their bodies appear, we will publish all scientific evidence of such to the Journal of Scientific Discovery.

..and you know because you've done it too

looked in the mirror and thought who
wouldn't want this chunk
this fabulous looking hunk of man

then

wonder if my *** looks big in this
look at the pecs
get yer specs on for these
don't
don't
don't look at those knobbly knees

krap

so you spend some quality time
putting your clothes on
composing a rhyme

no one will see those knees.