And I didn't know.

How could I have?

How was I to know that my ocean eyed, long haired raver boy was her fiancee?

How was I to know that when he was kissing me in the dark, neon lights all around us, that she was waiting for him?

Yes, he is marrying her.

And no, she will never know my name.

Like I never happened.

For the record, I suppose it should be stated I lost my soul in Vegas.
I would love to go back there and find it among those glittering lights and buffet tables of never-ending artful desserts.
It's funny that all I really remember are those pretty desserts and fried mashed potatoes.
I want those things back.

I'm like a raver with those lights.
I want to consume them.
I want to glow in my pores.
Not the cliched glow that wraps itself around the impregnated many,
but the glow that comes from sitting next to neon for too long.
That it could somehow stain you.
Rub off like fairy dust on skin.
That I could fly away due to its energy or wishful thinking.

Take me back to Vegas,
where they still hand that out for free by the boatload.
I need not gamble.
I need not glad-hand.
I would simply sit idly by the buzzing of pinks and blues and greens and reds.
And me and those cheap 1920's lights will have a moment,
a moment I can share with the cocktail waitress who asks me for the third time if I'm sure I don't need a little refresher drink.

I

All all and all the dry worlds lever,
Stage of the ice, the solid ocean,
All from the oil, the pound of lava.
City of spring, the governed flower,
Turns in the earth that turns the ashen
Towns around on a wheel of fire.

How now my flesh, my naked fellow,
Dug of the sea, the glanded morrow,
Worm in the scalp, the staked and fallow.
All all and all, the corpse's lover,
Skinny as sin, the foaming marrow,
All of the flesh, the dry worlds lever.

            II

Fear not the waking world, my mortal,
Fear not the flat, synthetic blood,
Nor the heart in the ribbing metal.
Fear not the tread, the seeded milling,
The trigger and scythe, the bridal blade,
Nor the flint in the lover's mauling.

Man of my flesh, the jawbone riven,
Know now the flesh's lock and vice,
And the cage for the scythe-eyed raver.
Know, O my bone, the jointed lever,
Fear not the screws that turn the voice,
And the face to the driven lover.

            III

All all and all the dry worlds couple,
Ghost with her ghost, contagious man
With the womb of his shapeless people.
All that shapes from the caul and suckle,
Stroke of mechanical flesh on mine,
Square in these worlds the mortal circle.

Flower, flower the people's fusion,
O light in zenith, the coupled bud,
And the flame in the flesh's vision.
Out of the sea, the drive of oil,
Socket and grave, the brassy blood,
Flower, flower, all all and all.

Copious amounts of lava
seeping over the table
steaming mugs of java
cutting off the cable.

Rara Avis is a Latin term
no sneakers for me today
eaten by the Conqueror Worm
during the month of May.

******* drugs
and Sugar Twin
white punk thugs
chasing Rin-Tin-Tin.

Rainbows of black
babies howling out loud
guerilla attacks
a huge raver crowd.

Windshield wipers
with ribbons attached
little sticky diapers
and gates made of thatch.

Alphagetti monsters
smoking a jay
card-carrying punsters
greasy burgers on a tray.

Cute cotton *******
on lithe little nymphs
disappearing shanties
owned by drugged-up pimps.

Rhymes gone bad
a little cash in my pocket
hanging at the pad
and watching Davy Crockett.

People eating doughnuts
***** up on the beaches
hips that do the low strut
and blood ******* leeches.

It all comes down
to a single final thought:
was the Queen's big crown
really traded for a ***?

A nineteen-year-old drug connoisseur,
That fiend on the roam, just the next player
making moves on his cell-phone.
Sometimes you gotta race
but you always gotta play,
Revel in The Apotheon;
Welcome to The Game.

Stoner to the bone,
Raver at heart;
Yet everthrough always the psychonaut.

Been a speed-freak, a pill-head
and almost got stuck in the k-hole,
All 'cause one day
life caught me double-dosed;
You never intend to be any of these things,
It just all happens
while your eyes are closed.

Going inside and out
Compression to stretching
Something like breathing
Exalted expression

Who's playing this squeezebox?
Can I make a request?
Play something lively, loud, and fast

My heart's tied in knots
My brain's hanging on
By the skin of my teeth
For the length of one song

Dance like you're dying
And dance like you're dead
Life is little more
Than a song in your head

Break down the walls and let it all in
Dance as if this moment will never end

Move to the rhythm and jump towards your soul
Suspended stringless puppet under no one's control
Fall down to yourself right on top of the beat
Spinning in the center of where all the lines meet

Slow it down for the break and take a deep breath
Potential energy buildup for what's coming next
Those chills in the moment right before it all hits
Soul body and mind caught up in the mix

Hear it; explode
Supernovate the senses
The death of a star amid a galaxy of faces
To be born again
In a jet stream of limbs
I find enlightenment
At 150 bpm

I want to walk

                           on your wavelength

                                                         submerge my mind
into the low frequency

                                                   Feel our bodies vibrate
to the rhythm

                                      Of the bassline

When peace leaves, ever setting as winter
he bitterly tosses all chance beneath
her sun, howling madly while he pins her
mean like a crazy raver with claws sheathed.

What might to live steadfast in raging fire!
Pleading peace and fractions of smoky clouds
up after three, dogged she loves through ire
unrepentant, refusing to be cowed

while he looses logic bared of reason--
thunderous icicles with poisoned tips
cut fully in form ill-timed to seasons
of babies, bills, dogs, cats and sinking ships.

She whispers welcome to the stormy breach
wholeheartedly, forever out of reach.

I smile. I laugh. I frown. I cry.
I do all of these and more.
Some of you can see that and beyond the eye,
An area I still inhale and explore.

Several years ago, I told everyone I had no idea:
Who I am, what I am capable of....
If I follow or not the stereotypical criteria,
Or when I'll fully understand that emotion called love.

To this day, I still have no inkling of it.
I look to those beside, in front, and behind,
And only gain information in the smallest bit by bit,
My eyes water, my smile falls, my heart and lungs grind.

Who am I?
A young African-American woman?
What else do you see in my physical eye?
Asain-American? Caucasian?
Indeed I am all of these and more.
This genetic make-up is my own.
But you probably don't see my pleas:
Will I still not know, even when time is grown?
How much time do I have?

Self-actualization seems so far,
Yet so close now that my line is almost in half.
Is my mentality up to par?
Perhaps all that people know most is my mask,
I'm sure they have all seen, smelt, and touched
That casket that makes breathing such a complex task.

Indeed, it is so easy to gain and manipulate trust,
But don't think i have toyed with it yet,
Or even ever, because I crave that social acceptance.
What human doesn't feel that crave at least once to whet?

Patience. Patience. Patience.
Do I have that for you?
Do I have that for me?
Hah, niether. I have no patience for those two;
But that area is where my mask has wealth.

Forgive me for this length,
And the tears on this middle binding.
I say some know me, lies, you know less than an eighth,
And I just love that caring look in your eyes when we're bonding.

I thought I knew.
I thought, I was sure, I believed it was gone...
I am back with no answers not even a few,
But I can ask questions until dawn.
What more can I say to you?
There really is no reason to frown.

I am the poet, I am the rebel,
I am the student and the slacker,
I am the depressed girl who fell.
I am the cutter, I am the life-taker,
I am the raver and the intellectual,
I am the middle child of three.
I am the dreamer, I am the casual,
I am the fight and the one who flees,
I am all of these and more.

And yet, i still don't know who or what I am.

When lightning strikes a tree
Sap boils, cells explode, bark strips off into oblivion
And the tree melts, revealing a new form to the cool wind.
When you opened your eyes through the guise of a fading child,
I felt this happen to me.

My heart struck by your thunder, the leaves and ashes
Of my nerves
Blasted away
My DNA peeled away and there in its place lay a new man
Melted into the shape you pounded me into
With vicious eyes and stares that disintegrated injustice
Almost like a new world lived within our gaze.

Somehow, this universe has been opened
Time brought us to this moment. Gravity
Pulled us here. Revealed a blind spot in the folds
Between the atoms and the space from my mouth to yours.

We're like magnets
Like polar reversal
Hanging gardens of universal hope
And a lust for comfort
An insatiable hunger for simplicity
And solace

Uncompromisingly, we surpass the unnecessary and move straight into
The Moments We Wished For.

Closed blinds, wax and oil
Steam rising from the drain
Your hands entwined with my spine
Hair a maze for our fingers

You
Are
A mountain of passionate letters
From kids who thought no one would read them,
Sent through the ears of judges who never looked up at their victims

You were an undeveloped diamond
A sunset that someone polluted
With lies of impurity and worthlessness.

You wanted simply LOVE
A true hand to hold you and show you
That not everything in the world was so hopeless

Well your father may not have been the one to do his ******* job
And get right into all the reasons why you're beautiful so let me be the one
To pick up his slack and change you.

You're a raver with skylines in her eyes
An excuse to roll out of bed with a smile
Seventeen years of pent up compassion
Waiting to be released on some lucky bystander
Someone guilty of desiring you
Of telling you
You can do better.

You were always the one
Before we met
Before we did whatever we could to be in the same room for more
Than just a breath

You may be a dragon, a cougar,
A Jackson Pollack spattered with blood and ***
And anger and years of self-doubt

But I am your new canvas

And right now, I am empty.
And you are overflowing with colors.

What ***** is being at work seeing other people **** up to the boss just to get more hours when you work your slaving behind off and get less hours then the person who takes four breaks in three hours, just ranting
And it feels so good to let this all out poetry style.!
As others say Im learning!
Life's unfair.

Like a drop of sun,
on my tongue.

Change blisters like
scorching summers.

Different seasons,
different lovers.

Missing our kin,
missing our mothers.

Under the weather,
under the covers.

Sleet black tears,
****** sheets,
ringing ears.

But we've gotten over
our biggest fears.

I see you silent raver,
quaint in the night.

I hear you secret lover,
out of mind out of sight.

Bathe in darkness, reign in light.

//

I am no longer among the fallen.

It all started because of a note from Molly,
I understand jealousy, but thinking I'd cheat is folly.

Molly hung out 1 night before we met (it would be 6 months 'til then),
But my sister liked Molly, so Molly was never seen again.

Molly and I had talked all night, and Molly left a sweet note,
Sentimental, I tucked it away under some old winter clothes.

You found it in a drawer almost a full year later,
You made your assumptions, and said, "After a while, alligator."

I think you made your decision that night at the club,
You let me walk by, let her take my hand, and decided it wasn't love.

I was there waiting for you, that chick was, shall we say, promiscuous,
She waited around a corner, but you waited, and watched, suspicious.

I knew you'd never believe that she'd kissed me, I still told the truth,
But you were that raver girl in the hall, and you thought you knew.

visually delicious as  germane strudels
the following cooked years ago
courtesy me noggin awash with noodles.

Yours truly crafted remaining poem
around 27th July 2018
idea arose within me cerebral dome.

...As poetic theme came to mind
     in a Serge without a waiver
thus, I took a virtual Page
     from Google LLC to slaver
with little effort
     in an acceptable
     rhyming rant and raver
about said American

     multinational technology company
     that rode dot com bubble,
     where other startups did quaver
specializing in Internet-
     related services and products

     rolled out amidst
     much fanfare palaver
though odd, how such an obvious
     idea hit me like figurative brick
over thine noggin

     upon instantaneously espying
     Lyudmila Vladimirovna Rudenko
     Soviet chess player, and second
     women's world chess champion,
     from 1950 until 1953
     when bitta bing bitta
     chitty chitty bang bang
     that eureka momenta did click

mental wheels and cogs
     as if...an oil derrick
hit a mother lode, thence subsequently
     inducing automatic flick
     as latest feted persona grata
     gets done up in bold face and/or Italic,
nonetheless a commendable
     spontaneous fantastic burst

     of inspirational magic
commensurate with mine
     modest prolific quixotic
of course, I WON'T applaud
     idea de jure as terrific
and puzzle over, how such "a ha"
brilliant idea did not occur to this -

     Ok la home ma sooner
     ushering world wide
    webbed ******* "FAKE"brouhaha
sooner to the mind
     of this humble ****
Louie, who admittedly
     feels tidy bowl flush with
     goo goo Lady gaga

(tony the TIGER FEELING great,
     a mild euphoria if gifted
     as lottery winner)
over the top smugness -
     unaware of jeering ha ha ha
within dark internet arena,
     where the much maligned,
     loathed, and feared Jaw

bar wall key (jabberwocky)
     dwells ready to pounce
     outsize egos hated
     like an incorrigible outlaw
hmm...perhaps cognizant

     ex post facto, I set
     a deadly faux paw
forever remembered as
     ornery oaf forced to eat raw
bits (hexadecimal at that!)
****** in via last turkey in straw
     that broke the camel's back.

Her fingers move otherworldly
and as she touches the objects of my room
I see a glimpse of another universe
in which her presence travels
between a thin line of present and future
somewhere only she can be.
Pure trust some would say
but I  know her secret
and all she keeps in herself
to make a whole atmosphere
fit in a bookshelf.
Her realness is what makes my brain
unfold into a million words.
Does she know she’s watched all the time?
I am the victim and the one to blame
for I’ve chosen to keep her insane.
Insanely mine, she is no one else’s but for my eyes
only God knows how much her light disturbs my sleep
and how little one can forget all about her
as she’s loved many hearts
entirely, entirely true.
True love moves her the same way her fingers do
so lightly, undeniably dark
as one could only dream:
her love keeps her alive
Only mine, but she’s given it so many times
which one of them has the best part?
They have a piece of heaven
but don’t know how to hide
neither do they know
her love will never die
as they try to search it somewhere
nowhere one could find.
Not in the ground
not in the sky
it’s in her peace of mind
so full of every life she’s lived
but everyone knows it’s her first time.
She hides it as well as she shows her wisdom
wisdom that hasn’t been seen
since the great God has sculpted our home
and made Hell for the ones who never got to know.
Hopefully the light of the muse
will shine on you, too.
“Come on you raver, you seer of visions.”
There is an invisible Sun.