Canto I. Long ago and far away...

Under the bridge across the Kankakee River, Grampa found me. I was busted for truancy. First grade. 1946.

Summer and after school: Paper route, neighborhood yard work, dogsbody in a drugstore, measuring houses for the county, fireman EJ&E railroad, janitor and bottling line Pabst Brewery Peoria. 1952-1962.

Fresh caught Mississippi River catfish. Muddy Yummy. Burlington, Iowa. 1959. Best ever.

In college, Fr. ***** usually confused me with my roommate, Al. Except for grades. St. Procopius College, 1958-62. Rats.

Coming home from college for Christmas. Oops, my family moved a few streets over and forgot to tell me. Peoria, 1961.

The Pabst Brewery lunchroom in Peoria, a little after dawn, my first day. A guy came in and said: "Who wants my horsecock sandwich? ****, this first beer tastes good." We never knew how many he drank. 1962.

At grad school, when we moved into the basement with the octopus furnace, Dave, my roommate, contributed a case of Chef Boyardee spaghettios and I brought 3 cases of beer, PBRs.  Supper for a month. Ames. 1962.

Sharon and I were making out in the afternoon, clothes a jumble. Walter Cronkite said, " President Kennedy has been shot…”. Ames, 1963.

I stood in line, in my shorts, waiting for the clap-check. The corporal shouted:  "All right, you *******, Uncle and the Republic of Viet Nam want your sorry *****. Drop 'em".  Des Moines. Deferred, 1964.

Married and living in student housing. Packing crate furniture. Pammel Court, 1966.

One of many undistinguished PhD theses on theoretical physics. Ames. 1967.

He electrified the room. Every woman in the room, regardless of age, wanted him, or seemed to. The atmosphere was primeval and dripping with desire. In the presence of greatness. Palo Alto, 1968.

US science jobs dried up. From a mountain-top, beery conversation, I got a research job in Germany. Boulder, 1968. Aachen, 1969.

The first time I saw automatic weapons at an airport. Geneva, 1970.

I toasted Rembrandt with sparkling wine at the Rijksmuseum. He said nothing. Amsterdam International Conference on Elementary Particles. 1971.

A little drunk, but sobering fast: the guard had Khrushchev teeth.
Midnight, alone, locked in a room at the border.
Hours later, release. East Berlin, 1973. Harrassment.

She said, "You know it's remarkable that we're not having an affair." No, it wasn't. George's wife.  Germany, 1973.

"Maybe there really are quarks, but if so, we'll never see them." Truer than I knew.  Exit to Huntsville, 1974.

On my first day at work, my first federal felony. As a joke, I impersonated an FBI agent. What the hell? Huntsville. 1974. Guess what?-- No witnesses left! 2021.

Hard work, good times, difficult times. The first years in Huntsville are not fully digested and may stay that way.

The golden Lord Buddha radiated peace with his smile. Pop, pop. Shots in the distance. Bangkok. 1992.

Accomplishment at work, discord at home. Divorce. Huntsville. 1994. I got the dogs.

New beginnings, a fresh start, true love and life-partner. Huntsville. 1995.

Canto II. In the present century...

Should be working on a proposal, but riveted to the TV. The day the towers fell and nearly 4000 people perished. September 11, 2001.

I started painting. Old barns and such. 2004.

We bet on how many dead bodies we would see. None, but lots of flip-flops and a sheep. Secrets of the Yangtze. 2004

I quietly admired a Rembrandt portrait at the Schiphol airport. Ever inscrutable, his painting had presence, even as the bomb dogs sniffed by. Beagles. 2006.

I’ve lost two close friends that I’ve known for 50-odd years. There aren’t many more. Huntsville. 2008 and 2011.

Here's some career advice: On your desk, keep a coffee cup marked, "No Whining", that side out. Third and final retirement. 2015.

I occasionally kick myself for not staying with physics—I’m jealous of friends that did. I moved on, but stayed interested. Continuing.

I’m eighty years old and walk like a duck. 2021.

Letter: "Your insurance has lapsed but for $60,000, it can be reinstated provided you are alive when we receive the premium." Life at 81. Huntsville, 2022.

Canto III: Coda

Honest distortions emerging from the distance of time. The thin comfort of fading memories. Thoughts on poor decisions and worse outcomes. Not often, but every now and then.

(Begun May 2016)

Truancy is a ***** with ***** stamps and skunky hair
her constant need to blow smoke up the ***** of those trying to try
is inconvenient at best, irresponsible at worst,
maybe amusing in the eyes of the elders.
Been there, done that
she rolls her eyes and pouts
slits her wrists with carnival glass
so she bleeds the multi-dimensional colors imperceivable to  human eyes,
an entirely different color spectrum,
ultraviolet, super violent,
tasty and warm.
This young lady is no lady at all
just a little girl,
vulnerable and scared
and a total ****** *****,
grabbing her ankles and thumping in dumpsters,
pretty little thing,
with scabs and gin
and cute little *** stains.
Leave her be,
this street walking angel
she never learned her lesson,
too swag for education.

now, I will try to abandon time and space
in this form of truancy.

what is this abandonment trying to measure?
  the abeyance of presence.

what is the measured variable trying
to dissect? the impossibility of absence.

a poem aspires to be something concrete. a poem
   is what is real and imagined in the same context.

I try to invoke Abad -- what is imagined is most
   real.  this shall be its leitmotif.

now, i imagine the horizon as a point

of origin, or a template to some familiar projection,
  or a tagebuch summarized into a fine line
of allegories and denouement.

what this line tries to prove is that

an enjambment is a mimesis.

acknowledge the sublimity of a
  creation. notice that the sequence that will
be promised is diegesis of absence as form
     but not a poem as in a poem that enshrines
lucidity -- but the lack of it.

there is only the photograph of horizon
   as hypothesis of perpetuality. this now

is a subject, a speculative undertaking rearing a
   poem -- writing as preparatory for absence,

finishing a line as pursuit of thesis, gravity of
    its heft as tabulation of emphasis, or
verbosity, which may be telling of meaning or chronology.

a poem that is not a poem,
  But poem as a form of absence

that aspires to be a poem.

what is transpiring now is that i am assuming
   an utterance: utterance as being here,

and perhaps voice as sound of becoming but not finality
   of presence, and sound as disappearance

post-peak. its point-source silence and formation
   of thought, and then a poem is written as

evidence of disappearance in deep and close
   contest with a vision coming from another

audience as an objective supposition or
   reaction that may propel an exchange

but only when silence is entertained does
  silence happen, and so this may be dismissed

as a monologue among dialogues insofar as
    only to pinpoint this arrogant feat:

i may be speaking glossolalia, or in tongues,
  and that i seek no reprieve nor vestige,

all the more response -- intone of voice
   stilling itself in the tense setting

of being gazed upon, glazed with coherence
  of senses from one identity to another say,

you hear me speak as in speaking
as baring sound.
   but now that i have spoken, i have already undone

  the quiet to stir volumes and amplitudes
to attest sound-fade as vital component of absence,

whereas this poem produces ample sound
  if you pay close attention to yourself reading

in the lull form of reading (your
breathing will have intensified here,

your reasoning will have made so much
  noise here) as i continue to whittle

away in form of verse, verse not as poem,
  verseliteration not as occupancy of space,

but all in all, a body of work
that is a visage of movement - or a trace of absence, physics of space and kinesis of departure.

a delineation of a thing that was once
   thriving in threshold accompanied

by its tendency to wane: sound may be an
     analogue of unheard, as sound is impervious
to quietude but quietude conscious of sound
     and its potential,

that quiet coheres to its inclination to consummation,

this completeness so emphatic,
this allegory as
  absence the somatic, axiomatic,

indefatigable machinery of a presage,
   or continuity -- this poem that is not a poem,

but an excess of sound, a body that
   deserves end,  a punctuation.
     verity of this argument in basest form.

this body of work as absence
  and its completeness, volition

of its enigma: is this the end
  of sound or your silence summoned?

to drag it back, its recalcitrant body,
   is form of revision, then possession

of an absence, a recollection that will have granted
   seamless entry and translation

which passes on from its origin to
  a new clause -- to end it here, now and pass

over as readable only in the background that is
   an embellishment of absence amongst

things in exclusive continuity, to have this produced
   in space as empirical of absence,

and to punctuate this, a mystification,
or say, acceptable fabrication,

to read and extricate as acceptance of an absence
   as form: this poem that is not a poem but

only a physicality delimited -- to speculate
and study
as disbelief, and to have done such simply

demystification of its transition.

Why ... Oh WHY ... ???
Would You ... " Turn A Blind Eye " ... ?
To Things That ... " Could " ... ?
Affect ... Your Life ... ?

MP's ... Do it ...
ALL The Time ... !!!

But It's An ... English Thing ...
So I'm ... NOT Surprised ...

As The Saying ... Goes ...

" Until It Happens To You "

You're ... Living In A World ...
WITHOUT ... Sherlocks' Clues ...

I've ... Written A Piece ...
Called ... " What Would You Do ? " ...

To ... SHOW People ...
NIGHTMARES Come True ... !!!

New Orleans ... Sri Lanka ...
And ... Texas TOO ...
Are ... Places Now ...
With ... Living Proof ...
That ... ANYONE ...
Can LOSE Their Roof ... !!!!!

EVEN ... The Rich ...
Are ... Having To Move ...
And ... Leave Behind ............................................
" Expensive Shoes " ...

What Would ...
You ...  Choose ... ?

LAVISH ... Things ...
Or ... " Food and a Roof " ... ?!?

FORGET ... The News ... !!!
You'd ... Better Be Shrewd ... !!!

Cos' When ...
DISASTER STRIKES ... !!!!!
It Just ... TAKES LIFE ... !!!!!!

Black or ... White ... ?
Say ... What You Like ... !!!

But ...
REMEMBER These Words ...

" Goodbye and Goodnight " ... !!!!!!!!!!

Turning A ... "Blind Eye" ...
REALLY ... Ain't Wise ... !!!

Cos' ...
One Day .... YES .... !!!
You'll Be ... SURPRISED ... !!!!!

And Find The Time ..............................................
To ............. " Analyse " ...............

What You Have Done ...
Within ... " Your Life " ...

Have You ... " Done Wrong " ... ?
Have You ... " Done Right " ... ?

Have You ... ???

Tried To ... *** - ide  ... ?
Or Were You ... QUICK TO UNITE ... ???

Have You Shown ...
... RESPECT ... ?

And Been ... " Polite " ...

Or ... Have You Done ... ?
WHAT THE HELL YOU'VE LIKED ... ?!?

I Can ... Say This ...

I've ... Tried To Write ...
And ... Use The Mic' ...
To ... Make Some See ...

This World ...
AIN'T RIGHT ... !!!!!!

From ... " Race-Based HATE " ... !!!
To Those ... WITHOUT ...
A ... Food-FILLED Plate ... !!!

Sometimes ... YES ...
I Get ... IRATE ... !!!!!!!!!!!!

Because of ... " Those " ...
Who ... WILL NOT Face ... !!!

The Problems of ...
The World ... Today ... ?!?

Yesterday ...

and YES ... Tomorrow ... !!!

They're Simply ... " Hollow " ...
and Willing To ... Follow ..........................................................
Bend Over ... And SWALLOW ... !!!

ANY OLD Thing ...
Officials ... Say ... ?!?!?

But That's ... The Way ...
Most People ... " Stay " ...

"Ignoring" ....................................... FACTS ..........
About ..... Axe Attacks ......

And ... Economies Working ...
To .... "RESTRICT Blacks" ... !!!

Since Bombs Have HIT ...
London's ... Tube Tracks ...

How Many Blacks ...
Have Got ...  " The Sack " ... !?!
Or Faced ... THE PUSH ...
Out of ... " Backdoors " ... ?

I'm ... " Not Sure " ... ???
Who's ... Keeping Score ... ???

New Orleans Has Shown ...
How Those ... " In POWER " ...
Ignore .............................................. " The Poor " ............... !!!!!

And ...
Leave Them To ... DIE ... !!!
Whether ... Black or White ... !!!

OPEN ... Your Eyes ... !!!!!!
INSTEAD of ... Your Thighs ... !!!

Children NOW ...
Are ... Compromised ... !!!

Because of .... WHAT .... ?
NO ... " Fuel Supply " ... !?!

Truancy Now ...
Is Running ... RIFE ... !!!

TOO MANY ... "lows" ...
And ... NOT ENOUGH Highs ... !!!

DON'T BE A Fool ... !!!
Things ... AREN'T Right ... !!!

I Write These Things ...
To ... OPEN Eyes ...

If You ... Have A Child ...

DON'T ... Let Them Buy ...
Kate Moss's ... Clothes ...

Because ... What Comes Next ...
Is A ... Coc' FILLED Nose ... !!!!!

THIS Is ... Simple ...
Use of ... Prose ...

To ... WAKE UP Those ...
Who ... CLEARLY CHOSE ...
To Think They'll ... " NEVER " ...
Suffer .... WOES ... ?!? ...

So ..... How'd You Like ...
These ... Lyrical Blows ... ???

It's Time To ... END ...
REALITY ... Shows ... !!!!!

and REALISE ...

It's Just ... NOT WISE ... !!!
To Do ... THIS THING ...

" Turn A ...... Blind Eye "

The Watch
The watch kept right on ticking, as if nothing had changed. It was like a sixth person at the little round marble table. The stone was cold on my arms. The funeral director pushed it across the table. "This was the only thing on him." My aunt took it graciously, set it by the folder full of everything ever recorded about Donald P. Baca, and from that moment on, it drew the eyes of everyone there, irresistible as a corpse, and as gruesome. tick tick tick as if nothing had happened. I found myself thinking that if he were my brother, I would keep that watch ticking forever, change its batteries, a type of insignificant immortality.

Funeral Homes
The air of calm in funeral homes has always disturbed me. It's cloying, somehow. Too strong. Like the overwhelming scent of peony flowers if you put them in a vase- it darkens your whole house with sweetness. I think I resent knowing that my feelings are being influenced by soothing beiges and classical music. A tissue box and a little bottle of Purell sit on every surface big enough to hold them properly. I find that the anticipation of my "needs" as a griever... offends me.

Survivors
Funerals are not for the dead. They are for the survivors.

Tears
Death is not about trying not to cry. You have to hurt yourself with it to heal from it. There is no shame in funeral tears. They, like death, are inevitable and natural. (My own dry eyes, they shame me.)

Looking In
That is the problem with us writers- every private, gauche little moment of impropriety is fuel for our art, and we must record it. (Intrude upon it.)

Paperwork
1953
***: Male
Color: White
How different it was then.

Grown Up
This is the first time my aunt, whose respect I have always striven for, has even asked my opinion on something "grown up". I thought I'd want her to, but I no longer care. Maybe that means I am finally "grown up".

Absurdly
My aunt gives her email to the man across the table: her name, first and last, no spaces, and the number 1. I find myself wondering irresistibly, inappropriately, absurdly, if anybody ever sits here with a "FaIrYpRiNcEsS4963luv4eva" and has to dictate it to him like that...

Mourners
There are 5 of us here. We are all different, in grief. I am on the outside looking in, an observer, offering the perfect hug or well timed touch of the hand because I feel emotions like room temperature, but not like fever. I look in on tears, silence, on the grip like a vice: on the propriety of being personable to a man who knows your brother has just died, as if that- even death! - gives no permission to be less than polished. And one of us is absent entirely, his truancy a palpable response, just as present as my mother's strangled tears. Her shame frustrates and saddens me- I admire the sincerity of grief, especially when I cannot reach it.

You're Here With Me
The funeral director answers his cell phone. He has the same phone as you, ****, and having seen you answer it yesterday, my mind overlays the images strangely, like a double exposure photograph. It should disturb me, but it only makes me miss you- my mind seeks to erase his image and leave only yours.

Age
Everyone looks older, right now- sunken collarbones and wrinkles weighing down faces. As if they age in sympathy that my uncle is finished with that.

Fishhook
My mother struggles against tears like a worm on a fishhook, and it is agony that ****** my arms, in the air and sliding along the walls. It clashes oddly with my aunt- like a still pond- her polished charm and practiced smile don't feel forced, which only makes it all feel more wrong. I know she is struggling inside, too.

shakin like a bacon eater
takin down a bird feeder
cedar creatures rollin up a doobie
they be suing me for truancy
I shoo a flea from chewin me
a wrap of lettuce fed us
said us fellas sellin head amounts of coke
we oughtta **** a bowl of hope
my soap and rope fill up my closet
I deposit positively. Stop to mop it
cropping photos,potting soil,oil spotting
wrapping lettuce wraps and leftovers in foil
I'm American and spoiled

A ... "hidden agenda" ...
goes with a ... " Pretender " ...
and also goes with ...

..... " THOSE " .....
" Gangster " ... Fellas ... !!!

I'm a ... " Different " ...  
... GOOD FELLA' ... !!!!!!

"New Age " ... UPSETTER ...
and ... " LIE " ... Detector ... !!!

In FACT ... I'm This ...
A ... " Truth Collector " ...

"hidden agendas" ....
are ... " Locked " ... in cellars ... !!!

If you don't believe me ...
Just ask .... " Marcellus " .... !!!

" Pulp Fiction " ... Visions ...
Need ... NO DESCRIPTION ... !!!!!

Agendas are ... "hidden" ...
by Lawmen ... YES ...
and .... " Policemen " ...
and those who ... Run ...
Our ... " Governments " ... !!!!!

" They " .....
Choose to ... Confuse ... ???
by .... " Distractions " ....
Agendas ... They Have ...

ARE NOT ... " Well Meant " ... !!!!!

False arguments ...
that cause ... " Bloodshed " ...
while peace is ... " Used " ...

to leave ... Children ...
WITHOUT ... " Parents " ... !!!

Agendas ... They Have ...
PROTECT ... " Their Friends " ...

and ... YES ...

" THEIR Wealth " ... !!!!

Their agendas give ...
" The Poor " ... NO HELP ... !!!
and ... DESTROY LIVES ...
through war with ... STEALTH ... !!!

" Bombers " ... " Choppers " ...
"Corporate " ... ROBBERS ... !!!!

They Live ... by the motto ...

"No One's Gonna Stop Us !!!!!"

That may be ... TRUE ...
But ... Nature now ...
Keeps Giving ... " Clues " ...

" CAN'T' BUY ... God off ... !!!!! "

So what they ... " Gonna Do " ... ?
When nature ..... " MOVES " .....
Towards .... " Their Roof " ....
and then ..... DEMANDS .....

.... Their ....
" Last Breath " ... too ... ?!!!?

I'm saying to you ...
Do you think it's ... " Shrewd " ... ?  

to do the things ...
These People ... do ... ?!?

Don't be ... A FOOL ... !!!
just look ... around you ...

Do you have ... " Friends " ... ?
within .... " Your Crew " ....
Who you ... " DON"T TRUST " ... !?!

Agendas ... " They have " ...
May ... make you ... " CUSS " ... !!!

and may ... " Make You " ...
Resort to .... " Stuff " ....
that ... makes for ... things ...
Like ... " Loss of Blood " ... !!!!!

These days ... it seems ...
that ... words like ... THESE ...
Won't make a .... Difference ....

On Our ... Streets ... !!!

Agendas and Fiends ...
RUN ..... " Poetry " ..... !!!!!

How can this ... BE ... ?!?

The scene now seems ...
to be .... " Unclean " ....

I guess that's how ...
It's ... ALWAYS BEEN ... !!!!!  

Well ...

CREEPS who ... "sneak" ...
WON'T STOP .... Big V .... !!!!!

because like ... Chuck D ...

I'll ... ALWAYS BELIEVE ...
in ... " Freedom of Speech " ... !!!!!!

" FREEDOM " ... To Be ...
" FREEDOM " ... of ... ME ...
" FREEDOM " ... to find ...

Some sense of ... " Peace " ...

It seems that our ...

" Complacency " .....

Has left us with .........
No-one ... to ... LEAD ... !!!!

Well Me ...
I'm choosing ... NOT TO FEED ... !!!

Off ... Their Lies ...
and ... "secrecy" ...

What they ... PREACH ...
is ..... FALLACY ..... !!!!!!!!!

My Poetry ...
DEFIES ... " Their Breed " ... !!!!!

I'm NO ... " Guy Fawkes " ...
But ... DEMAND ...

" STRAIGHT TALK " ... !!!!!

These ... Government Types ...
Have tongues like ... " Forks " ... !!!!!

Words that ... THEY SPEAK ...
Divert minds with ... SPEED ... !!!!!
to places where ... Agendas ................................ "aren't seen"

Forbidden and ... "hidden" ...
From .... " Public Vision " ....
and spoke of ... in ... " Private " ...
Where ... MASSES ... " Can't Listen " ... !!!!!

Planning ... " ***-is-ion " ... !!!!!
and ... NEW WORLD ... " Conscription " ...

Agendas ... They're Building ...
IMPOSE ... " New Restrictions " ...

The Problem is ......

It's .....
NOT JUST THEM ... !!!!!

From armies with soldiers ...
to .... " Street Policemen " ....

Right down to the people ...
Who teach ... " Our Children " ... !!!!!

Agendas are .... RIFE .... !!!!!!
"within" ... Education ...

and have ... RUN A MUCK ... !!!
Since ... " Way Back When ........... "

Right up to ... " Todays' " ...
Modern schooling ...
... " Systems " ... !!!!!

The ... " NEW WAY "...
They ... CLAIM ... !!!!!!!!

is ... " Selection Based " ...

This is ... " Nothing New " ...

It's been ... THAT WAY ...
Since ... " Back in the Day " ...

They've ... ALWAYS USED ...
How children .... Do ....
to ... QUICKLY MOVE ... !!!!!!!

The ... " Wealthy Few " ... !!!
into ... " Premier Schools " ...

while ... " Poor Pupils " ...
Will ... SURELY LOSE ...
in ... " Second Rate Schools " ...

Educated by .... FOOLS .... !!!

" Agendas " .......
They ... " Choose " ...  

Should be ... REFUSED ... !!!!!!!!

But .....
Moves like these ...
are just ... PUSHED THROUGH ... !!!!!

to breed ... " Young Clones " ...
for .... " Corporate Thrones " ....

and to leave ... " The Poor " ...
to fight for ...... " Bones " ...... !!!!!!

MANY ... of you ...
May Not ... " AGREE " ... !!!!!

Well ......
I suggest ...
You walk ... " The Streets " ...  

What you'll see ...
Is .... " Truancy " ....

Some youth ....
Now ... " Choose " ...
to ... " Rob and Steal " ...

and some now ... " DEAL " ...
in drugs for ... " Wheels " ...
or ... Wielding Weapons ...

Made from ... " STEEL " ... !!!!!

Agendas like this ...
Aren't ... Good for kids ... !!!!!!

because ...
some then ... " Choose " ...
to make ... " Dark Moves " ... !!!!!

The ... " Daily News " ...
Keeps ... Giving Proof ...

Agendas ... like these ...
Breed ... " EVIL DEEDS " ... !!!!!  

I'm wondering when ...
People ... WILL SEE ... ?!?

Agendas ...
are ... THE SAME ...
as .... " Policies " ..... !!!!!!!

What's in a ... " Word " ... ?
What's in a  ... " Name " ... ?

When ... " Policies " ...
Bring Masses ... " PAIN " ... !!!

Whose policy was it ... ???
to sell ... " ******* " ... ?!?

Let that ... " Question " ...
STRAIN ... " Your Brain " ... !!!

The ... " Poetry Scene " ...
is ... FILLED ... with teams ...
of Girls ... and ... Fellas ...

Who Use ... Agendas ...
for their ... " Means' " ...

and ... Don't Believe ...
That ... men like me ...
should get to be ...

On the .... " BBC " .... !?!

" Too Black !!! "
" Too Straight !!! "

" Too quick to claim,
He should get paid !
and have his name,
take, centre stage !
Who is this Big Virge ?
..... ANYWAY ...... !?! "

I'm a ... " Poetic Dude " ...
Who's ... much to ... " Shrewd " ...
to join these ... " Hidden Agenda Crews " ... !!!!!

I guess ... this means ...
I'm bound to ... " LOSE " ... !!!!!

Well ... ACTUALLY ...
That's ... NOT ... Quite True ... !!!

I'm ... STANDING FIRM ...
and ... WILL NOT ... " Squirm " ...

Like ... " Poetic Pretenders " ...
Who ....... " Fall in Line " .......

with ... "hidden' ...

..... " Agendas " .....

You leave me stranded like years made up of moments and vacuum hickeys and Asian milk toast mean nothing.

Train tracks remain on my timeline like a seam opening the spine of an old diary with nothing written over and over inside.

You say we will be playing scrabble on the floor of your living room someday when we are old, just as your mother does next to us with her friends listening to Adele as we plot out our lives together on a collage atop your dining room table.

You hurt me

We are dinosaurs
Strutting for the fist time in glory down seventh avenue as people wonder who we are and we think of fun to be had with friends to be met.
Park ***** spread out before us paved yellow with fly paper.

Holding my heart in your hands as it is broken for the first time, i cry but know you will be there to turn those tears to glue for our friendship until you are not.

Years made up of your boyfriends that come and go and come and go and I miss you. And I want to strut down seventh avenue with you by my side feeling powerful and new again.

I want to feel fresh running down a beach of asphalt and trash; the whole world ahead gilded with possibility, and eternity resting gently on the horizon of city smoke and traffic lights. And I feel old now. But I suppose we always did.

I miss you

I still remember **** bought from boys with blonde hair and loving blue eyes hidden in camera cases, and smoked under thick trees that kept us safe from the turning of the earth. Elevators lifting us up to the 35th floor ticking like time bombs on days occupied by truth or dare marked red upon truancy calendars our parents would never find.

Why did you get so old? mature. I remember once together we vowed to remain silly and young and do all we could to smother the sound of the ticking clock removing our innocence,  silencing our songs, and slowly turning us into those who we were made by.

My sister is grown. Where are you now?

Beautiful the world looked from a Brooklyn balcony at 16, the skyline smiles with the mirage of possibility and smirks with a wicked knowledge of things to come and years to pass. Would I go back to that balcony now, and stay there with you forever.



If I needed you would you come

Father Joseph sat in the dark confessional in stunned silence. Either the young girl had told him a pack of lies or she was a budding Lucrezia Borgia. He fiddled with his thumbs; threw the sins she’d confessed around in his head like a juggler, wondering where the extra ***** had come from. It was that Moran girl he was sure. The things she’d said. The times and manners, he mused. On the other side of the confessional, Mary Moran knelt with her eyes closed. She searched through her mind for any sins she may have forgotten to relate like one sorting through a laundry basket for soiled garments for the wash. No, she could remember nothing else. That was it. At least as far as she could recall. She fidgeted on her knees. Scratched her thigh. Breathed heavy against the metal grille. She smelt the scent of polish and after-shave; the odd smell of mothballs that her Da’s suits had when he brought them out for funerals or weddings. She opened her eyes and stared at the semi-dark. Had the priest fallen asleep? she mused, moving from knee to knee, wondering if he’d be long, she was dying for a ***; wanting to get out in the air and light again. She heard the rustle of cloth and sighs, a slight cough, a deeper breath. The priest spoke softly and said things that floated around Mary’s head like smoke; disappeared into the dark corners of the confessional without penetrating her ears or mind. If she were a daughter of his, he mused, in between words of absolution, gazing at the outline of the girl through the grille, letting the familiar words leave his lips, hoping the Crucified was listening and that he’d not be a father to a child like that for all the holy water in Rome. Mary squeezed her knees together; bit her lower lip in desperation. If the father didn’t get a move on there’d be a puddle on the floor; she’d not be the one to clear it up, so she wouldn’t. Did I tell about the truancy? she mused, squeezing the knees tighter, thinking of abandoning the confessional for a quick run; risk purgatory or worse, she couldn’t give a fresh fig. Father Joseph paused; sniffed the air; fiddled with his thumbs again. Was she still there? he wondered, listening to the silence, peering through the grille, making out the outline of the girl’s head. Mary waited for the penance. It reminded her of waiting for her Da to home after her mother threatened to tell him all she’d done; the wait; the tanned backside; the dark room. The priest spoke. His words cutting the air like Sister Thomas’s ruler in mathematics, when she waved it madly above her head if the girls were talking in class. The first chapter of St John’s Gospel. No Aves or Pater Nosters. She sighed. Bit her lip. Rose to her feet, ****** her hand between her thighs. Muttered a Thank You. Pushed opened the door into the church and, after a smile at Magdalene in the pews, walked at a fast pace down the side aisle to the lavatory outside in the passageway beside the statue of St Joseph which lingered by door. Father Joseph stared into the darkness; listened to the silence. The girl had gone. Her scent lingered. Her words hung in his head like harpies. He breathed in deeply. Thanked God for celibacy. Awaited the next girl. Hoped she was a minor saint in the making and not another Lucrezia Borgia and a mouthful of sins. Mary sat in the cubicle and stared at the graffiti on the door of the toilet. References to the priest and Sister Luke were scrawled in red ink; some remarks about Brian Brady, which she hoped, were not true, at least she didn’t recall as true. The smell of after-shave and incense lingered in her nose; the first chapter of St John’s Gospel loomed large; and the sense of relief flowed through her as she smiled at the memory of the priest’s silence after the words about Brady’s hands and intentions in the woods a few days back. That was worth any amount of chapters from gospels or a mouthful of Aves from noon until night, she mused. She smiled; recited a whispered Ave; closed her eyes to the days’ light and the noise from the playground outside the window.

Lack of balance.

The scales are tipped,
but to who's favor,
I cannot tell.

The energy and love I put out
has been matched by you
for the better part of six years.
Six years is a long time for any sort of relationship,
but more so for the likes of ours.

After six years the energy and love I put out
are not being matched by you.
It started off gradually
but i was too ****** up to notice.
Too many drugs and drinks
will do that.
But after a word from you,
and help from a friend,
and a few failed attempts
I kicked the monkey off my back.
I banished the demon OPIATES,
can you say the same of your demon.

And then I noticed.
Like a teacher looking up from his computer,
I noticed you were truant.
And i asked you about it,
I confronted you about it
and you said,
yes, I have grown distant, but I'm going to fix that.

And oh god, I've tried and i've tried and i've tried to fix it
but you are unwillingly to put forth any effort
and so I give up.

I want to give up,
I want to be happy about new friends
and sobriety
and that girl you told me was too good for me that I've been talking to.
I want to be happy about these things
but I can't
because the last thing I think about before I fall asleep is you
and the first thing I think about when I wake up is you
and ******* it, I am ******* terrified of losing you
and you don't care.

My mother only had one son
But it ain’t enough

I’ve paid all my dues
It ain’t enough

Oh no
Rolling on to ruin
Gluing quarters to the roof
Make a dollar, it’s the rule

Used as a man, seen as a boy
This is all
Am I moving too slowly?
Does anything move?

Roaming over love until noon
Rapid rivers look brand new
Licking scabbed wounds

Overlook my truancy
As if you’ve never known
Looking for nonexistent proof
Looking over cratered moons

you on my mind,
its been a while....
And i need to put my mind at ease
see all these thoughts
have been haunting me of recently
i need back that peace in me
my tranquility
my heart beats poetry
slow "paynefull" melody
looking at  inspiration
on the pages of imaginaion.
see there was time it was just you and me.
your smile seemed  
you laugh seemed
it all seemed you but not me
your heart took truancy
but life was schooling he
not the you but the he coz it changed from we internally
to he separately
he grew
could it be negatively
coz his heart was his
locked in a steel cage
she blossomed
Pride severed ties
All the hurt and lies.
Years passed
Random encounters
Like mountain showers
He found himself.
She lost her way.
A story a thousand times told
Reality wasnt really what reality was
If u journeyed into her heart she knew that all he could see
Was the wrong she did' nd broken promises
So late at night she dreamted of him.
Hoping the years had soothed the melody
He had found the wrong in him
So he did his best to be a better person
For god.
for him
For his family
For the person he hoped to meet.
For peace. . . . . . . . .

Dining on copious amounts of serotonin
Dopamine fiend
I get called a terrible teen
Lack of melotonin

Sleepless dreams
Of seizing opportunities
But I don't participate in life; truancy
I guess I'm nothing more than another one of ******'s machines

I accost daylight, reviling in the promiscuity of the waken world
Come, be absent with me, enjoy the splendor of the famine
The only pleasure we’ll allow ourselves is that of a despondent heart
As we weaken the bonds that chain us, we’ll destroy ourselves
How can I rationalize my desires, their innocence shames me
To be reprehensible, oh such a glorious way to be
We ran through the streets encased in neon luminance
You, with your hope and rebellion
Me, in awe of you
This truancy, this desolate homage to backroads and swindled affairs
It leaves a longing to wear her fur coat, my makeup soiled beautifully
Those nights of dreams, and dreams, and dreams, resurrect disenchanted
As I lay aching, biting the the cold steel for the knowledge of ones price
The nullity welcomes a confusion, searching for a fragment of familiarity
Wanting and wishing back the stale taste of the endless mornings
I’ll bring with me the calm, the reassurance of futile worth
The length is calculated, the smirking clock relishing in his dismal pace
We trade the dampened moss as the stars scoff at our ignorance
They whisper, piercing the darkness with their reminder
three moons, alas three moons

Little, red, and a bit of a ****,
The truancy officer visited grandma's hut,
Red has been fondling with the wood cutters wood,
And lost it, so she cut it off, as best she could.

She's now got a taste for it, her and the wolf,
So she lures all the young girls,and feeds them vermouth,
Then , when under the influence, they feel a bit woosie,
She'll cut off their heads, and eat their, ahem, excuse me!.

So don't go into the woods from now on,
Because Red and her Wolf are waiting til dawn,
With their axe that she stole from the wood cutter,
And, mr.Wolfman, with claws and teeth, hatching a plan!

Stone me on your Altar of Lies.
I am not scattered light upon the stair!
You're all stuffed mouths and hollow eyes,
Spun from whole cloth but left bare.

The ****** never stirred, but only watched me leave.
Where's the Watchmaker for his Meek?
Tell me, where's the freedom in your Mustard Seed?
How can this be the Love we're meant to seek?

I am no Lamb!
I won't have your Love!
I couldn't give a ****,
and you, sir, are no Dove!

All seen equal, except those You exclude.
Let's not tout the best of us?!
I can see the cunning, you are shrewd.
But that still just leaves the rest of us.

'Cause what're we but broken people?
Empty lives and Original Sin!
Gird your *****! Guard your Steeple!
This is a club I won't belong in.

*Don't you preach to me
with ***** ******* hands
Holy love and His truancy.
You issue His commands.

My love,
my sweet delirium,
my dopamine flower,
my nocturnal obsession,
my daylight thought procession,
how do I bare a split second of your truancy?
Your hair, your skin, your eyes, your spike heels, your leggy fluency,
are but a little tittle tally of your unnerving inventory :-)

Ms. Reznikova
Won't you come over
I'd like to show ya
A thing or two
You won't find in an English book.

Marking coursework's got you bogged down
Let's me and you paint the town
Take a night off
Play truancy with me
Ms. Come on over, I'll cook.

She was the epoch of beauty;
As her silken hair cascaded,
Over the slender form of her shoulders

She was the epitome of purity;
As her gentle whispers dispersed,
The darkness from within his soul

She was the personification of heaven;
As her endless love entwined both,
Drawing them blissfully ever-skyward

She was the relief of weightlessness;
As her soul helped bear his grief,
The burden of sorrowed life extinguished

She was the extremity of destruction;
As she drifted from his presence,
The truancy leaving his soul condemned

She was the essence of life;
As he felt it drift from reach,
Her auburn eyes, fading from memory.

She was.

Feed me! Feed me! Winter is here to stay and Believe me when I say it’s an icy cruel cold World out there no matter how giving Mother may seem. Still a barren boring desert out there, so collect what you can my fond familiar Enemy. Disguised as my only friend. Fetch fodder for the Pigs because we are starving—it’s going to be a slaughterhouse. scrambling, sweating, searching for anything I can find from the Fruits of Compromised concrete wastelands. Collect what you can. Look to the tree trunk Tops and climb and climb, and you will see colors. brilliant oranges, bleeding reds, burning yellow light shining onto the Last of what tree trunk Tops are reluctant to remain. Wildfires. Supreme ruler, I bow down, “May I kiss You? May I kiss You just this last one time and I swear I will go”. I have kissed God, and there is nothing more boundless than a kiss from God. Prisoner! Take the prisoner away! He is ****** to Eternity for his Temptation, truancy, and treason that has been committed against his own flesh and soul. regrettable Temptation, malicious self-harm—it’s going to be a slaughterhouse. Although this is the history of the world, and for all of existence we have come crying onto this Earth hungry like lions.

Undetermined destinies, and motivated double legacies, line the keg-obsessed university.
You’re sure to see some truancy where independence failed the student miserably, but lessons learned outside of class bring just as much intelligence.

New smiles and new eyes, lighting up the dorm room night. Restless minds cry and whine as bedtimes arise. But wait some time and the sun will rise like ocean tides as earths demise comes quicker with our fetal minds

still optimism rests in our bullet proof chests
our hearts detest that inspirations worth much more than all the checks, and accepting to digress means you’re accepting to be less. So ignore regret and reward ascent, and the world will live with good intent.