h e | c a r r i e d | a r o u n d | w i t h | h i m | a | m o u s e | i n | h i s | b a c k p o c k e t | i n | c a s e | h e | w a s n’ t | a w a r e | t h a t | a n c h i o v i e s | f o r | b r e a k f a s t | a r e | w a y | p a s t | d u e | t h e i r | 9 a m | c a l l t i m e | f o r | y o u n g | v i b r a n t | p i a n o | p l a y e r s | w i t h | d o u b l e | c h i n s | t o | g o | w i t h | t h a t | b i g | m a c | i | o r d e r e d | l a s t | t u e s d a y | i n | a | b i t | o f | a | h u r r y | f o r | t h e | n e x t | t a x i | r i d e | t o | a | p l a c e | w h e r e | m a n n e q u i n s | p r e a c h |

d

i

v

e

r

s

i

t

y

and

copulate under the orange setting sun not minding at all that the river is misanthropic calling for the annihilation of baby products in favor of roller coaster rides down south where i profess my conversion to roman catholicism as you pour down an oily substance in my navel you big sexy oaf you tried to get into music school with a pen knife tucked between your breasts

for

       crying

                 out

                       loud

everyone

applauded

the natural thunders from god-knows-whom is the sewing machine invented for must be for three-legged women or men we often see in nursing homes having a jolly good time with the offensive opinions of stupid communist bastards who got a hold of a xylophone not later this year will i invest without heebie-jeebies now that i have been inducted in the 39th assembly of limping

m o r m o n s

w h o

k n o c k

g e n t l y

a s

i f

a f r a i d

of | the | outcome | of | wet | rice | on | short | sleeves | with | red | edges | as | red | as | communal | blood | that | is | shed | for | the | rights | of | womyn | on | birth | control | is | an | effective | advertisement | to | myopic | undergrads | who | reek | of | Derrida | word | diarrhea | from | their | mouths | or | every | other | orifice | of | their | bodies | that | every | mad | scientist | has | rubbed | his

e r e c t i o n

on the

television

cable connection

is way

outdated

by my

barbecue stands

now that the green salad tries too hard to be enveloped in a hug by dopey hands that know not shame unless the attackers of the faith calm down from their agnostic euphoria in grand afternoons of macabre and hullabaloo of existing draperies against the womyn sympathies of the radical saints who each get to preserve a microscopic allusion to Dionysius in his highly-organized crime of the century against

imperial on screen lovers

from both sides of

the wedding aisle reserved

for the magistrate’s lack

of coherence and general

confusion in all things

dystopian and abominable no

matter how cogent it

should | be | under | the | neon | lights | of | the | city | by | the | bay | where | prostitutes | galore | with | their | fish – smelling | vaginal | fluids | indicative | of | a | soft | spot | for | heated | debates | about | narcotics | and | narcissism | to | be | held | at | the | local | bar | and | grill | that | is | more | or | less | owned | by | little | men | with | plastic | balloons | crying | for

i n d e p e n d e n c e

from big government henchmen

and as such are

r i d i c u l o u s l y

h o m o s e x u a l

to the bone

for all we know about airborne diseases is that it evades the scrotum of well-built men in terms of their ability to achieve the elevation to a demigod by their fellow vermin unless of course they are Jews who migrated from Poland with their bags full of kosher beef never mind the cheese from the farm of wishy-washy yet eccentric fanatical worship of an unknown deity whose existence is to be proven by a t e r m i t e a n d a g o n g w i t h c h i l d r e n s i n g i n g a n d p a y i n g h o m a g e t o t h e i r a l m a m a t e r k i n d a n d d e a r m e m o r i e s e t c h e d i n t h e b r a i n c o n c e r n i n g s a g a c i o u s l u n c h r o o m s t h a t h e e d n o t t h e d e c i s i o n o f t h e b r i g h t – e y e d j u d g e.

I longed for longing as the months passed by

for I have been rather uninterested

blanketed by a weight that is for the most part inert.

Hunger is quite a prodding visitor

two bowls of soup with a helping of rice,

enough to take my mind off certain things

a Being engulfed in apathy

to whom passion is but a memory,

finds the self staring back in unwavering query:

When shall the cycle end?

last thoughts as I prepare myself to sleep.

tomorrow I will wake up when the sun is high

and perhaps have the courage to finally answer

Begin the day in front of a mirror and preen

for you reside in a place where the grass is green

all the critics sing your praises from head to toe

the compliments received would make a Stoic blush

until one iconoclast rained on your parade

crashed in like a storm surge and shattered the mirror

The colors have faded and suddenly it’s gloom

you’re now in a place where the flowers do not bloom

all the king’s horses and all the king’s men cannot

glue your too broken pieces together again

it haunts, it haunts, this thing both unnamed and unknown

the line between nightmares and waking life is blurred

Alone in the misty woods you let out a shrill

must the gods be jocular, this part of the thrill?

life is the journey where you are late for the flight

life’s the teacher you never paid attention to

a hapless fate where sorrow spreads virulently

blue is the color and it is a malady

Morose, miserable, all the descriptions teem

but is the weather really as bleak as you deem?

death is scattered, breathing, alive, and picturesque

a heart of gold never did mean a heart of joy

the hands that used to pat you on the back are the

very same hands that will push you off of a cliff

The waters of dejection went above your poll

many years of holding back has taken its toll

whom do you call after? whom do you fear the most?

the devil, God, or is it formidable You?

nothing is random and it is proven by your scars

but prayers are unanswered; silence, deafening

One yearns for happiness and dreams to chase and woo

dreams delicate as a newborn to whom we coo

but dreams fade away in its unforgiving pace

so should the best advice be not to dream at all?

the seeds of disillusion like an assassin,

lurk in the dark, sneaking, sneaking into your mind

If fate is personified it would be a cad,

I am behind him walking aimlessly to gad

-about; his directions are never clear at all,

until we stop in front of a mirror to see

the lines on my face, the obliterated years

of a life unrewarded and unexamined

Tears of a fool worth as much as the wise

towards the tomb we trek a single road

tatters we are with nobody to goad

traverses on the path fate cold as ice

teeth on the pie dare we wait for a slice?

temper the magic born out of the root

tales from downtown where salvation is moot

cluttered screams shatter ears before sunrise

clovers on your feet dancing against luck

clean well-lit places with forget-me-nots

clad in hues that make him the biggest toast

cloying sentiments all over the coast

filthy are hands that know no blood nor muck

for no one escapes the fate as bare dots!

a quodlibet

we both discuss

truth we covet

but have it not

sifting through air

we found a spot

one we abet

an imbroglio

a truce although

the wicked times

hold no dispute

the aim refute

to not conform

be obdurate

a wave gone wrong

against the throng

a chat today

we contemplate

the navel we

both cannot see

gaze and natter

ideas bright

a brain fecund

with clod bedight

the rigors have cooled down

but unshed blood has not

the Wittmanns and the Wolls

from Leipzig to Landshut

never waved the white flag

history taught us wrong

turn to current events

of Das Deutschen Nation

economics and sports

european union

see them win left and right

like the phoenix rising

"...ist jetzt angebrochen"

indeed their time will come

yesterday it was tanks

today it is exports

used to be swastikas,

now, "Made in Germany"

did not time cauterize

the flames in their bellies?

they came back thrice prepared

for a new kind of war

dominating Europe

a surplus at a time

if the Wolf were alive

what would he think and say?

der Fuhrer hat das Wort:

Deutschland ist nun Erwacht!

Gone are the days of rise and shine,

Welcome night and eve

Life flows on in a fat red line,

Tired, our souls will leave

Pressured under the dictator, Time,

Restless, we end in rage

Thus a pen needs a paper to write a rhyme,

Just like scholars need a sage

Spirits crushed under the weight of the rush

The dictator yells: “Stop!” Time will freeze

We cringe in despair, souls are squeezed

Enter music to give comfort

But comfort it can’t give for hope just left,

Time took it away, a reckless theft!

To our pleas it did not heed!

Dawn dared disrupt drowse

eyes elude, escape, evade, eschew

figures fleet, flourish, flout

gyrate-gut gab-girl Gertrude

Hover herald, ho-hum, haughty

invade, increase issues, interest, input

jangle, jive, jubilant, jaunty

keen ken kept, killed, kaput!

Locked, leering, languid, lithium loon,

mind moribund, moping, meeting moon!

*Note: “Gertrude” is taken from Gertrude Stein, a lesbian poet prominent during the early 20th century whose lover/live-in partner was a dancer.

a post-modern disease spreading to all

and

sundry

stentorian celebrations of everything

tawdry

the Brobdingnagian Me has become

a

bric-a-brac

culture faded fast as it lost its

point d' appui

that in these days wrong is crowned right

gave birth to

ennui

So,

tell me again

about your liberal education,

You

moronic,

mediocre,

trend-following sucker,

perhaps post another rant about politics-

(as if your opinion mattered)

or,

maybe

brag about that day you joined an el Gee Bee Tee rally

Newsflash: nobody cares.

What lurks beneath the deep blue?

perhaps sinister and tenebrous

perhaps the Mystery's a slew

for away from it the angels flew

and towards it the afreet cadaverous

The mangled face behind the calm

the gelignite in the pacific

the shore is awash with qualm

as if in Gilead to search for balm

the wanderers are sophomoric

It is where hope is obsolescent

and faith in a state of torpor

where love is not incandescent

where wisdom is an adolescent

where all my dreams are in stupor

The phantasmagoria is inchoate

a glimpse inside the deep blue hell

the misery I inculcate

a law I dare not desecrate

the unspoken only time will tell