I hear short tales, where you are nothing good and far from impressive and all imposing.

I try and see you diplomatically. But unfortunately, I feel you.

I feel your ache. The bruise ever-pressed. The expectations failed. The stale shock of chilled wine dripping into the dip of your shirt. The want for bleeding passion and settle for dry stability.

I stare. I can't help it. I want to know everything, but there is very little I can ask in the cage I am unsure how to free us from.

Your mouth raises on the opposite of mine dominantly. You scan like you're waiting for a threat that won't manifest but you'll cruelly deny looking for if it's acknowledged. Your hands are calloused from weight lifting and you hold a pencil funny, and with every trait, you become dominating in my mind.

I won't rewrite my story to fit you, nor will I try and force you to want my narrative. But you don't move away when I press against you, and you look a beat too long when you don't think I can see, and I think maybe you'd be happy to read the words your name constitutes.

You are not penciled into my life, you are the only thing that's written in ink.

whereat the subsequent lines

lack any relation to the title

but like most every poetic endeavor

immediately becomes tangential

re: irrelevant to main subject of discussion,

digressing to unrelated points

characteristic of my trademark

swiftly styled and harried tailored,

and failing to return to original idea

with embedded symbolic logic

to better confuse the unsuspecting reader

which remaining written material

best understood after quaffing inxs of xylite

a liquid hydrocarbon

found in crude wood spirits,

or it can describe fossilized wood

that resembles brown coal

a natural sweetener

about 60% as sweet as sugar

often used in sugar-free foods

and beverages, such as chewing gum,

candies, and mouthwashes

distributed as door prizes

after elbow grease applied

leaving the inside

of the refrigerator

spick and span.

Not one square inch

of the once pristine

inside fridge no longer white

the wife begs to differ, whereby

even the pestiferous vermin

did protest and unite

against the glop and goo,

plus she claims

to be selectively color blind,

and thus defers her husband (me)

to tend to arduous

back breaking task tonight

since she knows how much

I like to bend over,

but actually on my hands and knees

while reaching with scrub daddy

(courtesy the famous cleaning influencer

Auri Kananen strong as an ox

a professional cleaner from Finland

popularized and touts said product),

but yours truly experiences back pain

that radiates to the sacral lumbar,

(and thus while reduced to crawling,

maneuvering left and right

on all fours, or tabletop position

I pray for Mary Poppins) quite

who hopefully can catch

the next umbrella express outright

and show up before night,

where dark shadows from

the outer limits of the twilight zone

within the bishopric of the king,

there once a pawn a time

accorded quite a bit of might

and as his mentor

lived a tarnished knight

essentially his incognito

cause at heart he claimed to be a Jacobite

stood about 182.88 centimeters in height

a rather diminutive chap,

and the proud papa

who never liked to quit

despite being diagnosed

with Parkinson's disease

a chronic, progressive neurological disorder

characterized by accumulation

of a protein called

alpha-synuclein in the brain

where respected researchers

suggests that alpha-synuclein

may trigger an autoimmune response,

leading to the destruction of brain cells

since questions arose about his death

a funeral director, a forensic archaeologist

or anthropologist, a medical professional

(like a forensic pathologist),

an Environmental Health Officer (EHO),

or a specialized exhumation firm,

depending on the circumstances

and jurisdiction his body electric

exhumed from gravesite

exhibiting more than one odd tick,

and new breakthroughs did excite

the biomedical engineers

discovered his essential tremors

perfectly synchronized

with Foucault's pendulum

and thus allowed, enabled,

and provided an excellent opportunity

for the author of these words

to surpass his prior appellation

linkedin to questionable supposition

he got erroneously hashtagged

and mistakenly reported

by Walter Leland Cronkite

an American broadcast journalist

who served as anchorman

for the CBS Evening News

from 1962 to 1981

unwittingly and accidentally uttered a faux pas

back in the day as idiot savant

now referred to as savant syndrome

or, in some contexts, autistic savant

nevertheless when here along,

he did rank (cull) as king of blatherskite.

Because society has us zipping along on our heels

From one sale to the next, until we finally keel over

With our tongues slack from our mouths,

And our ever clutching fingers

In an unhealthy confidence with

Credit cards, and I-phones...

Like the old west gunslingers

Or a prohibition rumrunner

Who's been shot down where he stands...

....This is why we have an Open Mic.

Because there use to be a place you could talk to people!...

Because you have to be homeless,

Or a dog tied up to a tree to see the world

Like it really is,

Or else your just going through the motions...

Cooking up some half-crazed notion

From the outside looking in...

It's a game of sink or swim...

And no one here gets out alive...

...This is why we have an Open Mic.

Because Poetry is our last defense...

Because Palestinians are being shot in the face

While we decide which pose to take

In the ever growing comedic nightmare

Which is our U.S. Head of State...

It's like America's Funniest Home Videos

On tranqs, because everyone's too scared

To react, or has forgotten how to...

As we tumble down the cracks, and haunted halls...

We must decide which rock to cling to,

Because there is no turning back...

...This is why we have an Open Mic.

So raise all voices high!...

Speak your truths!...

Draw down the energies

From the harvest moon,

As that great Blood Moon casts

Her shadow on our backs...

And the lies that we've been steeped in

Will surely make us ill

If we stand still...

Don't let controllers in...

We must ignite!...

...This is why we have an Open Mic!...

9/15/25

Bunny Villaire

There is no real religion.

If you're in-tune, check your spiritism.

There are no real Christians.

Only Christmas manscaped from July.

Divide the people by bullshit, then you divide the pie.

So opinionated, so offensive, so abrasive.

It's all love and smiles until even the smallest

Disagreement.

I write to back you into a corner of thinking.

When could you ever take the Bible and twist it?

Even in my dreams, you all die, and by all, I mean all,

Myself included.

The world ended long ago, we're just here held

Hostage by a big thumb on the detonator.

There's facts, then there's narratives, and no one

Wants to listen, but everybody wants to be heard.

I just sit back and observe.

One shot to domestic violence.

One shot to gang violence.

One shot to police brutality and as long

As it's not any one of yours, you won't complain about it

One child dead.

Another one raped, forced to have a baby.

One woman can't even walk to her car because she

Don't feel safe.

One hero who paved the way for peace

Is a hero assassinated.

I've been studying the Bible for years.

But I keep failing tests,

So I still haven't graduated.

Because I don't understand how all these years later

We continue to fight over something as stupid

As hues. Let me phone in.

I need Blue to drop me a clue.

My answer is and always will be death.

As you know, none of you will ever change your ways,

And no matter who doesn't like it,

We are all the problem in some way.

I held onto you by my teeth.

Enamel tearing, bone chipping.

My friends stare in horror at the blood pouring from my maw,

wounds from a year ago that barely started to scar biting back.

I stand in the pool of it, shaking.

They tell me the wrong you did to me.

The wrong you continue to do.

The wrong my body was aware of when id flinch and bow like a beaten dog away

from joking flailing hands.

The way I would submit to anything you asked of me so I cant even use it against you,

because I let you treat me that way.

Yet around your body in my jaw, I shake my head profusely.

You wouldn't. You couldn't.

You would rejoice in my anguish. Flourish in my floundering. Barely blink at my distraught.

Jokes like barb wire left your lips saccharinely sweet with a smile, so I barely felt the honeyed prongs of metal in my skin.

Until you kept digging. The wounds kept bleeding. The honey was diluted by my pain,

until it was all I could taste.

Losing you was painful. I see you every day, and yet I don’t know you. You look at me with hatred. I look at you like I never knew you.

Psychological layers of thought

Run through obsidian nights

As colloquial phrases

Of inconsistent truths

Unknowingly sow disaster

Only to reap chaos

While death’s flower blooms

Sweating unmitigated hatred

Yet from the smothering

Dark clouds of dismay

The sun bursts forth

Refusing to relinquish

The light of goodness

Consuming malignancy

Preparing the way

For the resurrection

Of pure light

It's funny til it's happening to you.

Figured we'd be all dead before

Humans catch a clue.

I bleed the same as you, but the hatred

That my suffering has bred may have

Drowned out the last shred of

Humanity i had within me.

The rest lay within the confines of the

Bible, which conveniently sits right next to

A rifle with bullet casings that has names

Etched into the shell.

When we are all slaves to an economy

Ran by the idolatry of men who feed you lies,

Take and hide your plate to slide you

Crumbs just so you feel like they

Are the reason you ate.

Surrounded by automatic machines

And android assistants.

When the job market consists of

Performing maintenance on your replacement.

Because as technology grows,

The humans become more unwise

As the day goes.

We cannot get along.

I used to think that we were smart enough to see

Through the bullshit that is spread through

The media, the religion, and the politricks..

Sadly, I'm afraid, we've lost the war

And we are all at our weakest at our core.

Get me off of this planet.

Never worship any man who isn't the Savior.

And yet here we are with posters and

Lasers to pinpoint something to virtue

Signal about.

Because let's be honest, everything you

Content creators do is for clout.

I'm exhausted with everyone and everything.

Because even as grown beings

You haven't figured out that we can have

Different opinions, but not be hateful.

If a blue crayon hated a red one, just

Because of a different hue.

Then, school supplies for your kids would

Be that much expensive.

For it's the dumbest thing to buy two boxes

Of crayons, just because one color

Doesn't like the way the other one looks,

So it's impossible for them to be

Packaged inside the same box,

Even though they serve the same purpose.

If you are too blinded to see this all

Asinine, then perhaps we should be begging

For God to burn this bitch down.