Master Memory Master ~ Sunday, 27 August 2017

Mr Gabidar was not born a broken man but only became one after years of abuse or his own perceptions of abuse as a child still is it not the same when a child feels neglect feels the latch-key of loss turn his world inside out he loses direction loses his sense of fun engages with his sense of worth feels that values become arbitrary remembers the one time his mother went with him and swung him on the swings

Maybe that one event in his own memories occurred more than just once even if it happened often enough for him to look back at his mild maternal upbringing it could never erase his parents need to boss old Mr Gabidar as an adolescent into vile adulthood remorse over choices not of his own choosing lack of support carry years of needless struggle to earn a good living the need for worldly things

Master Gabidar saw the world differently than his parents and peers since apperception always was perception of self his memories became still-life motion pictures astral projections not unlike a director turning his point-of-view to one for his viewers to distance him for good exiting the battle of wills for what is best for whom and when a game reluctantly he played until he was too old to care who was victor

Modern Savage London ~ Saturday, 26 August 2017

Mr. Gabidar eats kim chi straight from the jar with chop sticks made of steel of little use is he to the economy so he eats at leisure delicacies so small no one would consider them even as trifles even so this cuisine from California was considered the real deal real in the sense of worth the value of each dish cost more than bone china nothingness was the height of his understanding as each plate was empty

save for a slice of beef a sprig of parsley leaf a spoon of horseradish a catastrophe of California cuisine mocking at the pleasure very simple dishes delightfully addressed could grant before rifles after sunset condemned as we all were to eat before our own kaddish granting each prisoner a meal to satisfy not even a diner everyone called The Fly for he weighed less than scales could measure a trendy

look only he could pull off in our small corner of the city center only Gabidar cared for The Fly too much to allow him to flat line not only did that speck of a man get his share of our sumptuous fare despite the pleas of weak undernourished inmates he received our order on demands by the chef that this one prisoner taste each meal to thus dine nonchalantly on meals meant for condemned inmates worse off than rags to wear

Murder Hidden Secret ~ Wednesday, 23 August 2017

Mumble Bunny noticed a strange thing with people he knew the other day unless he's known someone since birth something remains hidden about their past realizing that trust is formed by what he knows about people he meets dirt may or may not rise to the surface in terms of past relationships endless are the secrets locked away in a vault behind each person's face remember no one knows a thing about other people unless revealed

Human beings are known to hide their intentions behind false pretexts inside every person he sees hides a monster ready to murder him dirt doesn't wash away without soap and water but what about the blood-drenched shirt that must be burned lest someone else notice what might not stay hidden every person he knows casts a shadow of doubt as they pass his hard stare nobody sees the light emanating from eyes sharper than an eagle

Stare as long as he might Mumble Bunny could not uncover the secrets eating away at him inside other people so strange so well contained captured on a record only God can listen to like a symphony revealed with all its flaws only God hears the screams inside each musician existing in the notes she plays on the organ during their choir practice terrible his older brother planted this seed in Mumble Bunny's head

Two Slugs ~ Friday, 11 August 2017

I hope some stranger puts two slugs in the back of my head execution style because this life is so fucking boring so incredibly worthless that if I have to talk with another moron and receive a lecture about what a shift drink is and what it is not at the end of my shift you can all go to hell if your pour disappoints me because I'm sorry if you feel the need to argue with someone who works a dead-end job with no hope of a future y'all can go fuck yourselves because this life is dull so fucking dull I beg you to hammer two slugs in the back of my head because to suffer fools is not worth my time nor anyone else's please don't get me wrong I'm sick of getting the short end of the stick this life is shit seize the day suck up to dip shits who measure the world down to the shot shoot me please end this life it isn't worth my time putting up with your shit the bullshit that comes out of your mouth bores me to death so please end it shoot me end this horrible life with dull small-minded idiots that not to make a scene I hold my tongue and wait to write out my feelings deep-seated from years of abuse by the people who hold power over me and my need to succeed and finish what I start like the School of the Art Institute of Chitown may you all rot in hell

Imbibe Guzzle Tipple ~ Wednesday, 9 August 2017

If you believe money makes you better than poor undeserving welfare mothers with their babies crying from diaper rash poisoned by lead water bless your hearts beautiful people you are correct it's entirely their fault if you decide to live in poverty you trust government will take care beginning from childhood to make the right choices for you and your family even if government taxes you greedily before they would the rich

Government loves the rich and offers them loopholes to not give their fair share understand it's your fault because you allow them to write off their daughter zombie-loving film school student at NYU sitting inside a vault zither from Salzburg close at hand to play for friends later in Central Park leave her alone the tax write-off she did nothing to hear your homily effectively against both rich and poor watch out we'll burn you as a witch

Take your satire elsewhere we have no need to read your lunatic nightmare intervention for greed and abject poverty while the homeless zombies pretend they cannot work and make America great again we deserve plenty more than the tax service offers our kind hard working privileged dark lords of the underclass our daughter did no harm telling us the stories elegant as film of the homeless as zombies at the Federal Reserve

An Apology ~ Wednesday, 9 August 2017

Before you start begin with your own conception try to conceive the past otherwise than being your own singular birth out of your mother's womb maybe you were stillborn and the person you are today is just fiction born out of lies brother autobiography you play the critic cast a stone you without sin righteous with your ego your bloated drunken self you judge without support lacking all compassion your greatest fears come true

Care within the family as the first born son was different for you than me ostracize the poets like in the Republic for we place in a tomb life as we understand time between birth and death from first cry to diction and articulation lessons with our father reading Bible stories because Mumble Bunny rarely if ever spoke out loud left on the shelf as dust covers bottles of alcohol when dad got sober his rage grew

Ignominious son of the father my shame hides dumb lacking manly strength to tell the whole world I am not just the child you thought you knew so well laugh out loud at denial the hateful fear of love intimacy children as an adult I chose wisdom over family suffering and worries needless to remember but memories persist from a desire to tell drunken brother of mine these lies I speak in truth are mine thus to defend

Sick Muse Scum Musick 2 ~ Saturday, 5 August 2017

Since the band went defunct after eighty-seven the chance to perform live in front of a large crowd only took place during a poetry reading creativity took shape by means of the pen and a sheet of paper kindred spirits fellow travelers showed up for these events where we thrive

Maybe for a moment then burn out like a moth caught by the candle flame until I was twenty I thought I was hot shit I'd found my true calling sick in the brain my muse watched me spiral downward until I lost all sense energy low spirit followed me on the path up until our wedding

Six years later she filed for divorce confusion bit me like a viper crushed I moved to Hyde Park where I've lived for ten years I worked at the bookstore under the direction of the cellar dweller jack of all trades his name meant to hide or conceal in a Roman temple his demise caused falling

My days there were numbered by losing my aegis I lacked shield as defense unable to withstand the barrage of forces seeking my removal surrender seemed the right decision the only choice I had left was move in a fight for stalemate as endgame came swiftly I left out the front door chess ripples from center to edge in terms of power players know how brutal kind faces can become a duplicitous smile leaves a trace to disprove

Sick Muse Scum Musick ~ Saturday, 5 August 2017

Shaved heads never made sense as a political statement nothing to shock ignorant bystanders with a clean skinhead look but that was just the point conservative right-wing we never understood they had a right to voice keen beliefs to keep with moderate policy our doves against their hawks

Maybe they liked to fight to hurt others to harm as sport or to threaten unkempt bastards like us who fit in with misfits actors artists poets social outcasts who formed bands to play our own songs against hatred and war exactly as we did so did they the soccer hooligans to anoint

Some rabid bolt to sing on their behalf to work them up to chant rejoice collectively in angst against losing their jobs to foreign elements understand racism was legalized years back hard to place that weapon morbidly in the grave but not all skinheads fought to keep blacks the lowest

Minority deprived of economic growth social parity floor under the glass ceiling the success of the rich baffled us all how do some people make it big old money makes puppets dance and speak for their cause ignorant of vast power dynamics we sang songs lacking intelligence central to our own form of agency as punks music was magick true key issues were at stake women's rights poverty all built into the laws

CS 3 ~ Silence (1987) ~ Friday, 4 August 2017

Whether they kicked me out of the band for missing a gig on Halloween or Priam and Zamir left to jam with Aram it no longer matters nobody cares what took place thirty years ago it keeps no one awake daylight enters the room I fall asleep in bed the pipedreams of a teen ended a splash cymbal cracked I threw a drumstick impaled into the wall remember those lost years smoke from my father's pipe dissipates in the air

Wishing never made much happen back then or now nobody knew the past informs every last step before the next the fog machine blows smoke scatters noticeable amounts of dry ice in the path of stage lights for the sake declared it looks damn cool we never got the chance to play at Budōkan outside Orange County nobody knew our sound we never got the call wonders never happen if you can't stick it out never say life's not fair

Wash off the soot and grime from inside the chimney fire burns what cannot last after the band broke up and our second attempt with just drums and bass failed soon as I sold my kit everyone moved away and I went stir crazy however many years spent learning karate I never made Shodan every reason happens because we want something but if our ship has sailed reason rears her wrecked face to remind us a harsh truth we were too lazy

Mumble Bunny's Return ~ Friday, 28 July 2017

Mumble Bunny woke up late in the afternoon after falling asleep under circumstances beyond his wildest dreams a dream where he can float much better than he can in the real world but once he tells a friend his dream behold the power of speech his recurring daydream no longer comes with sheep leaping over a fence so profound a pleasure he cannot keep well-kept elusive are secrets full of desire to tell others what they don't know

Beeswax-minded business a sweet nose for honey Mumble Bunny smells sounds under synesthesia general or otherwise mellifluous he bloats not unlike a puffer fish a mechanism of self-defense to scream not unlike a painting also lost in Oslo under volcanic skies y'all know would do no good nothing wrong with a good cry but a scream leaves bereft screamer and listener both as if the whole point is to tell not to show

Reveal the reason why he bleeds from ears and nose it flows in leaps and bounds elusive as black sheep ephemeral as clouds caught in a storm thunder terrible with lightning enlightening no one not even the Buddha under the Bodhi tree with a fig leaf for Eve Adam his fruitful lies revealed by his new-found sense of fashion naked beneath his shame blunders nonchalant from Eden into Utopia to suffer his dukkha

Autofiction Is Lies ~ Wednesday, 26 July 2017

Perhaps you should have been less cruel less sadistic as an older brother really schadenfreude only becomes children who enjoy misery as pleasure who inflict harm as a harmless joke because pain is funny you should have been decent so sorry you got stuck with a little brother exactly a stillborn would have been easier on your monster ego really if I could have died at birth to make life easier for you old

boy believe me I would disappear forever from you and our family exactly how I could never see you again would cause no injury figured Chicago would be far enough how wrong Mumble Bunny imagined you could be to threaten me and say my memoir is just lies the support you offer is overwhelming on Rush you pull a Leo sitting at the tavern I ask you a question the crowd goes quiet cold

terrible as your voice raises louder than theirs a true anomaly hits the roof the server asks us to go outside you threaten to hit me exactly then I know to grab my bag and leave flip you off as I get

situated for you to remember me by but who cares for goodbyes in such circumstances it's just impossible to get rid of family no matter how they think we will always be blood you want to make a bet

Elegant Symmetry ~ Monday, 24 July 2017

While we are still alive and able to enjoy this day let us rejoice although the deception certainly appears real this life is not endless some realize our time on earth is cut too short as if we were cheated the chance to stay longer is rarely an option we're not given a choice endgame gets played until defeat stalemate or war as Pyrrhic victory death comes for all of us no one gets out alive this we know for certain

And so let us smile laugh sing and play like children with friends while we are well decidedly the day will come to cut the cord as at birth to redress damage done in this life as it flashes before the eyes of defeated ingrates hungry for more of what they cannot have frightened by the death throes change metamorphosis transformation all lead to the body's gory transition from breathing language-bearing machines to behind the curtain

Humbled upon the stage in a dark theatre the applause rings a bell order structure design concepts of human minds witness architecture organize the data we breathe knowledge seek facts attempt to understand ken the whole universe note all the connections hidden in deep shadows elegant symmetry lies within binary split mind conjecture deception awakens the infant's cry "mamma" for her mammary gland

Forget Memory Forget ~ Thursday, 20 July 2017

From the corner my eye catches motion shadows objects object to light organize thoughts to catch hidden spectral figures peripheral vision recognizes image after image angels on my shoulders soldiers grave long since forgotten generations past death takes us all into night exactly no one knows remembers these young men pity me memory time comes to take the brave the few remain like me selfish shellfish lone crabs

manage to crawl sideways to scuttle with long claw held in defense to grasp enemy combatants to clinch sever in two cut a deep incision move side to side the length of the chessboard like rooks castles castle bolster old kings monarchs of crown scepter and orb possess nothing but their titles rest reinforcements come to relinquish weary warriors reverie yellows with time newsprint reminds victims of war why we fought honor stabs

front and center this heart with sword ancient benign two hands with crown to clasp over finger her heart my long lost bride native to the seashore mermaid redhead swam like a fish upstream the salmon run beside bare flesh to spawn gravel bedded to wed in June under new moon love organic vital enwrapped these bones in shawl to warm my final days the blood I shed I paid treasures obtained in war booty seized or stolen she swam away at dawn

Downward Spiral ~ Wednesday, 19 July 2017

Descend into the well to hide from the bent world to reflect on this life only at the bottom there's no one to hide from except the dark mirror windows into the soul the eyes display the mind the state of perception nothing is visible down in the well except thoughts that cut like a knife working through memories through a childhood of grief moments seen in hindsight art encounters the pain captured in a test tube the science of terror recall fleeting moments of joy surrounded by despair recollection drowns out all sounds within the well hearing voices past present and future

Slippery the steps covered with moss inside the dried out well absent from light pretend the reason why vertigo spirals out of control is vision invisible darkness creates a sense of depth only the blind can feel relaxing in a pool floating supine the stars appear like a creature a constellation of ancient wisdom passed down to help with decisions lamenting moments lost deep inside a dark well as tape spins reel to reel

Sonnet Contourné 12.21.12

If I were never born, I would not know
how important for lungs to be able
to breathe the air we inhale everyday,
to suffer from asthma is not to show

disregard for the way others view life
to wake up each day and long for death's knell
as on death row, where to await a stay
of execution is not a lost cause

With our first breath, we encounter the strife
necessary to survive in this world
but once we learn this trick, we lose its value

like a victim of fire covered in gauze
has little need to witness flags unfurled
we watch the world burn with our eyes ague

Terrible Beauty

3.7.13
Trouble grew in my heart's unkempt garden
enchanted with the waddle of ducks,
resigned to sway like drunk pregnant women,
resigned to their en masse shotgun wedding,
ignorant whence the road to excess leads,
bewildered by their whisky dick babies,
long-legged bitches in heat say "I do,"
elegant with champagne flutes filled with piss.

Bitter rivals share bittersweet chocolate,
"enough is enough," an unwed mother,
alone in argument, answers her son,
utterly devastated by the flood,
tumbling like underage gymnasts in tears,
young as Degas' ballet dancers in bed.

The Object of Vision is to Observe

The purpose of writing is to convey 

phenomena: clouds, lightning, tornados, 

that can only best be rendered by words 

with the gift of language and artifice. 

Some may agree and some may disagree 

to the statement above, it matters not 

whether sheep herded together as one 

or, a lost lamb attracts the hungry wolf. 

Humanity finds its voice through poets 

yet soon casts them out of the republic 

as these unacknowledged legislators 

enslave the hoi polloi through ignorance 

the masses believe this bliss not folly 

for they acknowledge only what they want.

Dead Flies for an Apothecary

"We are a race of tit-men, and soar but little higher in our intellectual flights than the columns of the daily paper"(Henry David Thoreau).

Outlandish as it may seem to you, son,

It was not your place to invite that girl,

Never once did you consider our pain

To see her again in that state, no fun!

Maybe you saw fit to bring her, hellbent,

Egotistical brat you are, eyes swirl 

Needlessly in circles, nothing to gain.

Terrible as it sounds, you must learn tact.

The point is to smell bullshit from its scent,

Insane as that may sound, or are you deaf

To realize reason is on your side?

Monstrous to tantalize you with a fact,

Eventually, even you will soon laugh,

Nevertheless, no one is satisfied.

Bones of Contention ~ 2015.1.29

I am Erica N., an adult-child

And daughter of dysfunctional parents.

Maybe my gratitude for these meetings 

Eclipses the light from the moon, this wild

Release of my inner demons sets free 

Infernal bonds without interference.

Could I never see past the harsh beatings 

Angrily meted out by my father?

Not once, as a child, did I cry, the sea

Allayed my fears with a gentle mumur,

Everyday I walked the length of the pier.

Magically, I grew distant, much farther 

Inwards, proximal to the shore, the lure

Coaxes a fish not to swerve, nor to veer.

"Fallen Leaves" ~ 2015.2.2

I was once no older than you, but time

Gathers up fallen leaves only to blow

North-South-East-West indiscriminately.

Ostensibly, you said I'm past my prime,

Rib of my ribs, why stare off into space,

Answer with lies, tell me it is not so.

No, I did once love you intimately,

Though, to fall in love with a stroke patient

Given your proximity, a client,

Involuntarily, places his trust,

That inviolable faith, in your grasp.

As you teach him to speak again, a pace

Never too slow for your untrammeled lust

Of control can never unhitch the clasp.

"The Revolving Door of Criminal Justice" ~ 2015.1.22

Number the days until you find release,

Ask the warden why the revolving door

Motions the criminals back to prison,

Eager to return to the yard, to cease

Looking forward to life outside of jail,

Exactly why they rob a twenty-four 

Seven convenience store, and kill the son

Soon becomes apparent, death or glory.

No one will ever solve this riddle: Why bail

Out the bankers from financial mistakes,

But continue to burden tax payers,

Over the need to feed the grand jury,

Deliver the wealthy their big tax breaks,

Yet never indulge indigents their prayers?

"Costs Outweigh Benefits" ~ 2015.1.13

As we fall down the scale into the cold

Love evolves sevenfold to envelope

The stars, constellations we invented

To sail by ancient light, the sheets unfold

Raveled or unraveled, the fact remains

Costs outweigh benefits, the lovers elope

Away from family, friends resented 

The idea, not to share or celebrate

Celibate priest, the Pope demands, retains

The right, by ancient rite, a provision

To envision the past as comedy

A cosmic joke can only liberate

A flock from a shepherd, a revision 

In practice delivers a tragedy

"Kelvin Van Winkle" ~ 2015.2.4

I am but I am not alive nor dead,

That much is certain, I am uncertain

As to whether matter matters or not,

If only I could tell what the weather 

Outside my humble abode, my dwelling 

Below the stars, beneath the earth, in dirt

I find myself trapped for eternity, 

Locked-in, not unlike a quadriplegic 

In his wheelchair or on his gurney bed,

Nothing to do but blink and stare, vacant

To the vacuous world outside this corpse, 

Corpulent in my double-wide, king-sized,

Hermetically-sealed sleeper compartment, 

No rent to pay, utilities come free

Of charge, as I was the undertaker 

In the funeral home just a stone's throw 

Away from the gravel path to my grave,

Grateful that gravity keeps me in place,

At least until a sinkhole swallows me

Whole & down, down, down I tumble & fall,

Like on a waterslide, after the rains

Pour down in torrential buckets, the mud

Slips into a silky, soft negligée 

With faux fur trim, just a whisper of white

Light & all thoughts cease, absolute zero.

A Question of Discrimination

I keep telling myself it's no one's fault,

just a roll of the dice decides my fate,

I did not get to choose my family, 

this skin I'm in, just "a little brown guy,"

at least to my ex-wife who kept our name,

the last name obtained by my ancestor

through marriage or the colonial sword,

the history is vague, details obscure,

the genealogy from foreign lands,

South Asia, a sub-continent far off,

Bombay, where I was born, yet to return,

after forty-five years, how to explain,

the confusion of my doppelgänger,

who never left our shared homeland, I see

my imaginary twin self forlorn,

abandoned to fortune, with his people

to fend for himself in the land of spice,

and I wonder if he should fare better

than if my parents brought him to London

at 3 months, then to Kew Gardens 3 years

later, then to leave New York forever, 

move to Huntington Beach, California

at the age of 5 and try to fit in,

to be asked by every adult and child, 

"Where are you from?" as innocuously

as mentioning what a beautiful day

we're having here, this side of paradise,

but he never realised the straight arm

that inquiry would keep him from others,

at arm's length, if not further still, the fear

of loving a stranger, others could feel

this xenophobic sentiment and plant

this seed in the bewildered mind my twin

would face in the mirror every morning,

why his family was so different,

he could not embrace our lost traditions,

he would encounter the flavors the food 

my mother made for our dinner each night

with curry and spices from her childhood

in Goa, and it was my mom who gave

me the name Rui Carlos da Cunha,

which I mispronounce even to this day

as an American, naturalized,

a citizen not native-born, and thus,

never to grow up to be President,

as my classmates teased me, as little kids

unwittingly enjoy Schadenfreude,

as do adults who don't test little boys

as foreigners for their Cub Scouts' badges

or perhaps, it was I who was too shy

to speak up as a child, tortured by Page,

the son of one of the two Scout Masters,

who took great satisfaction in twisting

the ear of anyone within arm's reach,

even if my twin would make many friends

the failure to make sense of the dice throw

always begged the question of inquiry 

from innocent children and blind adults, 

"Where are you from?" Curiosity kills!

Surround Sound ~ Voices from Years Past

It is nearly impossible to write 

in verse or prose, I close my eyes to close

the door, or is it a window I shut?

My mind reels from the rush of memories

from a misbegotten childhood, youth lost

in the conflagration, flames licked by time

friends scattered by the forty winds I spy

out of the corner of my eye, I see

in the periphery, ephemeral

images from my imagination,

fleeting, darting off in impermanence

am I simply dreaming up the real world?

I need to eat, there are too many books

here in the library to read at once

but who would stop me from trying to see

what I could accomplish in just one hour,

Maggie will soon tell me to leave, to go

outside, wander the streets of Chicago

in search of a meal to nourish the soul,

or is it my stomach? how many books

can I devour with just thirty minutes

left before the reading room disappears

from my vision, for I have not yet found

the key to photographic memory.

--

2014.8.15

"Con Men and Optical Illusions" ~ 2015.2.6

He wore a plain dark suit, a plain tie without design. He had a short haircut of no particular style at all. His smile perturbed me the most as it lacked that glimmer in the eyes of people who truly know happiness from hardship, as they'd experienced both deeply throughout their lives. He was an actor, I wish I could have seen that right there and then and called him on the cards he was playing, a dirty hand, bluffing, conning himself he has a full house, when he only has a pair of one-eyed Jacks and a suicide King. But I couldn't call a spade a spade, nor could I see into his heart about his motivations, his intentions, what or who drives his actions. 

Truth be told, his smile reminded me of someone else who played the good-guy but kept a knife in his boot, ready to stab me when I turned around and wasn't keeping an eye on him, so I wouldn't catch him, blindsided. But he did just that with promises to counter such an act just six weeks prior to digging the blade deeply into my spleen, as if he knew where it would do the most damage. Now whenever I see an intelligent smiling man act the fool, I see the red flags pop-up that tell me to slow down as if driving past an active construction site on the expressway. It might take me a moment to understand why I need to tap the breaks and be wary but then I realize that Mercury is in retrograde and all hell is bound to break loose when the planets mess with our perception of their movements.

"'tis folly to be wise" (Thomas Gray) ~ 7.18.2014

You have to have a clear conscience and a cunning mind to keep back the forces that compel you to act weak and subservient. Acting dumb and inferior may work for some people, but others will take it to heart and not realize it is an act, a defense mechanism. The mind may be sharp, straight and strong as a samurai's sword and still it will bend or melt under the right pressure or heat. This world presents challenges and obstacles that must be met or overcome with diligence and rectitude or you will be led astray by the influence of others in a commanding role. This much I've learned the hard way, through my own disappointment with the forces of karma and my lack of acting in accordance with dharma. And so I appear full of wisdom, yet act against my better nature and judgment. How can I stand tall when the weight of the past rests on my shoulders?

"Slandering the Devil's Good Name, or Throwing Old Nick a Curve Ball"(Иди́ к чёрту!) ~ 2015.3.8

One day I found myself without a job

No one saw it coming, out of nowhere 

Ended up on my ass for six whole months 

Day in & day out, my search found nothing 

At first I thought I would find a job quick

Yet this was not the case six months later 

Wishing I could find meaning in the past

Insisting my job performance was not

Solely the reason for my dismissal 

Doesn't explain why you sent me away

Obviously, if I read the subtext

Maybe it will make sense to me one day

Let alone the fact I am now nervous

I will not find a place of employment

Given my present circumstances, cash

Has become an issue of inquiry

Though I wonder what will happen to me 

Should I not be able to pay the bills

Kitchen-sink Comedy ~ 2015.4.15

Kitchen. 5 AM.

J: Are you awake already? Before dawn?

X: I don't see what interest it is of yours.

J: Do you want some coffee? I just brewed a pot.

X: You brewed a pot!?! I set it up last night.

J: Ah yes, so you did. I guess I forgot.

X: Or you wanted to take credit for something you actually didn't do.

J: Why are you awake so early? You didn't wake up just to burn bridges did you?

X: Leave me alone. I'm going to the lake.

M: Good morning early bird! Up to catch some worms for breakfast.

X: God! I wish everyone would just lay off.

J: I'm sorry you're feeling grumpy...

X: I'm not grumpy! I'm trying to focus.

M: If you need to focus, maybe you should grab your camera and go take some photos of the sunrise.

X: Your puns bore me to death. I'm going to the lake to watch the geese.

J: Watch where you step. They tend to poop along the lakefront path.

M: What's your interest in geese?

X: I'm observing their behavior.

J: Ducks are so much nicer to watch.

X: I really don't care for your opinion regarding waterfowl.

S: Are you ready to go?

X: I just need to grab my camera.

S: Alright, hurry up then, we've gotta go!

-- (X and S leave through the back door)

M: Who in the hell was that?

J: His new girlfriend?

M: Did she stay overnight?

J: I don't know. I was asleep before ten.

M: Before the news came on?

J: Before Jimmy Kimmel and David Letterman.

M: They're on after the news.

J: I don't know. I fell asleep on the couch.

M: Did you brew the coffee? It tastes perfect.

J: Yeah, I'm getting better at it, wouldn't you say?

M: This is the best damn coffee you've ever made. You brewed it yourself?

J: Yup. First thing when I entered the kitchen. (beat)

M: It tastes as good as when Xavier brews it.

J: Oh yeah, he said he set it up last night. Could have sworn I started it this morning.

M: All you have to do is flip the switch, that's the easy part. Grinding the beans, Measuring the ratio of water to coffee grounds. Using a clean filter and cleaning the coffee maker...

J: Okay, okay. Just drink your damn coffee in peace. 

M: I'm going to see if the newspaper boy has ridden past our place yet.

J: Yeah, yeah. Whatever just leave me in peace.

-- (M steps out of the kitchen space)

Freshman Year, EHS 1983 ~ 2014.6.21

~~~

Dear Minnie Mouse, 

Please forgive me for stealing you away,

inside your friend's bedroom, where we made out

like bandits on her bed, while the party

out in the living room was a soirée

to remember with guests in Halloween

costumes. I will never forget the cloud

of happiness I rode back home. Hardly

a day goes by since that one fateful night

thirty-two years ago, (like a low beam

the light travels below the fog of time), 

I don't look in the crystal ball to see

why it is I broke off our chance to date

or go steady. I told your friend a lame

excuse, and said some things I regret, pity.

Yours sincerely, 

Mohandas K. Gandhi

~~~

"Boxers Salivate for Blood" ~ 2014.12.18

Sick with worry, what's the point of money

Ignorance guides the wise from their folly

Caution thrown like a curveball in the wind

Kites fight as boxers salivate for blood

Night watchmen enter penumbral delight

Eclipsed by bliss carried within torchlight 

Spanner in hand ready to adjust torque 

Screw any loose bolt stripped naked 

Sentenced to eternal unrest to reach

Kingdom come for an apple or a peach

Enticingly dangling from a low limb

Inviting a desperate hand to climb

Never to grasp the fruit swollen with juice

Snickering winds blow branches & rejoice

"Manuscripts Don't Burn" (Рукописи не горят) ~ 2015.2.17

"Or who cleft the Divels foot" (John Donne)

Will I ever write a line worth reading,

A page worth perusing, a chapter worth

Clipping unkempt phrases to remember 

At a party to show your good breeding?

The Narrator questions himself at times,

His eyes seem to fail him ever since birth,

Is what he sees a fact or an ember

Sitting inside a wood stove burning leaf

After leaf of a tree that speaks in rhymes,

In riddles, like a sphinx, to her victims,

Such is the love a cat has for a mouse.

If he answers her true, she cries in grief 

From hunger unable to feed her whims,

Her whelps suckle her wit under a blouse.