funny blood

my blood is totally funny 
in reasonable amounts 

sitting there all red. 
It's like 
it looks like a cartoon 

except 
maybe more slick,
smeary with a foot-track shot
through where one slipped
- trying too hard to get a towel!
Wham! Missed the mess, thankfully 
- and glistening like a liquid 
jeweled dark ruby pool, where
it sits undisturbed 

like a cartoon. Except 
what's it doing there? 
It's funny, because absurd. 
Hey buddy! Why you
outside me? Did you
get lost? Some loss 
of blood, you know, 

you feel bad.
Poor blood! 

Blood is kind of 
like our own buddy 
on the inside.
It's funny 
to see that dude
get out, 

except 
blood

doesn't do well 
on its own

to do (with you)

there is no way that I can do 
what I want to do with you 
without certain things
happening everywhere
all at the same time forever. 
As soon as I let you know, 
you will be able 
to bring it about. 

Until then, 
we are both powerless. 

sandwich is

A sandwich is a food-eating
technique

whereby
foods that would be inconvenient
to eat with bare hands

are contained

by some kind of
cooked cereal paste. Handy
for holding and taking bites. 

It is 
considered 

a rude lunch
or snack, or 

breakfast, if 
the food inside 
is breakfast food 
like pancakes, or 
cold cereal, 

or dinner. If you are 
slovenly, leading 
meaningless lives, 
incapable or just 
uncaring of proper 
dinner, sure.  

A sandwich is 
the salutary solution 
to so many foods 
you
want
to take in hand.  

you had meat tacos

Saw a girl with a t-shirt once:
"YOU HAD MEAT TACOS"

Well damn
I mean I have had those.
That's a new low plateau
in insignificance elevated to
commodification, though
I thought! Doesn't even
say what meat! It makes
a difference. I was bemused

As I supposed I was
supposed to be.
Then

catching
perhaps my perplexity
from where she was?
She shifted and smoothed,
squaring herself:

"YOU HAD ME AT TACOS"

I was 
astonished 

and apologetic 
and - she laughed 

I could explain. She 
looked at it herself, said
yeah, the words were too

close 
together

damn it
I thought.
I want tacos

Halfway halfway up

Halfway up to planned campsite, 
which was halfway up to the real 
cool lake, we broke and pitched 
unwelcome tent. We'd gotten lost
along the way. Exhausted, stitched 
in sides, and taking sidelong looks, 
we made as if to make the best.
We'd wake at dawn
to make up for
what by then would be 

yesterday. 

do tell

You're a drop of light from a starry
height that expands
everywhere
your ripples reach,
and I mean that. Sure, 
I mean everything. 
As they always say 
those who can't,
do teach. 

the nightmare again

The living things 
poured out of her clothes 
and fell, writhed once 
and died. 

Each left a hole of a different 
shape. Each had the color of dye,
and texture of shirt, or pants, or
hoodie, progressively,
underthings 

With nothing conceivably
telling why. As all of these
people around were stood, but
milling or passing - not seeing
things. She can't cry
for help,
because then
they'd see. Attention
distracted from normal
and good, averted to horror
and shame 
this brings - whose cause,
in a minute 
shall not be explained. 

Just fully exposed to discovery.
Cruel humor and shock. What
is she doing? Standing like that!

With -
their eyes peering down
- a circle 

of strange, dead
colorful things 

on the floor or the ground,
which cannot be turned back.
Cannot be put on. 

It's horribly real

the whole time, and she knows
that it is going on. It's happened
before, she suddenly knows. So
familiar, these times. Sometimes 
it occurs in the back of her mind,
as she goes about running dream 
errands galore, and she drives it away,
back down to occur - not to her, not today.

And it doesn't. 

It waits.

Then when she won't suspect, 
it's the nightmare again. It will not 
wake her up, because in the dream 
on some level, she dreads 
that she'd wake up a man.

Some horrors in life are worth
living through,
so as not to wake up
from who we shall be,
if we get through them. 

The cautioner stands on the borderlands vigilant

We each of us tread deftly
on the borders of sorcery,
milady. Oh lordy, take
heady warning and heed
this hearty encouragement
against the unseemly and
seamy examples of those
who’ve strayed seemingly
too far over bluff’s edge.

Found themselves
in the incredible
Wile E. Coyote position,
standing on air: looking down,
down, gazing for hours
into an iridescent abyss:
a charcoal midnight purple
curtain of infinite transparency
and opacity in descending
chiaroscuro depths,
with party lanterns
hung deep all through,
shifting positions according
to some inner math and music,

each its own.

This is language.

If we’re not careful,
it could steal all you mean
from within you and present it

to the one in front of you: impossibly
perfect, full and exact. All it takes

is you know
what you mean
about each thing.
Which is not the same thing,
but you’ll also know:
what it means
to you. All it asks
then, is that you dedicate
aim in finding and catching
each word-by-word,
catch-as-catch can,
every delicate or sturdy
vessel for such meaning
and sense, to aim in meaning
well-spent ’til the last one drops,

and bleeds

out dry.

That is all language wants of us

who feel its call.

It seemed at the time a joy
- not much to ask? But
language it turns, has
a trickier seem
than most note.

It is not us.

It is not a thing like us,
language.
It is nothing
to do with us.
Except in use
and pondering.

It is alien.

It came
from before us,
most of it. 

However you fancy
yourself a nonce artist,
a neologian, you plant
puny seed in a field miles deep
whose trees were acorns, once
floating between stars. Yet

past a point you feel flush with it.
Even as-if smug! Some never pass
though and out of that point. Child,

it is no credit to us.

Not whatsoever. It is a force
that does not live, but hangs
between us all in mind.

It has purchase in us,
already so deep.

Do not let it buy you out.

into the little known

Did you know that fungi 
are the ghosts of ants 
that led selfish lives 
did you know that stars 
are holes punched in night 
by the human glance 
of angel eyes, once
they saw how right 
they were to fall.
Yet how short the stay, 
and cruel the price. 
Did you know in the seas 
there are mermaids still?
they assembled themselves 
from huge garbage drifts 
like Sargasso seas, except 
plastic and what should have
been landfill. Did you know we
can make up all of it? If we start
far from home, by the time we get
here, at least half might fit. 

Murder why not

Well speaking
for myself I love
not murdering people!
It’s a positive enjoyment.
There are as many reasons
not to murder as living human
beings I’ve encountered, so far.

Murder murder murder murder. 

I dunno, just seems kind of silly. 
Petty somehow. 

It's kind of condescending 
when you think about it. Like 

you think 

you're better than them

"head lies"

He is lying on my head that I stole from him.
I’d sworn it his forever, but I took it back.
So now I find his whole self poised and sprawled;
weighing on my mind, as I ponder and stall
for a perfect countermove,
which

ideally is not

a counterattack.

so-me-sup comment series #2 ("social-media-support")

Haha 
man this grainy-ass blur lookin' chick
is hot as hell YOU from whatever
schoolchild year this was! Damn

that sounds wrong, but girl, HOW
(you older than I am woman
now don't coy me out) you
make me out to be a pedaperv
on a time paradox jag? That
ain't right. You all leaning back
smile glam casual candid shot
cool of your hotness, we all once knew, well 
hell

I remember
that day way back. I was 

in another State I bet, and probably 
diapers. You on the other hand, oh man
it gives inner infant me a baby boner to
think how much SHAME OLD ME just got
self-smacked with merely commenting
in appreciation of how hot a child
you serve up of yourself to the world!

I mean, I do not misappropriate here,
I hope. But you did say yourself
"S<3  HAWT"
so 

Look, I don't even like kids! It's just
it's clearly so you. You can see
in this pic, you can clearly see
the woman you once hadn't
become yet. All that
promise, you
know

make it look so good I wanna
feel bad about it wink 

GROW UP 

This is a great picture!! 

so-me-sup comment series #1 ("social-media-support")

So
I understand you keep changing your hair color. 
and 
it looks like you're differently wearing clothes  too? but 

you keep switching it back! Now
look people
are
reading weigh too much into this girl. 

You 
do you.
You it.

I can see what you doing 
exactly 
and I'm
like aw yeah, here comes the world, 
girl 

Mack "3rd Eye" Blinderson

Mack "3rd Eye" Blinderson has 
or had a certain cocksure insight. 
For each thing he saw
to penetrative depths, 
He saw another thing
to dizzying heights, 
which, afraid of them,
he'd hyperobscure, project,
redirect, overcompensate more 
or less by degrees than he thought
called for. He posed it as an act, but
it's so much more or less than that.

For instance, Mack wore a black
t-shirt with a candid shot of an
unsolicited dick pic - not his! 
Just the pick of the batch that
he'd unsolicited, but nevertheless 
got. Ridiculous: Mack was straight. 

White. Who was he kidding, putting on 
this black t-shirt! The contrast was absurd, 
but apparently fit just right. Mack was
always 
pulling such
gay tricks. It seemed
the solicited thing to do. To him.
It's not nor was, nor ever should be, 
but a dude like that can't always see
clear or true ways out or through like
me and you can, do, know-how all-wise.

Poor Mack 

was a hapless dork those ways. It's why 
people cut him a break in the back 
with his own damn selfsame 
namesake knife. Metaphorically, 
of course. Surprise?

No not really. Not to Ol' Mack "3rd Eye"
Blinderson. He's rich in surprise curiosity, 
and curiously poor in reasons why. He calls 
disappointments epiphanies, and poses as if 
because it's fun, and acts like his whole façade's

not him. But it obviously is. It's the best thing 
he had to put on.    

the badass town

The badass town came to town 
- actually, it was already there. 
It just came to, itself one day. 
Woke up in bed with badass hair,
decided not to brush it. Just
went in to work, or school
or shop, as attitude grew
in that town 

to so badass 

the next town
called a cop. 

Too bad. 

That next town's cop
came by, but badass town's PD
gave dude one look, "Don't start 
none. Leave." That good cop skipped. 
Badass cops: not aggrieved. 

The populace spit nails and smiled. 
The schoolteachers bent steely minds
to work, the kids said "hell" and "piss" 
but pitched right in - ambitious to make
marks on Earth. The wives and husbands, 
girlfriends, boys and other lovers' rude 
raw trust was like the raging sport of 
beasts! It shook the homes! With
tenderness in every thrust, and
cataclysms soft unleashed. 

There was 
in town 
one 

lowlife fool. 

So used to pushing wimps around. 
Now he's like pinball, ricocheted
between the wimps. All flipper-shot
and bumper-bound, but  

- that's just for bad old time's sake. 

That lowlife fool grew badass, too. 
He's cooler now, he knows the deal. 

This badass town is balls-ass real 
and true as tits and steely minds. 
It's found its code of honor strong 
in rude-hewn hair, unruly free. 

Just hoping not to wake up wrong.  

service industry

The purpose of your argument

might be better observed if
I clout you with it.
                                Social critics 
and dissidents reserve the privilege 
of immunity speech grants - they 
relish it! Yet
                     I find simply to serve 
them back their own with mustard 
does the trick neatly. We can't object

to our own, can we? Not, 
anyway, with our mouths 
full of it. To do so 

would put one on 
oneself's wrong side, 
discreetly. 

I keep getting scared of the bunny

I know its behind me but 
I won't look. It's a bunny, 
I can hear it in the bush, 
doing not its funny business
but straight-up bunny business, 
making a living like a bunny
boss. But it's eerie back there

behind my head 

it always was eerie back there.
That's where the devil stood 
watching without complaint 
as I throttled my conscience 
and became a man. 

Now 

there's a bunny! And 
I'm not going to look, because 
what if I turn around and oh 
shit 

it's a bunny! 

I mean, it's not going to be 
the devil. I'm out here on 
the screened in deck, immune 
in full view of all public eyes 
from the influence of diabolic
or even demonic incursion, even 

though I can't see a soul. 

Shhh, don't tell a soul, but 
I actually never could see 
one of those. S'alright. 
One can infer. 

Even as one can observe the stillness:

Backyards free of householders, no kids
cutting down and across the common
depression making for the pool this
December 3rd, not even in Florida,
on a colder day no doubt than hell,
does that guy come up here for this!

He only stands behind me to watch

whenever I 'throttle my conscience,'
the fucking pervert. 

It's a bunny back there, but 
in case it's an angel or something 

I'd rather respect its incognito. 
Besides, hey -
I think it's gone! 

thank god

my crooked wife

My crooked wife 
is on the take 
to curry influence
with me. 

The local crime boss
suborned her 
by means of
intermediary. 

It seems he thinks 
her influence 
can blunt
my interfering ways. 

But I'm just glad
she's playing nice! 
I love my crooked
wife these days

slight distinction

We differ majestic
on minor things, 
keen in intent
swinging views of each
'round. Or rather,
to swing reality
- into place 
were agreement
between shall be
found. Not since
we gave way, relented
or slid! Because it's just
set there, beside what we saw.
Alongside both staked and set
stances, as if 
after all
of this dicker and bliss 
what was right
and acceptable,  
all along always did
exist. 

runners' pace

I won't fight you for you.
But I'll fight any thing for you
or for us. For all time and place.
I will never chase
you if you flee, 
but I
will run every race.
If you lead, I will pace 
myself to overtake, and we 
will each lose our share, but you 
will never lose me.  

vow of finding real.

I aim
wonder
curiosity to discover
by means of: sense
and sensory stream. I do
and shall find all through,
all that’s findable by such
means. Never I'll be done
of it.

All truth
findable by other means
I find valuable another way via
whim fancy curiosity, to the other wonder,
speculation say, of realist bent or irrealist,
surreal, sometimes boundless: unreal.

By imagination or envisionment,
by othersensory opening out to feeling,
finding and opening the aperture inside. Opened
to void pulling in all. Opened
to cosmos roaring
through
and out:
thorough
and rough. 

So. It’s cool
as it was is and all ways.
Find boths. Eithers, ores
of many kinds quite more
cool I am not
your rockbound being, but
I’m that too. I am rock finder,
rock minder, and a real knower
of stones. Stones are every bit
real
as we've found them. And
quite a bit realer than I’ve
been able to find so far
otherwise.

So what I do 
is 
I take this vow 
and shove it right 
up the fundament 
where it can shine 
shine shine in peace 
for you. 

Interimpersonal

I know we didn't ask for this, but 
hear we our, I mean: are, and
part of you and part of me
impartially said: what the
fuck! Apparently, but
it's true: let's kiss.

Wait. Okay, then. Objectively,
let's not! Wait again. Let's be
impartiality and reason itself
about this, then? Good system:
find hard and true, avoid
bias and kiss, fuck, wait, it -

- well 

Let's not? Okay, let's not
get ahead of our
each other's
selves' ideas 
of them, of
who - you? Me,
whoever! Each
to each, only us
here and it's probably 
okay to undress 
though, at the same
time - our
call! Or as the decision
seems to be? Natural
on instinct, letting
a thing happen
duly in shameless
accord - Look, See 

we can help us with

that, here and oh

You sure? Yeah 

no me too, that's 

wait 

there's a catch 
clasp, hook 

it undoes itself so, 
to an undoneness 

of fact 
in act. 

show sacramental

The black cop's in the show 
like Sidney Poitier,
right there to show how right  
producers are, and say:
society's an asshole, see?
Oh, they still are! But
not us, baby: no,
not we. 

You can tell that's what it
says that's how it bees, and what
they're trying to say is, "oh,
please. Be fair: agree 
we did our part by
faking up a story for
your mind to fart 
around in: you
did your part, 
too."

It's 
absolution 
of a sort-of 
sort. It's true as
if held true.  

The white female who won't put out, 
the white female who will, are both 
just
there to make one point:

the patriarchy 
is or isn't with
us still.  

Either way, producers plop 
a plot with roles to signify 
not human beings: human things 
that mean more than they are, 
and why. And people fart 
around in mind, and nod 
and wince, and frown at 

what.

Whatever has been
neat set-up 
to be frowned at.

So 
we're
absolved 
of all we've

got. 

opaque eye

I keep an opaque eye 
and an obtuse mind 
(acute at one end) and

to keep unblind, I
keep also one lucid eye 
open.
Well, it's really 
translucid, but eye 

keep hopin' 

findings & determinations

There's something wrong behind my ear
it's filling up sebaceous stuff 
I guess a cyst is what it is 
how long's it been there?

Long enough. 

sum empathy

We only want to kill what once
we held and loved as best in us
when consequence held few rewards.
It’s odd the ways we seek to even scores.

It isn’t odd to want. To try, to make the sum
come out. The sun come out, not go away,
but life - was never running sums, or balancing
except by means and ends that we ourselves
have run as cons.

Smell as sweet

Roses are stank
Violets smell 
Sugar rots teeth 
and go to hell

meanwhile otherwise

Otherwise and Meanwhile went 
for a walk: the longest walk ever off
such a short pier. They had to keep
stopping to make things clear. Otherwise,
they'd never get anywhere. Meanwhile,
they kept starting on again, making such
progress as each could stand. Distracted
by Meanwhile's otherwise point, Otherwise
accused sarcasm again. Meanwhile thought 
this was out of hand,
but could not answer back,
since they'd got on a roll
and with heads full of steam
they fell smack in a lake, 
and have yet to land. Meanwhile
we wait. Otherwise,
they crept out
and slunk off just so,
probably as planned.  

breathelike

Working your way through
your crushed-in cares 
Climbing your way down
a pit of stares 
Finding away from the goals 
unset 
Giving away what you'll 
never get 

You can give up
You don't want to 
What's been the point 
of the point of you 
How many ways must 
a you walk down 
to come home again? 
the town's burned down 

If you breathe like a child
If you breathe like a child 
If you breathe like a child
you'll see 
there's no difference 

Fitting so many starts 
to a point 
Working the ache and the kink 
off joints
Searching the roots for the cause 
of its 
Shining a light 'til the cracks 
come together and fit 

you up 
you don't need to 
it's just been this crazy want 
of yours 
to find yourself in a sense 
well-made 
making the best 
of all lineless plays

If you breathe like a child
If you breathe like a child 
If you breathe like a child
you'll know 
just one instance 
and breathe like a child 
if you breathe like a child 
if you breathe like a child 
you'll grow 
up, grow up 
you're not finished you know 
you're not finished you know 
you're not finished 
you know. 

to the people of Earth.

Bury me nude
full of bullet-holes,
just as I am
then.

We shan't
pay the rolling tolls
of bells, of wreaths
and crepe. No casket
or ceremony. In lieu
of flowers? Some
tasteful black
balloons

for who to release
as they wish, and
when. Dig a hole
lay me out, altogether
and all, by the open grave,
by the open bar, and some
canapés - hold a rollicking
wake. And when the last dog
is hung, just roll me in.

Then let night and day
call foxes and crows
to dig in. Let time's
sweet healing begin.

About a week's worth of
me being late, somebody

come back

and fill me in. I will find
the time with abated mind
and breath. Let the dirt rain
down full of worms, and

tally the scores of years
since birth
was bested in death.

Call it
another triumphant win
for the people of Earth, tied
every time at the finish line
for best we get. 

13% one picture's worth

Seriously, could
such sentences ever
not delight? The prose,
the prose! Everywhere he
strews himself sudden
roots a rose. So it goes,
so he knows or at least
thinks he knows. It's
a bit "on the nose,"
and much to expect
of correctness in assessments
so drunk on glows
deeply grown, picked
and pressed into heady
hearty reds, gleaming whites
shone with light deeply
gleaned in the wisdom
of berry and terroir,
and all vintner's arts.
Plus a few choice rosés,
for the sake of the sentiments 
exposed in the starts, and the fits
to catharsis of hearts and minds
blown to bits in the words, 
words, words, words, words,
words, words. In the plucking
and the pricking and the tucking 
and the sticking in the spinning
and the winning and the dining
and the whining of the words.

stone's throw

I am milk
mild
meek ass
wild
bold
brass consequence!
(Presumption of)
all I can see
my way clear to: 
my part - and free
the force
of its
brute bucking thrash 
and quash! 

By which 
the world grows
round the more of what
I could not see - not possibly!
Or know conceivably - the more 
each missing part of mine 
I stoop to find and own: 

The deeper in 
and farther out
a ripple splash 
can crest to waves. 
From pebble toss 
to skipping stone, 
to boulder sunk 
to thunk displayed 
in sea-changed home.
Tucked safe and warm
in algae blanket, coral bed: 
and kissed g'night by social
morays swarming by, 
as is their norm.  

simile metaforce

It's like we are each
other's nutshell and nut,
reversibly. I am the sunlit
spray in space, and you are
the wave curling over me
'til we break and crash
come tumbling in, so
dragging back out to sea
we flow. But this time
I am the wave, and you:
are shining suspense
in air as I rise, to hang
atop you and awave we
go. Much similar, too:
how you are the pin, 
and I am the head 
as the angels dance 
in angles of light spun 
infinitely, while some 
occult hand mends 
somebody's pants. 
It is quite as or like 
some simile jumped 
from her side of the glass 
to see metaphor. And metaphor 
took her literally. And ever since then, 

it's meaning more. 

good sad ways

good says ways 
are better than bad
happy ways, I think.
Or maybe I'm bad 
at telling between, 
but feeling I get 
says shrug 
and wink

Deconstructing Kool Moe Dee's "Wild Wild West"

Mohandas Dewese, known as 
Moe Dee and styled as Kool 
apparently used to hang with 
a dude who liked people to call 
him "Hung Hunk." 

What's more people apparently 
felt it fit and right to honor this 
braggadocious appellation of 
self-identification. That's 

wild. Either that or people just
started calling him that and
he said "Correct."

Alternate
interpretation: SOMEBODY 

I won't say who 
was stuck for a rhyme 
for "We fight with our hands 
and nobody's a punk!" But if so 

in that case, due 
to the situational factors, 
we can pretty much rule out 
Hung Hunk.  

All this happened in the West,
apparently. Although: West side
of town, or Western section of 
a housing development, we don't 

know. We can infer: sunset's
indicative, but don't go there. At 

the 
wol 
wol 
wes

If you're a clown, they don't mess
around. 

absurd ditty

O, what
an absurd ditty
is life! You buy
a dog and end up
with a wife and you’ve
never once dared to screw
that pooch. It’s against the law
- plus she’s not your type.

It could be worse. 
We surround in it. 
Can't take it all in, 
since none of it fits. 
Who says "wife's a bitch"
intends to die, or at least 
deserves richly such fate 

not I

metamorphosis interruptus

The ugly duckling grew to goose. 
It made its sibling ducks so mad. 

"When all this time we swanned
about you treating you so well
- so sad! Filling you with big ideas, 
calling you the special one, in hopes 
this pond would have a swan 
to look benevolent upon! And 
each of us, proud brother duck 
and sister to a swan so bright!

Just look at you! One gander 
tells the gruesome tale to goose 
affright!" The goose, meanwhile

crestfallen down, to find its future 
held no swan, declared HONK HONK
and flapped aloft, with weight of 
siblings bearing down.

Eventually,

as seasons changed,
the ducks and goose regretted
all. In memories of such childhoods,
so much to look for every fall, so much
to find in every spring. So much to love
in each so grown so foul and fair by turns,

so strong. 

Our goose came back to find its ducks
had flown. They could not bear our 
pond, and all their lives there lost 
and won. They'd gone to where 
the gooses go, to find the goose

 who was no swan. 

self-thrashing # 24,736.5

So. Here's a damn question for me
I'll warrant. Why, on social media 
for instance, am I always (oh, come
on "always"? How often! Irregularly
at best) breathing a sigh of relief

to find someone 

I had random crush-catch pang
or fuzz of hot fondness for, once
- just a pure good thing, you know? 
A wonder and gratitude as one 
tends to have for all truth, good 
or beauty seen in evidence, in this 
far too often gorgeous, absolutely 
factually veracious and right-on 
world! Someone anyone, to come
across again distantly after long since
having drifted apart on separate lifelong
courses, for that matter never even slightly
in any sense "together," or "having" 
(I mean not this particular one) 

- and she has "kept her figure"?

No, arguably I do not think it
in those pig-dog terms, but 
I analyzed the reaction just now. 
Pretty sure that's about the size
and shape of it. Naturally I took 
a step back and said "Yo to self. 
How natural and cool a reaction 
is this, and/or some affront of 
some kind?"

See, I'm supremely vigilant of the fact
that if everybody was a mind-reader,
humanity's population would be halved
every week for as long as it took
for the available supply of aluminum
foil to be distributed as hats. Which, 

unrealistic hypothetical, but thoughts 
lead acts by the dick sometimes (or 
the equivalent), and words can wound. 
I don't say "I keep mine pretty clean," 
that's nonsense. Dirt isn't clean. Nudity 
is not held clean, though if people understood 
how many microbes and mites infested their
entire suit of clothes right now, down to 
the unders, some of them would overreact 
into immediate nudity wherever they were, 
and demand the world find some way 
to scrub them clean 

which it never can, and would stall 
and stall over. Point is. So I had 
that reaction, as noted, and abnormal 
to me I had a thought about it. Also 
as noted. Reaction to a reaction - not 
my home mode, I'm a simple guy, 
but there was this to deal with now. 

I don't shirk that. People count
in my view, and I mean all of each, 
not just a big ogle in the goodies 
and walk on, "mission accomplished!" 
Such things need to be checked and 
why they need to be checked could 
use some checking!   

Okay. So I began in on me by 
second nature, red in tooth and claw:

"Where's the pure glory 
of innocent everybody's own 
good humanity angle in that one, 

buster? FESS UP. You just want 
the once-fuckable (except in practice
with rather a practiced lack of attempt
or intent, only theoretically so) to keep
their honor and virtue 
of hotness,

whilst 'in mind'! 

- you maintain a devil of a 
self-advocacy job! Playing
the dispassionate social aesthete,
going 'Well of course, it's nothing 
to me either way but I expect 
that's a good thing for her 
life, in her own view even,

especially in view of this
hegemony of pig dog eye values
always propagating an as-if sex
objective fixed scale and rank
system hinged on 

- hotness, if posed as a virtue ideal, 
or
- fuckability in consequentialist
or utilitarianist terms, despite 

let's be honest, none of those 
lauded as fuckable tend to be, 

at least by those singing the lauds.'

A natty abstract case of dodge 
ball there buddy but it doesn't fly 
when YOU are one of the ones 
rating so rank, clearly! It's YOUR 
pig dog eye wallowing in the 
'kept figure' of some - one - known
to-you to-be way more than just 

a passel of well-placed sinew 
slapped on a skeleton and organized 
i.e. fit with organs, such as a skin 
to keep it all in and rounded out nicely 
with fat - but as nutritionist prigs say 
'the good fat. Not the bad fat.' 

That's crap and you know it! She's
got a HEART, TOO wait. OK. Technically
you covered that under 'organs.' Is that sufficient
to your so-called and posed heart of molten gold
beating out an unbeaten tom tom to the tune of
a dude catting around kitting out chicks in
mentally applied birthday suits immediately
transposed to one's own bird in the hand
upon the next convenience? Yeah yeah!
You make me sick, atomizing humans being 
to parts! You've clearly got her all covered, 
her human heart - all the glory and weight 
in the world, by your evident hypocrite 
scales! You just shuffle it in with the organs, 
as if it has no folk anatomical value or 
magic at all to you! What happened 
to YOUR heart when you were beaten 
as a child by your own hand I shouldn't 
suspect! Knowing as I do better. You got
her plumped with organs and wrapped up
in soft skin surrounding, heart deep within
pumping blood in more places than she knows, 

or cares to be aware of, I'd bet."

THIS is where one has to just 
step back from the duel of sides 
inside, declare it "overthinking it," 
further declare oneself on the sides
of all the real human beings in the case 
and against all unnatural warping
distortion to be posed and imposed
on any of them. 

It's worth doing. Overthinking 

sharpens the head whether done
right or not, sometimes. It rarely
-to-never solves the damn quandary,
but sometimes it does establish
there wasn't a quandary. Or as in

this case, there's 

arguably some stuff

it's good to spot. Gawk at. 
Accept, deny, or if
the getting is good as per
two norms and nature sets: catch,
give up and down receive likewise,
lay it where it lies right and
once found, identified for what's
what and good, perhaps? Keep in mind!
Heaped in with all the other stuff in the
keep pile. Congratulating yourself on how 
the keep heap has just overtopped the 
discard heap, equally present and 
oppressive. 

Then, you know, just grab your ass 
with both hands to prove you can 
tell the truth literally, and keep
eyes wise and wildly abreast
of further developments. 

YOU DON'T HAVE TO, 
nobody does 

Pretty frustrating stuff for some, 
and ultimately: who wants it?
Who needs it.

This one? 
I score as a draw, because 
I'm not sure what or whether 
any problem is, but I'm glad 
I checked myself headlong 
rather than proceed obliviously 
unawares into who knows 
what glorious annihilating 
pair of eyes, wrong word, 
right on time. 

I mean, to be honest such 
moments of truth are also 
to be prized. 

But I feel less stupid 
with the obvious 
when I can figure it out 
more wise than otherwise. 

kindergarten righteous

The lines were rote, received as writ. 
When we were kids, we treasured it: 
how right from wrong 
could goodly shine.
How just could cleave the world so fine! 
How black and white divide the day.
 
How bright the line
made sense in play.

How fair, that we 
could see it plain.

Now we've grown up. 
It's just the same. 

Since all between the lines we find
all shades of gray look white or black
depending on the light we play.
Obliterate! Or turn one's back.
Avert both eyes, and call it gone.

So that's a wrap. For every dark is
just a dawn, eventually you'll see 
how long.  

There's no shade too complex
to see it all the way, or not at all.
Our innocence will never lack. 
We've all gone home. We had to 

take our ball.  

outgrained exclination

I thought of you today for 
the first time in oh I don't know 
and realized the way I've been 
was not the way I was or am. 

I'd been unso. Whereas before 
I always was just so. And now 

I'm rightly so. Again 
who knows 
why such trajectories 
and how.