react

This totally improvised dance
video you sent me 
takes 
amazing 
look at them: 
a total amount of trust 
and 
I believe it 
was all just made-up 
on the spot, in interplay 
two people never met 
and didn't know the song 
and that happened. 

I believe it
takes a total amount of trust 
and 
it's actually hard to look at 
it kind of makes you want 
to slap them both, some 
of them, with the moves 
and she kicks a back-pirouette
and he draws her forward by both 
hands, hunkered down in backwards 
ratatat stutter-step then BOLT! 
Stood upright while - SHE! 

Flew right into him and stopped 
an inch above, all through their 
swaying not joining (not quite) 
course! I mean hell 
this is some exhibition  
of human being doing that. A 
moving celebration of mass, 

holy as holy fuck 

sacred as profane, but 

it just seems at key points each 
is a bit too pleased with themselves,
and with the other, what they just done,
and back again to themselves, and 

this microagression against the spectators 
ignored, marginalized, voided as persons 
just 
seems a bit much. It makes you want 
to slap them - both. Not on the face, 
but the ass, not hard. And 

if you're honest with yourself probably,
when it comes to the respective asses
not objectified but considered with
respect to the whole, you want to hit
one of that a little more than the other,
but smack BOTH. EQUALLY "GOOD

JOB!" to cover for it. If 
both object, okay. Sorry. "my bad" 
If neither objects, well 
let's stand up, sit down, 
sort it out reasoning to
gether! If one objects - 

- hold up. 

Which one? 

You could seriously have fucked 
up on the unexpected double-butt 
slap kudos move dude. That's why 

I take a step back detached mode, 
and appreciate critically 

good 
JOB  

Yellow with a brown giraffe

Yellow with a brown 
giraffe, zipper-up front 
snappy on top 

I was gonna wear them 
onstage in the Christmas 
play, but then I got sick 
or chickened out 

My feetie pajamas! 
Cannot be beat! 
My feetie pajamas! 
The ones with feet 

At the top of the stairs, 
and we all had a pair 
slip-slid down the hall 

You can push me from 
behind, and I don't even 
mind, run me into a wall 

My feetie pajamas! 
Are cool as hell
My feetie pajamas 
They look so well 
My feetie pajamas 
The ones with feet! 
My feetie pajamas 
Make me happy 

As I grew bigger strong
telling right from wrong
wrong, I discovered some
things. Things I couldn't 
abide, things I couldn't 
defeat - that's life, as 
we know. It's what 
time brings

My feetie pajamas
Get tight as hell!
My feetie pajamas
Don't fit so well!
No-feetie pajamas
My feet broke free 
My feetie pajamas 

they make me happy

somatic

somatic 

never means what I 
think it does, what I 
want it to, which is 
quelle bizarre, since 

I never in those moments 
have any idea what it is 
at all, or should be. True. 

So I'm writing this poem 
as a mnemonic. Mnemonic 
always
means
what I want 
it to. Or I
think it

does 

keep feeling

I am a fascinating type 
of exceptional kind: not 
fascinating at all! That's 
a break from the rule
otherwise defined.

Exceptional can be as bad 
as the rule is not, but in this 
case (case-by-case) it smells 
alright. Like flowers borne
by sharp spring breeze 
through snot! We get worlds 
secondhand. We can't much 
help the animal we've got. 

So must screen out by thought, 
in blank and blot, we focus 
hot and cold, we slip from 
warm to cool. To me, 
it's wild! But I'm 
a fool. For love, 

plus all equivalent cause. 
As if cause was. I fudge 
the clause exceptionally 
in such good case. I keep
feeling fascination grow, like
others of my fascinating type,
but unlike them - I don't fascinate.
Not much! Far as I can tell, or know.
Which is cool as hell!

I don't like to confuse. It's great, 

except, 'hell' - it is not so cool, 
is it though? Still, the metaphor's
not supernatural. Yet, fascinating
that aspect was in. That angle was
there. And we caught it! Oh 

I am wonderful 
in a backwards way:
not a cause of wonder,
just full of it! I wonder 
a lot, but it's okay. And

so 

the conversation turned, 
until the sun went down. 
And much reality was
learned, imagined 
possible was found.  
 
Keep feeling. Keep it 
up, and in, root down, 
aim out all through this 
place you find by being 
so. You might as well, 
since any false you give 
is you.

Just true. As hell. That's who 
and how and what you gave. 
Or was it not? That's how you 
are then, all in all. What's in 
you you don't give lives not. 

True comes in flavors, tones 
from foul to sour to bitter and 
sweet. From meant right well 
to ill. It's sick to pick and feed
on weak, with such a feast laid 
out from farm to board. Grown 
and mined from either ore you 
care to dig, and delve and smelt. 

You might as well.
'Cause there's 
the door

just you know

It's not 
that I'm not 
libidinous. I 
can be lascivious, 
too! The salacious leer 
that my face can't pull 
seemingly has an inner 
gear. True,

I am not licentious.
No scruple in this
conscientiousness
- I was always more 
aim and drive than 
block, yet surprising 
(to me) how none are
are shocked

When fulsome candor
lays bare my ends by
the most ulterior means 
of all: I show my ass.
Just so, what ho! With
a touching sincere intent,
you know.  

Just a focused goodwill
some mistake as pure,
'cause it is! "Pure what?"
should be easy to guess 
- but it isn't. I'm taken for
innocence. That's cool. 

I am! Far as I can tell.

Which is bliss, of the ignoramus
kind. But I really don't mind. It is
just, as well. My inhibition is
absent at best, rather easy to note,
yet drive and aim do tell. I find.  

The only thing I'm embarrassed
about is how little I understand 
this shame. I'm not proud of how
carefree natural all of it strikes,
springs, runs clear again, in a
usual beautiful clarity, from deep
down up to all through me. I don't
let it hang out at all. I swing! 

Yet people don't seem to mind
what I bring. They can tell somehow
what I mean, I think. I feel that is fit,
if mysterious. 'Cause however they
tell - I do mean it, so.

Clandestine kinda, except
not at all. My self-censor
burned hisself to death
on books and art, and left
me show.

It is fair, fine,
fit, and just
you know. 

free the police

The police station got 
robbed again.

Someone 
stole all the cops,
so, you know. It's up 
to us. The people who'd
be usually suspects have 
to get organized, chase,
track and detect! By hook, 
crook, catch or otherwise
question each other in sharp
looks, pinned down by hard,
barking mad third degrees
cornering, 

not technically collaring.
OK.
It's
just up
to us, if we want
to solve 
the case
of the stolen police! 

Which we do.
Which we'd better
do, because somewhat
suspiciously - the timing

"convenient" 

to say the least - a serious series 
of murders have commenced.
Some one, 
or some thing
is working their ways
through the usual suspects! It's 
a race in time over uneven ground 
with no one in the lead investigator 
position! A lotta jockeying, but 
somehow like always we'll play
off each other, bring wrongdoers 
to light, locate and free the police, 

so they can solve these fucking 
murders already! Stakes 

couldn't be higher, okay? 
So okay people. Let's bone up, 
knuckle down and - if it's not 
too much this time, let 

me lead? 

As the more discerning 
and intuitive of you 
might well be able 
to tell: 

I've kinda

gotta hunch 

Is waking up, really?

Is waking up really
this early?
I think
some bodily process
miscombobulates, but
I'm fully convinced, set,
fresh, bushy-eyed,
bright-tailed
and impressed.

This day is legit. 
This day fits fates. 

except it isn't

If it's a crime that
you hang in my eyes,
twisting hard swung
in my mind and heart;

If it's a crime that you
make of me art, a museum
sprawl of fixed statues and
portraits of me caught reacting,
as you play your part;

If it's a crime 
that you've commandeered 
every ounce of my language
and meaning, and tongue;

I pronounce in this case:
the whole wide world,
not guilty! By reasons insane, 
and a sentence:
deserved,
but
unwon. 

the unbearable importance of earnest being

Her smile was a
haystack made entirely
of needles. I'd have walked
a mile with a camel with a
broken back on my back if I
could undo the unease, or under
-ease, or prickly awkward awareness,
or whatever the hell it is

I see there, but 
perhaps 
telling you this 

out loud

was not the way

this beautiful place

Anyone who'd put
a beautiful house
with courtyards
and gardens and
trellises out, way
out,

out here in
deep featureless,

blasted landscape - this 
ugly and bleak, forsaken
placeless waste - deserves
what they fucking get. But

I will come back for

you, any time,
you bet.

The view
is three-sixty
degrees eyesore, but when
I'm looking at you, I can't
ask for more.
I thank
you
for

your 
hospitality. 

What a beautiful place
this is, to live. 

I see

busted flush

Love - for if love had been
bars, nets, manacles or cigarettes,
chains or plastic ties, walls or chasms
or anything to bind, divide, block or
stop, we'd have danced right through
and over, above and between them all
as if

they were metaphors

But since love is wide open free
in every inch of the distance, of air
and seas, the reaches of space itself,
since nothing between us at all
blocks, stops or threatens

literally

we spasm in agonies of indecision.
We look and wait, seeking for something
more metaphorical or allusive
to team up on
and kick

the crap out of,
uplift to vast heights
and cast down to abyss!
- broken and - exploding!
Ahahaha it blew up midair
on the way down

delightfully stupid effect

wow

that's our speed. Slow
to stall, quick to allow,
fast to stand and then,
and now, to furrow brow
or show one's hand.
Perhaps the Ace of Fate

slips in?

Hard to explain how that
fits in a straight. Wait

I mean flush

the space taste

The space taste 
made your mouth 
glow in the dark 
as your eyes filled 
with stars, and your 
smile drifted wide. 

You began to float 
to the side as the 
space look came 

over you, 

I was like hey space 
girl 

Is it the space taste 
again? 

You were like yehhhhhhhh

The flowers you threw

The flowers you threw at 
my head were better 
than the flowers you 
threw at the wall. It was 
more personal. My head 

but you kept the worst 
flowers. Those you did 
not throw at all. You gripped
them like vise, and put them
in vase, and watered them 
and you were sad 

when they died. So 
it isn't that you don't 
like flowers, so why 

do you throw the best ones 
at my head? Don't 

lie

nudity is important

Nudity is important to me. 
I write songs, make poems, 
paint paintings, sketch 
beings in all their glories
and things. 

Parts summing to whole, 
holes sum up with parties 
complicit, enrolled in an
ever-loving wishlist
visit exquisite.

Not talking 'bout that! Just
now. Just this: what is it? 

Some way to depict 
the catch, the draw,
the call, the pitch
the close. 

Like songs, poems,
paintings, sketches,
sculptures and such
that's got no clothes!

It's plausible tact, 
with a purpose sincere.
Got nothing whatsoever 
to do with that! With
this, with what's here, 
but to celebrate, plus 

excuse this life. By 
making it art, in 
a pose so just. 

In a light that's

natural as facts, 
I do
suppose.
And important for
truth reasons only,
at least. 

Still, I must admit,
noting female slant
in the nudity
my clear
rigor-skeptic eye
reports, not
at all askance,
there might be
some bias released
or expressed in this
beast, so wild, so
blest by nudity.

Why? 

There's a child as well,
who thinks it's funny
'cause "wrong" - so
naughty as hell! What
a slip!

Some song.

Some lady is out of her
god-damned clothes!
Let all her self out,
full and shown! Disclosed
woot-woot in a juvenile serenade
that stays with me in soul
to my dying days.  

I suppose there's
- look! Some dude,
too - hey, that's me! 

Where did my clothes
go to? Oh, 

we are found, and
known these ways,
or we want to be.

Call it art. Call it life.
How you know it is saved, 
what you call it is free.

No word ever coined 
could buy amaze. 

Sometimes, it's best. 
Let a being be. 

modest as

her green dress tripped 
from her shoulders
and fell, left 
nothing
else 
on
my mind, 

as well.

oh,
clumsy me!
she smiling
lied, gracefully
in twirl to my
arms, inside -
to hide, I supposed. 
She felt quite exposed.
She seemed shy as
skin,
and showy
as clothes to step
out in.

Or
step out of -
since she stepped
out of hers. I had
to admit! Her
green dress

fit,

intolerably
well. Apart from 
a slip in the shoulders, 
or two. You could hardly 
tell.  

there's a chance

My family and I 
came down from London 
beset with children, and
it was supposed 
to be a trip, but 

my gone luggage 
and ID checks have been 
told by the hotel. I am 
standing here in a police 
station 
writing
this with tears 
to tell you: can you help?

I don't need much 
just help 
My email account was 
hijacked

on top of everything else 
all my friends and contacts 
in the industry, getting this 
message please 

help

Another thing to take care of

I'm done with plants 
that need more than rain, 
and sunlit air, that have 
to be hacked. I'm done 
with pets that need to 
be fed in teeming streams 
from crevice and crack 

okay technically, those 
are ants, not pets.

But I'm done with them. 

They will have to fend. 
I can't take another thing 
to take care of
but you. 
I want 
to take care
of you, 
but 
let's not
begin if it 
has to end.

And let's take
a risk just in case, 

my friend, 
you'll do! 

And I
may do
as well.  
We could
hardly do
better, could 
we? 

Let's tell.  

Sure I can teach you

She gave me the haymaker, 
the money punch right 
in the breadbasket, oof 
and I crumbled at the knees 
like Ozymandias. "Safeword!" 
I croaked. She only laughed. Oh, 
yeah. 

That was something else. For 
this, I just had
to stay down 

pro-con

A mother enters the womb 
to say goodbye to her child
and changes her mind. As a 
result, the child grows up 
awful due to the mother's 
lack of diligence she knew 

up-front she can't provide.
The child grows old harming
& disappointing self and others
all through, losing jobs and loves
each step along the way, every
birthday

party
and all
days in-between,
finding hate, finding  
disproof of all good case
and claim: curses her life, blames
mom - and who knows?

God too,

just in case,

though mom 
said God 
was a joke 
let's not waste 
an infinite target 

No rest but fate

The fate of the universe never rests 
it flops and it twists
in our hands 
at best

a should

You said you should listen 
to me more telling you 
everything that I want 
to want you to hear, 
but dear,

I don't know how to 
take that 
from you.
Do you mean
I should

talk? 

If so
unclear 

Not lIke cLockwork

I can't make myself 
fall apart on command 
Can't produce a whole 
huge reaction for you; 
can't intuit when you 
really want me to,
and
you 

never ask me to. 
That's true. 

But I feel I should, 
and I feel the lack. I
want 
to be so in sympathy that 
the moment you're in, 
I can't understand. 

I'd respond 
anyway
just a touch, 
so strong.
In hand. 

but I can't 
but I wish 
I can.  

hard pressed easygoing

Your response unexpected 
opens up worlds I never 
meant. My word
hangs fire on tongue,
suspense between two 
levels, 
two lines, 
held by your eyes.
No clue there.
You may

mean one.
Or playfully,
both! Or neither,
for fuck's sake did
I imagine it? And if
so - what! 
So,
I'll choose, 
I know I will. It's only
a split-second in by now,
before I leap, a flying
wild stab with a blindfold,
but
not
blind.

If I aim the right line
it will be effortless, carefree 
and infallible like a thing 
preordained. It I aim 
the wrong line, all
the meaning in
the world this
moment could
shut not tight
but close. So

I have to play it out
of left field. Play by irony,
which I never do.  

Ironic. 
I have to read the possible 
levels, calibrate, cross-relate 
and run probability analysis 

HAHAHA cancel cancel 
I just thought of a comeback
that works regardless
- diagonally! 

Elapsed lag 1.9 seconds 
no new world record, 
almost to the grin pause - 

okay, shoot!  

Good job/okay job? 
Appears to have hit! 
- oh shit, now that's
a comeback.
Wow 

What did that 
mean?    

heart in hell?

Here at the Heart In
Hell Recovery Clinic,
we put so much focus
on hope,
recovery,
hard commitment,
and not getting addicted.
Super clear, though: this

is not a clinic

for those to recover from
addiction. Ever. 
Not certified,
don't know 
about it - not our
business, but while
you're here
at the Heart
In Hell Recovery
Clinic, we do our best
not to get addicted, and
you shouldn't either.

Not
while you're here. We don't
truck with that.

All we deal 
with here is general recovery.
For any who feel like they have
a heart in hell, or know what that's 
like,
and need to recover
from
that. 

It can be a trial
a true ordeal, 
or worse. 

Like nobody who doesn't 
know what it's like
could possibly
imagine, that's
our business.

We're the best.
We focus so hard
on hope and recovery.
It's a hard commitment,
but bring your heart in hell
here and we'll help. While 

you're here, please 

don't get addicted. 
To anything really. Not 

even to recovery. That's 
probably impossible, but 
like I said - not our business. 

The famous lieutenant of homicide

The famous lieutenant
of homicide retired
the day the ten murders 
came in. 

It was planned well before. 
The retirement, I mean. 
The murders 
obviously were. You 
could tell by the degree 
of planning. 

They begged him to stay 

he said 
not my job

So he went home
to find they pinned
it on him! Framed and   
railroaded, arrested,
tried and convicted,
it was in all the papers. 
Famous lieutenant
of homicide sent
up the river, and
soon enough, his
old chief paid
him a visit

on death row. 

"Now"
he said, 

"Will you help us break 
this case or what?" 

The famous lieutenant 
of homicide frowned. 

"I'm going to need," he began 
"...to begin with, three things." 

The chief hid his grin. This
asshole! With his "three things" 
every damn time. "There's
three things that bother me"
or "We have to look at this
three ways," or this now.

Nodding solemnly, the chief:
"You shall have them...

...lieutenant."

A message to you, reader

Dear,
reader.

Who the hell
do I think
you are? 

Do I think
you're better than me,
somehow? Is one of us
some kind of fucking asshole,
is that what somebody thinks? FUCK
YOU I don't even know you! Fuck
your assumptions! You don't know
me! Why
would I
assume
any single 

dang thing about
you? Who the hell
do you think I am? 

I don't! 

It never so much
as crossed 
my mind

holy shit 

get the hell out 
of my poem, if that's 
how you are, or 
- if not?

Welcome.

No misunderstanding 
at all, at that point. Thank 
you so well for reading
this. 

It was 
cathartic for you 
somehow, maybe? 

I don't want to put 
words in your mouth, 
but. Yeah. 
"cathartic" 
fits. 

Fits? 

Arguably so! 

who is the teacher

Someone here 
on this earth - in 
this time - taught me 
how to be staunch. A 
real unruly ass - smooth 
like suave, with a bold 
ass ideal to solve. And 

I've no idea who it was! 

Somebody 
fucking 
taught 
me 

who,
though, then?
Whoever it was, 
better watch it. I learned
your lessons to the hilt
and maybe next time
we meet? Make
yourself known, 

and we'll see.

We might see who
is the teacher, now
at
that
point

thanks

salutations

Look, I won't 
apologize
for the
fact,
or whatever the fact
may become. I know
I don't know yet.
I'm ready not to know, 
and I hope you can 
understand, because 
understandably - I don't! 

This is my top speed,
though, and I make no
apologies. It's best if you 
get to know my limitations 
without me trying 
to impress 
otherwise. 

I know
I'm still
coming
to grips
with what's
almost going on,
with what you're about
to say - I leave that entirely
open, look. I'm just being
honest. I can't

even guess.
I don't prejudge
but I have this sure sense
I can't quite
in the moment get

my head
around what
hasn't happened yet. 

But I know I will.
I hope you will still 
be standing here right 
now to see it! Please

Trust me.
I will.

It's
my fault
to be out of sorts,
at odds
with all
these things
I know are beyond
me, not you. No fault
of yours. I can't

blame you
if you blame me,
but I wish you could see 

how hard it is 
in this moment. 

As you look at me, 
saying nothing yet, having 
said not anything at all, yet
- oh 
wait 

"Hi!"   

how we stand

I love 
how you stand 
in my eyes, 
I love 
how I think of you. 
How you, 
standing there, like that 
make me think things
of you.
I can't stop
loving your effect, 
my impression every time 
you come in,

I manipulate 
myself, or it's like 
I do, to love you more 

insidiously, it's
my natural response, 

and it shh benefits
me so much, 
I feel like
I've ripped you off 
the world,
into my eyes,
heart, 
mind
to keep, 

it's
an unequal exchange
at best. Very best, so
much so sometimes
it makes 
me weep 

laughing. 

a bravery; a growing-closer

I love you so much sometimes,
I cry. If it's pain, it's not bad,
since I do know why.

I don't want
to live all of my life with
you gone. For the parts
you have made in me
while you're here
are enough
to live on.

For grief is joy.

The purest tribute
joy ever had. It's so
much we miss, so much
good not here - that makes
us so glad to scoff at bad. 

There's nothing to fear. 

check!

400 years ago,
anyone who even tried
to do what you just
did
would
probably
have died. Worse
than that:

they'd never even try. 

They'd live their whole lives
and die not knowing

what you take for doot-di-doo
granted is even within the possible.

For them - it isn't. SO
I think maybe you need
to check your relative
historical period privilege,
ASS. 

heavy mountains

heavy mountains
I know you well. 
I know you will 
sit there unsold, 
unspelled, unwell, 
or well. Just as
you are.

I came
out here to put
the stars behind 
your heads

I came out here 
because it does. 

I came out 'cause 
you called me blue, 
and so I was 
because of you. 

I came out here 
to lift you up,
because such heaviness
is tough 
sometimes 
to bear.

I came out here 
because
you're

there. 

bitty critique

That's songcraft
competent to the point of overkill
with musicianship machined so angry
it's cheery! But not happy
and no bad feelings, just

very hard feelings. 

I dig it

Struggling fit

Struggling to
adapt to civilian 
life, a decorated ex-
clown finds love, revenge 
and a sense of peace in the arms
of a reformed coulrophobe, that's 
an anti-clown bigot like a racist,
except the jokes are allowed to
be funny. Struggling to adapt
to civilian life, a decorated
ex-squirrel 

no, 

squirrel
finds love, revenge
and a sense of peace in
a suddenly discovered cache
of nuts! - Some dumb squirrel's 
nut-stash! Jackpot! Actually it was
its own stash,
forgot

about it.
Struggling to adapt 
to civilian life, a decorated
ex-interior decorator never was 
anything but a civilian so, 
come on,
buddy. What's the deal?
Can't hang? Struggling
to adapt 

can
be hard. 
Civilian life 
is no exception
- an environmental 
niche with its own 
challenges and 
survival 

pressures.

So have some fucking pity, 
huh? Can you imagine being 
an interior decorator and 
having to live outside? 
On the streets? Not 
that this one does. 
Got a shitty little 
apartment, so
damn nice 
inside, 
though. 
You would not believe. 

the so broke fitness club

She was proud 
but poor. She
made
do
with hard work, like
most of her friends, plus
one or two jerks. And they
all belonged
to a fitness club,
in the poor part of
town with a cheap sign-up.

Well,
it sure wasn't much.
They had one weight
bench in a huge ass room
with a bunch of mostly
empty ass racks, where
in better
days -

weights could have
been.
It wasn't
they were stolen
it's just that's all they had,

as a fact. The stationary bike
room,
- okay. Those
had been stolen. But
most came back! Returned, 
because they wouldn't
go, oh. Okay.  

She could go.
She could not even
stop, oh no smack. So
she strove, pushed, burned 
like most of her friends. Making 

do
with dream equipment,
calisthenics and 
flow - plus instinct, 
guts, legs, arms 
and rear ends! 

All together, watching 
out for each other, all 
friends plus a couple 
of jerks, all members 
of the
so broke
fitness club, yo. 

- Now the flagship 
of a nationwide chain! 
So, 
"What's up?"
There you go! 
Just shows perseverance 
and pluck, plus a cheap business
model can make you
sweat

fuck

why not go sign up? 
No,
they don't have much,
but just a couple few bucks
gets you in, and 

so what, they don't have much? 
It's enough to begin. 
Get a fierce looking face, 
just imagine the weight 
that you chin 

Warning to women above eighteen

(If you are not 18 or above, STOP)
(I mean...keep going, read off, nasty) 
(If you are not a woman, for instance 
if you're 18 and up but gendersexually
identify as "girl" still, GROW UP) 

(Kidding! I honor it, but for all still 
reading - for all my overage "girls" 
out there: WARNING!)

Exposing your tits to strange "males"
(so rudely-called) risks inviting a 

misinterpretation.  

Now bear with me. Here's the perverse 
part. All the guys not-gay (which is okay
- plenty of guys aren't, it's normal) (also) I'm
aware of who've voiced any say in the matter
are PRO-THAT!

WHY? 

One can only surmise non-gay "males"
just enjoy misinterpretation opportunities.
They love it. Well, not all misinterpretation
opportunities (#NotAllMisint-you get the
idea, I'm not typing all that shit out) (line
breaks alone - problemo) where the hell

was I?
Oh yeah. Hence the warning, because while
I bet most (#NotAlmost) all women reading
this can somehow tell not-gay guys (in
general) are prone to missing the tits 
interpretation (too obvious to miss that 
miss, miss! Not when it's in yo face), it
still seems hugely weird that such guys

love such misinterpretation opportunities.
Counterintuitive,

ain't it? 

So yeah.
Hence the warning. "Don't risk your tits
without" a fuller appreciation of how much
that kind of guys tends to love a chance at
misinterpreting them, which - honestly,
what's to misinterpret? Boom! 

Tits. 

Go literal, guys. Sometimes a cigar, you 
know. 

It probably doesn't mean a very special
moment has occurred, fanning out in spokes
and forking paths of causality to move worlds
and change lives! DUH. She is probably NOT

trying to hint you should oi, pop an engagement
ring on the next, nearest exposed nipple you see!
PUH-leaze, that's a tawdry, tacky spin to put on
it, plus some otherwise

unromantic
shit
right
there, "bud"

"Sorry!"  

(OK done. Thanks for reading, ladies. Sorry
to you too, but
you know
bad truth
is best to know, and you know how some
so-called not-gay "males" get about any body
parts they notice they don't have. Big Deal City: 

Next ~4 billion exits: WARNING) 

Afterthought: butts. The weird thing is, these 
are a huge point of interest for het men! But 
...we all have butts. Both sides of the offensively 
posed binary model (totally unrealistic proportions 
there, yo) have a butt on one side. The backside, 
it's called. Why the big interest, so-called "het
males"? Compensating for something? Or is it 
just 
you can't
find your own
with both hands!! HAHAHAAAHA

OK, that's a cheap shot, real sorry, but
it was a wonder

Or as this Brit I know once put it, "It's

a fair cop"

Well, that's all
her call, then! Honor
it

I think she might have 
meant something else 

She glowed kind of wrong.

There was something wrong with 
the way 
she glowed. 
It had all earth colors plus 
two only I know. 
I touched those colors 
in sequence with my eye 
she said 
HEY  
I bet you think you're a hell of a guy? 
I said I try not to be shy 
So 
she took off her clothes. 
She had more underneath 
Cute outfits! I said 
She said I'm glad you think so 
as with deft pull, tuck, slap 
she put one on me. 
And I turned 
in the mirror were 
two 
exact.

You become me, 
one said. But 
I couldn't be sure. I said 
you got the wrong guy! 
Oh, sure
she said. 
Mr. touches girls unearthly 
colors in sequence with 
your eye! 

I had to admit 
that could be misread 

transformative bit

Your comment
snake-bit me
inside the heart! Got in
through the aorta
and why
you got so
mean is beyond
my ken 

Anyone
can see I love
criticism! My great 
heart is full of sincere 
on it! 
That doesn't
mean 
I'm mean, 
but 
you can be
mean. 

I mean, you can.
People can. It's free! But
I mean come on, step back
detach and examine:

everything you said
about what I said was
right, even
if everything
you said about
me was weird.

That works. 

I think you were
just in a bad mood,
and 
- It makes me kind of happy!
In a way, maybe I did help? 
I bring out bad mood, 
draw it like a venom. 

It sucks

After all. I'm here
to help, honey. Me
all stung for no reason,
making "big deals"- SORRY 
not interested! I can see
my way clear 
here 

me
snake-bit
in the heart
sad and wise
in the face, 
but 
smiling on the inside 
with vertical slits in 
my heart's new eyes 
and a forked flickering 
ribbon-wisp of sibilance
testing my needlepoint fangs 

how valuable your comment 
was

nature study

Butterflies eat hate,
so
when you see them, 
that's what they're doing. 

They also perform an 
important natural function 
in the wild,
but 
it's kind of hard to talk 
about 

embarrassing

much of the time
we must study the effect
of nature in our souls, or else 
it's hard to get lost.
 
Birds eat whatever's 
not too hard, plus beak 
-sized. Their bird-noise 
is considered the music 
humanity grew up to 

They taught us that, but 
they failed to learn the 
chicken lesson

Some souls are just
too pure. Feathers 
- that's the tipoff.

A soul is
the damage
a body inflicts 
on the spirit 
inhabiting it

so, 

sure. 
we should
expect some effects here
& there. 

Bears eat garbage. 
Don't let them. It's 
our job to stop bears 
eating garbage 

that's our garbage 

The Sexworthy 6

The sexworthy six fanned
out through the club, seeking
some ones to buoy them, raise
that shit up.
Between them
they had only twelve
dance moves, but they 
locked in each place, and
they 
grooved,
and they grooved.

At the end of the night,
straight back in HQ, they
recounted the tales: how
it all fell through - see,
this one was fake, or
stuck up. Narcissist. Or
that false accused, or
ignored 
such bliss
as each sexworthy
one, 
two,
three,
through
six described. Oh, a nibble
or two - but no fish. Line
broke, hook slid, boat
sank, net failed. And  

the sexworthy six
call it all OK'd. 
No they didn't
get laid, but they
were 
not
played. 

If that's
not why
we went out,
we'd have stayed.

Wait.