oh how the one closest to my heart can take her out too

the terrible deed! was less than surreptitious. not under cover of night (the thiefs element) but in the break of daylight. the beating dead center got boosted like some koolaid kids juice did. panic and tears and sugar red lips. grasping out stretching a bunch of pale fingertips. this crime to be fathomed was deeper than surface. leaving whole systems off balance, allostasis. listing to one side and left dry was oasis. the upcoming of impact to eco-system was tensed. teeth clenched in the moment, with mind on the future, the blood drains perpetually, the history designed. looking up in the daylight she stared at the sun and around it, blindly...the stars had aligned.

sweet silent morning of the night, pre-dawn reprieve from us walking our soles hot with friction, thinking our heads sore descramblin diction....the scene absent of us reads headlines: BENEDICTION! no one would think one would get their licks in, on such a crystal clear pristine purity, but clockwork keeps moving. proving must be succeeded by proving, no stoppin only moving. like ladies puttin tricks in...hitting bricks again, now and then, never not, gotta always be ready to strike. iron in the coldest metallic hail, steady hot, you can feel it. dont deny it. you gotta deal with it. may as well settle (down) to groove-in.

not sneakin into that sacred space, no, not a thief in the night after my heart. one hand on the left ventrical, other on the right. oxygenated blood pulsing all over... you shoulda seen the sight. and why because i let him there. opened up and met him there. i kept a year long vision, or should i say stare. because the truth be now told, some care less ness in some cooling kinda season. watching him so close in my vigilance i thought. disorder aka chaos in my life had been controlled, had been caught. so i thought. and thought wrong like the part where the song goes astray, improvises out, and no one fights the wandering...leading to a waterfall hurtful kinda tragic falling... doom aka death aka rebirth aka change aka not as bad as we make it out to be but still it throws us sometimes all into a hyperventilation, sucking for help from any being, any nation. feeling the panic. then you are panic is you are bright lights: PANIC.

so i thought we had built some decent trust. something to hold onto, each other true and accountable for the love created. tending it, neverending it. as best we mighty can. and then i thought we felt peace like...that we felt the release like...?
or even the essence of the godsgoddessesgoodlordbuddhallah all up in a casserole.
sung praise so to save every single soul from above.
i found myself
praying and praying hard as i can, trying so hard to let go...
so hard holdin on to myself, self embraced clutching ribs holding my water in, ex (communicating) my every breath...
nothin left...
nothin left.

the eyes press water by salt.
it aint his it aint hers -- aint nobodys fault.
how come? when sourced from what so honeysucklesweet?
how does this lifeblood
leave ya bereft and beat?
tired and past.
requiring 24/7 chewing on nutrient roots
not to refresh the spirit
nor to replenish the body...
no. simply to LAST.

well it happens that way, it happened that way.
every day im remembered by the silence where once beat the heart
the core. now no sleep.
this shit is hella deep!
gotta keep on movin, out and back into
sunshine
try and find me, im a steady movin target
and let me tell you now leave your GPS behind
before i forget
now again i shift careful
out of earth element
sweeping up in the wind
dont worry, i wasnt an evil spirit
come because you sinned
be not afraid

out of sight was i
now back to earth was you
jack the volume up in your impala
fade the fader back to the boots
slammin nightlife energy into your roots

senorita
senora
jack the central nervous system
down a notch
feel the music hit and bounce
across your midsex...
now dance for the man
with the single malt scotch

i follow you without your knowing
your aura is simply glowing
i will protect you best i can
im your biggest spiritual fan

i weave off the mans cologne
into the honeys
perfume pullin them away
or back around him
i orbit like a moon
surround you like a cocoon

you lick the cream
off the whip of monsoon

i spray off into space
club kids rollin all over the place

you tumble weed right out the door
like the desolate crossin
of
next to unknown already
highway #4

thats when your heart stopped you
for a second
you took me
i takes you back there
you beckon

to that lonely discarded feelin
we felt
in the desert

your cards they fold
the game is up
the two of us
are all we got

no family, no love like that
a love like this! is all exists!
its enough i tell you
dont ball your fists
quick grab my hands!
now grab my wrists!

bow down we will
and turn around
retrace our steps
without a sound

hold hands it cant
be done alone
abandon all
cellular phone

take back the faith you tossed!
take back the land you crossed!
time is come you
find salve
for heart

overflowing

when the terra strikes no memory in ya soul.... the part of you thats fearful begins to grow old. you feel it now and then in times you feel troubled. you go on tryin not to panic cause you see fear and smile. sometimes its been a long while. and you know the game he wants you to play, like to go to the motel under platonic circumstance (hey, well watch tv...maybe some intimacy). when really as you get down on soft bed with hard driven rules, in time he brings out romance (its the only way he could ever have a chance) and watches you careful first and the picture that carries across your eyes then flashes of skin flashes of skies, informercials waiting long after sun sets and dies. as he pins you to the bed, becomes clear; he lied! he lieshe lieshe -- lies!

the only weapon you brandish -- your eyes. lemon bands light up the aquatone two tone cornea surrounded by milk ocean. the pupil holds the ground while the retina usurps the crown. glaucoma cheers from around the way, stretching out the moment. the drama, the ocular scene. see it with your eyes like all the other guys, the wannabe suckers, casting fishing poles and wearing dockers. Red lightning strikes across the milky way, branches out effortlessly to either side of center. branching round the pupil like its gonna strike, serpent tongue forked describes it all right. truth is its a living reef more like, in a coral colored bay with a gloss covering over like a a membrane sea spray. with the spotlight dark come swimming below the surface, to scan the horizon vertically, hyper vigilance you see. you catch him cold with lady rays, shooting amethyst light in a delicate way.

arterial de venous armed with misdemeanors. then the coronary comes with its felony. crime of passion? crime against humanity? when the attack hit his heart, his wife lost sanity. waiting in the cool light hospital corridors, waiting for hours. biting her nails for the first time in years. not even trying anymore to hold back the tears. she was with him for years and years. suddenly no knowing if hell make it one more day, what more can you say.

he should not have cheated, and done them both wrong. she knows now the truth, and its so very long. stretching back a whole ten years, when cellulits made appearance. she remembers the moment. modeling new bathing suit in the heirloom looking glass. he was right behind her, making motion toward her ass. she did the playful move they knew from beginning to end. right down to knee bend. he stopped sudden this time, stood upright and paused. she turned and asked what? he could not deliver it. just told her nothing, dont worry its fine. she doubted him. demanded. tell me please! she could hardly stand it.

such was the entrance of cellulitis, that blackened their relations like detritus. within a year he was online with craigslist. searching for young girls with resurgence of lust. some nights stayed up so late the eyes began to crust. looking at pics and writing statistics, trying so hard not to grab his own prick. usually he would have to, though, after midnight girls in stereo in the back of his mind. scanning forward... then rewind. stop to study. get all giddy. then hes dizzy, spinning into early am. whispering to himself with every rejected email...damn...damn. then finally one landed, when he perfected his art. anyone can do it. you just have to start. the time you invest does all the rest. you compose yourself differently. you see whoyouwishyouwere more clearly. you steadily work it out of you, without clearly lying. girls on the other end of the line - well, maybe one somewhere starts sighing. by the end of the night she will be crying.

she could imagine all this a decade later, his wife betrayed and many moons past laid. seeing his grinning face in her memory. how happy he was! and she felt happy too. yet the bedroom she had repainted in a dark dark blue. her lingerie she set afire once she learned to vent the flue. chalked it up to end of youth, through & through. his persuasions veered offtrack. she had no clue. yet her intuition chose for her the dark dark blue. why she now knew. hands on either side of her head, pressing in wishing, to forget or forgive, drop all the way back from the whole affair to innocent kissing. she screamed every time she thought he was better off dead. she pulled out from her head length of hair -- she knew she was a monster. he created her. a big scare. her insides went from soft to hardware. towards ordinary strangers she stared. then glared. temper suddenly took on quality flare.

i felt her energy right then and there. scalded by him was i, the last girl he would lose himself over. see ya later, por favor. and i was drawn to see her, meet her. my eyes had set on him. my eyes my only weapon. he tried to avoid them, tried to keep distance. all the time i infused them with all he made me feel...so he could feel them too. a dose of his own medicine. only doorway in. after ducking and dodging while i struggled, ten minutes or more i am sure, he looked in my eyes, i showed him the way of his sin. seconds later as he got the upper hand, the attack hit him hard. on the floor was where he land. over him did i stand. foot over his throat. hand on my coat. stood there hyperventilating for a minute. watching him clutch his heart. hating him like no other. then out the door i dart.

then beside her, his wife, in the hospital pacing. touching her arm and gesturing. she stopped and dropped her head, gave in finally. we visited his deathbed. she clutched my arm. i turned gently with her and turned her to me. its gonna be okay. her face just registered alarm. listen, he cant do no wrong no more. to you, to me, thats what im here for. to tell you aint none of it your fault.

she could hardly bear it. the earth the salt. the funeral. the home. the way his family spoke to her: in monotone. so i bore it with her. i came to get her, take her out her element. warmth and kindness i gave to her. then finally one day she looked to me. looked me in the eye. she felt the amethyst rays her way. she smiled. i looked in her eyes, too. i smiled. yes, i smiled in the warm sunshine depths of her knowing...

emerald bays, emerald pools
overflowing

community found by way of chance. sudden strike of light slash romance.

i lifted my hands, i lifted my head, divine carried through me, awakening the dead. i opened my eyes and thought of lies i heard, thought of the lies and how absurd. became convinced my sincerity could be the true word, ya. as i walked through my life and up and off of my path, ya, i learned that my word showered down a soft rain...
fell on those who had suffered coming across, you see. grateful were they and grateful was I, mastered the category, dispelled half the lies had led them down, fell back to the ground, no sound, no weight at all, i was too fucking tall they saw, and so i got chopped to size, they took me down on paper (the 'wise'). Dubbed me 'corrupt', dub it was the fashion. they sentenced me without any passion.
Tears and tears are how i am defined, and the paper i use.... well its got no lines. and the road i drive is so alive with danger, they double up patrol and overtime all rangers. you know the stranger i picked up? just because he need a ride. no reluctance, no hesitation, running free like a mack truck. you cant touch what im saying? no delay. stop loss. you wonder how i got the holes out of holy cross? maybe its sunshine and maybe its fine, maybe its soulful and sung into space. anyway you like or hate, anyway you rate. make no difference no how. cause the rules no longer rule.
if you got a harvest you better damn trim it, cut it, make it clean and prosperous and shared . its the stretch of stretches, the lex of lexus. prefix it for the table. extend the cable so you cannot see what you eat or whose around you. give thanks for the people who prefounded you. whatever you do, no looks in mirrors.
medusa and shes got the snakes in her hair. she likes to lie around, play truth or dare. you know the games that she plays she learns them by heart, all of the men they think shes a tart. but shes a queen yes she knows! and the way that she glows, so brightly you see that you cant find your key. if you cant locate you then how will you locate me?
in the sky its so high, the thought pollution, the chains; we lie in the dark and listen to trains. in the backyard beyond all the clothes on the line, you feel so damn bleached you know, you feel so damn fine....
unemployment runs high, the well has run dry while china flash and smiles, quickly buying up our styles. Still the jeans they are tore, man, at the knees where we fell... just another one from the well.

november ran its colors out on the streets, via trees

november this year she came she went, gotta get her down before shes gone, capture her now in all her beauty, earthy and fall-like sign she flash. shes a queue-T. parlez-vous francaise? miss second to last month of the year. 'mais oui. oui...' She whispered out on autumn coolbreeze, like aircon melting the heat behind the summer kick it in the park kinda dope kinda beat. only find her in the street. that kinda wild. cannot be filed! no finger stops her! shes that wild sorta child. the one prank callin, 2am your number she dialed, october 31st, told ya 'im coming!' hung up before you cursed her, goddess true. whats the matter with her? its YOU you need to look at, U you need to check. so back up a sec and hold up...one second to reflect on the pavement. colored maple leaves such a nice effect. she lets us do the scratchin on this album of hers, our feet pushing leaves across the country at all hours. pushin and shoving shes prepared for the chaos! soft landing in leaves is her special kinda sauce, so subtle you dont know it, if its the garden she grow it. if its the truth she throw it right threw your living room window, keep the skies clear, air cool. all the kids walk back to school. laughing and communion, big deal to miss novemba, that all of us get Union. and pay our dues. united we wont lose. turn the clocks back if you choose, she saves you ample time, dont snooze! take advantage and hit the streets. the clarity b so sweet in november giving thanks. dropping guard and careless ranks. only number is your own, be true to you and find your own tone and style, miss november wait a while! je t'aime, je te desire, in lux of lunar we embrace. any locus any place. your fades are subtle, your tone is soft. your spirit elevates... kick it in the lofts! carry your sound! trunks break up the beat. december loves you so...close to his breast he keeps...the clasp of november rain. gold leaf it makes the chain. october saw your back, and knew in you could trust. the love of life in kind...the love for you from us. run your colors, light your skies. give away your lasting hope to dawn and open eyes.

'dont touch that dial!' (says boo)

boo the loser and yet the concoction of adrenaline on a sunny day field of gyrating bods for fun, (weave of which boo was too woven) remained undiluted and 'pure' to its essence its effervescence...whether good or bad unstated (some of the language bore cultural wash that flavored the scene with whisps of bene & mal). kinda untouched by the loss, boo did not change the angle of her head. the curve of her lips did not go convex if they were concave. boos mind itself was unenslaved by even the idea of 'less than' when the whole deal was out and out rich and fulfilling like the puffy cloud balloons in the green tinted sky of sweat and bloodrush.

boo was kinda sorta boo on a wonderful day, and not much more or less where more or less was not called for to cameo. the social aspect of the day was amiable. and boo had rock on friends. not the kind you only connect with on online abstracts of community, not the striands of past relationships that got a grip way back and pulled mind like sirens into past tripping adventures boo sometimes called by 'nowbothering' cause boo was like not imminent upbeam or latent cryscream, no no no, dont you know boo was Isness as bold as iznez can BE, no silkscreen or generic, no consulting of oracle or cleric, she was like what comes to mind now...a fresh lyric.

bene or mal, the filling was full. recycling in motion. single rinse wash ocean. and she laughed and laughed alot and forgot what it was made her laugh. then wrapped her arms round her hips like a shy girl. then said something outrageous real loud. green of sky about her. puff of cloud. sound like a rerun or come back again? no no thats just you. its okay, but not labelled full, empty, or true. all of which are words anyway, like jumproping for its own sake and better with three, messy playa community. her eyes burned the image and made it so. her hair surely grow. this is how life happens, boos eyes wake up from napping. full of color empty of heartache. up her tired bones and to the lake. boo is on the take.

taking clues from her other boos. her guatemalen friends salsa belly moves. curious to soak in new moves. empowered by real-time. flushed by embedded hearts of divine. hearts of sand and lyme. sign of taken back of times. reshuffle of decks and pop of dice from four ring fingers. scent of punk youth lingers. the bars the guitars the tries and tries. bonafide boo kneels to pray for balding postgrunge down the revisit this again pipe size. the prayer allows the movement to move some more. boo gets her boo friends and they all push and push her. the notes turn out to be collapsible. the sound of hollowed out seattle just barely adaptable. they push and lean and laugh and steam, boos mexican guatemalen russian american. boos bumrush the stage and flare up afire, a fierce wind of mother loving bones rises up in holy jean attire, surround sound somewhere in there lost and found.

boos ears trained. boo comes at ya pound for pound. latin love of equatorial breadth, nordic grade of redbird featherweight. dont matter come crooked, dont matter come weight. stop for the sunrise. stop but dont wait. interrupt with speeches and strange shifts of energy. honor it all by giving bloodlet old fashioned style-- yes, leeches. boo dont need to rhyme to have rhythm, got it. boo is purposeful with unknown nextness. lax of politicorrectness. hybrid the word, it dont deserve the space we gave. 'Inflect this!' boo shouts at the poetry slam. she ran into one, not part of plan.

but there in front of her and confront it? yes sir. facts only, no emotion...poetry reads often lose all meaning, drained of devotion. like kneeling to the television every morning to pray. boo found it stale, the trained voices on mic parade. like trying to breakdance on sandpaper. or titrating when you were supposed to taper. boo had her likes and dislikes and moved quickly on to paleteria. no sense hanging on with litterati ennui. gotta have ice cream! do or die! got her guatemalen boo a banana-chocolate popsicle. her czech boo got nondescript ice colored blue. mexican boo, well, horchata had to be the taste. make that two! screamed boo, and brought her confexions back to restore color to her crew. this was the life, the good life, she knew it all the while. despite half the suffering, her stance: 'dont touch the dial!'

"Weak moves on hot and spicy midnight" was written in June . I did a final edit & posted her below . check it out.

weak moves, on a hot and spicy midnight

i was a death dealer to Noise in my atmosphere. Was midnight. I was runnin hot like mojave. spicy like indian. short fused like Acme animation. The road runner must have passed my way ten times over. i pounced on my phone to prove i could pounce. i had the agility to capture a rock. you know it. I checked out the digits on the digital. nobody i knew, number was local. i answered it. typically your digits gotta be in my cell. but i was trying to catch my shadow i guess, so capturing a random phone call seemed like rehearsal.

there was a perpetrator talkin to me now. some dude within the past 48 hours got the nerve up to call me. he must not have seen the reluctance in giving my digits. i was too focused on avocados and all the variety of apples to think clear. i just did what he asked, then almost changed the 2nd to last digit to something different. a dishonest move i could not make. close! the # was reversible, 9. so to offer up 6 could have excused me from my guilt with a claim of dyslexia. sometimes it happens when i stay in the sun too long. anyway, my integrity paid me back with this awkward moment on my hot and spicy midnight.

I had to recall how we met eyes over the strawberries in the foodmarket spectacular in my neighborhood. you might call it 'juicy' (from his perspective). his wings fluttered and retracted to the eyewatering browns trying to enter my 7th chamber. i blocked him at the aura level. my auranti-virus is tight. immediate split second blocks on (basis of) gut feeling. the feedback on this one was 'perp', across the 4th food group. organic. all of the latest trends represented. flagship quality. the food does not reflect the consumer. i didnt see any organic folks up in here. some were raw. some were processed, some homogenized. but no flash pasteurized peoples. everyone around me seemed conservative & preservative. reserved. almost impossible to interact with in a healthy kinda way. holding back all sincerity 20+ hours of the day. i marked them. they were the ones looked at you like you B just gettininmyway!

I was wild caught alaskan and a fish out of water sometimes. such was life in the food spectacular. give me my chicken caesar pizza and im ok. get me out of here, synergy snatched up for all i could hold. to rejuventate from the toxicity that passed through my aura like spyware.

The memory i clearly cherished. i had it in the temporary trashfiles of my cluttered multitasked out mental, ready for abort(ion). this call i haphazardly chanced, well, my word for it would be more like 'convenient' or 'tragic'. convenient would better describe the seven eleven. tragic works. like putting on all your makeup and doing your nails and everything, and slipping into your sweet dress...and the occasion never manifests. broken down car...agitated child...sudden uncontrollable fits of sleep (your date told you with all apologies burning down mascara forest). the same kind of reasons you once pulled on someone else, probabl. tragic like karma come back. why tragic? im sure youre on the edge of your seat, waiting for the magic. i can get us out of this! i promise! (once i locate an analgesic).

anyway, the point almost escaped me then (like it escapes you now). in the sedated hour past midnight when atoms dont hug so tight, electrons turn positive, i mean optimistic, and spirits mess with those who do not believe in spirits. easy to derail in this kind of tension free atmosphere. well, this young man boldly called at the terrible hour to call, and proceeded to try and talk me into meeting him this very night. very bold, very ignorant. say it again -- TRAGIC. because i was one nerve from unnerved, before he called. my entire latest system was heavily firewalled. i was twice removed from my own truth. i had burned through my midnight snack: baby ruth. i was pickled and jarred, talking to me must have been so hard.

i was emotional mind, anger defined, so so so veryfar from kind. this guy would be sorry he crossed the line. he would be incinerated by my firewalls transitioned to fireballs. coming out my eyes into the wireless wires. barreling into him like recklessness on tires. fuck you! i gotta go to work in less than a half dozen hours. i dont know you! and i can see you are drunk! you daft punk. i will now bring upon you the sensation of --SUNK. your battleship is about to get mothballed. ill think of you out there building rust up. you so fucked up! calling me intoxicated, telling me how you are located close, you made it! i should come meet you! you are sweet on me, drop some heavy breathing as my short fuse ignites. youre not a genuine article, you lost all rights. lose my digits, generic! asking me for a lick? you dog! sick! let me google my next question...how to piss on someone over cellular? your conversation back around again, circular.

so i was heated. felt kinda cathartic. the chill i conveyed, well, very antarctic. he got froze. he was at some gas station fighting a machine for a candy bar. i was a fuming cigar. a screaming guitar. burnt food char. ready for war. but instead i just froze him, no room in the freezer. its all taken up by my pizza, chix caesar. i could no longer regard him, had to discard this. full up with vinegar and piss. snapping rubber bands on my wrist so just to bite my tongue. i could blow up on him like when i was young. but instead i iced this situation. then cubed it. dropped it in my ginger ale. felt like chased tail, right out of town. i had to find my way back home. back to SOURCE. get found. cooled off and ready to digest. drop some classic uncut over my airwaves. one way or another back to the source. i located the one with whom i could best relate. Russian stock composer. personality told: 'fragile and nervously agile'.

i lay back into deep meditation. auraviral system disarmed. firewalls fallen. whole again. empathic waves of Dmitri Shostakovich. all my fire? well, i sold it. sorry aint no magic. laundry? fold it. just fire and ice in store. side of whiterice. a bed for to rest the real...the core.