Personally, I can't stand it when Authors make their characters have Contrived names. Or burden their protagonists with Oppressive symbolism or metaphorical Meanings that only the writer ever knows of... I like good wholesome Common names that you find on any street. Bob is good. Everybody can related. Who hasn't had a dozen Bob's in his or her life?

Your Honor,

seems

We showed up

on Time

Laying Down

I brought the Bail

Myself

Cause I know

There's no getting

Free Out

Like the

wrinkled Will

of the Forehead's

Knock

On Tick cover

of shredded

Concrete

Problems

in Shadow

Lined,

Conscience

Barred

in the Name

of the Almighty

Dollar

I

Co-sign,

Like a

Blank check,

that This

would Depend

maybe on That

or that That

would Depend

on This or

Some Other

Trick of mind

for Sleeping,

Fit...

Adequate

In Company

Any one of ten

I might Commit

Daily

against the

Twelve of Clock

or God forbid

Omit

in Tithing

and thus Offend

the Jury

of Public Opinion

for Not

Withholding

my Hand

or Keeping

my Tongue

or Greasing

a Squeal...

But your Honor

seems We showed up

Before Dawn

Wracking

my Brain,

and I can

say my Prayers

Honestly...

One more time

Hold On

Hold On

We Say,

say or Said:

and Saying,

Does not

Make it,

so... So?

Hold On,

as Expression

of Desires

Under Lying

What we

Know,

in True

Tact as

Let Go

Let Go

that Wish

to Make it

Easier in

Looking

back and

Forward,

a Truism

Universal,

Hold On

Now

(Let Go)

Now

Hold On

Now

(Let Go)

Man had Horse

He Loved

and said Old Girl

Here's my Shoulder,

Carry me Home!

And the Horse

Pushed that Cart

Best as One could

And neither They,

Nor the Carriage

Would move,

And the Babe

Puzzled over-

Hearing

The rattle

of Snake pits

Pockmarking

the Side of the

Main Avenue,

which Traverses

with such

Palmistry

as Each hand

and its Labour

might Produce

Cross the Ire

of the Lands,

As Luck would

Have the Woman

Planted a Hand

and Up from the

ground Sprung

a Fountain

of Water

and lo!

Then

the Whole

House Drank.

Not only,

but Also

We are

all In,

at this

Poker Table.

And point

Blank,

it's all

the Same

Alone

A/one

We are

all assured

the House

will win!

Whoever deals

or what Card

is played,

what extra Ace

is slipped, or

Mortal bet

is placed:

We're all in

till the End

and it's All

the same

One Table

turning, crackling

and All is one

all One and

the same,

a Conjunction

We throw

hands up

or we throw

Our hand in

It's all the Same

It's all and None

Much like

"apart"

but with

earned Scar,

a Slash for where

we Fought,

for a Way

Out from,

Draw back.

All the Month of May, and March, your birth month, are to me Mementos in our family calendar. Ever since your passing, not a day goes by that I do not think of you, but in these the Moments are that much more with Emphasis.

Mom you were my best friend. In ways, you will always remain as such. After all, I still talk to you as if you were right here.

In your Homemade pink floured apron, and the kerchief you wore over your silken hair, I can picture you advising me as you juggled things on the Stove, in the Oven and tended the Store front, and us three children. Mom, I've no idea how you did it. You would remind me to look at the simple things for Inspiration.

Nobody bakes and cooked like you did. I have the Recipes!! and neither I nor my wife (God Bless the Angel for trying!) can replicate. I know it was something to do with the Exactness of how things were done, not the pinch of this or that but How. Whether sprinkled in or rolled or in one clump or over Time. Or how Hot or Cold. You knew. And I'm sure you told me too. I forget. I have learned that Lesson though.

I'm trying to pass that on to the Grandchildren. That Thoughtfulness. That Thoroughness. And that Toughness.

Thank you Mom. It's that No Fail pie crust I'm craving now. No matter what you put in there is was always Right. Perfect. Comfort and Conversation. Just add You and Me, and a pot of Tea, with its yellow cozy.

To you Mom.

All our Love,

Keith

Note to Selfie,

• The rain Outside is like the eating of Dogs, salivating over whatever it is in the Bowl. There's the crunching of the Crunchy bits, and the slurping down of the slurry. That was before the Commute, on the walk to the Station wagon. Now we've all arrived at work. I only hear the usual Downpour •

I—

transgress

transgress

the sacred

Nothing...

every step

upon Its

Threshold

to Act...

to Fail...

I—

wedged

Displacer!

Who goes

There?!

there is

Only,

only

I—

I'm a run away.

I'm not that fictional Mary Run Away-- from That book. The one I'm hiding in my hand. Bet you didn't see it. You may not have a chance to read it. If you're "young-adult," like me, it's widely banned. It's got No-No issues we wouldn't understand. Things like Phys ed, Mental health, Disabilities, Social relations. Big things but in simple words. I'm not going to use those heavy Terms. That would be a mistake.

Human growth and development--I know those are the big words! Ripe, and ready for the chopping block. Hum. Dev.

I'm going to give you a book that can't be censored. A work that says all the things on the Human heart, but in a way that can't be Casted away.

Sure, I know that's "Grammatically incorrect." It borders even on Politically Incorrect. But the error is Perfect in what it points out literally: the throwing away, the sealing off of parts of Life experience. The temper tantrum of the terrible Two's over what's "Mine" continues. It's the base refusal to Share. We tie ourselves up like this well past high school.

But I am run away lips. I am going to let my thoughts run free. Man, we never know what we are birthing. Words, or babies. Soldiers, or revolutions. It starts with loosening of Lips, right? Otherwise, nothing comes out. Not blasphemy, nor praise.

Censor that and it's like putting a chastity belt on Mom's apple pie. Gross Overkill.

This is the American way we hold to be self-evident... it's ellipses, a series of periods. Fertile. I'm a girl. I totally get that bloody visual. And there's no reason every child, male or female, should be ignorant of our Biology. We are people of Science, so's I heard. No need to cuss for M'Fasis. Whatever you believe in, we all follow the Rules: of The Bio Logics. We're born, we geriatric (oops! big term), we die. And it doesn't make sense. Nope, not to anybody-I-know's sub logic.

Junior's my hero. He's telling it in the rough and comic. I mean he's like Superman and Clark Kent, at the same time and more. Not PC. Not applesauce. Not Pasteurized and Canned. Not Plucked and Clean bikini waxing. He's real. He's got Disabilities. He's got Trauma. He's overcoming. It's positive. He's got ordinary parents, with common flaws (strengths and vices). Wow. He's loved by his family. Imagine that. Just like the bulk of us. Planned or unplanned pregnancies but accepted and reared as best as two people can. A mother and father, together. Man, that's so average. So like me.

I almost forget he's Native. That's like a cloak he puts on while talking about "everyman." You always have to have a gimmick to sink your titanic into human sentiment.

"Gimme your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore." Go Lady Liberty!

What's my line? Treading. I'm tight rope walking over the V--

Mount Vesuvius, duh, not vulva volcanics down there. Where did your mind go? Shucks. The unmentionable. Shame on you. Self-censoring like that in the 21st century, when we're so open-minded.

Let me tell you about how I recovered.

In the End, they were all Lies.

...the V and E were hanging, misleading. The Living Energy, vie, and E as Mass fucking itself over twice as fast. One need only rearrange the lowered bar of the vowel and pull it tight as a straight hold over the consonant mountain flipped and righted, to know that Fff, it be "Life," A LIFE. Stripped.

"Tell me more about the things that have shaped you the most."

Constance knew it was a probing Question. It was in response to how she had started the Session: "I want to believe."

Yet, it was Lie that stood out to her, dead center, in that noblest Concept. The Conviction that things lie buried deep Inside. Things which are accepted or rejected, about one's Self, or one's Species. That link in itself Specious. Non truths. Things which are Not False. Nor True, per se. But maybe Either Or; or Neither. The Essence.

Like in Meditation.

Like in Divination.

Like in Morality.

Whatever left a person Hanging in the balance of unknown Estimation. That is to say the Fundamental perception of Self Worth.

In this the Twists:

The dodges and excuses Family made about the Accumulation and Distribution of Wealth, in and outside of itself, lying beneath. Dealings. She had her furs in Public; He had his whores in Private. On the Surface, they were the Model of Success, in every Article, right down to the Governess'd 2.5 children. The Half being the Family Yorkie who lived in the Missus' handbag along with the Revolver and emergency pill Bottle. Security in the Family, covert, as with Fear, felt, but unseen. Like Status.

The Family was Stable. It valued Togetherness. It valued Hard Work. It valued Justice, and Freedom of Choice. It valued Value. F

The things that Shape us most.

LIES.