entrapped within webbed wide world

weft as a rump pulled stilts skein

at warp speed exhibiting

my heroic trumpian wiles

cuz he (johnny come lately) a then

exemplary hedonist, narcissist,

and polygamist dons

comical, farcical, illogical, lunatical...

offal dolled up endearing guise,

when inconvenient truth broached

particularly determining paternity,

no matter countless progeny sport windblown

swiftly tailored mimicked

matted coiffure of mine

resembling hirsute trademark

of appalling though

revered forty fifth president,

nevertheless harried hair styles

in tandem with fabrications riles

the madding crowd - myself included

into frenzied orgasmic state,

no matter yours truly upholds

voluntary penitential platonic

marital modus operandi

suddenly as one celibate sexagenarian

absent physical intercourse

intolerable as hemorrhoids or piles

analogous to flat footed

yardbird schlepping miles

joining the long line of exiles.

Vice president of United states

gifted with maiden name Harris,

whose surname same as mine

one I feel like a proud boy to profess,

cuz ma late polymath

papa jack of all trades

self taught handyman skills

as an A1 roofer who repaired

and raised the entire roof

from stem to stern

never contracted shingles,

nor did his prodigal son - yours truly - me

experience the bane of painful rash

that can appear as a stripe of blisters

that wraps around the side of the torso

and caused by varicella-zoster virus (VZV),

the same virus that causes chickenpox,

hence Preparation H

best over the counter ideal balm

to ameliorate painful rectal itch

and thwart bummed out uneasiness,

enjoying consummated adultery

avoiding using uncomfortable prophylactics

(prickly prohibited topic dejure)

though riding bareback

doth severely aggravate,

complicate, impregnate, and vitiate

surrogate domestic policy

putting a modern spin

on Anna and the King of Siam

with intent to create aery vision of utopia,

where videre licet barenaked ladies

essentially gamely frolic

in the autumn mist

fomenting one after another

to tease out rock ribbed ready erection

with premature ejaculation for excitation

Harum-scarum fidelity be damned

bordello supplants "city on a hill"

buzzfeeding playboy bunnies

with fourteen carrots to squire

then politely escort each

to their respective boudoir

in a blatant, explicit effort

to foster and grow caliphate

at the expense of electorate qualm

impossible mission to keep

brood of squired earthlings in the balance

portends especial ominous nightmare

if Project 2025 implemented

also known as

the 2025 Presidential Transition Project,

constitutes a political initiative

published by the Heritage Foundation

that aims to promote conservative

and right-wing policies

to reshape the United States federal government

and consolidate executive power

if the Republican candidate

garners majority of votes

making first day on the Somme

feel like kindergarten tussle

as anarchy rears up across

United States of America

pitting (olive him nonetheless) despicable

unnamed despot wannabe

analogous courtesy unsettled Leviathan

surfacing from the deep cyber sea

against cherished inalienable

constitutional rights buoying

the land of the free

and home of the brave

renting the country asunder,

with incendiary vitriolic rhetoric,

which similar fate befell Vietnam

thanks be partially

to hydrogenated, and promulgated

American foreign policy.

as highlighted below

to re:captcha wretched colonialism.

The (shameful – my input) about United States' foreign policy in Vietnam was shaped by several factors, including the Domino Theory, the Vietnam War, and the legacy of the war:

The Domino Theory

The U.S. foreign policy after World War II was based on the idea that if one country fell to Communism, the surrounding countries would follow, like dominoes.

The Vietnam War

The U.S. supported South Vietnam against North Vietnam, and fought in the war directly. The U.S. trained and assisted South Vietnamese forces, and conducted ground operations, river and canal patrols, and more. The war was costly and divisive, with estimates of over 3 million Vietnamese deaths and around 58,318 American deaths.

The legacy of the war

After the war, the U.S. imposed a trade embargo on Vietnam and severed ties with the country. The U.S. believed that Vietnam had violated the Paris Peace Accords and had not accounted for American prisoners of war. The embargo lasted until 1994.

Normalizing relations

In the 1990s, President Bill Clinton began normalizing diplomatic relations with Vietnam. Today, the U.S. and Vietnam have a relationship that includes maritime security assistance, and partnerships between Vietnamese universities and U.S. higher education institutions.

The United States' foreign policy in Vietnam was shaped by several factors, including the Domino Theory, the Vietnam War, and the legacy of the war:

The Domino Theory

The U.S. foreign policy after World War II was based on the idea that if one country fell to Communism, the surrounding countries would follow, like dominoes.

The Vietnam War

The U.S. supported South Vietnam against North Vietnam, and fought in the war directly. The U.S. trained and assisted South Vietnamese forces, and conducted ground operations, river and canal patrols, and more. The war was costly and divisive, with estimates of over 3 million Vietnamese deaths and around 58,318 American deaths.

The legacy of the war

After the war, the U.S. imposed a trade embargo on Vietnam and severed ties with the country. The U.S. believed that Vietnam had violated the Paris Peace Accords and had not accounted for American prisoners of war. The embargo lasted until 1994.

Normalizing relations

In the 1990s, President Bill Clinton began normalizing diplomatic relations with Vietnam. Today, the U.S. and Vietnam have a relationship that includes maritime security assistance, and partnerships between Vietnamese universities and U.S. higher education institutions.

Before concluding this poem,

I wanna hammer home,

and nail laughable

personal misperception of

suspecting that roofers

specifically plagued with shingles

constituted from the following materials.

Asphalt: A traditional choice

for homeowners, asphalt shingles

made from a fiberglass or paper mat

covered in tar and granules.

Composite: These synthetic shingles

made from a combination of materials,

including recycled materials,

slate, laminate, and wood.

Wood: Wood shingles and shakes

made from logs of trees like Western Red Cedar,

Cypress, pine, or Redwood.

Some pieces are treated

with preservatives or fire retardants.

Flakes of creation pranced Infinite bound

Cosmic darkness, clashing gray puffed clouds and

Rustic fields fortuned by dandelion wisps

Wailing against ocean deep canvas clouds

Simulations clamored red eyes of stardust

Novae laughter locked light kevlar hatred,

Platelets scurried to sparred rifts, en garde new

Hell ten year holocaust, sauna mist drowns

Arctic iced whiskey cup; talk and talk 00-4

Burn every nuclear home- just as you did

Before. Aims wished sanctuary ashes

Away, Cowells at bay staring into

Fiery magma fins, sweet tangerine walls

Lashing tepid shed roof, wooden spine squeals

Sundered focal synapse: revolution

Revved as bumbling coupe engine, medals granted

Devil’s tongue spiraling in ears of young agents,

Hard fought! Clouded Cowells picked up Book of Dreams

Ripped page of Love, evolving revolver

Squandered, point, aim, shoo. Entity Aims access

To Oceanside granted. Prepare for War.

00-4 said in a gravelly commanding voice,

Legion gravitas dissipating, next

Awaits. Cowells gait slow and militant.

Neon mist crisp emerald blades, residue like

Faint oasis dreams, crystalline waterfalls

Splash weary leafy seams, above seas collapse;

Foggy fingers clasp to new day's sanguine glove.

Crisp autumn air reveals trails of clotted char

Streaks, livid vinyl crackles popped coffin den,

Devils suited, cloaked, petrified by plasma

Cotton candy haze- Hellfires spin to HQ.

Colt clipped, one round chambered, boulevards

Freshly lit, Coupe consumes tar roads, Gaul Heights

Prowling, sirens scatter pedestrian

Wards, youth inhale rotten flesh stench, plasma

Churns, gurgling cotton candy vents, cherry

Swirls unwind tonight's chapter. Petrified

Breath batters Book of Dreams, fresh yellow pages

Glow elliptical, Eden returns to mind

Drink the witches brew, swirling raspberry

Chamber drools cold exhaust, nights cost sanity

Coupe swerves with turbo thrust, escape the plains;

Pink city bound, cruel bars claw tinted glass,

Aims inhales midnight smog, tar fuses flesh

Late teens talk tactics, plain fashion, laughs

Echo sidewalks, alleys, veins of the city

Report to HQ command- dropoff- engage…

Cowells brushes onyx curls, ladies lurk drunk;

Quick punch paces livened liver, quiver

Unleashes snake chain gun ballistics, strange

Dame lights red and blue skyline- minds eye trails…

Dips, scrolls; Doom is imminent, intimate

Encounters flower Aims tequila shots:

Call me love, late in my premonition;

Navy blue tears confide in war torn lands

I know where you lurk:

Devil's Den

New Disciples.

I claim Heaven as my Hell

Paradise supplied in layers

Digital players spike

Cherry peace.

Flee

I wear a necklace over my collared shirt, the cool silver pressing into my heated neck with every glancing smile.

If I get too close, I think of sin. Not of touch, but of the cardinal rule that I not idolize another.

But eyes, blue with mirth, drag me down to the bottom.

Lips, fluttering in a smile before folding keep me pinned.

The laugh, I think, is what does it. Unabashed and sweet as honey, seeping into every atheistic bone I have.

And I worship it.

I watch her from afar, golden hair a beacon despite my twisted path.

I think I seek the closeness, as I sidle up beside my new deity.

I offer snark and sarcasm in bits, my heart smarting the whole while.

I think my hands are sweating where I stand like an honoured and unrequested vigil, but I can’t be too sure. I pick at my callouses, and the crucifix burns-

She tilts her head ever so slightly as she watches my reaction with amused curiosity.

If I had to believe in God, I’d believe because she exists. All that is left good in this world, inches away but a million miles away all the same.

I muse over this, when I am told I resemble a nun in my monochrome garb. Nearly laugh when I'm dubbed Evil Jesus for the day. She looks at me with a canted head, curious, and I stumble.

The cross burns.

Lately ive been having trouble understanding the reality around, but especially inside of me.

my thoughts either pass me by at light speed to which it becomes a waterfall of unintelligibleness that i dream of damming with my thumb.

or im surrounded by a haze of sticky reflections i must stumble through only to find that my hot breath has fogged up the glass.

i muster a modicum of lucidity only to have any order be shuffled and stirred into splats of cerebrum left to evaporate on the walls of my skull.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Sinking heavy into a mood squatting cross legg-ed next to a giant pink elephant laughing “I told you so” under its breath.

We agreed: no strings. No attachment, no expectation. Just an occasional hiccups in time to  escape the day-to-day. To remind us we are alive. And combatting the loneliness, the misunderstood, the human condition—and  your wife.

Well, you’re not actually married now, are you. Common law, as they say. Is it the same? Can I escape the moral implications on a technicality? This time.

Am I wrecking your home. Am I that cold lonesome steel ball swinging selfish on a pendulum of desire and sin corrupting and inviting you into my very own Hotel California.

I hate that you smoke menthols.  They are aggressive and only half committed. But the nicotine hits, and so it goes —

We are going down in flames. You and me. There is no other way.. The way you grab my neck and curls when you kiss me—

We are destined to burn in the path of a falling star.

Will the memory of us remain?

Our charred flesh is the undergrowth, and it is suffocating under the life of our last embrace. And the way you kissed me.

My heart is crying. And my soul is crushed. The constant pain of this loss wells deep in my eyes and my tears are acid.

I could have loved you forever.

I could have loved you.  Forever.

In all the ways you needed love, I would have given it to you. I could have been your constant provider, and I wanted to give you all of me. And more.

I love you. But this is how it ends.

I can’t breathe. The despair of this heartbreak is killing me. Its knuckle-white grip is wrapped tight around my throat like a noose hung ready to stop the pain, But I can’t let go. So I hang onto the rope of you in limbo, but my hands are getting sweaty and I slip: hope has its back turned to me and it is moving further and further away.

I miss being in bed with you. Wrapped tight limb-to-limb within the core of your being where you kept me. Close . And I was safe.

But this too shall end. It is over.

And so it goes.

I sit here alone, I contemplating my life, and by means of how it became this way. Silly me for thinking so straight. Always narrow, my bone marrow has pain now. My veins ice cold, and oh, the rage I feel, like another rat in a cage. I despise him more than I swallow his love for keepsake. He is infantile in his ways, drives this woman mad most days. I strike a match to reignite the flame we once had. My lighter ran out of butane, though, and I knew right there we were made from different cloth. The Bible mentions that as a woman, you shall be submissive to your husband, but the only time I obey is when sex is involved, then submissive comes in to play. How can I change if you're not willing to play a fair game. So, I'll just sit here and drink this beer while you load up hay, and I'll be drunk because it's five O clock somewhere.

for the umpteenth time

during spate to sit scrawny buttucks

on porcelain throne id est

videre licet toilet bowl...

with toxic water brew threatening

to overflow onto the floor,

and hence found yours truly (me)

immersing himself in the holistic experience

for the pure love of bucket flushing

since applying plunger to no avail

found me able, eager, ready and willing

to whoosh upon a star to enlist

the entrepreneurial daring doo doo

of eldest offspring to design a *corkerasp,

and found (me) zee papa frankly

zapped, pooped, fatigued, et cetera out,

thus daring poster boy afflicted

by recurrent bouts of constipation

to share embarrassing communiqué I post,

a reasonably rhyming poetic shout out

to air flatulent grievances

concerning outsize bowel movement

hoping (fat/slim shady chance)

Mike Rowe happens tubby about,

though shadow of a doubt,

he will avail himself

anal eyes zing thee

nightly dump for yesterday

September 2nd, 2024 - whereby

plying plunger in vain, cuz suction

barely helped obstruction give way,

I nearly lost me life and limb oy vey

oh my dog, the same asinine outcome

which spurred poet to get underway

matter of fact, a replay

of excretion almost

occurred earlier today,

and thus an attempt to describe

a tragicomic scenario

regarding bowel movement

the size of subway tram,

an urgent message to maintenance person,

yours truly must relay

overflowing potty nearly

found yours truly quay

king, yet impossible mission

arises to portray

with unsightly turgid prose

and cons of situation,

the juvenile elements of harried style

swiftly tailored, I hate to overplay

odoriferous subject matter

nsync with constipation

since laxative delineates,

expedites, facilitates,... née

posits heavy load emanating out rectum

quite amazing what

smelly waste exits out me

necessitating able linkedin line

O Captain! My Captain!

I signal emergency mayday

posterior end, a dime size orifice,

which malfunctioning sphincter muscles

one moost never be lackaday sic cull

though kids and adults

laughed back in the day,

if and/or when Danny Kaye

tactfully poked fun including that girl

at such critical bodily phenomenon

equally important as a jackstay

to keep afloat body electric

accursed with rectum ammunition

auxiliary accouterments interplay

analogously precise as

Swiss made timepiece

said system responsible

to expel bodily toxins

upon which sitting on porcelain throne

one can softly utter hooray

thankful to experience relative pleasure

until one becomes feeble minded,

whereat sixty plus shades of gray

matter allows, enables, and

provides enjoyably foray

into the bathroom, which entranceway

hoop fully not barred nor off limits

cuz that primitive

urge one best not delay

lest one requires lower

gastrointestinal intervention

especially if blocked up

fecal matter which turns to clay

unless of course one doth

cause damage and betray

respect toward well

oiled human machine

exercising and eating healthy

avoiding backside skeleton musculature issues,

yes... I reckon during twilight years

control over bowels doth slip away.

*The Essence Of A Corkerasp.

(which fictitious object contrived

by my then twenty plus year old

third year college student,

(who will turn twenty eight

on December twenty second),,

but SHE would never admit

to birthing such an offal bit of drek.

The essential name arose

from preschool, predicated,

precocious person, and the words....?

Whenever constipation a pain in the ass

just maneuver this lightweight

metal contrivance made of brass

no matter if anybody

considers this action crass

apply corkscrew motion

up the alimentary canal

to remove human waste,

which most likely

will be thick like petrified paste

stuck deep inside

bowels of sphincter muscles

and solidly encased

causing severe cramps

within lower gastrointestinal tract

inducing one to wince nonstop

from being fecal matter packed

and no amount of primal groaning

doth loose this hard fact,

nor does imagery of freed turd

ease formidable anal plight,

no laughing matter

despite how absurd

squeezing does nothing

even applying all inner might,

thus necessary to incorporate

un-natural intervention to un-clog

rectal blockage + uncomfortable bloating

swelling anus the size of a hog

disabling bare derriere

ease to stand let alone jog,

yet tis essential

per extricating what feels

like one swallowed a log,

which could presage demise

of sufferer, whereby epitaph

twill induce impossible

eulogy spoken language

where tongues wag in Prague

every ounce of effort required to bend

over gingerly affixing

plunger end of device

to business of rear end

best accompanied in tandem

with close companion or friend

this dirty deed done

dirt-cheap trick will ideally rend

rock solid excrement to roll and crash

(on par traversing highway

to hell) soundcloud, I

without fail regularly out the tushy send

upon bathroom floor

possibly inducing tsunami

seismic waves less or more,

whereby toilet bowl water will pour

over the sides akin

to white caps near sea shore

without doubt making

gluteus maximus extremely sore.

The sun is just beginning to set, caught in those few minutes where the sky is the most vivid. Like colored tears draining into each other, a golden eye open for just a moment before it's gone.

I drive home with the radio all the way up, the windows all the way down. And this time when you cross my mind, I let the wind take the breath from my lungs. I can't say for sure whether I make any noise at all, only that the speedometer is approaching eighty and the sound of the radio is vibrating my seat.

Nothing we did was ever loud.

I drive by the water, you know it's not on the way home, but I do it anyway. The seagulls outside the car circle and swoop, cawing at the light as it slips away. They drown out the music, somehow, but I still hear your voice in my head, begging me to stay.

You never saw the ocean. Not with me, anyway.

I turn the car around, backtracking until the roads are more familiar. Not that I don't know this town, but some streets I've been driving down since I was in a car seat. This is the path back home. In a sense.

When can you move back home? I hold a hand out the window to catch the breeze, remembering the first time someone asked me that. My new boss, as a matter of fact. And my father shortly after.

Home, as if it isn't still across the country with you.

I try to turn up the radio, but it won't go. I have to stop at a light and a wrinkled man and a woman hidden behind a sunhat look at me. The man's mouth frowns deeply, moving in unintelligible complaints. I wonder if there's enough sunlight left to see the trails the tears have left on my face. Or maybe I look too normal, I never was very good at getting emotional.

This is only a step backwards, is what you told me.

But how could I promise myself, I muse--foot on the gas, goodbye old man--to the life you wanted? Now that my brain's cracked open with the thought of you, it's seeping out through my skin. I feel like I'm burning from the inside out, knuckles white and my every cell remembering how you used to touch me. Hold me. Cry with me. You wanted a family. You wanted a stable life in a stable town. You wanted to fall in love, and we accidentally did. Are you sorry?

I am.

These roads are winding, narrow. I could just about navigate them with my eyes closed. Everything here's just as I remember it, down to the smell of water, the soft dirt. The distant sound of traffic and tree limbs hanging over the road, almost close enough to touch. Like a bubble with every point accessible from the center, just nothing beyond. Contained. Or waiting to pop.

I park the car in the garage. The radio is off but my mind is filled with deafening roar. I still picture what it'd be like to walk through the front door and have you greet me. A fantasy, but my mind itches for it. Instead, I greet the silence.

I only wonder: does the silence greet you, too?

Off the

beaten path.

No street lights,

nature has

embraced you.

Solitude has

been found.

Suddenly,

feeling as if

you’re not alone.

The darkness

becomes palpable.

Shadows embody

subtle movements.

Heart rate increases,

breath quickens.

You begin

walking faster.

Trying not

to panic.

It feels like

something is

following you.

Now what?

Dread sets in,

anxiety starts.

Your eyes

say you’re alone.

Yet your mind

says otherwise.

Footsteps echo

in the growing

silence of the night.

As phantoms dance

in and out

of sight.

Each one becomes

more terrifying

than the last.

The mania

of the mind

begins to manifest

in your vision.

Shaping fantasies,

promoting nightmares.

Your mind is

fatally infected

with the delusion

of paranoia.

Now you begin

to question

your sanity.

It feels like

the entire forest

is watching you.

Are those really

tortured souls

in the trees?

Today, I drove home with the radio all the way up, and the windows all the way down.

And this time when you crossed my mind, I could not hear you screaming at me.

I saw your mouth moving, telling me I was no good for you, but all I heard was the heavy, heavy metal of Metallica thrashing away to “Sad But True,” an apt description of our poor excuse for a relationship.

Back home, you keep telling me our union was the “biggest mistake” you ever made. But guess what – on the freeway all I could hear was Shaboozey belting out “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” amid the thunder of traffic and broken exhausts. Oh, and car horns from mad motorists telling me to turn it down.

Then a Stones oldie came on, and I cranked up the volume and my miles-per-hour even higher. And trust me, honey, I’d much rather listen to Mick screaming “Honky Tonk Woman” than you hollering at me.

Drat, then I heard a siren through the tunes and saw a cop in the rear view mirror. That was OK by me, because if somebody is going to tell me shape up, I’d rather it be him than you.

Later that afternoon, I drove to our house and you were waiting for me at the door. You held a checkbook and asked, “How much this time?”