Pockets of the World

© Oct. 1, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

The things they do to survive makes me 

Despise money. 

I used to like money until I saw what 

It does

Like once upon a time, money can 

Make you funny. 

When you get money, your friends may 

Change, only because,

Then strangers will call you like,

“Remember me from school?

I knew I lost your number somewhere in

My wallet.” 

Well, pretend I have no money because I’m not cool. 

I gave money to a friend who was in 

The closet. 

Forgive me many times, but I’m 

Just trying to live. 

When I can’t give, will you know

Our love isn’t canceled? 

After all of this time, I still wonder

Will you forgive? 

Some people have no shoes to walk in,

But are humbled. 

I used to want to date an attractive

Poor person. 

As I live this life, I noticed some

People worsen. 

I know people change, but some change

For unanswered bliss. 

Like maybe liquorice or 

Molasses candy kiss. 

Maybe I just won’t prefer what 

You consider is good. 

All of my good deeds are confidential 

As they should. 

My family asks me for money, 

So I give. 

If I had no money, it’d just be 

Hard to live. 

I gave some money to the poor and they 

Stole from me. 

Everything’s an emergency; 

What do you expect? 

I want money to be independent, 

So sorry. 

I’m not asking to help everyone or be perfect, 

But if I could afford to, 

I’d help everyone.

I’m not saying I’d rob an upstate bank 

With a gun. 

Forgive me many times, but I’m 

Just trying to live. 

When I can’t give, will you know

Our love isn’t canceled? 

After all of this time, I still wonder

Will you forgive? 

Some people have no shoes to walk in,

But are humbled. 

I used to want to date an attractive

Poor person. 

As I live this life, I noticed some

People worsen. 

I know people change, but some change

For unanswered bliss. 

Like maybe liquorice or 

Molasses candy kiss. 

Maybe I just won’t prefer what 

You consider is good. 

All of my good deeds are confidential 

As they should. 

I may make money doing cartwheels

On color wheels. 

Money can buy good lawyers that’ll lie like

Newsreels.

Some people get paper cuts while reading the Bible. 

Some get paper cuts while reading the dictionary. 

It’s like the world’s on datura down

With the devil. 

I don’t tithe and I don’t worship the 

Virgin Mary. 

I follow Jesus, but should I go bankrupt 

To live? 

I want a family myself, so will 

You forgive? 

Forgive me many times, but I’m 

Just trying to live. 

When I can’t give, will you know

Our love isn’t canceled? 

After all of this time, I still wonder

Will you forgive? 

Some people have no shoes to walk in,

But are humbled. 

I used to want to date an attractive

Poor person. 

As I live this life, I noticed some

People worsen. 

I know people change, but some change

For unanswered bliss. 

Like maybe liquorice or 

Molasses candy kiss. 

Maybe I just won’t prefer what 

You consider is good. 

All of my good deeds are confidential 

As they should. 

The day I get money, all of the seas 

Are blushing. 

I’ll see some people at memorials

Making out. 

After swooning, they’re showing me 

Attention, rushing. 

There was a Lazarus with mammon 

I read about. 

My brother’s forgot about the trumpet 

That’ll sound. 

While all of my sisters drink

Bleach and gasoline, 

I’m seeing the lukewarm sinners that are

In the ground. 

I see plagues in the lion’s den and all 

That’s between. 

Forgive me many times, but I’m 

Just trying to live. 

When I can’t give, will you know

Our love isn’t canceled? 

After all of this time, I still wonder

Will you forgive? 

Some people have no shoes to walk in,

But are humbled. 

I used to want to date an attractive

Poor person. 

As I live this life, I noticed some

People worsen. 

I know people change, but some change

For unanswered bliss. 

Like maybe liquorice or 

Molasses candy kiss. 

Maybe I just won’t prefer what 

You consider is good. 

All of my good deeds are confidential 

As they should. 

The mother’s tell the baby’s father’s, 

“Love is canceled.”

I rejoice before the cattle and sheep 

Are humbled. 

Famine doesn’t need a fragrance, 

But they’re hushing. 

We’ve committed matricide by hating 

Our genders. 

We’ve sacrificed when heart’s on the altar 

Are gushing.

Too much money may make you protect

Sex offenders. 

These braided flowers are grown and 

Made dysfunctional. 

It’s unconstitutional, but 

You’re delusional. 

Forgive me many times, but I’m 

Just trying to live. 

When I can’t give, will you know

Our love isn’t canceled?

After all of this time, I still wonder

Will you forgive? 

Some people have no shoes to walk in,

But are humbled. 

I used to want to date an attractive

Poor person. 

As I live this life, I noticed some

People worsen. 

I know people change, but some change

For unanswered bliss. 

Like maybe liquorice or 

Molasses candy kiss. 

Maybe I just won’t prefer what 

You consider is good. 

All of my good deeds are confidential 

As they should. 

Mother Saccharine

© June 10, 2017. All Rights Reserved.

In Portland, sweet as saccharine, a mother of five, Barely alive from her harsh attack.
Wearing a mildewed, yellow shirt, Devika, 4-years-old, strangles her with a diaper.
As French chanson music plays in the township, Jane searches outside for bugs to smack.
On a drill press table, a snobbish Kim osculates her lily-white, imaginary friend lover,
Wearing an excessive amount of her mother’s make-up in her capacious closet.
Gaudelia giggles with gusto, flickering on the kitchen lights
While Samantha flushes the hurling toilet and piddles after a lazy sit.
The family cat (Damerae) is on the ceiling-mounted fan, ridding his fear of heights.

Meanwhile, as if a homemade, licorice dessert, Jane picks up a spider from a crevice
With her mouth wide open. Her mother’s mellifluous scream passes the town,
Loud enough to cease her engrossment like a timeless promise.
Jane licks the fugacious cioccolàto on her gelato cone as the sunray beams down.
“J-Ja-Jane J-Ju-Judith Frisky! Put that spider down right this second,”
Overhearing the struggling yell, Kim hits her head against the hiding wall,
Feeling like a circus animal receiving a tangible french kiss, then shunned.
Mother Purnima removes the reeking diaper from her neck, which smells like ethanol.

Of abraded skin, her sore neck matches the fudge. The rest of her children are five.
Devika stuffs a pizza slice inside a toaster with unsanitized hands.
With apprehension, an ill-starred Devika climbs down a stool able to survive,
Turning around to see the mother’s forlorn, dark figure. Purnima misunderstands.
Flicking on the light switch, mother chucks the food in the trash bin, unplugs the toaster,
Then catches the humbled black cat, (the factotum) who suffers from PTSD.
It’s the ninth time she saved Damerae’s life. She tears a rolled up poster,
Which was a silhouette of her kissing her husband between a potpourri.

Purnima yells, “Quiet!” There’s cricket sounds from the opened, front window.
She proceeds her vehement yell of verbal ecocide, “We’re going on a vacation!”
Gaudelia weeps in deep distress. Kim’s lover is see-through.
The children are held incommunicado like a solemn oath opposing desperation.
The cordial cat sweeps. Icky, white substance falls from the ceiling to the mother’s face.
Kim holds a round, black pincushion walking away as Purnima looks up.
Sections of the ceiling are covered with spoiled food. Kim pulls out pins. It’s a disgrace.
Jane enters. Damerae ogles her bowl of strawberry chutney and affogato in a black cup.

The evening is priceless. Devika twirls a vacuum cord while spraying an inhaler.
As if saliva can be refined with the mother’s touch, she wipes her forehead.
Pretending the affogato is liquor, Jane falls. It’s December,
Where Jane’s fear is ahead. Jane’s face is redder than her last bunk bed.
There’s an indefinite future when weight falls down the cat’s flexuous spine.
Devika sits on the cat giggling. Thus, the mother carries Devika.
Damerae’s form turns serpentine. Kim locks the front door. She despises the sunshine.
After adjusting her children’s booster seats, the van careens to California.

She’s going bananas. She promised herself she wouldn’t cede control of her place.
Like she’s speeding to Golgotha, she pass a bevy of benevolent pedestrians,
Who assist two, old ladies in wheelchairs cross the street. It’s an ineffable disgrace.
Her palms covers her face as Devika yells, “Green light!” louder than two martians.
She stops the van. One old lady is breastfeeding conjoined twins
While another is smoking a cigar in serenity. Thus, the smoker walks free.
The exasperated mother feels like she belongs in a loony bin as the world spins.
Crashing to her windshield, a clean-cut artist drops a red paint brush down a marquee.

The windshield is cracked. “I want to go home!” Samantha whines as screams occur.
With her face out the windshield, Purnima looks up at the guilty painter,
Then, the airbag shoots out the steering wheel. Her eyesight turns to a blur,
But she hears her children being immature. She turns into an enraged restrainer.
Purnima pops the airbag with her sharp fingernails, driving pass dilapidated buildings.
Devika’s palms connect for a meretricious prayer as her mother steps out of the car.
Wind storms from Purnima’s lungs. She screams like receiving a hundred bee stings.
The painter is petrified while the sun sets. Things can’t possibly get more bizarre.

Part, Whole, and Her

© Sept 2, 2016. All Rights Reserved.

An unapologetic fussbudget scorned in a gazebo,
Dies as a graybeard.
The tides wash away his body,
But his final words remain the same,
“I don’t want to live anymore.”
The tumor is gone, and his body is below.
His past is feared.
Hearing the sea, his life isn’t free,
And he loses memory of his name,
Alone offshore.

That was the story of her father’s carcass.
This is the story of my obsession.

Fearlessly, love her dearly.
Clearly, you’re really pretty.
Silly me. As I utter this freely,
Gorgeous, I kneel for you ideally.
Rapidly hugging my transparency.
Evidently, you share my integrity.

Hurry, my lovely self of mortality.
Reality is my apology.
Momentarily, I’m happy.
Rarely running down an unleveled sidewalk. I’m free,
Gently, holding her purpose purposely.
Nearly cornering my shadows, I grab my car key.

I’m part, whole, and her. I’m part, whole, and hero.

Bravery is me, but secretly, I worry,
As early as morning. Lazy.
Crazy till it’s late, and I sleep easily.
See? I’m awakening from a whispering sea,
Forcefully using my energy.
We sleep on marquees and ride freight trains for free.

Carefree and gutsy, I’m intoxicated royalty.
Loyalty to harmony, I memorize his last breaths. Adorably,
We are strictly meant to be.
Obviously, separation from myself is offensive to me.
We can see him standing in a boat at night in the sea.
Horribly, we run to be free. It’s me.

For Anna

© Aug 4, 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Part 1

Fathom how she can slumber in the
Susurrus of your speckled tears in the
Tempestuous wind, yet you’re lulled by
Her blissful content.

The overture of our companionship
Awaits, but my dignity is hushed
Before your presence.

Bypassing your eminence in
Acting, from the amalgamations
Of your ethereal words, I swoon,

With reveries that you’re blushing,
But I dare not to hug you. I can give
Roses tourette’s, but you’re Godsent.

I’m quarreling with my conscience of
Squandering your valuable time from
A dunderhead like me. It’s intense.

Gingerly turning the sharp corners of
A platonic heart is a thunderous rejection.
Perhaps, you’ll notice me soon.

Part 2

Much to my desires, I recall no obsession for
Anyone like you. Solemnly swearing, my only
Nightmare is your elation excluding a
Disconsolate me.

Empower yourself unattached, but
My conceited nightmare jauntily
Dances with verisimilitude.

When delighted, you smile, but I
Expect your wry face when you know
I’ll love you in your dotage. I’m sincere.

I admire the thought of when the
Warmth of our breaths intermingle.
You’re lovely.

My beloved, I’ll caress your voluptuous
Body as you feel the winnowing from
Our protection. Your life, I intrude.

I can’t approach you. The effort
Of how I nudge your shoulder is
Beyond angst, but I mustn’t disappear.

Part 3

Surprising you are my expectations. I duly wait.
My qualms remind me you’ll be unflattered,
Let alone trust my greeting as I stammer
With perspiration.

Lacking bleary eyes, I travel the outskirts
Of town to observe you. Indeed, I’m an
Aficionado of you.

With a sunburned neck, I observe your ambidextrousness
In the Summer drought. You’re effortlessly stretching
On a two-story balcony.

As you wear an exquisite, red bra and panty embroidered
With laced, floral designs and emblazoned with studs,
I ogle at your cleavage. Sweet love deprivation.

Perfect! You’re a 5 foot 6 brunette with a 34C
Breast size, 120 pounds, and 16-years-young.
As the tears gush out of my eyes, I’m not blue.

My suī generis love, your perfect smile can
Transmogrify into a flirtatious snigger.
Please, don’t laugh at me.

Part 4

As you lip-lock the past, I’m still waiting. Teetering
On my uncooperative legs, I’ll swig the poison in
Your heart with a golden amphora, and
Festoon it with love.

My tableau of serenity is forsaken by your significant
Other, so I douse your body with my blood. I saved
My love in the hospital.

Relieved that I saved the quintessence of life,
I expect no favors. I beg of you not to faint
Again, for I’m enamoured of your breaths.

Still, you’re not acquainted with me. I’m in deep melancholy.
I simply can’t introduce myself, and still, you’re not
Acquainted with me thereof.

I see the fading bullies you face in high school for being a
Transgendered woman, and I deliberately, single-handedly
Handle them. I’m mentally stable.

With dwindling depression, I’m reluctant to cordially say I share
Your sympathy. It’s me sneaking starry love letters in your book
Bag and lunch box. Your troubles are missing in a thousand deaths.

Part 5

Today, I mournfully observe you wearing your black,
Sequinned spaghetti strap, bell-bottom,
blue jeans with black puppy
Paws as designs.

Walk in those black, high heels. The adversity
On your worse day allegorizes my ambitions. My
Fun-loving woman, I’m always vigilant.

Follow the trail of love letters to gillyflowers, which conveys my
Everlasting love, and sense my ephemeral life lurking in your
Deepest demands.

The nostalgic memories of you sucking on a pacifier
Comforts my soul. Nuzzle against my face, and veer
Not like me. For you, I abandon my bloodlines.

To scald your breast milk on my tongue
Is a sensational moment for a masochist
Like me. My time is well spent.

I dream of showing you the world
Without insecurities. Promise me us,
And I give you preplanned dreamlands.

Part 6

As much as I adore you, I find new ways to adore
You everyday. Born in a town where it’s illegal to
Talk over ten seconds in public,
I overthink about what I can say to you.

Yet, I see others unworthy of your time.
Collin, spewed through a straw into
Your edible lunch in the cafeteria.

He wore a black undershirt with grey cargo pants, and black
Boots. Undeniably, I followed him home to shoot him
Through the front window.

Passionately, smile when you hearken to his death over the intercom.
I blink not when I watch you articulate the next love letter hidden
In your locker by your secret admirer. Think about me anew.

I watched you bash your head on the bathroom mirror until you bled.
Angie, your bully (with a yellow tank top and green khakis) screamed at the
Sight, dropping her cup of coffee. Angie then invited guffaws. Oh, the hysteria.

Lacerations cross these forlorn eyes. There’s despair in the
Temperature, but for you, I activated a bomb in Angie’s car.
I stress to wonder if you’ll see me tomorrow.

Part 7

Two days later, verily I lynch two police officers from a
Marquee on the highway. They mocked you for extended
Time just as the school principal did. For you, I stabbed
His face on a stove top burner.

Then, I tossed his grubby fingers under the kitchen sink.
It’s a gentle touch of alleviation. It’s the least I can do.
Now, everyone’s in horror and trepidation.

It’s more complicated for you to date. The suspicion of my uprising
Crimes are on the loose. Eventually, you find dates, but I
Needlessly wonder if I’m meant for you.

The penumbra of your gifts are an inspirational enlightenment. Unbeknownst
To you, my heart throbs fairly fast. Adamant of not conforming, I observe
You with honor, wondering when we’ll meet each other.

My heart is your bastion of harmony as I dwell in the memories
Of you straying pass majestic landscapes. I cuddle against the wind
Of your movements, inhaling a higher emotion.

Your peripheral vision won’t capture my patience.
As you discover a love letter in your bed, I count your breaths,
Overwhelmingly, you smile. Smile anew.

Eclipse Eyes

© Dec. 6, 2015. All Rights Reserved.

Autopsy. Autopsy.
She has an eclipse fear.

A face in the shadows.
A tank top attracts a killer bee.
A mini-skirt with a so-so pose.
All in blood from the killing spree.

Autopsy. Autopsy.
She has an eclipse near.

A look from her family.
Grins drip and drips drop.
She lost her virginity.
The condom slides for a stop.

Autopsy. Autopsy.
She has an eclipse roll.

She would say you’re moving her.
She would stay a label.
A molested number.
Forgetting. You’re capable.

Autopsy. Autopsy.
She has an eclipse soul.

Protruding from her head,
A bullet on a bird,
With long teeth, dripping red.
This night’s absurd.

Autopsy. Autopsy.
She has eclipse eyes.

Who committed the murder?
How’d the bird get in her head?
Did she have a lover?
She always wanted to be dead.

Autopsy. Autopsy.
She has an eclipse prize.

A noose on an umbilical cord.
Chromosomes turning red,
On the bird explored.
The bird’s chirping in her head.

Autopsy. Autopsy.
She has an eclipse size.

The silhouette of the sun,
Brightens to sunshine,
From the gunman’s destruction.
Then, comes the moonshine.

Without the Skin

© Oct. 23, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

Draw blood on the sheets of

Shapes.

Form a spot where drips gape

In.

Thus, the Crimson shows the

Rapes,

But it comes without the

Skin.

Shots from a Town

© Oct., 8, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

With a grip on a microscope.

The evidence below a rope.

It wasn’t a fired figure down.

The tight rope’s attached to a plane.

The plane’s shooting into the town.

Shot sounds, but everyone’s insane.

What’s left to gain–living’s pain.

It’s a shame that the flight can train.

Minds can blow if the public frowns.

And the plane’s moving for more towns.

Candy You Do Create

© Sept. 28, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

While holding a baby gingerly,

Strike me with that pepper mouth, frowning.

Flirt with other spices, but not me.

Salty should not trouble your drowning,

For the sour is in your memory.

When sweet lost its taste, I taste your sweat.

Confined in a bitter baby bet.

There is a taste of Russian roulette.

I puke. When I clean, you will not let.

Confess the the candy you do create.

Blend the mixture, but do not you bake.

I cannot accept I overhate.

The crumbs will eventually break.

When I suck your heart, you still taste great.

Confuse me not; I will hunt your heart.

It will never beat again. Unstart.

Your sweet use is hard–a shopping cart.

Thus, your candy will never be art.

The Devil Smacked

© Sept. 27, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

The even is black and odd is crack.

Schizoaffective disorder.

Find encounters with a recorder.

This footage is hacked; my mind is packed.

For love, I will slack. There is no back.

It is a fact, for the Devil smacked.

Randomness #9

© Sept. 9, 2014. All rights Reserved.

I bleed the dead, but the dead bled. I puked, thus, they puked. I cried, and they fought. They scratch when I crawl. I bleed the dead, but the dead spit. I run, but they hide. And when they hide, they laugh. Echoes, I hear, but they’re within this false sanity. I bled like currently, for I bleed the dead.