KennethSno

I promenade through passages Of crusted, concrete memory And revel in plasticity The silent, satin shackle That binds my heart absurdly Ingratiates my privacy Our mutual psychoses, Festooned in stately pageantry Liberates my lethargy In tilted shades of Symmetry I relish, Apoplectically Moments squandered Recklessly—void of Needed harmony I languish—faded Aimlessly Intent on inane, Ecstasy

“No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.” Robert Frost Live from Fargo, but I’ve not seen the movie. Is it flat and sparse? Sis boom bah—cumbug! Dallas cheerleader assassins stalk the grassy knoll of piety wearing beach-blonde passes, baring their bible-belted asses. In Brooklyn Obama fever glows as Bulbous bouffants mate with lips in steerage. Can you feel the breast bounce as fuck me pumps click proud on cold war vinyl? Ben and his band of perky, purple, people pontificate on poetical polemics while they, drink goblets of white linen adjectives and vomit rainbows of corporate blunder. My poems suck balls. She wrote black stretch pants that begged to be stroked by rough, calloused hands in desecrated communion. She papered temple walls with diabolic similes and shitty metaphor. The cartoon float rose like an altar boy’s erection. A clean colon is a healthy colon the semi-colon is dead; I almost remembered what you forgot to tell me. Hello zombie

When my belly rumbles, I heed and nourish it. When my spirit grumbles, I plead and bury it. Why am I more mindful of flesh than soul? Why am I more blind—full of stress sans goal? A simple plea I make of thee To serve my chi Fine poetry To pledge—to seal To soothe—to heal Perchance repeal The devil’s meal Feed me soul food Rock and roll food Pay no toll food Reach my goal food When we partake Of conscience cake Our spirits stake A mass jailbreak When I’m mindful Of soul And less blind—full Of goal Then my spirit rumbles Heed it And my flesh grumbles Feed it

it’s the long hair and flair in fact the, I don’t dare to care compact with truth laid bare by prayer abstract that leads me, where? to there intact

He stands upon the crumbled concrete sidewalk where children stalked their childhood dreams. Ambling down the littered street his memories fray like windblown scraps of yesterday's news dancing free of expectation This cannot be the place, He wanders… where children once played city games of innocence and mirth, and whispered yarns of secret joys, their older siblings bragged of. He ponders… This cannot be the place, where adolescents ducked down drowsy alleys sweaty palm to palm eager to explore the shrouded realm of awakening desire. Awkwardly pawing nascent growth like gorillas grasping teacups He's somber... Pristine lips fusing in violent collisions of limited sophistication and escalated yearning; Heartbeat's racing, propelling mettle to untrained fingertips anxious to perform a symphony— on un tuned instruments. He wondered This cannot be the place It looks so drab and fruitless

Bury My Tomatoes on Plundered See or Death to a Notion (act 1) He pushed his porcine body across the land, forcing Father’s withdrawal, away from the pristine flats of the Delaware to Wounded Knee and Thunder Road. We were in our underwear at home, Mary and Abby ~ entangled on a sofa; and wedged firmly behind me—a cigar, pariah, since my transmutation. I had blisters on my left foot then, the leg with the limp. An effervescent lady sat upon my bum, bloated ankle. I asked, “Are your tiny walls closing in?” Two hundred Lakota Sioux massacred. Stupid pet tricks—no condoms in abbeys, the symphony and a large glass of wine. I nailed her just right with a red cross. Mary bounded out of bed, not so much physically as mentally, hinting at the end of the evening. Sadly, we allowed slick fools to dribble come lies, across her manifest blasphemy, so freedom could die as snow-cloaked infant, while swine nursed well off bloodied breasts in bondage.

so I sit here…snow on my heels assignment project chore task o * * v * * e * r * due and I’m listening to an old friend sing his song and he has taken my spirit and wrestled it free of the details that populate my psyche so a need arose to right a wrong and lasso a life from this s l o w death I see your timid nature and eye long for sight between From the moment you caught a ray of regret for the internment of your dream

Red brick shadow walk beneath my gait surrounds me; Whispers faded talk As vast trees unstitch prepared for winter's advent; Fervently they twitch Brisk wind ignites shades of waltzing color portraits; Frantic while warmth fades Tiny critters creep in quest of winter shelter; And well deserved sleep Blustery artist stroke removes from nature's canvas; Tinge of summer cloak Kodachrome retires succumbs to glacial whitewash; Festive fall expires