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The Road to My Childhood

Walking down the lane of yesterday, On the path to my halcyon days, When the night hides nothing, And the strange doesn’t come close. I see my father, He looks at me and smiles, This speaks more than words ever could. I hear my father snoring, I wake my older brother up, And we sneak into his room, The cold floor makes us giggle. My father wakes up, He beckons us over, And we huddle under the warmth of his blanket. I see my mother, Troubled by my father’s missteps but still wearing a smile, Perplexed by unknown troubles, Gloomed by their handiworks.

First Atmospheric Hearing ( Narrative Form)

In a soaring lightning dash  trajectory struck,
I first heard this pulsing peerless capture of cadence,
on the radio whilst in a wry whimsical manner
planning,
my ad hoc itinerary  which is subject  to abrupt reschedule,
in an eclectic flash I was transported  to ecstatic rate ecstatic realms,
for a while his innate stunning mastery volte face’d across my cluttered room,
little slide I realise the lasting indelible impression,
this rapturous definitive dynasty of sound,
would be a return to that golden gleaming scene,

Angsty Teens and Windshield Dreams

Angsty teen entrance me.

Entrance with niche media and poems about your dad.
Poems about your friend's dad,
how “She’s gone bad,”
and yeah, it’s real sad
but that's the latest fad.

Oh angsty teen entrance me.

Tell about the boy at the Walgreens
and how he promised to set you free.
How when checking you out,
he traded saline for peroxide,
promising to be your bride.

Angsty teen, please entrance me.

Sexually explicit meme more real day

originally written May 31st, 202_
humorously, posthumously,
and tempestuously expressing woes
from the top of my talking head
to gnarly nails of
(this little piggy fame) toes
in sore need and want
of a podiatrist I suppose,
which keratin structures
at the end of plates
of meaty ten digits
topping off little feet
dextrous enough to type poetry and prose
and play violin highs and lows,
but only the shadow knows
that one among
common prickly Joe's
alternately titled re: double entendre
the red, white and blue
diminutive soldier (when

Today's fashion

I would rather not know I would rather not see what they put on display for me to see I know that they feel that they’re just divine but to my eye they’re not that fine Oh how I miss my childhood days when their clothing did so very much hide I could imagine what I could not see what was hidden away safe from my eyes and within my mind my childhood dreams of the many things safely hidden away but now today is clear to view all that there is is on display and what I see I am sad to say cannot match my childhood dreams

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For the Both of Us

I picked up, I carried, I reached— Let the poems go dry, Put the paints away, Filled my hands for the both of us. You never tried to understand. You pulled, you paced, you sprinted— Left me behind, Put the paints away, Filled your hands, but never shared. You never explained. I built the house, Filled the rooms, Patched the holes. You raised the walls, Locked the doors, Left me holes. I’m so tired. I can’t speak. You’re so tired. You can’t speak.