walls hold stories
aged under layers of paint
piled one over the other
pink, blue, scarlet, off white
like cover pages of a book
reminders of
the shades and smells
faded over time

a mirror on the wall
flips page after page
making me hop, step and jump
into the present

I jump out of the window
knock on the door
listening to the echoes of songs
playing in rewind

the witches
they don't take no shit

feminists with a wand
made from a femur
wrapped in pubic hair,
fingernails, and spit

no
not good little passive girls
although amused by a good spanking
for laughs that titillate
from a red wicked dicked old man
with slippery fireballs
like a spicy cherry pepper
that slurps filths coves
through a black tongue
and open-mawed bite

When I was a kid
in a school
the Hansi/laughter poet
read a poetry
about his earnest desire
to be a dog

he spoke in Hindi
I copied it
translated it
here 'tis

If i had been a dog
I’d kiss all misses
for free
all over anywhere
any one could see
and
feel jealous of me

then he smiled
O god let me
in my next birth
a dog be
no damn girl
here ever kisses me

promise will thee

He softly heard
(a yes ...doggy)

Like a city on a hill
We can practice fortified free will
We can trade our caves for scenery
Our desert hearts for miles of greenery

Like dolphins in the dusk
We can shed our self-effacing masks
We can trade our fears for poetry
Give way to hope and curiosity

The moon’s a light up in the sky
Perfect for longing and lullabies
But a world alive awaits us all
Down here

Though we get wrapped up in bed sheets
We hear the calling of the streets
The world’s our stage and we can be
Shakespeare

After many days of rain
it is hard to believe the sun.
After long silence
words don't work.

After long life
it is impossible to hope that something
thrown on a boardwalk dead belly up
will fling and float.

But when I see puddles drying
and children out to walk their dogs,
I accept the reality.
So what,
if my house feels like aquarium,
seaweed hangs on the walls,
and every page ever written is soggy?
With a lump in my throat, I am smiling.

https://soundcloud.com/neopoet/purity-by-john-quillsvein-allen

i overdosed twice since October
its hard enough just to stay sober.

I'm so boringly over
hyped hoopla around new fashion
like patent leather,
or shark skin spray

If you do fall prey,
scuff that sheen right away.
Sooner than later
you'll be as dusty as the Mojave anyway.
Might as well get a jump on
being passe,
out of date,
so... yesterday.

face it
embrace it

the only trend I follow these days
is to keep on getting older

abstinence and cruel practice
old dancers have no feet
living beliefs
in this house of rabies
a house of lies
lies that tell the truth
taught through the agony of disillusionment

the planets move
we do their dance
fire points
angles in motion

when they square
we are constrained
when opposed
swords cross
when trine
we are graced
always the dance of the other

the world whorls
strikes like lightening
breaking the nose of every beautiful thing

The whole truth

THERE REALLY is no imagery in this
as far as I can share my experience

When I went before a Medical Board
the ear specialist was wonder struck
He spoke and even as the distance widened
I replied before he ended
fed up incredibly
he said loudly
what did I say this time

Nothing Sir
you were perhaps rubbing something with some thing
blast me
he said
you are a wonder
how could you know I was massaging
the rear of a paper with pencil