Thump... pop! thump...
the pacemaker record skips
looping song stutter
setting a tempo for the dance.

Groove riding stylus
cutting trenches in eye lids.

Shutter blink snap shots
of caffeine dosed high bids.

Sticky sugar lozenges
lodged in brain engrams.

Stale albums shelved
in silence to beat the band.

When I drag 'em out for a dust
unwrapped candy smacks my lips
then spores twinge my nostrils
and my windpipe constricts.

I'm the thick wired plug
you're the electric socket
let's check for alignment
to see if mating parts fit.

My power cord lengthens
don't have to stretch it
my round pin is male,
yours is the female bit.

Line me up expertly precise
technicians do not rush
unroll the safety sleeve device
and grasp me tight then push.

Smearing on warm grease
makes my rigid post glide in
insert... retract... insert... then
do it again and again.

Throw on zapping volts
juice surge begins to flow
sixty nine amp jolts
then let your breaker blow.

Unscrew the blown fuse
don't short my pole out
let my charged prong shoot
hot lightning to ground.

Thanks for your kind appraisal, Leah.

I appreciate your consistent reads, Julie.

kissed chin, collar then groin
flowing curves trickled jelly
blissed skin holler'n loin
blowing nerves tickled belly

lips slipped feet to bum
whiffing musty sweet sweat
hips gripped beat dew drum
riffing, lusty seat wet

slime the niche use button
vector get her high licks,
I'm a peach juice glutton
nectar wetter thigh slicks

teased udders jiggle
quaking Earthed moan
pleased shudders giggle
aching girthed bone

Thanks Storm, I appreciate it.

Thanks for the acknowledgement y'all.

Pyrite veins wriggle today's spoils
no nuggets glimmer for caches,
lead pencil riddles 'neath lamplight oil
scribbles and calendar slashes.

Next day I'll swing the pickax with vigor
breaking fossils and lime rocks loose,
fracture chips and flakes dime sized or bigger
till that mother load shows in the sluice.

Peeping eye squinting, view in the loupe
adoring her sparkle and grain,
goldsmith's tools roll us into a hoop
I'm not Richard and she ain't Jane.

We ride on bumpy roads many miles
she might even tack on my name,
I'm hers she's mine no walking the aisle
gonna pull up stakes to this claim.

Appreciate your attention, Julie.

Yeah, also an opportunity to start her education, surely the li'l filly's got no clue what a lug-nut is without some mansplaining.

While she's powdering her nose, dash outside and let the air out of one of her car tires. When she's ready to leave, you can impress her with your skills in the manly art of tire changing. Just make sure you target the right car... otherwise AWKWARD!

Tell her about the young women you sponsor on the charity site called Only Fans, while she's savoring every bite of the three course gourmet meal you treated her to from the McDonald's value menu. She'll be... moved, by your compassionate generosity.

Chalky white blisters
ruptured from yellow-pine clapboards
skinning it's grizzled facade,
springs slammed creaking hinges
that swung the screen door
dragging the stoop
of my childhood home.

Beer perfumed the air...
nicotine glazed the walls
buttressing the sofa and coffee table
my sister and I bar tended.
The old man hunkered here
looming over an ashtray
and crossword puzzle books.

Pellets fell from termite tunnels
in the trim boards,
newspaper and cardboard boxes
fell through the rotting floor
between the toilet and tub.

Surplus powdered milk in the cupboard
and "government cheese" in the fridge
fattened my cheeks and belly.

Winter's chill crept around the bones
of this decaying crypt,
as I was swallowed
by a mountain of cotton and rayon
burying me in my resting place.

Bulk shortens my spine.
Her spheroid girth
and this bloated chassis,
ships wheel nausea spins in tandem
on Earth's axis.

Birthdays lengthen my hair
deepening this follicle battle trench,
holding ground on shoehorned toenails
that lance soggy socks
softening dry soles.

Groggy stirs slow new cells
slaking off dandruff flakes
that clog my unscrubbed pores.

This poem is epic in proportion, and rich in narrative. An engrossing piece, Aatheera.

circus parade hullabaloo
marching clowns in floppy red shoes

dancing bears toot'n kazoos
prancing streets wearing tutus

puckered for smooching derriere
stench of Uranus drifting the air

strong-man kiosk coins in a pail
moral bankruptcy shoots off the scale

donkeys and elephants boxing ring
same puppet master pulling their strings

carnival stage, debate scripted roles
lesser of two evils punched at the poles

Weelyn, N. Dillon

Neck tanned and leathery
not first-nation but
a son of the maple leaf,
his sweat spilled from
Pabst cans his breath
toked from Winston packs.

He mopped hot tar and banged nails
in the Florida sun
between bipolar stupors.

Dad home schooled me
on the practical things
like turning a wrench
sawing pine boards,
and how salty the blood
from my split lip is.

Jeanpaul (god is gracious)
showed me how to respect women
when he played Jimmy Rogers
records and snarled drunken
rage poems at mom,
and when he thrust that blade
into her abdomen.

Mom came home
dad went to prison.
His pump failed back in New Brunswick
and my eye ducts were dry.

Now when I strum his blonde Takamine
I don't hear crinkling aluminum
or his finger on a jammed .22 trigger,
I just hear my music.

Thanks for a look guys.

If I'd been told rusty nail holes
wouldn't cripple me, that dirty bones
and mummified feet can spit out golden tickets,
stomping that spike may'v stung less.

Anesthesia fog lifted as pretty nightingales
stuffed gauze in the melon ball scoop trench,
then cast my leg knee to toe in bandages and plaster.

Dazed later a gurney in a van carted
a scared timid boy to a charity playground
for kids whose parents sweat for a living.

Crutches jammed under pits, limp limb swinging,
first pass across polished terrazzo
whisked me to the initiation chamber.

Three fellas in various stages of disrepair
conned me into a dance with yo mama jabs,
without a punch thrown I joined the club.

Tawny Kitaen on a big screen TV, foosball
air hockey table top zaxxon... in a tailspin
I plopped on a bench miles from the hustle.

Beth walked up and her softness enveloped me,
within this bubble she centered my keel
with her dark springy curls lanky stance
and crystalline voice, an opiate fairy sat beside me.

It's like a sugar bomb exploded inside me,
sweetness spread out from my rib cage
and electrified every cell in my body.

We shared meals and played pole position,
she refereed the wheelchair races and I
sat with her on the polished terrazzo
while she cried outside the cafeteria.

She wrote "Love, Beth" under her address
on a scrap of notebook paper that I carried home
and held sleepless nights waiting for her reply letter.

If this solitary man with gray in his beard
told that scared timid boy golden tickets
only conjure opiate fairies once in a lifetime,
he'd still cash it in.