give me a trailer made for two, a smoke and something borrowed but not blue
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the Deliverance of 603

the Deliverance of 603

My Forest 4 Your Poor

I am the bread box of this life.

I am a 603 soul…

tangy, tangible,twang

secluded, secular, whole.

Our Town, mine and theirs, grunge and danger…

Pert and purposeful.

Kindness and Cruel.

Poised on the edges of insanity

Sittin’ on a fence of needled delights.

Our Town, mine and theirs…

Blind in a drunken fight.

Urban Foot Decay

Urban Foot Decay

Boxed up in discounts dislocated on the five and dime floor.


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A ‘Butch’ Handbag

A ‘Butch’ Handbag

Duct Tape Use number 212=can't afford to the vet?  Duct Tape is the best chastity belt around!

Duct Tape Use number 212=can’t afford to the vet? Duct Tape is the best chastity belt around!

1. the Duct Tape BibleIf you can’t duct it…fuck it!

2. Hand rolled…legal, for now, cigarettes.  Just like the Marlboro Man!

3. A belt.  Preferably canvas.  Butch lesbians tend to wear their pants way too big.  A belt is always helpful in not exposing the tighty whiteys!  Also of note, loose belts are…

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Marriage: A four sentence minimum

Marriage: A four sentence minimum


A four sentence minimum?

Me: Hey, Sweetie, I’m home!

You: I don’t mean to rush you but we have to get the frig in an hour.  Oh, yeah, the toilet is dying, one of the dogs has bad bottom and the cats had a shit fest in the litter pan last night!

Me: …So, what’ for dinner?


…After all you’re the one who turns me off

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A self-portrait of random-ease

crossed Mother Theresa for a Mother in the trees.

Not satin nor stain

Not victim nor vain.

A self-portrait of random-ease

practices of virtues

and courtesy at the cross.

To heed the accidents against the mossy stone.

I praise the inspirations I’ve come know.


Gestalt at Sixty

For years I have been rooted in these hills,

The changing light on landlocked lakes,

For ten years have called a mountain, a friend,

Have been nourished by plants, still waters,

Trees in their seasons,

Have fought in this quiet place

For my self.

I can tell you that first winter

I heard the trees grown.

I heard the fierce lament

As if they were on the rack under the wind.

I too have groaned here,

Wept the wild winter tears,

I can tell you that solitude

Is not all exaltation, inner space

Where the soul breathes and work can be done.

Solitude exposes the nerve,

Raises up ghosts,

The past, never at rest, flows through it.

…there are no farewells.


-May Sarton

Self? Portrait…Random-ease A self-portrait of random-ease crossed Mother Theresa for a Mother in the trees. Not satin nor stain…

Dear Distractingly Abnormal Crowd

Dear Distractingly Abnormal Crowd




Dear Distracting-ly Abnormal Crowd-

Ever made a wrong turn…once or twice?  Dug your way out, blood and fire?  Bad decisions?That’s alright!

Welcome to your life!

Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood?  Miss, ‘no way!’  Well, it’s all good!  Don’t let it slow ya’ down.  Mistaken?  Always second guessing!

NO matter, look, you’re still around.

Pretty, pretty please, freaks, don’t…

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Things Worth Fighting For

Things Worth Fighting For

Robert Frost should have had therapist for all the shit he put his life through.  Voices out of nowhere.  A mother who had been with him in spirit alone.  Suicides, death and reject….Yet, for those reasons alone; he would have been a wonderful therapist for others! My favorite Frost saying? ‘the only way out is through..’ Course, being stuck in the woods in Northern New Hampshire, as Frosthad an…

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Pissed Off or Pissed On?

Pissed Off or Pissed On?

Observations from the Dog Observatory:  Poop and Pee department

the Dog Walker...pissed off or pissed on ?

the Dog Walker…pissed off or pissed on ?

I had been born to walk dogs.  Nothing else.  No college degree.  No basketball scholarship.  No mid-list author status.

Just ‘walk the dog’!  Or, ‘take the dog out’.  And, ‘did you get the dogs to go number two?’

As is typical, after much research, deep thought and many miles clocked…I…

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I will live,

as I will die.

In the vacant vagrancy milling about

a small town sky.

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A Vacant Space…My Downtown I will live, as I will die.   In the vacant vagrancy milling about a small town sky.

Weir’s Beached

Weir’s Beached

barren bone 3

Barren and bold

Stone cold bone

Alone soot from a sodden stove.

Shook the itch…

that conclusive bitch.

She felt like poison ivy with a nervous twitch.

Left by itself

it could have passed,

as a vacant father’s vacant past.

Some beaten Beatnik, however,

rode along.

Placing passion with an off beat song.

Smoked by grass and distant cat fights.

And liberally located ink-ed nights.


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Another Freaky Roadside Attraction

Another Freaky Roadside Attraction


Another Freaky Roadside Attraction:

I had been born in the winter of No Love…1967! So, in true pre or post Wanna Be Hippie fashion…the year of my birth became the sign of the Freak.

There are souls like stars, that dwell apart

There are souls like stars, that dwell apart

There had been no other freak like me. No other words to describe ME. No slang, no slogan, no Beatnik…

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