Turn. Tune. Your Station!

I look a turn,

into a dark spooky lane,

it was empty it thought,

but i could hear muffled voices.

Let me say it!

A woman was probably experiencing marital rape,

A guy was being cuffed for gay sex,

A kid was caught wandering near the burger shop,

Hungry kids were caught for stealing food.

She always told me its beauty we capture,

but today i don’t have legs to run like always,

but I have decided to take a turn,

into the spooky lane; where once was brightly colored bars,

and big breasted strippers. Marijuana and Alcohol,

And poets stuck in the wedges,

dropping words like barfing kids. In all its innocence we ignore!
We write to write to write.To write.

Life was bliss when i could wear red colored shades and sit on sunny beaches,

admiring retro-lighthouses and cliche waves and sunsets,

I scribble on the paper; so that a few bloggers might read.


Get the pizza cut in 6 equal pieces.

I tried to simplify
And my life became pancakes
Always burnt-bottom
Banana peels and a spittoon;

Fills with saliva and betel juice
That escapes through the wedge in my teeth
A jelly with a fork shoved inside
An open dam
By drip

I need to be build spider webs
                                           “I don’t mind getting bitten by a radioactive spider too”
Complex and strong
Enough to hold the minute hand
That is coming out of the dial

At least the intensity of spit
Combined with sticky saliva and even stickier mucous.