Serious to Experimental Poems

Timothy Ballan

2009

Contents
Acknowledgements.................................................3
Disclaimer..............................................................4
Experimental Poems...............................................5
Nonsense Poems...................................................15
Semi-Nonsense Poems.........................................23
Imaginative Poems...............................................44
Serious Poems......................................................63
"Maxims"..............................................................75
About the Author................................................81

Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge my friend Molly Kienzler for helping
proofread this book.

Disclaimer
I refuse to use quotation marks in such a way that envelopes any
commas or periods not suggested by the quoted material. For
example, quoting a child saying the words "I don't want to go now",
I did not put the comma within the quotation marks, as the comma is
not suggested by the child's words. On the other hand, I will end
this next sentence in a different way. As someone once said, "Use
your head, not your rule book."
With a similar emphasis on clarity over convention, I also
follow dashes with commas at times. Even if preceded by a dash
as I will now demonstrate, I retain commas that retain usefulness.
Beyond just punctuation, though, I'd hope abundant clarity pervades
my writing, from word order, to sentence structure, to overall
presentation of ideas.

I. Experimental Poems
Experiment in Rhyme, Meter, and Timbre (Not a Title)
Ocuci le cantor somori,
angsfuto selemin orfithe,
Il sortu comlefin, onstru alfin lefenin,
ornibthol sontorna.
Zangst orsi alphene, on t'ua benin lefifino,
Torlei min corlefinastor, aie stron fo'lequinstro normi-trolle.
Torlemin, torlemin, alfortin quinstro!
Eifenstron, eifenstron, nebisquonti stronto!
Normon equonilon eishtontay qualefin,
Eiminilon oquinstror, fiendor lemento.
Poicu foo'poi vihalin apoi ci phav'pohe-chof,
achpo pac fore soj, poa'ofoie sma'ootolin.
Riehnd ihd'li shime or-piohf,
fjoh mofhor doif-dijifoi,
ra' ofoe dohlitoid'tie feihthro ieg'th ofrefoh.
Epho-aiifit
sohf e'pa appth'sro yigh'thit,
aph'toiheto ol satiepous,
doe sohfi dippe diht,
oihtdhi t' diohes'tioe,
n'evieglemin, trochitroi.
Experiment in Word Creation with Only a Few Letters (Not a Title)
[sad puas f'ou pofap,
[ou pufu sud foa odspo podsa fup.
5

[doufs daos s'da fudoas,

[o fuspo dapo fuads, uf dasfop podas ufop dupo fudas.
[po asdop fuas updouf,
[pofua afud-fas dapof opdasu douas.
[fuds doufo dap usfo,
[puo sadouf pasdu fopsdau opus pufsa dopuf poasdu fosdau.
[fopsdauf pouasdop dufa posa sapod,
[fasfu aspu adfu daopuf pasdo foasdu pasu sopuf.
[fopu dasop adsfu aspofu,
[pofu puas opfu fuodas ofpaus faupudu.
[pofua fopdaf faposduf ou aduf apofu adso p'fuads,
[oupo p'fousa, pof dofuas d'puas uas opfua sadadu sofupo asud
f'padus.
[f'pousdaf ousda poasud f'po,
[sadu fopasdu sodauf pa sodu,
[apofu adspouf asp,
[d'spoufa paosduf spado, fusd'pou sda pofudas p'fadus fopusda
foasud
[ousda poasdu podsu poudsa, d'fou spod fu s'daou ps'dau poasu dufa
fop asdopfus.
[poaus d'uop fu

Shickemee Pliverings
Shickemee Pliverings
Eissenberg Wuthernugs;
Eissenstein Heatherflurrs,
Eissen-Fierr; Wassworthhockhenhash.
Merramee Wackernacks,
Merramee Forfafoss,
Bobbalee Fatterback,
Batterbee Hugalee.
6

Grabbenhist Hardeleece,
Tanishmuss Smoothenstub,
Kissenfur Bellabee,
Smellakin,
Beautafin.
(Eissenfeim Witherknor,
Upselteim Anthrogreebrian.
Fabberlee Instreigleforb,
Nissernath Embrattlebee.
Bobbaloo, Babbalee
Long Brattlebash
Bill Langostroforth.
Bingtrampher Fangrattlefee
Nottlegnash Angsselstrand.)
Morrow Borrow Poorish Pilk
Morrow Borrow Poorish Pilk
Piddly Scromfroom Lorry-Lory Jook;
Finite liddul bees,
forish hee-lilly lie-fie milk;
Cacks and cramperfores,
heigh-feigh hook:
Morrow Borrow,
Morrow Borrow,
Morrow Boorow Poorish Pilk!
Clengenfoher
Clengenfoher... D'Treminste ineinstreife bessci'coun.
Deliverinstreemort'l feig'heig'nelter'streif.
Morangt'hro foreansteetine
Liberaccio enteltta everfleuore
7

Ca'Meordia en prisenfloe en daestro daestro flee.

Moreance, moreance, mil fancro ob'til entestrino
Frehenchiorio deleberiton!
Is That a Cow?
Is that a cow lying on top of a large coat button floating in outer
space?
It's the bottom of a flag poleassuming we are looking at the same
thing.
Stoobie
stoobie groobie hoobie noobie
stoobie groobie hoobie noobie woobie
snoobie groobie hoobie toobie woobie loobie
A Question
Why you be mean to him if I was and you and thought I am and was
but not really him and pretend but think and if but not sure but
misunderstood or misinterpreted?
Omoe
Omoe. Imig. Litterlei'beigh atiggly-tug.
Eiger-eiger liegers
eddlez'berg; phigh'leine bliu'bliest ca'll bie'd heiff-heifferz
bliezz'n'iee. Nyce.
My Great-Grandmother from Detroit
My great-grandmother from Detroit fell out of a tree, but an
antelope broke her fall. The antelope was okay, but he later killed
8

himself.
Did You Know?
Did you know that Mother Lucy was a Grindle-Beir?
Did you know that Uncle Tommy used to push me?
This College
This college ain't not not have a film deree, bu it has many courses
availing in vido experimention and producting.
What If?
What if you weighed yourself and found that you were hundreds of
pounds heavier than you thought?
Kid Gloves
Are "kid gloves" made FOR kids or made FROM kids? I mean
human kids, not goat kids.
What Would You Do?
What would you do if you were a pharmacist who received a
prescription for "poison"?
Evil Doers
evil doers wanted are hopeful,
so therefore, let the limelight go.
Old Stupid Certain Hope
Old stupid certain hope
9

Bumbled sharp hot poop

Old stupid certain look
Have You Ever Had a Moth Fly Out of Your Mouth?
Have you ever had a moth fly out of your mouth?
How about a mouse?
Timothy
Timothy is writing a barbecue wilderness there or is not a clever
kindred milder.
When You Go on a Trip Overnight
When you go on a trip overnight, you don't need to bring a bowl for
eating food.
Go Now
go now
and eat the mables of the horble sconchy crusterly foul moon!
Online Personals Ad
Paraplegic middle-aged gay man and intersexual baby couple seek
third.
Orgie
orgie
horgie dorgie
morla morr
dorla born bonn
swerr
10

swerlie funny baa

dorgie
Hi!
Hi! It's Mary from CHINA! I'm in a dungeon. Please help me! :)
The Dime
Introducing...
The Dime:
Smaller than a penny,
But worth ten times as much.
Hey
hey,
what's the name of that story
where the hen bakes the bread?
My Favorite Screennames
preppyasian
iamallalone69
putitinmyass777
Not Sure
I am not sure
about what I am thinking about.
Nostalgia
nostalgia (different from recent "memory"/"dream"/"art" poem)
11

This's
this's ofed and anded on abstract in long ined like othering.
I Just Saw Something
I just saw something recently, but it had rust on it.
My Message to a Celebrity
Do you realize that you are as fake as your tan?
Rename
rename uglyly volunteer in RI before March 4
Norman Devall
Norman Devall was also on the windshield.
Be Careful
I need to be careful so as not to get hurt.
Click Here
no, click here!
I Find
I find that
I cannot stop time.
Whitney
12

no, click here!

I watched Whitney eat a white moth.

Thirty Percent Less Sugar
you have thirty percent less sugar.
Love
Love doesn't matter if you're ugly.
My Cat
My cat never brushes her teeth.
Jesus
Jesus is my Pussy-Cow.
No Flashy
no flashy is not up
Goldenly
goldenly checkled with black
Disasters
I hate disasters.
Bibbly
bibbly bloop parade
Spencer
13

spencer bologna people

What's Left
What's left?
Lamaroo
lamaroo
tamaroo
Harpees
harpees.
Climp
climp.

14

II. Nonsense Poems

Did Go She Where?
Did go she where? Wish I I but did didn't her, I see. Little world no
in there's one the that I my than cat miss more. Spirit no soul hope I
bears eat her will or her or big. Amen.
Amaji's Letter
In unmetered precedent and everthought wingfthing
joymetercat,
There
There, There, There,
There is what we say is under the house and beyond our
expectations.
What we call for is between what is never said
and before the unexpected tailgates of housed fatherflee.
You know, it was not your thought that counted
it was the prior neverthrore of fountain eagle societies,
on prounce denouncing all that for which you stood and never will
upon the grasp of meager housed potential.
Blessed as known, you see and never will, for on the freed
updown
you'll never here then or ever be will'd escape.
Blood,
Amaji
frozen lakes
frozen lakes and pepper stakes and roseade a la did me
15

frozen lakes and pepper snakes and rosie the law did me
frozen snakes and peppered lakes and rosie and all did me
frozen lakes and pepper stakes and roseade a la did meet
I Know Not Where the Skies Lie Pitting
I know not where the skies lie pitting,
but I see for whence thy hart is knitting;
Upon thy brow,
There lies the rub,
not in or for Stangst dusty Pub!
Inside hearts' cries
long crowds and chicken friends
There lie within and weary stars
and morning Frows,
I win, I begone;
In far worlds along in lostwheir principle,
Einfrow digesting all in sorzing prayer
Pleaseclimb the forest until
Where you are is where you naught to be.
It Is Made of Cheddar
It is made of cheddar in whittled lupus as young mothers sitting in
the night.
There is no waiting or wishing,
for I am the world in a salamander's jelly,
bridled in sittled sepulcher,
curled in cochlear canals,
untwined as an ostrich egg layered in swirlded crushed cacklings
undwerorped.
There are only countless seashells baked into time never unburied,
within the world of caked enmordener,
a soul uncovering the unpattering of Deninfor.
16

Her neck is outstretched as to hold her slender brain,

bending in a gracing dip of jutted turned beak
it is resembling of a corkscrew on wheels
a streamed reticular flow in glorious feathered fashion.
Morrow, there you support her fiends unsheltered,
though they but willfully enable your branium caplite heroings.
There you will see in favoring waffle light an
enubrious foretaste of corlindome.
In sordid decrastancy,
durined pleasure unfoiled,
clandid cuttles import your own dependent waters unwhittled,
where unhearthy clans unite your supportive unfeathersome.
I Ain't No Liar
Here I sit and sit I be or or not taste of dreii bur'hham:
I sat and sat and did not more but sat and widdled the Peisten score.
But there oh there oh there they lat in fime and frein in diddle-dehm
stack!
(I watched and waited and waited so far, in streim they lat and
lacked on the floor! Oh what a sight a sight to see aboudst the lights
of brardle did be!)
I ain't no liar but a liar I be; a liar is a friar for bartles and me.
Hiddly Honkers Stank'm Staak
Hiddly Honkers Stank'm Staak,
Liddly Lankum Splee.
A world sang of Bobby-Camp Lass,
17

a wishy-wash Stankum Bee.

He was a little bobby-cat,
one whose mother was a bat;
that way, they all would eat a cherub fat,
a little lizard-faced elliot-spah Quee.
Then he went to Fascher Fore,
a land where angels ate some dore;
none were Cherubs, so some more,
he ate a Banglung and a Dangk't,
a little old lady without a back.
Then he went to Biggadore Boo,
a late-hold Leprikaan, one misunderstood.
(Stang a little bumblebee,
and the little cat sang a song of hope.)
The end is near but will never come,
for a little bat and a mouse named Rum.
Bee Willy-Winkst Stam
Bee willy-winkst stam,
angst for in bibbly-o,
ang-filly wink-wam shee,
a story once there was of lost and sure there zee.
(The litter blast billy-bam angflor-flee,
is but a billy hill-a-hore figgly-flo three.)
Ling-Lost Flee
As Mallory sang in the dirt,
she ate a butterbird blee.
It blang a billy-bore blop-bloe-blam-blee,
and banged a liddul biddly-bomb bishboe-bam-bwee.
Dikky dikky Drangthorm,
linglosh bwee,
18

biddly biddly Bandershappe,

ling-lost flee.
I and Her and Lisa
I and her and Lisa sang,
in porcheez drang in forfthlor flee.
She sang about a long-Troubadour,
one, who'd be lost at sea.
I mustard sang and fill thy blang,
a billbore long-life flee.
La loola lang lass lore ply plitty-plast,
a droolorng, lost at sea.
Bitty-blang, bitty-blang, lore lost flee,
a time is whether-hored in himngst,
an angered mother-flee, lore-lost be.
Prenendire Olives
I went to the oil lily
another day, upper house
when I sang there,
wonderful, whence, while
prenendire swagged,
Silvio Grimaldi.
Loosely Copperential
I sing the favored raoh,
against a forborn terlocin,
So when he wings upon his laohs,
A forlorn wait arrives,
awaken.
Streams Abore
19

Streams abore and brothers taken,

a milded fore and ne'er fle'er raken.
I not you nor I am swelled,
a buttercup meldheld untwer standing;
you were there a bunch 'n bladder.
You were once a mild lild hatter;
you were there an empty soul,
a place where you could fly nor flatter.
Heigh and hore and laize up streif!
Thou has't not nor angst nor knife.
Hope None Will Eat Her Heart
Hope none will eat her heart in there. If she were ups still in four
vines, there'd be in rockets above all our kittie pocket dwellings-by.
Hope the world isn't over in the world of worlds in above in hearted
kithren forbston. But, if she, will were still in ups four vines over
over in, will you know not in all our or in if if if if if? Can't in be
for our our in ops in uls in forests of liquor dwells her she little little
one ups in four four? Doctors in and out in forbes forbes forbes
penitentiary does that does will meaning of in in in in. Working,
heated, hurt in forster west we see in rocket dwellings over and over
over ups in four four vineyards of dead kitties.
Sappering Substance Enwatered Falium
Sappering substance enwatered falium;
there is never another as bright as the soul.
Enharted, enwithered, enhaunted benithering,
for lost in your hartaste are far-dollared store.
Collective, unmassive with none but a heartache you reach out and
suffer in harm's light.
There in your own sandal you see what you've offered:
a rattle of flitter sustained thus in dark.
20

Drank Hope
Drank hope and water and eat the world his father is rather
Opstoremain. I ain't a wotter or a willer but a Craffer not a teller; I
ain't your mother or a cantor fat old lass of Kilar Mashtermaigne.
Drank the littles and the lasses and the foremens and the Feedles,
They then cranked the Forbies
And the larbies
And the mothers too.
Blank aBlank aBlank aBlank
aBiddley Bleiburgh Stew!
Yah!
Quaakers and Fiddlecakes
Quaakers and Fiddlecakes lament the Stew of Dreidenstfier.
If I were you and you were I or I were I or you were you I
I you you am am be be about in store and dreighchenleischtte!
Don't fret, Don't fret, Don't fret, Don't fret, it's horrsteim leibeisch in
qrimes duelette!
En Feingst en Dwellste there letters be, in Breid in Forgst in
Feibelentree.
Blaspheme in forkes; in blate en Bee.
I Think That I Sat
I think that I sat but I learned out that the inside was about and torn
like the melted sticker of gumby dead. In a box-like figure it ran
and in tight in deepening subway still and reset, there then in and a
green yellow light which under it sits is bright beige nothing and is
eye like a dark of ovular stickness but still, in the way that a path.
And then, there has some mouth that seems like go but it won't
21

stand over here and that the things that stare on angry and are
whistling rather like a sound that's and moaning of the lights that
pressure are silented in your taste that's a ceiling, you know. (I'm
sorry.)
Undwerdst Beneath This Cataract
Undwerdst beneath this cataract I do indeed remember flack,
a place where all the inward strew beyond that which the windress
flew,
a place in which the Ungerbird sang and starry palms they flew and
flat.
In on beyond the words were none but kept unweighstreing waterin
strack.
Straing, straing, straing-straing-straing-straing, they all would sing
and none could hear
but then the whirls of upstream voice would all become the endless
woo:
the world in upside letters of vow in corl and chraistle the lingrid
non-fool.
We'd all be silent for none could know and know was to one but
there was of none,
a place where lines and corners drew none.
:There was a place where there was Tenn, abide, abid, adone, and
now.
Do not bestow a place unheard or else it never is
But unheard;
this place is gone and never unstood for these own words do die (its
death).
Go to a place where upward winds are none and all the merrymack,
they ate the Grande in feelings slack, they aim to foretaste all in
that.
22

Leila Angstrom Leeigh

Leila Angstrom Leeigh,
In hydorn Angthrflow Fleigh,
Is about and in your trees in high'de,
A forest in they mlee.
:Boobador in treignstand,
In foreflesche angsthrsdor
I drabeeindor lynge flascyenentorchees,
I beining throflee Ion Dwarsheez.
Death to the Anges
Death to the Anges;
Maritime Underbelts;
Forfthling't Underbeinsts;
Edderbig Hungernimps

23

III. Semi-Nonsense Poems

What We Were
It was a round table at which we sat,
yet hardly all we knew with our itching ears of late;
and most began to disappear from our midst even within our sight.
They said it gave them "half the happiness, but twice the longevity",
and we just sat and listened
whilst they once again sang to us over and over their love and life.
I heard someone say, "Where are we going?"
and another reply, "People disappear."
There was a quietude as we sat in feigned contemplation,
though it would be difficult to say we were sitting at all.
But then again, even if waiting and understanding the left unsaid,
all we really knew, was that
the horses are in the kitchen, making soup.
Eline, Eline, Surfine
eline
eline
surfine,
I cannot deny the wailing of that piece.
as need be, I wait so that we can remember some story in realness.
but then we wait,
unfortunately blind,
thinking how horrible it is to be a toy.
Preferred from "New Microsoft Word Document3":
24

Instructions:
Make sure that you staple the improvisation notes together as well
as two pages of chicken. It is surmisable to portend to keep any legs
of such understood note(s) under your mat(s), but make sure to
rather lick the upheind and keep it in its own "rank".
Thank you.
Sincerely,
April Lavinchina
A Voice Note Reminder
Make sure that, right before the desert scene, the piano isn't too
loud, and, when we come back to the picnic with the girl and main
character, when the glockenspiel drops outand make this a poem
too and put that in there and that, make sure that it has less of a
presence.
To Drive More Slowly
I subconsciously choose to drive more slowly than I could,
to be closer to the car behind me,
because it's a lonely night and this is a rural area.
A Bird
There I sat and sat I did
when a little bird came and yes
a-fluttering upon my nose and
back and between that crevice
of that ridge below my
forehead he flut' and a-twittered
25

agayn and agayn.

He wopped and wiffled and there and yes
I sat and waited for what I knew I knew.
Whenever I knew before or heard this,
and yes, and did it did
again, that my nose collapsed
into a deep hole dried out
disintegrated bone cracked and
crumbleda deep hole back
into my skull, like a mouse's
burrow some hundred years old.
Oh, well, I knew and will
always live with a hole above my nose
and a hole through my brain, and into the
back of my skull.
In the mirror I saw cracked
and crumbled dusty bones, no blood,
and a shadowed ancient
skeletal figure of a broken, crumbled
twittered and tattered bird.
I'll never know or know to naught
what were and when and in and now,
for then upon that day, I swore
I'd never let my bird escape.
He sits aback to this very day
if I let him out t'disgrace would be.
He rests inside my head and were it should
it is and as a resting place,
I mourn.
Where'd the Snow Go?
26

Where'd the snow go?

Did someone clear it up?
Who took it all away?
Why did they have to?
I don't really care,
but I sort of do, not really.
I'm not sure.
The Conundrum of a Cookbook Made of Cheese
I found this cookbook that was also a block of cheese.
Each time I cut into it, I found a new recipe,
but I didn't know how thin to cut to find more recipes before the
block would begin to come apart.
It was starting to get moldy, though,
so I thought I should soon use the cheese for a recipe.
I continued to cut, searching for a recipe to make fried cheese sticks,
but then I thought that I might as well keep the cookbook for future
use even as it became moldier.
I really wanted fried cheese sticks though, and the only cheese I had
was the cookbook,
and I knew I may not want to refer to a moldy block of cheese in
making recipes in the future.
But I could not find a recipe for fried cheese sticks.
Blenny-Blenny
Her name was Blenny-Blenny,
She wandered the hills of Wally-Wallibear all by herself,
Half bear, half person, half zebra, and, half wonderful.
I would give so much, just to taste her eyeball now that she's gone.
All but me perceive my love as some lucid fantasy,
But I know; I know.
It's the dilemma of a lifetime.
27

And, what makes it worse is that no one ever saw her but me,
Even when I showed her to them.
So now I will play this song for her:
Heroic Couplets
If I were to one day turn into a pumpkin,
I would call myself Allie Lynn Lumpkin.
If instead I became a frozen swordfish pie,
I'd convince myself I'd never die.
What if I turned into a chicken, though?
I'd tell myself: better a chicken than a crow!
One Time
One time,
a goose ate a sheep,
who ate a lamb who ate a ghost who ate me-toots,
who ate a lobster made of crabs and Dorothy-eggs, but not the kind
well-known,
who ate a ham,
who ate a clam-bone and dinosaur and a goat-sucker,
who ate a lot of pizza,
and my soul,
and the wee-little twinkle in my eye.
Thankfully Not, or Thankfully So
Thankfully not, or thankfully so
Grandpa came and so did Flo.
Thankfully not, or thankfully so
Grandma sang and sung with woe.
Thankfully not, or thankfully so
28

Grandpa came and into Flo.

Thankfully not, or thankfully so
Grandma slit her throat and flowed.
Peeing on a Whistle
Peeing on a whistle makes it slick as a
pumpernickel,
Baby in the morning or a sun in the sky,
Eat an angry chicken or a car or four-leafed clover
If you never live your life, how will you know?
Erica Frenchfry
Oh, Erica Frenchfry,
play your harmonica,
and dance with Sheena,
oh, you stuffed Lynx and clown!
Stories I Wrote As a Child:
1After the dragon melted he ran outside the castle and he fell and
noticed he was still frozen.
He broke in half and a sugar crystal came out. The fairy took the
sugar crystal and she ate it.
The End.
2Once upon a time there was a beautiful kingdom of Hilia.
Within Hilia, there lived something even more beautiful than the
kingdom itself.
This beautiful creature was Princess Li.
29

Li had a pet

korookadoodleoo monster.
3Don't worry the Latin Birds will sing some day! The jack on my
fingers and not on my toes. It helps out a lot if everyone knows. If
only love and joy would mix, the world would be a better place. I'd
love to live in a world where people respect your feelings.
Especially when ya danta flaga mourana la realm! That's all the fire
my fee-ee-eeli-ingsss knooooooooooooooooow!!!!!!!!!!
4"Sorbit Mountain"
It was a treacherous stormy night. A strange woman was passing
through a clearing in the forest with something unknown set in a
basket held close to her body. She approached another grove of
pine trees with several small log cabins at its edge. Ah! It was the
third house down the woman was heading for. The house of
Tangual Marshibia! Twice she had knocked on his bug-infested oak
door. Finally the door opened.
A cheerful voice answered. "Hellooooooh! Oh deer now den, let'z
zdep inzuide heer now!"
Wet and soggy, the old woman stepped through the door while
removing her draping cloak. The young lady who answered the
door was so astonished at the stranger's appearance that she almost
completely tumbled over. The strange woman did look quite
startling with balding dull grayish hair, a permanent wrinkled face in
the shape of a grimace, evil deep-set eyes, and a sharp hawkish
nose.
Her hard heels whacked the floor almost leaving indentations as she
spoke, "I am here to speak with the count Tangual Marshibia. I am
his annual medicine dealer."
The young lady quite hesitantly replied, "I dant truly rememer
30

Tainhooal havin' no menizin' deelerbeein' 'iz zurvit fur yurz

doncha noow"
Sharply cutting the lady off from rambling on anymore, the old
woman demanded Tangual. When he finally was brought to the
woman she acted as if she was in a great hurry. The woman pulled
out an old bottle filled with fizzing dark liquid.
She gave
instructions and basically ran out the door without a single goodbye.
Right after the stranger had left, Tangual sipped half the bottle and
instantly fell to the floor. The last thing that was ever heard of the
woman were her cackles far off in the woods.
A Great Play
"CarolinaI'm searching for a fish by the name of Hilary Jackson.
Have you seen her?"
Glaringly, "Death. Death. Only Death."
Stunned, "But I thought only you traveled through Bologna
Fields", metacognitively, "for", building in certainty, "the
purposes of rejoicing in the contemplative prospects of your
mother's dire illness! All in theory, of course." Suspiciously,
"But, I wouldn't follow in prospect to that. Who would? I doubt
anyone could desire partaking in the presentation of such situative
idealism, except the likes of... Hilary Jackson."
"..."
"Of course, of course, I see where you belong. Why wouldn't I
condemn the worthiness of your hands, in abstractive theorizing,
understated? For in fact, there ought to be great sorrow, though
misconstrued, in forbearing a misfortune of sleepwalking such as
31

hers.
It is true that Ms. Molly would have purposely taken
advantage of our darling in such a way as to convince her to
consume her own ankle, thinking it her daughter's? But why ought
there to be any resemblance here to the agriculturally formidable
trading system of South Africa?
"Why How dare you contradict the felonation of Saint Dorris's
philigamyand in such a manner! You ought to bein the most
unprecedented of fashionswith or without the slightest pity here,
and then forevermore... Dorgle's Mary-Ann, I reprove thee, though.
Scoundrel!"
"But, who art you to judge in this"
"Only on your account, only your head. But why sacrifice such
nonsense amidst anciently escaped philanthrophers running about
even in a climate such as where one would be apt to offer up a
rusted pail of dandelions", fading away, dreamily, "on the top of a
bare hill-top, all alone..."
"But, why descend into such maddening clamoritivity, especially
when Dorothy is currently appealing to assume her reign..."
"I am only avoiding the representation of committing to your
dictatorial ralphanom sordinization!"
Bitterly, "Don't defy me."
After a long pause, turning away, and then walking while speaking,
"Death. Death. Only in death."
Georginia's Letter
Hello Emille,
32

My name is Georginia, and I'd like to tell you a little bit about
myself! I come from Saharan India, where I crop on waters not far
from our village, Tavia. For the moment, I prefer dancing with little
octopi and visiting splendid children rather than over-employing my
skills by pursuing what is not profitable for our company. Other
times, I fly the northwind up upon the ferry wingdrop alventhrough!
How delightful it is here: Have you any daughters of your own?
What greater than the milking-tangerine smiles of such precious
creatures of the night. I simply then float on stars!
Oh, Emille. You simply must hear my designation: I've never
visited the Sakuri River, but on one day I'll eat my leg if I don't.
Have you ever seen the inner dynasty? I don't think I could imagine
a descentable life without one. I eat a peach, smiling on a log. And
it is sweet and wet and happy like my inside feelings! Right now
I'm toward the center of the moon where all around is preborn
volcanic ash older than my mother, I've heard it is! Mother never
informed me of such a decision, but I suppose no one's been there
before.
Without delay, I propose to light a fire, an endless fire of the night. I
will seat it upon my head and walk the rivers of my country so that
the little birds and animals can be warm and have a little lighting at
night. That will be enjoyable. But until then, I assume life here will
have to travel in its assumed patterns of expectancy, wherein all else
is fatal. And no, mother-of-felia, I don't intend on porchifying my
lip upon any calgaries! Without you, I wouldn't be unhappy. Your
smile looks beautiful in your picture and I hope to send you one of
my wood paintings later on. I hope your weather is kind and that
one day you will visit my homes!
Dorothy
Too Much Thinking Can Be More Dangerous Than Too Little
33

Karen,
Me was just about e-mail you let you know about me phone! But
then me thought you think me up too late when you got it in
morning... but then me remember it not that late and then me saw
that you had sent a message already right before I checked my
messages a few minutes ago, probably around the time I was
thinking of e-mailing you before I decided against it. Although, I'm
not completely sure of the exact times that those thoughts occurred
in my mind and how they corresponded to the time that you sent the
e-mail and I don't even think that I know the range of probable
cause of lapsing times abounding about through the air that is really
light but I think particles energy but I guess I or anyone that is or
can be but I'm not sure if that is there or not but I will conclude that
I can't be sure that you aren't a piece of tape or a grape.
Dr. Nathan
Hi, Dr. Nathan. I'm really glad you got to respond to me today
because I really have been needing to talk with someone who can
help direct me to the necessary resources concerning some acute
treatment to get me back on track. I've been feeling myself
approaching that place where it seems I lose touch with reality. This
usually happens after the anxiety, as I'm feeling now, builds to a
sudden "breaking point". But, thankfully, I haven't crossed that
threshold and am confident that I will be able to maintain a sense of
grounding until I am able to speak with you tomorrow. Being able
to see the light at the end of the tunnel always seems to help
peopleno matter of whichever challenges they facedhold on
just that extra mile. Hopefully talk this and.
Thankfully, however, I have, thus, contacted you, my happy squirt,
and in this, or, rather, therefore or instead of it, I will avoid starting
to eat the ceiling and the ants that are driftwood but not quite yet
nostrils on the plane of interconnectedness of pen caps. Naked.
34

Goose.
Bubble-Blood-Boot
Note to Heather
Heather,
I ate a story, and her name was WallaWalla-Walla Bear precisely
(though some write her last name "Beah"; yeah, it's funny). Other
than that, the girl fell through the hoops, as well as "feel"! But none
other than the rhino Timmy ate a quilly, pickly apriotapple. Yeah? I
said it; so there is a snooper in her own barn house.
A Problem
She has a problem where bullets randomly shoot out of her butt,
so she must always wear a bucket like a backwards fanny pack,
but tilted at such an angle so that bullets hit the bottom of the bucket
and ricochet toward the ground,
instead of back toward her butt.
I Won a Baby
I won a baby in a contest,
and I don't know WHAT the FUCK to do with it;
it keeps on like meowing.
A Story a Girl Told Me
"So, I was just looking at my poop, which I seriously don't always
dothough maybe I should!, but, anyway, there was a
SUNBURNT BABYVERY badly sunburnt! Like 18th-degree
burnt!that was BREADED with seasoned bread crumbs!
35

"Apparently, there's been a puffin-bird sneaking around in and out

of my ass recently, looking to store things that she wants to cook!
But, since I didn't want her to cook this baby, I sent a request to the
local parole office to have all the local puffins' cases reviewed
they are ALL screwed up! They ALL seem to haverather, I mean
DO havehorrible criminal records!
"So, sure enough, this little puffin that lives across from me was
responsible, and it was sentenced to live in my eyebrow again
sorry, I mean the CENTRAL CORE of a hair in my left eyebrow.
Thank GOD!"
My Mom
"My mom just killed herself."
"I know that's not ideal,
but one thing's for sure."
"What is?"
"..."
Four Text Messages to Matt
Clue number one: It only takes one axe to hurt a premature infant.
Clue number two: A boy named Teddy once ate three pineapple
cookies.
Clue number three: The old Webster Infirmary is closed on
Wednesdays and on weekends.
The answer?
Love.
Transcription of an Unfortunate Event Described to Matt Over the
36

Phone
(Inaudible)
"What?"
(Inaudible)
"I have a really good story."
(Inaudible)
"I'm looking at Paraguay on the globe right now. But, um, I'm
recording this because I don't want to ever forget it, soand you're
the first person I'm telling.
"So, I was taking my pills, and, recently, the past few days, I've been
gagging on my pills for some reason, and today Iand yesterday
the same thing happened; when I took them, I felt really sick like I
was going to throw up, but I didn't gag, well after I gagged actually,
I did gag.
"And then today I gagged and then I felt sick after I took them, then
I really gagged and I threw up twice but I was over the sink. And
there were chunks of chicken in the sink and I hadn't had chicken
since two days ago. So it clogged the sink, andum, so I went out
to go get breakfast while I thought it would unclog itself and then I
got back; it still wasn't unclogged, so I had to take my dinnerware, a
glass bowl and my spoon, and fish it out and put it into the toilet,
and it took a long timeand I got throw-up everywhere though I
was trying carefully not to spill.
"And then I had to dig down deep into the drain and take out theI
didn't think to do this before butthe drain stopper, and there was
hair from the previous tenant and wrapped around a hair-tie, and it
37

was in my throw-up, so I had to put that in the toilet with my throwup and flush it down the toilet, even though it was hair and a hairtie, and it was really gross, and then I cleaned up everything."
(Inaudible)
"What? Huh?"
"I said, that sounds like a good story."
Wall-to-Wall History Between Matthew and Timothy (Written by
Timothy Ballan and Matthew Barbis)
Matthew: I love Tow Trucks
Matthew: If I was going to eat a small country it would most likely
be Brooklyn NY because that's how hard the lord told me to hit you.
Only we need love if not to love but be loved and see the face of the
emperor or doom in the small cartons of milk left in the cafeteria.
Matthew: nope
Timothy: Let's stop it. We post too much on each other's walls too
much. Love, Grandfather Goose
Timothy:
Yogi

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPr6gw0wi9E

Matthew: Thank you for being a dirty whore when I needed you.
TICKLE ME!
Timothy: I need help! How do you retract a "friend request"? I'm
scared! Also, you are almost 1! (I had a dream that this girl was
talking to me and it turned out she wasn't even 1 yet. She was
smart.)
38

Matthew: No idea. Make me a smoothie and meet me at the river

so we can write a poem about the life and death of the human
emotion.
Timothy: Adiposis dolorosa (Dercum disease) is a rare condition
involving multiple painful lipomas, swelling, and fatigue. It is
generally seen in obese, postmenopausal women.
Timothy: You're worldly; beauty is volatile.
Timothy: please.
Timothy: Did you know that Mother Susan was a Grindle-Beir?
Timothy: Did you know that Uncle Tommy pushed me?
Matthew: Did I ever tell you that one day I was tipped over by a
toilet maker.....
Matthew: Please...
Timothy: I just found out something horrible. My doctor just
confirmed that my hips are too narrow to give birth. Please pray for
me as I seek the Lord's guidance in this of my darkest hours.
Timothy: Grapefruits. Ya, I said it.
Timothy: You, well, you're big, black, and beautiful.
Timothy: Have you ever worked for the Migglish Foundation?
Timothy: I'm going to sneeze.
Timothy: Did.
39

Matthew: Slip.
Timothy: This is how I laugh: "BOP, BOP, BOP, BOP". This is
how I cry: "BOP, BOP... BOP, BOP...".
Matthew: HAM.
Matthew: I miss you.
Timothy: Please delete your status at 1:26 AM on December 1st
from your history. Thanks
Timothy: This state of affairs lasted only some ten trillionth of a ten
trillionth of a nanosecond before the particles we see now
"condensed" out and froze into space-time.
Matthew: Lucy and I would like to invite you to a very vampire
Christmas. Bring your fangs!
Matthew: Please be aware of falling hermaphrodites on parade.
Timothy: Everyone's dead. EVERYONE. Just thought I'd let you
know via this medium.
Matthew: Stop selling slippery sandals to sleazy sailors for seven
snippets.
Matthew: Abdul?
Timothy: Gypsy Horses SALE - gypsyelite.com - Spectacular
savings on Gypsy Vanner horses. Must go NOW. Make an offer!
http://gypsyelite.com/
Timothy: Hey, have you seen my friend? He was asleep, wearing
40

blue jeans, a plaid hooded jacket, and a helmet that he wears to

protect himself from harm.
Matthew: fat. slut.
Timothy: You should date Russ. He sounds nice. What is your
picture doing?
Matthew: Matt will never know your secret plan. He's fat and a
whore for naked sea gulls.
Timothy: nooooooooooooo
Sexy Song
If you wanna baby,
Don't you wanna mama,
Don't you wanna gramma,
Don't you wanna baby tonight?
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,
Hey.
Poopies in mah panties and I'm singin' a song,
I gave up a good house and I don't know what did went wrong,
I said hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,
Hey.
Hot mama,
Give me a chance,
Give me lot a' watah,
Give it in me underpants,
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,
Hey.
Okay.
41

Lullaby to a Sexy Cat

Molly, Molly, Molly,
You're my toy,
Molly, Molly, Molly,
I'm your boy,
Molly, Molly, Molly,
Don't you cry,
Molly, Molly, Molly,
Don't you die.
Lyrics to a Really Good Song
Baby!
Let's forget about it
Baby!
Let's let it go!
Baby:
Let's forget about it
I'm so sorry that I punched you, girl, but now it's time to move on
and on!
My Life
This is my life.
First part is I have an eardrum.
The second part is my name is Tim.
I smile sometimes.
Third part says once I fell down.
The first part says I have to open a door.
Then I take a breath.
Then I have hair on my head.
The next step is that I was in school for a while.
Then I fell asleep.
42

Third thing is I am a good person.

Sometimes I walk.
I walk on the sidewalk.
Then I take another breath.
I think that's what happened in my life.

43

IV. Imaginative Poems

Land for Sale
What if they made glass tanks in the shape of each continent and
placed the tanks over each one?
And what if the tanks were tapered to the landscape and were high
enough for all the water in the oceans to be held, distributed
between each tank?
What if they took huge pipes to drain the ocean into these tanks so
as to invert the oceans onto land so we could live in the pits
where the oceans used to be?
Hopefully all the sea creatures would fit through the tubes.
Sirisilla
What do I call the place I go
when time is lost and recall fails
and all around is reddish glow
and the ground is softer, plusher, lighter,
where stars shine fast even on the grass
and wooden people crouch behind boulders,
where water falls down from floating trees,
and, through some drops stuck in the air,
I see underground tunnels dug by babies and peahens,
apples crawling upon the walls,
and crumpled paper growing on the ceiling of these dens?
Where is this place that it seems
I am felt strayed, and yet, at once, found?

44

My name is Marilyn
My name is Marliyn;
Wrapped in silken garment, streaming fair,
Seated I loned upon my ostrich friend,
I ride in the desert, the Sewers of Standrofore,
Apart from the bewildered appropore of men,
Across the hidden valley of the country's due south or winter's end,
There lies a secret which only I and Salzee know;
Withstanding all in fleure,
My heart becomes the world in a soapdrop.
Lullaby
to fly with the watermelon moon
in the midnight sky
as the lily bears pass me by
apart from
Winthrop and
caterpillar tea
among all,
in the midst of
me.
in this dream I see by and by
in woven,
all must be
is the midnight sky
[in dreams we counter
to share a thought
an apple upon a palm, upright
foreto all within an old meandering
lullaby]
45

I Am the Alien Creature

I am the alien creature,
queen of glass,
all my kingdom existing in bubbles within bubbles in these
surrounding high trees.
Tubes of plastic and bridges of log and twine connect the glass
bubbles within bubbles.
I've designed this place, a dreamer's dream,
pipes and fiddles all made from the sap and needles and leaves and
sticks.
There is food from nuts and water catched in the hollows of dead
but sturdy trees
as well as in the leaves.
Comforting Words from a Tree-Dweller
you have come to the place far up
(safe from the buffalo)
nested by the feathery jades
(apart from the broken paths that trip and trick)
basked by the silver disk
(high above the mourning deer)
where you can trace the paths of fiery worlds
and be sung to sweetly upon the morn'
Shariboo
even if the communes came apart in the triangle world of shariboo,
there is always its meaning that one may come nearing further than
you think.
Harriet Jefferson
46

Harriet Jefferson was working in a mineshaft. When she fell and

and never came up again and again forever: in the snow falling and
never returning up as far as the eye can see. There is a way that
floats on the wind and is icy cold but ever-loving. It is what is here
and never aback, a world upside and over, in interest and in flow,
and in heavenly abolishment. (It is blowing and agone and warmer
than warm.)
Insand and Liquaboa
Insand and Liquaboa,
Intrangegated, Efinilated, Aporboreated.
Lintogea.
Afroacia.
Dilineaquinfinscent.
Don't elaborate in unknownst forms of
the lands of everescent marshes,
dark and sordidfast and feberling.
Honest, though thou art,
in dark mystery,
engaged in perplexed pacifications,
you should and did indream only quietly and sometimes outloud.
Deep waterforest eternalle.
(But now, only quietly.)
Glassy Castle
Peapods are not going to rescue her paybees,
only the empty goose with which beyond nothing will find
whirlpools,
through delicately shifting oily air rises a vision into some rusted
dusty desert,
47

then into a glassy castle for her to sleep and smile.

An Old Theatre
An old theatre with no performance but dim lighting for several
minutes,
but then spattering rain on the tin roof above the stage seen also in
front of misty mountains past a wall of windows that forms
the back of the stage.
Soon, two young adolescent girls come in from opposite sides of
backstage and sit facing each other on a dusty couch at
center stage, whispering like the rain.
They hold hands and stay while two adult men crawl naked from
where the girls came, but so slowly as to maybe never touch.
Even as the lights remain dim, a large woman adorned in feathers
and flowing white enters from the left of backstage by the
windows to sing uninhibitedly operatically in sonorous
to shrill tones.
The Night When Eyes They Ran
They in my eyes entwangle in red flashed rumplings a twisting
migren strew:
they upst my horst and grate the tree I see and cannot sleep in
Weigh!
They take your eyes, and under them, they show a peek of some
Undwelling:
a place in where the mind unfolds and flops of dough and spout and
snout.
They the mind they laugh a lot
and trees with spikes they fall and flap
and couches lift and chairs do rest,
but heighst they strain and never can
forget the night when eyes they ran.
48

Steaming Orchids
Amber-steaming orchids shut up into Hell,
yielding ionicized honey-leaves shadowed
to recite glovingly ovaled eulogies
in obliviolized convincation,
singeringly swallowing into frost
in miscertained trucing with an invisible God.
cathedral of the woods
entwined with curling twigs
come creeping pipes spewing sound
from a chasm's deepest crevice
where alone sings a lost and frail maid
The Birth of Pity
Where is the world anymore forgiven in the depths of timing?
Where is the turning stillness in its forming of turning centered?
Tell me, is it in your quietude that the hearted has fallen?
There it is appearing stormed in torrents draining,
and in deepening graces in strength romped so inward.
This is the birth of pity:
When the walls of inward hope become whence and all is drunken
circled.
Beneath the crest doth
Torrents reign,
unseen apart from bending.
And this is the birth of pity,
the everlasting tail of lostness in its desired undercurrent.
49

A Concept of Heartache
It was upon the cherry limb she wept,
A tiny girl and an eighty-year-old collection of bark
One forcefield between a ninety-year-old gray whale
Who began singing starry dreams into her heart.
It was only a narrow hole in the desert,
But an impossible obstacle for a human-like plant
From seven hundred galaxies removed.
A year walk away would be a field of wheat,
and there a small child, saved from the crush of a cherry tree limb
broken by the waves of a song in her mind.
She, and each, heard the sound
Of a distant saddening groan and a plaintive song,
or the fall of tears, or a pained future cry.
A concept of heartache,
It is the strangest things we follow.
June in Amsterdam, New York
Swaying with motionless limbs,
whose scratching twigs and branches
claw the corn below,
turning with the thousand drummers
hidden in his ashy cloak,
as the light pushes the lord's water,
a blackened stump still lies with its hissing ghost.
Children's Storybook
On one sunny day in Springfield,
On Sunny Road on Springfield Hill,
There were seventy-seven kittens who were born.
50

One of them was named "Springfield",

And the rest were named "Sunny".
What to do with seventy-six kittens named "Sunny"?
Well, all of a sudden, on a day that wasn't so sunny,
All of the kittens named "Sunny" seemed to have disappeared.
The only cat around was named "Springfield",
And he had a funny little problem:
It looked like he had one little stitch on his shoulder.
A stitch of what?
Well, all of a sudden, seventy-six kittens came out of his stitches,
and they started eating at his skin.
Then, all of a sudden, Springfield turned into Hell,
and then everyone in the world killed themselves by eating
themselves,
and blood filled the universe.
In the Open
In the open middle of a dimly-lit pale grey-blue-carpeted family
room with a rather high ceiling painted as white as the walls, a man
sweeps back and forth and twirls two long stockings tied together,
accompanying graceful dance moves to sparse and dainty piano
music of Erik Satie. A manic runt Boston Terrier chases and
sometimes tugs on the swaying stockings.
The man and dog make a sudden shift, bolting out of the room into a
darkened hallway hidden from view behind the perspective of the
audience. Timed exactly with their disappearance, the music ends,
but at some semi-cadential figure not evoking complete jarring
surprise.
A split second or so following the music's end, as suddenly as the
51

man and dog ran off, the perspective of the audience shifts to a halfshadowy room where another man shoots up from bed maniacally
chanting, "Someone killed me! Someone killed me! I don't know
who but someone killed me!"
The audience's perspective widens out from focus on the man in bed
(in a room that is mostly light yellow with white) and overlaps into
an even wider perspective and also widening, and then several more
levels of widening perspectives. It soon becomes obvious that the
room is very large, open, and empty.
No Absolution
What if you were locked in a room, a room with all the things you
could ever want, a phone, computer, TV, supplies to live off of for
the rest of your life, and all the things you could ever need for
sustenance or medical aid? But you were told that you may be let
out in either a few minutes, never, a few years, several months, a
few hours, several days, a day, several years, a few months, or
several minutes. And, upon being let out, you could be tortured for
years, a day, granted the life of a king for years or a day, or
something in between these extremes. And there would be no way
for anyoneeven high government officialsto access this
information or interfere with the computer inside this impenetrable
steel door keeping you in your bomb shelter from the world you
may never see again.
Her Prayer
Upon the rage of miserly enhoused potential,
She ran within the debt of time.
It was just throughout the rain she cried,
with visions of Sequarians biting apples dripping upside her throat.
Sitting at the table, breathing,
52

there came upon a thought,

that it was time to try,
to sit and think up her own escape.
But, as time gradually shifts into the terror night,
She can only behold the tired spirits
To which she prays for death in bed.
Crazy Scrap Idea I Found, Describing a Crazy Man with a Scrap
Crinkles paper of homework in rage, the last printable page, to
"punish self"; then realizes bad and puts weight on it for while to restraighten out; then he senses he likes to punish self (/remembers he
does/realizes it's a good situation to "punish" self) and repeats the
crinkling and re-straighteningwhere semi-tries to "redeem self"
then semi-following a pattern to feel "worse and worse"; this pattern
plays out until paper is in horrible condition and rips up; but then he
tapes, but following the same pattern with this attempt to "redeem"
himself, taping less and less with motivation to salvage things in
between further crinkling and ripping.
The Abuse of Molly
I once knew of a mother who was so protective of her daughter
that when she would walk by someone she didn't know in their local
marketplace,
while tightening grip of her daughter Molly's hand,
she would quite boldly say
"stranger danger".
Tucked neatly in her darkened bed,
after finishing another nightly lesson about the threats of the world,
Molly had made up her mind to introduce herself to the next person
her mother labeled a dangerous stranger,
but through song.
53

Just before the next day's very first ceremonial chant designating an
unfamiliar face,
Molly tugged loose from her mother immediately upon feeling a
slight lessening of grip,
the slight recoiling of her mother's hand in preparation for tenser
clenching
as predictable as the receding of the tide before a great wave.
Her mother was so overcome with fear that she began to shake
and shout nonsense words that were jumbled crossings of
"stranger" and "danger".
All the while, the stranger in the trench coat, fedora, and slippers
beckoned a shy but willing Molly closer and closer.
At the point where all this seemed like a dream twisted and garbled
enough to allow Molly surreal invincibility,
she began to quite boldly sing,
inspired by the songs of the radio she would sneak in here and there
away from her mother's ear,
as her mother fainted.
"Hey baby stranger put it all in my mouth,
tee-ti-tah
Hey baby stranger put it all in my mouth,
tee-ti-tah,
tee-ti-tah, tee-ti-tah, tee-ti-tah,
tee-ti-tah
Hey baby stranger put it all in my mouth,
in,
my,
mouth.
In my mouth."

54

Debilitated Woman
a debilitated woman with no eyes, no hair, broken legs never healed,
arms sawed off (but with cauterized wounds),
spits and gurgles from her mouth and eye sockets,
wailing on the corner of main street,
until the busy world-members force muffins down her throat so she
chokes and remains quiet,
until the next morning.
An Experiment
But if he stopped now he could live, and still even days from now.
He may need to use life support and remain in a coma, but he still
could live.
He began this slowly, first with staying in bed even though he
wanted not to; this encouraged him to further test the limits of what
he could bear while still remaining deemably "normal". But that
barrier soon broke, around the time he lost his job for giving
business executives messages different from what he knew to be
true, and for plucking out all the hairs on his face on site. From then
he worked on testing the boundary between moderate pathology and
debilitating derangement. To extend at least basic functionality as
long as possible before truly collapsing, he would cauterize his selfinflicted wounds to prevent levels of bleeding preclusive of meeting
day-to-day demands of an independent though low-functioning
individual.
But even now he holds his breath for periods enough to further
damage his brain and body, though mostly paralyzed otherwise.
This was his experiment to betray his self-protective instincts and
prove his own freedom.
But he only proved to be heavily
ineffective for his own and others' purposes.
55

I Am Taboo
They whisper apart from me in their darkened hollows and corners,
their fingers coil and stomachs tighten.
Aching minds do not see but shudder in their own places,
intruders to their own lives:
It is recognition of fragility that defies the crowds and denies their
boundaries;
I live harder.
What is thought unapproachable
I have tread over and conquered;
I am taboo!
Forty-One Were Left (Part of a Flowing Dream)
At first, it was about building pressure in a water-heating furnace
system, and we were trying to escape from the cellar where some
main pipes and sorts of barrels were, but I guess the doors at the top
of all the stairseven the hidden staircasesseemed locked, but the
more immediate problem soon became potential lava flooding, lava
rising from deep underground.
Thankfully we found our way out, though we soon found the house
surrounded by a parking garage flooding with lava too, and faster,
faster because, somehow, we had actually descended further into the
ground by leaving the house.
As we ran from the lava up the curling garage platform, we met a
roadblocksome immovable cement blocks stacked as high and
wide as the passageway that would otherwise be. It now became
clear that we could only either return to the lava or wait for it to rise
to us; we chose to wait.
56

As we waited, I encouraged everyone to sing. No one objected, and

we became increasingly enthused in our chosen song even as the
lava steadily approached. The flow of the lava seemed to slow the
higher it rose, thoughit might have taken even a year, but we
didn't notice; we just focused on our song and the time we had left.
Eventually the day came where we each had to face our imminent
fates. We held each other's quaking hands, but firmly even against
the heat rising from the pavement and through our arms.
As the lava approached us, it seemed to begin moving more quickly.
And, even while some were much further from the roadblock behind
us than others, we chose not reposition ourselves and change the
order of our deaths.
I saw Marge's, and Michael's, and Tareise's faces, their youth and
character lost even with their first few gurgling and thrashing
shrieks, shrieks persisting even out of their unavoidably tanglydripping melted and torn jaws, screeches forceful even out of the
broken pipes of a furnace system left abandoned behind their
blackened, garbled faces, but sirens soon silently swallowed by the
fluid whose undying approach began to crisp my exposed skin.
As I watched my friends' faces melt each at their own pace, from
Marge to the twenty-second in line, the quaking of our chain of
hands grew into its present convulsing. Soon our chain began to
flail with our fewer and fewer bodies, though our feet somehow
remained planted until the end. I was thirty-second.
Dear Old Rotting Hand of Mine,
Everything here is so pretty.
There are so many shiny wires like at the dentist's, where I get
candy.
I like the candy better here, though, because I hurt less when I eat it
57

more and more!

My new friend lady here says I will never want to go back home,
and she's right!
I don't need my arms anymore, and tomorrow she's taking my legs
so I can stay here forever and ever!
She said there's not much candy left, but I don't believe her because
she's funny.
She painted a funny thing here on the wall:
I want to trap you here,
watch you wiggle in pain,
as I scrape away your beauty day by day until the day you would
have become a woman.
I will keep you alive with the least possible tissue and most possible
pain every minute of the life I have left to help.
I'm doing an experiment.
Cold Images
To watch bones protrude from skin
and faces grow mold
is to rejoice in symmetry and organization
dismantling,
the corruption of biology;
it is to drink hot blood.
I'm Not Sure If I'm Dead
The loudest voice I hear says
I am still alive
yet, as I walk through life
I only see above my body
and feel no pain
as I smell the stench of my rotting flesh.
58

My Friend
It's only ever night when I see him,
through the clothes in my closet.
I see that he has no eyes,
bones protrude through his grey papery skin,
and a dark liquid emits from his mouth
as he whispers truths to me that I do not want to ever face.
A Dark Place
And from this invisible ghost she ran and ran
and became forever lost.
Where I Died
Mommy, that's where I died!
What Curse
A flashing and fading dream as I awake,
A large man-like creature in a black cloak far into the woods still
walking away from us,
A man shouting from behind us but with a voice gone unheard,
"What curse? ...What curse?? ...What curse?! ...What curse?!
What curse?!"
It Was There
It was there, that night afore, a place I'd ne'er assume you'd be.
I walked on silvern shines and twiggs and all that growed was
glow'n with moon.
In some such heartened light it was your lost and saddened face I
mourned.
59

A tiny child four yards hence, turned back to glimpse but then away,
from some glen's grave returning.
I called,
and once again you turned,
and with your stray and weepy face you whispered, "fearly".
I heard it so lettered on that deafened night,
not just with my ear, but tighted chest and winding temples.
My emptied stomach drained and swallowed in some hole,
between my heart and endless'd darkened hells afar.
Waved rippled poundings of aching retreat and torn longings rushed
you once again from me,
whilst questions,
where you'd go and what you'd feel or be,
lay still.
I knew you called me,
in my coldest skin and searing hairs.
You hollowed and stole me that night;
for what I'll never know.
It's Hell Being a Zombie
What could it be just beyond the edge of these darkened woods
but a world I know so well, just unlit?
But I know of so many creatures of the night I have never and may
never see.
And these woods could veil those of night who intend never to be
exposed.
What would there be to fear in the steps before me?
At arm's length, a few feet, or not at all,
the subject of possibility,
60

everything wonderful to horrible.

But you don't prepare for wonderful things,
just to save yourself from harms and huntings.
And, mostly, a ghostly image you cannot understand.
A weeping woman consoled at the loss of her young adult son,
who later stands by her bedside but for an instant,
simply to report,
it is hell to be a zombie.
The Signs
The oceans have been replaced with blood and crops have turned
into rusted metal.
Doors are only locked and only guns will open them.
Where cars once were, mice and flies create skeletons from
carcasses once girls and boys.
Fewer and fewer screeches are heard through a deep
red smog.
I fear I am the last one left;
but as the moon falls further out of orbit and the sun further
dwindles out,
this thick scarlet fluid seeps through all crevices and drowns my
lungs.
The signs have come and, instead of the possible retreat to Mars, we
have learned to extinguish ourselves.
This Is the End
Where have the gallows been for they have returned and suddenly,
fire and storm interplay as we retreat into the forest now burning,
filth rises from the ground and engulfs my life,
61

gurgling replaces whimpering.

62

V. Serious Poems
A Just and Magical World
Life is good
because everything happens for a reason.
Children who only know suffering until they starve to death
help people who are strangers to pain better appreciate what they
have.
a small god, a small world
They have a small god
who they understand through
simplistic rules of how things must be
even for this god
who they refer to as large only in
holding invisible solutions to
unavoidable contradictions present in
the extracting of the dimensions of what must be,
what must be even for this god,
from an old, tired document;
the fault of an unimaginative system is a sense of
enclosedness that,
though bringing comfort,
offers little freedom for questioning, learning
exercise and development
and causes enemies, and, ultimately,
a small world
The Attempted Brain-Washing of an Intellectual Youth
I see no wonder in their blank yet angry eyes
even in their songs to an infinitely magical creator.
63

In my helpless cage I sit in silence,

seeing the chandeliers crashing through their skin,
so I could leave and be respected for my own thoughts,
thoughts that address a real world where there is real magic.
Yet, even in their writhing pain with torn and
smoldering flesh,
even then there is no wonder in their eyes
they know where they are going with such certainty,
but they retain the pain of contempt for those who would disbelieve
and belittle their tiny minds.
Polemic for a Good Christian Woman
You have once apologized
for the way I feel.
If I were to apologize for your feelings only,
that is not enough.
To you, the way you feel is not just that;
it is justified in an immaterial reality by your own holiness as
connected to an invisible god.
I am to blame for a flu,
Your sister is to blame for her schedule,
I am to blame for an intense bout of OCD at a dinner table,
Your roommate is to blame for her commitments,
but you remain,
in your mind contorted by parasitic vines of emotion,
blameless as an imaginary lamb.
I and all in your life who exist apart from your whims of fancy
repulse and deserve from you not just hurlings of mucusy venom,
but a damnation until we bend or forget,
while you do neither nor forgive,
and all this even unlike you are taught.
64

Yet your cult feeds you lessons mostly about trusting feelings
to believe what is not real but feels good,
as trusting feelings allowed your silly faith to rise,
and as the most natural horrible inclinations of humans like you
are encouraged by or exemplified in it.
You trust what you feel and condemn all outside of it,
trusting also the feeling to condemn.
You are the embodiment of a piggish stupid child,
enough to scoff at a Unitarian hymn not of magic,
but only of thoughtful values you have never possessed.
Love Not Just for a Watching God
A man, kind, generous, and humble died vulnerable to the
distortions of history, to an unkind, ungenerous, unhumble man
insecure in his own thoughts enough to lie for the cause of an inane
religion. Invented letters between them showed the man who died
to be exactly his opposite, exactly the man writing the letters, but for
a tie to religion. Thus, through a loud voice, the stupid masses were
convinced further to hold to often-maladaptive emotion and
emotional reasoning rather than reason and reasoned love.
Small Towns, Corporations, and Protectionists
When the bluejays came into town,
they invited the starlings and sumac and the
squirrels;
they chased out the orioles and weeded out the orchids
and all other delicate beings that once blessed this place with
sensitivity.
But it is the strong who survive,
which is why I shot the strongest bluejay,
but then somehow became deemed worse than he.
65

Time Alone in the Woods

I visited the street where I would walk out onto from explorations in
the woods behind my old house.
But this street was now connected to new streets in place of the
woods.
As I walked toward the new streets, it became difficult to see
through some increasing light.
So I retracted some steps and then was able to see again.
The light once reflecting trees now reflected windows, screens, and
mirrors.
Once I saw this, I felt more confident to walk on.
I ignored the pain of the light, buoyed by the many places I saw my
own reflection.
I came across a few of my old schoolmates who used to live in other
places across town.
They looked different from how I remembered them as children,
though.
As I began to think how they were different, I began to notice the
brightness of the light again that I had forgotten about.
And as I tried to think more, the light became intolerable enough to
force me to run away back to the other street.
My old friends laughed and I felt again like a child on a playground.
But then I remembered that, even then, when I ran away from them,
I was also running away from the gleaming monkey bars and metal
slides.
And, after I took a last cringing look at the
neighborhood of the crowd I always envied,
I began to think more, but there was no more light, so it didn't hurt.
As I thought, I realized that, though older,
66

all my once young neighbors were really now only walking, talking
carcasses of children
dressed in socially acceptable identities of mannerisms, styles, and
titles.
I suppose I could have become this,
but I always managed to find a time and place to think undistracted
by my own reflection.
Without time alone in the woods,
there is neither a discovered connection with what is beyond human
nor what is human within you.
Parade of Chariots
Falling not,
but disorganized,
they took to their boots instead
and stood in line.
They marched to Hell and back,
and in fury,
gained discipline,
and became the Devils,
only to fall.
It Shines Through
whatever it is you do
it is the sadness that shines through
Psychotic Entanglement
I am trapped in a maze of mazes,
using a faulty mind to distinguish confused thoughts from sane
ones,
all the while wanting to communicate some sense of deep beauty,
67

only to bewilder or be misunderstood.

Retreat of the Mind
I hide in the shadow patterns
within vortexed labyrinths
and am safe, yet think
myself to sleep.
Obsessing Over Philosophy in the Student Center
I'm on the brink again
My hand shakes as I hold my pen
There's no one here but me
And I won't even get up to pee
Sleep Now
Sleep now, child, for day is waking
and all that was is not forsaken.
That thou hast lost in battle strong
is but a weary eye in evening song.
A morning star will rise again:
You will sleep,
but soon will wake,
for you some unseen form will take.
(All this, you know, is ill-lived brattle;
silent thoughts, once spoke, unravel.
Just imagine as you die
that something's worth it,
something lasts.)
Tearful Old Dying Man
68

I was stationed in China

and there I had a pet monkey named Curly,
and he sat on my shoulders.
He was this big.
Found Letter
I found a lost letter
apologizing for lost love,
and am burdened to relay their message
that could change a life
or keep a dark life so if not heard.
Dream of Beauty
I have traveled days and come only here,
to this cave filled with ice.
Yet at least it overlooks some grassy field
where some berries may grow.
But it is far
and I am weary.
So as I leave the cave
and approach a hill of snow,
I let myself sink,
and as I suffocate,
I dream of beauty.
Hate Crime (Gay-Bashing)
Flesh was marred,
an insult to the body used to physically connect with others
in hopes of connecting with them more deeply,
to ever-approach intertwinement of their two conscious experiences
made possible through communicating messages of both primal and
69

complex natures,
communicated in necessarily both primal and complex ways,
aiming to transcend the physical nature of all communication
The Expanse Behind
I look at his picture with the sun just past setting through the
window behind him.
The times we spent are colored brightly in my mind
just as his face and the sky blend together
in some whirled aurora of light,
a mix of simple materials and energy,
yet deepened by colors of emotion
in the knowledge that the past only fades.
The Silent Universe
The silent universe
Holds its secrets
And those who call to it in question,
Who cannot claim anything
While the universe claims all, inaudibly
A Song of Loves
When the universe began,
the separated stars
swiftly glided through the sky
without song, without connection.
When humanity began,
each isolated voice
slowly learned to sing to others,
no longer apart, no more alone.
70

When war began,

the soldiers' songs
drowned the sound of suffering,
and began to restore to all a state of separation.
At the end of things,
the fading last soul
sang a song to mourn love's loss,
so the stars, in sadness, began to softly sing.
Shunned
Shunned for who I am,
yet loving myself,
I am lonely,
but for a greater good,
so I relish the taste of my tears,
seeing beauty through and in them.
Beauty Unbeknownst
I tried to explain this to the giant bear,
and my diagramming and charading didn't even move him,
that he was only on a floating globe
gliding through and past others and never in the same space,
and light is always present somewhere,
in our world and in others.
As he stared longingly into the dark distance,
I let him be,
even as the sun set on another world.
now and the end
tragedy, displeasure, distant feelings, happiness,
all combined, rotating, layered, morphing, hovering;
71

threat, despair, meaninglessness, color, swirling, each to be heard

and webbed,
or else swallowing and consumption in fear, falling, emptiness, or
blindness
instead of preparedness, appreciation, rest, and depth.
to disappear, to become lost, to be nothing, to go on,
each considered in balance creates overall good for us now.
An Imagined Little Boy Trapped in the Hardened Sediments
Extracted from the earth's depths,
only minerals in patterns.
Yet I am still witnessing the evidence of past life,
staring into the remains of their souls.
The Lesser Tortoise
for ages long he sat
on a shifting shore
and sang to suns
of obscured curled skies.
he spoke with ancient birds
and stones and dust
from realms and spaces
barely dreamable.
he sat and was fulfilled
in knowledge and in calm
all the while
needing nothing but sustenance.
72

Realistic Imagination
Hiding inside the fully-enclosed realm of a well-received artful film
on gay rights history,
I feel a personally-unprecedented warmth in
picturing my growing old with James Franco's presented character.
Slowly and sadly re-emerging from this realm filtered through
visual craft, music, and some sexiness,
I at least happily remember the possibility of learning and aiming in
my own world;
Though I cannot transform myself or my
environment with magical imagining,
I can through realistic imagination.
a conversation
despite a connection
where two sides saw each and proportionately doubted and believed
as were not wont to,
a warm linking of the eyes,
the two part and continue in stride for the sake of sanity,
as if they did not exchange souls for a time
The Deer
It was under the linden tree
she birthed a tiny skeleton,
where the timid giant doe approached from the pines
and offered the gesture of slight touch,
her nose wetting the cheek of the weeping mother
who thanked only an empty field upon lifting her head.
And yet through the shaded grove's edge
bellowed the small cry of a lone newborn deer.
73

There was not a chance of thanking

for the most soulful and perfect of gifts,
but these who sacrifice the most think least of
thanks.
I Touch You
I touch you now as you read,
as you touch me now as I write;
I know you will/are read(ing).
Dream of Peace
Fir yews still between golden blossoms
floating from the highest pines
As I lay swallowed by some dream of peace.
The Perfect Sphere
I don't care about anyone
so I stay in the bathtub
though it's not written in the vapors and schedules and papers;
The eklohn and elkohn with their resplendently white deer skulls
spoke of the Oracles above them
and then only the "Terror" above them whom no one knows
I want to go where I saw dots of blue and pinkish lights swimming
through slowly shifting metal spokes that are somehow
"stars".
I turn to the circle towel ring
and see the vicious bony face,
and now all this is somehow one thing
74

but only in the wall behind my head,

though the wall is also some galaxy at once.
I allow a subtle electrical tone to shake me
as I urinate out my spine and hands,
and then I am glowing dust and disappear;
I whisper,
"You'll be ok
because everything is only the Perfect Sphere."
Worthy of Pain
How can one not hurt more than themselves by dying?
You have healed in the past, and
You can again.
And you can once again find moments which you will, knowingly
or not, narrate with a thought:
This is worth all that pain.

75

VI. "Maxims"
Everything is only the never-ending nightmare of Nothingness.
we bind our lives together with pieces of string that often break or
don't hold well to begin with
All we have and are will soon be tiresomely told history to future
generations.
We are the feces of the sky (and unobservable universe).
The universe will not cry for the end of humans.
Every day new authors purport to have a/the answer to a huge
problem/everything, usually by rehashing old ideas while adding in
a good amount of increasingly fashionable "spiritual" mumbo
jumbo. Every day it becomes a new contest about who can out-do
the previous day's new authors in terms of ridiculousness in
opposition to common sense yet appealing to a sense of desire for
freshness/uniqueness and even magic.
history's supposed lessons
are really the ever-popularizing opinions of an ever- growing
majority unquestioned,
history as a static answer instead of a multitude of elapsed nows
We speak most loudly against what measures least against our
standards, as the least moral of people speak most loudly against the
most obvious, usually accidental, of wrongs.
The one somewhat liberal voice on Fox News appears to be old and
out-of-touch while all other individuals appear charismatic and
smartly convinced of their rightness. However, maybe the authors
76

of subliminal messages here didn't realize that, because of their

displayed self-righteous anger and disrespect for those with whom
they disagree, though they may appear with-it and animated, each
such individual appears to be an asshole.
In the dust of partisan clamor, the facts remain.
Invent all the clever acrobatic explanations for the holes in your
faith you can; it still sinks under honest scrutiny.
Of course anything is theoretically possible, but I don't need to treat
all ideas, no matter how absurd, with equal consideration. "I'm
agnostic toward the 2-ton pink kitten in my right nostril" makes
about as much sense as me saying I'm agnostic toward God. Just
because many people believe in God doesn't mean I should revere
such a silly idea any more than the large feline in my nose.
What appeals to the emotions requests that you not think.
with faith,
all things are possible;
with faith,
the most unreasonable claim can be seen not so.
Faith is no virtue.
Trust nothing enough to think for you, trust yourself enough to
think.
The vision of science is to save, lengthen, and enrich lives.
There are no ultimately irreconcilable issues.
To search for explanation with a life of only such searching is to
chase the wind with neither known direction nor supportive ground.
77

There are those who

believe nothing matters
and could go on if only
they looked at the smaller picture
not just of this planet,
but of their species on this planet,
where things, though fleeting and maybe ultimately
meaningless,
matter a great deal.
When you feel "beneath" a person, remember that they also
however brieflyexamine their feces on pieces of toilet paper;
there is no classy way to do this, unless they have hired someone to
do this for them or they never go, where it should become even
more difficult to feel "beneath" this person.
While it is a great injustice to be misjudged, everyone must settle on
conclusions about others at times, disallowing further pursuit of
knowledge of the other, a pursuit that is in itself not necessarily
leading to accurate knowledge.
We each strengthen or weaken different causes with our lives
without having been able to think through all our beliefs to the point
where it would only then seem reasonable to act on our beliefs.
We are all the same in that
No one can hold up a sign which
All would recognize as good
Be slow to form an opinion that may be wrong, and be hesitant in
that it may be unhelpful to hold, robbing energy from better
pursuits.
Behind anger is often mere misunderstanding.
78

Out of a decision made even partly in anger,

as and if the anger fades,
guilt grows proportionately.
There are no enemies outside of interpretations of relationships; we
all are individuals unique.
All these lines we use to describe types of people intersect so many
different lines until points where near-infinite lines intersect to
create each individual.
there are basic needs and desires that we all have,
yet there is some variation here and there warranting boos or praise,
but there still should be equal respect on a basic level for all
because there are basic needs and desires that we all have.
everyone needs to feel that they have some glimpse of truth
everyone's life story could be a classic and inspiring movie.
People have such different ways of understanding the world that,
even if I found myself to be articulate in describing some beauty and
good that I feel and how to achieve it, no one would feel the same
things I doyet they may feel similar things; so at least I can
connect to people on some level.
Leave this world attached to nothing but hope for humanity;
then you will feel free to die.
To appreciate life is to be surprised each day you remain alive.
improvements in technology, medicine, and societal organization
increase the illusion of safety,
allowing the flourishing of blind fulfillment among peoples,
79

death and pain held at distance as a matter of supposed necessity;

but, to value an honest fear of the hovering threat of all that is dark
in conjunction with fulfillment
is to maximize the experience of all you love.
From the moment of our conception,
we must feel pain to know pleasure,
and we must know tragedy to know healing.
Someday is today.
every day that certain things stay the same, consider yourself
luckyevery day that certain things change, consider yourself
lucky as well
we do not disappear, we are not replaced.
we impact, and so do those that we impact
so that our impact is never lost
Hope is not empty but is the focus on the vast good possibilities
over the vast bad. It does not wallow in pain, but, acknowledging it,
learning from it, not desperately avoiding it, resorts not to self-pity,
but lives for the good in the now and the certain good that the future
will bring as well as the greater certain good that it may bring.
While they are frozen in spacetime eternally, do not live these
limited moments waiting.
Cherish the past, anticipate the future, and see the present as it was
once anticipated and will one day be cherished, your life by you and
your world by far past and far future generations.
Your grandparents and theirs and theirs were not just their oldest
years or photographs or paintings of their younger, but each moment
of every year, none worth dismissing in a pursuit of an improved life
80

that may never come or stay.

The sadness of our small time in the universe,
being nothingness before and after,
is so beautiful
that it can breathe into life deep emotion, appreciation, and awe.
Even more than to revisit a nostalgic circumstance, to salvage what
of it thought lost is one of the most beautiful things.
Let nothing, no knowledge from any science or philosophy, ever
subtract from the near-infinite complexity and untouchable depths
and breadth and intricacies of the universe, Earth, the human life
and mind. We are wrapped within some folded windings that trace
the shape of snails around snails across the smallest grains of sandy
shores to the largest scopes of space and time, from which we can
never escape and must never reduce in our minds. If we can find
patterns, these are still the least of seas within seas of the unreached
realities that, when acknowledged, are affixed to beauty.
Everything that exists is the substance of the never-ending dream of
sleeping nothingness.

81

About the Author

Timothy Ballan is a composer and writer who currently resides in
Western Massachusetts. As a composer, Timothy mostly writes
accessible classical music. As a writer, Timothy mostly writes
plotless stories, atmospheric vignettes, poems, and non-pretentious
philosophy. When not composing or writing, Timothy leads several
musical groups in urban youth development programs, teaches
private piano lessons, and tutors youth in various academic subjects.
In his free time, Timothy enjoys driving on country roads, hiking,
watching scary movies, and sharing time and an absurd sense of
humor with his human and mint-flavored bobby-pin friends.

82