i adhere to no set type of meter or structure. i free form all the way. if you like rhyming poems, you are in the wrong place. my apologies. some don't have titles either. sorry again. i just outlined the first few words and hope that will suffice.

last supper cannibalistic sacrament as ritual & we feasted on the flesh of our saviour & sup on his                           blood                 delectable if you are what you eat am i jesus? trust joke to the blind man about rearranging furniture in his absence he grins & goes forward certain i hadn't one day when i finally manage to outgrow my few ethics maybe i will that will teach him about trust i wager ghost the ghost of xmas was some hulking monstrosity reeking of cinnamon its huge malformed shoulders were discarded aluminium trees blinking light cords in knots hung down from its heavy head like the snake coils of medusa body formed of broken toys sprawled under it an ugly squatting reptile spotted with crumpled wrapping paper holiday cards sent to business clients smattered with meaningless clichés the mess wept tears of excess & left a trail of spent credit cards in its wake & i merely stepped aside to give it berth as it shambled by giving silent thanks i was an agnostic xmas resulted in massive guilt related spending during which everyone endeavoured to purchase enough in one month to make up for the other eleven the amazing thing about ghud is how does one go about razing cities burning villages & transforming people into pillars of salt then turn around & give me 10 commandments bastard must be republican 1:22 am thursday morning dining on chrunchberries & soda i watch cartoons as the kid uses two plastic laundry baskets to cage angels whom he feeds pecans i do not doubt his word at all abducted check out my pal he says he's been abducted regressive hypnotherapy dredged up age old memories of being taken & probed possibly violated under bright lights too bright to see past obscuring all but shadows & he jumps at sounds talking about aliens conspiracy & government cover ups my pal obsessing on ufos ebes men in black & i listen & wonder if not martians then who took my pal & screwed up his brain & why not me i watched star trek bought their damn toys why not me kerouac jack kerouac bottles at your feet how many did you have to down to mire in their beat no no birthday no date no day what is today what day is it what these hands not mine definitely not too big remember they smaller reaching             for what         what day was it reaching         for what             reaching what day is it         who's typing this whose hands are these anyway                                what is today                                           anyway ghud interestingly enough when the insects clamoured to life still clinging to their life sustaining ichor a great intelligence made note of them their presence & stench & lo it bestowed upon them the cursed gift of language & as soon as they got the hang of their new-found literacy the insects clicked their multifaceted eyes open & closed & got down to the nitty gritty of name calling back biting & rumour mongering so the infinite wisdom took back its boon & instead favoured it to the huge lumbering dinosaurs that roamed the continents shortly thereafter the cold blooded creatures exhibited the same foul tendencies as the insects having become somewhat irritated by this time the universal knowledge made them extinct & passed it on to the primates who scurried among the ruins of the saurapods he/she who is the most wonderful & dreadful preserver of all has retired to the crab nebulae & would be very cross at the notion that the damn monkeys were even a worse choice than the bugs & lizards electronic hand held yahtzee my abductee pal sat on the couch & played electronic hand held yahtzee ignoring me & the short hairy guy i know who protects me & the kid & we wondered (he & i) what we did to offend (if we did) but he's ignoring us sitting on the couch playing electronic hand held yahtzee so we started talking between the two of us (since he's ignoring us) for awhile till we realize he's not playing anymore & he's watching us instead looking all pouty & i ask him if we offended him (since he's ignoring us) & he said no we're ignoring him & i shrug & the short hairy guy says it's all in the way yo perceive things while you're ignoring them & then my abductee pal got offended & went back to playing electronic hand held yahtzee coma god not dead god in coma so says prophet in london fog leering past smoke obscuring sad features weary worn good jaw line roman nose bleary eyes comatose people never talk hardly blink knew guy in coma go catatonic myself sometimes when necessary gods not sleeping talk at him with him often definitely not dead unless speaking beyond grave some people too cynical for their own good while he talked concave image withdrawing the populace stands alone gaping wounds open the dilapidated shack collapsing woe despair the king is dead & elvis' desiccated corpse left the building his trademark pelvic thrust causing bits of flesh to trail him hungry street waifs fight souvenir hunters to gather the leprous remains & eat them ravenously life in the city continues merchants tossed out by pawn brokers huddle on steam belching grates taxi drivers dead at the wheel overdosed on heroin needles still in their arms veins bulging crash into street lights which fall onto screaming hookers the impact knocking the sequins off their tube tops & nuns - walking by & tisking haughtily- trip down the waiting stairs of the subway rolling down habits flying under the wheels of speeding trains splattering uniformed schoolchildren with organs & gore the children in turn screech madly with joy tearing their clothes from their tiny frames & run naked into the tunnels going back to the warm embrace of the dark while the janitor watches humourlessly & sweeps up the remains every word i say is suspect so i am silent my silence is miscontrused so i smile smiling is telling so i stop stoicism is the same as ignoring so i am back to talking every word i say is suspect so i'm back to square one on the subject of pomposity i write to people who cannot spell i read to people who cannot hear i pander to people who are of little conscience and no soul a bust of a woman falls and shatters i sweep her up she can be glued i however cannot i don't want mending i want improvement i don't want succour i want healing i don't want spoon feeding i want knowledge pieces of statuary pierce my feet she is undone i am unbound   can you hear the cat's cries as the car impacts her flesh were her last thoughts of mice or milk or mates could it matter now that she's quelled, alone and battered, broken on the road not a purr in her passing and i too am crushed like the cat but i keep walking perhaps i am bitter to have been widowed so young perhaps i am arrogant to find love again perhaps i'm merely bidding my time before i find succour in dark embrace perhaps i write only to be writing but perhaps i'm hoping in writing someone will read and just maybe understand perhaps i'm just hoping for more than reasonable i don't understand myself   jesus wept for what? himself? his tormentors? his followers? the thought of al the iconic crap they would sell at the place of his death in 2000 years to souvenir hunting tourists? will a snow globe saviour help me find spiritual depth? will a statue commemorating his agony make me feel his end? or will it syphon into the pockets of capitalists, unhurried by his passing? and at 3 for $1, do i really care? a pagan made rosaries and sold them to atheistic goths who was really more of a hypocrite? the pagan, as she pandered to a religion she did not embrace as her own? the goths for wearing a symbol of something they could never truly grasp? the catholics for making an icon of an implement of torture? or perhaps we can chalk it up to fashion. fashion has many victims. take that fat guy on your left. the cat is clawing the door jam. he needs out out out he is trapped in the room with a busted leg and he doesn't care what is for his own good he wants out who am i to dictate to a feline anyway mend the leg let him go and he'll stray no more until the next good piece of pussy saunters by if you write enough pabulum, someone is bound to pay attention. if you make it sound fancy, they may even buy what you're selling, be it a telly, turban or torment. the word has powers of coercion even the biggest thug may envy, as it can be more persuasive than his fist by far. another day wanes my mind far away electrons collide and my thoughts slip again my hands cannot hold the needle it seems how will i get my fix who will ease my pain the flocked nun grim visaged bitch of god my co worker watching the clock the service guy at wal mart glaring angrily at his shoes or will i have to complicate things by actually starting a real drug habit instead of day dreaming about one it would be so hip yet expensive perhaps i best just watch soaps  tangible the hand is tangible as it grabs for my hair to caress it then rend it as he holds me above a chasm, he reaches under my bloody shirt and touches me below i can hear my father screaming at me what's wrong what wrong he can see my feet kicking but nothing more as i'm held aloft by my hair and the metal hand is not cold and i stare into his one red eye and know one day some day he'll kill me or worse but today i slice his face then i drop down the shaft i know now gravity works alice did not have such hazards mad as a march hare            was he really mad or just mean? could i pity him for a moment knowing what i knew           but no   he was made of metal and flesh and yet       he lacked a soul                          but what say i of it                               i sold mine yon ago  for a morsel of affection and                                    a mouthful of stones in the hole her bones lie askew from where she fell cj clawed unhappily at the sides of her cell down in the endless maw they threw her in a well ding dong dell pussy's in the well corned beef mutton pies that which does not kill us for god so loved the world give  me your poor operators are standing by four score and seven years ago matter is relative to anti matter whispers torn from pages and assembled like a tinman, like frankenstein's monster, like a golem mark it with your letter and let it breathe until the sabbath's sundown when you will destroy it or it will destroy you men do beastly things to babes and the women stand idly by until they get into the act as well not so separate from males now drowning their kin frail struggles shooting them sleeping poisoning their gruel and are they monsters haven't i dreamt of the same scenario, only lacked the courage to do it i would raze a world for you i have killed thousands  for you i have laughed heartily at fools all over you and you say nothing your lips do not twitch nor your eyes falter your hands are unmoving now as ever you are music and i am static it was if a beast were unleashed, hunted and hungry it prowled looking for a phrase to coin the empty pit in its belly a word to voice the pain in its limbs a hand to soothe the void of its soul gangly it staggered on thorny grounds stretched itself forward in a lunge crashed dead at the feet of its tormentors, like a dog to its owner the creature knew nothing but loathing and pain its universe and let beckon that embrace one last time an invisible child clung to her back and wept into her ears of hunger and hurt no one could see her but she clung there like a junkie's monkey, their horse on smack the little girl stayed and clung to her back no escape no exit no cease nor quiet the child rambled on to her charge she could've left it at any point on any corner at a church and yet she heaved on, struggling each day to tote the girl about as it screeched wind too cold burden too heavy food too salty and what did the woman do but continue nurture and suckle her unseeable burden until it grew and left her for brighter shores, having drained her mount of everything the woman, alone in despair spotted another at the bus stop, and stole it from the arthritic spine of an elderly man who called into the night after her as she ran with the bundle bring it back bring it back bring my baby back but they were gone into the night and he mourned the loss of his burden unaware he'd already grown another when i was a kid i built a fort out of couch cushions i was the queen of my domain peering from between my sturdy brick walls until my brother kicked it over then i was homeless, less than a squire more of a squatter ohs the shame now i build forts out of space the more between me and them the better i want space and fences and walls and bars the more the better until someone kicks it down again this time it won't be my brother catastrophe calliope in symphony today my world has gone and rent asunder in a happy way i have no grievance with you than not i have no reason to leave this spot i have no rhyme to what i do and so then just be off with you aliens clutched at his sheets and my abductee pal woke screaming we regretted letting him spend the night one night led to two led to week led to more every night like clockwork at 5 he woke us with his cries and at first we rushed to him and comforted him but after so much no sleep and no peace we prayed the aliens would come back for him. and keep him. watching the pig stagger across the yard i wonder how did it feel for you to bear down on its leg so hard to cripple it to feel to flesh give way under your foot to hear the pigs anguished squeal and the sullen snap of bone then why bring it here and tie it to my gate? some conscience some guilt something as i heard your truck pull away and barrel down the rock road slinging stones everywhere in your flight how did you know to even come here with your broken sow did the pig look up and mouth why in betrayal and could you meet its eyes or did you look away afraid, ashamed at your sudden fury years before, did i have the same look when he hit me? the smiling grin faded away he'd have no more need of niceties tonight he put his happy face in the freezer so it would be fresh for the next day and went to sleep on a bed of nails hit the dutchman gently feel his cheek give way beneath your hand watch him fall and stare are you satisfied now you've brought him low and yet you are lower can you hear the dull ringing in your ears the schizophrenic jerk of your elbow a thudding impact below your jaw the car has crashed glass shatter scattering like rain like tears like beads unstrung it happened so quick the metal screeching against metal the bending noise of something tremendous some huge breaking something like bone but thicker rubber band snap the seat belt cuts the feeling of displacement then... and among the ruins a clutching hand gave forth he crawled up from the wreckage of his fallen ego checking briefly to see if all his parts were attached so once again someone has said something that crushed him he is so delicate like a flower so sincere like a poet so puerile like rancid butter lesser people have stood up to more yet he uses his weakness as a banner for sympathy and solace poor child of therapy he needs attention affection affirmation seminars of souls retrieval tarot readings and past life regressions he still doesn't like himself which is fine i don't like him either he owes me money