Namaste

Namaste, sin namaste
I wonder what the
Dalai Llama'd say
You offer your body-
yet to my heart's dismay
All I wanted was
your grace, a simple gesture
but still not a single effort
when you walk my way

Passed away
the old you, replaced with
a new
but what values could
One hold if no respect
for a flesh temple
Pure anatomical gift
that of which
you abuse

Tongue-lashing
komodo dragon
All poisonous spurts
from the glands
but no teeth
Full-on-bark, no bite
but still might paralyze
if I set into her sights
with honeydew sliced
from the vine- she sips
the juice as we await
her next phase of
skin-shed, through speech
so calmly she evades the
swinging pendulum blade

Perdon a me while I
rest upon this bed
and unspool this
entire ball of thread
I suggest she and I get
some rest tonight,
yet she bewitchingly says-
"Let's be Gods, instead..."

It's been the phantom
hanging from an olive branch
Dropping on your windowsill
If lips could kill
She'd plant me with the very
Last kiss as
I hit the graveyard
of her poppy-seed soilfield

An oil spill of hymns
Hurricane of hallelujah
Woo-sah winds whip
Namaste, namaste
What would the
Prophet Muhammad or
Virgin Madonna say
Llama me mi salvadora
no escaping your aura
the negative refrain from
breaking your stance while
tip-toeing down my
bedroom's window frame
amidst crickets of the night
planning silent-escape

'Namah te'-
I bow to you,
despondently you catch
all the praise I
hoped to lay, pledging
Obeisance with each of
my hands
pressed against the
grains of sand, like a chapel
locked airtight to
suffocate the rain

A Yogic saying
Similar to Peace, Mahalo
kind words of praise- Shalom
As-Salaam Malakem
Aloha- shall we be taken
with humble greetings
we so for granted take them

The spirit
in me
Greets the spirit
in you
The divine spark
ignited by
chakras- floor to ceiling
kneeling mats of
floral tribute

We are all equal beings
on this plane
of sacred domain
How do I say this
in plain English?
Is it pure, is this too
unfamiliar like coded, scriptured
Sanskrit

No 'Pinky and the Brain'
tonight, scrap plans
to World dominate
Confiscate selfish ways
put your ego on layaway
For just one day, love thy neighbor
Do unto others as
you'd want them to do you
and you too, may find
Nirvana in Dharma, the end
of a path to reincarnate
our youth

King to reigning queen
Pneuma to your Psyche
World to your Meaning, the reason
for each new solemn phase
the God in me; the Goddess
in your meditative state
when we find Chi

These hands, like scissors
Cut through every difference
ever existed between
you and I
For hatred ever kills,
Love never dies-
Honor the purpose
in your life,
when you bow, and pray-
"Namaste"




(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

Achilles Heel

Is it tethered by connective
tissue to
the quadricep, a root reaching
from the ball of my foot

My one weakness,
does it follow no matter
where my paranoia
carries me

Past the river Styx
I become dipped in the
currents
of invincibility

but one part of me
left out, and therein lies
the only target for poison-tipped
toxic Hydra blood
covered arrows to fly
into the one narrow
spot which would spell
my last breath

Should I just succumb
to urges of fallacy
forgive to forget tragedies
I erased from the
frames of a mental tape
which I store in my brain
as a reference page

It corners me,
like Daniel
in the Lion's Den
but I must vanquish
the beast
before it pounces
when it's HIM or ME
you'd best believe
I'll be standing with their
blood
painting the square
as leather canvas,
some chariot of carnage
I will ride like a parade float
to the Temple of Solomon

Is this surreal or physical
some organ or literal
body part
can we tone it with cardio,
thigh presses or squats
can calves be
protected
so the tendon never snaps
collapse and buckle
like the legs of fawn
who were just birthed from
mother deer's womb

Sneaking through gates
of this city of Troy
in some forged plywood,
kamikaze
Horse
we coarse through our own
flaws and find the
path to remorse

In life, one finds it's easier to
betray than
be trusted
to lose the ones you love
than be the one to
fall in-luck
worst of all,
you usually falter
due to your own
giving ways

Because pride, like a
tunic or chestplate- it
lies by the breast
can easily be wounded,
punctured or removed

It's deceptive, you see
that all this time one spends
obsessed over feet,
when all along Achilles' Heel
beats right here

it's my Heart.




(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

The Skyy is Falling

The scene:

backdrop lit, a summer's eve

and on a very unassuming,

unfortunate first date

Bloomfield ave. and the corner of 8th

Newark, New Jersey

little cafe- a modest place, is where

our unsuspecting young

couple sits and waits:

The man, Justin- just hit with some

stroke of inspiration,

looking up to the purple backdrop

mauve-lit sky of an inner-city

liquor advertisement

on the billboard behind his girlfriend's

eyesight, where a tagline allures them, seducing

'COME BUY, COME BUY!!'

Justin complies, orders a nightcap

"Please, waitress- for my girlfriend and I,

a 'Cape Cod'"

(Which is Vodka, Cranberry juice three blocks of ice, and some Lime)

Hoping if he loosens her up,

tonight could be 'their lucky night'

Suddenly, comes a haggard,

frazzled old man, with a stank aroma

out of nowhere-as if fallen from the...Turnpike

If I'd have to guess true whereabouts

of where the old man- let's call him Mike

came from earlier that night-

I'd hazard to guess Luficer's asshole,

by the smell of him, it'd explain why his clothes

were tattered, and he looked

so disheveled- like he'd never seen

a crowded main street in his life(...least, it might.)

"Did you have a good time tonight, Victori-"

but before the young half-buzzed casanova could finish

his line, he would be interrupted-

"Hey, EXCUSE ME!! Young man...but the Sky is falling...

Hope I'm not interrupting, it's just that I thought

you'd want to know...or be worried...

...because the

Sky

is falling."

"Yeeeah, right- listen,

I'd like to chat...really, I would

gramps but I'd like to get back, to this

chick of mine-and this drink,

it's calling my

name...I don't think I trust

you enough to tell

me what to think of the sky."

"Fair enough, I can't

force you to listen up.

But I did try to warn you...

The Sky is falling."

"Oh really, old quack?

I never heard that one before-

'Ooooh, the sky is faaaallling'

I mean I seen em' predict rain- in the form of

Cats and Dogs, and somethin' bout

pigs taking flight in the late day(that's all)

And you!!! Mister wonderful ruiner

of precious moments, being a

prophet-genius, sent from far in the future,

to deliver us allllll from some ominous,

horrible fate--& oooh look!!

A Unicorn just came ballroom dancing into the cafe-

from the Corner of 3rd and Broadway!!

Let me shoot her..."

"Fine, don't listen to what I'm warning...

but the Sky

IS

falling..."

Justin ignores the old man, and

the fateful forecast of vengeance

from the skies- instead, begins

rubbing fingertips up Vickie's thigh-

he hears hormones calling,

night growing old;

he wants to try to pry his luck and

slip inside

Yet should his tongue drift a sigh,

or a line in the narrow hallways which

connect a woman's earlobes

to her mind

Whispering to her, featherly-

"Can I take you home tonight?"

moisture forms around her pantyline-

"AHEM!!!

Boy, I SAID the

Sky...

it's FALLING!!!"

"Listen old man, I've had enough

with your rambling

hallucination having

selfish, impetuous old homeless fuck-

who gives a damn if anything

you say, does or doesn't

come true...it won't hold up

Next thing you're gonna tell me

to watch out for Chupacabra too...or BOOO!

Should I be

scared of the Jersey Devil- or no, I should

be ware of 2012

because if the Mayans say it

then it HAS to be true!!

And ooooh, wait- our President's got

death camps he's currently

constructing, to lead us all into!!

Elvis, Tupac and Mike Jackson

are really all still alive-

somewhere stored, frozen,

waiting next to some popsicles,

deep in some cooler in New Mexico

right with the Aliens at

Area 59.

Stop talking out that fucking

lying old ass of yours-

and purchase your pathetic,

musty self a motherfucking life...Can't

you see me

smoochin' with my girl here, would ya throw me a line?"

Then from nowhere- blinding bright flash,

clap of thunder

a few rusted hinges creak,

SNAP

whoooooosh,

swoop- swipe!

Then SPLAT! Goes two tons

solid steel

crashes the concrete-

cracking the pavement

twice on impact,

making spiderweb sidewalk-lines,

came from the lofty height

of the apex of a billboard, hanging off

the lips of a 22-foot gigantic bikini model

a 12-time real scale sized,

sinister

almost smashed our couple

to bits, calamitous

cobalt blue bottle

Had been hanging there for weeks,

hinging on the smallest blow

of the wind or

knock of the breeze

snapped, came swinging toward the

young couple, but the old man

saw it falling onto Justin

so he leaped.

Now, eyes wide,

catatonic paralysis

Justin shakes off everything

that just happened,

right in front of

his life-flashing eyes

Is he actually still here-

did that crazy

old-as-time apocalyptic crusty old

man really just save his life?

Mike gets up off the prone

24-year old,

brushes his sullen shirt off,

tips his invisible hat

gives Victoria a kind silent

bowing gesture of

'You're Welcome'

for that

turns to Justin, lifts him up-

points to the label of the

nearly fatal

broken bottle, below and says-

"The Sky was falling...

Told you so."

(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

The Great White Death

Two tiny drops
crimson-speck stain
a cresting wave
then I wait, as
blood
dissolves
into the water
that's all I need to
track down
location of my prey
& pound
resoundingly into your
chest, rip flesh
of perhaps the leg,
no- your neck

leading you
unknowingly, right into
jaws,
of two-ton crushing
pressure threshing,
tear at the bone to leave
red clouds
in the water

all thanks to a relentless
10 foot radius
bite
slaughter

Your final sight,
my gills
as I swoop in
for
the kill-strike

Search for a target,
this sense
of scent so strong
& is within
range
even if
it's more than
a half-mile gone,
it's still in sight

A fin
piercing the surface,
as currents
of this salty ocean body
shift and stir

There's not a poacher
on Earth who
can rival
my blackened eyes,
penetrating glare
soon as you catch
their stare
not a chance
you'll survive

Razor sharp
rows of serated teeth
ready to saw
skin into soft, red tissue
then feed
& feed

I thrash,
but hell hath
no frenzy-
like the lone hunter
it's only me
fear me, indeed, as if
I were my own
army

Call me chordata
by species &
genus
linked to the dinosaur
but you may know
me as something
more
intimidating and
summer-beach panic
motivating

Electromagnetic pulse
I can detect
half a billionth of
a volt
so if you're nearby
best keep that
heartbeat calm or it will
cease

I am a Great White
unintentional
unconventional, inhuman
serial murderer
I'm prone to go berserk
yet I can't tell
whether you're seal, squall
human, fish or surfboard
any one can be the main course
in fact, I think
I'll save a morsel
for dessert

Apex Predator
Da dun
--da dun
da duh da dun
---da dun
if you ever hear
my theme,
swim at lightning bolt
speed,
race right out
the waters, yes
you'd better run

An Amityville
horror
if you tangle with
this snout
I'll gut you,
believe me
quicker than your
vocal chords
can even formulate
a dying shout
or plea

Don't listen to
the two-legged
buffoons at
National Geographic
I'm the undisputed
King of Sea
and if you cross me,
you'll soon
understand that
it takes no special 7 day
schedule of
programming arranged
by Discovery

silly humans,
every single week
that I breathe
is
my week






(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

Golden Ticket

When did heaven become...like some grand lottery?
Something only the most righteous, pious and blemish-free fortunate souls deserve as an ultimate home?

When did having faith and an imagination for something greater, require entry in a sweepstakes akin to getting into Wonka's Chocolate Factory?

Heaven will
never be
what you expect
it to be

Heaven can
only be
what we conceive
in our dreams

What we perceive
deep in a translucent
transcendental, luminescent
ever-present and
element-sent sleep-
yet if 1 in 3 don't believe
in God, Jesus or
some sheperd of
lost sheep, no Allah,
Jehovah, Shivah nor
really any deity
how can they
ever achieve
true amity?

Doubters would plead:
the afterlife's just an
elaborately crafted
church-conjured, and
fear inducing scheme
forcing the masses
to attend mass & service,
and confess to a priest,
pay them offerings, or be
the ones wielding the power
in God-fearing pagan
communities...

But can't you see-
It takes not the rifle or knife to
make a wise man leak,
all you need is signs for
a blood drive, to make
his heart unleash tides
unto the crimson donor sea,
he is living charity
think again, we don't
need temples, religion
or overseeing Papacy
to reach the palace
of immortal kings

En la Cidade de Deus
do we reach Nirvana
reincarnate in form of
some DHARMA shark
or a mystic chakra
to deliver us from
harfmul karma

it's not reliant on some
pious or compliant
divine philosophy
it exists in
you and me

that other realm
we tapped into
before this earth below
befouled and tainted
our sacred, pristine
innocent infant feet

we came from it,
it came before us-
so someday, we must
return the deed,
just as mature trees
create, sprout, spread and
disperse seeds
we'll ride the wind
just the same as them
when we inevitably
leave

When you no longer breathe,
does it mean you're deceased?
Or simply living without boundary
land, law, or bodily;
omnisicient floating harmony

No sacred chapels
up in sky, no gold-lined
sidewalks for you to sweep
or harp-plucking, winged
cherubic baby angels
to welcome you to
Galilee

It doesn't need to be
about idyls you don't
kneel before
or the prophet you can't see
all heaven can ever be
is the completion you seek

Is there some
courtroom
for judgment day,
a list with all those who
sinned past point of
repentance or covenance
a judge's chair with
a sandaled glowing man
but you never feel his
hand or see his face?
Is this the place?

Heaven is not the seat
where 'they' judge 'we'
or the strong imprison
the meek, throwing you
to fire and brimstone
condeming all for
long-ago atrocities-
no "lock them up in hell,
throw away the key"
It's more like a
'get out of jail free'
a ticket to resurface clean,
once submerged in a
turbulent sea, and left
their Earthly body back
awash on the beach.

Is there a place for a
civil agreement or treaty,
where good and evil are
not met with enmity
absolutely no war
or displaced animosity
erase sense of race, class,
we start from scratch
embracing differences
each dispute is machine-gun
pelted with pellets of
peace- all hate
would cease, communicate
through translations of
any language, everyone
speaks one universal code
eased by knowing here
we're all home

So says the Nicene Creed:
"We look for the resurrection
of the dead, and the life
of the world to come"
so if we dream of pitch
black stars in light, would
the conga-beat of drums
surpass the moon's fall on
the path of lunar greatness,
surely not- so don't race
the fate of the grave, we're
all assured its touch someday
just rest assured, that once
it comes- we make our own
way into this terrestrial
forever soaring safe-gate

It's where playlists of all
our favorite songs
reside on repeat
best meal we'd ever
hope to feast, is everyday eats
and our most unattainable
goal is the one we tackle
because the fear of failing
died with our pulse-
and no gravity could ever
knock us off our feet.

Where my mother will
run at full speed, her amber
hair a red torch behind her,
barreling into me with small arms
rapturing giant hugs-
the kind I've been missing
most of my life,
I lift her up, giving at least
202 sequential kisses on the cheek,
she introduces me
to her first love
although before, we did meet
in life before this-
we barely had the
chance to speak

She'll catch me up on what
she's reading, some favorite
places to eat, the best bars
clubs and all the concert halls-
"Maybe we'll see us a show
or two, later this week..."
Grab a pizza, sit together,
watch whatever's on TV- just
laugh & bullshit as she recalls
memories, bragging as she shows
me her John Lennon auto-graphed
Beatles' vinyl copy 'Let it Be'
then, finally I'll watch triumphantly
she swims with her Dolphins-
sunrise beneath; yet here,
no moment ends, unless
we want it to cease...

this is heaven to me.

Is it across the Universe
or beyond the stars we've searched
is it logical or beyond our compass
astronomical atlas
is it humanly possible
to conceive how inter-channel
spirit travel works?

Paradise is not some high-blown,
far off kingdom we can never reach,
only if we here on Earth were to have
lived life perfectly

for we all sin,
we all falter
we all bleed
we all need reason to believe

that
Heaven
is a place
that we
can all dream.



(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

Name-Brand Cola

My irises spread wide

Screams of "Encore!" & "Bravo"
Lighters held high

Into a microphone I beckon- "let's fuckin' go, are you ready, Tokyo?"

Blood vessels in eyes
Shatter, like
Bricks ripping through
A church's Last
Temptation of Christ
Stainglass windowpane

Signals in nervous system collide
From clear-cut lines

Spectrum shifting hard,
as I'm rearranging shards,
turning colors; kaleidescopes
nuclear bombs explode,
Praising the sky
With white lies like a psalm

Let me tell you, bloke-
First time I tried blow
was '99- in Iowa
after a Titus Center show

Snorted clear off a mirror,
through rolled up
pages torn from
Gideon's bible in
some groupie's
Old immobile
motor home

Spotlight ignited
a lit sea
of faces, a trite
five hours ago

Now impossibly
trying to cope
with eighteen hour
withdrawal,
weening me off slow
They use methodone

It goes like this- climb
highest peak,
take the fall
Rock bottom comes
much realer than
wrestling holds

Austin never
knew a stone cold
stunner like
losing your record deal, vocal talent,
Fans, wife and children
all in one summer

12 steps, 10 phases- fuck I just miss marquee stages

dust yourself off
and try again?
Except this white horse
kicking habit
has me feeling
quite the sadist

They say I should
Just stay until I
no longer feel shakes,
chestquakes and pupils
don't diolate
because I'm not
invincible, haven't felt
This helpless since
The first grade

Once the hunger pangs
subside- you realize
all the sick shit you did
Just for two quick-sniffs,
start inhaling daughter's
pixie stix
snatched from a
Lunchbox on her way
To kindergarten

I jerked off a man
In Tampa to
Get my hands on
Colombian Bam-Bam
Bought a gram from
Pawning my
Wedding band and
The groom's suit too

Sold my son's
Bronze baby shoes
Just so I could
Get zooted
Lifted a Disney princess
TV- it shouting obscenities
at me like we were
watching 'Blue's Clues'

Once they label you
An addict- it usually sticks,
no quick fix
for split marriages,
lost custody
of both kids

Malcolm sees me on the
playground, embarassed
He ducks down
Having a junkie papa
Not something any teen
Would brag about
Sabrina'd spit in my face
Soon as I neared the place
If I returned, 'cause I
Disgraced my own house

Mortgaged my white
picket fence, for a white
mountain's sled
to leaked nasal passages
All this from bumps
of name-brand
Soda, let's call this
'Coca-Cola, ENJOY!'

Almost Hendrix'd,
Kurt Cobained my
Way to an early grave
Now my best friend's
a syringe, biggest
concern of the day
Is where I can snatch
A sterling silver chain
So I could buy
myself an eighth

This is what happens
when you trade
Art for addiction
sacrifice real life
For vices, lost my
convictions- made
my decision
Detached commitment
Lost love, fame
Family, my mind
faith, religion
concept of time
All of this snowballed
from when
I sniffed my
first line.


(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

Family

Drop

Drop

Drops

Filter puddles
to an IV Drip sea

The EKG
pumps,
whipping backlash
a led sledgehammer
hits the lever,
ricocheting up a scale
to a Carnival bell
win us a stuffed animal

So this is what it's like
to fly above your
own body, watching
everyone gather
around your hospital
bed, faintly sobbing

Water, water everywhere
but teardrops you
don't drink
the salt will dry
your insides, and pain
would only increase

Lockeisms of religion
"Can I tell you a secret?"
You and I play a game
of Checkers,
black and white sides
& all these human
lives are our pieces.

Waiting for some
rescue crew to release me
from what feels like
prostheses- limbs which
don't swim when thrown
in the deep end

Drown,
float,
drown- don't
resist sinking now

Convulse sweetly
here beside me,
lock your wrist into mine
feel my divinely
running river as it crosses
the Rhine
valley of blood's
stream, on a life-raft
amassed from flotation
device urinal pans
which were last resort
ghetto innovation designed

Who walks the tight
pulse-line between
'to die' and tomorrow
Doctor or Desperado?
which one writes
the deceased list
who grades thesis if all
life time is borrowed?

Tremor
tremble
tremor

hold onto your strength
"come back to us all, my lovely
family wants you
here at your best..."

send 'get-well-soon' balloons
high up to a
golden moon, tell
heaven give us a rain check
we're not ready
just yet
to send amassed roses
on soil to bed
I digress, it's too soon

thump-
thadump
thump,
lungs bring fast burst
a last flee

If you love me,
don't fan the flames- they
only spread, and can
scald your skin worse
catching lightning
in a bottle, almost
never ever works
it may burn, but you
must learn to
let go

falling apart
helps you see,
the ones who are willing to
grit teeth,
lose sleep,
give up their own spleen,
claw, scratch, clasp, bleed,
and never accept
defeat to
keep you whole.



(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

How to Survive a Scorpion Bite

Are you the type
of statistic
they mark with
an asterisk?

You know, the kind
of feat accounted for
but not acknowledged
as one who actually
lived?

Are you the critic
who judges movies when
you've only truly seen
half of it...

Type of person to
yell at a kid
when learning to read
but just hasn't seemed
to grasp the syntax
of syllables yet

force-feeding brilliance
children admonished for
shortcomings when they've
not discovered
what on Earth
is and is not
worth becoming


Are you the kind
of sub-human
to incessantly update
twitter or FB

statuses so neurotically
they send followers
into panics of cosmology
whirls of useless info;
shit noone but the author
themself could care to
hear repeatedly,
a self-obsessed
a-hole anomaly?


Make decisions so
wrong, and since noone
seen it, right? You can
wipe the scene clean
erase the happening
pretend it was some guy
No, not you, psshaw- no hay.

"Have you ever danced
with the Devil by the pale
moonlight?"
if Jack Nicholson asks this,
in a Gotham museum-
Prince boombox blaring
on sight- you should clutch
a gas mask, take winged cover
shit, run for your life!

Jokers don't travel far,
claims the thief in the night
but I crawl along the desert,
quite smooth.


A scorpion's known
to strike
only when it feels threat
you hope to resume
living, when arachnid-cornered
in dunes

If you cheat, steal, lie,
you'll see deeds
recyclically fly
back in your eyes
the kharmic payback
smack-dabbed in
your fucking face
twice.


Predators with venom
sting
quick-stab of the tibia
humans can't flee
when Metasoma hits
artery- it's curtains
spelling certain doom
neurotoxins occupy your
body like a womb

Since the time of
Babylonia, we coexisted
and they know if they
could just gain your trust
tactful arachnids
spin no webs
unless you let them
into your home, as such
they can wait long enough,
claiming shelter-
though rock hard
exoskeleton,
still soft...
somewhere past the
glands,
clawed manus
and poison
tip, somewhere still
misread- no 'aim-to-maim'
or Zodiac villain
just a small, wrongly
depicted as monstrous killer
he's just a little
creature with a
lonely heart.




(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

Fusion

Can I envelop
myself
in your sweat?
Wrap Taina
thighs & legs
lovingly 'round my neck
like a Dixon
Ticonderoga's wood
to #2 pencil lead?

Can I unravel,
promise to trace hips
Downy-commercial gently,
not even
Snuggle finds skin-soft
linen to compare-
yes, alluring a trapped
snare forcibly grabbing at,
wrecklessly rapturing
firm tressels of
dark oak the grapevines
which I entangle my
fingers, called
your hair

Even Berenstein bears
would have
cornered Goldilocks
had she possessed your
magnetic, intoxicatingly
hell-risen
temptress' stare.

Can you please, take this
left hand...now place
it on your chest-
not breast, but what
beats past ribcage, that
chapel of vital
ventricles keeping me in
duress- yet not by force
these chambers
hold me, cardiac
captive by the organ
which knows
me best

Inspiring me, inside
of you
constellations align
just us two
So how do we feel about
you & I
becoming one
tonight?






(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

Chasing the American Dream

"Why do my eyes hurt?"


"You've never used them before..."

(The Matrix-1999)

It is the single
oldest
thing, not in
this universe--
but in modern
civilization

Not LOVE,
not WAR
this is God
in our capitalist centric
indentured servant
worker-based
pod-slave, complacent
Nacirema nation

We seek out the green
backs, dead faces portraying
leaders- here & past
Andy Jackson, Queen
Liz'beth, Ben Franks,
and Trujillo's
smiles gleam from
nicotine-patch needled
addictive G-stacks.

Root of all
lethal acts,
Evil hatched from
the pursuit of supposed
Happiness
yet lead you down
the lonely path
of emptiness
we crave-night, day
with a crackhead-scratch
we itch

leaving us searching for
Zion
in tight designer jeans
only praying for a
new Beam-W,
or 52-inch flat-plasma
TV screen
these etherial, superficial
things, invaluable-
materialism is the
crying creed for which
why we die, to raise
the dead sea.

Pursuant of the
virtual, nothing
of real certitude
like family, legacy
any greater dream-
MLK rings through
am I tripping, or does
this sound absurd to you too?

Aim for the 'finer things'
yet none worth having
in actuality
there's no comforting
thoughts, which can be
bought
when the brain
atrophies


Once
more
down
the
rabbit hole
we keep chasing
gnosis
or illusion
the differentiating
decision is
yours for
the choosing

is it escapism
or harm, some alarming
example for youths
in programs which we view, do
you control- advertisements,
computers, palm-held devices
or do remotes control
you?

(Whoa, Déjà Vu)

Red Pill:

Swallow reality
skin-trembling injection,
booster shot of absolute
truth
which we resist facing
at all costs, yet no
ascribed medication
can replace holes in
a soul gaping

Blue Pill:

Amist a cloudy, falsified
paradise
we remain mirage-induced
by own fantasy
mescaline high of
denial, alive in
a hologram, we hang
blind- from a
dissolving noose,
hollow caracass
in Gucci shoes

we are all afraid of
what don't come easy--
a life lived in lie isn't
worth living in the least,
see, when numb- cerebrum
loses feeling, unless
your mind don't mind
finding ladders to climb
toward Sistine
ceilings, collapsing insight
before Michael-
angelo paints himself
a single angel's jawline.

Simulated plush, luscious,
rich, brush-stroke
Skies
absent of clouds,
no rain in drought
can shelter birds,
heaven, sun or air,
with demon-stars above
an unnatural disaster,
no miraculous beauty
could ever survive

Build not your temple
of sand, but mud-
a red permanent clay
concrete which won't leak
from money-lust existant
on Earth to speak
leaves none spinning;
auburn autumnal leaves
or grows impure pits
into peach trees

invest in knowledge, love,
encourage success-
which can't be
stressed or measured
in funds
and someday you
may detach tubes,
and become the One
to unplug.

Perhaps it's all come
just a glitch too late
the body dies when inside
without mind to dictate
and it's hard to digest
a harsh truth, when fed
too soon, going against all
we ever knew-
All one can do is
show you the door,
it's up to you
to walk through.







"Ignorance is not bliss; it is consented idiocy"



-myself





(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

Black Cloud

Standing on the edge of
the Deepwater Horizon, mind
drilled with porous thoughts
while black clouds swirl,
from the depths and keep rising

They said it would riposte,
come back cataclysmically reeling
into the seasons
or perhaps this saltwater
comes foaming at the
tidelines like dogs with rabie-drip
bites, and mouths seething

The Great Plague returns...
in the Gulf of Despair
maybe we only care
when seeing little ducks
black slicked-back hair,
paralyzed by petroleum
wrapped in this oil still
when Mumble gets killed-
that's when we truly feel
Happy Feet don't tap,
no words explain
When ink spills to the page,
I am abstained by splotches
and stains, but nothing wipes
these suffering eyes
from tiny feathers which can't fly
leaving oil-clot tumors
in my brain.

Mismanagement by the Dept.
of Minerals Management Services, an
MMS protection swept under the rug,
seems as if worthless when they can't
admit they hemorrhaged the ocean
floor's surface, not even on purpose
A fail-safe mechanism failing,
can you claim fault for
all the death which you've brung?
Blowout results in thousands
lives lost, yet BP fuel
can't think of anything but
"What's the cost?"

The true color of this substance
not black; but green
a currency paid for with shores
which were once clean, sprung
for profit- actually the colors may
be red, white and blue

Addiction to oil, we consume, consume
consume, consume, consume, consume
these fumes leak, seep through pipes
which we then spew, out into the nature
we once raped to stake a claim
to a 'Land of promise' yet we knew
snapped the treaty between ourselves
and the mother Earth,
for any worth- with an inverse
geyser, gusher, cyclone
of poison; a cancer hurricane
convulsing out of control
so tell me- executives, oil tyrants,
blood pumping gas butchers
what is the going
rate for
your soul?

(c)Paul LaTorre 2010

Elegy for a Fat Kid

To all the extra Value meals
at McD(Which they imply you
to SUPER size)
for large fries,
Kraft M&C from the box,
cans of Cheez Wiz which I'd rock
for the Cooler
Ranch Doritos.
Thank you very much,
but no thanks-
because now I love myself
not just the gluttonous thought
of having you.

All the objects of pre-teen
unbridled hormonal lust
a desire none should
trust, simply 'cause skanks
only cared for the shitfaced
skinny scumbags.
Never paid attention to the
slightly awkward archer of words,
the casanova-hearted
future college grad, who'd do
anything to please her-
said objects always
slept with the dropouts; sloppily
drunk, abusive, no future
borderline date rapish, surefire
soon-to-be deadbeat dads.

Sure, they'd expect a "FUCK YOU!1!" >_<
but quite the opposite,
they contributed to my character,
a desire to never settle for average,
discard any females
who never truly loved,
or realize what they could have if just-
respect(for self) was present
in any of 'she', which should be key...
may never get it from me,
but still sincerely grateful
for invaluable love lessons
yes, repugnant skanks,
I thank you.

To all the fiery, unattainable
sexy sirens streaming
down my high school
gym line, but never gave me
the time of mind or day,
while walking 'cross the street
to say "Hey, remember when
we-- like- held hands, like
in fifth grade?"
Cause I got chunky,
meant I no longer exist.
Maybe I owe a penance to
all them chicks, too.

For times ripped on,
picked on, left out or made
to feel like some freak who
shouldn't leave the house, in any setting he
stands out
It's true- because I do,
amazingly unique and
distinct in my own askew view.

But never a mutant, instead
today I know what I was put on
this Earth to do.
Meanwhile in your stagnant filth,
sit and stew...never grow,
never learn or evolve.
Sucks for you, but still
former bullies, fake friends-
here I stand, and I
will bow to them too.

For all the comics I've read,
trading cards I'd collect,
novels I bled for, song lyrics by heart,
lines from films I watched to no end;
play-pause, rewind, laugh, restart
each day on repeat.
The video game reflexes
from mastering execution of King Koopa
on Super Mario World 2,
action figures I'd cling to, conjuring
universes of retreat, in the
recesses of escapism I found
my own distinct narrative truth.
For every 'HADOUKEN!', 'Fatality'
or 'Show me a move!' learning
how to 'Finish Him' comes through
a Killer Instinct in all he'd pursue.
Although withholding physical exertion-
mentally, they bred sermons
of what life's determined worth is
and FUCK-- look, now
comic books are what's cool!

For those who loved me regardless,
the mother, sister, my family from
each altar who never cared if I was shy
they saw a side, which I hid from plain
sight, at least any in possibly vengeful view.
For the times when I felt like it's not worth it
to step out the crib,
hit the beach shirtless
because you get mocked when you
don't fit into the boxes
which society has so neatly
drawn up for you.

Once upon a time, lived this shelled
chubby,
introverted & quiet,
imaginative,
lonesome
but oh-so-brilliant and vibrant boy-
He died
yet we can't cry a log flume,
for we knew he was destined to fly
as legend, through stinging
depressions, we learn,
picking up pens for each bruise
as he grew(and he did bloom).

Don't lament for a departed,
shelled & guarded young artist
he'd want you to remember-
life's about what we feel,
not view.
You can taste true beauty,
only when you are actually
happy with 'you'

The fat kid inside- he'll never die,
long as there's a piece of me-
survives
his mouth motors, sensitive
heart beats, eyes open
and he sees,wholly breathes
& will always be
somewhere
asleep
within me.






(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

SB1070

"The Grand Canyon State Welcomes You"
...hmm- really, does it now?
Unless- I'm Guatemalan,
from Mexico, Ecuador
El Salvador, my accent's thick
or my skin is brown...


don't you know it's illegal,
to breathe while Latino?


As Montezuma once ruled,
we tricked him- we'll trick you
give you a blanket, filled
with the smallest of pox
Apache, Mohave and Cochise lost
so now you must pay penance
the foolish trust of natives
yet we, the invaders witchhunt
the same plains which were your
own home first


FOX News- tells you everything other
than fact, extract
what's said by their mocking laugh
and what you're left with is an artifact
Confederate lies, 'don't tread on me'
It's time we dump this
putrid tea
in some harbor, just as fore-fathers
back in Boston


Fuck their rhetoric, rehearsed cadence
performance from Sarah Palin
"I think the media's making this more
than it needs to be..."
but split-tongued, slithering
serpent-tailed slut,
aren't we due our civil liberty


don't you know it's illegal,
to breathe while Latino?


Another Dachau or Warsaw
can we call Jan Brewer
some new-form of an Eva Braun
is a fuhrer or
Adolf not much further along...
with no rights, Mein Kampf
gone wrong
"Do you have your papers?"
sounds familiar, huh?


The welcoming, gorgeous green-gold
Sandal-toed woman once did plea:
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me"
yet this now copper-corroded,
segregating statue, a false decree-
slamming shut a once open-door policy


don't you know it's illegal,
to breathe while Latino?


The story of Cara-Ciela:
'I took Lupo to a park,
that plastique one- just out front
this cowboy-hatted man
he came out,
chased me and barked-
"Hey wetback fence jumper, you better
have papers for your little bean tart..."
Does he even know, I was
born here- and watched this baby
of mine grow, a 'pepe' to him,
yet could his ego even fathom
or face that this land's ingrained in my veins?


'Seek four letters spelling justice-
'V-E-T-O'
Because even in duned heat
a tantra can be planted
in an arid Sahara, just ask Ms. Cara
we can't accept
a shattered system which
won't let our seeds grow


don't you know it's illegal,
to breathe while Latino?


Aliens not welcome
in the Desert Democracy
Welcome to Arizona,

sorry- No Vacancy.

(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

Parking Lot Romance

Perfect Thursday summer night
Shared by she, I, and the sky
exposing our weak ends
without the ruse of subterfuge
diffuse masks, second dates make
minor time for guile or disguise

“There’s something in your eyes…is everything alright?
You look up to the sky, you long for something more…
…darling…”

A cirrus-cloud car island- engine on idle
paths which began a July
gone truthicidal
swap flowing facts
concurrent rivers, with currents
running deep as the Nile.

She, a Cleopatra- may that make me Caesar?
He, merely a passing lover
Will my pure passion sieze, then breed her
a Caesarion Son- or fashion me blood,
like that of Ptolemy the XIV- once husband
but born her younger brother

Octavian or Ptolemy XIII- two sworn enemies
Exiled her upon sight…no, she’s a true
Bastetian entity…a feline of divine right
Up there with Isis, Horus, Ra- all Gods
Alike; perhaps I’m the exception,
Meant to be her one Mark Antony?

Words springboarding off
the tip of two tongues- safely
divulged by my lungs
where I’ve nestled nectar
to pollenate and make their way
to her deserving eardrums.

Those lobes, house jewels
like clear chandeliers
hanging off the most ornately
designed elemental earrings
oak carved bracelets
which soak nature up like flames

“Give me your right hand, I think I understand…
Follow me and you will never have to wish again…”

I scoot close, passenger seat rush
Shotgun-crush never spelled lust like this
as shells dissolve into the sky-lite
atmosphere, canvas-brushed
Fireworks erupt, illustrating glowing fluorescence
No one’s fallen in ‘like’, like us

suffering, in the subtle sense
may be some couple’s source
of sustenance, we find strength
in stories told of smashed hope
misplaced affection, all our lives
beaten hearts by their lies

Sticks and stones may splinter bones
yet word-wounds never heal completely
so she & I compare our marks
her scar tissue completes me.

Completely deconstructed,
but trust- I find immaculate
beauty in the break-down
treated always as toy,
I assured her
heart would never be
my playground
long as she stays around

REAL- yes, I meant it
a passion surreal, and soft
to the touch as velvet
these collagen petals which
simple minds would define
as two-lips

“Tell me how you feel, and if I'm getting near
I'll tell you where to steer; You tell me where to steer…
Darling…”

We left Barnes, of the Noble
with Tazo teas, teasing our tastebuds
Internal hymns sing in my head-
I hope my fragrance to be the
only one she ever seeks

So this buzzing bee
says to me- "I had a really greattime tonight..."
yet I form no reply,
can't speak when my mind’s
adrift in the tides of her eyes

The creases of her smile,
her knees which never kneel
yet my attention, venus fly-trapped
by a pair of lips
I only imagine must feel,
like winds
abrush Phoenix-fire wings

“I will leave you satisfied, forever past time…
You don't have to hide- you're free to fly…”

like the first slumber
that follows sunburn
search for the cooling calm
which only your sheets offer
palm trees to bear shade
to our aloe-draped dreams

On one leg, we hop about
thumping to pounce out
all our aqueous fears,
stuck in our head
like swimmer's ear

we emerge from the deep end
and leak our sins to a pool

Flashes forward- I see a long, winding
road where we provide our kids with
a future their own,
views unskewed by
limits or roles,
religious or critically capped
in this altruistic,
artisan castle of ours
kaleidoscope of colors
and craft

“You don't have to look up at the stars no-no-no-no
I know by the end of tonight we're looking down upon them from heaven…”

With hesitation evaporating
no time for internal debate
song playing-
"There's something in your eyes..."

closing mine, deep breath taken-
tiptoe the edge, with puckered
lips, hands nervously shaking
moment's mine to embrace
prepared to dive
into one final
first kiss.




(c)Paul LaTorre 2010

Friendship Hashshashin

"How the FUCK

can you NOT love Jazz, Julio?"

said while pulling a drag

in walked this sucia rubia beauty

though the type never

letting sentence frac-

to interrupt in midst of statement

makes me forget what

was worth framing[argument]

'stead now arranging,

in lamens terms

she had this fragrant

scent- I believe vanilla

and oh, jasmine

hints of probably lavender.

A Colorado claro,

Parejo Montecristo passed

between us both, ash befalling

the tip leaves smoke

she sips Amaretto,

rivets dagger-stares

through our throats.

"DIBS" utters him

"Fuck..."

under my tongue

Code says 'back off',

yet I insist.

"Play you a hand for her...

Spades, 5-stud or blackwater?"

He chooses my least palpable: Whist

(It's just a simple form of Bridge)

somehow I luck out,

although I win-

she falcons

fixed stares

in the direction of him.

She was the perfect

murderer

left ill-fitting glove at the

blood scene

I'm preparing verdict

as she resurfaces

conducting words,

she approaches us-

flesh tower of Babel

the tip of Bermudan Triangle

preparing to stifle

she intersects this path

of tobacco hash which hangs

between myself

and Julio.

Surrendering claim

I dispell chatell slavery

not to disrupt harmony

I'd let him lay her,

he never got much

back in the day, you see-

high school was the land

milk and honey for some

I enough- but him

never one trip

to the muff.

So here, in this paisley

black/grey tie.

I stand, restless circulation of thoughts

there he lies

rosary in hand...

Little did we know, Rubia carried

a Three-Letter secret

much deeper

than either J or I could see.

He unpeeled protection, she

wreckless ingestion

and noone saw

the HIV hatchet

until it meticulously hacked

him to scraps,

he took the sundering stab

and to think-

'PHEW'

because that

could have been

Me.

(c)Paul LaTorre 2010

Wonder Woman

"Don't you ever hit our children!"

is what she
commanded him-
the final straw
that paralyzed
the camel
once he struck us,
this brash act
was too much for Keim.



Tears cascade
off each cheek
to melt our floor
like wax
which cries
from the candle.



She reached a breaking point
arguments never seethed to this peak
before she, met matrimony
then birthed and nurtured his seeds
He showed no signposts
of violence or instability.



Wrapping me in her arms
My sister, clasping her leg
started 4-door Ford contour
"We're getting faraway from Daddy..."
that's all she said.


Latching my brother's hand
he was 8 years my senior
still neither he nor
my 4-year old little big sis
could comprehend why
we were leaving.



Suppose black-blue backs
busted lips, scraped
kneecaps could justify
an escape hatch- but just as
she asked "Please, let go of Paul’s cape
honey, he didn't mean that"




Because he would raise
hand if ever we disobeyed
or dream to back-speak
though I was too young
two was an age he said
"You better learn to respect me"


Reprimanding, he saw
these acts as love-
“Oh, it won’t hurt to spank
It toughens up…”
but real men know to be firm
without doing damage.



Our auburn-haired protector,
secretly snatched keepsakes
in this Christian Prison
from which, silently, we’d break
waiting for the day when
he'd leave, we could sneak away


Four-foot 9 guardian
uprooting 3 hearts from the Garden
state Parkway North
to this safe haven
named 'Newark'
where we could sprout
no miracle grow now, 'least
nobody here to harm them.



"I'll slit your throat, you ever
think of leaving home" something
he'd haplessly joke
Now she'd elope with the kids
and hope he'd never
lash out as proposed.


She shoulders the load
raising three on her own
help from Aunt Jo- lots of
love and assists from
Grandma Anna, yet in my
eyes it was tough task,
to learn to be a man as only
women surround you.


See, I idolized heroes
Superman, Batman, Flash-
anything but reality
to make up for a father I lacked
This rationality
gave me something to mold myself
after, some figure
I could craft as my guardian-
flying in, to save the day
keeping me safe.




Mom bites the bullet,
extracting the wounds
for her brood, not too soon
I see she up and left before
we could ever become
irreparably bruised

A family tree, I never knew
as one piece...
Split down its core,
was always natural to me
A fissure since my memory
formed- the day I hit three
the very same age we’d up,
divorce, and suddenly flee.


She'd teach me to be a man,
by example- you never stand
for abusive or baneful ways
rather castrate myself
than bash my woman’s brains…
Told my sister to know her ownworth
never let a man control her,
own her or hostage-hold her


To my entire life, I owe her

though my children will never know her
my first wedding song- can’t dance or hold her
yet still, I feel her own words-
“Remain faithful, be true.
Treat your wife how you want
her to treat you…and remember
don’t let your demons control you”




Mom, I’ll never stray
from a path you paved
'cause although I rarely pray
in your own way
due to what you stood for,
you always were
and remain this day
my sole true superhero-
flying on high



You, my guardian,
Angel.













(c)Paul LaTorre 2010

Character

Through your eyes

channeling

rapids I've never

paddled through

At times I feel like Buffalo Bill

the way I scavenger

stitch together suits of skin

and inhabit you

Bastard you

de-virginize

blacken orbital bone

& bleed out the truth

Cracking shells

aplenty

souffles rise

flat ones so depressing

Identity of sole

entity

they breathe empathy

from a canvas once empty

To breed deep they

drown

like Woolf or Natalie Wood

with coats heavy

Keep grounded,

surround with

challenges

antagonistic balances

Develop

decompose

evoke ethos

speak if spoken to(never silence them)

evolve

kill off

reincarnate

just to bring dystopia

flaw them

dissolve them

fill arc chock full

of problems they can't solve then

worship

don't deify

or idealize

we're all flawed

gay them

rearrange

structure

to be a maze then

make them the cancer

patients

make them villain

don't abstain

maybe insane them

make them the carriers

sly speaking words from the lips

of animals

caught in webs

not meant to escape

Attica

Never can

they die

immortalized

on the page and tongue

Complex

minor, heroic

foil or main

Narrator

doesn't matter

so long as they're

dynamic

fiction becomes real

when you build

Character.

(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

Ubi Sunt Qui(Where Are Those)?

Where have all the Delilahs gone?
The June Carter to Johnny Cash,
black sun pastured
strumming that half past twelve
knocked back Dewar's shot
glasses
Which tell the real story behind
why we can't bury our dead.

Where have the male Shakespeares gone?
The ones who inked tears for calligraphy
filling wombs with chivalry
fountains shouting directions
but coddling the heads of
infants- premature gestation
mother's breast sucked 'til Cicero's sure
he can churn cream of his own.

How have all the Plaths
gotten stoned brilliantly off
the toxicity of these fumes
we call empirical truth?
Gathering anarchy from laboratories
she followed her raincloud
to electroconvulsive dreams
where lotus plants flood landfills.

Where is every Dizzy Gillespie
Marvin Gaye or Chuck Berry
Father finds notes, to dishonorably
discharge every ebony key
into ivory44 and 3-6-4,
we implore you to nurture
gunshots erase
same thing gave birth to
the only sane thing to do-
hum a tune...


How Sweet it is(to be Loved by You).

(c)Paul LaTorre 2010

Come Hither

A useful tip for you, fingertips:
always pierce gloves
You may never feel warmth,
if you’ve never brushed love

Rubbing up
against the soft
slippery apricot pits,
taste the juice
keeps
ripening,
rhining
over summer-soft fruit.

Dripping from the very
core of every tree,
never a lonely key
you ctrl, alt- delete…
you lather, rinse repeat
you knead
I need you
to sign a language unseen.

You- greatest conquest,
conjure up combinations
pointing to assign
blame for violation.

The very first- you,
Pioneer to feel the lips,
trace the warm iris
moistened island
moaning siren
too hard, climbing past
dry climates.

Flesh-wrought precision
Cross the border of Cali-
fornia cation
No cadence, I trace
the nape which sings
to depths never so tame,
yet taste same as when I
Came in.

Travel to heights
of climax, with steel
wrists tightening grip...
dizzying fragrance
nosebleed from anticipated
Vertigo
we glide,
no trip.

Listen, don’t give me
quips and qualms
not palms, nor knuckles
never knees
so weak
they buck in the tremble
these tips,
calm and supple.

You scraped plates
of the tastiest,
Most decadent dish
Always assured to
pull alarm at the sign
of smoke,
to build delicious
semi-sweet molten convictions.

Index slips,
curls so softly
alluring,
reeling me in
demands I come, she asks
tour guideof divine atlas.

Tells me spots
to find
sensations to hit;
Why yes, finger tips,
I will do as you wish.













(c) Paul LaTorre 2010

Syndication

I sit, calm…

Entrenched in leather love-seat

Remotely controlling

Episodic remnants

Of seasons past, rerunning

Clips rolling:

Dual sides, youth split;

mirrored glass beaming

Yellow, Red, Blue light particles

Bounce off screen and-

Unsure origin, visceral screaming…

Slapped ass, cut cord, emerge from the ER

Boy Meets World, fresh eyes

Never see far- but blank bracelets

Speak volumes of burden.

Three’s a Crowd- not Company,

Accidentally on Purpose.

Family Ties cut precise-

Deliberate slice,

by hand of a surgeon.

No Silver Spoon in mouth,

Dumped by Foster in Full House-

A Different World; half-hell

Never led to 7th Heaven.

Realizing there’s no rope from DYFS

Won’t be Saved by the Bell- I guess,

Grounded for Life,

I'll plot escape through

the deep ditch which I'd dig

as a grave.

Weeellll, this is no story, all about how my

Suite Life got flip, turned upside down…

And I’d like to take a minute just sit right there

I’ll tell you how to find purpose,

In these eyes you hold dear.

Locking eyes in Studio 9,

Saturday Night Live, she swallowed me.

Rocked my Third Rock from the Sun

With no apology, Sex in the City

Adrift in her Stargate…

Constellations of flesh, galaxies swept

Spin City 8 days straight.

Gilligan’s Island of delight

To ride comets, emit light,

Meteorites which ignite Days of Our Lives.

Our Odd Couple collides,

Each Honeymooner may find

Real World’s lies, but in

Paradise we inked wet Love Connection.

Knees met in a seascape…Finding Jeannie-

no mistake, but was it fate?

Better to smile, then fret over question.

Hung over from this ingestion,

Drunk from a Shot at Love

Now Jeopardy’s caught up with us,

No Nip/Tuck

to nip it in the bud.

Simply put, we’re just two kids-

FUCKED.

Another unplanned life

Jeannie later than ever,

no aborting

Ditched town, hitchhike solo

Two flat Wheels of Fortune.

True Blood coagulates without Big Love

yet we remained very distant,

estranged Perfect Strangers(for what it was)

Swore I was sentenced to existence

Just the same I came in-

A Lone Ranger.

Suddenly awake in Sunnydale-

24 hour coma, still sleeping

Try to erase the mental tape,

Yet today I Dream of Jeannie.

In this vision she sits bare naked on a glacier.

In own blood dripping, undead screams-

Pumps her last breath right through Lu’s streams

A final push brings pilot for our Golden Girl.

Family Matters, now that I have one

Growing Pains, always have them-

But Wonder Years will be met

With Will & Grace, and aim for Happy Days.

Though not Married, With Children…

I love Lucy- even on newborn nights,

Young and Restless

We share these Good Times, you and I.

You teach me Facts of Life,

Through you I became a Family Guy.

True Life paved through one fabled mistake.

I feel blessed as Step by Step,

My seed Blossoms, taking shape.

Shades of Jeannie’s eyes,

And Lucy, only within you

I see my true Home Improvement.

(c)Paul LaTorre 2010