Love is intensest

Swung from a tree

Baroque branches

Knotted darkly

Know no language

Other than hospitality

…each of us

Strung so….

Precariously by the

Vagrant ankles

Over the flames that lick,

And lap from

The Magician’s over-turned

Cap 

That lies below our flailing bodies…

 At the Time we knew not,

And we are not fully educated

On the Prism’s scope as yet…

…Do we know the dope,

Or are we artless in our sequential 

Descent?...

 As the clock stands still we may repent

Or sally forth, and I chose the latter…

…Climb along the un-marked hillside  

Where the Moon darest not to fall!

 We are all of us so marred by the clutter

Of our lives

When we live and choose to wander outside,

And then catch a glance at reflections in

The spreading pools

That form without our wonderings.

Kindling that we are...

fodder for the occasional 

upshot star 

that sparkles out

from this consumptive fire

...we fall short of the well

in which we'd better see

whatever Self might be left

...As a root or grafting ball

riding out the 

pendulum 

of fate in a

constant gamble

with death.

© 01.01.2020

Bunny & Mavia Villaire

Take a bow...

Taking the light out with a look

when you go to take your leave...

...Stealing a parking spot in order for

a pinch of sweet(Satanic) relief...

The streets are a mess with un-

addressed

confessions...

I took my time with her...

I took a bit too much of all my time...

...and when the time runs out like a traffic light,

out of the sparkling spout that now looks cracked,

can we look back,

or must we always proceed with such arched shoulders?...

Take a bow,

but take your precious time!...

...why do you take so much with every heavy, ragged

breath??????...

This swift, and arranged death seems severely staged,

and perhaps with many multiples of crumpled trashy endings...

I can see it in the globe,

but I still don't want to know,

so I twist the answer 'til I get a better one...

...the fuck I thinking?...like the world won't level out?...

I drop my dice and pick it up again...

...my fate is turning green and gold,

as all the corners of the box I came in

stand on edge and spike this vexing night.

©

6/27/19

Bunny Villaire

They say connection is a drug

a buzz that binds the soul anew.

The oxytocin fills his brain

and fuses his heart onto you.

But then connection starts to fail

and desperation makes him fear.

You hide your tears behind the veil

because he always wants you near.

Attachment has become a cell

you’re locked away without a key.

To outside viewers all is well

you’re drowning in your misery.

What once were harsh words now are blows.

You hide your pain behind a wall.

The worst thing is that no one knows

how much you ache, how far you’ll fall.

While he’s afraid he’ll lose his clout,

you are fearing for your life,

but he will never let you out.

You are his victim and his wife.

#fear #attachment #separation #divorce #domesticviolence #connection #violence #lonliness #metoo #addiction #spousalabuse

To: Mavia

The offbeat alchemy

that comes so gracefully

when we are living who

we are,

going out to do our

dailies,

and then returning

back to arms of love

to roll and play under-

neath the dying lights of day...

...It really takes me by surprise

how right, and yet

so filling...

how on the nose, yet

truly thrilling...

how promising, yet

sphinxlike are your eyes

when they peek through...

...or when I’m glancing down,

and like the velvet sound

of white dove feathers

falling,

both of your mellowed lids

will be

so softly shut,

though still I see there’s

magic working

behind those subtle curtains

of which I could but only dream,

and am so beholden by your

presence, and the happy beat

our hearts dare to make when we

mix our skins like paint...

...my love, you paint me

into being, and

I paint you

as breath comes quick,

and lips dive down to kiss

the elegance

of the landing of your neck

which turns and twists

to let these soaring birds

drop down and sun themselves

in splendor

upon your holy ground.

©

5/12/19

Bunny Villaire

I'm self-destructive,

With nasty habits,

And a heart of purest gold.

I will give and give,

With all I have,

Too much, is what I'm told.

I love myself,

No more than the next,

I love myself,

No more, no less.

Balance is hard to keep,

But I give and I give,

Til I'm weak.

Put out,

Burnt out,

Til the ashes,

Burn out again.

But I love myself,

So I withhold from the next,

And I give all I can to myself.

Balance is hard to keep,

So I give and give,

And again,

I am complete.

My daughters are suspicious when I tell them that I can see the future.

The truth is, I can fairly accurately predict when one of them is going to spill their glass of milk at the dinner table. Unfortunately, with this great power comes a significant burden. I get yelled at every time I move the glass away from the edge of the table. Such is the life of a superhero dad.

Bonus superpower: watch how fast I can fetch the paper towel roll! A drop rarely touches the floor.

The villain always wears a suit. You ever notice that? Every villain you ever meet looks damn good. It’s a representation of power, I suppose; of prestige. An Armani suit sends a message, and the message is: I know what I want, and I know how to get it.

And yet, we always root for the other one. The scraggly underdog who shows up in a hoodie and an old pair of sneakers and not a single business course under her belt. Just snarky comebacks and maybe a convenient superpower granted to her by the cosmos. And seriously? What the hell is that?

I wasn’t born with super-speed or invisibility or laser-eyes. I didn’t stumble into an abandoned science lab in Ohio and contract some virus that turned out to be the gift of levitation. Or however the hell it happens these days.

No.

I built myself from the ground up. I worked my ass off all through tech school, learned to build whatever I didn’t have. I earned people’s respect through nothing more and nothing less than my work ethic, my unflinching ability to look at a problem and solve it. And yes, sometimes solving it means making sacrifices. Sometimes people get in the way, and you do what you have to.

So here I am, suddenly the villain in the Armani suit (though I prefer Burberry), doing what’s necessary and getting condemned for it. And now here comes the doppelganger of Little Red Freakin’ Riding Hood, rolling up twenty minutes late, on foot, in her dumb, red hoodie with a damn hole in her sneaker. It’s insulting, is what it is.

And even now, I can tell you’re rooting for her. You haven’t even said anything, but I can tell. Granted, it might be the tape over your mouth, but still. It’s in your eyes. You want her to win. But the thing is, even if she beats me, she won’t solve anything. I’m the problem solver, and the problem is one that can only be fixed by someone who has my resolve, someone who is willing to make the hard choices.

You think Little Red over there could wipe out half of Cincinnati just to protect the few, non-infected people who are left in the world? No. But Cincinnati is ground zero. That’s how we stop this infestation. I know you don’t see it that way. You call them heroes, genetic miracles. I don’t know why you think this isn’t a disease. Just because the symptoms happen to be super-strength and mind-reading doesn’t mean it isn’t an infection that needs to be snuffed out before it spreads. Humanity is in danger, and I seem to be the only one who understands the gravity of the situation and...holy shit, did Red bring friends? Okay, now I’m insulted.

I specifically told her to come alone. You heard that, right? I said “Come alone, or your brother dies.” I was very specific. Very clear. Guess she doesn’t value your life much, huh buddy?

Look, I’m not happy about having to kill you, believe me. Despite your feelings to the contrary, I am not the bad guy here. I’m only trying to do what’s….

Wait.

Did you hear that?

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

No, this cannot be happening!

I planned for this! I planned for all of this! You can’t…

Goddamnit.

I shouted your name

In a fireworks display

I could hear my own heart beat

Dragging my leg

More useless weight

But no one cared to see

You were looking up

For rockets and love

I could tell that you were free

It’s days like this

Oh in these times

That no one cares to be

If we found love

If we called it a life

I’m not sure what’s still clear

I can’t do another night

Dinning under Roman candle light

With a centerpiece

Of freshly cut tears

Secrets

I know who killed JFK, and I know who really shot Martin Luther King Jr.

I know, because I was one of those assigned to kill both men.

Jack Kennedy took almost a year’s worth of planning after the Bay of Pigs fiasco. We failed to get Castro, and in the process, it made us look bad to the rest of the world. Nobody got anything right that day, and we were lucky to get out of that mess without more lives lost. Bottom line: Kennedy authorized the hit. Covert operation. Failure. Bottom line: Kennedy’s fault. He had to die for this.

The only thing that stopped Kennedy from being killed sooner was the Cuban Missile Crisis. I’m here to tell you, anyone still alive from those three heavy days, might remember just how close we all came to a nuclear war. Truth is; because the way Kennedy handled that situation along with his brother, Bobby, I almost backed out of the eventual assassination in Dallas.

Let me tell you about King, first. His setup was planned about three months before he arrived at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis.

Every move he made along with his entourage of thugs was monitored heavily. The patsy who would be arrested for King’s murder didn’t have a clue how his life would be turned upside down.

But that’s what we do. We turn lives inside out because we have carte blanche power. Be it the CIA or FBI; when we go in and decide to alter someone’s life, it will, and I mean it will never be the same again.

King was a snap. Evening hours, easy target from several hundred feet away and Pow! All gone. And what do we do? Within a few hours, we have the murder suspect under arrest with the murder weapon.

Of course, right up to the time he died in a medical prison facility, he always exclaimed his innocence, and wouldn’t you know it; King’s oldest son and even Coretta Scott King believed him, but the real shooter was never found. He’s dead now, but like I said, I know who he was.

If you have ever studied the Kennedy assassination, you know the player’s in Dallas. JFK, his wife, Jackie, Lee Harvey Oswald, Officer J.D. Tippet, and Jack Ruby, plus a supporting cast of Secret Service personal, Dallas Police, and Vice-President Lyndon B. Johnson, better known as LBJ (oddly enough, his wife was also known by the same initials: Lady Byrd Johnson, and even his dogs).

Everyone said Oswald shot Kennedy. Everyone is dead wrong on this. The real Lee Harvey did leave the Repository, but he went to a movie theater. The Oswald that Tippet blundered into was a look-a-like who shot and killed Tippet on sight, making it even more apparent the real Oswald killed a cop, too. The fake Oswald was a former Marine and Expert Marksman with both handguns and rifles. The real Oswald was lucky if he could add two and two.

Interestingly enough, it took less than an hour for the police to locate and arrest the real Lee Harvey Oswald based on a tip, supposedly from the ticket agent at the theater and theater manager. Convenient, right?

Can we say set up? The fake Oswald got away and fled the country, although two weeks later, he was killed. Two bullets to the back of his head in Brazil. The body was incinerated.

The real Oswald was taken into custody and two days later, he was shot on national television, live, as Oswald was to be transported to another jail, and a man jumped in front of Oswald and shot him in the stomach. Jack Ruby, was arrested, and later died in jail awaiting trial. Anyone listening to the pattern I’m describing, here?

But all that had happened two days prior to Oswald’s death. The bullets that hit Kennedy, and just missing his wife; she was supposed to have died as well.

The so-called mystery bullet? Not so much a mystery at all. It was part of a well-oiled plan. Make people believe there had always been more than one shooter from another direction. Actually, there were three shooters. Well, four truthfully. One person shot from the Depository Building, three others from the grassy knoll.

Next time you watch the Zapruder film, watch Kennedy’s head closely. He rocks forward from one shot, then backward from another. Connolly got shot as well, but not from the Repository.

I shot him. Had to make it look good. All part of the plan you know.

One shot from the grassy knoll rocked Kennedy back and he slumped to his side. The first one that struck Kennedy came from the Repository. Either way you look at it, he was a dead man. Damn near blew his head off.

Anyone old enough to remember the confusion when Kennedy was rushed to the hospital in hopes of saving his life, know it didn’t happen. It was later learned that his entire brain came up missing. Want to know why? Federal agents came in, demanded his brain be removed to be later analyzed by experts in federal forensics. It was many, years gone by, before those of us still alive knew that the bullet lodged in the brain would be removed and destroyed. Hence, no evidence to tie anyone to.

All the bases were covered. Including many witnesses. Many tragic accidents happened.

So sad. Too bad.

The big news came when on Air Force One, at DWF Airport; Jackie Kennedy witnessed LBJ sworn in as president. One thing many people didn’t notice then, but I did; LBJ had a flag pin on his lapel that was upside down at the time. My sources told me he had it that way since about nine on that Friday morning, November 22, 1963. Of course, it wasn’t big news that Kennedy and LBJ disliked each other. Kennedy’s death put LBJ where he wanted to be, in the driver’s seat.

So many players in a mystery that’s gone unsolved (unofficially) fifty plus years. Even one former president, Gerald Ford played a role as a young an upcoming Congressman, who was one of several people who sat on what later became a report, and later a book titled, The Warren Commission Report. Hundreds of pages written that in the end, resolved that Lee Harvey Oswald alone, did in fact assassinate the president.

In 1972, I believe Richard Nixon, then President, resigned and his then-acting Vice-president, Gerald Ford stepped in (Ford became the first Vice-president, appointed, not elected to the office by the people. The former Vice-president, Spiro Agnew, resigned as well, after it was revealed he had taken a $10,000 bribe). Oh, the webs we weave and how the pieces fall into place.

For all of you history buffs, Agnew was under federal investigation for extortion, tax fraud, bribery, and conspiracy. He was allowed to plead no contest to one charge that he failed to report earnings of close to thirty grand in 1967. As another condition, he had to resign from office. But it wasn’t over yet. Ten years after he had left office, Agnew had repaid the State of Maryland back, based on a civil suit filed against him, stemming on bribery allegations. He only appeared once in public which was at the funeral of Richard Nixon. .

To top all this off; Nixon, Agnew and Ford are all dead. Are we seeing that pattern yet?

Truth told, I do believe I’m the last one left alive from this sordid mess we call history. Why we kept it a secret all these years is beyond me, but I was doing my job as an American, or so I believed. Now, as an American, it is time the world knows the truth.

I’m almost eighty, and some people would say my memory isn’t what it used to be. Maybe they are right, I don’t know.

But, it’s time to name names and the first one is ….

The sound of a door broken off its hinges could be heard on the tape recording.

“What? Who are … wait! I know good and well who you are!”

Three muffled spurts were recorded, along with a dead man’s screams. The tape recorder was turned off, rewound and both men listened to it.

“Want I should take the tape-recorder, Andrew?”

“Nah. Leave it. It’ll add to the mystery. Let’s get out of here.”