Frith Hilton Collection III


Valentine Edition

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Contents

Frith Hilton Collection III

Dedication

Acknowledgements


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Dedication

Dedication to Mariam Rod

Foreword

It has taken a long time putting my best words together, getting to what I mean. The army of flies and the crosshairs, the imaginary passages, disguised rites, and the cloud windows of fret. The perturbations that sting, ones distracting, in tingling and easing, to call out the aim from the mist of waffle, holding intangible never found unzealousness. I get the spite for my method, with being by the time; educated to my purpose.

The far bits are old marks, common detritions of how better my character’s voice would play out, if I was more about them or better adjusted employing a clever call, sing my words not so infatuated. Unintentional questions slamming . . . doesn’t her caress peg your next yen valuable for a suction? If it is a suction? if I can afford it?

Yes, it does, by a lie. Do I tell of my love and its pride, its groaning? I want more is its overbearing indulgence against the de rigueur, her's too in the obstinate twill that has made this book possible. I am penning another collection to waylay. Love has always been about what is right, I believe its orthodoxy is marriage. Who doesn’t agree, doesn’t get the sappy red, the apogee, or any of why scribblings bicker, get their titter when I arrive, and dupe forever why else their eyes are late.

Collection III (Valentine Edition) makes me front, it is my third, a valentine posture, calm and unresponsive to the candour of the illiterate. Mariam Rod brings skids to my hopes. So to the celebrated inselberg, let the drums roll. 🥁

Happy Valentine Mariam Rod.

Mirrors

Illustration for Mirrors

No working pen in sight

My passport is drenched.

Now I see the latter exactly

The night’s dream

Fop’s trouble.

Some madness in the air

The equivocal eating by insanity.

I’ve found a third pen in my drawer

The many limes on my dresser

The odour of undrawn juice

The changing rind colour of the older.

On my rounds, I pick two more

Open the gate to the potholes.

One in front of your house

They say

You’ve gone mad.

If one canine decays, I’d feel pain

The mirror would offer anodyne.

Of all I need laundered

My bedsheet is the gaudy

They aren’t dirty or muddy

But once I saw one’s own

And caught who I am.

Steady

Illustration for Steady

‘Tween the main

Lies the hanker

Aim she says.

Offering off a Lark

Illustration for Offering off a Lark

Lang syne

Footloose . . .

Carte blanche the giddy goat

Floundering in ganache slobby

Finking out

The gyve of attraction

On fame grove . . .

Up my heart piedmont

Was a crying prithee.

The Masked Girl

Illustration for The Masked Girl

I’ve got just one

The only bromidic pole

I’m back to her, that old

Spray it now . . . at home

Singeing pleasantness gold.

Susurrus, I tippytoe

By her waters, I row.

It’s fine on the radio

She speaking in my dome

Quiet, salient, drippy-drone.

Detesting, protesting, coming so

Rapine with her thoughts fold.

Striking, inflating, her gaudy role

I write; I might, tripe tow

Fecundating letters’ scold

Too, watercoloured bold.

. . . reception throes

Flaying the other woke

What can a face do to you ode?

Dough

Illustration for Dough

The dough with a smile

Brought with it, the clime

Of a varying bring kind.

I had enough off the mind

On the bench wink-eyed.

Affairs meddle, too, was inclined

Got her out the heat, in time.

The Brazen Spider, Unwanted Nut

Illustration for The Brazen Spider, Unwanted Nut

The nut thought not

An unwanted nut?

Lone, no-show crud?

No-show for the cull!

There are spiders, pods

Berries, badgers, worms

But not an unwanted nut.

The author monkey hurt

Taste your compunction.

I’ll be a spider, if a kludge

Leg count with our line up.

By a brazen spider’s spunk

The nut got a burg

It is one of web bores.

The Bug, the First Car

Illustration for The Bug, the First Car

Who never honked neigh

Herald short, long hail

Hello, hi, oh time away

Brittle, nettle dissuade

Big who every chicane

My Beetle Bug parfait.

Driver Licence

Illustration for Driver Licence

Mercury . . . temerity

Brought a turn . . .

Flummoxing tow on.

A shudder, shiver.

Earth heard

Cawed: God!

A Pitch Run

Illustration for A Pitch Run

A drag is a bag ferrying

Gliding feet in wake of bass.

Bent kneecaps

What's the day?

Natch

No rotund.

Caspian’s Autumn Foam

Illustration for Caspian’s Autumn Foam

Exploring beyond mine;

Imagination’s own haecceity.

I’m umbra of the ebbing tide

Nature’s baldachin.

Before it’s Time

Illustration for Before it’s Time

With a gust at dusk

I will come.

By the clock frock

There, I will buck

The involution

Coming in by the pugs

The chinwag right up.

So please abseil now

Down

The auberge urn.

Upside Down Shower

Illustration for Upside Down Shower

Where I held the umbrella

At just high up pica, pica

From the curve handle arc

There we went begorrah!

Taking our fall together

Gee!

Sir William Alexander Craigie (August 13)

Illustration for Sir William Alexander Craigie (August 13)

Zero peal

One in

Threesome brings

Ninety wins

Quadri-scarf pins

Aquifer degree

Sum, three-sixty

Square madid

Through see

Glad-hand till

Mirror exergy

Thirteen alterity

Swish twenty-six.

Malefic Rookie

Illustration for Malefic Rookie

Bottles and empty foibles

. . .

On this escritoire table

I suckle and correct mess

. . .

librating fable

Catfish, joystick, and flesh

. . .

Eventual may nest.

Quiver Barnet

Illustration for Quiver Barnet

Undressing a girl is pretty

Hands apert unmatching

Revealing teeth; o ut clip

Of my tristesse oddity zip

Telling of the rest sweet.

Others’ proscenium sentries

Their unflippant reprieving

Tracing tips, shending cavils

Protean thoughts ad-streel.

Her stilettos pavé-holdings

Whispers to my amanuensis

My exurban afterburner reach.

From her—their solicitude kiss.

The Last Artisan

Illustration for The Last Artisan

The mannequin raptors

The half-shelved occult.

Twine fine line punctures

Running professional awl.

Her: hold on with your claws

Leak here . . . my love strums.

To be Left Alone

Illustration for To be Left Alone

Have a guard by the gate

With a clamp to be straight

Dummies head for a strait

Rapport off these pages.

Happy Birthday

Illustration for Happy Birthday

Scores, halls

Mores, flaws

Postcards, borders

Answers, jankers

Urgers, wagers

Boards, gloss

Mariachi for your party doll.

Hallelujah Gate

Illustration for Hallelujah Gate

So upon she made me cry

We probably had it in dye

Pattern from days, our time

Early courbette before the ride.

God could be a dog, to reign; lies

Teodora to me, to heel, an advice

Not to fap; pilfer what’s for my bride

Adjourn the sensual, just for a while

With the luxate, a suave calm bide.

Mariam’s face set to the Paris sky

Supple bum below beauty’s climb

Blouse striped in black and in white

Beret thatching Persian raven pride

Eiffel tower, croissant in hand, hind

A lens taking a shot to ever remind

Of her frain: be a nett happy twine.

Bella, Dec 26 saw a movie and quite

She had a dude warm her lonely side

I had promised Xmas, delivering a bite

It’d showed my failure taking to diarize

I was a no-show, I was home pondering

A break-up rede, it was apt, convincing

Labelling her a witch as if inadvertently

Our long chats now an unhealthy beguile

Come Dec 27, she was ex and prehensile.

“We never met.” How he met my mind

Reminding me . . . she used to be mine

And I lost the grease, to a topple plight.

Speakers chorusing on amen for miles

Hidden nifty indoors, lying fine supine

Fellatio, while the elderly played blind

Our second time intimate, also out wild

Bella’s stop at the church’s yearly chide

Now waned, I defected from being trite.

Our first time left me with a grim insight

Still on towel, I scoped close my new find

I arrived sorta early, I thought in a smile

SpongeBob tee soaking away any slight

Her face blemishes didn’t ruin the hype

Her voice drooling out in an oily strike

Known pitch matching her towel in sly

Just out of the bathroom at my alight

Looking out the cab, I was high as a kite.

“That’s a prick.” Hymen debate. “Can I?”

Sitting room floor wet in smudge sigh

My high had doubled after we dined

I wanted to, but her truth I imbibed.

The memory stir dried out my brine

Bed peace from Wale’s Vanity dry

Tramadol 100mg and seizure hide

Protecting me from the regicide

A heartbreak detour, a coleoptile

I was suffering in convulsive pine.

Easement and the loss of exam’s stile

One in, and to go, the week’s whine

“Drop the tramadol pills, come fly”

“Dup weed to thoughts that edify”

“Edibles is right, to find the height.”

Days, Robert had the halls’ mood high

The Hallelujah chorus booming incise.

On top bunk ill, her response in sight

“No.” it read, another that mad night

Nothing cut through, remaining swine

It wasn’t me, time was slow and fine

It wasn’t my room still I had no gripes

The air was real, his body warm, nice

Mo special but the screen a dead line

Every text sent, back in “No.” decline.

The chorus booming again and up in tide

Augury before, now a lover asking why

I’d never met her; past by the halls, shy

Her blare out there, here but never eye

I could hear her now, in very faint chime

In my head, as a portcullis shielding kinds

Moving away, I had to find Robert, say hi.

Too beautiful to be lost in a stinky fight

A vernal night, and its call; ember ignite

Up from his side, with a wall cold like ice

Semblance from his memory stir a flight

I got away from that place, leaving for life

My room months ago, it was the turnpike.

Felling warm, gay, wholesome, and a child

Leaving with grace a “No.” could not hide

By the bunk intimating to my ear: the light

As a boombox my iPhone blew in oh might

The aural waves doozie in colour so bright

Faint ruddy, green, and purple long stripes

Bordering sides to a new tread board sign.

Questions Making Trouble

Illustration for Questions Making Trouble

Trouble has a head that heeds

It’s the question it seeks

Often of a reluctant appraising

From scheming imprints of cost.

Take up all, if you must

Leave the awakening introduction.

Crocs to Go

Illustration for Crocs to Go

I had a place to go.

With an interview to close

A fine finagle to reproach

Shooting scuttle to dole.

I had bought three glues to hold

Lest my old Nike turn to brogues.

This, this, this. I held out to scold.

I’ve an interview, I’ve got to show

Her face glowing close to albino.

It’s the cheaper. It’s good to know

Still feeling simian, she says: to told.

Were these tubes empty to joke?

Can I get a replacement, one to cope?

The better brand, I’ve no cent to follow.

The fluff still, I won’t have to borrow

Just help. I can’t wait to tomorrow.

It was bought so, crossed out to sold

I leave. Leaving the superglue to hole.

For the interview, my crocs to go.

Ditch the Sunset

Illustration for Ditch the Sunset

The sun heels sail

It’s been a long day.

The tyres in a wait

Vapour colours striate

Windows, soaked fate.

Hymn and him shake

Round the dim braille.

With the sun, I’m awake

Aware; the bridge shale

Ashen, with Mariam away.

Meeting an early daze

On a job picking shame

Of gizmos bought maimed

And requests for activate.

As a junk monitor’s face

Pixels less to procrastinate.

Now I’d call for, to replace

Zzzs, pinching my truth pace.

In wait, a scrub, his place

He owns an old mitigate

Not this; sell a life shapelk

A bridge to some change?

Income is! In a car so lame.

The sunset casts a shade

Now I’d text her. Hi! Hey!

So, I scribble a poetry take.

Hymn and him

In the surround dim.

He returns quick in a quake

The sunset now in a cake.

Lazy

Illustration for Lazy

Fingers drumming knee

Now way too much beat

As with the needing glean

He has left me now in glee.

So long with my grief

He won’t pick me

Read up my mischief

He is finished.

Attitude lazy, even for a lift

It is the poetry, this poetry

I will need it, the dictionary

These fruits, this lethargy

I feel so sleepy, I mean this.

Not sleepy, eyes needing a zip

My index, thumb, playing three.

Now my brain doesn’t count in

For it has brought all these wit

This heavy, round-round pleat

When I could just, wait a minute!

Caged Poems

Illustration for Caged Poems

There is a mental crawl

Happening when it’s morn.

I wake crying in a drawl

As I do the Anon also hulls

Rapids of bogs for my thoughts

So I get swallowed right in bud.

But today, there is a different bird

If it isn’t, the harmony of the song

Its deflection, hunch, and pompom.

A new poem in my scaling thoughts

In florescence I had gotten a call

A soft string pull, all in nature’s plot.

New House

Illustration for New House

I used to live in wait

Till everyone left, I’d stay

By my computer, pass the delay

I’d play games to remonstrate

Too long hours, even holidays.

I’d wait, till all was quiet-ached

The wind calling, in the only break.

In my noggin, it drops in shedding weight

Robe from the shoulders of a magistrate

Magma flow acquiescing my nude taste.

But I flung my clothes and took the day

Unclad thoughts, from reproach, shame.

Then I’d sing where the hollow crowns sane

Parroting echoes, hear myself all so very gay

Hit notes and fuss on the pitch being a may.

I’d leave my room, for the new house so plain

Enjoy my time alone before the bathing stage

Where the colours even now never came

Naked like I was, only it covered my blame.

Snores, Doors and Jolts

Illustration for Snores, Doors and Jolts

The disparity deserves clapping

A round of applause glistening

Thundering to make eyes gleam.

Nimble up the coop in a waking shin

Cops stormed the darkroom ring . . .

Before I knew, I was out the shindig.

Can’t ever tell, if it’s a whank, the queen

An unnoticed sudden screechy scream

Being awake makes all the questioning.

Checked, my bladder sac holds no urine

There is movement, some stepping.

You witness the door in its banging

If it snores that loud . . . if ever asleep?

Accounting for My Trips (A — Z)

Illustration for Accounting for My Trips (A — Z)

I never was the strumpet

I had just one customer

His dialect would impose

Flipping over the object.

I am customer, he’s rider

He’s by the gate, I’m colt

A better liar now, thence.

Junior high with my li’l sister

We’d our grapple with soles

Rickety, letting everyday path.

On the first day he soaked

He knocked me out dead.

He must be an accountant!

A moving class on the road?

He did say he is. Was, meant?

Before the banks’ recap smoke

Twenty-five billion, news heard

The giants handed the mufflers

He lost his job, soon he choked.

One fought; munched the debt!

On the chalk, board as a teacher

Business studies Monsieur mo

In the interim, till he’s at his best

Didn’t, so he fitted headteacher.

After school, he would address

Pick our periods, make a mark

It wasn’t a bore, neither a bloat

It was fantastic, no air of dread.

And days he didn’t show hand

Since I thought of him as a mole

The headteacher his embarkment

He wasn’t there, or by the matter

He figured the table! He was sold.

Mariam

Illustration for Mariam

Last night I had a night vision

An impressive farrago sundown

Birds flocked in detail copious

An anile doggerel on shoe

Wasted high on bourbon

Ambulating to Thursday

And it had on a bonnet

It matched my sleeve.

On my table were left

Two seats

I expected just you

Sparkling water and ashtray.

Love Letters and Promenades

Illustration for Love Letters and Promenades

Never been the bad boy

The mad cock, cod-lord.

Then, there was a spell turn

It was on the b-ball court

A bawdy spot for meetups

The hub leading to the slurp

Where the dreams are long

And the mantras are too curt.

There were stories, bombs

Of escapades gone wrong

Dark promenades that hunt

Swiftly tossed off condoms

No jokes, you’d find nylons

It is the illusion hotel’s sock

It was the rep of the block

In classes, third year junior.

And management? For sure

For mornings, it’s whose call?

Those rooms. I was bought

Quickie? Why not, come on.

I was here, and sure purse

For she just had to show up

A bit further ahead, in front

It was dark anyway, no spot

The light falling with my walk

The court and crowd, far-off.

An angel is what you’re called

You are white attired in plum

Admired in the early months.

I was months in, a grey demon

Imbuing it in the night’s plot

Haha, dad never sees porn

If not, mine doesn’t disturb

So I download ‘em, and store

On his cool phone, a blind bore

Being in school ended my glut.

You know boarding house sucks

Nothing changes to drive or spur

And one morning, all that is gone.

This female teacher is shocked

Caught with her panties. Stop!

I should have said so, no more.

The red car dude and her battle?

Whoa! That’s it, why so, her voice

The science teacher who flogs.

That one time, I was up in blush

Not spanks, but that lovely husk

It gets you rasp tight in a bond

I’m on, senseless mindful talk

In my head I went on and on

Like how the windows were shut

Ones to my mind. Mind her bum

Whom called to me, and implored

Nothing to lose, to get her spunk

Lash the big body men too butt.

It went on, satisfying astricting smug

By sex, with her height, a lot ’d blur

Her patience, my conscience factor.

And here, by my locker, dawn

The male teacher quarters’ hut

Panty in hand, she goes, pours

Good morn. Maybe so, burnt

It was too early, scenic error

She’d lost her pants, and what?

Someone had to inform, report

I poured it out, every suggestion

A lengthy prowl sent to the box

The suggestion box was small

But I had just joined the club

My first note was about faults.

I stood in wait, gentle in cloth

The night brought a wild draw

A feral grit instinct production

No one is ugly in the dark fog.

It was that she’d traced my flaws

I saw hers, head like a new figure

She smelled good, but too, dumb

It wasn’t erotic, it didn’t perturb

What did was what I had in funds

It wasn’t enough to smash, cum

The business on the dick by a stud

In the dark there, I couldn’t hump

Thoughts of a stolen book, more

All that money to stroke her bust

The classroom gave a mind fuck

Its resemblance to a library floor

The treasure floor always locked

Where I fapped once, awkward

I did, cos I had read well enough

Only another interest for a fop

So I let naked figures play fort.

I paid her, but how? I cannot recall

Not mean, she let me some clomp

Pressing my business behind in gruff

All the time seeing her take my prong

Slowly spitting and sucking the knob.

When I came, two was caught

Mind clarity and a sweet influx

Then her face, some tiny disgust

Oh the library, the now old stomp

She’d sent a latitat for my attention.

My Rip Jean

Illustration for My Rip Jean

Ahmed took one too many pictures

Rummy for me, being male I thought

With my Adonis face cut in the crop

I’m bought.

He’d go on, yapping ‘bout postures

Saying: how you’re reposed is sure

However you find yourself in gulf

Play ball.

Asking Moyo, he is no way at all a cross

Classmates and best friends, their bond

Six years together in high school’s jaw

I was a senior.

The days we’d no ties were a pleasure

Both athletes, so we met during sports

Sprint, beating me by a tiny gap to first

Oh his burst.

Often klatsch to smoke weed and talk

Skunk air, money moves, high fantods

He’d those by him, blacks with the pot

Not visitors.

Once, perched on a tree, he implored

In a sudden halt, of jeopardy, our turf

An eponym, the venue he’d demurred

He’d a mix-up.

Hellfire had bellowed at him a concuss

Compromised orphically, mind fraught

Quickly he douts his spliff in a full stop

Triggered taut.

In hackling pule bye, he left the meetup

Harlem sunset, the man loved the buds

It was not the first time, but this struck;

That chord.

Everyone wanted to leave town abroad

He discussed plans if he struck a windfall

With college degree foreign, not em duds

He’d warn.

We had Hellfire, and also another Rooftop

Hellfire had a shrine, house made of mud

Rooftop, a home; hotel dream shutdown

By a despot.

Evenings saw me over there on weed puff

Two spliffs, I’m buzzing with objecting buts

I left headachy, thoughts on what’s install

But I enjoyed.

His Rooftop visits are points of sparse blurs

He introduced me to his friend, not the club

In the pictures taken, his lips held a gesture

As of more.

Once with lips sucked in so long, he spouts

If I would care to swap jeans, “It is grunge.”

“A black knee-ripped dungaree” in a surge

“Your court.”

Stuttering as I sometimes do, I stop, pause

No longer in memory now; by that I let up

He wanted what I had on, and for my notch

Something smut.

Stonewash and a naked knee from a big gut

Back having it, with a better upkeep purse

I’d go down on my left knee, say the words

Mariam, let’s have fun.

Seeking fun is not everything; it is the call

Pleasure pairs with fun and it’s on the run

In the morning it’s coffee, at night it’s rum

A never humdrum.

I smoked weed for years before the breakup

Twenty-one when I drew the first short puff

Twenty-five and I couldn’t go on, not till dust

Our divorce.

But before then, pleasure took me on tour

Without Mariam, pals on the blame stub

To say I did, we visited a brothel slash pub

To end my grunts.

First time having hashish, lain next to a boy

Wishes of it being a girl, for he dealt fudge

He’d done it, he transcended, saw a whore

A pivotal point.

Final summer we left campus for a reunion

An old mate who’d left a fresher-abandon

He lost his closer friends then to expulsion

He dealt drugs.

He said he left because he got really bored

Few Messenger messages, we had to claw

We made plans to meet, it felt not so long

He decked the halls.

Joshua not long threw a fit, fit for a jock

Everything has been wrong from the jump

Even the car broke. Drawing my attention

Continuing in bug.

We’d just concluded our finals, no touch ups

Freedom. End of university. End of lectures

And a wuss who’s known, laid whores, bucks?

He had my wits gone.

I’m hopeless romantic with the underworld

He gets up to leave, so I follow him on abut

He’s the one who’d done it; I play the bong

I needed to. I must.

Just out. A thing amiss I could not tell at all

That my phone was missing, it had dropped

Bode handed it to me in good augur launch

The worker wasn’t buff.

Nothing changed in that town and I got a job

An initial hotel accommodation with hotspot

My office was nearby, I was on a row of luck

It was a pleasant adjust.

My new town on the scale, was a good bump

A conducive estate, featuring relevant shops

Quiet mornings with a keen sense impetuous

For the doors!

A new Apple Mac with mountains for desktop

One afternoon, my FaceTime got a cool buzz

It was unexpected in every way, a total prong

An employer usurp.

Longer conversations later through the duct

Days after, I got money and very good cause

Spending more than the month’s earn sum

So I raised the crump.

Most nights, we get a drop to the same spot

Light another one up, because it is that just

Pepsi Cola, great skunk, and live music pump

Pass the buck.

Relaxed with friends and a colleague from work

Ideas we never heard flowed in slow prologue

Action figure said no to excitement and crutch

Fuck this crawl!

He wasn’t a coward, he balled hard, a dawg

He’d sex whenever around, had no remorse

A field player since his first income catapult

No blotch.

Oh I just couldn’t have the habit on staunch

He’d leave, my colleague was taking a drop

For his hotel, we for the ATM to get blunt

Following our plot.

Two luxury bedrooms to my name by dawn

A tart’s iPhone on the bed, how she forgot?

Out of the plot, a gang bang was her employ

I too felt lost.

Another time, another place, for another shot

To reignite the plot, I had just received a wand

Action figure had been around, counting sluts

Leaving me the clot.

Man, what do we do tonight? To me like a report

. . . we should hit the club. He suggests with force

No, I can't tolerate the music, smoke what I want.

I returned in a punch.

Let’s get a whore, stay at home, smoke rocks

It’ll be a gang bang, I’ll call up Chvrch my plug

We were at a bar, waiting for meals; in decision

Let’s hunt!

Using a choice service we got through the worst

Met up with Chvrch for a gram of the stain blob

Headed back to my apartment, ready for the fluff

I was soon left in a lurch.

Action figure in the bedroom treats women as gum

He chews them, pops them, and loves their engulf

He’s in the bedroom, I’m in the toilet, and I’m stuck

He’s the one focused.

An evening in my office, ring! My phone’s blurt

Thirteen seconds of his hand gripping a fat bum

Straight from the soda shop, with no blip of fuss

A straight boss.

Oh, I couldn’t leave, the girl brought in no joy

Her long eye lashes told me off like a soy boy

And when he came in, it wasn’t at all for rush

Here I was, PC Plod.

He had burnt a tiny amount, alive, and in store

I am fine by this. A smile on his face as a duck

My headphones made love to me like a faggot

If I could see the bulge?

Then he was done, and he was around for a burn

Meaning also, it was time I went for my own turn

A sort of gang bang? I sensed a no daring bunch

I’d stalled, for a flop.

As if facing the music, I branch out summoned

A nog to what is rising and push for a mugshot

He’d be there as I fucked her to watch me cum

That’s the stuff.

With my pellet in, I in no time get a full stun

I didn’t get it, I had on rubber, a good condom

But it wasn’t real, definitely a thing was wrong

I was in top crumb.

I was scared, I drew out, seeing her visage fond

A second scare, it was dark and I couldn’t trust

Maybe I fucked her, maybe I didn’t, can’t recall

It’s a blank cloche.

Pleasure chase is everything; it isn’t always yum

The hedonist serves the animal and it, his word

Action figure told me all about his favourite toy

An app you don’t grub.

Who will be the incel in society? Him why not.

They need someone, but I found you; that’s love

Like an ad, walking me through his chatting hub

In measure, a tailor.

I got a girl, had her once, a time for a second

She loved it, it seemed, she called, I blocked

A jolly session, I pondered my condom off

Oh, oh, oh her buns.

I no longer own those old rip jeans anymore

But I could buy one, better, get a franchisor

It could be a free rip jean brand distributor

To Mariam’s love.

Six to Eight

Illustration for Six to Eight

Bye-bye to the world of bong

Cannot tell why I love Taylor

Maybe it is her white shadow

The one in the dark of the prod.

With keg, bets, my days a chump

Inez, Carolina, the big warm rug

For I don’t need a wakeup call

Fast asleep in her dream broth.

Catlick

Illustration for Catlick

When it’s morning

Impregnated with the thing

Of uncertainty and choice

How well I’ve done by my chores

I lay on my grunt

Swelling in the sun

Giving for the acrid.

The Dot before the Hallo

Illustration for The Dot before the Hallo

In the lake for the trip

It took

On the lane for the whistle

He shook

Several waves across the broad

We looked.

The Sleazy

Illustration for The Sleazy

Mistakes appliqué

Add a very big slake

Dodge the mindful rod

At the brittle lip sync

With an itch, a stitch of salt.

Lame in Dubai

Illustration for Lame in Dubai

For weeks I’ve watched

My lips caught

Careful I blot thought

Of you not wrought.

Tramp stopped short

Your silent beaut cot.

Vehement ridiculous

Of a pensive torch

Beaming in foist flush.

Sidling ghosting shawl

My caught oppy love

In crease that isn’t much

The knee punch not worth

See your legs, not touch

Between all near hurt.

Our Love

Illustration for Our Love

Do we love someone

We don’t ever check up on?

Ever, for it, not rattle.

When it’s their presence

Here again

The awareness of feelings.

Does the gust swell . . .

The right flight of the butterfly.

Their voice unheard

Footsteps cuddle

Whisper the muscle suite

Our love.

Twenty-Four

Illustration for Twenty-Four

For how long have I had to wear a cap?

Twenty-four.

If that’s a year for every hour of the day

A do-rag?

It’s okay to say I sleep with my cap donned.

I have nothing beautiful to hide or cover

No beautiful long locks like Samson

So you don’t spot my strength.

Not enough ferocity as Mahsa Amini

So you don’t pick out my valour.

Scars and bars, a tale starting age six.

I hide scars though detained within bars

Bars holding grasp-stories I could never tell

A beach afternoon with my sparse hair out.

Sometimes I think when I am older . . .

“Older” seems like a hold on the change I await

The ums in circle of my own social weight

The moral of my own morale.

Starting from just us two

A ball, a light fixture, a veranda

I’m six, she’s three years old

The ball isn’t ours, it is lost

Over the fence it came like a gift.

Back from school days after

I am alone and up in the air above me

It hits a glass light-fixture.

Below I’m blood stained frozen in shock

White shirt fused in red gush of blood

Soaking . . . soon I am back to.

At the tap, I wash away thoughts of my wrong.

I have a picture at seven

I have an oversized watch

And a scar

No cap.

It asks when I’ll go without a cap

Give back the oversized watch to the photographer.

The one who is three thinks she did it

Cos I lied.

“You threw the ball, told me to go pick it.”

“And it came down.”

The real fall comes from who broke the thing.

For us.

She says I am wrong, but I believe the older knows best

“I lied back then.”

How best do I know with my cap on now?

I’ll be thirty soon.

When I was twenty-two I spotted no hat

I tried a new haircut and a friend told me

“Hey I’ve never seen you try that; I like it.”

What has changed?

I convince myself it’s the nutrients

But it’s the mural scars from the moral bars.

The holding back; to a time I dream of

A time like the past I won’t remember

Six could be wrong, three could be right

If I don’t do something.

I did.

I recorded a public video with no cap

And now I know all the help I can get.

To Mahsa Amini for all the help she gets.

Title

Illustration for Title

I always make up time

Staying away from chime

Crime

Penning rhymes

Telling incredulous sour lies.

Oh, for a silly needless time

Come with me

Tend my style.

Acknowledgements

I am sincerely grateful for my family, the Hiltons for helping me navigate thus far. My friends remain irreplaceable. Thank you to Lili Reinhart, Taylor Swift, Kendall Jenner, Liam Payne, Charly Cox, Dua Lipa. I have had moments without any aux cord for my headphones, but not without Diplo to read my poems. Thank you to everyone who thinks I rock. Thank you David Dobrik, Melanie Joy Fontana, Marina Di Guardo, Addison Rae, Jean-Christophe Bouvet and Logan Paul. Thank you Snoop Dogg for being here from the start. Thank you so much for Collection III (Valentine Edition) everyone.