The ways when I choose a choice of disseminating information in prose and poetry, that I be… a master of words, and a mastur-absurd spunk of yours truly, me, an agile “hunk” to score enough and out the door I go, seeking more, it implored and zesty when my chest BE and BIGGER—like a hoodie worn by a Black—and the Caucasian Cashiers under attack, a distant ways from here, in the comfortable sir-name “Aliases” I have arranged, on the helm, happy helping me do what I am capable of… with what I “BE” and Jeffrey Marquis, reading a little and writing a heck of a lot—that’s all for me, and also you, too, with what I share my words- wise and unkempt hidden—Antique Lures (hi Dad) being “Heddon” in your collection of what ways to hook a guppie, when Dad is out fishing for trout, what about, to then eat the meat of a good size Freshie Water fish—flipping it tail, maybe not quite the size of a (Bitcoin) “Whale” but a big Trout—what about?

Mom finicking the bones before baked or fried, the fresh fish I remember from The Sole, well, they sold me 40+ entrees for a pretty penny of the American Currency, but in debt to Taxpayers amassing the masses, of “Massa’s” Plantation of this my USA Nation and receiving payments from Disability, being the most best I can be—yeah me—who I be above the messed-up “Residents” here they are so bizarre and totally incapable of living without “The Help” of African-Americans to them, bereft of CA$H and the ghetto-booties, an ass, and a white pony / black stallion collaboration of a fine musical group, seen in person a few times—without whining or let along alone that I haven’t had wine in a very, very long time…