a Style which is to Say, Beowulf I would summon and the Smallest mermaid, and he who made “Lemonade” from Sour Strange Fruit: Ableism, Monsieur is a Crime to the Feeble and it is a Mind Numbing sentence, Ignore the Autism, attack by soft smiling violence and mannequins galore… all united in a State of control Neurologic tyrannicaliteralists Who bruise electroprocedurally and by cognitive vice. For the odor of ABleists, I kick your Butt with Verse 2.
Verse 2 is here and dedicated to
Scribd.com, publisher accessible to a nerd Aspie outcast. What more what? We invent a new FORM my Peeps yup we do. Where we insist that it is Wrong for false Perfects and fundamentalists when they scissor with their jaws, to overtake the internet. We will live On by blogger or Twitter. I’d considered at first the rewards of conforming but it’s impossibly boring formaldehyde exhaling N T’s in dominion and loving it too. Slap down you lessers, half-humans, autists. And so it was a Babble Coup de’tats. And all of the condensation of Language Could be cooked to full steam, boiled In the fructose of unbridled muscles That charge forward and make the turn just where You need it, It’s time for Auspie Pride y Que I can’t speak in more than one Patois though I am a linguist and philosopher, Historian and epic composer Yet it is an Opera of Resistance? Song to take me HIGHER to collect my Self For I’ve extended past my sphere and GONE To the Library call it what you like. Ashaik, My Paloma Café where I had just come From a Mercado all covered with Examples
Of something, something alerted and mute.
Oh Ableism of well-earned anonyms are you peopled that you haunt all the Hay stacks and the company barbeques too? Ick Ick would have said that sister Sylvia, Oh Bell, I know your Impression, its Tick Is so wonderfully hypnotic. Quick to the Engine Room of language, down into its Crisis, Its Gutters and alleys, adolescent Suspended, fantasized, how about some Life (which is FREE) for us, the SPECTRUM Q. That’s Q for Quotient. We’d like to enjoy The rights that you Do and for that reason, We speak for the Few free and Easy for the neglected Epic Butterflies Blue. Blue who comes upon without premise is THRUST at us-a friggen Canvas…Denied anew condensed, enumerated, classified. Material what strange existence you have that I can’t push or pull you uncertain pressures: what are you Matter? so buoyant vibrate and tell me of what I await and Save me another despot or two for HERE (back at that edge) and THERE up and upward ascending into WHERE… Congruencies demonstrated: Are YOU with me? I’ve got so much to Tell of Fine Letters as they bespeak of these Matters. John Ashberry would be just one good start.
…And the bellybuttons danced all around…
padam padam a Spectrum of kindness
kinetic “A KIND” of a Noun and not Adjective. It is not sympathy, rather it’s a standard unparallalled—a more inclusive form of belonging. And where can it happen if not on my Keyboard, on an electric parchment with its tools present, as simple as are required by a poet like me. I don’t expect what comes of the Mix while I weave weave a rainbow for Neuro Diversity I teach as I go and wear a Nametag for a doctor of philosophy. Sure, whatever you believe it requires.
An Autoescribd sonnet sequence for Fools
of April. Anapestic resistance. A three-part rhyme might be more enchanting but I’m not going to give up my time for new changes of metrics in verses. I see nothing that is wrong currently. Sir, I understand but it causes me difficulties when I don’t comprehend the intonations and crimes you impute to my mental proclivities. They’re not weak so much as they are dissonant numbed and multiplicated engorged and high voltage beneath a smooth exterior of forethought and grammar. A Molten core.
Having a Molten Core is how I speak
of Autism when lived out it is Ongoing in development and redeveloped at all times. Imagine if you only spoke in algebraic formulas when attempting to purchase produce in stores. Yet this would only suggest the simplest analogy, one dimensional--seems easy enough. Though this is its first step. There are many more of them and curves, pit- falls, and obstacles all along the way. And as we make it through society, we continue in the mental product of a mind that is developing SLOW because its TORRENTIAL. I often Felt the Neurologic discomforts of this disability, as Internal Rain. I wrote, “Storm Inside of poetic rain.” Drip Drop. It has a tail that leads to its mouth and the steamboat force of an immense mind inches forth. I don’t claim it is Mine. No, I don’t. I believe that I am a KIND of Person, a someone ELSE, a poet… only by proclivity and pan’s flute. We shall dance we shall dance and We shall dance.