Bio: Dr. Ernest Williamson III has published poetry and visual art in over 350 national and international online and print journals. His poetry has been nominated 3 times for the Best of the Net Anthology. View his artwork here: www.yessy.com/budicegenius __ ____________________________________________________________________ The Nonsense of Love in the midst of corsets boring postures from fearless beasts languor and lay in mutilated stems of grass leaves limbs be-trusted unto the white Asian tigers inside I've found a sentence a subject imbued with articles cloth and rotten verbs follow callow it be said of me a restless bore waiting in the flowers aside a Valentine's card red and gray rejections posing while melting froth of snow inside and out my jolting crying hands ______________________________________ Inside The Barrel Old Nelly was a 330 pound world war 3 vet from Texas one purple heart to his name one shabby wheelchair holding him up what a temper i barely said hi to him last week surely Old Nelly likes me we use to smoke Cuban cigars together on his front porch this guy never failed to let me know that I coughed too much as i wondered why he never coughed one thing is for sure though Old Nelly is dead now and i have 90 pounds and 3 light years of courage to gain in order to outweigh my damn coughing day in day out... ________________________________________________________________ The Etymology of Please can you stay here with me? I've made peanut butter soup lentil soup and broiled asp to drink there is me and a bottle of aged vodka it is good also I have a kiss waiting for your trouble and money lots of it ready to fold and strain in your pocket I know you can stay here with me even if I don't look as your desire requires I can grant many of your wishes with haste and locks from my head are pleasant real free for you to admire never mind my wet and salty face I just know things before they happen especially before they happen to me _____________________________________ The Joy Missing Wisdom Teeth i don't know anything any thing in the wastelands the cities as I lament and fray and draw along canisters of red sauce layers of muck drab winds hush with candle light I fall in the outer spheres of love's conceit but even after the noon in morning I mourn for death life in the crevices of trying to find likeness i don't know anything but as the water touches my feet as the dew melds with codas from eardrum drumming humdrum I fall into your hot valley peace pieces of silly sounds letting me be wan but famous though as i have said to you Your Honour i don't know any thing and yes, I still love you