my hands have teeth.

real martha's vineyard crab claws!
yup.
fresh (sorta) from the beaches of one of the northeast's
most crackery and exclusive atlantic islands,
straight to the woodsly goodsly inland mountain range,
via the post office;
...and with the smell of an old seaside's dirtiest secrets,
especially the first whiff upon opening, after the closed-up and fermented
hot weather transportation from windy sand to windy rocks.
yeah!
i got a special delivery, from my broski, the cucch,
and it just goes to show-
real duders really listen.
word.
check the mandible-manipulator-type teleport:

kaBOOM.
my hands have teeth.
and these crabby snip-snappers do, too.
-
so,
maybe you've got a bowl of keys,
or a bowl of loose change,
or a bowl of fruits an' that....
ha.
i've got those, and then some...
but,
when it comes to bowls full of loud, fresh, hardness,
and containers of accumulated unnecessary hottnesses-
mine go to eleven.
i'm just sayin'-
i've got a bowl of skulls,
and bowls of rare and wondrous beads,
a bowl of crystals,
a bowl of elaborate wristwatches,
a bowl of jewel hearts, just to name a few on the first floor alone....
and now,
without allowing any weak sauce to worsen my irritable bowls (ha),
i've also got a burly bowlful of claws.
there's no such thing as overdoing it, really.
not when we all know that too much is the right amount.
it's like i'm living in a sorcerer's laboratory.
that's real.
for serious, though-
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress may be a hidden hideout;
a separate and estranged strange stronghold from friends and foes alike;
but,
it is positively stacked with secret stashes of curiosities, relics, artifacts,
and factual accounts of real life active participation collected and collated
in among collections of crab claws, cookies, and costumes.
i live here.
it's not just where i sleep in-between comings, goings, and doing other things.
neighbors,
i've made a home in a hostile land,
and i've filled it with reminders of people and places and things
that ALL mean something, even when we don't say it out loud often enough.
i've befriended a native or two,
but it's still more my own private space than any kind of co-operative castle.
this is a winsome lonesome warrior poet's battle-beastly barbarian bardic bastion.
my very own time-capsule colony of true stories told truly.
population:1.
i'm typing and writing and stirring and scraping,
punching and polishing and knotting it all together.
like i said already:
my hands have teeth.
..and they're holding on tight and talkin' sh!t
in simultaneous sign-language slaps and bites.
it's like sleight-of-hand magic, and chewing with your mouth open,
and that's all there really is to it;
never quiet, never soft.....