I'm facing the horizon, reclining in the cool grass, staring deeply into the pink and purple sky.
It is an exemplary evening and I am enticed by its extravagance. I contemplate existence.
I contemplate all our lives:
The gnat licking sweat of my brow,
You,
Me,
That tree across the street,
Your dead friends, my ancestors, that hot Latina chick that works at Panara (not that I really eat at Panara).
The undercover cop that won't stop eyeing me.

I watch the pink fade into purple fade into nothing at all. The clouds disperse, becoming nothing more than disconnected particles of dirt and water  suspended in midair, and the sun goes down.



I kill the gnat and go home.

We are all guided by a single sentient machine.
Twinkling below me is evidence of its life:
The familiar red-yellow blinking of a yield signal reveals to me its heartbeat.
Almost like Morse code It tells me:
"Twinkle, Twinkle little man,
I touched the sky, think you can?"

My magic comes from the tip of my shaft
With it I gain all my strength.
Pearly puffs paint the air with my potency.
I'd patronus all over your chest and/or back.

Oh how I’ve known this world of decay and tedium:
A burnt world, peppered with the despair of human need.
If only the withered trees may have the grace to accept our mistakes, The splendor of springtime may emerge from this bitter, toxic winter.
But alas, after every blissful summer, and every majestic fall, a dead winter returns.


...Such is the nature of mankind

The lighter wont stop
Telling me to hang myself....
I feel like dying.

anger pie ingredients:
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
8 tablespoons butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes and frozen
4 tablespoons vegetable shortening, in small pieces, frozen
8 tablespoons very cold cream cheese, in small pieces
1/3 cup ice-cold water
3 skinned kittens (preferably still kind of alive)
1 cup dead Armenian tears
1/4 cup potato starch
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1 tablespoon butter, in small pieces
1 seven year old, lightly beaten
1 1/2 tablespoons sugar

directions:
1.Take ingredients
2. Stare at the until the scorn bursts them into flames
3. Force feed it to a dying cancer patient

There once was a man from kentucky
who dreampt he was quite lucky
then he got hit by a truck and contracted polio

Incessant insolent innocence lies broken by a bedside.
Am i taking psychoactive substances, or am i substantially psychoactive?
Puzzling proportions of a mirror lie shattered by my knees.
Am i broken?
shhhhhh
We just want to fix you.

Are you broken?
HUSH
I just want to feel free.

Why is it so damn cold on this bus?

SHITPISSFUCKASSHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEDI­EKILLKILLLLLHATEHATEHATEHATEDIEDIEDIE

When they fly          
(I wonder what they dream...)
Do we die
(After we clear the Stream?)

Love for them, when they love not the need...
Walls melting, oh why cant she be free?

Deep crimson cotton races against the infinite canvas of purple ink.
Crystal white spots the subject:
a peephole for all to see.
a vision; postponed
a dream; deterred
a painted glass,
meant for all to see, but no one to see through

Genocide

Flying, eight tall, beautiful spires ascend towards the sky
onto a thin silk wire of silver and white.
Lovely it rises so high.
Why must we kill the spider to save the butterfly?

to keep that sacred silence?
to savor your favored violence?

never far...

The floating bird touches the golden beach.
A medicine man welcomes them with open arms,
but from the belly of the beast comes a leech
with butterfly wings

I found peace under a willow tree,
A state of mind only for the tree and me to be:
Our sweet noisy silence of serenity.

The shadow of a wing covers me
A blanket to answer my call
Feeling
Permeating
And surrounding us all
With understanding

Yes, its true I found peace under a willow tree
The sweet silent noise of our totality
You can be there too,
Seek solace
Sanctuary
Serenity

DON’T LET THE ROBOTS WIN


The red sun gazes upon a blue moon’s reveries
While the baker glazes over our doughnuts memories
5-9 TV talks of talcum dreams,
Suicide sweet
Murder machines.
Fascist fornication with communist candy
Tastes kinda like Yankee doodle dandy

I whisper over the roar of a glazed man grazing,
Dazed, and drowned,
to the Automated telenation:
“Don’t use self checkout lines,
Don’t let the robots win!”