A bicycle is the most efficient transportation machine.  A little input and I’m gliding, moving a useful measurable distance but more than that. I like going fast enough so the wind in my ears is louder than my thoughts.  On a tough day I like riding until I can be grateful again; sometimes that takes a couple hours but every ride is a good ride.

My youth’s independence was a banana seat Huffy pulled from an under-appreciated pile of rust in the back of St. Vincent’s Thrift Shop.  No school bus meant riding to school, the first 45 minutes of every day in all weather. Afternoons were exploring detours; summers were expeditions to the city limits, sometimes beyond.  I needed an upgrade for high school; I found a spotless antique 3 speed Raleigh, the cultural English workhorse collecting dust in an unlikely garage for $50.

I kept it through two foster homes. The first one kept me busy with farm chores, but the second was back in town. There, I had the bike back, and as an aside, they had a phenomenally sophisticated wall sized sound system: reel-to-reel and amazing headphones. I would forget myself in records: Sgt. Peppers, Genesis, Yes, etc, and another favorite. Just a guitar and piano instrumental album with a simple melody called Bricklayer’s Beautiful Daughter. Something about that one song in particular I heard faint glimmerings of contentment that was denied to me.  I would replay it to cling to this hint of a simple happiness I didn’t understand; that if it was in the song, it was somewhere deep in me.
Without a car for 10 years, one used 10-speed or another got me to various eccentric jobs.  

Fast forward to the life-changer, after a divorce. Needing to reconnect with myself, I searched for a decent bike. I found it hanging dusty in the back of a cluttered boutique shop smelling of tire rubber, quiet with racers’ confidence. They had a Lemond thoroughbred on consignment, assembled custom 5 years earlier to race. It was slightly outdated, but a dent on the top tube put it out to pasture. It was steel though, so rideable enough for me.  My entire $300 savings and it was mine. Then I discovered the special pedals needed special shoes, so another month saving for those.  I wasn’t going to wear those silly spiderman outfits, until I started to ride more than 10 miles and my **** demanded it.  And those pockets in the back of the shirt were handy.  I met a friend who taught me how to draft: my skinny wheel a few inches behind the bike in front at 20 mph, to save precious energy in the slipstream. Truly dangerous, vulnerable, and effectively blinded; but he pointed at the ground with various hand signals to warn of upcoming road hazards. I was touched by this wordless language of trust and camaraderie. This innate concern is essential to the sport, even among competitors, so it seems to attract quality people I liked.  My new life expanded with friends.

I discovered biking exercise could stabilize the life-long effects of brain injury, lost some weight, grew stronger, and started setting goals.  First longer group rides, then a century (100 miles in one ride), then mountain biking: epic fun in nature, unadulterated happiness.  Then novice racing, then the next category up with a team, then a triathlon.  It became an admitted obsession but I won a pair of socks or bike parts every now and then.  Eventually tattooed two bike chains around my ankle, one twisted and the other broken.  I loved the lifestyle, and had truly reinvented and rediscovered myself.

A 500 mile ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles with fellow wounded veterans helped dissipate the old shame from the military.  I had joined the ride to raise money for a good cause.  I respected the program and knew personally that cycling had changed my life.  They turned out to be inspiring, helping me more than I could have helped them.  Some had only just started riding a bike for only a few weeks, some were amputees fit with special-made adapters on regular bikes, some had no legs using hand cycles.  They all joined on to the task of riding 500 miles. No one whined, and helping each other finish the day was the only goal.  While riding with them, I began to open up about my experience.  I found a few others who also had TBI, and we could laugh about similar mishaps.  The other veterans didn’t judge me about anything, like when I was injured, the nature of my disability, how much I did or didn’t accomplish. I had signed up just like them, had to recover back to a functioning life just like them.  It was the first time in my life that whole chapter in my life was accepted; I wasn't odd, and they helped close the shame on that old chapter.  (Thank you, R2R.)  The next year I took a 1500 mile self-supported bike trip through western mountain ranges with my husband and soulmate, whom I had met mt. biking.

There was one late Spring day, finally warm after a long winter, when I just wanted to ride for a few hours by myself.  No speedometer or training intervals, just enjoy the park road winding under the trees. I had downloaded some new music on the IPod, a sampler from the library.  I felt happy.  Life is Good.  Rounding a bend by the river, coasting through sunbeams sparkling the park’s peaceful road, my earphones unexpectedly played Bricklayer’s Beautiful Daughter.  I hadn’t heard that simple guitar tune in three decades.  My God, time suddenly disappeared.  I was right back in the forgotten foster home, listening for the faint silver threads of the contentment I was feeling at this very moment on the bike.  The full force of this sudden connection, the wholeness of the life and unity of myself in one epiphany, brought me to tears. I found myself pouring my heart into praying hang in there, girl, hang in there, you’ll find it and I felt my younger self hearing echoes of birds singing in new green leaves.

Today’s generation breathes on superficiality. Always looking for someone who will make them feel good and look better, like a trophy they carry around. People are going crazy over a buff physique and luscious curves never knowing the real person behind the costume. Mind you, I am into looking good and am a love handle-hating man with a highly elusive six-pack abs but being superficial is just not what I was taught growing up. I was taught to look for substance and not just the stance. Know what I mean? What will you do after you got bored with her? After you’re through with her? You have nothing in common. What will you talk about? You just went after her to make you’re friends jealous, to make your status as a ladies man more credible, to make you look like a demigod and makes you more popular than before. All of these are false judgments about being with someone. There’s less love around my love handles now but character still matters to me. There are bad apples that we, Adams, shouldn’t be tempted, like the girls our mother warned us about. Like the woman who has more degree than a thermometer, not only bilingual but travelled the globe more than a stewardess. I’m not saying that they’re a no-no but they’re on the major league while you are on the little league. They will step on your ego like an elephants stampede and breathe life out your senses. My point is, be realistic. Get to know the person. Know what she wants. Know that women aren’t born with titanium-based sense of confidence and that insecurity will creep in her system. You know the classic: Am I getting fat? Is she hotter than me? Do I look old? You know how it goes. Insecurity has moved with time and even the modern woman remains vulnerable. Easy on the emotions ‘coz when it comes to sensitivity they’re the warden in this joint. So do your homework. She may be the world’s most desired model, capable of reaching a Ferrari’s top speed but she still needs assurance. Sometimes. Occasionally. Periodically. Always. Know that and you’ll be rewarded. Appreciate her. In any size or shape, spell it in front of her. Make literal or mental notes of the big and small deals in her life. And love the princess. Naturally. Stir, simmer and serve it steaming hot. Be patient. Watch her play. Laugh. Cry. See her at her worse. Take time to see her with her friends and family. These are the people she is most comfortable with and will make her act naturally. Don’t jump hastily into a relationship even if it’s the most logical thing to do. Prefer to be comfortable with each other idiosyncrasies included. Heed my word as your guide to a better you and a more blissful relationship, just in case. This will save you from heartaches and depression. And you will not end up seeing someone pull out the yellow card in the relationship and you won’t be making that 2 AM text messages and more importantly the 3AM breakdown.

Rushing in is like passing a busy intersection. You might escape some speeding junkies but you can’t dodge the midnight meat train when it marks you. You’ll end up on the pavement licking your wounds and wishing God will give you a second chance. When we let our emotions decide for us we might as well be a puppet. When we affiliate our need to be with someone with lust, which is insatiable, we will become uncontented. The process leading to forging an actual relationship with someone you were initially attracted to has changed dramatically. The days of long and winding courtship where we woe our object of adoration is gone. Today being intimate don’t apply to couples anymore. The pleasures of carnality are taking the world over and our concept of love is being shaped by ******* bunnies. The line separating love and lust is getting distorted and thinner. No wonder labels such as FuBu, FWB, PP (Pleasure Pal) and Rebound have gained pop culture concurrence. They simply mean consenting bedfellows who contend themselves that there is no ocean of difference between couplehood and ****** friendship besides the scope of emotions involved. Friends can. Especially when, lately, people have become savvy to the idea that *** does not ruin the relationship, which is now rendered all but platonic in an entirely emotional sense. There will be those who disagree and will protest but its making things more audible, making the idea spread like virus. The concept of a FuBu, FWB, PP or whatever you call it is inevitable for a variety of reasons. For starters lets say old school values have been exposed to be total fronting, hypocritical billboard signs of secretly debauched Puritans. Some just start on a harmless get together, a few chitchats, ***** and more *****. And when the night is over and it’s time to go home, some take detours and most of it leads to bed. An exception is on the rebound - dumper-dumpee. Rebound is trying to get back at your dumper, making them jealous or guilty. This involves an innocent victim who’ll fall in the trap of being played on. Believe me, you don’t want to be at the end of the rope. The emotion that comes with the need to be with someone is totally deceiving. Even if you and your date have gone out a few times (even slept every time you see each other) but neither one has confirmed that you are indeed dating, then don’t assume or you’ll suffer the embarrassment of your dating status being denied.

Relationships have drastically changed and this wave of change will press on, as the players get more adept at playing the cards dealt them. And even if the rules of the game have changed dramatically to allow certain breaches on morality, people have to be more cautious in making decisions pertaining to relationships. Never bite off more than you can chew. Or you can kiss your **** goodbye.

(3 persons in one Universe)

I.
retinas read with rods and cones
as eyes watch
but who sees?
fingertips discern with nerve endings
but whose ears feel fear of library lips?
noses detect an old factory
but who tastes the aroma of rice
cooking in the kitchen?
membranes entreat tympanic vibrations
but who hears the mischief of schoolyards,
playgrounds and wind chimes?
who smells the movement of white water
in blue skies?
who envies a feather’s flight
and a fire fly’s light?
who listens for the whip-poor-will’s cry
and the songs of ocean waves and seashells?
who longs for the softness of your flesh
and the sweet touch of your voice?
more than muscle and tendon,
tissue, bone and blood
every cell in my body reactive
in thoughtful, mindful ways
but who interprets it all?
who am I?
who is me?
who, who, who-whooo?


II.
in my mind I am the god
of existentialism
creator of my microcosm
winding my path my way
but the world is dichotomy
an intertwined double helix
circumstances and choices
road blocks and detours
trial and error
failure and success
life is navigation
community is whom I meet along the road
responsibility is self and selflessness
as a good Samaritan thinketh
I wish I had wisdom’s words
and action’s healing hands
but this god lacks omnipotence
although strength and peace reside in me
human limitations foment fear
paralyzed intentions defer goals
like everyone else
my calendar works out day to day
at times my frustrations mount in muted rage
echoing like distant rolling thunder
sometimes I’m a gentle rain
nourishing the earth
other times I... am...LIGHTNING


III.
some look to the earth for their roots
searching rhizomes for past generations
finding themselves made in the image
of wise bearded irises
I look to the stars twinkling my call name
I hear them in night’s silence
and marvel at the lessons they teach
the patience of their traveling light
the wisdom in keeping their place
in the scheme of constellations
and knowing when to turn with the seasons
their acceptance of northstar as center’s attention
secure in the sparkle of their individuality
hearsay says we are made of the same mettle
we are the substance of stars
I imagine myself in their history
a child of the universe
traversing the zodiac before I was me
but now in this life reaching up to night’s sky
the heavens remind me
although I’m but a speck in its vastness
a blink in time’s eye
I have a shine and brilliance
that is mine alone

How can we attain the perspective of the introspective
When detectives aren't respected
By crowds drawn by clowns
Made vicious by the wishes
Of Hades with rabies

In order for humanity to progress
We must all consider our place in society
Emotional disclosure accelerates our human race
Until externalizations halt our momentum
We begin to drift
Discourse drifts toward absurdity
Absurdity drifts toward reality
Reality drifts toward Hell
And accepting reality
Means accepting the bullet's laughter
while it drifts through the innocent
Then we must accept where our souls have drifted
So our minds drift into fantasy
We wrap our abandon ties around our neck
And go to work

We live in a society
Where not giving a **** about what others think
Is actually encouraged
Yes, exchanging ideas can hurt
That's whiplash as we stop drifting and jolt in each other's direction
But communication
Takes detours to dead ends
As honesty and compassion
Elude us
In a self-perpetuating cycle
When education's only purpose
Is learning ******* each other
Before we know too much
Our species drifts toward extinction

Oh detours
Do you ever work?
Getting EVERYONE lost at a moments notice?

Ordinarily able-bodied,
stop me in my tracks
I don't mind
a few days rest
weekend plans
you wreck

Detours don't phase me - obliterate stigma, my response

I'll walk or crawl or submit to the sidelines
I'll ride or sit or be a tour guide
Attendance, no question
my life's purpose
in one day gathered
I go, no hesitation
re-visioning the day
lesson learned, past mistake

Detours don't phase me - obliterate stigma, my response

different, I imagined the scene
life's greatest mystery:
reality versus dreamed
unseen struggle, just as real
ridding shame and damnation
love is the answer here

Detours don't phase me - obliterate stigma, my response

1.  COYOTE SONG
  
A warm beautiful sound
Howling at the moon
Into the cold dark night
  
2.  TRUTH
  
I have seen the greed
And what it does see
A lot of my friends died rich
  
3.  BUTCHER I AM
  
I stabbed Bukowski
In the back again that
bstrd smoked way too much
  
4.  OKLAHOMA
  
O. K. OKIE EYE
Would live here amongst the wells
save the tornadoes
  
5.  UNDER FORTY ?
  
Poe died old
comparingly
  
6.  SOUTH DAKOTA
  
A cold place in hell
And a bolder stone
American Reminder
  
7.  HIGH SCHOOL ******?
  
I needed a date so
I traveled outer space
Searching comet's end
  
8.  YAHOO!  PAYPAL PLEASE
  
I owe poetry so
Much.  so pay up.
Donations are accepted.
  
9.  A TEAR FOR PAL
  
Mike Dembo American
Pizzaman.  Married man
Walking ocean floor
  
10.  SLIP
  
What was' I thinking?
That I could be saved'?
drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip...
  
11.  TRASH TALK
  
I strong armed the mother
That was in my way
To get my fix today
  
12.  FANCY FANTASY
  
Anytime I want to
**** somebody famous
Yes, I think I will
  
13.  CELEBRITY PICNIC?
  
The *****'s gather on
Street corners they promote
Themselves believing their lies
  
14.  50% OFF?
  
American people give
Me your retailed money
It's President's Day
  
15.  TO THE FORGOTTEN 1'S
  
Forty-one more nations
Annotations have been
Made I have found you
  
16.  1 BUNNY DREAM
  
A ******* Playmate
Enters my room hip hop
Hippity hoppity
  
17.  DEAD POEM SOCIETY?
  
I murdered you haiku
In cold blood
Now I'm going to ****** you
  
18.  TABLE FOR 1 EACH
  
An oreo and fig
Newton meet for lunch
One for me, one for you
  
19.  CUTE COOKIE CRUMBLE
  
An oreo runs into
fig newton.  Fancy
meeting you here, crumb
  
20.  31 JAN 09
  
A man died today
on State Street in Hackensack,
New Jersey.  So cold.

this road is weathered
but where one road ends, another starts
crossroads are measured
by the sign posts of wrong turn hearts

caution lights
the stop signs
bridge out
bumps ahead
highways divided
it's gridlock

another dead end street
and there's no u-turns

that road was better
until it came time for us to merge
a do not enter
detours where two hearts converge

Stay up late and write
I'm the freedom writer
Everyday it gets easy to say
Everything you wish you could
You think it's coldhearted
but needed to be said
I keep you away out of my head
I don't get close that's my only choice
Writing has become my voice
I show respect treated like a reject
Went my way because of detours
Crossing paths another roadblock
This time not giving up my way

I'm not her
and you're not him
and this isn't us

but they're not here.

So here we are.

This isn't love,
just sadness
wrapped in an emperor's cape
of disillusionment

I just want to remember
what it's like
to forget everything
with someone who won't forget
to remember me

So I lay with  you
because I'm too weak
to stand up
for what I want.

The yellow brick road
is closed for repairs

So here we are.

In the long journey out of the self,
There are many detours, washed-out interrupted raw places
Where the shale slides dangerously
And the back wheels hang almost over the edge
At the sudden veering, the moment of turning.
Better to hug close, wary of rubble and falling stones.
The arroyo cracking the road, the wind-bitten buttes, the canyons,
Creeks swollen in midsummer from the flash-flood roaring into the narrow valley.
Reeds beaten flat by wind and rain,
Grey from the long winter, burnt at the base in late summer.
-- Or the path narrowing,
Winding upward toward the stream with its sharp stones,
The upland of alder and birchtrees,
Through the swamp alive with quicksand,
The way blocked at last by a fallen fir-tree,
The thickets darkening,
The ravines ugly.

I need to find myself
walking through thick waters
making true friends
I'm walking through icy waters

I need to find myself
so I can understand where I should be
Can't you see, how much this means to me?
walking through thick waters
taking detours along the way

I need to find myself
I'm making true friends
I'm walking through icy waters

Can't you see how much this means to me/
taking detours along the way
Do you have anything to say?

I need to find myself
walking through thick waters
so i can understand where I should be?
Can't you see how much this means to me
I need to find myself

I need to find myself
so I can understand where I should be
Can't you see how much this means to me?

I need to find myself
I need to find myself
I need to find myself
I need to find myself

I'm walking through thick waters
taking detours along the way
Do you have anything to say?
I need to find myself

she wanted to find something that made her passion hang
like a human from a tree somewhere in the late thirties
a silent hand pressed against her sponge mind
making her leak her tongue all over the ill surface

years have passed like a seamless tomb
with eyes that scream please, hold me here for more than just two minutes
I am bored with the 1 hour love meetings and the detours
that lead me to the lions cage
the forbidden conversations and the numbed movements
stone tongues of gargoyles limping on the edge of
Gothic cathedrals in Prague

an animal somewhere in the wild dies slowly
a snake gives its venom to prey

and then you stood timid at the bottom of the mountain
as I struggled to make my way down
I thought of how my mother would be proud
to see me in a wedding dress, letting go of the only daughter she was able to drench out
of her body

surrender I thought never come in the form of bliss
till I realized I would hold out against all odds with no mercy
I'm not going anywhere
I stand right here in the corner
with my poetry spiraling down my thighs
in hopeless patterns

I am aboard a bus that is driven by someone i don't know. He never takes His eyes off the road but yet He knows everything that I and everyone else are doing. Though i have never seen His face or met Him, I trust that He will take me safely to where i want to go. However the bus may never go the way i want it to. After all He is the driver, not me, and it might be necessary to take detours. On the bus are not only me and Him, but my loved ones as well. Everyone on the bus sits in different seats to talk with different people and is in separate groups at some time. However no matter what we are still on this bus and therefore together. Sadly though, some of my loved ones may have to get off at their stop. He will have to stop the bus and my loved one will say good bye to everyone and then slowly walk out the door. From time to time the driver will also stop to pick up people as well, these people are usually people i have never seen before, though other times they are the same loved ones that got off before. My bus takes a long, long time to reach where i want to go and along the way the people on the bus change quite a lot. Their personalities can change sometimes and the people will always switch. New people coming on, old friends leaving, however there are always 2 or 3 people that will stay on the bus as long as they can. When I look out the front window, I can only see a blur of lights and the rest is darkness. I don’t know where I am going and I’m surprised that the driver knows where I’m headed in all this darkness, but I do trust Him. Then I look through the back window to see all the places this bus has been. This window is clearer then the front one, but there is nothing clear outside. All I see is a large mass of people and events mashed together in a way that doesn’t make sense. It’s only on certain days when I look closely that I can piece together what is happening. Sometimes I see people that I’ve known, doing things that they had done before. However that’s not the odd part. Occasionally I see myself outside the back window. I don’t understand how or why, but outside the back window I am with people I have known or even with someone that is on the bus currently. Still, I can’t question much, I can only stay focused on what’s going on in the bus because the back window is where the bus has been and the bus never goes back. In my long bus ride I will eventually reach my stop as well. However in my time on the bus I have noticed that it’s missing a few parts. There are no cameras, no emergency exit signs, or emergency exits at all. Furthermore I have also heard that our bus doesn’t have a number, rather it has a name, life.

volume i
A Portrait of My Sixth-Grade Self
___________________­

Eleven-year-old fingers
swollen with baby fat
dig into the gaudy shimmer
of turquoise eyeshadow
encased in its shattered compact.

I apply the pigment,
erratic smudges extending
from my lash line
to just below my untamed brows.

The blue powder accentuates the swirls
of my fingerprints in dizzy figure eights.

But you can't quit your own skin
like you can quit ice skating lessons.

I am in the sixth grade
when the Popular Girls
in my class tell me that,
if I want to get a boy to like me,
I have to change the way I look.

I abide by the rules of the
Unofficial Mean Girl Doctrine:

{no. 1}

I mustn't wear sweat pants,
these sloppy Old Navy rags
that I have owned for three years.

See,
denim is superior to cotton
even though it leaves
cavernous indentations
on my stomach.

Sweat pants forgive
the extra swell of your waist line.

Denim punishes you
for what you don't have,
more specifically
for what you have too much of.

I ask my mom for skinny jeans
because perhaps if I can
shrink all that I am
into this blue, unyielding fabric
I will feel thinner than I actually am.

We buy the skinny jeans from Old Navy.

{no. 2}

My signature high pony tail is
unacceptable.

I should wear my hair down,
they profess.

I am not sure if this is
because of the tufts of frizz
that loom over my scalp
like wasted dandelion seeds

(I wish... I wish... I wish...)

or if this is just a necessary ritual
in the abandonment of my girlhood.  

After I unsheathe my curls
from their rubber-band Bastille,
their trial commences.

My ringlets slither
in hostile circulations,
executing frequent detours away
from anyone who might scoff
at their animalistic bedlam.

If only I could will
my spectators to stone.

Cuz no one ever dared
**** with Medusa
and her curls.

Instead,
I settle for a flat iron.

{no. 3}

Do everything in your power to be
Beautiful
including, but not limited to,
the laws indicated above.

Yet,
despite my grandest efforts,
it is never enough.

I am never enough.

I am the Walmart Edition
of what the Popular Girls
want me to be.

With my gaudy eyeshadow and the
cheap Dollar Store bracelets
that I wear around my wrists,
plastic flowers blooming
upon threaded stems
that nip at the hair on my arms.

One day on the bus ride home,
a boy from my class tells me
I am too hairy.

"Huh?" I ask,
pretending I haven't heard him.

"Nothing," he mumbles back to me.

See,
little girls are supposed to play with
jump ropes and Barbie Dolls.

They are not supposed to
play with razors as they strip away
every misplaced hair on their body
or consult Teen Vogue
for the latest beauty hacks
like they are Gospel.

This year of 2011/2012
has been engraved  into
the historical road map
of my every insecurity.
The legend of this map,
depicted in smeared globules
of sugar cookie lipgloss,
deliver me to my destination:

self hatred.

Mascara stains the
topography of my flesh
in inky, dotted lines

I follow.

I plummet
like the eternal run
in my stockings.

One way plane ride
non-stop
never to return
from this perception of ugliness
and then--

flight


down.

She was done not fully being herself.
She realized she was the only self she could be—and not being unapologetically true to herself was a disservice to her soul and the world.
She was done listening to the noise of the world. She realized the quiet voice of her own soul was the most beautiful sound.
She was done questioning her motives, her intentions, the call of her soul. She realized questions seek answers, and maybe she already knew the answers.
She was done striving, forcing, pushing through and staying on the hard path. She realized toughing things out might be a sign to pick another path.
She was done with friends that admonished her to be more light and breezy. She realized they didn’t understand she swam in the deep waters of life, she felt at home in their dark depths and died if she lived on the surface.
She was done with the distractions, the denials, the small addictions that pulled her away from the true desires of her soul. She realized that strength of character came from focus and commitment.
She was done not following the desires that yelled out in her soul every day. She realized if she did nothing about them, they died a quiet death that took a piece of her soul with them.
She was done with dinner parties and cocktail hours where conversations skimmed the surface of life. She realized the beverages created distortion and a temporary happiness that wasn’t real and disappeared in the light of the day.
She was done trying to please everyone. She realized it could never be done.
She was done questioning herself. She realized her heart knew the truth and she needed to follow it.
She was done analyzing all the options, weighing the pros and cons and trying to figure everything out before leaping. She realized that taking a leap implied not fully seeing where she landed.
She was done battling with herself, trying to change who she knew herself to be. She realized the world made it hard enough to fully be herself, so why add to the challenge.
She was done worrying, as if worry was the price she had to pay to make it all turn out okay. She realized worry didn’t need to be part of the process.
She was done apologizing and playing small to make others feel comfortable and fit in. She realized fitting in was overrated and shining her light made others brave enough to do the same.
She was done with the should’s, ought to’s and have to’s of the world. She realized the only must’s in her life came from things that beat so strong in her soul, she couldn’t not do them.
She was done with remorse and could have’s. She realized hindsight never applies because circumstances always look different in the rearview mirror and you experience life looking through the front window.
She was done with friendships based on shared history and past experiences. She realized if friends couldn’t grow together, or were no longer following the same path, it was okay to let them go.
She was done trying to fit in—be part of the popular crowd. She realized the price she had to pay to be included was too high and betrayed her soul.
She was done not trusting. She realized she had placed her trust in people that were untrustworthy—so she would start with the person she could trust the most—herself.
She was done being tired. She realized it came from spending her time doing things that didn’t bring her joy or feed her soul.
She was done trying to figure it all out, know the answers, plan everything and see all the possibilities before she began. She realized life was unfolding and that the detours and unexpected moments were some of the best parts.
She was done needing to be understood by anyone but herself. She realized she was the only person she would spend her whole with and understanding herself was more important than being understood by others.
She was done looking for love. She realized loving and accepting herself was the best kind of love and the seed from which all other love started.
She was done fighting, trying to change or not her accepting her body. She realized the body she came into the world with was the only one she had—there were no exchanges or returns—so love and acceptance was the only way.
She was done being tuned in, connected and up-to-date all the time. She realized the news and noise of the world was always there—a cacophony that never slowed or fell quiet and that listening to the silence of her soul was a better station to tune into.
She was done beating herself up and being so ******* herself as if either of these things led to changes or made her feel better. She realized kindness and compassion towards herself and others accomplished more.
She was done comparing and looking at other people’s lives as a mirror for her own. She realized holding her own mirror cast her in the best, most beautiful light.
She was done being quiet, unemotional and holding her tongue. She realized her voice and her emotions could be traced back to her deepest desires and longings. if she only followed their thread.
She was done having to be right. She realized everyone’s truth was relative and personal to themselves, so the only right that was required was the one that felt true for her.
She was done not feeling at home in the world. She realized she might never feel at home in the world, but that feeling at home in her soul was enough.
She was done being drained by others—by people who didn’t want to take the time for their own process and saw shortcuts though hers. She realized she could share her experience, but everyone needed to do the work themselves.
She was done thinking she had so much to learn. She realized she already knew so much, if she only listened.
She was done trying to change others or make them see things. She realized she could only lead by example and whether they saw or followed was up to them.
She was done with the inner critic. She realized its voice was not her own.
She was done racing and being discontent with where she was. She realized the present moment held all it needed to get her to the next moment. It wasn’t out there—it was right here.
She was done seeing hurt as something to be avoided, foreseen or somehow her fault. She realized hurt shaped her as much as joy and she needed both to learn and grow.
She was done judging. She realized judging assumed the presence of right and wrong—and that there was a difference between using information to inform and making someone else wrong.
She was done jumping to conclusions. She realized she only needed to ask.
She was done with regrets. She realized if she had known better she would have done better.
She was done being angry. She realized anger was just a flashlight that showed her what she was most scared of and once it illuminated what she needed to see, she no longer needed to hold on to it.
She was done being sad. She realized sorrow arose when she betrayed her own soul and made choices that weren’t true to herself.
She was done playing small. She realized if others couldn’t handle her light, it was because they were afraid of their own.
She was done with the facades and the pretending. She realized masks were suffocating and claustrophobic.
She was done with others’ criticism and complaints. She realized they told her nothing about herself—only informed her of their perspective.
She was done yelling above the noise of the world. She realized living out loud could be done quietly.
She was done needing permission, validation or the authority. She realized she was her her own authority.
She was done being something she was not. She realized the purpose of life was to be truly, happily who she was born to be,and if she paused long enough to remember, she recognized herself.*

Adrienne Pieroth

I asked him I said “don’t lie to me”
Give it a couple weeks but after that
then he be denying me,
take without supplying me
With the way we started
I guess this **** is irony, this **** is irony
If I told this would happen
Would you try to stop it?
Lay back in the mayback
Sit and wait
N Try to watch it
Boy I know we had our problems,
But you ain’t work to solve them
I been thru all this last year
I think that I’m revolvin
I’ve been thru this **** before
I took all of the detours
He told that he loves me
But it seems he always needs more
I can be the best for you
I’m so focused on you but you focused on what drug next for you
I know I have my issues but at least I try to fix it
You said that loves a game,
You say we swung and that we missed it
Switched up in an instant
We went from hugs and kisses
To tryna keep our distance
We barely speak our words
But I know you feel this verse
Ain’t denying it, I miss you
So I prey to god it hurts
I tried and tried and tried with you
I knew that I would ride for you
It really takes some honesty
And know I barely lied to you
Love was thrown around so let me be the last to save you...

I knew I should’ve expected this
Maybe you ain’t it no more
But I sure need to check for this
I tried everything so I think it’s time for an extra man, what extra man?
No this not a diss track,
But baby you ain’t it no more
So you can get your ***** back, get your ***** back
No regrets except for you,
Shoulda up and left on you
This is all yours so keep listen
And the rest for you
Love is gonna throw you out,
Told my friends I had no doubt, had no doubt yah yah had no doubt
Can’t believe that I defended you,
Broken hearts I’d mend for you
I used to send long paragraphs
But now this song in sendin you
It’s broken
I won’t bend for you
I won’t bend for you
Nah I won’t bend for you
You get on my nerves,
But it used to be my mind
I used to think you’re perfect
It’s a ****** waste of time
And I swear i keep searchin
But your type is all I find
All I find
Yah yah you’re all I find
Pretending you don’t know me gone be hard after this
Thought that I was done
Still goin hard after this
Baby we was up to bat
I guess we all gotta me,
We all gotta miss

But I should say thanks
I’m super focused now
You don’t want it?
That’s okay I won’t go hold you down
Used to spend my nights
We’d fall asleep on the call
Now I spend my nights I sleep quite at all
I hate you and I love you
And I wrote to express that
I hate this I hate us
It’s done now, never text back
I’ll send calls to voice mail
I won’t take my ex back
I hope you gonn find better
But baby it don’t get that
Baby It don’t get that

She thinks if she travels to foreign lands- even if
it is only by dating an ethnic man- that she can
scale the high walls of the borders between what she
was taught and who she hopes she is.

Having followed blindly her predestination programmed life
she can’t resist taking squinted peeks through the
tiny open slits of vision, hoping to find her true self.

“You are losing the faith!” her anxious mother warns
as though to do so would be an inherent flaw,
not a conscious choice.

But Mother’s own faith
has been slipping through her hands for the past
30 years, and only that promised salvation can save
her from the indiscretions that fill the non-rapturous void
left-behind by mister Christian-right-wing-man.

Taught well by mother, father, and god, that men
must be assessed in a purely logical fashion,
“Agree on finances and childrearing and you will
have happily ever.”

But she feels fake, and does not know how
to peel the plastic wrap off her personality.
You can see its bindings in the way her eyes implore you
and how she clasps her hands on her lap by rote.

She is the pink peg in the Hasbro Game of Life car
with guilt trip road blocks, detours and poorly folded
directional maps. Spinning the wheel in search of tour guides:
What should I read? What should I think?

But that only gives her new mind instructors.
Perhaps instead of foreign languages and foreign lands,
the verity lies in the realization that mother
probably feels fake too.

An event, an occurrence,
As if it all happened in a flicker.
Part of my past,
Part of my identity.
Learning to embody it,
Learning to sift through the pain.

Its effect coursing through every interaction,
Every conversation.
It held me in its grasp.
A prisoner to its will,
My emotions and feelings a puppet,
****** reactions a reflex.

As I take steps to unravel it,
Actions and thoughts become more understandable,
Relationships more translucent.
With consequences of a new sense of anger,
A surge of hate,
Flowing through my body.

I stare it in at in the eye,
Show it valor,
I am here to fight.
Detours may ensue,
But I will find my way back.
No longer will I be a pawn.

the attention deficit hyperactivity disorder
poem
is a strange animal

with lines
monosyllabically
short
and then
perilously   freakishly    faulknerically
long
but not to worry

the trick is to ***** around
with the readers' heads a bit
let them wonder
   what's going on
get them used to
   obnoxious departures
   sudden jolts
      of expression
   devious detours into
     obscenity, indecency

these are the
tourette's moments
of a poet's creative life:
a move to keep those with the
attention span of an infant gnat
awake  alive  responsive

some may expect poetry
to take them down
safe  bland  routes:
         a snowfall enhanced by red robins
         perched on a rustic fence

         a lake with canoeing lovers cooing
         in a shimmering moment
          
         heartfelt elegies
         quaint quatrains
         hip haikus

but can these images
really keep you entranced?

well, can they?

it isn't like i didn't warn you
or the horse you rode in on

Life is a journey with hills and winding roads for me to travel as I bestow. There are paths that cross and dead-end streets. There are plenty of detours and obstacles to meet. One day I found myself on a lone highway when I became aware I had lost my way. I looked around to my concern and wondered when I had made a wrong turn. I looked for a sign to tell me my location and found myself reflecting upon my initial destination.
          My passage through life has lost its intention. I wander across trails of no ambition. Wearily I struggle to fight dejection... as I span the horizon contemplating my direction. East, South, West, or North, I must decide in order to go forth. Feeling overwhelmed I fall to my knees and ask Goddess Diana to help me please.
          I hear a voice inside me say, ”My dear child, you know your way. Follow your heart it will always lead to paths of splendor and the way to succeed. Remember the words of our Wiccan Rede, and the three fold law must you heed. Be of true heart and goodwill, and ye harm none do what ye will.”
          I rise to my feet and look to the west remembering now my journeys quest. I watch an eagle fly towards the sea and knew all was well, So Mote It Be!

Life's like a road trip. When you're young, you're deciding where to go, what friends to take along and what sights you want to see. As you keep growing and learning; you change destinations, travelers and where you want to explore.

Once you're in your car, driving down the winding road, you start to pick up hitchhikers. Some only need the ride to the next town over, some stick around longer than expected and some leave too soon, each leaving different stories and memories.

With any road trip, sometimes you read the map wrong, or make a wrong turn and lose your way back to the main road. But don't panic, you'll get back to where you need to be, in due time.

While driving, you could decide to switch destinations because, that's not where you want to end up anymore. So, you pull up on the side of the road, ask for directions, maybe grab a bite to eat and head on to your new road.

With every road trip, it can be fun or hectic, longer than expected or ends too soon. You might stumble upon new discovers and detours along the way, stopping to soak up the beauty of the landscape.

Road trips are unique to the driver and the passengers. Once the road trip is done and you've reached your destination, you can always plan a new trip and start looking at different routes.

As long as you got good tunes, great travel buddies and gas; life's winding road will show you new horizons.

He cups the bowl
With a pocket bible,
Pulls in a few more short gasps,
Trying to fill every last inch
Of the fleshy air sponge in his chest.
He rises up, as his lungs expand,
And puts down the pipe,
Caressing the tiny bible in his hands,
Absentmindedly.

He smiles...
A gray-white rose unfurls from his lips.

He slides the pipe across the table,
I turn it down...
I am only twelve.

"Suit yourself"
He says...
His voice like vaseline on silk...
A hair mussing, makeup smearing,
***** tearing voice.
I think,
'Man, I would **** to have a voice like that.'

"Me...I love the stuff. That's what its all about."
He says.

"That's what what's all about?"
I stammer.

He smiles,
And I shiver involuntarily,
As if waves of cool radiate from that smile.
This guy was a small town demigod,
Mind you.

The coolest car,
The blackest leather jacket.
He was the front man
For a local rock band,
And all the girls wrote his name in their notebooks,
With little hearts, and declarations of their love.

"Life, man, life.
If you like killing, or kissing,
Smoking or *******,
Do it.
If you do you will stay loose.
You stay loose , you be cool.
You be cool, the world is gravy,
You dig?
Life is a custom Mustang
Made just for you.
You got to ride that some of a *****,
Until you run out of gas.
So always take the roads
that lead to things you love,
And forget what the road signs say...
Make your own detours."


Four months later,
He was killed in a car wreck.
He was drinking wild turkey,
While getting road head.
They found a half ounce of grass
In his hip pocket.
The girl walked away with nothing worse
Than a broken arm.
They couldn't repair the red and pink glass shredded mess of his face...
His funeral was closed casket, and I didn't go.

The next day I spent the money I was saving
For a ten speed, on a used, Washburn acoustic guitar.
After all...I already had a set of wheels, that I was born with.
I hopped behind the wheel that day,
And since then, I have lived my life, my way.
I've had enough downs,
To prove my decision making skills are flawed,
But I followed my joy, and the things I love,
And I have no regrets...
Hell, I'm still alive,
And I ain't ran out of gas yet.

Unknown.
Unspecified.‎

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for on the left we have The undisputed, most lyrical sensation in the world, Prodigy", The speaker announced.

"And on the right we have, the growing, unknown, unspecified the last Bounty Hunter, when she slays she slays", The speaker shouts.

PRODIGY 
Moving with the flow of beats, I serenade my thoughts with new symphonies.
New melodies, thoughts cascading through creating a lyrical abstract.

Now let my words infuse into you and misuse 
Your subliminal thoughts. 
Let me tell you the tale of a lost soul found by the soulless. 

It wasn't a nice summers day.
It wasn't a blistering cold morning.
There was no pain involved whatsoever.
The lost soul feels nothing but moves with the flow of the wind, whichever movement taken it will be accepted. 
The soulless saved me, from a whirlpool of lost and unknown souls they saved me and put me in a situation where feelings were unrequited, unnecessary, sociopath tendencies rolling in,
They saved me. 
Showed me the light of darkness but took me out the darker abyss.
And no amount of gratitude can show that when there's no existing feelings in the first place.
They turned me into a prodigious phenomenal.
Told me my words could get me anywhere.
Ladies and Gentlemen I am Prodigy
A legend amongst the dead, the living, the unknown, the unimaginable.

THE LAST BOUNTY HUNTER

I move with sensational beats,
Stomping to the floor getting down and *****.
Thanking the legends for showing me the streets,
The actual hustle the struggle the flow of the people.
I am the last bounty hunter.
The last of my people, the fighter.
I am like the Ruger No. 1 Varminter K1-V-BBZ one shot and you're out.

"Alright ladies and Gentlemen we got our introduction now it's time for the main attraction. The main topics, we will start of with Prodigy, your topic is Blissful pain".

PRODIGY 

Blissful pain.
Breathe and forget the strain.
Pop pills later and let them invade your veins.

It's Blissful pain.
Bloodshot eyes.
Shaky hands.
Woozy thoughts.

I drowned so much to forget you.
Swimming in liquor,
Taking strange detours.
Hoping to forget you.

It's blissful pain.
The drugs and alcohol make me forget you, make me smile, makes me laugh and free spirited.
The after effects hurt.
Rusty hangovers, forgotten nights and swarming thoughts of what we used to be.
Blissful pain.
Bitter sweet moments.
I miss you...

"Woah okay now it's The Last Bounty Hunter, your topic is Green hills"

THE LAST BOUNTY HUNTER 

Green hills.

"Save me", she whispered.

I watched her at the top of the hill.
Tears running down her face, posture all down,
Her self esteem gone, her entire demeanour broken into tiny little pieces of non existence.

"It hurts", she whimpered.

The green hills holding her in place,
Making her look down on what's meant to be her doom but is rather her freedom.
The dark green trees hold on to her praying she doesn't fall.

"Don't", my hand reaches out to her.
She jumps, falling down, the Green trees try to save her from falling each trying to catch her.

"I'm sorry", I close my eyes as I watch the green Hill devour her.

"Alright Ladies and Gentlemen the next match will be based on a specific topic and that topic is Hunted"

THE LAST BOUNTY HUNTER.

The days are the days of the years of the ages of our dreams.
Realising we aren't what we truly thought we are.
Focusing on dreams of being the hunter yet we are the hunted.

Maybe I don't understand, maybe he doesn't know and maybe she does.

We search seeking for answers, never really finding them but end up digging more in a pit of unanswered questions.

We toggle philosophy, entering the metaphysical ending up with the epistemological.
We complicate the simple, fighting complexity with simplicity.

Hunting.
I lay down looking through my lenses,
Searching for a loophole, a spot, to pounce on my prey.
Because let's be honest.
Our greatest ability is to find the weak spot of the toughest strongest.

Patiently waiting for you to mess up.
I know you know I'm watching.
I can see your insecurities dancing in,
Waltzing, doing oh so melodious moves.
I see them in harmony, in synchronisation with my plan.

You're scared. 
Not ready to fall so I leave.
Giving you a peace of mind till you relax, till you're ready. 
One two three, shots fired.
You've been hunted.

PRODIGY

I've never been one for words.
Never one for feelings and emotions.
I've just been one to move with the motion.

So when she stopped me I was lost, confused.
She put her hand across my cheek
Cheek burning, the sound deafening.

"Why", her voice cracked.
Her bloodshot eyes caught mine. 
Searching for answers praying that I would show her the light. 
That she might be the one I would truly fight for.

With confusion flowing through my mind I turned and walked away.
"I'm not that type of guy", I sighed.
"I can never be that guy". I left

He looked at me as if I was crazy.
"Even the wildest animals out there have feelings compared to you", He laughed.
"You're like a hunter, you **** and you get a thrill put of it and you don't put emotions in it", He spat.
"What the **** is wrong with you", He shouted.

I stared at him. 
Not enough running through my head.
I cooked my head and started laughing.
"Everyone is ****** up" I paused.
Took a deep breath and walked away.

"Well then the final piece is a freestyle feel free to do what you want", the announcer spoke.

LAST BOUNTY HUNTER

For years and centuries I've been a dreamer.
Praying to the gods hoping to become a great believer.
Trying to find the light so that I can become a controversial writer.

I had my heart caged on rage.
My soul flipped and sold for truth.
Hoping to find my true self.

I am the last of the legends.
A writer amongst the lyricist.

I've seen souls sold to the devil for the oblivious life.
Had dreams broken for the delirious minds.

My granddad told me I could be a hero someday.
That I could find wisdom by my writing. 

I looked at him and asked him if I can do it.
He told me "Son you are a Bounty Hunter you can do anything"

My words are my weapons.
This pen is my rifle.
This paper is my ammunition.
This life is my redemption.
Each story is an unravelling revelation.

"Alright ladies and Gentlemen next we have, Prodigy"

PRODIGY.

Alright this is a story of my father and I.
We were somewhat tight, close.
Regardless of my condition I felt something with my father, respect.
I looked up to him.

One day stating at the blue sky, watching the grey clouds, I asked "Dad?"
"Yea son?", He looked at me.
I took a deep breath, watching the sun get overwhelmed by the clouds, the blue sky getting darker. 
"Do you think I'll ever be normal?", I looked at him nonchalantly. 
"I don't know kid", He sighed.
"Does it bother mum that I'm not like the others?" I asked barely above a whisper.
He looked at me, His green eyes overwhelming me with answers, the got teary and at that point I knew the answer.
Reading his sudden dropped posture,
His sudden fidgeting of hands.
Trying to find his words, I raised my hand
"It's okay, I understand", I stood up dusted myself off and walked away.

"Alright that was deep" The announcer mentioned.
"Ladies and Gentlemen who is your winner?"

It was the coldest day of the year.
We welcomed the return of cooler weather,
Fellow followers of the southern sun.
Winter had almost begun.
Delicious cool breezes uplifted our spirits.
Inspired these awesome(?) lyrics
There was a luminescence to the light.
It sparkled with the dearest delight.
The days were shorter.
The nights' longer.
The seasons were changing.
Change was in the air..
Change was everywhere.

Southern change is slow and steady.
Unlike the north where one must always be ready
The mass migration from the north was still underway.
Hordes and hordes of high blood pressure,
Scoliosis afflicted octogenarians invaded our state.
We who bore the brunt of the brutal summers,
Felt like we belonged to a sunny exclusive club.
Entitled to space, the roads, the sunshine.  
Now we must share with the worst drivers of vehicular crime
Accidents galore.
Everywhere you go.
Someone overran the barricade,
Cars totaled
Cars mangled
Twisted and tangled
Cars flipped & chipped  
A road detours
In the land of the aged & mature
Mature, I say, only in age
Otherwise, it would be an absolute outrage.
And it is.

People meeting people in the most unfortunate way.
I tell you it tests your mettle,
It tests your patience,
It tests your good nature,
Not to mention the nomenclature
of your exclusivity.  
Better rethink civility.
Better rethink senility.
Better rethink livability
In the south
In the wintertime
  
Missing you had become a pastime of mine...
Seeing you and Robert in the coffee shop that day-
Delighted me.  
So that I completely forgot to order tea.
I knew I would see you soon,
As fate would have it.
Not being in the habit
Of that particular time
That particular coffee shop
That day,
Anyway
Unplanned as this was.
That is to say
Not planned in the usual way.
Did the afternoon gods align?
Should I take it as a sign
Or is it pure coincidence
I know you agree with the ladder
It doesn’t much matter
Coincidence and me don’t agree
Nothing is accidental
No, I’m not mental
If you agree with me.
I admit it’s a hard nut to swallow,
Unless you’re in the habit of swallowing hard nuts,
Which most, I think, are not
Although I’ve never actually inquired
For the usual reasons
Excuse the nut reference
If you have a hard nut allergy
In which case you should stay away  
It’s not a bad thing,
More hard nuts for the rascal squirrels,
No hard nuts for the hard nut adverse.
How nutty is this verse?

I digress
As you can see
My thoughts always take me back to thee
Thought I’d get a little fancy.
Back to the Day in question
Referenced by me in this digression
If I thought something interesting was about to unfold
Oh no, oh no
It was the same old, same old
After the polite amount of time
You picked up your phone
It was a sign
Business as usual
Or is it you hiding behind
Some kind of some kind  
I don’t know what
I such a nut
Stale coffee sits in the microwave
It pings its readiness
Forget my forgetfulness
One more round
The coffee’s cold
Like you
Still
I take it out
Drink it anyway
While I wait
Still
The coffee’s cold
And so are you
That’s all I have to say
And that’s why
Without thinking
I grabbed the phone that day
While you were busy texting
Hey, I wasn’t getting in the boxing ring
You knew that

Robert was rather overreactive
It was only me being me
I’ll meet your cold
And up the ante
Are you all in
Do I win
I was only playing, all along
That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t write me a love song
Two for her
One for me
I think you’ll agree
It’s quite unfair
And you want to be fair
Don’t you
This isn't optional
Even rational
Or actionable
*******
My phantom love
I get it.
Still
I’m missing you.
Do you miss me too?

Detours be the best
Walk in silence of Everest
From a hill we look below
(Please don't go)

Cards we play
Your commentary, hurray!
I sit by, winning in a row
(Please don't go)

From friends to more
A smoke we score
So high, walk a road
(Please don't go)

Starry evening
Drawing cheesy dream
We sit together low
(Please don't go)

Write some more!
Random? sure!
Pages we tore
(Please don't go)

In a car, we ride
a little far, no fright
Tell funny stories yo
(Please don't go)

Surprise tight kiss
Rubbed my lower lips
Taking it slow
(Please don't go)

My heart beat you hear
Together we cheer
Let the liking flow
(Please don't go)

Random things be cool
Stay here my fool
So much to show
(Please don't go)

We pack our things
A new day to begin
Our reflection's glow
(Please don't go)

Wait a moment or two
Time flies for us few
My heart says no
You say "PLEASE DON'T GO."

You mixed two packets of melancholia
into your coffee today,
and I had to bite my tongue to resist
to say, "I thought you liked it black."
I watched as you daintily taste-tested
it from your spoon and was delighted
upon seeing your grimace of
disapproval (you're adorable when mad).
I took note of how
your veins pulsed underneath
your deeply tanned skin
and I longed to be the blood that
traveled through your delicate body.
If only I could map out your cardiovascular
system and find all the detours and
shortcuts to your fragile heart,
memorize the freeway that
encircled your figure and learn
when to avoid rush hour or when
to take the fast lane.
I found myself fantasizing about
the day you were conceived and
how you beat out all the other
potential embryos - that maybe,
you were chosen out of the thousands
for the sole purpose of being with me.

Conversations are like hikes in the realm of thought.

Multiple people traversing ideas, concepts, memories, emotions. Together.

Once the conversation ends, it’s like a completed hike, a route you can re-trek, go back to explore even further.

Like a tracing of a route on a map, the conversation is almost like a work of art. A map of the world of thought created and experienced in-between those conversing.

Some conversations, like hikes, are scattered, going all over, making many detours.

Others are a nice straight path, easy to follow.

Other conversations can take many interesting turns, detours, and leave you somewhere totally unexpected.

Some are like climbing a mountain, difficult to follow the trails, requiring great effort, but the view from the top is extraordinary.

Emergent and forming I feel a storm is imploring that soon without any warning you beg to cross a line

Every time, nothing is sacred but sacramental complacence is marked as roles of the shameless

Mean to skip a line another time? Is this too rough and obtuse for a cutie like you to boost the power line?

Number 9, completion is power and stricken chords every hour proceed to timeline devour those daily entities

I do decree that opposition to me is free and withered beatings to meetings, detours and dealings

understanding demands of variable plans is held by the hand that feeds the depleted need

I see it from every angle, the tangle, the multishifted frame though it dangles, I can't be stuck in my own head when

I see the reflections of me in the treasure it jangles, brings into focus where my head fell to float in the

moments set to wrangle, pull it in, dwell upon the good and discard where it hampers new fangled notions like

truth effusions of love and devotion are swallowed up in the daily ocean of noise traffic, the more verbose,

Graphic dispatches matches blasted disasters dashed and rash past distractions amass magic attacks balanced

Secular motion entwined with metaphysical potions, divided what is your quotient? It doesn't add up in this

moment.

Interpersonal, intergalactic, universal assertions disturbed by verbage of outrance

Message mismanaged mischief mallaeble mayhem managed maganamously mallicous mannered when I

would proclaim them. Members materialized meriting masturbatory movements and monetized

malappropriation I have no patience nor pathos for indiscriminant egos demonstrating a tangent as canon and

paralyzing progressions toward psychic visions of heaven, eyes as the cosmos, and pressures upended.

I'll cope with associations disastrous and tainted, but keep in my visage all that scratches my lenses

I know far too much to be content with the situation, but far too little to shatter falsehood's intitiation