My house looks nice
From this distance,
I could walk up my driveway
And open the door,
See the taste of sorrow
Abundant
Throughout.

Will the fearful curtain
Shed my sight?
Shall I exalt
Amidst its tasty blender?
Enter,
I know I have to enter.
I will enter,
And be pleased
By the otherside.

The sewer of my mouth
Pours a
distasteful evocation.

here we sit,
painted by the autumn glow of the sun.
Just on the edge
Towards spinning iridescent
Thoughts.

This presents soft soothing moisture... emotions congregate
Above the taste of vernacular.
And I sit,
Watching the lingering face of death
The times I see are ready to excavate into that strawberry sweet remedy
By the face
Of her seductive charm.

Unconscious images spill their essence
In the flora of your mind.
Do you remember.
Can you remember.

Memories engraved paint your eyes colored
Once you reminisce on a dissipated friend.
The smell of their harvest is now nothing
But a fragrance.

Your posited deteriorating vision
Presents before my feet.
Obstructed walls in which I emerge
Splashes the taste of family.

The end of Christmas dinner
With the conventional oscillating tribe
Leaks through the passage of time.

its the past trapped in memory
Sunken within the senses.

Fumes of nostalgia beckon a creep response
Until the disruption
Outside of my wake
Displays the colorful world.
Where will I go?
When will I know?
A life told by the touch
Just brings me to my walls of vision. A family dies. Conceived once again. Death trapped in visitation of the past, once more transcribed by the friendly, familiar eye.

When in Bosnia death is my friend.
Hearing footsteps with the void behind.
A friend outside of the land of friends.
A sealer to the dim breath.

My sight leaves with the goings of night.
And here I am, ready to leave.

Many amalgamations
Of the human face
Consist within this highway.
One hand over the wheel,
The other at my lap.
I scan the surrounding landscape.

One
Two
There
And the oscillations
Of the human heart,
Pungent within a rampant life
Project across the strips of our eyes.
The past has written the story.
The future has written the story.

The lights will soon turn green.
And we will go.

Our footsteps and a lurking smile
Are thrown inside the throat
Of the machine's demise

Were tired in the mechanic complexion
A told prelude of our friend's nearest dawn.

The blinders now edge to be open.
Contained in the dead no more.

Now splendid as we watch beyond.
The portable silencer
Kept away with the kiss of the machine
By the bottom gaped sun.

Amidst the sensations
              That float among us
We dip our faces in the
                                         Color of emotions.
We cannot cry
We cannot choose
We cannot scold
We cannot run
For when death gives
                             Wings to us all.
Our souls will have fully lived.
And we
            Will be
                       Whisked away
To the ether, behind the curtain
                                                     Unknown.
Smiles dwell till the sun.

A revelatory sign
Undresses the disguised society.

This road marks my
Steps from the future
And here I am
Left behind
Just one more left
A dismal sign.

Do you benefit from the heart
Of a kindred face.

Tilted by the traveling world
I'll see you
At the bottom of space.

Parted by the inaudible
Divided by the indelible
Constructive
Inductive
Time plays tricks for the livid.

Glasses filled with red wine
Scattered among the room of chatter.
The birth of the week
Marked this day right here.
Circular eyes, circular mouths
Washed by ease as they dance.
Were in the land
Of sighting sound
And smelling touch.
No grievance to
Ponder this abrupt breath.
Only time to feel.
Buried under the mind’s
Silky smooth
Composition.
Take ten to visit the bathroom.
Men and women
Latched to slammed doors
Walk above the tiles
Half harboring mistakes
Out of the need to show.

Enamored by the fresh coat of winter,
I will now let my mind flourish.

For so many years,
The drought has led
Me to the desert,
Crawling to compose
A soothing sound,
A particular wave.
The area speaks
Of harmony within a
Torn down cave.

The sound of rocks
Placed aesthetic
Occurs within the mind of winter.
And the flakes of bleached out color
Fall
Closer
To the whispers of the storm.

My clarity for future misdeeds
Is held in the passage of night.

Edging, slowly
To the end of the herald cliff
With a hand as an enemy against the mind.

Iridescent thoughts concave in the head of pleasure
Part in parcel
With the fostering of hollow time.

A hand jerks
Toward the motion of a life painted.

Time through time
Spurts out
A self-portrait.
A dispersed diary.

Inside out I turn with a small examining eye.
Now my bones endure the slow collapse
As the sun beholds above my brows.

The glass room
Reflects my myriad, chiseled thoughts.
They strike upon my head
Rain down
A cold
Calm
Breeze.
This vast variety
Swamped by the ocean
Floods
Through the crevice of my eyes.
Drowning amidst my future possibilities,
Another thought echoes,
They are here to be realized
As I exalt outside
Of a balloon of sorrow.
I should spill
From my head,
Line up the doors
Reflect,
Muse,
Ponder,
And walk though whichever one.

people  begin to herd
Causing the rise of smoke from filthy brains and corrupted hearts.

Furious tapping of the foot
Signals for the ugly brutes to remain.

They continue to approach.

A heart screams for mother's milk.
A mind screams for father's place.

The basket case dilemma is a friend to my memory.
No better individual but the spoken to take on this burden for the world.

A soft voice
And a smooth face
Present before the mirror.

A forest before the screen
Leads to a movie
As I approach.

An indignant face
Infectious towards my simple life
How can I hold?
How can I wait?
With the rest in time
And a cough in space.

Memory sheds
A bath below,
In which this tilting head sinks

A stern fist
A maniacal laugh
Flood the cough
On its behalf

Now forlorn
In a waste of water
Crafted luscious in the time we spot her.

After a departure of fright
By which this ferry fled.

Laying in the sand
Trembling frosty death.

For the wall of sorrow behind
A fountain picturesque.

With the rust of reality entwined
This may not be the end.

The death of Monday
calls for a uniformed
tracking
arrival.

latched to the sound
Of boots
Climbing from the station
We see unconscious hints
Equipped with the fragrance of a summer breeze
Sprout to the surface
Of a familiar face.

Here the white picket fences
sing in harmony
as the movie screens project
upon the lively breath of the sense. Life.

A natural shaped figure
Blows with a curtain's grace,
And we stand.
Enamored

I’ll visit your fragrance
When I venture to the corners of my mind.

There
The flood of paltry is foreign
Like the sound of a universal melody.

A pocket sized friend,
Kept where the seasons are eager to flourish.
Nostalgia hints at a shower of joy
And there you are
In my mind
Graceful in your softest memory.

The calculus is sardonic,
An assembly line mouth
serves up
its traffic.

Women, men
there's a waterfall  behind
their eyes
Piercing through the clouds
where's my
pleasant surprise.

Its here,
Where the toad still speaks
And the dreams still bleed.

Flustered, amazed
Looking for the diamond
In a hauled out maze.

Letters I receive
From your pleasant
Autumn
Soaked
Eyes.
I bask in memory of my collection
Told by a face
Told by the days.

A dual light figure
Steps inside.
My letters read repetition,
They tell of one
You come in two.

If there aren't blood in my sheets
Tomorrow morning
I'm gonna run out in front
Of a moving car.
What do you call this?
Cemented as a being
Pointed towards death
Yet the need
To exclaim your freedom
Paints shackles to your once naked wrists

They appear alongside time. Slowly with the sun.
Slowly with the moon.

Happy
You are happy.
Are you happy?
The bars of the prison
Appear with the coming of a steady breath.
And you
The interrupter
Lay inside.

Above it reads:
Prisoner of life.

Edge slowly towards
The perimeter.
Your movement examines
Your face.
I call you closer.

And here you are
Telling me,
That the shackles leave
When deaths footsteps
                       Aren't so dim.
His distance
Tends to whisper despair,
I guess.
Much of a character you embody
Amongst the pages of a lively legend,
Yet here you are,
As my friend.
As a smile I turn to.
As the keeper of my tainted conscience.

An Artistic phenomena undoubtedly.
Live it how you want to live it,
I'll observe in reality's museum.

The story of our senses subsumed
By a myriad face. And a tragic disposition.

I won't spot you in a crowd,
But i'll see you in my mind.

The dawn is a nice greeting
As I step up past my *****.
The wine
The drugs
The art
They've all been incessantly
loved,
For about a week now,
maybe more.
Women, clowns,
Demons, fairies
Possible hallucinations currently
Smell of the natural fumes.
Mother may belong
To their crowd.
Whats real oozes of my mind.
My mind oozes of whats real.
A nice mixture
Extracting out indifference.

I'm not sure
When it will end.

Or if it remains
To start.

The instrumental face
Commences a performance of emotion.
Sounds
Harmony

Ricochet
Off the smooth face of dry wall
Stuck inside the hearts of rows of
Lame duck, lamenting empty skulls. Suddenly the room is alive past nine. The rhythm of breaths began at noon, but until now the humans were not summoned.

My blood is starting
To grow cold.
Cracked eyes begin
To review the temperature
From the outside.
I've been in this room for too long.

The world may have
Already ended.
It is a desolate fog
Consuming the area
Similar
All too real
Possible with the screen of my mind.
I'm too scared to check.

Pillars of a new dawn
Arising novel grass
Lies in the perimeter.
It is not preferred
But my skin isn't stung
With its' touch
So i'll let it stay.

These walls started as victims of my meaning.
They've grown to become
Friends i've gathered onto the raft,
along with the ceiling
My god.

Delicate
Poise
Statuesque
I hint at my life lived inside memory

and you,
like the curtains briskly moon.
gone.
over the hills.

dispersed through
the coughing death of time,
now lusted
by thoughts who have hands
inside this mind.

A store house of tears
Ransacked, pillaged
Stands over our cloud of light, of play.

Broken in,
***** by the morning light,
Thrown to the sea of heat,
We see a new dawn.
Attend
We attend.

Leave the shackles
Of a nightly weep.
Leave the products
Of your heart's decay.
This too shall pass.

The content of outlined potentialities
Hinted within your memories
Dim
Outcry
Gross intent, now leaves.
A blank slate presents.
A clearvoid arisen.
Emerge with the light
Disappear to white.

Here is the
Stripshow.
Soft skin
Revealing
Drawing
A naked portrait reflects off my eyes.

This room echoes
Of the sewer in the city,
Now we present such hidden beauty
Loved
Blessed secrecy.

The compass points at the crowd,
Startled by the dying second
We turn
We wonder
The sounds of two feet
Are alone in the room.