Ok- so my visions (optics) are ******* my expeditions are undefined
unrelated to consequences but at least they are mine (treasure).

I feel irrational (abandoned) sometimes so at void but in disarray (snarl)... I hurt -Foundations are in rapid decay Everyday (prosaic).

I traveled on college campuses and saw love, I saw inspirations and aspirations of knowledge (expertise) and I (myself)
viewed (observed perceived examined) mans view of **** and working class structure (CHAOS maybe?).

What is contained (incorporate) within my lines of verse
Is it a call to action which is parallel and no rhythm (cadence)
there is no form to this!!!!!!!!!!

again and again again again again- REFRESH

So I've seen your art and watched your story
your dark skin and night shade hair tied back thicken in sweat
entangled,    I am drawn in

It's an emotional outcry when I feel what I see and listen to the speakers bang-
I am the one tied back, arms burning legs ripped apart
festering mold addict...

Tortured soul cry- Wheaties all over again with a snow embossed bowl spelling out a Saturday Evening Post article

when I see you -spit forms in my mouth
when I breath you- my arms expand towards the sunlight aiming at the trees and snow that falls on my circulating veins -inside ME!
when I see you- my heartfelt life serum works itself out
and as I list to myself the ways in which I digest you, ingest your curves,
I find your movements habitual---
I cannot cram you into a box or a cylinder tube...

when I see you- I mock myself in my minds mirror
when I need you- it's not really, because I soothe my own emotions
not in depth @ all but with the sensation of feeling
Liquor and winding roads make for a great windblown wood stove
during a wisp- that in which you prove to be a folklore

Warm skin- wet leaves- and orange peels make for a diet Im used to.
Skeletal frames and browned jags with burnt edges turned to mucus I am not.

Bread called pan with a side of Natilla!  common on the sometimes desolate streets I once called home- BUT alas now they are filled with
Feliz Navidad and Holiday Greetings.

I came at a time when life was in turmoil and the pestilence of my American soul bled no longer to the longing of old faithful.

I came and went, my inquiries have been exhausted and the version of me has returned.
I still find that I long for your cafe and *******.
Oh but alas I am home

pluma de escribir -mi querida

Of the spider
you will be one with the nemesis of its web.
Scratch at the sky and bring down the sun
In keeping with her jaw line...

There will be no hesitation for me to seek the justice for my heart.  
It lay trodden against the rain soaked sand and bits of antique thoughts not spoken and no longer to be wasted away on empty Christmas cheer. Apple cobblers go left untouched and cinnamon twists become stale in the cave.   I am a stove without heat and a chimney filled with soot
  …       Elsewhere and almost in the distance I do here the angels.

winds sweet with her residue make for a pleasant evening and I could do this forever.