sun ,  
i hate you.
    I hate you as you rise,
  as your gerber face creeps over the grass.
i  hate the purple water and the ants
   which march in unison to battle drums .
  i hate the orange juice smile as you pack away your things,
  i hate the
  whisper when it's already lost.  miles ahead,
   i hate a few things -- but the list gets shorter as i get
   older.
why hate what you cant change?

crackhead hours .
real crackhead hours.
  got my unemployment check ,
  1400 a week
.   Im rich biaattcchh ,  
  
  crackhead hours, dawning on me at 5:21am. my favorite hour.
    I sleep when the tide rolls on the beach and swallows up the baby tutrles.
  i sleep
when the last ****** sighs into a pillow  on the  edge of the abyss awaiting oblivion  like green smoke.
  i sleep
when it's too late for the dove to die.
i sleep when my eyes burn and the retinas dance around me.
i sleep when it's late,
   i sleep when it feels like it's the same as dreaming and not
breathing

I'm not a romantic poet and it kind of bums me out.
  no chick would ever
read my stuff and fantasize about me;
  I don't even have a gnarled hideous face so as to be poetic.
I'm just whatever, with no real vices, no alcoholism, drug abuse,
  or abuse otherwise.
     I am a little ****** up,  but so is everyone. that's a prerequisite to living.
  
    and living is getting old

I've gotta get over my hyper-awareness that people are reading this.
enough with the 'stars'
and 'lights'
and 'dead airs'  '
' blue souls'.

you've gotta be **** too sometimes. maybe i'm always ****, but I need to explicitly be **** too.
this is poetry

- - Masked, bought soup and cranberry juice then ate strawberries and a health bar
- went swimming
-got the mail
- walked dog
-dog threw up
- talked to pat
- watched movie on ***** rockstar who shot himself in the face
- jacked off
- did some push ups
- ate a subway
- took shower with green soap
- folded shirt
- walked dog again
- dog happy
- bed  ?
- bed
- sleep
-  dream then
- wake up

Love is two things.

Rain
, Blowing cold.

Sentience

Disturbed.
Passive,     but giving and of course suicidal.
All the above.
But one more.

Loving

It was a corpse there
nothing  quite noteworthy but the bubbling amused me
And the whistles from the station made the effort far more laborious than anticipated
But to straddle a shepered the winking pheasant press play at your dorsus scapula,
When is the play. Take the brown,.  It's shy in lime