just keep writing little melodies
soft and sweet
and harsh and in between
fragrances smelled in the middle of the night
taking on their magic flow
dwindle and fall into what is
and make it work wonders all over the side of the wall
and drop ash into the discovery plate working framers framing cash
perhaps there was a fight?
don’t worry about that
just play through the jungle
working on masked critters
creating jellyfish with their new makers
shaking violently at the end of a new scene
and making worthy the shocking ending of beauty
and conjuring makeshift work on tranquilly
and understanding
letting the appreciated
be appreciated
and letting the disenfranchised
have a little piece of the pie
its all in measures
and its working just fine
letting people grow old together
alnd letting new ones know where to take it in
and deciding in the end
that it is all a catch
and the worthless dying speak to the worthless still
and the growing old must grow old quickly
and they preach their insanity
and then the man asks himself
Am I a platform for people to stand on?

In the light of the night
there is something to be discovered
and every little man dreaming it
wants it to be on the cover
let every *** be on the same plain
and let the people all see that people are equal
and they will work on what they need to work on
and there will be peace
and there will be peace
and drop in around like an unclaimed number
falling on toil of a lovely voice
that sings about idealism and how we are imagined
and anything sang can be sung possible


Oh we work everyday
to be a better person
but at the end of the day
we are one

oh we work everyday
to be a better person
but at the end of the day
we are one
we are one

oh we work everyday
to be a better person
but at the end of the day
we are one
we are one

to recite something
to let it be in your bones
to let it exist outside of yourself
to let it mulch to let it dwindle to let it begin
and to let it roll over
and to let it slip
and to let it die
and to let it roll around in a ditch
and to swim and scream and roundabout
and to control and to gag and to conquer
and to mistake and to make gate and to stand on the top of the curb
to be ahead of the game
to be moxy, merry, maybe just stay the same
imbicile working for a penny a day
while another man in the corner makes marmalade
I’m bouncing, happy, glamourous gratitude
going on around the stratosphere making my own career out of solitude
masked in a gag of reddened retina on display with buddah
large intensinal malfunction on the way towards the retina
the eye, the eye, the eye, the eye
and some may type as quickly as I
and I do dare to challenge them to a duel
as I will take them into the second round
away from it all, away from it all
and down the dark ages crawl, crawl, crawl
and make it work for others to do the draw, to do the draw, to do the draw
and make copies of music on top of another musical entrance music entrance music, entrance, music
make a case out of stereotypes and continue on your own way
inventive and invigorating and invested and afraid
loving and simplifying and hating the mystery
the beauty
the absolute majesty
keep me in check and keep me more for the moon
and I’ll go along to the race track with old hank
and swoon and swoon and swoon
ride the horses
on the way to nowhere
and they will glisten
in the evening sun
and lay out on their own
and lay out on their own
and become what has never been done
and become what has never been done
the ****** is full and perfect
and then the fall is back down
and laughter is part of the question
and it all goes down like that
boom, boom, boom boom
and then peace
easy thought process
a deep breath
growls
beautiful growls
and laughter

I spoke with a  poet yesterday
(I read poetry at this open brain and I was nervous out of my mind)
and both of us bombed so I went over to him while my girlfriend was talking with some other friends to say hello.  I told him good job even though I didn't really mean it, but I was bad too so I needed some company, anyway we talked about what poetry is and should be, and I got involved in this long pretentious conversation about art.  He asked me what magic is, and I said "Harry Potter" we both laughed.  His other point is that poetry should reveal some kind of truth, and I believed in the complete opposite.  I said poetry should be a way to escape, we laughed at our disagreement and then we drank to that.  That was the end of the conversation, but my point is this,

poems poems poems,
who reads these ****** things anyway?

I have lost a thousand poems
and I will lose a thousand more

I like to
rip
them
up

Delete, delete, delete
a creation, created
then destroyed
forever

Love to DO it
love to spit it
love to claw! to master *******
WAGGLE ON TOP OF IT
DO A ****** UP DANCE
THEN A SILLY ONE
boy do I love to taste the trickles of tantalizing treasures treating me nice
I love to swipe swipe swipe with my fingers
I could be a ******* court reporter
with these ****** hands
and does it feel good
to scream
ROAR
RIP
LET GO

not here, it is not here
there is a television set on, and I cannot think
all I wish to do
is find the place
where I can feel alright
I sit in the dark and write
I sit in the dark and write
and I'm about to take a tender leap of faith
I care to live, I've learned to love life, it is fascinating
but the silence isn't here
there's people talking at pubs
there's people talking at homes
there's people talking at street corners
there's people talking at restaurants
there's people talking outside, during a walk
nature is so loud, nature is very loud
the yoga studio features music, and breathing
and the subways feature announcements and opening and closing doors
I wish
for a silence
a crypt silence
an angel silence
a purgatory silence
a burning silence
a cloud silence