I’m waiting for that titter tatter of brain matter to come in and let me know whats really going to happen below the belt, I’m waiting for that slash of mystery finish that will reveal whats hiding at the end of the tunnel, I’m waiting to be tossed about, build and ravished and destroyed, smashed into a million pieces and turned into tinker toys, I’m wanting to be broken down by scientific analysts only to be a mistake mystery explanation for string theory.  I’m hoping for a mixture of time axis, along the equator, letting the jukebox serenader agree to the next fashion statement.  I’m marveling at the mystery of mixed up majestic time tables, who will lead me to exactly where I need to be.  I just want the sweet marmalade nectar to fall down my throat and lead me to a dreamless sleep so I may wake up and know exactly where my destination lies, no coffee, complete. I’m yearning for the woods to call on my name and show me the nook where the fallen spirits lay and they will help me, take my hand and show me the horror so I know when to hide and when to come out and be alive.  I’m gazing at paintings and marveling at the different colors and letting the textures be examples of how to stroke and at the precise moment when a mirage becomes a masterpeice.  I’m noodling with the spaghetti stories and taking my turn to lead it to the guru who will finish it with one hand held up, and a finger gone, understanding the principles of buddhism.  I’m throwing knives in the air and letting them fall into the sand then dropping acid and doing a dance between their places, knowing very well that I may land and meet my gruesome death.  I am putting my feet up and staring at the ceiling and knowing its distinct features, its bubbles, its textures, and the answers?  they are only in the subtle hum of the air conditioner, the ceilings stoic nature, and the space between.

the elderly want to tell their echoes because they knows that they will be left behind soon and that fears them, pride an legacy run so deep

men want to be the best they can be, something taught us that we must conquer the world, and men believe that this is their purpose
people swarm to wormholes, and then they get ****** dry

but these men, in their old age

have a spirit that needs to be expressed
try asking an old man
a question

I feel like adding in my own little melody
with a black hawk heaven diving down the butterfly
with a shockwave central beating at the art of a dragonfly
with a *** tim tim to my aching heart that sinks below
when I hear of damaged goods on their way to my feet
when I hear of damaged goods on their way to my feet
and I pick up a handful of sand, and I walk down the beach
and I look up, my hair is in curls and it is soggy
fluff and stuff and I'm carrying sea shells
the shockwave at the center of the body
beating itself, beating itself

So much energy
So much countless energy
Dedicated to one thing
And one thing only
Hit him up for a lesson
And he will teach you his ways
Hung up on memory projection
Out of state, out of state
Imprisoned, shackled down by the few, the many
Expressionless and absorbed by many colors
Making a few marks on majesty, uncovering the beauty of it all
Unhurt by logic, untouched by sound
Spitting in greater reasons
Great and small
Waiting till the point that you either have to die
Or drop the ball
Whatever that may be
Whatever that may look like
Increasing in hands and ski technology
Expressed by numerous representatives all wanting an equal shot at each other
And ending up on pages and pages worth of mill and junk and whatever needs to be said and whatever needs to be born
Deciphered decouple disinherit, side vowed
Interlocked and interwoven
Machine like aristocracy
Misjudging so quickly
Misjudging like an abyss judges the appropriate time to go by
Mixing it up on a rotating mirror of color,hands free interact interact
And make space Angela out of whatever is left
It is finally here
Performing for you

I heard a guitar player
On the subway platform
As the train was passing
And his voice sounded very real
It was soothing for a moment
Those sounds,
But then the doors closed
And we were on our way
And he'll never know
That I appreciated him
I will never see his eyes
His guitar case
Loose change

alone with the page
and it is very relaxing
to exist in this way
alone
with the page,
and the space is clear for singing
but I don’t want much noise
just silence
when work is over
music would be too intrusive
no, just silence,
for the moment
please

Power
and the desire to be a good person
and how they flirt with one another
in a house surrounded by a cylinder
it is blue
and it has an echo echo echo
and boy does it want to scream
love love love
possessed by the elderly and the ******
possessed by blessed and doomed
it
this flirtation
is delicious