You realize you look like
A little person, you're supposed to wake up blazing Pushkin
Your dream, not my ******* fire
I'm so high, I'm writing into the night now
Fast turning and hurting on the crazy fires, and crazy lives make me thrill the shapeless winner
Finding himself in broken places, breathing goth inwards and feeling the shells in the desert sand
Mirages can happen to anyone
As hope is a dangerous thing
Style without art
Do a dangerous thing with it that's what I call art
The writer told the poet, he loved his talk of fire
The poet told the writer you're a poet too, beat in these neon sycamore trees in gregarious places with looks od city sunsets in heroine's meditation
******* up the fast life, never winding it down as it was something the fire that never said sad things and curses smoke
Into the grumpy old man, looking for murders and phobias and senescence with crocodile looks, a name I cannot tame
A genius I understand, a tatterdemalion poor soul in Heaven, and Hell feels nice
Saying old things now sound nice, the web of conspiracy
What does it mean if I'm stuck in this web?
Anyone tell us, if a beer is a chemical for the hydrogen jukebox as the Phoenix burns with ashes and TS Eliot breaths fire in Burnt Norton
Shrubbery of watered fishes in bushes of the merriment of silent way
Seems nice to be a pleasant person in someone's trombone, jazz tells it lik its
We can't talk about as it is, and explain either
So we talk jazz, and the fiery starry accosted soldiers, let's talk about, jazz what wants to say
I celebrate, and sing of heralding the ferrous thing called knowledge, godly rushing waters rusting these engines with experience
And education, as you atr lisyrn
Quite, not what we say
Shadow of dust, and ashes we are the fire t
To coal eyes, and the rebirth of a thousand suns
In remembering the Gunpowder plot in middle ages reeking with beautiful thinkers in winning titlting greatly never hold me tight
Ghosts of my past, freely fling with ambition
Conviction in my sails, and soundly silence gusts of wind
As the red earth of the yelling virility, in the God that wants Goddess
Simplicity is the honest expression of humbling doubts watch as struggling with words
Written in time, crime and sycamore sights, and the traveling life is what I find in the iconic culturalist of hiatuses and despair
Madness is something I understand, as the centrepop is a luggage
On the culling and dreaming of culture, in a lumbering lintel on the lugubrious lavish lascvious laconic lamentable lassoes on the sky to finish this derelict in the mind of art of the named ones
We have given up on them, ad forgotten the veritatem
We can add our suma lumma dumma stalling forks of stammering bouts of frenzies
We can call a sincere stride in the things talked about in unchained hearts on boggling derailed that was a journey in a nutshell, whiskers are something around
Your ear, I write my lights with faceless hushed winds
We are having cigarettes after apocalyptic Bad Nietzsche in high feelings in sharing broken thoughts
We can climb the politics, and Finnish mines as we murmur through valleys under the eyes
I travel at these memories they look back at me
Think back, looking behind I find cigarettes and alcohol lying on the shelf
****** mysteries summed up in one, I don't have any love, but, I'd love pompous frump myself, being funny with myself
I'm out of humor, now I confess my will and save you alive and lives live wire lively and variables searching for veracity on veritable streets filling childhood with a recovery of soothing bells
Healing your crime, your child in your sleep from the start
Dishing out punishment, on the innocent child and steeling my mind and rulers are the for theologists
In the theremin that plays smiling sessions in our prayer
Innocuous baby, in stand there in my conviction and the message, doesn't get across
The back closets the towels in the faucets staring into your corset waist, and you know that can be dangerous thing hoping for the end to become the bisexual, you've found a new numb beginning

You said you were
Struggling with the bugs
In your head, and bedbugs in your childish
Dreams turn out the colorful ladybugs, taking leaps
Of faith as a person who loves the sibilant sounds
When I laugh as my head comes out of the firefly nation
Freed and staring into the distance, anticipating fireflies
Lead your path
To thine light
There is thy will in every bright thought
We are not scared among the ranged
Derailed from the rains, and waterfalls and lose our happiness
And search for the sadness in our childish souls
Hanging out in rainbows, when will you wake up heal
Already finding the end of life's meaning in the puddles of love
Find yourself in mother nature, and you can apply yourself, my friend
Be my water, my shapeshifting friend it's not your fall
And leave someone's shadow as we grow fond of the light, we start wondering if the starry skies are loving us
Or are we just struggling with insects, and becoming a free goldfish
Weird fishes touch in the nice places, and fishes in the sea
Falling underwater in extraneous speaking of lush green, swimming with the fishes in your beautiful mind
Take me somewhere, which reminiscent of starlight, can follow the moss green and shine like an emerald
Cerulean swirling us in cones, waves of relief wash over your heaving warm soul

Red sight and blind meteors in the soundless night
The chance is in our blood and the choice in our dream
Wake up if you're dreaming, and the turgid life in your sender's message
Wake up if you're sleeping, and the tumultuous light in your receiver's sights
Everything is not in chance and choice, and I've learned this by making bad decisions and opportune times in lucid dreams
I'm falling, and the fall releases me
And I can finally stand
Catch a fire
The truth won't stand for your laziness
And the statistics don't show happy people
Your lies can follow the inveigled arguments
But, you'll never catch feelings if statistics are just a number

Hearing after
The seeds germinating
If you listen to these living things
The fire opens the door to fears
I've lost my steps, on the stairway of steps and falling stairs
Which one goes to life I wonder or do I have to climb
I'm lost, but, I go up falling out of the tree of life
Newton, apple?

If I'm getting better
Then, it's getting worse with the times

If I'm getting better
Then, it's reading between bittersweet lines
Serried and sweet

If I'm getting better
Then, it's getting better with my drowning
As I indulge in my ocean of surfing oceans
Repleting the lines and repairing the metaphors

If I'm getting better
I'm here for a good time in a badland with the metaphorical girl
In metaphysical worlds with epistles of compartments
I'm getting better, as the line keeps drowning in it's meaning
It's here and now and in the next line
Waiting for you in the extra mile in a time other than this, at least not ersatz to arson

If I'm getting better all the time
I revisit my poem again on highway sixty-nine
And write one more, in the regretful repose
Adorable and somewhat waiting for your next line
Instead of counting the faults in my words for the children falling on the earth looking for ghostless cars
Trailblazing the streets of Godly proportions, see the letter of red

Hoping they will disappear completely, but, everyone is around here
Everyone is so clear, but, so full of tears for fears sanctifying
I'm conscious of my own fears, I just hold back the glistening tears
It's a real tragedy when people are afraid of the light when darkness drives away the children of the post office pedestrians crossing the mind of my angry streets

We are in the fear of darkness, the plight is just everlasting
Pushing ourselves out of our sleep to dream of peace in our state of mind, often unconscious of what's there in immediate memory
Apologizing politely for what isn't ours to keep even though it is love, serried and sweet like our ghosts
Dead inside, because of these fears and elated harmonic motions of the spies of the motionless stars in Swedish skies dreaming of cinema, crime, and punishment for the dialing phones adding those soundtracks to their lives
Addresses, books, and phone numbers in the booth on an extra mile, waiting for a one night stand to get better knowledge about the road
Finally, we are asking strangers
The right questions, dreaming of centuries
In burnt letters and burning consciousness
Lintels and fireflies all shine in the timbre of the beating wings of flying centuries
We weren't sure of what we were doing was right, we were inventing ways to live the best part of ourselves and finding happiness in rarity
The lives in broken places, and the tears of the greater good, selling ourselves to the punishing attitudes
Optioning for realistic perceptions, and picking them from the payphone
Extra line for the ones waiting for a reception on the cell phone and the mundane conversations turn into romance
If I know love is in your house, then, I'd need the number to your street
Serried and sweet, and the pictures are enough to keep of weird fished out seeds
Love is the flower, let it grow
And these mundane conversations will turn into a passion
Talking of the romance in a time where are timeless clouds and living out our times, pursuit struggling with our free cloud

Wait for your turn
They say, in turns
The murmurs turn into a shout
Twisting in the place of every kid
What he ever did
Was one with his mind full of sapling
All of them soaking up the sun
Everything looks just right, what did he ever look past
Wait for your turn
They say, try to say something
Anything that twists and turns can speak softly
So, that's what the warden had daydreamed for us
Dungeons and dragons

So far away
Still in love
Real darling, still in love
So far away from yourselves

I ****** your company in your mead
Mulling over your thoughts on grapes
Over and again, coruscating fire enflame corpus
Bombs falling like catching 22 of them in the Lord's number
I'll be waiting for you in the deep immeasurable love
With a look so far away, annals of your love
That it had seen the love, should've been forbidden
But, light shines on the spoils of war
You can take or here's sugar in the teapot
Complaisant painted pictures compare and bequeathing my soul
Beyond false compare in solitude in meticulous sweets on the avid vindicating streets
Nameless on the fond stare, singing prettily into the detail

Catch a wind
Before it catches the light
I leave us in the wind
The terse one for you

Catch that falling star
It's chasing the car and leaving us in trains
It shines on us all, in the meandering scars
Scorching train, follow my masters in war shell-shocked
On the beaches of hope, song for song
Lying for lying
Trying to try, living and unliving
Falling in lost stars, exchange us for Andromeda
Stop that train, I'm leaving or already gone
On the terse train, the one for you
Pensive in your punishing absence

Cunting stars
Making moves
Trust me not
Counting the words
Lost in the fault

I just realized
And thanked God,
I wasn't the only one
Godless shores all is one
One is all

I just realized
This is broken poetry
Meant for broken hearts
Shooting out arrows, direct and steadfast

Fast life catch a fight
Laughter in the madcap, you're holding
Us hostage, to your contagious humor
Nocturne blonde, hold me in your humoring lies

The bliss of black and blonde
Choosing peace over positive thinking

Buffeting the souls
The proclivity of doubt
Keeping the crowd happy, in the same old sound
You think I'm dumb, I wanna know when you're amen to the amends
I don't wanna wait for another love, waiting in vain for the right one

People say they don't know
I keeping the fire from your hands
I burn my foolish soul, with your open hooks
Singing and dancing all at one
Tune for all the dancers in the flickering lamp hanging behind the door

I find your light while waiting for untruths on the bleeding lady
I'll wait to find myself in love
Learning how to add to the sheltered beds serving the company
People say they don't know me, I don't know you either and your time

My music could be forever
Is this love I'm feigning, feel your life say truths in captivity
Touch my heart, with your shrouded glance near the river of sorrows
People say they don't know me, they don't know what is hiding
Is this love fleeing thy will
What is this death on the valley of souls burning bright, that flows in the ground

Or shining like cars circling the buses following the swirling record stores
The pin marks the head in silence

Dark globe watch hang in the Hightower
Oe'r our captain sail on the lovely towers of oceans
Tumultuous frenetic was once a lad's new order
Squall, riders patient beyond the thee
The form on thee light that stared in the other boy who hated that boy's shadow
The breadth of heights
The heights of breaths
Dancing with the girl from Phoenix's ashes, blue coruscating hassling eyes took us from raging terrapins
Dark Globe Watch keep us in the memory of Aeolian
Get out of my dreams
Take me in your arms, I'm really regretting this one
Imagine how you would regret if searching truth was the absence of lust
But, the bloodlust can be heard in a soldier's company

It makes life easier
If you walk on the wild side
Suburban subterranean, talking about him and his mild smile
Smile, if your is aching, or you crave the doubts company, and the answering machine

In the sibilant
Sound of dark and tainted painted sky
In back, murmurs jousting with themselves in the prying eye
The horror of the malleable man in the unyielding indigo  cued
Indifferent to the blue, of the youthful red earth, that are our foes shed clued
Bled on the midsummer's numinous blue, mouth to the mouth that beds at  the midnight, **** killing people in the hue oft' clueless again
Often, o'er in o'er in my murmur, someone else writes the remembrances in newspapers, purposes in the promise
This other punishment is daft and promising, promising promiscuous scions on starry minutes of miniature minimalistic wary of the remanded the ****** of the ornate jazz saxophone in an acolyte, and I say that many of them said they what's up
Remember, the ****** emanating witless and tesla innovations, isomers of electric molecules chutzpah oboe
Transcendence, slowly slip in the round mines around the aphrodisiac powerful sadness, held in the wild microphones mating in the free utilitarian economy playing in jazz bands in lines
Silence, in the lines of the musical ears, held their hazelnuts and chewed up the muzak, and spilled more music from their ferries
Down and out, lungs bell, the water smelled like beer, and beer poetry kept me at the break of dawn, when the snorers find dilapidated in missionary fixes, and affixing the dawn once again paddling themselves to the shore,
Then they went, time aged shushing us at the break of shining dawn crummy, ******* and rapscallions hushing the crowd
Dour, ****** plastered ceiling, and antediluvian, dormant
Barking Doolittle, amen to the lord's shadowy wretch
The dogs run out, on the charming the neighborhood with its afternoon
Change in the staid small things, we say
We starry loud dynamo, cloudless climes, do you know that we are short-handed on the stars
But, we can count them in the near future, when they die by the Butch Cassady run on the money, and the Will Durant books
Lie over on the oven in the sonny, listen to that roe often
One and one, no brown eyes left
And no blue eyes left us in rueful dark
Its afternoon, Wednesday and yesterday run, in the sun, bleeding brighter than the stars. saving us from the darkness
Pushing us into the light of a thousand roman wunderkind, kindred spirit in the life of the
Larks that sing in the stile on the stolid, so remember us in this jasmine from the World without words, so it's blue
What's up to blue, excuse me while I kiss the sky?
What's up to?
What's for the run?
What's a fine and rib-tickling poem?
I hate these things
What's right and wrong, and this is forfeiting the captain's joke, and jocular nature, as we survived the time we lost Detroit dreaming up Arkansas, dreaming of you in a different wilting hand, it's on my head
And sinful romance lends your hand to the crime
It's punishing, that you have left us without a starry place not talking of the pejorative

Who is buried under the rock
It's a friend of mine, in Barros
Walloping scallops in French Kitchen, cradling reserved Paris
In the free, memories are made often
Of these great following, greetings today
Now tomorrow now comes yeses and sclera
Is a rocking soup, in the full stomach, day after and after

Hue, in the colorful streetlight
Imagine the night of the thunderous clap, when the fly is a ****** hull
And it just hit me, and I kicked the dirt, you're life has to full of sons
If I had music like this ramble on the porch, bleeding by the fire with the letter of tout wheatish complexion
By the dog who waits on the Mitya and Alyosha is your friend in the thought that you will survive the thing that stays after that is what survives in my mind, the Ivan remembers you in his searching elegant looks

Hooking for readable pages that him to a crime of the senescence wailing, waters won't come back again tainted by the hint at the story and talk oh human nature and passion, a bold letter took from your open book, now strewn hanging in the room

Even when I'm in the drunken haze in the clear, swarthy and dressed, lilies wilt in cold art nouveau, talk of colorful tambourines
Dietrich, Lithuania rebarbative is not subjective
Folgen Sie nur auf der Ersten unlike this we search for some facts between the lines of anticipation of something crawl from under
Auf Wiedersehen from the sending  halls that for romance was once, breadth, lengths to go if you're in dearth sickness and you just keep looking to change how you react
Now, you don't even attract me anymore with stories of Lithuania and unspoken in the loveliest languages, how slovenly though
In need for love, drugs can keep this warm, the finding a drunken haze in drugs, ******, are we arriving at the naked frumpy girl or your heaven's in crisis

Hue in the callow streetlamp, your glib about Ibsen, and talk of centuries and blazing etudes that your soul collates, a thrilling merit
When they told her, that she was "yelling."
They asked her to stop making the noise, forgetting that it was music once
They saw the determination in flowery spokes, that follow the sunflower
Parallelogram van in the dim light, strong verses terse hearses
Towers calls and church were we young once, are we full of ourselves
And becoming romantic, philosophizing on knowing you and I
We must have a purpose to do this, applying and ousting ourselves of comforting minnows yarns of jocular joints cracking by the Thomas Munroe book and fireplace, trust the recesses of your mind they aren't distinctly, but, a warm gun
A free drug and Englishman couldn't prevent the brew from brimming
The drudgery of a different time and passion
Time machine, wheels on fire that talks to us and also tells us to sleep, making sure that we keep a mindful eye optioned out of the dinner sleep and talked about that
Well, we are titillating, scintillating, coruscating, shiny friable animated
Frisco bay, curiosity in the shell-shock of the freedom that talks of captivity and caitiffs, call me a coward
We are soldiers in the prisons of our mind, except most of are in the kitchen making the derelict talk, a black cat crosses the street
Talk, and talk, then the electric silence missionaries, a tabled missionary serving food to the few toward the city in pursuit of the curious one.

I'm stuck in an education
If I am am I an institute in self-conservation
Conserving my thoughts and energy for the meditating heralding change in the drop sleeves of doing something better with plants
In the autumn, knowing of the seasons and the hurling flings that throw Fred's problems at and Harry hurt ya'
Rolling up the sleeves, with the punches doing something better for a change than fighting the little wings
Gaining ambiguity, ambition in this from the little wing, and redacting resting war pieces, once again in a dark alley away
Sold out by the Ganges, we are at the back alley once again
Where it used to flood in the underwhelming light of the free talking, and are we really doing this praying in the freakish dark
If you want to **** yourself in film-noir, then, do it wicking light, flickering cigarette and luminescent wickedness and gumption in grumpy faces, Eliot Ness
Shot the mess down, in the pool of blood
Shot the mess in, down in the pool
Everywhere, everyone was trying to make sense of the unfurling crew crawling through strange crew
Cash rules everyone around messenger of peace, mirages of the sage temerity of the herald of emerald Gerald Ford tides, shortest eyebrows in the quickest drugs for the lasting merging
Of mussing and sullied feelings, where the cars roam
Thouest shiny car, where do you remember to reach India, the houseplants wait for your arrival, blind in love

Dye maker, bebop can you play
Place in a playful childhood
In the silence, that's for cowboys to chase after
In their selves, critters crawl around
And I literally hate animals, women with attitudes
So, tell me Jet why do we have to observe
Sit and observe, and your nature follows them with other cheaper things
kono toko *****, modo jinkai shika deshou kanshaeimas, ke de
saisodai muri muri warui tabete kareta masen suru
kono haznan da toko kanashite taskete
nanika hontoni arigatai iku ga yorui san nukete dakke
kono toko ***** futari himtotsu iku zo setsu ou
anata wa basho e tsure kanshi mas
Good luck, with living on this lime, ******* it dry
Time is rare as the truth, it is based on good minds losing themselves

Well, so you are brushing
Your teeth and chances are
You are reading this while brushing your teeth
Look in the mirror, and feel lively
Come back and read this again, with a peg

A boy went to the bazaar
He wrote more books in his time
Out of the life in the supermarket, grocery stowaway
All I do is for the free tickets
All I do it is for the theory of selling said relativity
He is a shadow of the gilded soul
A boy went to the erroneous place, in the bazaar of crimson tides, undead living
Dog day again, afternoon buying free feed for the plants
Without, stains of seeds and rain tearing on the some seedless, we would have germinating roots
And the bedrock of my life is eroding
Or was once, a bed for others, and the Freudian lyric pome berry

You can write your life in elegies, the culture still remains the same
Some say we can make the truth or zero-knowledge from song and dance
Old and aged, insatiable and satiate our addictions lancing us on horses hedonistic
If I were a psychiatrist I'd read you, talk of zero summers, in Hebrew biopsy and medicines, a free think of hope, dangerous thing
But, soon wildflowers will be writing about you makes it worth selling, trouble bed's made and occupied by ***** and mead
If I were a state of mind, I'd be a person of my lines of stares
I write these as an essay on the highs of cultural expression, Tanks can also be a form of cultural expression
Maybe it's oppression on the fire of the year of ten soldiers on the freedom of the nightlight and lively likeness if we were searching for lost gold
It's a way we write about the memories and have free will and fears too, truant about freedom often losing courage and killing kings, queens often make out of it really sad
Rarely, raffle, rabble fiefdom, caviling censuring frenetic energy, virile yelling, on the catatonic hall in the cat in the LA Alhambra hall, or maybe souls pass in that dark hall
It is in the falling stars, into the years as they go by on the fault line of insatiate desires, burning fires in the circles of hell
Arriving in this Le suiva drama or friends in our pallbearers of different friends married to different soulS
Hangovers and everything, black and blue, white and black I cannot tell that the kitten is following in its the prologue of lithe likewise following the battered suitcases on the ways, and long ago
Something like this friendship and relations, festering autumn, seasons change and the summers brings the music of the piano man, Billy Joel
Plays in the freedom that reeks of freedom in the hallway, reflecting in the drunk cigarettes, starched shirts often come in the forum of swarth men, in the frescoed building painted with freewill to achieve
Heights for freewill and tumescence in tempestuous objectivity, of how we look at life, grades of herons, Freud's animals degraded in this foxtail, a plant across the house
In yonder tempered mental gaze, it's struggling to solve these worlds in fewer drinks and more works
Works offered their dreams, we offer the night terrors and midnight mistreatment
Treatize odyssey, riches to rags, muses can call me in my sleep and leave me out wry
Dry

Some kind of lord
I listen to your song
Never ignoring that darkest
Nation pushes
Head up high, it's in my best interest
Cursing the affair, far away in dove on the festival
Pity is what you call it, we can make this love
Held up, what does it dramatically make out of dandelion
That carries on a bridge of wind and science
Midnight comes on, along with on the bridge where I'm waiting in the dramatic place
Inn of your soul, the kitchen of photos, freed of the soul, soul, and pictures make it, what we take from it we give
Fluorescent pen, lend your statement on the festering war that doth speaks on the will of thy light
Lifeless, on the dresses on the forked thunderous clap
In a look of waiting in the placid, let it grow like the sunflower set on the dalliance

I walked into the door
A writer
Came out a poet, sleeping on the side
I'd pay someone to write down my soul
Burning out, kneeling on the midnight lamp

Burning the oil, writing my life out and away
Shall I walk in again, maybe not but I walk out of life I'm ******* dead
But, the typewriter doesn't change the words
I do, forgetting half the time that the night's right
With that hourly hand, my words live when midnight strikes
Dancing in the dark like a still-born child that don't see, jiving blindly


She lays sleeping on the side, will I stay on your side unwillingly within the crowdy picture that doesn't see you either
Or imagination keeps running away, holds on to the willful calls buying the scenery in the blink of an eye looking for a good girl
He says the midnight burns you before the truth dawns over you

Shining in the crazy echoes of looking back through mirrors in the passion and love we talk about, watching our gay silence simply sitting and staring into kiosks
Lifeless staring into the distance will not get you the vision of peace, or a simple life of kissing the love of your life away

Love you better, if you could murmur a catatonic piano and write the sterling cheque for the wordsmith
I walked into the door, for the sights
As a writer, I told the poet I wait for the words alright

Burning out, kneeling over the midnight lamp waiting to live another through another marriage of words
That's when the words softly echo with the breaths feeling heavier in my blood
Asking for another book, like a divorcee likes a half-written will

My thoughts are unhappy
I'm the loser
My thoughts are always war, saving the winner

Pull the crows down from
The parliamentarian sky
Or are you asking to die, and they say this is ******

I look at the simple things
Keep the complexities in my mind
To conserve my doubt, and move forward without looking behind
In the shadow of death, drop on the counted spells
Conserving God in magic, it's his state of mind that dreams horizons

Rope to ***** the weather, sweet sixteen dreams
The mirror tells we can have some fun in teams
I can't find my reflection anymore, searching in eloped reconnaissance streams
Lassoes in the sky, stealing cars under the starlight standing in strong dreams
Another day in paradise, looking better in paraplegic purging preteens
The electric fuzz on your face touches my standing goosebumps gleam at the ****** seams
Bumblepuppy acolyte turning at the prongs of the tattered road, calling up your Hessian friend and making politics right at the sanguineous pea-brain lean veal after the mob gets out on Russian ruby streets running with honesty
On the other side of the world, where the sun sets and polite moonrock never survive on The Berlin Wall tonight abseiling away sealed away, waiting for the ballot or the ballet
Waiting for the limelight to subside, guts tellin' me to keep my self in lowly mad hatters tied to napes, hundreds hanging by weather reports claps in laughter, descending tents by the brook beaming at us in starry dynamo of the thousands
Losing himself in a lucid dream of what was once the world's reality now sleeping, dead presidents in stygian darkness
Hanging on to the word of the weatherman, crime is rising in Russian motherless children hung for misdemeanor looking for a metaphor, the nation understands and wants to know us
Ukraine leave us from the 1990s, too late the third stone from the sun has taken three turns, we are at the trapdoor
Resurrecting the insurrection, pejorative for misnomers and draconian dead beats sibilant suss
Too bad I see the whole earth, on my body stains on laconic red flags, still fly indeed
Flying in the wind, like idiots in the weatherman's underground cuss dirt into the report sowing dead seeds
Unable to see the sun behind cold clouds in stormy weather, battered suitcases breeze by murmurs talking by-lines and stolen **** in ****** underwear ****** unable to breed
Then, the bombs falling and shifting with changeling wind charred sun under the unbeing reading in the Aurelius light
Thousands in the starry dynamo might outshine us all and the nation can't hold us back and keep us far from the fault in stars
The silver lining in the cloud, puerile virile as lady lying Glasnost to the prognostic benzedrine patient
I've never seen a can in hang in stormy weather
Charting out the Chinaman on the hydrogen shore, communism is on the brink of helium war with itself, viscerally hanging from Tomorrow's daughter
Whipping up the foamy sea like cold ice nostrums thawed in search of the antidote to warm red planets named after Roman Gods
Looks like the sea lord created a thalassocracy for the sea cursed by memos and pastiche, droll parody in the mewling hall of the rebuke of free-prose poetry hanging on the tinkering lampshade
Touch me now, never or now bullish books read the list of people who were once on this winding road just like us shining crummy ******* now in a handful of stardust
Being is tougher than living, and the berserk wind keeps changing
Under forked lightning, it gets worse when the spoon picks me up
In my wet dreams, I'm killing myself hurting to find if you can put your mind to this cornish dream of Cavendish and hashish
Stuck in the stitches, and the ******* don't drip blood and sweat it
Ukraine leave us from the 1990s, too late the third stone from the sun has taken three turns already
Murders on the mystery train, never reach the orient station looking for a whimsical refill
Halting sloth the indolent, I remember redolently like moth attracting to the blazing coruscating gleam, that's when a screaming teen becomes an upstart or a fiend
With an iridescent grin, caviling on the shore asking more from jackknifed business kitsch photos of the crosses
Throwing them in the trash, just like that
Ire of the nation broken with the lugubrious sleep of dinners after the summer's madness, hurt by the locked hearts in an armed madhouse looking at everything like geniuses
Asking what does it mean? Motifs and everything, lintels on the fluorescent signs on numinous streets caressing our wires, hanging by the piano wire
Waning adolescence now has a name in Hades' beard made of fiery pubescence that doesn't wanna listen
Tantamount to the king's orders, ligature marks on the hands that only know cuffs
The que glibly glistens in the lively dungeon
Hosted by bacchanal and mistresses, Elizabeth Bathory in the company of friendly books full of picturesque pedestrians on the streets of angry murders with ****** sleeved shirts
Blackened lackeys looking for a toss of change or pederasty with Countess Dracula
Moloch, you have made my life changeable despite skiffs
Moloch, I hang in the balance of the skirmishes of scorching fire burning at the midriffs
Easter bloc, ropes hanging for whoever doesn't wanna burn in the witch fire, sold for 200 pounds in a dilapidated home, till the berserk wind blows the candle out, old under Tudors that say a lot in a few words about style in art as slavery is merrily rampant
Killing the people, in the name of the republic of 1968 reminiscent of Phoenician Lands, rueful murmurs arouse the twisted looks turning out the traitors
From the rapidly changing wind, that brushes our hair and kills the pain of hanging to our families in bunkers
From the road of hope, I find some affliction in the forgiveness
Of my lord in whom I find breadth, heareth, endeth the breath that lendeth thy will, in the lengths of my souls searching for horizons in Old Earth
I died with my elegy in 1968, the wind still hoists flags in my name in death three years in the latter

Lay in the shade
A day out, new moon hiding
Tomb turns around on breaking dawn
The dead man turns around in his grave
When the flowers stop coming
When the graves stop burning
The truth dawn on me, and shined on me

Germinating by the dull roots, April is the cruelest month
Truth tells that our soul can fight this cruel cycle
When the planets align, we look up instead of our red earth
It's an eclipse, right?

How sweet it is to be
Next to the blue bayou on wheels of fire
I need someone to understand vices and goodness
Next, remember to stop before I start
Before we hear the news of the love left us
Shores and touching the skies where heaven lies
Tragedy struck when the love left a stated mess
I want to stop, and thank you sometimes
"Here is where love tried, but, died."
For this cold ****** chest, clinging warmly
It should have happened exactly this way
Like children in a dream healing us with innocence
Love is what know from being with you
I know love, it is because you stay
And you keep lessening you're in front of the Lord
You never call the Lord's name in vain just like my mother
Sketches of Spain lay beside the train like new toys red and white
Come love the cherished ones, healing us with your forks
Forked lightning on midnight summer's, spoons are enough to feed the light to the darkness
I hope the moon clings to us, waning little and little
Growing up too on blue bayou

Heart as one, could we be honest with each other
Body as one, the body stops on free crusts of pizza
Soul as one, without pizazz telling us how to die with the triumphant
I ask you where do we add and make two?
Truth is a rudimentary thought, that lacks pretention, but, not imagination
Freedom gives us thorough doubts on war, but, brings peace to the children and rib-scares to adults
Adulation is panic in the livid dichotomy, do a little and there's entropy

I leave the crusts of the pizza, and that causes panic
Freedom of choice, kinda cheesy
Like all imaginative things, love is the flower let it grow

It's a better
To have a jazz cat
Follow you to A flat
I got so drunk and wrote
That I had to quit writing
And I had to become a conman and drunkard
Now, I'm not sure which one I do better
What does it mean?

I have sleepless nights, just like you
And I have basic empathy

The thing was done in unspoken of
But, never forgotten after all

Dunes
Order
Beautiful pulchritudinous
Eccentric
Runes

My letters to you weep
Lay burned in the fireplace
Sad as my glances, the jokes burn in a popping fire
My tears could douse the flames like a chimney sweep

Count to ten
Let your temper go away
At the first second, or knock yourself out
At the second slices away the cake, count the next one
The third second comes after a day of the second coming before it
The fourth one, wait for near a five-second stop between minute indents
Sixth, seven, then comes eight
Where's nine, close to your thumb
It's in your pocket asking for seconds
Before it is ten seconds, you're out of time.
So, before you get angry
Count to ten
Continent...

Stars on the bright sky
Midnight starry light
Come out of the cloudless child
Round moon change us today
A new day of the year of the tiger
Scarred skies taking down falling mandrake cries
Rooted in lonesome stargazers gallant souls
Looking at the stars makes realize how I'm small
I am small after all, never in my wildest dreams
Did I try to count the stars in the sky
I just waited to catch them instead

Catch a falling star
And never let it fade away

If you're in pain
You're hurt
Not by stumbling onto love, but by skipping happiness
Take a leap of faith on, to the bridge of life
And you'll know life could better with a little love
Trusting people is that leap of faith
That is the power of knowledge, and what it offers
If I'm wrong, I don't want to be right
No one can be certain of the brilliance of law of cause and effect
Dedication, determination, the diligence that's the way of life and eradicating evil strife

Two birds were
Sitting in a bush
I hit them with one stone, and they turned out two more
In their heads

We swirl like the dragons
Free from dungeons and darkness
In eternal salvation like salamanders
Although we aren't lizards hanging from trees
Hung up on life and disease
Breathing the air of autumn leaves
Dancing with the breeze, and ceasing to exist
Sending you our energies in the form of soft lullabies
If you can add to the good, you can keep away the evil
You can bring peace to yourself, and others in desperate need of quiet
You can be free from the peace of mind
Understand freedom in a nutshell, hanging like frescoed paintings
On top of a shelf of porridge and crimson red cherries, pears tresses
The parchment of each other, writing well within the textual framework of partridges in a pear tree
We can pray together, or remain silent forever
In vow of silence, and make lonesome Lumos shine bright like the kites running after in eros
Of the atmosphere, silenced forever, we sing lullabies for the ones to hear in their peace
A man with a peace of mind can understand silence and hold his tongue in the palm of murmurs
The sound swirls through the dungeon-like darkness, hunger for a touch of soil in the cold icy winters
We moon over these things, and it dawned on me that silence can last forever
And it isn't always good or bad
Sometimes it is evil to press and good to release yourself
Expand your mind, and be shapeless like water crashing against troughs flowing streams of fruit
Rivers could ripen, feel the song yonder deepen your soul
We wash these tears, from the eyes of agreeable people and disagreements come to me in a dream
These dreams are made of arguments and debates, I reason with myself unable to ever wake up in the morning
Howl from the depths of hell, and arrive on thin lands watching us with thin eyes like mirrors on cars, add what is specifically your own
Arrive in heaven, better to reign in hell
I'm lost in paradise on this ruin of thy moon and stars
Looking away from the fingers pointing at me like apples and bumps
Words are for the lugging carriage, to carry out their travels in their worlds from battered broken places
Wry comments from the crowd, and some cages of parakeets singing in kisses
Snakes in the grains of rice, stopping us from hissing from our caregivers and calling them unforgiving
Without food, I do not think I could live on
Without a mirror, I do not think I could live ignorantly with this hubris
Ran from the house at the age, I don't think I could live in such a cold climate
Raising my glass to my birthday invitees, they look at me blowing the birthday candles out, I'm in the seventh circle of Hell
Knells and bell tolls, ceramic steel galoshes, bitumen, and hydrophobic gum puts these dharma bums chewing grass together in apple streets full of cosmic debris
That look young and pretty, and pestering me with a limerick for some hypnosis and mirages in this solipsism
Aging like a dragon that used to burn out the flame of Hell, saving the morning again and again

If you're so cosmic, why don't you explain life to us from the Beezlebub spell, little dragon

Feeling sentimental
Your throne of gold has turned to silver
You have gone mental, there is no lining on the cloud
All you can see is gold, Midas
Sleeping in fields of gold, sleeping under the clouds of cotton seeds
Germinating roots bright as the sun too

Feeling like I love you
Your throne of gold has turned to silver
You have gone mental, there is no lining on the cloud
All you can see is gold, Zizi looks at you fondly
With a goose feather pillow under your heart
Cotton cotyledons flying in the sleeping trees swirling in the cots of friendly swirls caught up with the weatherman

You should stop working
For money and start laughing
And start living for just living to jest
Never stop short of making a living and working as a log
Dog days are jokes for the affinity to a lazy afternoon
And you can make a killing
A penny for your thoughts
A brass farthin' for your catatonic piano, mail on Sundays and the same ol' thing
You want to become better at life and greater at living, do not stop short of looking up
If your job allows you to look up, then do so by all means
If by any means necessary, you cannot look at the stars and are blind to the meteors
Your life will never find a purpose or meaning, that's common sense
If you are willing to do that, you have learned the art of living and aren't concerned with the ones already dying
If you are living on a prayer, you can stop dying for peace
Enjoy life! C'est la vie!

If you think to be poor
Makes you rich in heart
Have you ever tried dreaming streams of desserts
Laid out in trains
Have you thought about the poor man who murdered
The rich man with the bleeding lady
All of them look alive in their splendor and tombstones
Cremating acidly, acerbic jesting goes a long way out of killing
Journal says, "I'll never be poor again. Or my wife will **** me."
He  said his soul is innocent and immortal and it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse

Like water you are silent
Like the crashing waves out
Like the streams of cold water
Like the chasing wind of crying stars
Whenever you come out of the sea
You hide behind the cloud when the moon comes out
When the light comes out, it's over and there are just silent waters
Over a straddled bridge where the madcap laughs raucously

Light is broken, and brass is unspoken

I'm willing to give you love
I'm willing to give you my time
I'm willing to give you my loveless terse glances
I'm willing to open my soul to you
Just don't fall in it
Heave and ** with the love and evil
Redact our love you's for jazz and ***
I'm falling for you again, I'm shaving again
But, how can I love a Teddy Bear warm as my ruler
If you have a supernatural father as my school breaking
Hiding your nameless face at school of science
Teach us, I'm willing to learn your way
Teach us about closing our eyes at night come
Afternoon, just open your heart once again
With a love immeasurable, knowing is enough for a wise man
Fall in it, it's useless to try and useful to take your time
Say, stay out of the groove if you can't handle the time and waste it like a confused passionate fool
Use the key to my unchained heart, instead

The night said it's peaceful
Said the guy waiting for the sun
I'm hovering with my head about you

The nights are floating, I thrill you and wait for you
The cupped half-time shadows as the sunrays over my sunny head
Useless and lazy as summer on Mars

Rueful and lackadaisical as the cloudy stardust uncountable as the hours
The dreaming of you takes me to June too
Right now it's August inane without sane you

The night said it's peaceful, no surprise
As long as you have a starry sky over your colorful blue
Midnight hue and cry, floating in the hallucinations of the sunny sands

Theremin hypnotism on the radio, I'll tell when the smile finishes as long our prayer broke our radio
I look for you in the static underground, thinking of you as always laughing as always

Your eyes open to a soul that has been mistreated as a tubby baby born on the cygnets in clouds lintels dilapidated crows ******* Moloch
So far it is getting farther from me, closer to flying doves, crying Moloch now over the star-spangled banner

Hallow on hollow men, lady yells from the dream wagon from the musket ride out on the street
Let's shine from shame, hang your shambled daughter
The night said it's so peaceful tonight, hear the high knell from Hightower from the midnight hour

The night sounds so sleepy peacefully
The standing giant houses mortgaged out, never run out of the romance
We can our ashes in tin-cans, selling them by the pound like tomb-raiders smoking trees
Who chained themselves to bright systems with the brilliance of the first of it's kind
Shadowed blind by the last time, you knocked me out
Do not lose yourself tonight, to the meditated lintels stretched across the stealing vermillion across the dull haze
Waking up to benzedrine, Brooklyn Bridge lies like an etherized patient slightly bleak and bare-naked Brooklyn rose
Forlorn rags in our mouths, dripping needles on arms dripping with blood and sweat
The forked night, fortnight light, studied the looks of people in the sunlight often reminiscent of flickering
Lightning reflected off the midnight hour striking the blind spool
Blind spoon turning the hydrogen jukebox, little by little striking the records joyously
The night sleeps so peacefully like a heroine bombing ballast hue strewn around the kids
Water floods the streets, steely-eyed hypnotizing hypersexual freely eddying around, criminal derelicts born to the greed
Afflicted by the ****, looking for a quicker fix than bar-brawls and cheap drinks
The last piece of adumbrated furniture meditating on the crowded streets, hypnotized by the summer madness
Or the pursuit of a higher road that used to move over us unlike the blindness that was once so welcoming
He said, he would leave us some clothes
He said he will be with us at the end of the road, holding our battered suitcases
He said he will be with us till the end of time as long as it takes
As long it takes?
Immortal or mortal
Hedonistic or purloined
Hero or heroine
We all must die in the end with our virtues and sins
Tell me a story of how you saved us from our sober souls
Praying with fierce tears unless the answer is crystal clear
I can handle the truth if you tell it to me like it is told
Instead of wailing at the end of the road, waiting for our redemption
Understanding us, then why are selling salvation to us in strains of marijuana smoke, oh how wonderful
Bless your knowledge God, aren't we growing with the deaths
Like we growing each day, and I say I speak into the soul like it never knew a mother or a home

Writing poetry, I feel at home pensive again
He writes to me through vultures, scavenging for reading material
He claims piousness to console my will and rest my soul with his wishes

You're dog lights the daylight in the street
In the heat of the breath of the wilting leaves
The daylight, your a dog heals the winter
Winter's dead, but, my dog is still hollering
At the door that gives empty looks never opening-up
Man-made machines that made wars on every side
One peat and bitumen eye, heterochromia
I wish I could pick you up with a midnight spoon
On the midnight summer's night with misty mirages beyond false compare
You are beautiful than God, Goddesses are chasing after your soul
I guess you get those killer instincts that change with the weathered horses brushing air
Stormy as the sunlight, sunlit as the stormy weather
How can this world change, if the knives remain blunt
And the guns cut through flesh and bones, with a deafening noise
Tumultuous storms on the California streets can be mistaken for a handful of dust
Don't be dreary, weary, merriment learned as you tear me up imminent desire in the coyote after the fire of Moloch horridus
Life with the brilliance of minds in raging madhouses, two-sets of classical music, two-cents in a jazz hat
I could give my bit for the truant tune that hovers my head of cloudy dubiousness, scintillating Sun shining like farthings
Some of these cents are jaded like wars of Macedonia, made of emerald clad Eli Eli sabachtachni insignia
Your heart must be from the mountains, cause you aren't from this Earth
Midnight summer's dream, you treat us with fairness beyond compare, put on your make-up
Come out of the light, show yourself the waves of relief
He shows you the way of the earth, wind and fire can crash shapeless like kinmanship
Shapeless little droplet in the nightly crimson wildflower, shine bright like the wound of shouldered giants

When I hold you in my palm, you gain shape of an eternal blessing
Conceived out of wedlock, the cheap tickets, and sold-out rodeo show
Hair like wires, stretch into a starry dynamo of the motionless night
I can't tame you with a name

The traffic says go ahead often storms stop us instead
Think twice it's alright, or stare ahead confused
Talk about the streets, the steel house is holding me
Born on the motion, running with the fumes
Holding the gun, you're on the other end of the muzzle with a point of view
A poignant beer can be barreling in the storm, hopeless timbre in the soul made of metal and cradling civilization
We are made of flesh and bones, not bones made by working-class men working their solitary days
Clutching spades and digging quarries night night
The talk of streets and the stares are coming my way, and I can carry the weight
He's short
He's my brother
On the cover of a Panama canal
Virile and vivacious, flow out of the other side of America
Kid, change my mind
Before we move apart because o'

I can't judge myself from the free will that lies and tells us the truth
To make you feel nice if you look hard enough into the mirror
Like a desert rose, make you think twice about the hamlets in tin cans
Can we look behind and keep our heads on the prize?