If you stopped thinking
And started working
You could be the greatest thinker alive

The only place for your imagination
Meant for your
Two lips
Were the place
For the right core
Present,

On your hip,
On your eyes,
Your beholder,
To hold your yourself, in society's hands
Judge yourself in their books
Find yourself in their commands and limelight
Seeking what you find, within
The light of differences, and bright communication

Of the interfaces, that are your lips
They are meant to say the right words, and
See-through the vocal soul, and trade men for children
And berate women, to become caregivers and apparitions
We kiss to seek
Better ways to express
Our love, and premonition

I hope we have a world
Which lives without music
And raps in childish songs, and thinks in nursery rhymes
Sleeping without wars, just for amusement

I wake from this dream
I see butterflies appreciating the scheme of things
Going across the universe this is how we leave
Out with our solace, and the taste is bittersweet
When we left our home, for some other love
And life, and the haste of everyday people
Salamanders swimming hailing the giant houses
Effective waters, these will brim and crash with the shape
Of my dim light of survival, and the delight of shame and guilt
Sorrow, for the revived and convivial lives
Are you sure, we show enough for our actions
And disaster is what we show for our sins and inactivity?
Mistaking for being cautious, open with ourselves for the
The fire of the times, and the proclivity of the insane
And sanctimonious people looking at us in the good days, we die
Sane, we lively bunches will score the breadth of many oceans
Making our lives better with poorer dreams, relying on the same sins

Leave you on your stratum of streets, and sky of desires
Fiery and the made-up mind is lightening up with my thoughts
Taking my dreams, for granted, reality tells me it's a granted feed
Like sheeps grazing grass, and the cows upon the lonely dead hay
With this idea, I might believe that we die by our own vapid usage
Allowing our augmented reality to a reflection of our hard work, and that is a dedication
And passionate rage tells when we may lose our grip on our self
Eloping, we live in trash culture and die with the end of pollution and love alone
Lending and receiving, in the, walked streets and the modern places you gotta be with your currency
Just another elation dancing on the firefly storm, falling out of love with the bed
Leave it or we're coming for the alarms and the men, flower trees on this journey
I abhor the responsibility and abort the probabilities of getting ***** calls, verisimilitude
Pumping ourselves, with toxins and bold tall glasses
I'll talk you across the boat, and follow ya'.
Reprimanding, and vile women, that seem laudable in this nation
Seeing more than what you believe, holding us on the fingers
Seeking heat from a flame, and exploring your true colors
We all came the Phoenix's embers or reincarnation, and damnation

You're really well-known here
I always wanted to talk about you
But, the music speaks of silence, and asked me
To speak in silence, when the music
Hits ya', it repeats the journey, with the tune on my mind
Peddling power, and meddlesome, live with your brother
Sister, put your tracks and shoes together and run for school
If you can't get educated with the dominant social traits you need to climb the success ladder?
Can we play you across the door?
At exact similitude, we find the similarities of where we got and how we got there?
Fluid with our creativity and stopping for hiatuses, and breathing through our existence, tense about ideologies
Proposing better solutions, you may not be the smartest guy in the room
Definitely, not the dumbest if you're creative, since, you have a better set of skills to create things that stay, laterally
More, we play you, the higher we climb? Good devil.

Bringing up codes, and encrypting data, making theories of our own
Having anger issues, lifeless opportunist, fail every scheme
Are we on the timeless trace of being on the same page
Jimmy Page, are we talking about the influence of honest people?
Writing, and suspending and hiding behind the ambivalent
Feelings, and deafness, in Cohen's songwriting
It took to me sleeping on my sides, with my torn pages laying them
Believe in your individual soul, are we hidden in bounds of songs of hate and love
Looking into civilized citizenry, are we truly unbecoming
We reveal more than what we see, or can we look away
Amnestic, it looks like peace again, or noiseless?
He died with loveless purpose and the silence of crime and punishment, and that's where our observed sentence, ends needless to say?
The journeys seem like the conflict of the future, we are selflessly emancipated, amicable people of many educated toppers
We might look to go to better places, we might be miles off
Raising torrents, lovely rains, the journey ends in the blink

Writing lives, I draw myself to my unregistered war, looking to yield my progeny
Persons and prohibited people can be aggravated, can we friends meeting together at the justice or the jejune sense of adolescence
We could find resolution in our own caveats and deride, and rob ourself out of the potential for echoes of your thoughts
That can be called out as ideas of some other person's open book
Or you read him/her like an open book?
Wanted her to live or die with a graceless look?
Did you find your own identity or falling in love?
Didn't we do this before, behemoths broadcasting my edict and red concussions?
Doesn't this sound suspicious, and lucid and obvious, we were never really imperfect?
Do you handles and shoes come with the bags, or shoulder your erudition, by the educated mind that looks like
You can keep those cars, and think why the hell would I reserve myself to the life of a convict?

These are things which keep me awake in the abstract, apparitions of people form shadows and incline towards petals that bough beyond brevity and pretention
Sure, I was your courage soul, stuck in the wind, stuck on the road, the journey had become terse

I reading writing my words
Into thin air, feeding fuller thoughts
Thinking out in lurid murders
Amnesia might wipe out the people in them

Some love the boys
Some love the beach
Some love the sun
Some leave the sunshine behind
Some find it in moonshine brands and goblets

Whenever I read
On the road
This plays peacefully in the background

It's been more
Than 50 years of poetry
And you are dazzling followers

There's a water of color
And some of them
Whisper of death, lit by the firefly

Hope is a powerful concept
If you can protect it
You may have half the fight won

A bit of macabre, I had been to many forests
Little riddles and a couple of animals hurled themselves
Of kilograms, of sureties and my travels brought me back
Seamed at the lengths of cat whiskers, take my whiskey and match the lions' proud gaze
And **** my softness, and sing my dancing mind goodbye, a boy in the forest
The little riddles often, turn up as jostling for the first word in the birth of the Sphinx
Too bad the one who has the last word is the winner, a riddle has been put of for well-fed and well-bred streams
The good and evil, the small-breaths of life count out my spoken silent footprints
What do spoken word and streams have in common?
A source for the force of nature, and battlecry beyond the firewall
A mirror of reflected futures, adding a proxy to the person someone loves their bright mornings on a jungle
A little benediction and derelicts would bring us to a halcyon jungle at the foot of the hill
Caves in passing, we found footprints in the muddied streams (ravines)
To rest in the places beyond the few-men of Irish streams, that flow in the penitent ones, case of passing freedom
We looked for a violent altercation to occur before left the reconnaissance, but, we had the time out of the lakes that allowed us to tread on leaves
I hope the basket wasn't yours, but, the places of tracing out a caution, but maybe, reaching for the firepower on stars
Crazed by the words beyond our grasp, and praying to worlds, the dedication is all in our hands or in the hands of the forest boy

At this present date, here and now
Setting the predicate for the future and the past
Steeples, beyond silhouette, said the townsmen, that trampled
The stairs lit up with freedom, and poetry of the old times
The positivity lit at the end of the flame tells positivity is superlative
The panorama was on fire, the apparitions of faces lifeless by their beauty
Domineering in their face, and the color of the water was bluer than boughs of the mountains
I guess some men are giants, and some are succeeding to stay tall
And keep their heads help up high, maybe, praying as they leave for paradise
Loveless and ingrates find their place in heaven
Some are lost and faithless finding their place in paradise or somewhere in that vivid concept
Keeping the literature relevant, has become one of the reasons why we understand the depth of joy
Stories should be efficiently, and they could see a hint of fur
Heard in the faces of silent persons, they could see it mindful of the suspense
What's to say and what's coming
The common saying, we could perhaps smile, or look for better
Possibly, I am migrated from the lies behind
My shelled spectacles wearing the running on the wires, on my arms
Determination in these, grams of wrath winding in surreptitious
Some people think will can worthless incoherently they can claim their futures for their own and hopeless misery
Among the citizens and gun-holes, the action-seekers snickering
I want to be part of a smaller death in society, terrorizing my neighborhood
Silently, breaking the breadths of fences and pens, into the ****** sheets of spying intelligent and honest men
I hoped to leave this island
I would get engrossed in the similarities
Snow sets upon
Lamenting our souls
In the fire, or huddled up in the avalanche again

Don't fall for faces
Just Smile

Even now, after all this time
You sing to epistles, seduction, and kismat
Waking up in the mornings, brighter
The hips jostle, saying yes, fly me into the horizon  
What's sunrise, what's the night's desire?
Where is your sister?

Flocks of a bird came together
Singing across the city
Moving across the little specs of society

When will you break this winter
Could we be friends softly treaded the pavement
Avoiding being on speaking this cold with talk of summer
Zero summers?
Beloved, set so hard for life
Brimming on the breathless singing whims of wallowing whales
Drowning in the waves of clearer resonance
The sound is muddled, in the pool of screaming blackwater parks
Gems dissipated in the limestone
Shrouded by the faithless sorrow, reflected in the capricious courage, gilded

I am bringin' to your sudden curious
******* your thumb
On your lap curled up into chemical lingering
Bad smells, and turn out your American flag again
I abuse the perfume and  press the bended knees
Time crept into my space
Hide in my skin, it wouldn't **** lose you
Time is going a bit too far, far, far
Flying like imagination, I stay
Exploring like coyotes and birds, bubbles in my blood oxygenating my soul
Noisome, we made flowers out of our hair and cut wires out of well-cared tools
Escaped the fire of killing many, saying we escaped as one

I met you in a summer dream
I met you in a summer place
In tomorrow's face, taking your eyes
Took your eyes from my heart, taking my arm away
Still, I don't know what to do with your heart, so I set you free
Turning you into a century

Rushing with the piece
Resting with the ease, of the meals
Hunger of the daydreams, and elation
Rush of blood to the body
Rushing into ravines into the edifice
Friable spice and the ravines, protean about my description
Repetition of the surreptitious, debate preaching
Pecunious, fidelity and high on life lying on my own
Each to his, one for his own, stress about the abortive
Imitative, about love being his stressful, hurtful for her
Free, and then shielding myself about it, hurting her
With defenses, maybe, going to cry broken fears through the ticking time

Soulful and the recipe for ripe wont
Disaster comes onto like a living person's modern smitten image
Besmirched image, to the changes tha, come after Salud
Have I played it well, in the life of didacts and dreamers
If you are a teacher, you might have the most protected warrant
For teaching, and learning is a big part of leaving
What education can change, and someone writs education
Adding and summing up become better when taken as mathematical components
Composite learning and summing the parts, with the edifices of Bonita Applebum, with subliminal mania you get rid of desire
For learning, as opsimaths and savants have one thing in common, they really understand how they can categorically improve their cognitive abilities
In one case it adds up to two people from very different creative backgrounds

I have twitched
And bewitched
Myself into a half-man and wolf of hamstrings made of heartstrings
Tearing out of the Vitruvian circle, livin' up in the absolute progressive ellipse
Brimming without you and within you, and escape the slips
Of whips and the crimson red of the lysergic chemicals

I got lost at the starlight
Wandering through the stars and the preaching crowd
Lost in the light

I might go out, clumsy as a palace on wheels
Appreciative of the placing animated expressive
Nature of your breathless, that just makes me die with a smile
Happy with his belonging, peace is his song
Dancing with the longing, the longer you wait for you dance
Dance away, without my words to guide you through cloud alphabets
Spanish palhabra, luminous limerick
Chinchin, chinchilla, minutes in Piccadilly
Square for a hamster on the turning of the changing wheels
Changing squares, and townships travel in a couple of quarrelsome
Steps of a poet, little honest about the footprints mistook for shirking persevering people

I was expecting your call
Did you disturb?
In my sleep, without care or wait

Pithy equivalence shine
Like the morning sunrise
Daydreaming, likewise
Breaking Benjamin, growing and bodied
embodied, the sonic youth of our strychnine daze and streets
The gap between, the suicide solution of the resolute of the bullish crowd
Looking for narcotics, and mingling with the steely neighbors
Rhymes with the ancient antediluvian efficient, crows and the parliament all fly out of free-speech
Controlling our brave needs and enslaving our politesse with laughter and mirth, the confluence of this total
Congruence with our social institutions assume isn't it if we can ask our government the questions it has been practiced to answer
Sobered up, like me, I might find that this golden pond is yet seen an auriferous bottom

I raid my black
Freely played my clothed skin
Salted on the wounds of Appolonius
Why not sneeze, when I share your scent?
I stand soldered in stone, imprisoned by no words
Mindful, these are mendacious streets, inhabited by none
If I am soldered in the streets, I should always be moving.
Too bad, I thought of the statue of studious derelict breaking pulses
Silence is the tool of fools.
Rays of Sunshine on us all.

I'm going off
I'm going out of the
Simple leisures, very complicated

A poem is a pious expression
Of someone who looks into your
Dubiousness and objectivity, like Ayn Rand books
The perfect pedant would read it to you like book titles, for untitled readers with framed wallflowers, like a dying sun

You and your dreams
Are mine, when I think
About you, I can think about your
Dreams that are dusty in the elk streets
Conspicuous drenched lens, upon the free highway
The way of the street, dim lights, and summed up insomnia
Somnabulance is the way of killing your sleep
Or yourself, o' me and the lines of morose

Thoughts don't come so easy
Thank god
Difficult to shorten haikus

You can handle your music better than your fumes
Fury of guitars, and sopranos better than your human
Humean passion Lemmon calls you out of the some
Like it hot as a wire, to be continued
Broken poetry might be a Luddite
Crashin gon the bed or the funambulist
Of apartment fringes, and the crescent crazed steering little
Lintels of the elementary of the crowd, among the militant
Literary of the eyes that see-through in the clashes among the bright guns
Son of the Brixton feud
Pritchard of the meritorious crowd
I band with their hands
I lend cuticles as I crush my body to write these, free light in your darkest meanest face that sheds light how it is logically demented
Pandering to the meritorious merry crowd, felt better when you are cumulus in the inexplicable ineffable lustrous tame floods
Servicemen, and slaves deal with their infested shy rooms, mushrooms
Ask, speak, service, and bleed out in your pen-appended murmur

Earning currency
With the doorknobs
Of a zillion webs

Thinking about the dinner sleep, and milk
Bread and the tea, and some fatless skimmed milk
Some grocery lists that have no dough as flour
Or as a flower as dowry
As the blue weather, spills like the fall of the hokes and lores
Of the Hokkaido's that implore
Of the tresses of the crime, the airbrushes of the breaths
The swords live within the cuts of the picture
Mixing with the texture of the freeway, we can beat the traffic

Inhibiting the criminal frame
Of mind, I took my summers on the journey asunder
Of the politics and the rhyme, of the greatly doubtful pleasantry
Among the soulless crowd, breaking the taxes too
The tears from the hear and hears, strollin' through windy paths
Tearing across the cultures, and streetlights and staring into the distance, the hitchhiker doesn't ride us on the storm

Wake up my light
O' mighty god light my morning
Like you light up my packs like the impoverished morning
In the cool cool

Of evenings, let's fly out
Too short of words, o'er is he becoming him
Her becoming his or was she becoming her edict of nights brighter
Stars lighter up mulled

The wine I can try freely ransack and robed freeloaders get me
Blues on her bag, speak of cusp
It's almost time, to leave your satchel
That will carry my words, too soon

I try to make a footprint, too big
But, it stops short of being too small
Like my small pleasant feelings, crushed by big people

Your coat of cupboards, armchairs
Roccoco and coquettish cupping the wrong coup
We could be disguised as bloodstreams

                                                                       left some streams, to come upon some this up

I suppose because of the approach to poetry
I might not be taken seriously, and for
Such purposes, I venture on making a premise
A sudden purpose you may call it in similarity
To pellucid and amiable as a similitude

It took me a long while
To really understand how we inure each
Other in two or threes, taking each number
Like a closed leading to an open door
Contraltos and passive ancestors have one thing in common
Lies and literature, it took to you to be a good person so what
You took to prison and a cell of broken speech and schools took you in peremptory pleasure, with some loquacity and leisure
Mellifluous or mundane, quoting has some substrata of truth, broken down into placid men in Lenin's underground communist movements
Black and broken like the hungry poverty, of the speech and resplendent sum, inventively locum tenens more than the summated parts of clients
Remeasuring the men around me, finding the inclination within singularities
Violent and breathless broken poetry

The artist mixed up in the sword of
Pieces of pied by the glacier and Pisces lend its transience
My land lies wrapping limestone
Tear dried on the artist abnegated storming in veritable riches
Eternal reflect your hope's
                                                                about to show
                                   You just told you
                                                                antecedent
Often, breaking comfortably with the atmosphere, your hope's about to show                                       some leniency
And music
questions and answers, and arguments, and transience
                                                          Angst and fascism, good and evil

Apart at me in a latitude
Cross with the seams
Nostrum of commands, chartered
Owning for tomorrow, quid ad
Tully portentous of penmanship, questioning
If I had more battlecry moratorium felt lighter than the sword, but, took to the ethicism, to write it with serried disabuse
The revival of the crimson tide pegged for the trident of sorts from Martian landmasses, criminal smooth as the craters
Please open, the probes to the ice of the closest countries first, make global anarcho stuff our moral precedent
Aiming for life, you tend to lose sight of it all, along with the opportunity to make amends.
Sorry, the germane nature went out of nature, this is specifically directed at the single simpletons in the simplicity of laying out
Words in the degree of simple logical statements, which can neither be passive or active
Passionate really isn't that our motives are both not driven by passion and ambition
Curious, isn't I look intolerable in the promising outlook
Carelessness isn't it that I know love is growing a par two with my liveliness
Comeliness, truantly nuanced underbellied, becoming or bellied or becoming in the transcendence of the existential crafty wiz of nihilism that feels like your
Furr it's relaxed by its poetry, somehow we die off too young like some poet at our age
Polymaths and opsimaths might be alike, in some time
I've hope I've found a place in the line
Clever and quick climbing through the snakes on the lazing sun of the ladder come from the tinted passive line
Sunset horizon mindful of your mindreading crimson tide
Placid of the mature of the maternal greed, beyond the, claiming the doors
Of the possibilities, probabilities of the fraught lives among the cosmos of the karmic lives
Of the obliqueness of the strychnine streets that can be moonlit in the daydream of the sonic youth

Silence the terrorized halls
Sat across us, the fiery recalcitrant
Deck the halls with burning classes, obomoe'er
Brazen, kindred dust, fearful of teaching
Preaching the halls, just the silence stood still
Among the students scared of the teachers
Or the terror of the temperamental rabble, hedging for the bench
Edging from the kicks from the underbelly of the table
Friends seem like the same dinners you had in silence
The teachers seemed like familiar friends, in this educating experience
******* your teenage thumb, the rising
Violence, for the sudden sunflowers, rising for the sun
Sun for the dense sending, billowing and asunder summed up sheets
Totaled and examined, they ******* passed

Thin romance
Lost in your dreams

                                                         ­       Sips from the murmur
                                                          ­      Age like these daydreams

Lying across the hall
Sleeping across the floor
The hall
The phone
Break my bruises
Breathless and prepossessing
In my dreams, my message

A cat's ahead, a little complaisant
A cat followed the zephyr, playfully
Flat's rather zaftig and plump, and soothe the platitudes
Bibulous rachets and rackets of gesticulating recalcitrants
Congruent cat whisker's rather pother-like, can't get bolder
"Sleeping, oeuvre woes my way?"
"Sitting, oeuvre, was my way."