The probabilities
He pessimistically took my jar, left me ajar
The attentive class left us with a decent professor
Often, hiding in books, and avoiding the seasons
My heart is an apocalypse, that tells me that Hell is where I am
Thre prodigious repleting the accidental lake, the isle on the Sun
The cloudy stars, and counting of the shooting stars
And the quills bloodied by the changing trapdoor, lurking behind
The gallows pole and the halo's gone, and the named nameless
Reinventing required him to be universally concomitant
When few people have imagination, really
And relativity of the realistic destiny, and the self-conscious of distasteful poetry
You can dream and you have begun, but, boldness has the imagination befuddled
Often the will left to the imagination can cultivate a passion
And your pursuits and your perception of me might leave with the reposing soul
The deposition of which is my lover's ordeal and steadfast strength
Low on pursuits, and mild on perceiving the highs and lows

The innocent social snobbery
Found impact
Brought my peace
Nebulous and capitalized for the punishment
The child is the opus of the prima fascia child's lies
Sound of silence falls like the fuschia stories that sound like lullabies
The thespian memories look like I'm moving, the music's killing me
Truth, to be there, I can't remember
Locking in the organized cell, organic and designed
The trust was built, for the organized and all elope all love
Handholding humanity brightened the cradle really, brightening the groves son
And fell asleep with the eyes on the rocket, and the living society
I believe I'm hell because I am, prodigal son what do you know of heaven
The drinks and the pleasures, that need my word are you a patient's presentation
Beezlebub, always be a poet in prose
Sounds kind of apres dinner sleep, to between the blurred drapes that match the curtains
Desperate on call and states, that meandering with Tennyson inspired
The wit thy brought cerulean skies, the drapes shuttered

Drowning like a fair Kafka in air, with some self-esteem
Writing and reflection turned out on the locks of a dead door
Creating and lending Creedence, to the top floor that reflects on the day
Veritable trust and doubts are broken, trusting that this will the day I die
Riding on a mirror reflection, collecting and toiling
Approving and oleaginous oceans, broken oil and water
Painted like the pinned skies, reds and blues are the reasons that I cannot go on
The thunder and lightning  tautological to Zeus, and the Greek hermaphrodites can take more
These virgins of blossoming breaths that burst like the fireballs of chasing the wind
Calling up and the thespians in the actor studios
And the remnants of stages, broken by the masked Venetian
Ceilings and reconnoitering the convict's dream
He lay in his bed like an insect that had learned to dream, but, learned to spread it's wing first
Breaking his boredom with some mirages and middle ages to read
Occult screams, "Eat cake!"

Light as a feather, I'll make it through stormy breaths
Hurricans, and peaks that are high, I can pertinently relate
The pretending to make haste from the already broken place
Landing up in edifices of emotions and eyes that are windows, now looking like hunger

The thing about love?
You can either learn from it or run from it
Cutting the shoestring budget
You can bring a typewriter, and polish it with your paper
Or say, ******* I'm writing
Thanks for changing my mind with the catalog of slum-dwellers meant for average-sized houses
Like pigeons and Catholics that should always leave the church

The ******* of the women, that I behold the Sun
The **** sapiens pilfer off the scintillating source, of the human and venus, fly traps
Adapting to the lotharios looking for hunger, in pangs of rampant desires
Surrendering to the tests of time, aren't far from the years beyond the making of old age

Clinching and clutching, then speaking with wisdom
With sheets made of clay, and waxen tousled hair
Like black wires, and the wires of *** and saltation
The vines of wine and salvation, and boundaries for those shaping their hearts
In desperation and shipping off solid favors, in the name of schemes
In the preparation fo better futures, I think we should part ways
I do now know that we never met, but, we held future in eyes
Behold these windows to an empty household, look at cafe and bistros
Beignets, cakes, parades, and raining pretention with the hard times falling like crime rates
The gangster flicks coming up in the age of mafia bosses that live and die by the *** and violence

Fields of hope, and trumpets ragging the song
With the ragtime, and the basin is full of ragin' strains of woe
Crashing with the vitriol and shallow socialite that is a deep thinker
Englishmen under the victorious sun, and the trembling hope and the fear and loathing in the cremation
The shame in the socializing escapes the military iron fist
Like dogs walking toward their master in love
Too bad their master loves war more.
The skullduggery can cause trouble, and so does a dog with courage and character
Walking through the grapes of wrath
If I know love, it is because of your loyalty
If I know repetition, it is because of your effort
If I know trembling fear, it is because of your vulnerability
If I know your tensions, I know your intention
If I know your envy, it is because amorous songs that show approval and vindication
If I know your intention, it is your everlasting zeal that mistook for a concoction

Drinking in the halls
The eccentric people with
The hellcat, drink where the champagne falls
And they tell us Moses was at the helm of Earthly seas
Purposeful, purporting, punctilious that is the howling wind
That learns to speak through elders that have plenty of mouths to feed
Jealously beyond compare, the music belies the noise
Thence, the heart so barren, that words fall like wasted words
Talking about memories, thence beyond compare and laconic behavior
Iambic meters, the music sounds like it is tinkering my inner moonlight with its a spoonful of rhapsody
When the tempestuous storms are white then the maiden's talk of blossoming buds
Prodigal and prodding the terms of rain, and the raging fields of coruscation
These locusts cannot turn into blood, as the coral in her eyes shines with heated perturbation
Lust spake as it is should be taken for fair chance unless pardoned
Sunshine on your shoulders, I hold your hands like a flower that follows my wildflower
The misery that sermonizes the serious surprise, although maiden and beyond compare
The gumption so rare, the customary glances of belied and complicated fairness
The sword speaks when I fall silent to comparisons belied my heart in boughs of distress and troughs of harmony
White like the musketeers that never let the chance pass

You make life my desirable
You take my Thursdays and turn them darker
You turn every other day more colorful, and except green returns
We take turns smoking celadon and takoyaki in pots of bridling heat
Hues of a different scenery can change my climbing ladders
And the serene and hundreds of men that live in honesty
Hiding behind trees, and members of the clan
And the camels and deserts sands, change their thirst for water
Like the chameleon, tha climbs for the spider
In a cobweb and a truncheon thing called dishonest cenacles
A group of murders and murderous men, both have a mystery
And enigmatic dirges, that how we die with the faraway celestial bodies
We airbrush strokes in our starlight madness, someday in this carefree heart

The poems that are nonsense
Some work like limericks, and eddy
Like jokes on a drink of scotch, and a talk on Neal Cassady
The luncheon, and criminal affairs, the belted ladies with their cummerbunds and burgeoning wishes
The moist coffee, that touches you cupcake lips and kisses the dessert foam
The creme brulee, cider, and apples, you take bites and Bill Evans that plays the ebony and ivory
Stones that rock organs, keyboards, and rock changing streets
The streets that billow of cigarette meditation and ****** addiction spread like rated multiplexes meant for adults
Taxi cabs looking for some darkness in a handful of destiny

Must I debate
About the proponents
Of acrimony and war, or do you wanna handle this
With modern warfare in the war room
The smoke, screens and chaos, it gets me thinking
Why we bundled them up as the papers meant for each passing Pope
These papers take lives away, give breathing souls false hope

We speak to each other
Buds that blossom, look at each of you
Except these are the words I'll use

The river runs deep and the flow runs like shallow streams
Joyous and searching for something like art searches for people
We come across such rivers and prefer crossing such streams
We cross into another forest that opens into open-ended inlets
Hidden fountain and the feelings are jocular and looking at the birds
Is lightly flying with the imagination, and focus on your eternal search
Bundling and huddling the campfire, now it's time to look at eagles
To sing and soar high above them, and escape the dirges of a journey
Reading books and music, and doors and closing boorish rapscallions with hitchhiking sticks
Pointing at the eagle in the sky, the inchoate still look to easier things
That's why the past hurts because it reminds me of such lost travelers
Lush green, boreal, call it tiagus, in the rising sunlight, the ice thickens and thaws

The lost seas of writhing souls
Deep and the darkness, bucolic peasantry carrying a basin of mud
Protesting for better wages, in the bruised bulls of Wall Street
Seeking pursuit of happiness, and finding the answer
With each proceeding need and the greed just stops being a word
Mirrors and global skyscrapers, objects, all forecasted
We know what we will build for the future
A future of objectivism, and plants with books overlooking New York streets
Dreaming of better living in extravagant Manhattan
Teaching others about the poetic license, how you can lie
Blues and *****, and the breaths of the cold morsels
Murky hills, carrying pitchforks in boreal forests
Barking and biting, these are now chilly pine peaks
The heart seeks what it seeks, and omniscience and ubiquitous Gods
Like modern infrastructure, and precarious progress for the army recruit
There are plenary structures and assemblies of kitsch Kilimanjaro, replicas of mountains and wax models
Romancing each stone, and feelings of someone you once loved
You thank heaven, that she walked into the right bar
Sometimes, you hope she walks into the wrong seat and meets you
Greets you at times, as an alarm for the correct time
Tresses of eve-teasers lay ******* on great cars, some of them even make haste with purloined convertibles
Purring cats walk through Plainfield and Mclaren streets, foraging for serendipity
You'll be glad that heaven brought you to the right bar, to tell you are the right desire
In this sea of lost souls, thinking they are struggling
But, actually, they are tied to the confabulating and changing climate
Blaring horns of the bungholes and dungeons of bald men spot the madness from afar from the humble abode
All of them dying peptic ulcers, cirrhosis and drinking themselves to illness
Indemnified by their art, art is the way to explain these insecurities and voids of despair, we are a civilized bunch, right?

If you can imagine yourself
With the breathing palaces
And the tenebrous traces of dingy darkness
You have arrived in hell, rather than heav'n
Looks like heaven is make-believe
But, if you write about flowers, like the moors
They rise with the darkness of dusk, and the moonlight
Murky as the deep cenacles washed with erudition and seas
These reflections are getting better, but, as a typical person
I find that next one will lead me, to reach my favorite shores
This sort of choice doesn't come with longing, at the adventures
I admire the possibilities
And the probabilities
Mercy mercy me, what it is used to be
Dreary, but, like a dress that makes me happy
Heav'n or Hell, postmodernism is hell
We are just moving along with times, wondering what it will worship
All that matters is friendship and conviction in your dreams
Hold them close like helms, and set them free like sails
Zeus looks from stygian darkness, and purgatory

The loathing is strong on this man
The breathing is hollow in this man
The death is coming closer, to his human frame
The breaths are getting shorter, and wheezier
Reminds me of homeless men, that share the same death
But different beds
Faces that some of us don't and some don't recognize
These are friends we never meet
Windmill falling on the ground, run for better
Begin in the round, tiles living it on your steam
Rocketmen and daydreams are just a beginning
Moving from street to street looking for new beginnings
Introducing yourself to different delights and politesse
The broken streets, flickering like candles
They turn darker than the stars, and shadows that hide
As the sun shines on them all, I see them rising behind
Virgins do make much of time and gathering ye rosebuds
While ye may, in the forests of the grey, that need to be graced
The death of man closes like the book of dead authors

I read your poetry
I really do
I'm sure, you see it too
The hellos and goodbyes of diverging routes

An invocation
Is harrowing inside
In polyamory posing as the other

I find your lost words
Kind of appealing, I love how you found yourself
In the wrong places, and ended up at the broken places
With the traces of the past, hanging like fearful destiny
That you don't want to come back to, a morning sickness
A glorified dream, just forget it when you go to retirement
Sleep comes when the money stops
Misanthropes following tropes of evidence
Conclusively positing them as logical statements
Seen the resourcefulness of people, conclusively work
I'm pretty sure, they work under flickering lights
Trimming and trespassing, savage gardens under lighthouses
Right under same old blue, and the turquoise shells
That hang on your shelf, like dreamweavers of blue embers
The breaths of the wind, touching your skin moonlit
You moonlight as the nighttime savior, bringing tsunamis
Washing out daydreams, and people looking at the blue sea
Sea green is where the horizon is, the turbulent tempests of thunderous storms
Stream of consciousness doesn't break the thoughts and doesn't stop with acrimony
Aspersions cast upon Poseidon's seas, like murdered mysteries
Bows and arrows slower with the samurai swords that light up the path for death and decrease
Breeze and the moss green, celadon, and ninja seals
Bursting your bubbles that flow and dissipate like distant memories
I might be flowing and collecting my shells, but, I never give up the search
The journey never stops, like the blue center of hope
Cinemas and music, that flow like beating cotton buds and blossoming drained flowers
The sun falters like these forget-me-nots asking for something in epiphanies

The loyalty stays with the competing sayings
I'm just starting to understand, what philosophy
My familial interstitial numbers rely on, it's just me and you
In the Solar System, in the middle of the serried
Streets that appear like dark stories, and wind like
Plot twists, and criminal cocktails from the bars
My mind is like a capitalist bazaar, bebop, and hip hop
And all the influences that roll with labels
Like fuzzy trees colored green, in the dark red cherubs
Iridescent canopies, and terse destiny that diverges like people
Having differences in the lost forest, people I warn you
Lose themselves, better to give another chance and let them start
Again with the introductions and the complimentary announcements
A wanted man could only follow these fuliginous forests
Only a wanted man could live up to these standards of being an elf
A gnome could talk you in the languages of the dark ages of the bright sages
Sagacious beams of wisdom, and the cornucopia of common ground
Second coming's here, it might erode with dust and ashes
Carving a giant tree is unleashing the chameleon's colors
As the forest dies, the snow stays, and you have a white chameleon
Unique like a snowflake

Grand star-crossed roads
To star-crossed overs, far from planets of lucid dreams
Cinematic stars that shine like the spotlight twinkling like the limelight

I dream of dreams
And new beginnings
Call me crazy
I think everything changes
With the whisper in an ear
And whistling rumor
Flickering like thee

Yesterdays that you dream,
The often going and seeking,
Destiny calls you a snake charmer
Shapeless like water, you call the moons
The legacy and destiny, meandering with suns
You can see these brooks in the undulating truth, caviling and compressing

Looks like we are a conservative party
Stuck with progressive ideals
Turns out women can divorce older men
Making younger men happy, trembling limbs

Deep in you, hangs your world
Fears, worries, pains are yours, as black secrets torment you
The life in me sees the world in you, you haul chains in lost minds
we speak the language, but you hear not cause your world is in you
Grandiose arid cursed witless lands, of those who think they are gods
These lines read like my rights
If you're my antipathy, towards my society
I use my rights to avoid your moral policing
Morals are a habit, a probable cause

Lying in the empty awake
Trying with my hand with the hands of dreams
Someone's a good book in studied shelves
I keep her safe with all my swords and secrets
Shallow about the other bookcases, this one fits each one
One size fits all, the book and the nightcap worked immaculately
You're intense, I'm calm, your book studies me through false notions
You're my student, and I'm your master, learning excellence as a habit
The ritual is right when you have belief
The torrential downpour comes down without breaking any form
Even sadness and melancholia cannot test the patience of a timeless book
You're my zephyr, my sunrise in the fear of the fuliginous sun
Casiopea

Arriving with the time waiting
For revival
The time is for China to take its socialist shame
Turn the times to the populace was the same
Truncheon tanks, and the whole shebang, the guy who died
Mao Zedong, Tiananmen Square, Creedence clearly an atom bomb
Away from a bunch of lies, dealing with slaves and something inside them died
Tangled up in memory, tangled up in the blood
Tangled up in a truant sundry, I'm unaware of the inchoate
But, the bloodshed reminds me, of the battleground that hasn't heard from the crying dead
We nurtured the poor, to feed the roads with our public money
Reconnaissance of every remnant individual, timbre, and everything, in an ephemeral second
We blew up in silent thought, without knowing of attacking and arresting atrocities all in the name of a thousand cuts
Cradling civilization, there will be blood, the sun's up on the wrong end of the pursuit of happiness
Numbed by the pain, the sun's up on the wrong of the pursuit of happiness
Tampering the evidence, conclusively ending my progress
Tanks rolled over the ****** corpse, mangling it beyond solidarity
None of us could recognize him
Things were difficult before easy.
The man was a genius when he was dreaming.

I wait for his immediate return
He sleeps all the time
I crash into his ****** mystery

An inchoate who is looking to get better
In these familial dark worlds, lintels ringing
Freewill, think I am going to be a freedom rebel
Rebel and recuse yourself, the rights are to stand up
To incoherent talk of honesty, with the writs to dictate ownership
Ignorant talk of slavery, when bravery is mercy
Sober and brightening, still waking up to this kindness there-and-that
I've accustomed myself, to writing myself some double-talk
Questioning every thought, the music is mapped out for the greater good
Cutting through the noise, cherishing my moments with tocsins and sermons
I am religiously present, this is talk of dubiousness in polygamy
Why free will when you are forever in this mirror, of dying loathing
Why free will when you are ne'er in this mirror, of sleeping solipsism
Caitiffs cutting through the silver morning, to be glad to drink good times with opulence and ease

You're sunlight
The shooting star
When I seem to get far, washing across
the windows
The meadows of the grass fields that look like gold
Derbies and drama raves that repeat
Psychedelic suns that shine-like eyes, that don't see memories
You're topsy-truly, diggity like pygmie that hides form new memories
Spirited away like the creative economy, of the Neo-dystopian novel
That you might read in your spare part shop, but, the wood-chuck that works in sanding machines
Like a hummingbird ******* honey, and woodpecker clucking trees
We are just going on repeat, existing in this vagrant vacuum-like vicious fun universe
Dreams that fly like the antecedent of ambition
Without intelligence, ambition cannot fly like the birdless heights
Semaphoring and titillating like the jets in the celestial stream of breaths, vacillating with every adventure
Vicious disaster falls on the crepuscular lands
Ebullient and eddying like a daydream, lakes that shine like the shores with silver linings
The gold is counting, and the stars are all shimmering
In the Bacchus and manors, land us on this planet immediately
Perfection and make-believe is all it is really, nostrum like novels that I've read so far
I find you in lost books, shining in these fictional devices
That's how I know you are a reader because you tell me these coincidences are surreal
I sure that I make them out to be chances or serendipitous serenity, shooting stars efficaciously

Primes and primary numbers
Make my patterns right
Teach me how to make the connections between equations
Time and tide wait for no one
Someone, please ask them what is one
Changing or creating, adjusting to your useless feeble-self
You can still take on those hurricanes, with experience
Time and tide wait for those who are laying in desperation
Waiting to be washed ashore
Like the immigrants, clicking their feet like the opportunity
And door-knobs, ringing like hallowed bells
Telling us the door is open for those with want
Series of bottles washed over, like island telegrams
College applications for the college dropout, looking for the corpus of his master's oeuvre
It's on the top shelf. You're working for wages crossing bus-stands with city-light colleges
Crowded and make some noise, coherent with crime

Freewill and inane, it got me tin-men
In the mirrored men, the selfish shells, that claim destiny
With the clams holding pearls of presently precious
Haranguing, the steps of the bedroom
The holding to the embarrassing forum, the childhood climb
The ladder's a light away, and tunnel unfurling
Mirroring the world, cars that flash-by give me the senescence Simplicity is innocence, without the age
Homeless and heralding the jazz of the lost-ages, the last of us
Stilletos, tax-cabs culminating into one free-speech station, and dream theater
The electric relaxation and steely epicures are ringing like wood-wind instruments
Here is how, and I'm living too deep like the slippery silver morning
Fear is how we sleep, with the midnight spoon
Afraid of the dark, learning light can come in the next induced thought, in your nightmares
That's why I don't like questions that don't have answers, but, it's an honor to be questioned properly
Answers can be questioned, as long as they free your imagination
If you hold your success, you can hold imagination until the very last breath
Thinking about the inherent goodness and utility of that non-living thing
That opens to doors, that cannot be short of the theory
That's why I'm scared of my own beliefs because they test my desires
Fear is good when used for getting another word, silence.
That's the world without words, like Jupiter, and Mars
Far and apart from the Solar energy, but, part of the revolution
Towards the heaps of Asteroids, and heat of gaseous modes
In our humble abode, fluid like the water expanding like the gases
Our Universe, truly an immaculate conception, if we thought about myopic inception
Without sight, we created the World
The world without words works like the eye in the sky
Shine on you crazy sky, with the lucid perception of changing the sheen

Pick out your destiny, slowly
Take your pick from open for business
And chrysanthemums that dry like the yellow times
You have with the blues, the cerulean tulips can't get enough of
Watered colors in form cumulus colors, colors of a shade
The trade-off of your polyamory and amorous exchanges, ringing like hallowed bells
Bell-shaped flowers, pick and choose your tune among the red wine-like roses
The truthful rose, in vino veritas, let me fetch another one of my flowers
In gazebo's that blossoms like composure and human nature, colored like roses, blue like a violet
Heralding the wine and decomposed soil, germinating to fructify
Tributes to your loved ones, time grows older than the powers of the words
Late-bloomers change your eternity in a palm-full of beauty
The eternity in a wildflower of the heated hours, the high life
The groups of the mirrored of the jaded transience, make it mystical as time
Lives will die with the shelves that contain stick and chains, like women
Trips and camp tents tested in the terms of the trident of Cyprus trees

I've always wanted to go with you
With your sequestered simulation desperate talks
You can follow me wherever your poetry opens up
OPen at the close, write happy endings
Take your time, your communication is for the wordsmiths you prophesize on
Philosophize on what you have, your possessive nature is your casual vacancy
You might call your id and superb egotism a cham of glib dreams in a wary catatonia
Melancholy is white if you put on the gloves to write a supposed witty poem
Black as the blue akin to quills, pick up and write in your sanguineous sincerity
Writing's in your blood

The sacrifices
You make, mother never grow old
But, my excuses do

Search your soul, linger till you grow
Old in fields of gold, rain comes so does the hope
Hostile buildings flying around the head, like buzzing bees
Criminalizing every last convict
Coining every last name in the prison register
Treason and trainwrecks have conviction in common
Break the tough chains, with tough breaks
Tinkering like thirty-years
Breeding and birth is a part of the fleeting memory, of high and dry
Try and you can quench the thirst of a couple of people at the end of the road and the rotation of crowds
Brimming with satisfaction, I can't find the child that's always dissatisfied
A bridge on time of carnage would be better than burning the commodores
****** mysteries and bebop, tell you can light your own enigma
Lady luck is fickle, she got razor-sharp claws and got 'em all
Too bad she tears up the fateful roads that are meant to cross-point like the stars on Moonlight drive
Fear in the darkness and in the loathing of Las Vegas
Leers and glances of the beatnik and bookish boys, gracing every with their masculine advances
Being bums and being contended
Pardon me, c'est la vie, cinema mon amour
The shards of saviors slashing samurai swords and serried sands
Lands, composed the Magna Carta of the time and sending off
The harakiri killed the suicide solution, the feudal times with Japan in the cherry blossom
Trees falling transient photos, stills on the artist within, touch the sword
Can't get the arrows and bows, quip, fly the mistakes by the taste of killing stakes
Bleeding soldiers, in the thousand men in gracious faceless
Read-write the scrolls that stand the test, emptiness is just a reflection of the blind
Eye to eye, blinking can't avert an artist's eyes
This is the hummingbird that hides, the cusp of time and cutting vernacular
The chirping and belonging of the terse stories of the counts and countesses of the summer loathing
Heralding the sun, and it's God in the sands of time and talk of tides
Working like the winds and winding solar clocks, and lunar dials
Tellin' and reelin' in the direction of the red skies, see where they make their mirages

Another's garden tending to another
Washing their bougainvillea and their chrysanthemums
Like forests burning arboreal
Till the thick airbrush of gelid arboreal mysteries keep towering
Over the skies of some surplus woodcut by lumberjacks that can grow more papers
Papyrus manuscripts of minor league baseball games bring out the socialist shame
Shards of glass doors showing shark-like predatory pain
Moors and domes like murky hills of darkness hovering over the town
Calling the fireman, when he's not around
Disappearing with the snowy peaks, that there is reparation
Preparing folks for talk and meals
Follow me where I clear, the hollow men
Straw hats and everything
I flow down nothing lane, I'm not here
Insane, it isn't happening
Frescoes of paints of lamps on fearful sunset lanes
Flickering like little stars, brighter than the boreal forests
Fuliginous verdant ardent dreary forests, look like buildings
Concrete jungle, welcome me into the pain for the little town
Freewill and strobe lights, and hope speaks out
Fly and hope, hopeless love clears out those melting rains, like deserts thick as train smoke
Cerise rain doesn't stop in the Blitzkrieg belt, the promise of fortune climbs like hail

Island telegrams randomly shuffling in the sun
Reading between the lines of tides and stones
Time and tide wait for no one unless you're a bone
Ill or hope, you're in desperate need of a bridge
Lest you end up without a savior, Samaritan who reads your island telegrams
That I can see, or at least grab onto the ropes
Carry your clothes on your camping trip, shuffling through the zenith
Wordsmith where is your inspiration, if I taking everyone for what they're looking for
Random shuffling in the sun
Rest in peace, and ****** make-believe will all be written in a message in a bottle
Dry as the dead, and floating like the oversoul; this is my last chance at ending strong
Contained by the empty vessels that navigate the seas without captains or winds
Contending the eye in the sky, projecting some prior survival
Deceased by being stranded, so it seems that I've landed
Truncheon things and turn-tables and blunt knives are in
When will sharpies come out, to write these word down
I suppose those are written in a crimson tide, tired of recognition and fertility
I love these fertile feelings, I suppose you could curb your streets for another home
I'm leaving this humble abode too soon, you might ride on the storm
Hitchhike the galaxy, sail the seas, and explore oceans; go-ahead big life
You seem to be kind enough, to help those lost and stranded
That's what you said when you read my eyes, and read my mind
You could see me beg for better ways to express the truth through island telegrams
Like the deserted island on the sky, that knows no peak
How do I come down, from this pedestal of accepting my own destiny?
When will make me the eye in your sky?
God, when will stop leaving chances to precarious bottles talking of pernicious palpitations that tell me I'm a vagrant
In someone else's stories, the island with the nicest view
Bruised and broken, starting again with a better beginning
How is that possible, that I come back from my infantile tendencies
The trepidation stays like themes and deniers, who deny my expressions and honesty

Time's in on my side
I can't get enough of the tridents, of the hour clock
Looks like the eternity is gonna be an hour now
Holding a bellicose rain in my palms, I know it's my own tears
These tears should haven't left my side, and out of reprieve
I can't keep feeling melancholy if the heartbeat skips at the sign of heat
These warm tears have remembered many of these memories
Journal of the black book, I don't know
I'm not sure if I can judge, the marching saints either
I find my sins in a cup of silver, gold's expensive ****
Flying like a trembling feather is giving me frickin' fever
I hope someone's catches on to my predicament, quickly...
Or I'll be hanging off the minute hand, like a sledgehammer
Bring on your best chances, with the possibilities
The lack of dreams make it my reality, that this must be a happy ending
In an hour's time, I might be your man in this beastly land

The optimist is technical about his dreams
The realist is political about his philosophy
The pessimist is looking at the glass, wondering
The politician is sure, he will drink up the whole thing
Wings of fists should be hurled at these inns situated with flings
The banker is sure that he will follow the stars of confusion
When the houses crash like the ending of radicalism or shaking money-makers
Stringently, striding, stirred-up; I can't get enough
Staccato, semaphoring, please stop; was that you, or me
Stentorian or is it a voice, just a word that gives me sesquipedalophobia
Too many words, by now that why we should leave immortal institutions
Following Immanuel's Kant's words, he'd have a palpitating heartbeat, since, I generalized philosophy
I guess we let six days of fiction fly, why weren't olden people persuing
Reading their manuscripts, and making books by the 15th century
Can find me a couple of ordinary names in a book of deities?
Half-measures and half-wit got me nowhere
Arriving somewhere, as I arose to the departed memory of dying
I feel alive, this might be just the bird that flys
God, please do not fight me or make me slap myself for wanting more.
Since it's a Genesis' Ornithology, truth is only subject to philosophical argument, or religious extremism

Where's my job or occupation?
On this planet of employed men working line by line
Excusing none, as long as they are criminals in dream theatres
Or nepotist rebels, you call radical artists to build in ceramic pots
Tell me what's in the name of money, a jade sword
Is it your greed, that you learn your hunger from, a bleeding cut
Or the foolish is it if I ask you such a catatonic question, reading out
Unfeeling is it if I ask for a catharsis without cheapening feelings
Chester chooses his chestnuts well with magazines
Her name's on your tongue, but, her flights a long way off
True isn't it, that sky clears for checkers and crimson skies
Gosh, I wonder where you're looking for flickering lights
On the sun or the runaway journey, that ends on the runway
You could be running, tell it isn't your hesitation
It's just a chemical romance and repentance, for having inhibited yourself
Why stop yourself, if you have all the papers necessary?
People never stop when the traversing is just the thing they need
Travel is life, so are timeless things
I wonder how long we'll be here, really

Drive-bys on the road
**** your darlings
I will put sunshine your shoals
Be on the shore of doubt, as we move to seas
The crossing distance between the hiatus and cars
Trailer park homes seem welcoming, in this jungle of fire
My heart's one and only desire is to love you
I hope I don't get lost in the wrong pyromania
Maniacal as it may seem, I want your conscious mind for me
To make my important decisions, relatable if it is
We will breathe with the breeze that freezes in between
Lost at the heralds of the emerald sea, shining like cerulean waters
I'm not sure, I want the fire of desire or the waters of peregrination
Journeyman follow my command, I guess I asked too much of you
Or of your lost hope, in this drowning breeze that flows in eddies and currents
Love is just a flowing desire, fluid like water and sordid like fire
The feeling is on fire, and the desire's the only real thing
I can't generalize really, you make the conclusive evidence of my lovely concepts
You're sure, that's me or you, in this world of roundabout cities and largest dreams
Circumference of this ring of fire is which is perfectly wrapped around my ring finger
Is this the old me, or am I looking for old ways
Passing through stores, and running looking for summer kool-aid
This summer smells nice, so does the stagnant dreams
Waiting to flower like blossoming buds, in a collection of hanging things
I'd list these thesis items down, but, they're too educated for my taste
It's my light, and shining it on the wrong people, is pretty much how a broken flashlight works
Words rhyme inadvertently with some intention, insane isn't it
That you agree with others and tell children to sit down
Might and dry winds change these crossing starry-eyed loner stoners
I base myself to disabuse the **** out of every situation
But, it's not in my purchasable items
Looking for weights to carry, and burdens too run away with
No machine, am I, I am dead just like the onus that can be apolitical at times
Love them two times
Love them three times
They just seem to fade with the count, like natural numbers
Patterned and woven like dreadlocks of legendary pathos
Little did I know, to do what I say as the money keeps me awake
That's the logic I follow, it's a statement without purpose
Bridling pots, I can't relate
The time's changing, so that's what they say?
This **** is cooked and raw, at the same time
Like woks on earth's water and fire, fiefdom asks for too much
Pertinently I ask for their grace
With petulance, I ask for favors
These aren't a few of my favorite things, at least they are temporary

To a soulmate.
I don't know who you are
I'm sure we would be better off
Without names and puerile suspense
I'm certain that I sing the same songs
You reverberate with me like the bath and submerged destiny
Let's hope we meet at the horizon, call it a flip of a coin
Or fate?
Love
~your other side

You can free me
Step into the sun
Call it a day of Heaven and polyamory

Don't wait for me
I'm always here in tried and tested time
Falling by the remnants of my old trees
Fallowed memories, marsh they appear
Unhappy girl, why are you here?

Simpler desires, you're made of
Someone traps herself in those criminals fires
Born with the sword, that has no name unless
It's pulled out of the stone, you are just like me
Waiting for someone to gather strength
Opportunity in the air, and you're still breathing
I suppose you see some hope and responsibility
I'd tell you to go towards your destiny unbound
Have your friends on the sides and destined to divide
Attenuating isn't it that you look for complex desires
Freeing the slaves looking for slavery, telling they don't want to work
But, this isn't where it ends, as much I wail
I cry silently while I'm burning in contempt and condigned pyres
Press and release, tease me only if you can
It's not easy if you try it on compensating terms
Prepossessing situations, do you want an opinion or my patience
Since it's you I should be close to and naming by each look
As I glance across the party, I'm sure to find someone willing to give up their privacy
Namesake, not maybe, you can't change me if I'm looking for a veritable wine for a truthful excuse
Sorry for my behavior, it's almost like my songs are growing old
We can try to bring the youth in the air again, it is better flowing in the righteous hands
Unless you're flailing like a blossoming bud unable to keep track of time past
There are better ways to spend Heaven's time on Earth
That's why I'd rather arrive somewhere than be stuck in the flames
If the fire needs you, I'll just feed you the wire

I can keep remembering the memories
That should be trapped inside, in cupboards
That keep more welcoming things like custard powder and baking soda
It's all written on the grocery list of week's work
My workingman's dead
You do not have one of the things, or feelings
On the list of items meant for non-believers who hang like non-living things
Having their own non-living features and redeeming ways, still recuperating
Have we lost our ways, or I keep asking myself have I forgotten anything
If I can't title my desires and compartmentalize them, in closets meant for clothes
These are what I wear, revealing some cracks in the deep-ends
Broken places and war, you're stuck just like the rest of the thespians who seek purpose
Is it just an act, or am I looking at the story unfolding?

Jump from heights, written in books
Dropout of colleges, that burn 'em
Or case in study, carelessly read your oeuvre of imminent desires
***** to shine if you'll be fine, and this thin line
Is where I forget to draw a chalk mark
The feeling is like nails on the chalkboard
I have no grasp on reality, let's not be happy for one day
Cusp of time, I can relate
We are both standing on the edge of nothingness, unable to identify with ourselves
Sounds familiar doesn't it if you pray in places

I suppose I should tell you
That I was normal once, now just an analogous amalgam
Saving pennies for the shelter, though I don't know
The storm is just childish rhetoric, my family's gone
Even in the cosmic feeling of perfection in my teenage days
Without food and shelter, tuning my cars and mechanizing machinery
For underwriters and slaves alike, likewise temporary jobs
Pay for the entertaining pictures on the star-lit screen and the cinematic sun strip
I am far from home, bet you expected to come back to the vapid commitments
Falsities plaguing my clear mind, infected by the disease of what's
In the name and the mindful soulful vibes, that spirit away like nameless ghosts
On a named street, with some attachments and arduous freedom taking my bags along
Like some chaperone on famous stars on the celestial sky, looking down on us
New desires keep coming with full suitcases, making my journey harder
The undulating streetlights flicker like my fate and belief in people
I want to say the nicest things to you if I could just fly
And catch on those subtleties that hover in amorous air
Cruising with the analogous amalgam is a just a beggar's dream, called niggardly
They are the preservative ideals of a society run by blacksmiths and wordsmiths
All cemented in stone like covenants and commandments, born of the time being ashore on these dreams of freedom
Knowledge is a weakness, ignorance is a brave ideal
Find your peace?
Make love, not war; love is closest to being free and peacefully easy
The feeling is easy if you can curb the warfare without contention
Or a bone resembling the argument of the flight of the centurions
The cents that are thrown like notes in the hat, make up for your sins you topical poets
Treble, bass, and middle; you are the whole music, a part of the sound of this vast splendor
Cosmically blowing up, I can't explain myself
If I imploded, I'd stay at home unbeknownst of the whole vessel
Pretending I was ready to sink with the ship, sappy
Revering all my work in a glimpse of eternity, happy
The pursuit of happiness, where do you roam on moving streets that move me to tears
~Analogous Amalgam