This will be the last time
I will ask to stay
There will be the sky, moon, and stars
Waiting for you outside the door

You are now alive
I know you were trapped
Yet I hear the waves crashing inside
I see the waters lapping against the shore

The rising tide of dreams
And the pyramid of schemes
There's a false bottom in each feeling
That's called sleepwalking
Apparently, happens to those who lie awake
Thinking about their stake
In their profitable lives
You're bound to get caught
After all, lady luck is fickle

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

When I saw you
For the first
time
In spring, as flies scurried
Life had new meaning
I felt I could begin again
From that stillness I had buried
When you left my life unkept
The vast valley stared back at me
But that new leaf never turns brown again
Even in an ocean that has dried
Covered by your arms like a vale
Open wide before sunrise
This is where I go to die
Under the shadow and rain
All under your subtle veil

Netflix and pop ****
Sorry pop corn
Didn't know which way my hand was
Girlfriend's beside you
Somehow she's coming closer
And nagging
Touching brings resonates
Remotely
With frivolous flirtations
Bring you up to speed
Of recaps and replays
Of your trusty TV
Conversation's nice
With a pizza slice
When the important parts
Are featuring Radhika Apte
Aptly the ghouls of the past
And the flower *** that are now glass
The monocles that my father's father had
Keep me spectated about history
Somehow the floral essence of
Music that rings from pianos
Hanging by the door
Of rosewood and mahogany
Mahogany being the piano
And Rosewood door
There was no concept
Of Ebony and Ivory
Keying at the door

From down there
We know you can't climb out
The Lord won't hear you
He thinks nothing is wrong

She knows that you're wailing for love
She knows that you're waiting for her
The moment's gone, time's passed
The past is gone, all there is is now on

I wonder why he has a smoke
I wonder why he has a beer
I wonder why he has been intoxicated, once before
When life is not innocuous at all
I wish that she took those things off my mind
And let me relieve the guilt and reprieve myself
When life is always teaching me through dilemmas
After I make all of the mistakes I learned from western cinema

I'm stuck
Please get me out
I like living with my sons
And daughters in magazines
Please release my terse rhimes
In the clutched dust of dusky hands
These days look like blaring dreams
I might die in the connoted fires
Looks like I'll stick myself with icicles
Ad veritas to my journey
Quote greats, and veritably drink wine
On the rose minds of hysterical naked souls' bliss
In this merriment of nubile nights existing in a tinsel town
We are dreaming up Kansas from the broken covenants
I'm stuck with bullish promises
Show me you care for my truancy and lurid face
Probably fondling your hands, and cupping steam
In your spectacles of crystal haze, limericks in your case
Studied by pianos reminiscent of sleigh bells and bobsleds
Hanging lights of ebony and ivory in the cars of piano men
Slowing dancing in the burning loops of tropical Capricorn
Morning sunrise haikus cold as November, sorta' short like Indian winters

I work I talk about the stomach type short coffee good true what do you live for polish firefly oh myne erde imagine to divide It is me who makes the difference the most painful of those days borjelicke hearty train i feel i a lot of work was done in one hundred and sixyears speaks Finnish, not English this spring Tate finnish to Persian myeh meillety dude the heels Imagine a coffee taste a fuzzy evil huffy teacher devil, your war does not bite the brazilian flag no kid Venezuela rays off the light most suggestive of the day's different psychology

When they saw the fire in veins
They watched in awe
As the cold in her heart thawed
And started beating again

The flies once buzzed around her face
Busily they went about
Turning every corner as they flew away
When her eyes became diamonds

But, no one believed
They felt the fire had consumed her
Her heart was once made of ice
She just needed to feel some warmth

Conquered land
Forests lay tame
Seas bubble invigoratingly, autonomous

The night is cruel and clouds are breaking today
In the breeze, the trees are love-stricken and astray
Rustling softly are the leaves that I share in my memory
Till I get my tea every morning after your coffee

You tell me the wind is heading south
I'm living in the north covering the gap in quick bounds

You said we'll never get a new start in this losing battle
As long as I keep shying away from the horrors of war
The dawn arrives quick and we've already quarreled
Just like a sign on the highway, we've ignored them all

I can't rid myself of last night's toil, the words, and blood we drew
The sickness stays in my flesh and blood, your sinew

Love is like dust in my hands
It falls through my frail fingers
I am hanging on, the feeling lingers
As I pick and grab at every grain of sand

Too far
Afar
I depart
From when
Life's start
seems far
But
when you look
At the past
Lastly
the further you
Go
The farther
They part
From the past
So it's
just looking
For seats
In a box car
Mostly,
Because life's
Isn't about coping with
With the chase and the race
And making love fair
In faithless wars
It's taking it slowly
Taking life by it's reigns
Leading
From
The backseat
I notice my age
When I read about
The old ages
In newer pages
I guess the newspaper
Speaks of tomorrow
On certain days

Is like having mushrooms
Instead of eating them
You get high
Going all the way in the bedroom

If you are convinced
A phlegmatic mosquito cannot change the world
Try clapping around them instead like chasing cars

Where the beads
Hang
From a neck, is a piece of mind

Let's take a little time
Before we assume what we know
And decide that what we believe
Is right

We need to read between lines
In case we need be together
In the future
When we get older

We must scale these mountains
And hold the hands of the sun
But, we can't climb
Without trusting ourselves

It is knowledge
That you seek
When you hide

Your whispers will echo through the thundered seas
Memories will tear the sails from the canvas seams
A soldered heart that was once a levee
Now broken and flooded

Our love is a rocky shore where sailors dare to dream
Ships of words are wrecked by bombs under covers of the night
We see the sight of hope but hope is not our guide
It is a distant dream after the thunder dies

Then the journey comes alive

if your heart's broken. Let me at least fix it before you become a heartbreaker.

With a heart so warm
A palm of flowers
Folds inward to form
A gossamer web likened to guitar

A lush petal envelopes
The sky, calling it
With a stamen, sloped
Undressed by pollen upon more pollen

In thy heart's rest place
One may age calmly
Like a tree freely grows
Leaving a reflection upon the water

Yet, when away my heart yearns for your kiss
For your presence in things has gone amiss

We could stretch
Our time, look at our legs
Tilt to the bellied fluttering of our hamstrings and heartstrings
Stirring our soul, and pushing out the sighs and pulling in the ties
We just made love

**** literature
If you want
But, don't keep your head in your ***

What have I heard in July
It is a month and the rain still pours like crazy
I know I will tumble into the grey mud
Like a rolling stone that aims too high

Rock into dust, dust into wind lot like a lazy sun
Comets turn into stardust, dragonflies lose their wings
There are steady grasshoppers on the path to redemption
As I am letting out my frustration and anger

Like whirling into a vortex of wrath and presentation
Thunders will roll into thunder
Boxcars, boxcars and boxcars will flood the snowy streets
I have will have no possessions, all drenched in a sad life

Just my life, the sun shines on me
The moon has always been the backbone
I wander and search for the stars on the famous skies
Looked at by commoners and burning in iciness

As the winter rain came
The flowers came to life
Surrounded by the chatter of leaves
Upon which droplets fell and slid

The beauty that existed all around
Present in every waking moment
Faded into the warm spring of my life
That changed me as a person

I found the littlest things
That brought me joy in the coldest times
Breathing life into when I hoped
With a broken heart

I think this what finding love is like
You go through every passing day
Clinging to the smaller pleasures
Letting them fill you

Until happiness comes easily
Sadness becomes a distant memory

There are many questions in the little thing called
The consciousness and the state of madness
Which is shared with one and many
And these questions are solved by your present self
And the future and present seem to coupled into enervating instances
These are the premonitions of an old sailor
Who would be better in fiction, than a real Marauder
Such was the cry of the Ancient Mariner
Time only unravels, how much it mentions the need for apotropaic antipathy towards birds and people as such
Slightly touched and cursed by time
If you indulge in a cup of thoughtful tea
And the green color of the intoxication
By the death of a positive soul when, this imageless perception
Becomes beyond your grasp of imagination
Then the cold rain can even seem hot at the right time
With a system of channeling your fighting spirit
Cursing your opponents when they seem weak

Savannah are you listening
Yes you hurt me
I was once a deer no more
I was lost in the wild
But now found in the jaws
Of the predator that
Caught me for appetite
To rob me of my doe
Into a hunting pride
Hopeful that my offspring
Learns the ways of winning
Against sore losers
Dreaming and sleeping
In the blazing sun
Since they predate
The ways of the world
Where the wildebeest run
And the antelopes
The same as me
They develop
And migrate from zone to zone
Passing by rivers
Sipping the clear
Sliver of zeal
Zest of life
I found trust in my pride
Because I survived

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

Purpleheart every day, imbibe your indecisiveness
Give blues to life, to inscribe your insidious intent
'Cause I love your reds and hues, and the stairs that lead away
You what and why I can read you whence you stay
Because roses, violets and you lose your mellifluous and oleaginous face
Flowers are right, 'cause you love you right with the heralded dews of hummingbirds
'Cause is right, cause I love you, like the sun's right on the windmill for the sawdust
Bring back life, in an endless river of life, purpleheart make me one again with this creasing present premonition
That I throw away, too many folds of the meritorious grand design that creates the cosmic flow
Accretion disseminating the delirious artist within, out with the words and in with your pleasantries and parsimonious precedents
Light and dark, drive out the interfaces of all might
Without you I might, I leave you dry and quiet
Quite right, if you end the world on the right note
Cause, I need your love and you, going five
Childhood and innocence are you fine 'cause I love youth
My name's mine, see ya on the other side
Coquettish and coco loco, brogues and oxfords look like you moon swiftly survive
Cry your heart out and purple haze, endless by the digits in the reasonable the logic of the fire
Temerity and the derision of the ****** burning read these lines and some of the understanding why you have no home
You're a fool for your right and a lyrical goddess, talk of the heart
Like a goddess, you leave me with thoughts in mind for the maker
After, I've read and had you, with me in my cries
'Cause I've dove for you, in this blazing rain in the heart of the sun
Blasting thunder and water across the fading streets for the sun that waking clouds that walk among night stars

The rusty knives, bloodied by ancient time
Aren't enough to make you commit harakiri
Making it tough life as samurai
In any way you could be miserable and a wannabe
The dissembling never stops and hopping about never stops
While we find each other in the shadow of the bamboo forests
Welcome to the jungle, Champloo
A fight knocked you out
This sword will bring your last word
I'll have first blood
A total time you took to live
Was closer how much death loved ya
My pressured mind digresses
From the assassination
Of an excellent protege
I'll let you off the hook this time Murdoch
The last time I see you, space cowboy
You're gone for the time being
The galaxies light up in the divine comedy
The space rings of the ancient mines of meaning

Get out of my inorganic hand
Get on with your organic life
I can't keep holding on to your tears and talent for eclipses
Ambition and dreams
Wild living and dull death has strayed from its highways
We are holding on to your distant dream oh loved ones
Unknown thoughts linger and follow you in the machine heart on wheels

Cezanne and Paul
Gauguin Lay in the same
Realm As Art's Avalanche

I might be strange
My dreams seem strange
It takes familiar things
To calm me down
Yet, all of these frivolous things
Feel
Strange
A political poem on the front page
A love poem in my inbox
Seem familiar, yet
Never make it
Like a ship in darkness
Very strange

I'll find you
I'll find you soon

Farewell to Love, and in a letter of an Eden garden
A sad soul killed quicker than a germ
That cremated ashes in an ashcan of woes
Aston martin driving across a hall, and burning this earth with it
Smiling weren't we when we realized that Russian modernist, as it murmurs to us
A person blind to the light, and selling Dylan Thomas
The flaming and blazing letter of Nobel
My heart is squeezed, because of the ****** of my ashcan
They stole my ashes, my motherless Russians find themselves in communist pamphlets
Selling the red letter, in a thought underground I respect them
Wrapped around the cut finger, cuffed with my bitter laments burning with sealed wax sent to Brezhnev committees
The lion is never fickle, so it doesn't feed itself doth pride

I always thought the sky could be blue
In those paintings, the clouds were out of tune
They were grey like my heart
They were white at times

The blue sky never knew
When the rain would pour
Or if the sun was to come out
If the people were there

The pallid expression on her absent face
Her fair skin has lost it's marble touch
She is prudent and prurient as her gaze
There is a youthful grace that I cannot judge
Must I comprehend, this alabaster?
Should I presume, the sculptor made an erroneous smudge?
In a park of tracks and pulverized people
Their faces clutch at her words
As they are left only with the epithets and hardly any details
My landlord pleads for rent as I reach upstairs
He wonders and wants to know more
Should I reply with mumbles?
It is a festering wound at my heart's core
That coagulates at my throat as I fumble
For there is no answer
There is no question
It is just to do or die without her
All of it can coalesce
If I give in to my fiery adolescence

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

No answer
I switched that switch off
Take it back
It was years ago, and we were free

Poetry is not tough
It cannot be taught
The outpouring of your heart
Feelings put into metaphor
Mingling a need into an art
Requires passion and courage

Poetry is a release
If you need to express your hurt
In many ways using less lines
Like a street full of people
Looking for their dreams in rush hour
Yet, you will never find it there

Because poetry is not tough
As it needs a quiet place
To talk about it's problems
And open his soul to you

Love exists as a triangle
When friends circle break
Worldly walls hold us in
Spherically

Do not disturb me
I get angry
When I feel lonely

Kirja parantaa
Kielletty mies ein mutti n
hyva prinsinn lääkehoito kirjoitti

Enough counting
Stars in poems
I want to be puzzled
By the firmament
Enough of having power
Over men
I'd rather they'd have
Luckier stars
When it comes to
Saving sisters
That aren't ours
Pretending they're perfect

If I walk on the first floor
The first room on the right
The third eye hears you on the left
We are looking at stormy weather on this island
Where there are two doors for lovers

One out of the other, surrounding us
Inroads and blazing highways culpable temptations
We are no stranger to choosing the next door
Being the strangers to reality as she asks Hera
Life is full of opportunity and misguided destitution
Isn't this astute, that we yearn for the thirty seconds with stars
And wait for weeks to fly by, when midnight
Will arrive on the cold winter mornings, the nights are brighter
Surprise us with dawn on the petrichor of Satryichon
Depends on which tree you're climbing, and which room you're zen in a lassoed sky
Where there are two doors for lovers, their dinner party
Instant pleasure, crushed glasses, pure rear-ended folk looking for an angry substitute for passion
Prejudiced by the mad sages, we never listen to the sense of old men stuck in cages
Fearing their umbrage and sensible confabulation
Every poem has to have an ending, this one does too depending on your sterile entry
Wound by pride, bound by prejudice

****** by controversial action
Solved by acquisition
Of a Noble position
About obligations
They are your acquaintance, or to be intimate with fools, because they may be your relations.
An obligation is a common tool for prosaic attention

My lover is an artist
She won't look back
Her experience has told her stories
She looks at people in white and black

Her words can the strangers away
As her friends are put to peace
She can turn night into daytime
Just like that
Bring the light out of black
But, she chooses her colors wisely as her facts

The stars turn into bright streetlights
When she walks by
The moon plays a symphony just for her smile
The sun is already in her eyes
The night looks in them for some life
Or some mode of surprise
That you just won't find

My lover speaks like silence
Neither argues nor judges
As she sleeps in the skies

poetry drips like honey
fluids keep me from viscosity
of the slowness of a lifeless
nuance where I can be ******
And sensitively the one and only
My wives keep me company
Only in memory
My cats and possessions in the fray
Of poetry
My phallus keeps the gaping
hole of my fallacy
As a reminder of the unwanted *******
Time drips slow and steady
Somehow the gears and wheels
Keep me alive
I keep the tears of life
Awake in sight of effervescent might
Hotly teeming with meaning
Is a ******* that's bleeding

Se sont sous vide
A french ramble
Parles vous francaise
Gatsu

Strength is the weakness
When sadness has the predicament of being
Comeliness
Microbes and cultured, like the brushing aside the business
The crimes and punishment, you can't save up for the love and the crass capital beating
Broken legs, break the prison humor, the convict's jungle rapping, touching the wrong towels
Breaking open skulls on the system of the broken street
Down on the hip stirring procreating street, with ******* tad adolescent folks
Never upon the crimson red, and thespian action
The resonant redacted symbol that tells you for the freedom of the lost symbols
Well, they're acting like the beats and bustards that break their necks at the shot of the bullish broken gun
Badland and Bambi could have been gladder if she were roadkill
Too bad we would be regretful and faithful
Marquis Sade and breaking the buzzing rhyme with the talk of divine tragedy
We love you pi, your irrational thinking
Got me dividing your attention, I might be grading if I start with English
Starting, the trombone blew out, the instrument was the one I was through
If I found the right hole, I'd press it better
If the fingers were wrapped and tapered, the beveled ceiling
And the pleasant mirror talks to me in my diggity
On the hollering heron on the halcyon buggying out on the funky freelance
Scarring the storms across the fire, break my bones
Serve my food to the military, break my pride
Take my mind, sell it up for tomorrow vegetables and today's debts
The droughts seem fresh in the rotten flesh, not sure if it's dehydrated
I'm blemished and pleased with my dealings, competing for the most damage
Do you wanna put a plate of food, for my last meal as a famed convict
Too bad isn't your turn to obviate all the mistakes I made in making the line before your mum
Serve it up in the Folsom prison, with the playing cons cool for their socks
Strikes and socialist assemblies turning out revolutions, like pamphlets for lost and found
We're still for freedom, I ran into the wrong neighborhood
Maybe, I followed the river where it flowed, trenchant isn't that followed a mind map
You can't move into the apartment, what kind of crap is that
Trapping me and pleasing me, and teasing me sensibly
I hope I denunciate another person on the slippery foam of frat parties
Festering droughts, freedom aborting the fedora
Hate crimes are returning the favor, in the worst possible
Tedious angst seems rather adult-like if you grow up in wrong shoes
Of your boot polishing forefather, I bet grew up in a better neighborhood
I somnambulantly place, that you want someone to talk
I talk my way out of dreams and look at faceless strife
I can't place the right word, the hurt's real honey
Humming bird like a bully underwhelmed by his tricks and traction
On the students of the same school called life