Asteroid O’Belt Sydney Junction (Beer in Bar-Alley)
With the right words, you can make music on any planet of spatial arrangement. Dark matter keeps the balance of eccentric space, where a blue-suited handsome man, shines; however blackholes lurk to turn Spike Spiegel into a dream where he lives. Is it a dream or has he ever felt more alive than being back in the action with the moral courage that threatens his very existence Don’t forget he has a gun strictly for assurance. With warships, there lurks a year in 4050. 2000 years in progress, we may have evolved in terms of interactions. Fast forward, there are different people in whole new worlds. Like epiphanies, these characters take their place in the chatter of a celestial crowded cinema in downtown Shinichiro street.
The doctors chatter with dark undertones and hushed intentions:
“Well, it’s not like the phones are cheaper. Ever since we got their first. The phones have come sooner than virtual intelligence take place in this ghost.”
“The ghost seems to work actively.”
“Seems to be shutting down in fact.”
Shadows cast on the processes of entropy there many optimistic pursuits for the present.
But, in this modern civilization, what do we have the battles and gambles among the bounty hunters interested in staying in the loop of where the money flows. But, the real artists are the creators in this desert of opportunity.

“Woah, Spike.” – Spike hynogogically resuscitates from his cybernetic sphere
“Wake Up.”- Jet
Presentation matters but, the old technology rumbles in the cosmos among the old cosmopolitans you’ve had in your fruitful day at a casino of blackjack and bounty hunting. Somehow, Faye Valentine comes with a bang and a bad gun in the back. Holstered but focused on the game.
“Fold the chips, for you?”- bent slightly over the steep end of gambling. Mrs Valentine can’t seem to get out her mind her job as dealer for Table 2 in a hexagonal room of full-scale gambling operations.
Clearly, absorbed in the rattling crowds of these snakes in the rabble. Or maybe there are actually snakes. ***** it.
“Raise.”- Dewey Striker
“See that’s a million.”- Faye Valentine
“Let’s hand it to the strong gentleman for his courage, but, exciting game of Woolong and Woes or simply Poker”- Table 1
“Nowhere as good as these drinks are in Jupiter. If I win, I’ll write it all down in my journal.”- Table 2
“Probably, better to put myself out there at the right time. You raise too.”
“Earth’s building itself. Well, people are the same.” – Table 1
“Oh imagine, if we had more planets to destroy.” – Dewey Striker
“With that, money? Yeah, baby. Write down a cheque next time.” – Faye on Table 2
“To **** the one among us, who has whereabouts about a notebook that had all the people who have been linked to the death of Spike Spiegel killed would take us years.” - Faye
“What!” – Table 2, someone wins
“Nice try, but, that book’s all the history remaining of someone I knew.” – Faye Valentine says daringly.
“The notebook stays with me, until you have enough to buy off the notebook. I’ll start with 100,000 woolongs. How about that, missey? You know the notebook of all the accomplices that ever worked with a Doohan.”
“Do right honey, you’re lucky you’re in the right room. I need the information and I’m a rich gal.” - Faye
Spike and Jet in Discussion:
“Apparently, Vicious had barely managed to finish him off.”
“Do the others know?”
“Faye remembered, but, let it go.”
Recluse in Exclusive Reminiscences (Part I)
Jet & Spike completely lost in the intricateness of the bounty-hunting. Might be a terrible idea to eat bell peppers and beef. But, if you’ve got an aching stomach from ton of drinking and stairwell trips, you’re gonna have a hangover. If the Prairie Oysters were still not his thing, only thing that changed is that the more he drank, the less he liked the planet. For his favorite there had to be a special occasion like a bottle of the finest whiskey that the joint would serve from the golden days of heart-warming company in the heart of this Japanese place.
“Oh but there was one time. When I ate…”
“That was long back 4001,
Commandeer and imagine my surprise when the ole Siren, Jet. That’s his name; there was a need to rename Spike Spiegel to the old school be-bop that pretty much enriched the video star. There was a bomb, I don’t know what happened; there are piles of rubble and pretty much every bounty hunter missed it.
“Says, he wants to destroy a planet. Somehow, there’s some secret stone interwoven with the need of the hydrogen-powered machinery to change the deuterium in the accelerator.”
“Well, we could use the quantized possibilities and run an algorithm with the specific plasma type.”
“But, that would mean we would have to bypass the gravity field blockers.”
Simply put, there was some riff-raff about the bags in the first place. Kept them off the scheme of people who were idiomatic in their habits, and that seemed to do the trick.
“Well, the Francium is resonant with the cell rejuvenation heuristics.”
"So, go to Pluto. Where do I find the little kid? After since I got to you. The dog."
"Spike, Faye's not welcome. Leave her out of this business."
"We made it clear, but, no parting ways unless we find the guy who erased her memories."
"Yeah, maybe you could contact her. But, let's keep it straight."
"Fade into the television; before the victory is yours. Television is on an old couple of people who have coffee and beans; saying them both remind me of all the people I owed at the hot-dog store we just passed by."
"Might be a good idea, right?"
"You think so?"
"Yeah."
"What about Faye and the little kid."
"One of the most annoying kids. He'll find us if we surface on this awful map of nowhere."
"Well, we are on Jupiter. Everywhere is nowhere here."
"You've been here a while."
"The days get longer, each time."
"Yeah, what about the weather? Always turbulence in the skies. ****, it’s cold."
“We’re on the moons, Spike. We have air-heaters in our lousy, ******* spaceship.”
Jet, do you ever maybe wonder giving us a visit, here on Pluto. It was the farthest planet I could think of. Changing my life was great. I won't meet, and I'll remember you as a person, a stranger now in my own paralyzed heart beat. I can't feel my jobs get any more exciting. Vicious happened long back. God knows. Now, we steal back from society."
"God only knows." - Jet, baffled by no name of the planet
No name was given; however, that made Spike rather elated with the heightened discussions happening on Mars. There the assumption they made about their friend had concluded on Pluto. Here on Jupiter, you are always working with the better people to make a living. Too many moons, and further than the Asteroid Belt still lies the interstellar galaxy all beyond our amazing stipends. All of them, owe it to themselves, bounties are perfect to fill your midnight blues. And nothing to snack gives you the existential jeepers. Better smoke before evening kung fu time before you flow like water into the background of the Bounty-Hunting business. Once you're dead, you can't come back alive, but, freedom is a specious young kid floating in space and hacking your whereabouts. He’s about 19 years old.
“Your friends would be proud of you.” – Edward seems to have beat a chess grandmaster. The same old adversary from the blues of the old loss. Edward, you’re smart. Figure out, where’s Spike.
“Spike, where are you?” – Dewey Striker
“Can I help you?”- Faye Valentine
I suppose we must have misread the situation, but, the cross and frowning kid is not your f
Holding up a picture of Spike at the beahc.
“I wonder I should go back.” – Faye hurrying to her Casino table
Pack your bags and umph
You’re leaning into yourself, and the legs feel fine and the peak of my appeal seems to be, my whole package. But, even a gun couldn’t save him from someone she thought she lost forever. Spike was the only person in the galaxy who she knew was dead for sure. You can never tell in such a large galaxy, but, there are better views of sunsets in Venus. Did I want to die? When I knew he died in the fire of bullets and completely riddled by a long series of hovering flashbacks.
Story Part II (Continued Clueless And Moving)
The windows must open to a better life. Spike’s hungry.
“Well, your smokes are in the bag you carried. Didn’t bother stealing a single one of those Macintoshes you got from that place on Earth.”
“Jesus, man what part not touching other people’s stuff, don’t you get?”
“The part where it concerns us paying for the food stamps.”
Spike quizzically asks “Do they still do that?”
“Jet, don’t tell me we’re living off the previous million we had in woolongs. Not some ****’s mushrooms this time.”
“By the way, forgot to tell you. The recorder is on, I decided to get one of those VHS tapes.”
“Yeah, about that?”
“Hmm.” –Jet
“Faye got kind of emotional on the “day.”” – Spike
Government data shows that you two are bounty hunters. Those passing wormhole customs need to pay a price. See the sign.”Await your turn. Or pay up your woolongs.”
Jet yells at Spike, and seemingly hastened,” Seems like we have to pay up.You guys charge a grand for this?”
“You mean we didn’t come for more questioning?”- Spike
“Well, Spike we have to stick to what the customs say. And sure every single woolong counts as a bit of developed product. How about Mr. Agent? Do we get a free pass for a good ole’ blues gig?”
“Mr. Spiegel, please explain to your friend over here. You cannot go without the code for the customs department.”
“Spike, Faye gave us some sort of code in the back of the letters.”
“Seriously?”
“How did she know I was alive at the time?”
“Well, I told her you wouldn’t have survived the bullets. But, you could escape from the bloodiest gunfights in the history of this team.”
“Mr. Spiegel, I wonder if you would be caring to ask the services of our executives at your cryogenic storage?”
“How do they know, Jet?”- Spike
Turns out, the cryogenic patients are monitored. This is a sacred bond of servility to a life beyond the mortality of humanity and immorality of society. IN the end the immortality and the authenticity of your identity lives on. They called it the “Ghost.”
“Do they know about G.H.O.S.T?”
“Mr. Spiegel, we are getting late. Can we please finish this easily without involving organizations of vast power and affluence.”
“Growth of Hyper Oscillating Specimen Testing”
“Wait, what?”
“I mean we have to get out of here fast and we do not have time before Vicious comes and kills us.”
How We Escaped?
Basically, we turned to our best instincts as to whether a secret lurked behind the planet’s corrupt system. Jupiter had become a place of leisure, but, the alcohol was getting to our minds.
“Yeah, we checked names.”
“We checked faces, and no sign of those doctors.”
“The dream doctors seem like real nightmares.” – Jet
“Good one, Jet. But, having the nerve to ask the customs agent about Vicious really put him off.” - Spike
“Oh, man. That scared him.” - Jet
A cold beer was opened, and what happened afterwards is unreal; and as we approach our planet Pluto. We follow the invite, and the code is some sort of invite. If it was going down, me and Spike were gonna be there for sure.

Where are you from mind to mother
Are you from the tree of ether midnight lover
Mauve and green, and the timber of autumn chill
Chattering, wait a minute it's winter in green
Care to oblige, into my world, wondering who's it from
To the effect, it's a phenomenon in the embers of eclipsed
Make a couple throws, and roll with the scientist of the cusp of miss emerald
You look like a girl, maiden to the concurrent countess stealing a glance from her Siamese cat
Let it be, and little are we ready to not believe that, die on the silver scent
Where's the feeling at and the inevitable morning reeling out, the perfidy of digressing
The breaking bread and reading takes to the herd, kindly
The wine ages with time and death take the darkness away
Edging on the time is like living life on every way of integrity
Schizoid of the psychoanalysis of the treasonable civilian, here on myrhh
Running away from you never took more gusto, the fact ain't lying
A thousand men fighting and flowing
Specs of the dust like a hurricane, moving just because they can
Galvanizing with the woods, I'd sit with my underground chair with burning papers
Burning with the recession, the economy was on page
Were we in prized papers?
The value of money and the sleepers, in clean ruses and jackknifes killing the heathens
Truth with the people told us of better times
Hitherto, this is just our choice, within the entropy, outside we are in frames within

Somewhere where there is a place
For both to meet
One might not be
Unforeseeable

The eclipse
On the rise
The eclipse
Of the
Crimson tide

The half burning light
Keeps the tepid
waters
Of June
The green light
Can't be seen
Felt only by the blind
Who need not see
Envisioned by destiny
And the other can hinder
the elation
Of reaching his loved one
Loveless light
Of the blind and thirsty

"I found her"
He says

"I found him"
She confabulates
With someone else about the presence
Of destiny
And how I found you
In my delight
And the other can hinder
the elation
This is a letter of superstition

Face to Eyes, Lips kept me on every
Pursuit of her words
That's how I follow the two
They kissed blind to the heat
And tea lay besotted with biscuits
They could touch and feel
And the nights and days
Seemed the same

The time was same everywhere
For those two

I guess identical time
Is when you work to get up
To a sun's eclipse

Faceless Tea
No reflection in glass full or half empty

It’s over bank robber
Your lyrics are there
Left on this parchment right here
You writing tomes seems unfair

Dugging down the basement
Finding another excuse
From this harassment
To parental ostentation
And leaders to ****** road-side cheaters

Nooo the lyrics are permanently damaged
They really can’t be fixed
Due to sub-standard homework ticks
Leading me to lose my patience
Over false appreciation
Of my kitsch

Took me a while to really understand
My childhood and becoming a dude
To get really good
To finally understand why you brood
You know success gets you ahead
Now you’ve left me for the dead

Nooo get set get wet
Get the typewriter checked
After all the things you’ve said
I feel like my lines were only meant for ****

Nooow I’ve finally got something
Too get a groove on
Using a dude
Might sound a bit crude
You better get a move on

Time to learn some honesty
I better get out of my fantasy
That you aren’t my competition
You are my only enemy

Love isn't blind
It just doesn't allow you
To see in the dark necessities

When I look at the stars with you lying next to you
On the grass the aliens feel so far away
But when you and I turn around at the same time
And look into each other's eyes
We realize that aliens at least exist

They are on this planet itself

I see scarlet
When I hear the funeral trumpet
Now she is just a color

I hear Scarlet's cries
The love of my life
Murdered in cold blood
She was my wife

I have synesthesia
I see the blood
Imagining color is easier
For me

The blood has turned cold
But the color is warm
I feel blue when I think of her
And feel much warmer

What gives ten
Ask for nothing then
A gentleman entering a gambling den
Orders for the best drinks
Lights his cigarettes with a matchstick
Part of his down-to-earth routine
Not a schtick

He may even come close
To being as slick
As the English ****
Sherlock Holmes and,
Dr. Watson and his stick

Two men
Down in
The roulettes of the den
Landed every time on the red one
And every time his luck had just begun
Look out you two
You’re gonna get hit
If this Henry Gondorff cheats
Then you’re dead beat
You won’t get to even feel a *****
You’ll feel you’ve been stung by the bee

After he gets back at all the mafia men
Trying to show off by showing a ridiculous ten
He writes down a cheque
To buy out the casino
With just a sign of a Mont Blanc fountain pen

After he’s done
He goes down to the *******
Leading a pack of ten
A boisterous pack of men
They’ll probably get laid by the number one
In the house by the name of Whetton by the second

After he’s done running after medicine
She’s already got his fix
She don’t need no kick
He’s given her a night of his sweet love-making
Her heart isn’t aching

Ohh but **** it
Not again
She’s falling in love again
Being class number one chick
With a style of her own
She’s understanding a love she’s never known
You thought she was some dumb ***-addict

Now the guy knows that she’s smart
Being the upstart
He’s warm with affection again
With one night of love-makin’
With the maid of Whetton
Need no one beat her
Because he needs her

The two make love again
Forgetting the punishment
Of getting married to their sweetheart
Who is innocent

The man was after all depressed
He was sexually repressed
After the death of his marital success
She didn’t want him anywhere near his girlfriend

Of course she’d heard of him
They were close to each other then
Before he started thwarting his morals
As his life spirals
Downward
They know he’s up to no good
With the ***** in the neighbourbood

If I had prayed for every time I wanted to become a wolf. I'd have become you and you'd become me. A wolves cry howling "bon appetit."
The more I look, the bitterer I become.
The less I look, the wiser I become of things seemingly out of my hands.

Fluffy behemoths, flying monkeys
Make my day
When I'm an empty soul
Sitting in spirited away train
When I enter the destination
At night
I find myself
More in touch
Than the fun-loving fish
That make up the probability sea
Pooling in my resources
For a nice bath
Reminds me I should have been
A clean soul
Long before
The onset of service technology

It's a wrap
Time's so slow
I can't feel the grip
There's someone holding on
I must be revealing my inner lead
How can describe something you can't feel
There is no inner innateness inundate the tribe called quest
A rap or rhyme
There is no line between the meters of doubts
The gravity of distance and separation
Been apart for too long
There must a deprived
Get him a wager
Make him eat tuna
And drink tea
Simple as bliss
Frescoe
Dope as hell
The mic on the trap and wasn't looking for more
I wasn't answering more
Can you try the reason and the rhyme
See the rhyme and reason and groove in the might beat
Falling off the floor
Causing a ****
In a teardrop following a scene
Take the gun
Gun the Statue Of Liberty
Find the spot
In the New York State Of Mentality
In this mind where we reach]
Their treason for the unforgiven leftists.
In The Bridge To The Crime

The depth of winter
In a cold gaze from the sky
Is covered by fog's translucence
Wishing to fly with the yew trees

So, as the night brightly sparkles
Such water cannot compare to
Only be a mere reflection of its beauty
All that is alive is a free miracle

Woodpeckers sit on the clear earth
Ne'er on the floor of moonlight
As they sleep in weeping willows
Who cover them in tears to keep out the night

There was a time
When a boy lived
In a home of keys
He had a key for every situation
One day, a man approached
Asking him, how do I live with my wife
The boy searches for a key
He finds a flower crested one
And says, this shall placate your wife
Let me warn you, however
At the full moon
The key disappears
And so does its magic
The man goes back
Tells his wife
Look at this beautiful ornate thing
The wife says this is perfect
For now we can be the best of lovers
The husband delighted with his purchase
Waits for the full moon
Wondering why a key
With such lasting happiness
Should have temporary power
The full moon approaches
The wife is always toying with the key
This worries the husband
But, he allays his concerns
Thinking, his wife will not mind a bit
For now, let him enjoy her company
And he had been getting plump lately
When the full moon arrives
The wife seems pale
The husband now understands
That it was the key to her heart
Now the magic had died
With it came sorrow
As the key vanished
She locked away her joys
Forever, in her heart
The flower never blossomed again

It is better this way
I may be numb by now
But I can feel you there
Within each dewy flower
I can smell your presence
And see your stare
I shouldn't stay at the bottom
And I should probably get over you
You over me
(Read This Top to bottom)

You’ve known the morale of Earth to be shattered
In present times it is simply tattered
But sleep not
Taking no example from wars fought
Comes the forbidden country with its Asian H-Bomb
Not King Kong
Headed by the mastermind of Kim’s ding ****

Promising more fire and fury
In the face of people dying in Syria cruelly
Waiting for Marie Curie’s discovery of radiation therapy
In vain amidst the conflicts of the politics and terrorism influenced crowd
300,000, 500,000 deceased
You don’t need the weatherman to tell you which way blows the cloud
As war blows out the populated masses
You know the breaking news is just about to grow oh so loud

I know a drunken political brawl is going to break out
As each belligerent ostentatiously displays their tiny fists and clout
Since H-bomb fads are usually unclarified
We need a report to be verified
For substance in a conspiracy to be amplified
I have mine and I know I have not lied

But we’re out of this
Floating on our crowded cloud
Moving where the newsman predicts where the wind will blow
Sifting through all lands even the ones troubled by disaster and war sound
After you foolish anti-Semitics and xenophobes have suffered for your racist lies
I will know when the Supreme One dies
Or when my fairness is darkened by ashen skies
Still suffering from your opposition to the movement of Civil Rights
You better finally unite
And not fall to his rallies made of dynamite and a false nationalist’s delight

CNN’s got nothing on me
Or on Kennedy
So now they need a story
Of a close-up of battle fury
To burn BBC
In foolish jealousy
Let’s see who’ll get first claim on my conspiracy theory

While everything down on the rocky and urban terrain
Gets vanquished and torn
After long when there is no question of who will remain
Thanks to the lovely UN
I’ll be forlorn
Playing my guitar and saxophone
To ease me and everyone aboard playing harps within the musical Trinity
Shifting my sights to Germany
For homeless refugees washed on the sea shores of hopeful destiny
As they look forward to a life full of opportunity
And I’ll finally know that our chalked out journey
Shall be peaceful and trouble free

Finally I come back to my intended caveat
Trump if your crowd doesn’t change
Then neither will you get over the possible economic speed bump
But you’ve already sent Wall Street in a frenzy over your antics
And your loyal critics will be jittery and pensive
Over your reckless statements reeking of belligerence
When you should be on the defensive

But you want show your democratic prowess
But remember the World Trade Towers
And you’ll know that the Dictator only means us harm
He doesn’t believe in logical calm
So you should use the diplomatic arm
To protect the swarm

If you go down
Our cover will get blown
And the only one left laughing
Will be that stereotyped mad clown
In the apocalyptic now
With no one to wear the thorn crown
Of forgiveness
And Catholic renown

But go on with your game
You’re only one to manage to put the electoral college to shame
But it’s not only your politics
It’s the crowd too
The bunch of asinine fanatics
Who will tear apart their beloved country
Before the H-bomb’s entry which heralds doom

One needs a ****** devil or an angel
For an entry
Into your country
You’ve made everyone wary
But till now most of us have survived
Without racism and xenophobia getting revived

I beg you to please bring fraternity
To bring peace on this clueless cloud for eternity
For us to finally get down safely
To bring about the plenary

Hail the laborers at the mill, hail the jokers with witless tastes
I ain't going to work on any ordinary farm, of the ordinance and well-ordained
They sabotaged lifts and all walked but nothing was gained
They huffed and puffed and blew themselves to absurdity
They planned and plotted only to see boredom engulf the crowd
Ne'er to do the foot-slog, ours is to laugh at the Wigan pier
What is idle rest, I laid my hay long ago and made my peace
With the catatonic curses, and scatological invective

If the mill laborers know what I know
They will see wasters working hard to make more waste
For theirs is to work and fret, berate each other and work
From birth till death to ghosts already remembered
Above the antique mantel
An educated mind would entertain the thought of numinous reminiscing
An excellent habit, to focus at the elephant that cumbered the room
The dearth feeling that was filled with scarcity, memoirs lay strewn

Like the law and edicts, that flustered the mind
Clinton and his economics liberalized my mind, but, piqued the market
I read these in papers of the age of dying punk, and gregarious bylines
Witty writers pen their names in bold, on pen and paper meant for the literate
A kind spirit lies in the artist within
Reminders and unneutered plants are willfully disregarded, with the milk untouched
Spiritualism is stolen from my doorstep, sold to ragamuffins and rapscallions

Exchanged for the dream of more reading, with an understanding of the antiquated climate
Dostoyevsky, a small-time Russian who stole the hearts of many, living by his word
Told us of crime and punishment, with a large intelligence and deep heart
The darker the night brighter the stars
In the empty sky, I offered my confusion
Failure is not our punishment for laziness, its other people’s success
It’s our hunger that floats on the surface of other’s hatred, more like oil and water
Russia was a bed of gelid ice, unable to tell the approximated difference
I make approximated decisions with calculated assumptions, and all my dreams turn to ashes
Years past, and this knowledge brought me peace in my last try at catching the sky
Catching falling stars, and preserving nature
Some poets of the fall, prefer the winds of change instead of sprig icicles of spring lust

The derision of the derided of the dedicated to the storm
The fire and the ice and the love and the rights and people of the demise of the dear and the redeemable
Medication and rumination sounds rather medical can you take through the bridge and preamble
Without the rhyme and pressing matters of the youthful climb
This is just a success ladder and a rare woman
Lugging a leather bag, pursed lips ready for sudden panging hunger
Like a feather fad endemic and indolent in nature, the droll *******
You telling me I'm alacrity and criminal in the numinous nimble loss for words, the fake feeling
Bewwushteinshlage tell me I'm not rising with the tide, the dyer maker
Hot dripping and filling and dryer head full of hairy dreams
The seeds and searching for the demise of the promising song
And the fresh feed of afraid and fearful peaceful people in this clouded age and premise obsessed by flippant speech
Of hungry people acting so foolishly and speaking through their teeth for the representatives of the burning heart of education
Good glaciers are this a revelation and puerile pride and repeat the same behavior if it's so lyrical
Can I tell my sorrows, and the thorough and boughs rescinding of the glances
Advancements come and go, the gut feeling is good to row
The feeling of building and the bullish ****** find of joking kindred spirits
Drilling pleasantries into ole' midterm me losing my feet and losing my need for finishing school
From the rise of the morning, the time is frolicking and not easy
Someone's running from the hopeful and the ****** and the futon for the shrink's naysay
Daydream and rolling dear ad veritas in this vine of dwindling nations, just a glass domino
Words falling like a little limerick and it hurts just distress others
Taking sister act and the distance doesn't matter to someone obsequious and robed
We are stunned by your logic and your jokes, but, you need to shut the **** up
Finally, awaken the human up and stare at the cellar and have a drink
Before the new fire sails through your life instead of the old flame you remember

Fear is the relief of
Being lost in the woods
When the canopy shines
Before the night arrives

Fear is the relief of
Being greeted by the sea
Welcomed by the breeze
As the storm subsides

When I lie awake at stark midnight
At night, I find relief
In the darkest reliefs of the mind
Where fear is a friend of the dark

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

The stars pale in the distance
Hail emerges and the night listens
As soon as the sun comes out
My wait will end

The blue ceiling is on fire
Hail is scarce at this time of the year
Dust over desire
Time is lost to the tears, I won't lie

The trees whiten under the pale moon
The rising dawn is awaiting its turn
I too wait
As skies take me from my feet, illuminating me

Seasons change and time is endless
With these wings, I will circle the trees
The wait continues
For once I look at the night as it does at me

Chances are you forgot you have an ace
In your pocket, questionable thespians are weary, winsome women
In a poet's life, bringing him to temptation and avoiding coyness
Coarse behavior can be a form of attention and aptitude
But the coquettish reminded me of the inhibitions as an observer
An accosted girl left in a town also was a part of this terse reason
Edicts could have been written on her spontaneous knowledge
Buttressing this poor logic was her reasonable interest in my expression
Art, was a class apart when we sat together creating a dense-structured essay
Yearning for better proliferation in opulent desires, ideas were purloined
Carpe Diem became Carper Nocte
And the Illuminati Du Ponts were a sourced for respite
As her religion didn't interest me
Her faith in God brought me tears
I folded her legs and broke her spirit
Took her to a place where religion made me happy
The release was being with a long-lasting ******
The happiness was in the blood
Blackness hovered her face as she was gonna get it
The pressing of the abdomen didn't bring adolescence anymore
God what is time to those religious, but, reckless
In the everlasting love for enervated breath and emotion
Relentless, there were frescoes of superior litany veritably written

If I wrote my words
In blood
Would it be in vein

In the existence
You will
Find your bliss
With the essence of pepper
A simple passage of paper
Of the vociferous vulpine in the green forest
Unseen in this coniferous leaf
Cerulean eyes gaze at the frozen lake
Miracles of Strangers
Foxes running from every empty glass of water
Taking away the serried scenes of defafening silence
There must some way to keep this away
From the authorities
I must confess
I have been deprived
It has been for long
But, not for eternity
With the same breath
I turn
My life
My love
Peace walks among shadows of crowds that you can't explore
Type so slow, I probably haven't typed a word
I'm censored
I'm spoken
I'm in love
In the beleaguering bliss

What's it gonna take
To keep you alive
How much can I take
Out of this goodbye

What's it gonna take
To make fall asleep
Rest assure that
The heat's in my ear
Keeping nibbling
Baby

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

People talk about death
As if it is the end
Sometimes I see it as a beginning

They tell me that a person expires
When there role is played
And they have done there part

Sometimes I think this body of ours
Is made of wood
The older it grows the more it has to offer

Many people die before their time
People talk of death among other things
These are the very people who should be allowed to grow

Shadows wash the moon hastily
As the waves wash the sandy beach
But not as lazily as the sea
Time is of the essence
I hope we can meet soon

With grace she doused
Her hair in fuel
And lit the flames
As a burning carousel

What will be
Never belongs to us
So, we treat what we have
So, carefully

Her fighting fear and rumbling rage youthfully flickers
She doesn't know, how the chess pieces lie parallel to the cars
Kindred heart, I do keep some appointed time with myself to learn
Passing the queen in numbers, prudently teaching me about vitriolic teaching

Loathing is strong on this avuncular admirer
A student of knowledge that should've recused her lying papers
Caressing herself in the most apologetic ways and climactic jealousy
I couldn't help forgive her for foraging a game without an aphrodisiac

The thought of mollycoddling makes my charm turn into an effeminate curriculum
You crashed class and charmed your way into our crash course in astronomy
Incendiary was the love at first sight, that story's burnt to putrid parchment now
Drapes, verdant, croquet in the halls of the star-crossed sensual words
"Push it in, slowly."~drew blanks

When you look into my eyes
You calm the storm inside
The helpless trees shift their feet
And the leaves move swiftly in the breeze

As you touch my hair with your fingers
A dawn is breaking and the sun blushes crimson
Bringing up the sleepy birds out of their slumber
To fly into the heat of summer

You tell me
We can never be together
Here I am
Sitting with myself
Thinking of ways to keep myself
From falling apart

Trying to perceive the dissonance
I changed paths
Walked and treaded, went looking for the mendacious among the  
Well read, there lay somnambulant desires
Was time and space, I could not face the present summer months seem longer
The billowing nimbuses turned into the peach clouds meant to be there
Sadness washes over your face like acid and acrid Pink Floyd
The painkillers just wash down your sink with the medication
The window of torture in the soul's window
Call it watching the smokescreen with scion meant watching
The sunrise
The same reminiscent pain comes to haunt you again
They're watching and praying
I hope you find your wealth in good luck, but good wealth in bad luck
But, you can't be rich and pretend to not talk about it
Go ahead then let's talk about it

Hey! Play it really low
War in control, when we were young
And now we are old, the chrome guns
Are the same as the charming wine of the nuns
The metaphysics of the majestic soul
Is just an entitlement, it's strong in this one
She says "I deserve this." unable to hide her inadequacies
And reservations about presidential fools, like the rogue agents
Like me and fela grupi, till the clocks run out
The guns come out in the Brixton Sun
Time for gun control, like the paper planes
That fly like the paper dreams
The taste of thin rhymes that you had your singles on
Singularity, I interest your plural discretionary warning
I have been given many caveats by the ladies at the Taco Bell
The eatery still welcomes the immigrants, like the American Government
I felt better about changing my mind, regarding the tall sights
And the people digging ditches and splitting the bleeding cigarettes and marijuana bills

Following the warmth
Of my heart
Weighed down by
Bearing the sadness
Blood runs deep in these arteries
Parting with myself
Becomes easier day by day

There's no life in her eyes
There's no warmth in her heart
I'd said to myself that she was kind
When the veil fell I saw Death waiting
No love, only secrets to immortality

While shackled forever
In a circle of fire- without sight
What did strike me as beautiful was
The time I spent dying in her arms
No love, no more secrets this time

The years go by and I want to swim by the pools of wisdom
But always dream of myself arriving naked a school
In absented mindedness, I arrive at the period of boredom
As my vast experience of educated sorrow
Educated lie, the trains have gone
I eat potato chip
And I can tell, the longer the sentence
More it takes for her to repeat everything that went wrong
And doing the right things at the appropriate time
My lovely anonymous teacher

Literature takes a special place in the mind.
Where you can keep practicing reliving mysteries.
Celebrating adventure.
And preserve the childish imagination.

In the form of an enigma.
Where experience meets experience.
Where reality and dreams can coexist.
And there is a thin veneer that separates us all.

Opinion and fact are the same in a work of fiction.
Such is the nature of our perception.
Different from one another.
Existing in all in individual form, immersed in words.

The essence of literature is to rebuild the soul.
And tear the intellectual apart.
By introducing.
Love, peace, and spiritual communion.

Much to the chagrin
Of the wives and girlfriends
My drunk friend in the inn

I don't smile, the same way at least
My hand doesn't tremor anymore
This pen flows like the water
In which the aquatic wilderness swims

I've found courage
So I look up to the skies
A heart that skips a beat
As a white bird scores a fish

I've found self-expression
Art and wisdom; candlewax pours
It melds with the polish of my table
Books, papers, pens, memories

These are the fragmented thoughts
Of a writer
On the verge of a breaking down
Tired of waiting and waiting

The saddest of emotions
Are in memory
Of happier days
Compressed in minutes of bursting
Into tears

When I look forward
Looking back
Didn't seem like an option
For the present

The present
Is meant for
Preparing pheasant
For dinner for the innocent

Psychic glockenspiels come from western civilization to steely dilation
The sun may rise and the Swede's dreams looking for hindsight and elation
A cinema mon amour, the compensation spreads like their legs on ovulation, it's Ninotchka's dilemma with fornication
Firstborn of the soft-core **** of the thorny copulating, and yonder lying in waiting till you're a ne'er zaftig
First-form soothsayers, and strides of samba spies salivating with charm, you're a tinsel town in the maelstrom
Lick your lips, and lickety-split, you're in the instigation of salacious mating
Of a **** of minor, and crime of a major elemental nature, you'll get sentencing from the abyss of vultures

The person upstairs
Hasn't lost faith in you
He just comes downstairs
To put you on a level
You can jump from
And keeps doing that
Till you reach Heaven
That is Nirvana

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

Cushier near
The pillion
In tatterdemalion
Uncomfortable
By the hitchhiking
hire
Laying fire to
The streets of admirers
Carrying a man in need
Expecting to be in a radio station
Before next week
It's gonna make really weak contention

I drove all the way
Out here on an empty highway

Should I keep going
Or stay with the rust-colored sky

I'm not sure
But, I sure love the horizon's shine

The eclipse on the cacti
A bit of light colors the reptile

I know behind the blue sky
There's a diamond mine

But, a bit of dust never hurt anybody
So, I stay back searching for the oasis of my life
With many miles in sight
With many miles in sight

Before I sleep.

The way you cry
O’er the leaking roof
Under the stars, holding water