You can be my date
My chocolate cake
Taking my breath away

But, you are the stars in the sky
So far away

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

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.

Inside the box of dreams contingent to divergent nightmares
In the confines of a large painting and solitude and suns
You smell the beauty of her soluble features in the eyes as one
Does it do to have a surplus of truth
The ego of driving id letting your inner self spasm without word's worth and worthiness
Relate to someone, whose heights you must torch and focus on oh so much
Buffering winds and engulfing flames, and paint of wolf and werewolves
The moist stench of inventiveness and red veritas of the current year, in the current art of the raw and cooked
Often, thousands of years could be prepared, before you learn a decade of failure, brewing strangely
Decadence doesn't exist in this defined structure wither the body withers in song and dance
Sundry and adamantine guillotines do sew her flesh in hatchets, axes, and bows
Arches and gallantry of cavalry in a dither and dearth dense censuring, of diseased purgatory
Looking at yourself beyond the riches, and rags to ditches.

The sun waits over the hills
To liven the lilies and daffodils
As I am caught in its embrace
You have left this place

The grass plays
Sunshine is scarce
A breeze chills
It is beautiful and powerful

The trees are bare
But they let in the sun's hue
Its warmth shines through
But I miss the shade

Winter has come and gone
Summer isn't far behind
You have left a coldness in my life
To you, this is my song

You look to me
Like dandelions in the breeze
With yellow petals to touch
Softest on the earth

If I were free
Like yellow roses in the sea
Pouring their colors into the waters
Too good to last

There's a way to see
That you belong with me

The girl who got away
Blocked her account
And left me with her memories
The girl who got away
Won't look at me now
But, will notice me in a crowdy street
The girl who got away
Probably, likes watching movies with someone else
But, watches the same movies we watched all over again
The girl who got away
Probably, got a lot better in terms of physicality
But, her heart is a bunch of bandages wrapped with each other
The girl who got away
Loves reading books
But, cannot bear to stop imagining life without reality
I just keep finding her in that library called love
The girl that got away
Met me for the last time
Leaving an everlasting memory which said, "I've moved on."
I finally understood what it meant after I loved someone else
And finally, when I gave back the books, I took from her on rent
She appeared to have become a cautionary tale
Quite quaint isn't it?
Unless I have moved on with dignity
And gratitude on display
Here's my book in a time capsuled by nature
Titled "Gratitude"
For a lover's fortitude
Each fortnight, this love story brings me strength for eternity
For swingin' lovers looking for respect

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

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

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

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 flowers, the bush, the bees
The trees
God's melody

...The universe breathes in the dark

I was born in the rain
Asking will life relive its pain
Came to me in a dream
Seems to me since I was born to scream.

On and off and on again
Seems to me I'm preparing to drown in pain
But after recognizing my old folks
I appears to be unreal.

I don't remember much
After all I couldn't say much
But I remember landing my first punch
How with elation I heard his cheekbones crunch.

My childhood wasn't easy
Nor was it crazy
It was spent introspecting
While being mistaken for staring helplessly.

Finally, now I'm a grown up
Puberty happened instantly
'Cause I was inside me
And I could never get out.

That was until I met my first girl
She could send the boys' hearts in a swirl
Any misogyny
And she would send them back in egotistic whirling fury.

We finally grew old together
Life did relive its pain a lot faster
But at least she didn't die in vain.
Now that's a sad story.

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

Lovely seeing around
Today for me
Pure innocence
Blaming the ways
The way we parted ways
Like a lake
Flowing by it's reflecting man
With shallow understanding
Similarities stay

I see men
Christen the streets
With the same innocence
They show their friends in need

I see women
Touch the pavement
With the same touch
They feed their children

I see children
On both sides of the road
With bowls in hand
Asking for more

To see us in time
And space
There is some kindness in the stars
I just count my blessings

Some places
Are diamond
In the lightning of the storm
My boat is hijacked
God won't leave me alone
Some waves give me hard times
The hail leaves a chill in my bones
My memory is awash
By the storm that came from North

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

As the dry wind sweeps my hair
The capricious prediction of bystander anticipates heavy rain
The life I had once is now a suitcase
That will stay with me for the next journey, maybe

Our dreams alive, in three songs
You looking to get ******, in the arms of what's going on
Touch about the reality, of the great good of the hearts of the nosegay I took a nosedive, or the opened up fire of the circle's curlicue
Hells burning and sings, and burns the throat of supernatural sordid affairs of the singed dresses, lips quiver and nape the murmurs, closer to your party girl
Listening to the parallelogram lights of nadirs on the cream drop, on the trap, ******* stint rest are we
Sleeping with the nocturne-blonde, wheelchair on the cannibal dynamo of the change looking in product elitism, sold out before they knew they were buying war
You're a bit inside, further into my ferried heart on the wheels of fire of the crossroads of the good,
The hoods out, the special affair sounds like a girl, the number of the pocket
Of the ashcans on Wednesday, so smart about your Hakagaw bows, open doors to my cellar in speakeasies and tensions
On the phone calls, in the terse rhyme sin, the sails determination of confessing our love, in the strong live in the heart of years that do not have any limitation and have no learned lessons,
See tomorrow's is the night that's alive, it's the midsummer's daydream and the midnight cauterized midriff
How do we sell it, and the trench warfare in the solidarity of the streams of dresses in steaming stowaway, maybe we good we have mister magic selling the war in a handful of stardust
Shadow rises in that pass as years go by
Shadow is a pejorative term for copies of running on hurt looks in open books of minds, we have our own wars in piled plasticine in methanol, hydrogen prologue of the helium
Time throws us into the year in the complete word that completes me, and I'm a bit nicer
I'm so lost, I'm a bit nicer
Deep sarcasm in the classroom
The winners have become bad, and no one cares about the losers
What does it mean? I'm not telling you my stories

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.

I’m out of line
You’re posing in front of the sign
I’m trying to drive
I give you five
But I can’t do much from sitting in my car
Yes you’re gonna be a star
Same with politicians I guess
They stand in front of your political beliefs
When you don’t know where you’re going
And you’re in a mess
Everyone acknowledges what he’s doing
But if they are in a hurry
They should still consider looking at the next sign
Instead of getting in a flurry of activity

After all who’s sign is it anyway
Not the government
‘Cause every time I go down the street
I see the foundation of a pavement
It homes homeless people and street musicians alike
We need to put the person who steals our land
His head on the spike
Or our hearts will vote for a future promising a fist full of desert sand
Of hatred and coerced communism
That stinks of an ideal that never reveals
Of truth that never sets you free

Once part of the legislative team
Their pockets turn into the antithesis of autumn leaves
That start of as rusty during campaigning and during their swearing in they turn green
Now tell me what should we do with the people who steal our signboards
Or our right to see the signboards
To find our direction
Instead of believing like simpletons
In leaders who believe in a second term is and that a statue in their name needs *******

Simply put we should find our leaders
Instead of them finding us
We should catch them stuffing their pockets
Before they catch us stuffing ours
Not let anyone block what is ours
So that they can propagandise for hours
We need a tolerant leader that sees all
Stays once and allows us to search for options instead of making us crawl
The one and only Lord

We lay sprawling on the chairs
The light hung from the ceiling as the stars do
Spending the night at the museum
We saw the dead and their skeletons crawl

Soon their impatient breaths turned insidious
I talk about the dead workmen with rotten breath
And the lively crows going to another country
We were stuck in the museum past sunset

Yes, we have work to do before we die
We have to tell the truth and live a lie
Stay back and earn our share
For no one else does care

If we love our life too much

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 tried to depend on you
Feel more than I could
Now all I have left
Is what I used to be

Drained of color
Void of life
Emptied of water and sun
A flower cannot grow freely

Bob Dylan said in an interview
For the 1970 intentionally underwhelming album Self Portrait
That people need leaders more than the reverse point of view
And so do you
So get off the government’s property
Or they’ll rig the functioning of the military and bring the full force on you

Follow your leaders
Because with your political views
They think you’re blind people who can’t see the crowd
And are simply fireplace thinkers
But what about the people who have a bonfire which they share with heart
Instead of having a hearth
Get off the government’s property
Run from place to place and observe propriety for a start

To them we say go get a job
To clean our urbane streets
But they hope they don’t have to rob
Or get owned or robbed
So get off the government’s property
Or they’ll own you literally and party members will get you mobbed

They lay claim on all the money
Making everything taxable instead of free
For the poor who don’t even enter a tax bracket
And always lie and beg on the streets and cause a blissfully ignored racket
So please get off the government’s property
While we enjoy your money as you stay off the stock market

His college years were coming to a close
Soon, he became aware of Mrs. Christian
The wife of the headmaster
A German woman with hips luxuriously hanging
Her stomach was slightly loose
But, so were her *******
Yet, she carried them with confidence

He noticed her soon enough
One day, he broke his arm on the field
Mrs. Christian brought to him his meals
Nursed him as she sat on his leg
He could feel his ******* grow
As her *** warmed on the sheets
Yet, such warmth was platonic, still

Sometime later, he stood in the corridor
She asked him to polish his shoes
As he looked down
He caught a glimpse of her cleavage
A pink robe inside, revealing itself
He realized that he had more than a fetish
It was a real fixation
He had become hooked

"You called me, Mrs. Christian."
"Ah. Yes."
"I am aware that the headmaster wished something from me."
"Yes, William."
"Er. You need something."
"Only to inform you, your education is complete."
They turned up the music and waltzed.

Her pink robe, after being removed, was skimpier than he had first thought
Yet, he carefully considered if the tuition included this
He didn't mind her teaching hands too much
As he tried very hard to arouse her purple lips with his hands
Growing impatient, she took her tumescence
And pushed into it, expertly
It was as if the rain had poured for years, unseen by closed eyes

"William. You make me feel."
"Like a woman?"
"No. Just aroused as hell."
"I guess this is ***."
"No. This is art."
"Art is feeling?"
"Touch my heart. You have."

The earth is quenched
The idea is to get
Love drenched

Summer, summer tomorrow, comes with expectation
A day doth bring here its heat
She stares from the heavens with electricity
With a breeze lithe and scarce, it walks over the earth

Stately and respectful in her stride
She hides behind clouds, when out of sight
Her beauty tempers the mind and calms the nerve
A weather so delicate, not a degree or ray less or more

But, when comparing her breath
The heavens turn and stare, wondering what despair
Plagues the incomplete soul and a heart so bare
Like moons hidden from her nascent stare

Scorning the cold moon, the torn heart
Looks for the summer, while crying for heaven's arms

Love isn't the answer
To every question
But I still love her

This is the start
I might be thinking about you
Soon, I'll feel lost

Is this love true
Or do I just forget
About what I've been through?

Is this love real?
I have so many questions
Just ask me why.

If not for you
I’d grow old without living life
Riding chrome horses with a calm demeanor with my charismatic wife
Passing by bakeries and butcher shops cutting bread and spreading red wine with a knife
Getting off at our destination I would start to get rude
If not for you

If not for you
My wife wouldn’t fall in love
To me she would’ve been the white dove
Of peace with hair of a golden fleece
And I would regularly meet my niece
Like I used to
If not for you

If not for you
I’d be drugged and bugged and gray
I’d probably end all of it by May
But till this year’s day
I still could say
Beside her I lie
Because I need her too
But I hope I someday I don’t have to woo
If not for you

If not for you
The rain wouldn’t leave the morning bright
The light wouldn’t leave the beauteous sight
Of rainbows shining through puddles and the fresh morning dew
If not for you

If not for you
I wouldn’t have to choose her too
But the game has enticed me
To play it through
Everything looks like an enhanced retrospective view
If not for you

Serious poems are tough to read
I like poets who can express themselves
Through realism and simple words
Ironic...

Have you heard the song
“Get off my cloud”
Who is it by

Takes a while to finally
Understand who meant to say this and why
‘Cause the first date makes you seem weird and shy
But whereas you are high
Blissfully high

On a cloud of thought
That relishes feminine company
But seeks individuality
If something is suffering
And that is the symbiotic alacrity
Of love at first sight

So please get off my cloud
I’m leaving
Goodbye

You’ll need the Stones
In your bag to get down
And for us to have another night on the town

The role of an artist is not to look away
I see people and their nature change, but, they're all the same
Man is a genius when he is dreaming of shelter from the rain
Some of these men have ambition, as well as intelligence
That gives them wings, and I cannot afford to hate anyone
As long they don't avert their eyes in silent judgment
We are what we do, then, by that logic excellence is something of a habit
But, what we wetlanders must do, is never hide the inner moonlight
Because that's where madness pops in blue limelight of ****** footprints
Snowy mountains and black white reels of cinematography pile up into digital from analogical death
Rebirth in the Phoenician death of epistemological numinous ashes
Spirited away by the talent of many, and ambition of too few

The thunder got locked into the dreary sky
Knells, kettles, little nullified and filling voids rather easily
I in the waters had some hundred men, with fibs and pies
Who was looking for a way to make waves with rib-steaks
The beast wandering the houses reeking of suicide
Take me, don't be afraid, grab me by the neck
The sea next to the northern droning ocean
Take me through the cloudy crosswinds, running far
Beyond adventure and danger beyond the Tenerife bay
Take me down like the killer down best friend lane
Friendly with the rider in the south
Stormy with the strength of the crowd
Fluent with the crime, knowing of the curse
All this knowledge is in vain if you suffer from being unloved

In a place
Away from rurality
I found the urban upbringing
That left me lost in the city
In a place by the hills
I can still see the county
Like my painted past

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

We are naked when born
Choosing our place among forlorn ancestors
After death, a structured life denotes our span
Our modern thinking will not save the hunger pangs
For the meals are crisp, delightful as religious rites are

Born are we to serve our fathers
Who give everything to their fathers
Living a life of servitude
Never striding next to kings
What of the princes knowing no solicitude

We are only mere classmates
In a college of wisdom
Wizened by the plight of our teachers
To lead a nation or cure cancer
We are naked to ourselves, as we are simply accident-prone

If we linger on in this blue planet
Life most come to a tragic end
Where the followers of the chapel proceedings
Get the most out of this age-old tradition
Often divorcing logic from religion

Do not be afraid
I tell myself every waking night
Have courage, I reassure myself
You will see the moonlight

Does the sender dance to the tune of the rights
Does the messenger believe in love and call it food
Love letters washed in limbo, I've stopped
Sands and jaded solace of Soho and the midnight lurks hanging like gallows stark in starlight just like we hugged
The arms of the machinist broken by the assuaged quirks


We won, and this integrity of the jejune kind
A lively berry in the possibilities and
Probabilities of time, flickering crystalline face like the mirror across your sea
Ripe and the average
                                                                             Brit ****** mystery


doesn't excite your insightful side
Here something for you, to remember, I have
drawn the lines to tell
                                                me where does it draw to my incubation
Something that makes this broken poetry

Sounds complete when                    you are reading enough from me
Trending poem, titled indelible plenary
How is it really?

The stares of my
Right hand men
Bring me to the misnomers
That they would leave me
For leftist visions
Left for all the right reasons
My friends never abandoned
Me
They just may have joined
My enemies
Whose names I'll never forget

I'll search the towns
The sun is ours
Let us live
Like these are our last hours

Everyday I relive this time
I will never feel alive
I will never give up this fight
Like these are our last hours

As we are lost in them
Your tears come falling instead
The pain just ebbs
What was love has now left

A simple thought
Can explain a complex emotion
But, silence explains everything
Except, the sunflowers

The changing of your calculations
Wheeling with my emotions

Hey there
You there
Standing with the director
In his chair
Talking about the right actor
Slick back your blonde hair
While you’re mouthing to him

Talking about the movies
Sends you into a hitch
Time to talk about that *****
Who is up next
You know you’re not in the right situation
It’s time for the nation
Let’s go again
For the new generation

Looking at the congressmen
With badges pinned across their *******
And a politically-correct three-piece suit
With their largess
Drenched in sweat
Driving the rally into the unknown folly
To fear the unknown people of foreign cities

More than just a sign
It’s all in our precious time
The high-rollers
In their representative fashions
Taking over the world
And committing all the crimes
But that is just all they do
Let’s be moving on too

What about the generals, brigadiers and captains and colonels
With their epaulettes and patriotic decorations
Conspiring against the nation
Like chameleons
Thanks to their post
With ideas
Those are insidiously of corruption
As they stand host
To nations feasting on war
And diplomacy at the most

Political amusement isn’t it
The dichotomy of having aliens
Deported
And these braver politicos star in their expensive overcoats
See themselves getting promoted

It’s rather fun
When the bourgeoisie
With their Large brim hats
To protect them from the sun
Cash in
More money and hate
More than religious faith
Innocents supposedly drowned in sin
Don’t know when good will begin

With the Catholic Church
Being a prison of beliefs
Since the inception of time
Changing political opinion as we speak
Which brought forth with it unnatural urge
Hilarious isn’t it when politics starts to stink
When the crowds go berserk as they scream
For more religious retaliation and a lost dream

Fun isn’t it
For the vengeance seeking righteous prisons
Who wish their prisoners burn in the crimes
That they spin
Before they can live out of those times
And their whims

But who is to blame
The heart isn’t tame
Is it God
Who has made it rough
For the virtuous inferno of actions
That has been extinguished by the holy water of circumstance and disdain

Isn’t it easy to blame our surroundings
Rather than our actions and our fate

Music is the soul
You can hear it in the rubber sneakers
The fogginess of this song
Finished by the word of you