She tells me
About the tedious
Times I had
With you
You and your
Fumbling fails
My child
Never got up
From her sleep
Help never came to her
Because
You never there
Honey
You arrived
A little late
That hope
Was a place
For the people who understood
And a heaven for
Those ignorant of
Warring souls

To the wake of wailing dawn
As the night escapes
The teeth of winter
Asking it to stay longer

Bear, inamored fish, lynx, mountain lions
Assemble at the cold waters in quiescence
To their aching bellies and thirst
Not enemy or foe

Undulating waves cause ripples
As a doe passes over the stagnant shore
Only to hear a whirlpool come aboard
Escaping its jaws by a whisker

The wake of wailing dawn gone
The night lingers on
Asking us to stay alone
Only to bring human out of animal

In a universe made for two
I light a flame to my cigarette
Each time you come in my way
And the pernicious mistake of believing that the first line
Is true
Wakes me up, every night
That's why I never think about you

The architecture set me free
It delved deeply into my soul
Keeping my mind occupied
And body an arduous vacancy
It was the Sistine Chapel
And the paintings were someone's
Draconian nature painted in
Snakes slipping through dreams
Of Adam with his manliness
Complimenting Eve's comeliness
Serried with innocent dreams
Slipping into as Biblical studies
As tabooed
**** entities
Ever been considering
Of Adam
Couldn't leave God's Index
It was recorded
In benediction
It showed strength
In liberty

Could you touch the sky full
Of stars that make constellations
For weeping lovers
Could you get tired of castles
If they are made of sand and keep getting whipped
By tempests and seas

When I'm tired of being separate
Can you marry us under the Mirabeau

Where the lake flows
I have your heart on a banana boat
Got it from a dealer in Tangiers

Got laid for the wrong reasons
Ezekiel said the fire broke in the motel
The letters turned to ash
It was a bookmark in our calendar
With the days without you
When the love lasted, and the romance died
So Job said of God

You've spent your days too, combing through books and curlicles
For starry eyed happy go lucky me it was an apotheosis
I'd love to crawl to the Belladonna
But, eight of ten times you're on my mind's happenings
I wish I remembered every feature of you
With memory and desire too
But, I need your soul in desire

In houses of God
Lay the glass paintings
Of Jesus
And Mary Magdalene
Uplifting
Religion
With sacrifice
And wisdom
With a God-like intuition
I look at these portrayals
of saints
And hope
I can paint
The same way
Without tainting
Their imagery

The soul lies behind
The veil that
Conceals it
In the beginning
Men prevail
Guiding his women
Through
Trials of Islam
And errors of coitus
Hidden from the eyes of family
*** takes place
And unable to face society
Dutifully
Faces hidden by the common man
In the house of terrorized society
Dutifully

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

The buses on fire
The crowd of children
A tempestuous gaze could
Can dismember the whole age of innocence
There's simply no weight to carry

The lovely new girl across the street
Looks like you might need new shoes
Because you keep walking into her
Maybe, she even likes it if you bump into her with an obviating feeling
You cannot place on your finger
Thence, she keeps wrapped around her fingers
Like a doorknob willing to hear you knock
Her brass apart
The lovely new girl across the great steel bully, can't look
Because she's busy gazing into those steely eyes
If you could find some warmth in her shade
Then, you could see past her schaffer who tends to her mascara
Holding on to your thrill like a race car, she'll never drive
Maybe, she does love the adrenaline of making the same choices with boys
The lovely new girl stays right next door
If you only could see past her unfurled face
And find her heartbeat
Love her like you love the spontaneity
Often, you will never want to see her desultory
But, if you coffer fill and prefer her hillybilly feeling
Or more like piqued interest in her hair that flows like stems and red rain
Welding the welcoming greetings of porous substrates of fresh lakes
Which you can see through very clearly
Lovely new girl, we see through you very dead
Lerners glance in the thick air of thallasophiles who believe in conquest
You'd cross many seas to find the right time in the right place, midnight comes softly like a adventure in a touseled hair guy

Diving in the bluest parts of the sea
Cerulean hue escapes the underwater serried scenery
Under pulverizing rains and thunderbolts stimulated by God's solitary hand
The sea takes on colorful countenance as it strokes the grains of foreign sand
Rambunctiously rising against the randomness of these tawny lands
Almost turgid and ****** in its flow
The waves of bliss call out a raspy roar
As the sweltering hot water laps against the sensual shores
Timelessly
Salty and foamy water cupping the ******* of the salting
Sun's about to snore
The tides will come once more

Letters turn into magazines
We showcase the best in people
Like the pleas for justice sent to people
In power
Like me and you
Somehow the work of lawmakers
Seems to live on too
Writing what matters is the work of poets
That's why salute our kind
Poets jot down thoughts that make the beauty
Which is called poetry

When I look up
I hope that someone is watching
Or looking down at me
Then it hits me
We are just a grain of sand
Too little to the vast midnight sky
And I am sure you don't think
Picture me in the 2 am fresh air
And I can breathe your existence too

I want hear
Your heartbeat
When you're with me
Because everytime we kiss
I skip one

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

I always believe in you
I just never thought
We'd get so far, so easily
All things are difficult before easy
There's a feeling that sets me free
And it tells me I'm wrong about all the niggardly people
Who deserves your love
But, sometimes we deserve this acrimony
To understand the probity of God
In this, we find our heroic nature
Sometimes, bound by sacrifices
We find things worth giving up
That's why I always believe in you
But, first I thought you were a periphrasis to my elation
To appreciate whenever you'd leave
The curating curtain silhouettes
Billows and keeps the shadows
Inside this crepuscular room meant only for quaint satisfaction
Like the smell of old books touches our senses
This room is my abode
And you are the subject of my desires
In sensible choices, I find your inspiration in my deepest dreams
Guiding me through creativity and reality, alike
Like a sun that cannot find its son, so it has a flame burning in our womb
Surrounding us in an eternal gaze meant for desolate souls like Pluto

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

A tusk in a basket
Of rice and fruit
Of a stable truth
Saving
The sunshine
Keeps my
Eye
Out of alligator shoes
The toes
Withering within
The boots
Like teeth
Falling from your
Skin
The
Necklace
Of African canines
The tusk carries
Luck for your life
And curses for your tribe

God hides
Behind the trailing clouds
From the seer
And from his shapely shady sepulchral cynicism
It gets to him
Like his loss
Loss of power
And loss
(Anger reigns and now no more feeling of loss)

From the point of view of a mere mortal
This seems to be a fabulism
As the soul loses its gold
As it wishes to conquer aurium itself

The seer seeks permission to become the alchemist
To bring the God in the hearts of men and women
And God in their work and their mortal heir

Oh ***** that’s me
Thy expectations make me genuflect in obsequiousness
But, as the rage of the veiled forlorn crusade rages on
(Thy devoted matured follower shouldst not fight and let me do my bidding)
He barely manages a bow as he ripostes and hides
From the eyes of vicious genocide
But as this fearsome God manages to keep his cover from being blown
Thy Androgyny comes in many shapes and forms and memories of people
To test this loyal servant

To test like the serpent of ****** love
But he pollutes the platonic connection of God and man
And he falls to the steep mistake of his below-the-belt trick
From the scientific jester
(Awing everyone with his scientific gymnastics)
To a desperate trickster
Running from the path of Fate’s judging hand

The seer refuses to accept his victory
As he loses his love for you
(Fate destroys its oldest companion)
But the present seems too narrow for emotions
Relive the past and future written on Fate’s hand
To gain respect for Fate’s future actions
(I only complain about the traumatic present rather than the abstrusely illustrious past of the world)
Who knows what time brings to immortal Godly beings

If you listen to the humdrum of water
Slow paddle of boats on the mire
You will notice the langurous breeze
Coalesce with the humidity
The bumbling flies and flying bees
Ferry the nectar of a thousand trees
In all this noise
You can hear the Amazon sing

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

The desert
Reminds me
Of the thirst
That lies
Replenished
Behind
A
Mirage
Either
I die
Parched
I make peace
Quarrel
Caught in Moses' storms
Of memories
The waters
Of nervousness
The hell breaks loose
When I find you
At the end of the pool
The light
Reflects
On the law
Of Survival
The oasis
And the sun
Come as
One
When you
cross the sandy dunes
Looking as old
As duels
Of Westerns

Life
I was selling for my life
That was now possessed by a need
To have
Not want
Like boats meant for other waters
Not meant to be
Except to stay afloat
I made a living
Out of no home

You and I will fall in love
In an endless song that goes on and on
That is found in the gentle sway of the trees
As well as the storms that alert the seas

The stars may shiver in the distance
Yet every morning there is a sun for you and I
A kiss is a moment of kindness
Your hug is an instant remedy

Your laugh, whispers, and cries make a complex melody
I'm fiddling with my hair every time I think of you
On some days, my heart doesn't believe in us
Time and time again, it will hold onto its purpose

If lovers turned to starry skies for love
If strangers looked for rivers of gold near a sensual romantic harbor just for coincidence
I'd rather go fish

I am really blessed
With a good life
And good fortune
But, the ladies want my humour
And laugh when I am down
I guess I like self-deprecating
Because I seem to join the crowd
And become the laughing stock of the town
I have good fortune
To know how fickle lady luck is
If I would complain then it isn't heard
Pretty girls love me and find my jokes absurd
Maybe, I show them the ugly side of things
Beautiful ladies are fascinated by it
Especially by the anticipation of macabre
No one wants bookish looks
Instead they want boorish parties
You will find me in a book store
Having the best of both worlds
And testing my luck

I love you
I didn't even see the door
I seemed to have missed the flower
That was sitting sad and true

If I asked you
When will we pray
You answer
As my heart breaks

My sky would fall
Rain would gather through troughs
As I brave windy storms
You have been brave enough

I couldn't see the robin on the swing
Oblivious of the cage it's in
It still sings

I approached her with words made of roses
Beautiful to the touch, but, pale and lonely
Without its bush
Probably the thorns make the roses livelier

I looked for a moth with eyes black
A body of yellowy gold
It was camouflaged on the brick wall
Which I never had touched
If I hold the redness of the wall
The moth stayed making conclusions of its own
We both were attached to something that made us feel unwelcome
As I kept searching for the moth in the darkness
The cold brick held together by masons
It fell apart and left the moth in a pile of sand
That is when I saw a host of black and yellow moths
Touch my hands
I was no longer an ugly butterfly
I was a colorful moth in their eyes
The Black Butterfly

happiness
is
a warm science
Blackness
is a superstition
when it's a feline

They called it prying
It was a tragedy
That you didn't see it coming

Brightening my life
With the gifts
I called talents
I had talents
I called them my skills
Whilst falling down the success
Ladder

The box cars hit the snow
Crawl down the roads
With book stores in the neighbourhood
A box in each and it is so cold
He can now afford more than clothes
Don't think us so unkind in this climate
In his own write there is no inveigling
Or lying about the books or politics
With a jig in his feet and a boxer's ego
He swallows his pride and fights the battle
Down in one and he is just having fun
Down in two and the extra road plays the same tune
Down in three he would have fought Foreman on the street
If it suffices to say then submission is the ultimate defeat
A couple of them in precision
The bell tolls and he stays on his feet

Underground in a mining town
All he needed was some light to see
He was accustomed to the supernatural darkness and low-visibility
No stranger to the dark
He had never seen the light

He was simply akin to his mining work
His father did not like his bright son working
Raging in a madhouse, he never saw his son again
Fathers lose their son to disease, and sons lose their fathers to dull madness

Underground in a mining town
It was always dark and many hadn't stopped dealing slaves
Sunlight was scarce, and he wiped his eyebrow sweat
The boy's shadow never saw the light of day
It was always scared and the brave boy never saw his spirited shadow again
Until he came out only for midnight-schooling and cheap women in neon streets

He was simply akin to his mother
If someone had told him to stop digging, it was her
It was his shadow, that took after his father
The boy hated his own shadow, a solitary light flickered in the coal mine
Not a shadow in sight

The bells tolling and gallow stools
Carved by a crisp knife sharpened by a stone flint-shaped among the garden tools
The molded and weak rose like the solid and stolid coveting
The dolorous limelight seekers were sure about the fun settling
The call-in your wake is sure to make you disagree, subversively
Pretentious till it leads me into ruinous states, with each verse
Troubled and telling about the stoic salacious dread, of your *******
The sins and arresting rebels brought you minister and spirit
The apologetic and shrieking in their walls their apologies
Am I the only one, who thinks
They don't change their disposition
Time I'm tearing you up into fragments
My stories are getting caught up in their endings
Caught by the hook of standing on the ceiling, rear-ended
The knee-deep hell, mountain high harp, what the ****!
Reelin' and rockin' in heaven, indeed purgatory calls your bulls and porgies
Greed and corporeal blood and recipe for dreadful disaster, and luck you yammer about out-and-out too
It's in your flesh and bones, ****** vain too
Feels like time is slipping and sliding out of my oval face and hateful hands
The friends you seek to hold you when you're ready?
Blows, busy days, France in its hey-day had some passion rather saints who come marching in
Are you ready to read your death in the newspapers, when your stomach lurches like holes in the air
Or here from storytellers like a burnt legacy, in the papers that herald flying guns and leveraging politics
And hate, rising with the ashes, the education burning blue like a phoenix
Apogee, really, after so many a doubt and clusterfuck of redactions, I'm ready to learn about counted visage among the many faces on a business street
About my attraction to nature and fantastic reality, I'm jumping with joy
But, smaller than the cosmic bubble that keeps us from dying
I can tell no one, this is our one and only time with faded humor
You're breeding and you're dying with famished and frayed daughters of petulant sons believing hilarious rumors
I am dismembered much to my won't, the stentorious frolicking reeks around astute anecdotes of my pain of having a name
Even it's a fake one and adopted by pretty old me
The antidote of all this, love and peace, it must be the end of fashion and integrity
Peace and love cradling the waves wandering in mystery
Walking among the feet of trembling rage hungry for power, our love is just an island, but, not the little flower that just matured
If I engender myself, I will be free from being prematurely always on
Smidges and shakes for the collared contingent of successful women
For the one, surreptitiously resting under the invisible sun, sticking out their necks for none
Smack her flesh across till light turns still
The center light pops in expectation of blue days and flooring her money on her mind
On the reeling hail, tying the wrong laces and pushing wrong buttons
I left the hall crazed and surprisingly fully-dressed
Snake-like heads facing away from each other with their smothering hands around my neck
I unhand my royal touch and my license for the cream-crop
Not sure about my violence and clammy hands, but, my old man didn't like it all that much
Handing the trembling papers of my record for another dispensary
The errands that I have to run, I would recommend this to no one
Watching movie reruns and playing my new dreams in my trailer park, every time she was the one
Tea and teeming, brink and livid feeling, reelin' with the great high upstart
Cosmopolitans and Neapolitans, I'm probably going play to Jupiter jazz for another meridian of Earth
Red rain splaying like the sand Andalusian like, waving my hands care-free, only to slam my self down easily
Into another speakeasy with a wake-up call and nightcap, dusk till dawn
The day seems brighter and the sun scintillating like the queenie-eyes on the resting sunshine on the iridescent soil
Ecstasy open miles ahead, the eyes lay in peace and capacious lamps full of soul food and meals
Like lamps and little lintels, the coruscating fire makes the colors of the day seem much more real
The tears in Heaven are adjusted for a place in my salvation
Vitriolic, but, mellifluous in it's surmise, you're sure about the music you're hearing
Crouching upon old times like washed memories
Or is it the waters of the ocean afar from snake-like repellent waves of the oceanic dreams
The snake passes by, in the time of your lifeless soul
You were just pacing yourself, the motto is "Always look your prime and best"
They are your true reflection, this is the one and only reflective surface I will attest to, lest I sound sanctimonious
Bo vine and in vino veritas, you're ecstatic about auriferous objects
Sheep and tipping civilization with the conquest of the times, and the same sundial from Eratosthenes that made citadels
The conquest of Troy is any different from the present oligarchy
Librarian of Alexandria, and the Trojan horse of cursed hands mixed with the opportunity
A couplet for a couple of composite numbers is enough to tempt the prime number
In showing up in your  classes brimming with achievers, some students among them
Eratosthenes' sieve is diligent work on simplicity, so yes, whoever reads this, the wake-up call is not a snake bite
This is Stoicism, and poetry is stoic writing cannot be duplicated
The moral could be looking at hopeless dreams, helplessly
Just passing by without shedding any of it on your probity

I have used up my time
And the passions for doing better for society
Fulfilled my life with purpose meant for a select few
Few only understand my ambition
The placid rime of the literary movement
Makes me realize, time being an object
Of innocence imbibed in my veritas
In my wine, I find the truth in crime
Buttressing every feeling, within its intoxication
I find peace in my revelry
My merry men that share my head full of truth
Within these feelings, I find peace with my white lies
As my life gets darker because of foolish honesty
I sip my red wine with amnesty
The feeling of righteousness washes over me like a salty ocean
Immersed by beauty, I do stay afloat
But, the water is gone and so are the remnants of a squire
Who made me the person I am

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

What do you do when you’re alone
Feel the necessity to indulge in something
A drink or a cigarette
Always blowing away the ****** in swirly smoke
Or downing your business deals in ****
Maybe if it’s your birthday
You’re still alone
Probably because you’re a businessman
You may occasionally take hashish trip
And imagine yourself on a minaret
There are plenty
You could choose the one of the three Pagodas
That resemble the Taipei 101
Or the CN Tower
If you’re looking for something modern
But after your escapade of solitude you need a routine for your return

With her gentle breath
She brushes against my skin
My neck placed in her curls
Embraced in blissful sin

She breathes life into me
Pouring her soul into mine
Coloring me with brushstrokes
Of scarlet flowers and red wine

As I gaze warmly at her
The trees shiver in the dark
And flowers sway in the breeze
Leaving me numb at my heart

She leaves a song within me
That's only meant for the heart
An imbroglio in my soul
And a fresco of the mind

There's a fire burning inside
A crimson, blue, and yellow light
It shines in my heart
Brushes my canvas with art

It is filled with pain
That spreads faster than the violent rain
Deep blue spreads across the bruises
Reddest hues mark the grooves

It is the colored canvas of my soul

Have you very little penny
Coming off the mud
Don't know how it got its head between its tails, it's stuck
Though, like a little beggar
I am slightly afraid, I'll change
These clothes won't fit me no more
The blackness of virtue
The chain of toil and games
Came down on his two shoes
And kept his good faith
His barrister told him
That the judge was quite rude
The talk of lonely poets, I'm afraid that isn't abuse
My faith and my salvation is on my muddied shoes
At least, I will have knowledge of idol worship
But, I will clean some stranger's boots
Cleaner than my blood

Caught me brightly
With the winds blowing
The effervescence
Of her curled up
Hair
Kept me in
The wake of yesterday's ***

There are more ways
To fall in love
Than to preserve hatred
You just have break someone
Till they cry and learn more about you
In the teared up eyes
The love seems clearer
It is evidenced in messy hair
Tear-stained pillows
Torn wrists and dry throat
A spillage of pills on the dressing table
She was looking at herself in the mirror
Before she made the choice to love

April is the cruelest month, with the stirring dull roots blossoming in spring rain
Lilac's still a month away, and the stems of the ebullient estivation of this end of season
But, this is Jefferson's victory over slaves, and the politics run in my sleep
Ruminating over the possibilities of dinner and sleep, I fall into a dream
I glance at the tea, feeling peckish
Poking my peevish gutter, my hunger pangs
A dull head among wintry specimens
I cough in their presence and sneeze
I an old man
Signs and signs are taken for words and words
When will the word be the sign in this world, I walked in the juvenescence
Quite jubilant were the citizens, as it was Cherry Blossom season
Never having witnessed the spectacular indication of festive fervor and the Hakagawa bows among Titans

We had our time under the moon
Our light was spent in the spotlight
Soon we would live like fools
Enamored by the color red and its sight

Like a caged bird, I yelled for her
Let me out for I need you to see
She didn't want to hear me much longer
She didn't want to let me out to quickly

It pumps red blood and feels
While it flew, it felt the rush of being free
This is the truth behind her love for the sky
Set her free, she too is a bird that is free

I was captured by her
While she was free to fly through myriad skies
Like a fish swimming in the seas that belongs there
I was caged in her presence, choked by her light

She had brought out an obsession in me
I asked her have you read this or that
We shared interests by the dozen really
But it wasn't enough for us to get back

I'm possessed by the love I need
While others find their cold comforts in a one way street
Belief tells me to write poetry and find the right one
The right one will fly as I wait on the autumn trees

Warmth doesn't lie there
It is the fire in his eyes that comforts
The core even in a world so broken

His piercing glare
Might turn away the lost traveler
But if you look long enough
He does kind of give a ****

She is not afraid of looking
She didn't see past the cold shell

The beauty of writing is you can present
Your thoughts as free as your mind is
If you think in punctuation, your ideas
Will take shape into sentences
But, those people with unpunctuated thought
Flurry of words and fiery stream of consciousness
Are the hardest poets to understand
I think that's why I like those best
Because they beg us to understand them
Almost needing our interpretation

If we couldn't put the deepest words
To song and music
We would never know
What the dance of the heart feels like
Thus, our tragic lives would have love
Yet, in these thoughts people would
Despise one another
If you haven't heard
The dance of the heart tip-toes in a dark hall
Unheard by friends, only you can find it in the recess of the soul
If your pain is a silent anguish, you'll hear the little fire crackle
Showing you the light in a dark cave