Many things can be considered beautiful
A song that dances in some
A poet that sings of better
A dancer that writes a lyric
Because it is meant to be

Much like the thoughts
Of you light up my day
So does the sun in my eye, so you just can’t see it

Cradled in my arms
Curls falling in the sleeping streets
Of my legs
I have fallen for your charms

Her fragments fell apart
Her time was short
The longest thing was the prison sentence
Full of tally marks, and wings that were burnt
On the brink of becoming fire and ice, and unbeing
In watery bushes, and shrubbery that hides in the gallows
Unfeeling like mires on the sunset line
Her hairs fell like wires, and the apartheid told us
She was meant to be broken, and even ****
Just not everywhere

Stick and stones
May break my bones
But your words inspire me

I know poetry isn't
Beautiful
It isn't meant to be
Because beauty is transient
And subjective
Unless, you love yourself
And make a poet out your mind

If you are twisting
And arrested by nightmares
You have to trust reality
It's all just a dream, anyway

Torn posters
Broken cigarettes
I've been wanted by the police
Chased out of my room
Of torn posters
And broken cigarettes
The life of bounty head is a cruel one
Salinger has nothing on me
I'd smoke if I were playing around rye
Catching people just like the cops beat around the bush
Knocking on your doors telling you have been framed
For a poor and direct assumption

You thought about me
I pitied my worn state
I thought about you
Now I ******* up
Maybe.

If life was a gift
I'd allow you to slide down glaciers
Swim with the sharks as currents do
Live in a whale watching the skies from inside
But, I keep you alive because I really have to
Not because I love you
If I loved you, you'd already be in paradise with me
Overlooking sun and moon
Shadow and sooner be with my angels
But I wish you good luck
On finding your higher power
How I found the depth of the seas without a guiding stream
I bid you farewell, nameless metaphysical being

****'s grown
The lawn's mown
I'm still dreaming of the petrichor
After thinking about it before
Looking for other words

Dye maker, bebop can you play
Place in a playful childhood
In the silence, that's for cowboys to chase after
In their selves, critters crawl around
And I literally hate animals, women with attitudes
So, tell me Jet why do we have to observe
Sit and observe, and your nature follows them with other cheaper things
kono toko *****, modo jinkai shika deshou kanshaeimas, ke de
saisodai muri muri warui tabete kareta masen suru
kono haznan da toko kanashite taskete
nanika hontoni arigatai iku ga yorui san nukete dakke
kono toko ***** futari himtotsu iku zo setsu ou
anata wa basho e tsure kanshi mas
Good luck, with living on this lime, ******* it dry
Time is rare as the truth, it is based on good minds losing themselves

Belief in yourself
Breaks the bubble that is
Build on the sheer concept of flight
Depends on whether you want to count stars
After falling

These women
Languid and bare
Smoke my cigarettes
With a stare
Is it too much to ask
"Is it too much?", I ask
For us lovers
In this hopeless place
To a hopeless road
That leads nowhere
Where nobody recognizes
The homeless crowd on a lavender-scented road
Looking for another beer
Another cigarette lit up
She is still looking at me
"Where am I?" she asks
I tell her it's beautiful
As long as it ain't
Paris and hella far away
In some distant galaxy
Where they don't sell cheap *****
And cups of coffee for a remedy
She keeps pointing at me with her laser-like leer
I jeer and mock a bit
Begging her to talk a bit
Is it fair to keep a good gal
In your house, just for company
Probably not
But, hell it beats isolation
And paying for cigarettes and coffee
The women buy everything these days

For all that the sound of silence has shown
You dream of rising with shade
And Sunsets before the morning gaze

Our urges are primal and therefore animalistic.
Our dominating, territorial urges are defined not by humanism
Instead by primitive impulses
That is why we are animals

Whereas we should be humans first
Because we breed on the suffering of others
We continuously exploit our position and those underneath us
We can never be living because we thrive off death

We do the same to fellow humans as we ******
Torturing them in self-interest and pushing forth selfish agenda
We are maybe lowlier than animals because we have the capacity to feel, to think
Instead, we choose to destroy and exterminate

Laying waste to beings that do matter
And celebrating things that we can assign value
In all likeness, we are living things as much as plants are living
We serve to breathe

But do not benefit the planet or give the world what it needs
We are incapable of peace, but relish war
That is the nature of our race, whether you like it or not.

It's nice
But, I don't know
Where
Are my friends

The human nature doesn't deceive
In some emotions
I found your instinct match my life
It was the smell of the battlecry
In a town of full agrarian economists
Who realized the buckwheat was the staple
Of this life of lateral paradigms
Being single, it feels like I'm a single market economy
Constraints in my ****** positions
Might be uneconomical for our desire for leisure
We sit and stare
Not knowing what Renaissance statues atop of Vatican structures hold
From the boughs of humanity and sounds of silence
Rising from the troughs of the highs and lows
Comes a sepulchral cry
Of a passion that might die

Is there any way out of this wall
The four corners of the world
Let the earth spin, our love will live
As our hearts beat in sync and overcome all

My heart is weak like a sun
Behind the clouds
But, your light is strong
Like a star in the night sky, I still see you

Someday, I may run
And love will push us further
Tell us, be flowers
On a garden of hearts

The days were bright
When the sunflowers turned
My heart beat faster when light shone on us
The clouds made way for a new day

The tip of a golden yellow escaped
A crevice in my soul got full
We were open for all to pluck
But, you were the most beautiful

Heralded indeed
Was this breathless feeling
Of breezing and the teasing feet
Splashed against the cerulean waters
Washing away the moss green
Maybe the earth could be a mimosa
But, that's just forgetful of me
Depends on how you look at what you're seeing
Watching the frenetic play on words gets my mind reeling
So, keep writing poetry even it has sesquipedalious happiness

Voices are irrevocable
Because of a warmer philosophy
The earth turns colder like fire and hazel
The voices unheard by the shuffling beautitude

If you could have my heart
You could have it all
If you could have my soul, I swear
In spring, wouldst be in fall
And in winter it would turn cold
Take my heart, as the trees hold the earth
Evergreen as the tempestuous sigh
As I write to thee, being unheard

The ruminations of a horse
Cry like a stallion
Ride like the wind, and run out into the wild

Running on empty fuel
Running on empty time
Fuel gone all the time

Running man
Marathon criminal
Sun’s down and the justice for all

Take a free taste
Shock the senses
A clip of trees to stop the falling and running

We are running on violence
Silence comes when everyone is peaceful
Bruised hearts fly like convocated fighters finding solace

Fire of the day
Step into the starlight
Running on empty skies, sun and moons sharing the light of the old

Changes in the water
Seems like it's a flood of fluidic thoughts of mirrored doubt
Hate ranges from learned to raucous
The breath that engages warfare
Makes people cautious

When will you break this winter
Could we be friends softly treaded the pavement
Avoiding being on speaking this cold with talk of summer
Zero summers?
Beloved, set so hard for life
Brimming on the breathless singing whims of wallowing whales
Drowning in the waves of clearer resonance
The sound is muddled, in the pool of screaming blackwater parks
Gems dissipated in the limestone
Shrouded by the faithless sorrow, reflected in the capricious courage, gilded

COVID 19
2 months it has been
All of my favourite places are closed
I cannot meet my favourite people
I cannot go to my favourite countries and destinations, even though, I don't travel I still will complain

COVID 19
I cannot meet my psychiatrist and my favourite oncologist
Although, my psychiatrist is my oncologist, because I keep saying that 'This post causes cancer.'
I miss my friends and yet feel more connected through Tinder
The malls are open, but, I complain that the shops are closed to the common man without the smartphone and a wallet to buy luxury and mammon

COVID 19
How you have opened my eyes
I have learned to support the government and talk behind their back when some of my friends bang their plates and others stay silent in vehement protest

COVID 19
You must know the meaning of farce because you have the PM chasing after super spreaders and Anti-CAA protesters just the same

COVID 19
Without you, my favourite things will never be the same again.

A writer uses his
Instruments to lay
Beatitude
To religious display

The point was made
But, the feeling of doubt
Seemed to linger

Point was made
But the feeling of doubt
Seemed longer

It's getting better
When you try
Your hands are tied
Your clothes are stuck in the sleeves
Your collar is a frock
You've just jumped through time
Either you're a cross-dresser or Thomas Edison
You must be someone
Somebody's son
Instead, you've been disowned
They have changed the approach to treating the young
How about you colour the town
You fabulous woman
Doesn't matter if you're gay or lesbian
You'll never be alone

Rope to ***** the weather, sweet sixteen dreams
The mirror tells we can have some fun in teams
I can't find my reflection anymore, searching in eloped reconnaissance streams
Lassoes in the sky, stealing cars under the starlight standing in strong dreams
Another day in paradise, looking better in paraplegic purging preteens
The electric fuzz on your face touches my standing goosebumps gleam at the ****** seams
Bumblepuppy acolyte turning at the prongs of the tattered road, calling up your Hessian friend and making politics right at the sanguineous pea-brain lean veal after the mob gets out on Russian ruby streets running with honesty
On the other side of the world, where the sun sets and polite moonrock never survive on The Berlin Wall tonight abseiling away sealed away, waiting for the ballot or the ballet
Waiting for the limelight to subside, guts tellin' me to keep my self in lowly mad hatters tied to napes, hundreds hanging by weather reports claps in laughter, descending tents by the brook beaming at us in starry dynamo of the thousands
Losing himself in a lucid dream of what was once the world's reality now sleeping, dead presidents in stygian darkness
Hanging on to the word of the weatherman, crime is rising in Russian motherless children hung for misdemeanor looking for a metaphor, the nation understands and wants to know us
Ukraine leave us from the 1990s, too late the third stone from the sun has taken three turns, we are at the trapdoor
Resurrecting the insurrection, pejorative for misnomers and draconian dead beats sibilant suss
Too bad I see the whole earth, on my body stains on laconic red flags, still fly indeed
Flying in the wind, like idiots in the weatherman's underground cuss dirt into the report sowing dead seeds
Unable to see the sun behind cold clouds in stormy weather, battered suitcases breeze by murmurs talking by-lines and stolen **** in ****** underwear ****** unable to breed
Then, the bombs falling and shifting with changeling wind charred sun under the unbeing reading in the Aurelius light
Thousands in the starry dynamo might outshine us all and the nation can't hold us back and keep us far from the fault in stars
The silver lining in the cloud, puerile virile as lady lying Glasnost to the prognostic benzedrine patient
I've never seen a can in hang in stormy weather
Charting out the Chinaman on the hydrogen shore, communism is on the brink of helium war with itself, viscerally hanging from Tomorrow's daughter
Whipping up the foamy sea like cold ice nostrums thawed in search of the antidote to warm red planets named after Roman Gods
Looks like the sea lord created a thalassocracy for the sea cursed by memos and pastiche, droll parody in the mewling hall of the rebuke of free-prose poetry hanging on the tinkering lampshade
Touch me now, never or now bullish books read the list of people who were once on this winding road just like us shining crummy ******* now in a handful of stardust
Being is tougher than living, and the berserk wind keeps changing
Under forked lightning, it gets worse when the spoon picks me up
In my wet dreams, I'm killing myself hurting to find if you can put your mind to this cornish dream of Cavendish and hashish
Stuck in the stitches, and the ******* don't drip blood and sweat it
Ukraine leave us from the 1990s, too late the third stone from the sun has taken three turns already
Murders on the mystery train, never reach the orient station looking for a whimsical refill
Halting sloth the indolent, I remember redolently like moth attracting to the blazing coruscating gleam, that's when a screaming teen becomes an upstart or a fiend
With an iridescent grin, caviling on the shore asking more from jackknifed business kitsch photos of the crosses
Throwing them in the trash, just like that
Ire of the nation broken with the lugubrious sleep of dinners after the summer's madness, hurt by the locked hearts in an armed madhouse looking at everything like geniuses
Asking what does it mean? Motifs and everything, lintels on the fluorescent signs on numinous streets caressing our wires, hanging by the piano wire
Waning adolescence now has a name in Hades' beard made of fiery pubescence that doesn't wanna listen
Tantamount to the king's orders, ligature marks on the hands that only know cuffs
The que glibly glistens in the lively dungeon
Hosted by bacchanal and mistresses, Elizabeth Bathory in the company of friendly books full of picturesque pedestrians on the streets of angry murders with ****** sleeved shirts
Blackened lackeys looking for a toss of change or pederasty with Countess Dracula
Moloch, you have made my life changeable despite skiffs
Moloch, I hang in the balance of the skirmishes of scorching fire burning at the midriffs
Easter bloc, ropes hanging for whoever doesn't wanna burn in the witch fire, sold for 200 pounds in a dilapidated home, till the berserk wind blows the candle out, old under Tudors that say a lot in a few words about style in art as slavery is merrily rampant
Killing the people, in the name of the republic of 1968 reminiscent of Phoenician Lands, rueful murmurs arouse the twisted looks turning out the traitors
From the rapidly changing wind, that brushes our hair and kills the pain of hanging to our families in bunkers
From the road of hope, I find some affliction in the forgiveness
Of my lord in whom I find breadth, heareth, endeth the breath that lendeth thy will, in the lengths of my souls searching for horizons in Old Earth
I died with my elegy in 1968, the wind still hoists flags in my name in death three years in the latter

My life had two
Roads
One for the left
And the other for your
Left
Each path felt right
Somehow

It is so strange
That I find myself
Avoiding people
For the same reason
They are drawn to me
Soon, they will understand me
Realising they never knew me at all

In between a strait
I noticed a strange man's gait
With a pointed hat and robe 'round his waist
As he walked, he feared being alone
Till some days ago, he was followed
I never looked at that man, so forlorn

The rivers whispered
House gates fluttered
I hoped a stone had turned
There would be one or two unstirred
When my heart as heavy as wet sand
Would sink when I saw his glasses or cane
Till his last footprint on the silt told me
I'd never see him again

If we had a world to us
Time would hold no innocence
As rage begets rage
Age comes after age
All our life is but an empty stage
Waiting to be filled with images
Of vanquished hearts and toiling souls
So let us break open heaven's iron gates
Striding as Apollo in his chariot
Rushing behind those players
When they feel hungry
As amorous birds of prey
Let them spread their wings
And never meet again
As players ending an act
After every page

Blizzard running into ice
Therefore I feel fire and the dimness
Showering fire in the fiery distance
Respiration fire
Fire like lizard storms

Mellow dream and classical melody
Composition and performance
Perforation and broken places
Laurels and Lutes
Sonatas and Partitas

Cruising together
These are some of
The words that leave the score, too many crushes
Can't keep count
Cruising through
Self-taught, and ignorant
I may have looked past a good heart or two
A bright face, an apple bitten in two
A half palsy person, an amicable snail
We all sail to the same shore, at different paces
Crushed, by the same love and infatuation
Indefatigable, yes?

We are fools
On our own
Because our love grows

Thinking about the dinner sleep, and milk
Bread and the tea, and some fatless skimmed milk
Some grocery lists that have no dough as flour
Or as a flower as dowry
As the blue weather, spills like the fall of the hokes and lores
Of the Hokkaido's that implore
Of the tresses of the crime, the airbrushes of the breaths
The swords live within the cuts of the picture
Mixing with the texture of the freeway, we can beat the traffic

I bet you think you hate that muzak in your ears
Three men on the run
Sgt. Pepper confirmed all your fears
All the crazy fans kept screaming his name
Jesus had stopped that all in vain
His face still remains
As the applause should now start to sear
The one only musician
Billy Shears

Well how do you sleep at night
Oh Yoko how do you stand beside
As he weeps in his derisive stride
Your luck he hasn’t beaten your pride

You better keep it in your head
You can’t compete with Shears since you sing like the dead
The folks who told us Paul had sunk like lead
John was the balloon and with a pin ***** he’d lose his head
Too bad he never told you that your art was only good in bed

Oh how do you sleep at night
Knowing that pretty Paul has died
Oh I wonder how young Julian felt tight
When you couldn’t keep the bed bugs out, right
And when John left the two
You two purist virgins didn’t even have a fight

Well if Sgt. Pepper took him by surprise
Billy had still found a way to rise
You just had to ram it in his size
When you heard Band on the Run you knew it wouldn’t fade
Imagine all the tears that had been shed
When you made those two the critics from the first left you in the shade
Since the only mistake you made was in your head

Oh how do you sleep at night
Knowing that Billy’s took your wife
I don’t mean Yoko I mean the night
But you millionaire you still fight for your own rights
Whilst after Jesus you learned to scorn at the raucous sight
Keeping peace in your heart and peace in your mind sending peace afterwards with the tide

**** and Tracy took a place
On The Hamptons, calling it home
By turns, monikers on kosher
The champagne placed around the thermometer
Keeping time with the temperate climate
I might come back to the ****** and drinks
The sundry of solutions to *** addiction and psychedelics
The *** seemed surreal when the *** was procreating half the time
Protection would have seemed better if I didn't touch strangers and lick lighters for the feudal lords
The candle's wet, make the night and the mind's made
The secular drive and ****** energy and transmutation is not plausible
With the conclusive evidence of lotharios and trollops
Puerile is really childish nature of a churlish metaphysic in the psychotic world
So get into the psyche, if you want a reprieve from tautologies impression

This isolated corner under the trees
Which is meant for strangers
From all walks of life
I've been here, collecting the leaves

Usually, I watch from the window
Today, it's raining
On a tree, a bird is singing
The rain stops to let it ring in the fields

This bird has flown
As it flutters miles, miles into the sun
Touching the skies and tip-toeing in clouds
Like hands outstretched into freedom

After every dark night
My mind is imprisoned
By its cold gates
Until I run to the fields and watch the birds

The times
I told
You
How I wanted to
Leave my home
For the better
Surroundings of the
Sound of
African horns
And drums
Harmony
Came with
The envisioning
Skins
Darkened
Under the sun
Played by the different
Men invisible
By the sun
War belonged to the Londoneers
Racism shone in their stones

Speeches of the forgiven
How can you blame a man for corruption
And being afflicted by greed
Afrodisia and perdition hasn't changed
Deep in the stick like that, and stepped out the crack
Dropping your roads and your norms and stands

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
She’s my loving me indeed
But she won’t hand me a part of the deed
She told me this in the stable
In the morn’ at four

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
I was serving dinner on the table
As she suddenly took my blackened arm
In servility I took her lustful kiss
And as expected she sent me away to the stable

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
She’s treating me like fertilizer
Only I’m not white
And out of her food I don’t get a bite
Out of her blood I don’t get a right

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
I gonna **** her
I don’t want live to die no more
I want to escape
From tilling her land
And her life shall
Go to Lucifer
To save me command
I’ll accept my title
As landowner
But I’ll still be a farmer

If you think to be poor
Makes you rich in heart
Have you ever tried dreaming streams of desserts
Laid out in trains
Have you thought about the poor man who murdered
The rich man with the bleeding lady
All of them look alive in their splendor and tombstones
Cremating acidly, acerbic jesting goes a long way out of killing
Journal says, "I'll never be poor again. Or my wife will **** me."
He  said his soul is innocent and immortal and it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse

There's a water of color
And some of them
Whisper of death, lit by the firefly