There is blaring whit noise
In this room:
ITS THE SOUND
Or rather
The heavy and troubled lung of medical equipment.

It sounds like the slowest dropping,
like the TONE is permanently descending
downwards;
AS IF
Virgil were here to guide it through Hell

OUTSIDE:
Third worlds spin their wheels by
Form of generator.
Constantly blowing barley in the face,
with it's cocktail, anti-freeze breathe

Only in the man made world can the cold
Come from electric heat

THE WIND BLOWS
AND THE BUILDING SHAKES

I have not felt as if my role plays into gender, yet I neglect the idea of set standards to which 'common' 'civil' people suggest to be appropriate dinner conversation.

Humanity is a course.  The path from chaos to order and order to chaos.  Each human burns like a star, and just like the galaxy, there will be collisions.  Controlling that creates the need to have an accepted way of life.

I am not guarded, I am precise.  I give all I posses to those in need and refuse to be taken from.  Diminished.  I am not heartless, I see the way.

I feel no shame in my rugged frame, and praise the build of my character and virtue.  Determined. Every-flowing.  Like water.

You can't dilute it.  Drop ink in water, in a few moments you will not see the pigment.  Yet it lowers its quality, its ability to be consumed as a life source.

When people recklessly posses the emotions, the ability to create and destroy- View it as a gift, not an arsenal.

An immense cloud passed over our fraction of the sun and the rain fell heavy. It struck the streets.

This day, I was curling my toes around the filth.
My keeper screams at me.

And she-she stares at me.  Through a frown tacked to the corner of his bedroom mirror.

"You don't write, you whine, set that pen down."

He sits on the edge of this cushion, and the mice sleep in the stove.

He is an incredible actor.
Softly he rests around my neck,
Before rotting like an albatross,
Weighing down my neck.

He is heavy like air,
As God wishes,
I will suffer his hand.

My over textile obsession,
does not even flinch.

suddenly aid comes, again
on my finger
that big fake
gem

These walls are fairly yellow.
It is not my husband,
but some wild illness.

Oh Charlotte,
Why couldn't you meet me half way?

Shinin', burning bright
Fire light, the Bright
and Glowing Place

It is the little things
The subtle hints

When you first peered
Around the corner
Eyes shot
Write through me

Nicknames, dreams
Wondering what it means
Bury it deep
O-P-E-N

And now its flowing
Breaking the ****
Water pressure

Could write many more
The occurrence
Calming
Energizing

feeling wrecked,
when I need
direction,
connection.

raise my hands
for protection.
collapse.
ain't no such thing
as perfection

can't even touch
the weary lighthouse flame
when the shackles round my ankles
think my life is
a ******* game.