Little bees. little bees. seeb elittil. be lees. it esbe li tle.
Just math. Simple mathematics.
Simple masonry.
The ghosts **** the little bees.
Hanover. It's a city.
Massachusetts. Germany. New Hampshire.
It's just another one of those things.

For once,
there can never be enough
       filth
that will not be gone with a flick
of the wrist, and a little incantation.

Jest is not in the particle,
It is in the galaxies.

Ralf is not a man.
Leaf cries when he is ripped.
But, he will be found and noticed
By the flamenco dancers
Who reside inside
All of the rocks that might
Be outside in the pavement
As we sip mango ***** beverages.

It is the silliest of events.

Good morning.
Welcome to this holistic Universe
of pumpkin spice lattes
with "organic" soy milk.

In this indisputably beautiful
multiplication homogeneous
to unidentified living growth,
we spawn the dawning
of a new era with our own
Purple Prose.

It's neither here, nor there.

Take a step back.
        Notice It.

Smell the ripe air with both
Sweat & Smoke.
We reciprocate our feelings
      Of  
           u n s u r e n e s s
With a firm handshake
And an
avoiding eye.
Here, we have fabricated
the abundance! of our Knowledge,

while We can't figure it out.
Are We real at all?

Just let it out like a starburst.
Planes rising too close
To the edge of the atmosphere.
They're overwhelmed with beauty,
   crossing the line, just barely.
Falling back through,
   with an explosion,
      raining wisdom down.

Fear.
The reality of being small
       in the world.

God.
Fit me into this tiny hole.
Let me ball myself like cotton
              and absorb.
Let me bleed when squeezed
      like an orange in the morning.

In my car
Listening to tastes better suited to the past
Smoking cigarettes.
Inhaling thoughts desired. Exhaling
    ideas of unoriginality.

Living a priveledged life in the U.S.A.
Free if worries of **** and ******,
Belly full of carnage and illegal immigration.

Head twirling like ballerinas
Twinkling piano, followed by
Strings of mourning
Deep and somber
Reverberating lost love
       and new life
Ember glowing. Smoke.
Eyes flipped inside out
Without humor
Like the 99.9% plasmatic Universe.

Fogged windows.
Fogged false memories
   Of should haves, could haves.
Is it blasphemy?
The questions, comments, concerns
   Of you in your grave.

You're the drums in the dark clouds
                           inside,
   the waves feel when my eyes are shrouds.