migrate hibernate or tough it out
impressive smell of your ****
did you kick me when left
idk i was drunk

Where Jesus son takes up the cross

Render your heart not your clothes
Fast and wash your face before
You bring out the art and make apparent
what lives without the ability
to pay rent before you parent.

Once you hit the ground you run

2/26         9 : 3 0 A M        1 0 : 0 0 A M           1 1 : 0 0 AM
UbPn      Red Green   /  stud treatment  /   5 minute scream

joy >
Hey dud, what's up with that spike?            < Her man
joy >                                                           I payed for this.
What does that mean?                                   < Her man
                                ..., the texture of my heart... had little bumps.

Precious precosious

Oval faced and sunny
the door banging opens up
By Sunset dead, but will.

Still    
       Slide
       Stop
       Fussing
       .      .
       HOT
thighs
        EEK
              pinched
      STOP
      You Stuck?
      .       .
        like
        rot
        .    .
Wait for you

I don't remember, but
You're trying to help me
Ah-leui-n..
I started saying I'm alloween
When alone because saying ahhlownnn was too depressing.
to write it happy write this makes my poem feels soo reeeal.

We are a center of nerves as
       filaments of
       fretting pieces of gratuitous
       cruelty, absolute torture or
       insanity
                become empowered
                of a conditioned mind
                as a habit breathes

  , what is strange and unnatural
        customs build by craving for
        what fills the unfathomed
        void,
  , have by conjured up spectres,  
        half-remembered dream,
        depends upon on a fate
        as one inhales substances,
  , to expel
        their hands bathed in blood
        hug the destroyer to this
        gloom of desperate
        starvation, pain, and
        nakedness, begins to hunt
        
, to place a cathedral
   that which terrifies us in
    sleep and fall into short
    trances to take away.

Mimes handed off bombs
Detached by One eye - slowly
  tears Run down their face.

Everyone I passed was neat, well intended, loved awhile
A habit of back alleys, bored places, I did what was easy   flickering a light.
Saving...

In the desert of this space,
it is difficult to focus on anything less
than ten minutes long,
except this moment, when these two
just so happened to be sitting on the same pace.

Oh....it’s rough,
A lot of my family and friends died out there
but You understand what is number one.
you are full of small, neglected, unnoticed, beautiful places
And it’s true of people like us, forgotten people unnoticed people
we ARE really something.

There is no pressure here, no pressure to conform,
or to meet other people’s expectations,
there is a chance to search your soul,
find out what you value – who you want to be
and do that, no press to relate to.

Right now, I write.
I write, I sleep, and I eat.
I learned a lot about hygiene,
I used to be ocd,
But I’m changing.
I gave away all my possessions
But I kept two suits of clothing,
One dish, one spoon, that’s all I’m going to need.

If you’ve been rejected by family, loved ones, society,
Whatever… you can go out to these, here, deserted spaces
and by you alone, like this
well in here, I feel you...

Alive as Terra
There's Distant smoke in her eyes
So fine a way.

the spice captures
as  Cartesian thought
like dune came before the wave lays
     can I,
become just as Eve, separated
from good clay.

tremor in the sand
   combs
     my left side
lamps of an orange air.
  
We men would share a glimpse
stopped
Under the ice and
steal the water of life.

   upon my face the glacier
    needlessly points
to thy face
deep spaces
   speaks to every
   a needless wave, my name
north crevasse
  a weird word peals the way.

Adaption can save a child poem,
it is unusual, here,  and it is unusual in America for adaption;

I think it not unusual in Japan, esp. for a Haiku, parents
a poems adaption, is for those who have none;

but I think should become more unusual.

to thee
I propose again
By metronome
Tell me how has the time bent be tween us

the supercharger could disrupt my any moment,
failed up the butter plug ik
Guys Shove it into repairs that don't help the original perfect
***** of an engine.

Gives into the chase
Faints Squinting to believe your
One lie at a time

I need your ways or else you may be
   transformed into something  else.

Living without it is
   like everyday living on the Angel's edge

Duct taped wings appear when there is
    some groan beating between us.

At locks of your  hair that is quite handsome
but
The fowl smell is just pretending
The gate keeper knocks
At the palace
Goes on inside is u u us is us

Tired of the **** wind
For those who begged be taken
Back to the east
It chases around me
until my final address gives up
A naked defeat
My skin clothes are slacking together
Filled in the dirt piles neatly
   crying, slovenly speak
About the socials gone
pretty and pink bulbs
Upon my chests goodbye letter

Nuts I'm trying to get along with all people including those with whom aren't likely to ask me.
     if only if they asked me if I needed anything like them to pray or have pity.  
      if you think to be included in his hour's rosary then just ask for it
You little side hustler.

Prayers to help another- even if you don't think if you are not doing enough already.

Who walks
   by the Sea,
                     with their german
                     shepperd in tow,
                                                                                       .   .   They            
                              are few who can.

a little smile crawls up into the corners / What a happy circle it made,
I climbed into her naked mouth, and piled the leaves in.

Swim where werewolves go to change.

My Lisha,
You careless mongrel
Presses against me
Drops down the stairs
vile thinly veiled body.

I am a push over your shoulder's white cliffs
I can be gone in an instant,
but not until you untie me
How you are as no man I’ve ever believed.

Perhaps it’s just the same
    Farewell my painting.

Full moon I  wander into the yard
Undress
Because moving away from you
Obsessed the sun
Said so.

a bit confused and paused
  why it's my job,
To get rid of the mice
  chastising me to catch them

oh, !zzznap to just lay around
The kitchen floor
Staring back into that void
THEY be trippin' over catnip.

Come with who you like-
To the rotting gate,
Cold against my skin,
In the gap throbbing-
does it for you.

I did not wander about nature
Manmade was for me
The rain on green plastic Christmas trees.

how to keep somebody safe
  dazed and confused
  
down and out of it
  jumped up too late
  
forgot how it felt,
  for too long

Trace in the sky,  my red nose
Write by hydrant Spray in the sun light
Rub the name off my grave by charcoal.
Free

just sold, from the lower shelf  
this ridge, a bar no one goes,
no one knows, or your name
   whisky amber, what her folks -wagon-
tied a star to,
came with new hook-ups.

these lens ache waiting
through the rain innocently
anchors my bare feet

The green revolution turns away from
our remains of us in cremation as ashes
into water by a similar flushed process;

we go down the drain end up in a sewer
evaporate turn into a upper atmosphere;

But there's no one there, or no one here, who completes the mystery I amazingly trust no one has to known anything else.

The meaning of the story and narrative
It wants to know an answer it won't get,
dissolves freedom, liberates perfection.

wholeness is always absolute chaos, beautiful chaos. nowhere better to get to,
this is my stardust, whole time is no time.

Hand me a  pillow, to listen
not as burnt, if you can still get
a grip or suckle.

Too young to love
I supply  and don't worry

Working on all that money.
but for most the parts forsaken;
from the gold standard drew
and His new line changes
each day, closed with drumming.

Can't see before me
Color it any way for others

What Crazy
Is this The life
It takes away. I won't cry for   today and survive
Suffering
I don't cry for you and make a way to you
Christ

Paint has run out- Lost
Terrible buried in **** all hours of the night
Everyone took a day off.
and as Paint continues strike emptied frames for the last month.
There is no chance for a return to such impressionists; plein air
"open (in full) air"- *All we ****** want is a little bit of blood!

Everything is going to be found
Screamed into phones
Folded away
every crown
Tea eyes walk back
Aloha halos we threw
up into volcanoes.
Just relax your Axis.

half by your ways, half by mine, makes yours' yours'
mine, also yours' -well, you can halve it.

I am
Easy.
I'm
Trying
Not to be.
School bus menu
Gum underneath seats

I wander- in the way that you held me
to how your arms fell
than wonder if cutting across discourages
me to grow.

In the Eyesore of the moon, I was stuck
with my rocket in Alice's, escape,

the earth was just for awhile, and the moon frowned
I was stuck there in its crater

back in the past, every present moment, everyone else fled
back on earth is so tossed around
and still having more shots and blows to take.

    for a rat to race to kickin adrenilin
“a kick”  around corner of #mylife
*               * how I didn’t   ”click with you”
*               * didn’t   ”check you out”
*               * you didn’t   ”click with me”
*               * i didn’t do enough.   we went around
#through this way,
*               * this was the last thing.
*               * the last terrible thing. #famous,
*               * i was ever going to say.

This is the only life I get, and
Regretfully, I’m wasn’t in yours.


Our hearts beat but like ruffled drums;
beating before waves
who came to each day, needing just the present,
without past or future
but there the day ends and It drew its line.


In a clutch in a “click” I was
*               * a roulette game,
every day the Present said, would make me famous.

“for kicks” the last day of #mylife
*               * how I didn’t   ”click for you”
*               * didn’t   ”click”
*               * you didn’t   ”give me a kick”
*               * i didn’t do enough.   #through this way,
*               * this was the last thing.
*               * the last terrible thing. #famous,
*               * i was ever going to be.

This is the only One life and
Regretfully, it wasn’t in it to play "for kicks"
your game...

In a clutch in a “kick” I was heading into
*               * a revolving door,
every next day said, I could go, there with you
and the end of the line, God gave me aid.  He said
the line is drawn!
I was made.
    and that is what made me famous.

toward the unconditioned priceless jems
puts Them on top     of A-social rank
and You are just a napkin, for Me
I, is always a one word sentence.

who are we,
   thieves holding onto any stones we just laid,
only letting go, swiftly reach beyond the gate
to scratch the itch,
to bring creation closer.