THEY broke into my storyline:
confections served were not so slight
still i missed out on YOU at first,
that trace YOU gave of sheer remorse
put that now in you head,
sweet THING!
my guilty pleasure feels like savoring.
a palate to transpire any doubts -
a skill of tiger on the prowl

it's the plot of a mindless fling,
i care for YOU to be within
though such acting's bound with letters' dire ******,
i see YOU TWO again to have my bliss

i read YOU out,
i spell YOU!
then write YOU down
i read YOU out,
i spell YOU,
then write YOU down

it's been a while i had my click
with all the fluff i cared to think
i thought this time WE may never part,
but YOU are in the line with change of heart

it's the plot of a mindless fling,
i care for YOU to be within
though such acting's bound with letters' dire ******,
i see YOU TWO again to have my bliss

i reread YOU out,
i spell YOU!
then rewrite YOU down
i read YOU out,
i spell YOU,
then write YOU down

The simple is crafty,
It's driven by thriving,
It's cool and it's artful
Envisioning the sublime.

Allow me be simple now,
That's not outrageous.
All sorts of one substance,
All forms of dim treacheries.

A smooth olive sparkle,
Not the one with the edges
Abiding with the peeves,
Deeply drowned in dry Martinis.

Too diligent to continue
Because if a life is only simple,
It becomes completely unbearable.
Taste makes me feel all the complexity
Of it, but the simplicity is just a scale
At which I am capable to create.

This news consoles
The heck of us,
In gestures strained imprints
On hearts.
They learned a daily bite
Of stats:
Us figured, scooped,
Against and fast.

Like that of spoons
Fed to the blind
By those dictators
Who still fly.
Plots hatching plots:
them aged and trite.
Like was it news to you?
Not in the slightest.

Created me in spring
But I swallowed water
To grow anywhere from green.

In gulps of disturbia
Breathed in and out
The leap of fate that is found
In osmotically lean sciences.

They trusted to morph
My lucid moments of thrill
Into smudges of change
That evoked brushed memories
I knew I would never
Bear the pressure to recall
                               nor dwell on.

This callous decision
To move on with them is
Anything but to sound less obvious
And to erase all commas
                             as if mute anything
That is to be felt and to sense instead.

From us it virtually generates,
a vivid dictionary entry form
it mimicks.
Gets to assess/anticipate storm,
bypassing sabotage
with emulation at its core
It clicks with us.

If one were to create
this paravessel
subject to pitfalls so critical,
its snappy truths would mislead
A whole review
that's faster than a line to read.

Does it mean that
i owe you nothing,
i still may dwell
on my valuable ****** experience?

These patterns seem
an oxymoron:
Efficient yet alarming.
If one were to contemplate
so peculiar a world,
Full of next-gen era
outlandish jobs,
Be based on this extrapolation
let it not.

I carry substance,
Although disproportionately,
Which you might overuse,
misjudge, or subjugate.
They meddle with it,
the tech-savvy reptiles.
We may further copypaste
and carry no substance
other than what we had
disproportionately created.

could she be a literary pope,
signs on the pages arranged
into a Latin-like custom, out of ether
into that virtually diminishing world,
hands-on experience traded for nothing
but practice of high hopes to evolve,
making a difference that simple, effective,
measurable enough to reach.
instead could she dream of something real,
cold, sharp, plausible; stop saying to her
practise only what you preach

it's not a church therein
aching for some sanctuary
since she's on a steep *****.
with some bookish praise still echoing
high-brow bigotry far away
in messages too slow,
she knows only to be in the moment

there pages may feel shame,
money might talk loud,
augmented hands carry powers,
about to be contemporary gods.
could she be told a book is just a book?
shaking from within,
shaken to her core,
a lurking reality:
numbers of them biting the dust,
appeasing, retiring into nonsense
and whatnot,
they revel in everything

a quivering combust
from this disgrace:
in fuss speak low run fast
recover all you must
a key is now misplaced
them us them us
retaliate but never trust
the more you hate
the more to ask for
help
the more the less
alas

Clearly it's snowing
In your heart.
You wish you thawed,
Still wish you to, though.
The cold of it keeps
Glowing you up,
The smartest streak
Of such a generous
Remark is showing
The obsessive drift:
Repetitive at nothing,
Novelty at stake.
It's where you are,
Still drifting there
As though
In cycles of the dark.
I wish you knew,
Let's hope it still is not too late.

These latencies
Of mine and yours,
At an mph speed,
Can only drag so much.

Up-and-coming causes
Of committees without agencies
Of time and power,
It unfolds precariously.

It struck me that
There's no best way
To micromanage or multitask,
I cannot prioritize a world,
The common ground beneath a porcelain vase.

So, I'm here to reason
In the hapless flow and fluid blast.

Stick to whatever,
She told me.
Get it wrong, right
Or do not.
Flee to your scarier
Shelter,
One that is easy
To spot.
Drink wines
From glasses
Of doubt,
Worship your
Local canons.
Stretch them
Within and without,
Stan the unpardoned
Of lords.

Having it all
Given to you,
Acting completely
Exposed,
Trophies in pain
Excruciate you:
None of them **** you,
Suppose.

Swim in the ocean
Of rebirth with me
Resonating in
              The Stream
Of what I call
      Clear conscious.
Melody you sing to
                    On its waves
Matching its duality
Is like frustrated blur,
A hum of drastic stakes
       We are to make.
But I like you
In whatever shape
You desire
               to mold me,
Until the end of the day
I am your plasticine.
          And tomorrow,
I am as well you brick,
Your indulgence delusion,
A glass of aspirin water,
Therefore, your immutable side.

My autumn leaves a trace
of cravings.
How nice
      to watch them plonk
                their bubbly blues.
There bitter
            meets the nagging,
Namely,
Grey collides
            with crimson spleen
                      of sour overdues.
                      
I treat them all
As seasonal and timely.
It's cool to feel
      what is corrupt
        in their shallow kinds.
There nastiest are marked
between the lines of mildly
            put regrets
                  as looming shades
Of glasses oozing wine.

It all has been at least concerning
But never even eaten me
a while.
To me
     there's no such thing
                              as tables turning.
To you
    it may as well seem only
             a breath of wind.

What is your happening
...
How long is he in service
...
Where are your dearest
...
Has lost been found and returned to you?

These are the current affairs,
These are the questioning stares,
New temporary places for our woeful
Damages.

Made it again this day.
Hard time saving time
Losing grip on most sides,
Dots are needled above the "i"s,
Still make no sense of it.

They concur to this idea
Of large scale violence
As an incentive that it may arise
from fixing their dots to nobody's
Is.

And what is invention
If not the hustle to make it all
Work fine,
The doubt is it won't, but the process
makes it inspiring.

Sometimes it takes just a grinder,
uninventive but hopeful.

sleep, we sleep,
we would sleep on it
to make some of life
decisions,
like buying or not,
flying there tomorrow
or keeping still and alive,
somehow.
I know, right?
such collisions,
trying to process it first,
then to sleep on it,
but all I get is diluted
insomnia.

Your instincts are blind
But not hesitant.
I feel it walking away.
As you come
Each step has a stance
Of a period.
After you. I shall start
A new day.

Never thought of you
Thinking of
                         how
                         much
                         of
                         you
Thought of myself.

So, I walk away
Cause
           my
                 reason
                               of
                                   moving
                      ­                              is
                                     yours
                               to
                    come
          what
may.

My amber, my emerald,
Come ring me.

These unencircled fingers
In thrall with you
Stay unassumed, almost daily.

I missed you way too long!
It's when the dream lingers,
Almost the end of night,
That I may put you on
These preppy pallid
Particles,
You my vibrant petites.


You can hardly
Lay there sheltered
In the box,
Cool and amorous.

What is part of you now,
Does it solidify in silver?
Are you cast in gold?
They say, humans
Absorb them too.

But you always shine
Embracing
Everything you do.
I'd just as soon
Come to be in you.

Oh, to contain substance
So virtually fluid!
It seems many a day
I am still in search of it (of you).

Why then you dissociate
Just like that,
Or is it from my dream?
That easy to be ****** in love.

That night had as ever
The light that was all
But a burden.
The stars could
Obtusely loom bright
But that's known too well
If you long for the story:
Bear no shame to tell.
A sickness of grudge overlaps
Lest you keep it intact
Off a road to wilderness
Of thoughts to become yet
Quite yours.
It's a very own cleanse
In pursuit of a remarkable journey,
A yarn spinned
Of too yielding words.

Ars gratia artis.
That's all that he knows
About life.
Called in to restore
Demographics,
Demolish the bleak
Overnight.

Repetitive claws
Of his fashion
Set up undeniable
Scratch.
How trendy it is!
Oh, how flashy.
Impossible
To outmatch.

Recover us, please,
Mother nature.
For his is
The meanest delight.
He once used to toddle:
Now crests us
In his own unhumble stride.

Forsake it,
Leave everyone bare.
He deals us as
Master of his trade.
We are stopped at nothing,
Forsake not.
Ain't Earth living art,
A hot spot.

We're in a reality show,
Variables put on an LCD platter.
But here is the thing
With any live attraction for that matter:
It's just better
Nobody here pretends
to know
If they're being screened
or watching
or *******
or smuggling.
It's a challenge that's a freedom
Of a new democracy.
It stands for the swooping shots,
and stabbing words,
and daring brutes -
aye! aye! Come here!
Instinctually
We're tracing back the roots.

I see it has now turned back on us,
Illiterate or book-smart fools.
An unprovoked restraint,
Lurking too long,
Can only be so raw.
Like every reality, it’s not without
A remote control.

I’m shutting it down
as I can’t switch it off.
I’m coming in rounds,
Fed on good words.
I want my control back,
My illusion of bliss.
Severed head in the clouds,
hands are not typing this.