I am the sea. I am the clouds.  And the dirt you carry within your dreams.  i am the pain.  i taste the blood.  Even though it’s 2 o’clock in the mourning and time to go home.  To the nothings and the peculiars of an emptiest life.
   i am the child who once painted lipstick
on a pet / the grimmest hour I stood alone /  i wanted to die / and now i’ve grown up without the hope of a warmer house I could call my life ||
i am the tea.  i am the cup.  Of no particular taste and i want to throw up / and it’s always the last one who calls me hon / you should get a better life. |||

:: 09-06-2018 ::

My sweetest Evening!
You are always welcomed.  
An entrance into my calmest moments.  
Your embrace / a long lost lover / but a  day since we made love
my dearest repriev’er
of harsh afternoons
and hungriest louder mornings.  
  Come.  Tell me how the world shall sleep.  
as when kittens cry for milk.
The purr-dreaming as rumbling
rails of clickety-clacking travelers
from unknown countries.    Dressed for each season.  A boldest boutique unsurpassed by circumstance.  My sweetest Evening kissing me!

:: 09-06-2018 ::

Thimble and needle hear
my words

you're too busy these days
to love

I've followed you through
and through

the toughest patches of life
and now my thread

has grown too thin
and we'll never survive
never survive never survive
the stitching of our hearts

Paper, rock and scissors
needles, pins and threader

rulers of horror measure
the terror of my nightmare

as I watch the needle
of your busy work pierce
the tissue of my heart

I'll never survive

never survive the sowing
of the madness
              that's your mind

:: 04-21-2018 ::

My soul is lost upon ice-blue
crevasses so deeply!

Help me my blue elephant
that lettuce is brave
like electrons always saying hello
and never goodbyes!

Then slip on lice and break arms;
it's all so SCHIZOPHRENIC:
tangentiality! Stilted speech
and phonemic paraphasia are mainly
broken-minded poets

who use both sides of a pencil
-+95% of black eyes **** 5% of rabbits
and the bird whistles in Japaneses:
"sei shin bun retsu byo"
(mind split disease) where logic and
proportion falls between the King
& Queen  AND ALL ANGELS go to 7-Eleven
in their heavenly garments to buy

hot dogs and slur-pees and writing
is a socially acceptable form of
schizophrenia...hmm.

Such is the paradox of delusion
and how are you?  When you walk down
a sidewalk to the abuse of verbally
abusive birds chirping loudly how
dull and stupid you are. So you move into
a homeless shelter and make new friends!

:: 10242015 ::
Rev: 03102018

MoMA i cannot give my children
    away ||| the walls are lonely

crucifixes -- flatSURFACES making
tears  |/and\| resurgence of
ways i have died. ' Simply ' is
no word that exists in this

universe, dear. And infinity are
spaces between whole numbers;
  ONE s t retched in2 a hope
of reaching outside the caveBONED

life of souls my dear.  We only
have each other and my heart
aches i cannot feel any longer
than this:

             *

i love you, too.

:: 07-01-2018 ::

because of truth i am sure
as when viburnum blooms
each spring assured

my love is there
my love is there

of what hearts procure
not by menial task
or frivolous chance

but of hope, faith,
audacity and strength-
life's quadrature

:: 09-05-2018 ::

A new day. When i buried you.
i found love within me by
the warmest touch Of my heart
i have grown. By the things
over ‘there’ there now.

AND Largest walls hide
hammered nails so lost.

A new shape from the deepest
inkwell || well now ||
we are on our own.

And Poets never grow up

WE GROW BIG ROOMS.

:: 07-10-2018 ::