Not enough
Or was it too much?
Or maybe nothing
And then again
I will never again
Begin to love you
Half-Heartedly
So far from me
I cannot stand the sight
Of half of a fight
But rather all night
Fighting in the void
My head, annoyed
Once said, destroyed
All in space
Is my face
I can see my place
My palace
My malice
My unconditional-
universal-yet-unintentional-
Reversal of ways
The pain that stays
Is the one true truth
And not in youth
Will I ever
Forget forever
Because it doesn't matter
And this ******* doesn't flatter
This ****** poem
Or me as the Mad-Hatter
I wish
Or do I
Admonish
The why
The question
The reason
The lesion
It leaves when
It agrees, then
Bereaves  men
Who grieve because

Something forgotten
Universe unfurls
Reality cures
Reality curls
Round' my mind
Written in other languages
Of alternate insanity
Of these altered states of muddied clouded thought
Of you
Of you
Of you
Then everything exploded and I don't know but
NEITHER DO YOU!
I was there along with those demons to some
God's to others
I am the dirt you walk on and you feel me
Neath'
Your
FEET
Hole-Punch
Artigasms!
Anti-and-see-me-buckle-­straight-for-the-moon-spider
Anti-spider
Understanding and fearfully attentive
Neck separate from body
Body to the left
Neck to the right

Precipice mountain fondled the fond of fondling fountain spouting love-crusssst.

I bob this bobble-headed dead-set-on-deafening those who will or would but cannot and could not stop my pupil-dark-mind-lark sent out and over that previously spoken-of precipice of a mountain so that, and, hereby, I fly continuously into space-spacey places of radiating-planetary-beauty yet you try with futility to reach me so you never will, I am above you.

I win.

Suffer me quick
I am sick
Out of mind
Be so kind
And down here
I stare fear
Straight through to
Eternal and undo
My belated opposite

You must be careful
The journey will get dark
And you'll never reach the end

You must be brave
When you venture far
You can always get help

When you've had enough
Look around and find a light
Though sometimes it's very dim

Bouncing round' a mindless institution for the righteously sane
Play it loud
Play that **** n' blow them speakers
Explosions surround my insides with cartoon missiles and true artistry
Frame rate, corrupt
Wishful testimonial contracting embalming with a side of hot vinegar
You must not be here at this particular century
You must be here at this particular void
Touch the fire
Lick the tongue of ash-grown slash-sown fash-i-own
Whether you weather the feather or whittle a little or blow the flow it doesn't matter because I don't know
Slide the note over the note noting that the tote is on his merry way to fairy day
I scratch my neck off and pull head into the lower half of my extra escaping toe
Where am I
Where am I
Where am I

Can you see through my insane
I can't relax
And so I've chosen to be hyper
I can't be comfortable
So I burn comfort

The bellow is a random personal explanation of what I typically write.
Less than poetry, this might be more told than expressed with metaphor or symbolism.  My writing is in some ways an extension of myself, I would however love to believe that that's where any parallels could be drawn between my art and others because, at a level, I'm attempting to create something innovative yet ugly.  I should mention also, that often there is philosophical depth in many (and if not many than at least a few) of my pieces which if absent completely, is replaced with an abstract idea of beauty fighting with ugliness or ugliness fighting with beauty.

Use the time
Slow
Read...
Slow
Just how I want it right now
I love you

Cast into the glass
Sharpened tight
Make me torn
Brought back from Heaven
And what makes this good
Repetition Repetition Repetition
Spell-check
Marker scents and elephants
Porridge and the crumbs of Lucifer
Along with types of archetypes of subtitle psyches
Lucifer proud, go away oh you sinners and saints
Too many tools of thoroughly-bred rules
Glass

Hot spit
Expectorate
Decisive uselessness
Derail

Letters surrounded by black
Stroke
Colorful absence
Hours

No goal, no ambition
No soul, no ambition
No words, no ambition
No cords, no ambition
Nothing but drunkenness

Typical phrasing of society
Badness

Hacking husk ***** tusks
Tongue-twist terror-mist
Let them cry out!
They be lengthy roads, dem' tools
Horror fascination fascinating faucets
Lucky crutch ******* CLUTCH!
Limp and hobble through corridor-cobble
Hear the listening fly?
Hear the glistening try?
Watch the bright
Go bright

Creatures called "sores" hover at lightning speed across the grey earth, hence, ere is the apocalypse's eve.
Just as it always is, and the future attains enlightened poisoning which eats slowly at its being and existence.

Feelings, misplaced
Confidence, misplaced
Balance, misplaced
Senses, scattered and blown by opaque wind into small tornadoes which settle and hide in the corners and crannies of my skull

The fascinate-opal is shining above the impossible-springs where blue vegetation is next to molten rainbow cascading through, over, under, and beside digital holograms of people.
Illusory picnic in the chapel-a hollowed sheet of milk

And why then, should I not?  I am not below most and if nothing else am equal to many here with relevancy to being philosophical while writing poetry.  The two may be related and maybe it's just personal preference that I try to separate these but it's not without reason or logic.
To write philosophically shouldn't there be few guidelines?  Shouldn't thought and inquisitiveness be themselves and without metaphor and emotion?
To write poetically, isn't it more about feeling, grace, and beauty without questioning these?
I understand things change and definitions separate, disperse, die, and are born which is why I'm going to say that the two ideas of contemplation and beauty are inextricable to a certain extent and I'm open their junction.
In the end maybe I'm split on this.
Maybe it's contradictory.
Maybe I'm wrong and it's due to past circumstances that're relatable only to myself.

I am sorry today
Apologetically I say
I lament what's been the future
I rue presently
Or what is an apology
And I regret this

Sign on him
Synonyms
And magic hymns
Knapping hard skins

Brutally brutal
Utilize useless
Unfitting misplacement
Nonsensical ravings
Disgusted

This is not poetry
This simply spoken on earthen tombs
Or was it tomes
Or was that tunes
If it was then it wasn't
Because the past is the future and the present is but a thinned out pancake of a reality
Double bongo tulip termination
Implied with the finger-ly pleasure
Upon my love's blackened buttons
Drunkenness sensibility declining reeling sealing the post-operative convolution of Tarzan's missing breath
Target, TARGET, (target)
Reckless love leapin' side' a train-station tumor

The Steel Eight
Fight for him
I am him
And they aren't
And I can't
And they will
And I can
Fortitude brisk is unimportant
Much like messy-brain-muscle's curvy few
I've lost my soul
I am coal

I've got yelling, dancing, and partying gremlins inside of me next to you
They and you are good friends who flew the same coop in the same town called "Brown"
And you travel
Forever
Among the stars and the same stars' starlit bars
(Lit additionally by cars' glowing (picture-perfect) flowing headlights - growing ever-closer until all you see is the bright-side of the brightest white slighting the night's slightest, however plentiful they may be, "maybe" sins)
While yelling, dancing, and partying inside of me
Next to them

Crutches and caskets filled with coffins filled with crosses filled with crushing expectations

You are here now though I remember
You're in my dreams because you're my dream-girl

Blackness coming through the bright coming through ballooned faces coming through crowds who'd have it that angels come down and drag them into the sky

Now I'm without you though our fingers touch
I'll be someone new with someone new

Organize phase altitude decrease
Open this chest of greasy bowels
BEGIN TRANSITION!
Or fit through the acronym of anonymous anthology ridden lock
I am perfect
I am perfect
I am perfect
I am perfect

Because for every insult upon me is a cut on universal fantasy
Because for every wrong is a bad thought created for you
Because of these injustices you will burn in obscurity with me

You are pitiful
You are mediocrity
You are a molten fingernail

And I am the space between these letters
And the letters are crowds
And the sentences are people

But the sword is null
But the void is dull
But every living thing is meant to die and purpose is a particulate of dirt

Because I am the test!
I AM THE RESEARCH YOU SO DESIRE!
I am the question, the statistic, and your precious stupidity.
All of you bow to me, unconsciously.
You are that which you so hate
I am that which you so adamantly are pursuing to destroy
You will tear each other apart while I watch
And you crumble neath my fingernail
And you crumble
You crumble

To enter through
That which is of
The witch's brew?
The essence of you
Which isn't to say
That's all that you are
It's just, if I may
I'm real bizarre
You're my shining star!

Whence the red fox doth heave itself, taking flight via muscular thighs, through gates of fire it will be that blurry human figures shall be waiting beyond in slow motion while the fox jump-runs, multiplying infinitely into a gradient gray and into a branch-pattern (lightning), past them.

The fox is running and is only running and has run and will run, forever, past all.

Past time and space and reality, past you and me and our dreams and nightmares, forever running.

Time gives way to the breeze
The beautiful day
Life gives way to the moon
And forever the stars
The universe unfurl
Time will unfold
You will be there
I hope

The teacher is wrong
There is nothing to teach
There is only learn
For someone to BE a teacher
Is to imply that they know
But, there are no facts
There is no correctness
Aside from the possibility that
The teacher is correct and does know

There are facts, however
And these are they
The teaching people as a whole
Never intended for me to question
And the closest few did not teach

These closest few asked me to ask
Though not too much, as always
And I get to thinking

Question is answer
And
Answer is question

This Hole, Begin
Dug around three
Or was it ten?
This hole I can see
Right before me
Is it old, is it new
It looks sticky, like glue
Slimy-almost
Yet shiny, engrossed
With the beauty
Of rival of none
It gleamed
It glowed
Much like the sun

Drool, oh delicious drool
Spool, oh ravenous spool
Oh how these remind me of who I was, who I am, and who I'm going to be
Good stuff so far
Forever
Those lyrics, oh these lyrics excite me
But I need something faster, cue the quickness...
Untie the bonds and CUT them loose
Too bad
Too drunk
Too many people
Too many steeple
Too many seed pool
Too many TO USE AS A TOOL
One by one by one by one by one
Listen to the guitar my babe
Keep going

You must stay up tonight

Touch my universe
Touch my reality
My reality's a bubble
Pop it
Touch my everything
Touch my nothing
They're viscous
Swirl them

I want you to throw me to the fires of digital
I want you to kick me into a hole of downloads
I want you to punch me with a fist, full of beautiful status updates
I want your numbers to fall on my chest from fifteen-hundred miles away
I want computer components to crush my legs

Hereby I am
Therefore you cannot
Fore I must
Lest you be

NEEDLE!  Through the middle of a razor-edge!  Face in face out face sin face spout!  I cannot see through the masochism of honesty, corrupt the faucet and leak and drain into a towel of wet PAIN!  Holes rid themselves of fantastic-type dust! (And on the cusp of agony's grateful constitution hereby is a sitar scimitar). Unwilling to grow old into throats of bold and I am here today so what does it matter?  Cough n' clap n' clasp n' rappin' sapping my soul's voidy tounguester. Have I become throats?  Or abomination ropes?  Tungsten blow-hole deep neath the depths of water-disgust!  Rapture came along with whipping writhing throngs of toothpaste convolution tongs pulling out the wrongs and wrong doings of King Kong's rightful songs.  Randomize architecture so that a building can grow from blue dirt into the sky and spread at the top and cover the entire planet of the human-beings where there'll be forever-shade shading shaded, faded, blue.  Tuesday is a monkey banana bonanza bizarre bizarre scarring n' scaring little toothpick carrying caring creatures faring their merry way past curds and whey fields.  Acclimate to constipate and betroth-berate irritate-type tube tape.  Youthful castor plaster made from youngster disaster number: one.

It is useless
To regret
It is fruitless
So forget
Or was I supposed to remember
All of these terrible things
And all the feelings she brings
Or was I supposed to dismember
All of those terrible thoughts
Those which my heart rots

December dismember forever because I can't stand to be around you anymore (you tragic *****)
I write best when angry
Just like love's been captured behind a cold camera for a painter or a director
I will bring hate to you because these love movies - I do despise.
Quite, indubitably, henceforth, whence, this lass of gun-lances stares into my kung-fu stances like I'm the crazy one, who uses tongue and lips to expectorate upon thy tips of canister rips.
It's enough to say that I am quite wild in ways yet is no where near to...
Lays her down long' its messy bed while taking off clothes and keeping her fed. (Because I like bigger girls)

There should be a big girl anthem.

And so
I decide
To forego
The regular

I decide that
I'll do this
Instead of that
And that

Most simply
It is not
For me

I can't wait to be there
Up in the earth
Down in the sky
Out of money
Out of money
These things these people say
Are worse than what I say
A joke turns serious
As I realize you're not all too smart
I can't wait to be everywhere
I love your hate
I can't be you
You can't be me
You can't try
Like I can
You still don't get it
You never will
Go where you are
Be who you are
Know thy self!

Each letter typed with emphasis, aggression, and flowing lyricism!
Dab the towel in soaking wraith and smelly faithful hatred!
Use THE syllable CON-tract for without it we've been doomed
Bring forth the lights and sounds into living-room-reality, FULL OF STARS AND ESCAPEES!
Faster, faster, faster, faster! This is ugly poetry. Bubbling from the nostrils of the seas COMBINE!
Spurting spirit and saline souls and gaping holes all without the inclination or implication of the hereby too cute to put on television!
Rhyme now or allow the furrowing brow to narrow the growl into pinpoint anoint!
Make it stupid and lucid so to push it through the suffering new and deadly few!
Terrible practice of sense un-make ill-conceived fake words aren't my specialty.
OR!
ARE!
THEEEEYYYY!

Quiet now, no sound, just gentle music, jazzy yet ex-peri-mental.
Words in formal lines marching to their next food product.

A-GAAAIIIINNNNNN! I hear the crash of cymbals in my ears and erratic guitar noises and collectively profound inspiration.

Oh, right, where have I gone?

Now, now, now, now, now, now, now!
Terrible!
You can do better
You can always do better
Yet always can't never
Suckin' on a sliver in the tool-shed-deluxe, AND I've GROWN depressed again
Sept' NOT cause' I tend to tenderize dem' words!  Badly written, this mind un-fittin' for deez words I'm sittin'! Red marks, red marks n' squiggle 'neath my stupid words a lot like me and my arms n' body!  I am incorrectly myself far too often to see truly true pieces beyond the sky's fragility be she man nor woman yet the classically pronounced hermaphrodit-E!  I stink and smell like rotting hell except worse due to too many twos or were they duos throwing in the towel... foul.
I am
I
Am
The walking stench of literal intention and the walking stench of the hands of death (clench).
Broken staff is my forgotten word thus I AM ZERO-MARK
Not the nor a or an, but and is to I am as a universe as a point of hallucination

Particulate disintegrate berate and inflate the absence of sense or packed, harden, racked, garden.
I see clearly when my eyes arise through the atmosphere's tears' arrangement of derangement of eminent containment in hell-house entertainment.
Luck, ****, and **** have in common, many things limited to their convalescence in my head for lack of a better working word.
I can't write right now.