Be yourself,
Through yourself;
No other medium is quite as effective.
Profound things just bleed through me, like I'm an open casket,
and you're the sun.
I am... I need... I want....
Analyze, Analyze, ****...
Looking, I found,
Finding, I learned,
Learning, I forgot,
Forgetting, I loved,
Loving, I remembered...

From start to finish I will
forever be a dim-wit
mavrit, talkin' like I'm over-it,
singin' like a hypocrit and thinkin' like a god.

I remember the yellow that shaped me,
the 70 sheets of paper that say, "READ ME."
We all wish to be red.

The chemical dust of rain shot its soul onto the stop sign, which blew sideways from the opposite facing caravans of new thought, "The Thoughtless Carol." Caroling into the night to Ebeneezer who rejected the cold Florida moon echoing over its waters, shooting fireworks into the rainbow cured sour sky which was busy writing its suicide note, being fed up of the proses it didn't deserve. "Life is overrated." It said as it met its maker who replied, "I know what you mean..." There was a hurricane, or at least a harsh wind that scattered the hanging tree ashes around and we drove and gladly crunched over a youngly corpse and hit every deer and "dear life," which decided to look for loved and lost on the highway, "The Lost Highway." Yes I believe Hank hit the mark with that one. And the waves shook me and I awoke to a dream or maybe life and reality, if those words could ever truly be defined. The American flag whipped its tail and dipped its fresh ideas into negative pH leveled acid, corroding its stripes and bleeding the stars into a thirsty, scraggly ground which gladly ate the bits of ethnocentrism, stopping the grass from growing. Why? Because I had only twenty-some letters to choose from and these are the only words that should or could be made. The only words that ever deserved to be written. And I'm pretty sure this page is going to hang itself, because this is like the most boring poem ever and I'm a boring poet:
"A Poem's Suicide!"
"The Slit-Wrist Prose!"
"The Toaster-Bath Ode!"
"The Overdosed Elegy!"
"The Free-From-Life Free-Verse!!!!"

The animal 'neath a-thousand mirrors-----
Science~
Just a word
Life~
Just a thought
Death~
Just an absence
Jesus~
Drinks absenthe
I~
Is another
Her~
She's rubber
An' bends... bends.... bends    ,
The animal 'neath a-thousand mirrors,
Flustered on-looker, speak to me, tell
me of the signs, of your revelations,
Explain God to me
Let's convert eachother,
Flustered hair rubber.

Again, I am in front of a ghost. I remember the days when I lived in a spaceship, and there was that white rat, that beautiful white rat, whose hair was so black and whose bones were sickly. Black Jacket, Red Pants, curse-words from mother mary herself.
I wanted to draw. I miss those days. My salad days. And sometimes I fall in love with the poet and I'm aesthetic, but yet, there is beauty in a mathematician.

As a poet,
You let yourself go as a poet,
As a poet,
You let yourself go.
As a poet,
You let everyone know you're a poet.
As a poet, you let yourself go,
And then everyone knows, as a poet,
You let yourself go.

The night is blank, like venison.
John Wesley Harding held my hand through the river.
The end is nigh.
Tomorrow things will be different, things will change.
I have so much passion, it's a curse.
I'm tired of tomorrows. I'm tired of being a fool.
I don't want to be a walking shadow.
I was born a walking shadow, so I was doomed from the start.

I find myself in love with everything and nothing but confusion  to show for it.
I see myself and I am a small patch of existence. I question myself.
Why do I care about something so insignificant?
Why do I love her and hate him. I once despised strong emotion, but now I've learned to be rude and decisive.
Now, for the sake of heart, I must forget what I've learned.

I was born yesterday, it's a fact.
Running down the mountain is the green of the Earth, the metaphor of life. Pouring out itself is the wind, singing softly an echo of eternity. Rising from the sky a great pillar, and a message therein embedded presupposed perpetual motion.

There is good, and there is evil. There is life and there is death. There is creation and there is destruction.
Destruction has so much power, for everything is in constant decay, and yet, creation wins. Though people die, life wins in the end. Sure, it's optimistic, but I don't care!

I see you now...

Hair over your beautiful face, and you tell me,
without saying a word... you tell me....

Availons twain twixt thus brighte biste
Hestorienne devoureed Christe
Holloe tou tu esn't et est.

Louvre, Le Louvre ist mi.
Bootes of sootes clamour shouerin'
Flouer in heand, beautie en Maie, Marche und Aprille.
Mama et moi no us or tu terrile.

Caspidate, inspedre, endre, spedistor, fouallona, mortalivus, vieliefe.

Good God, just confess already!!
I love... Ilove... Ilive, lie, liove, lovie,
She kissed me once on my cheek, deadly and deathandmorteanddeadandlifelessandvieless and now i love her, i want... ive never loved anyone, but now i know. I'll name him Theo, because of our God complex and i love you.