night goes on
goes on
and wh oare we
to say what is what
not us
we aren't
much of anyhitng
but a bit of spunchen
right that
just waiting for the night
to go on
and on
into oblivion
like ****
the night goes on
and on
and then
we realize our lives
and we say
that's what's up
because we can't say much else
except to wamp
and belive in tomorrow
because what else
provides such hope
as finding a new day every day

as bob dylan said:
let freedom ring,
ring like a tree in the fall
crisp and burnt
until cold
echoing on sidewalk
call it a morning of sorts,
the kind where everything feels right
with your soul
and it melts into the physical world
much like descartes may have liked
or contested
but also much like I would like
to do at times,
become a part of everything
not just a something
maintain a sense of identity
within the whole scheme
of all that is,
will be hard
but really
freedom is like water,
necessary and occasionally attainable
if looking in the right places
but impossible to capture
in hands-
too physical
for such needs,
water and freedom,
representative
of a concept so simple
yet not fully understood

Go away:
I'm trying to ignore you,
be aloof
oh so desirable
and I can't do that
if you see me
seeing you
because who would want
something
so vulnerable?
You would?
Well
in that case
I would rather be
alone
and proud to be in such a state
than to get all worked up
because you may
get silly butterflies
when you are with
another girl.
You know who I am
or at least you think you know
and you like what you think
because it's what you want
and that's me-
not them,
they aren't the same,
they're boring
bad on the outside
good on the inside
but who wants that-
not you
not me
and I don't want you
if you're going to be
so whole
without my approval.

He says he wants to travel the world
with me, of course
and I say
I think that's one hell of an idea
you got there
in your head
which I think is pretty **** great
acceptable in my eyes
I think about you
more than you'd like to think about
and I just want you to know
although I'm not good enough
(trust me)
I want to be,
want to be yours
in the sort of way
that allows for sweet walks
romancing talks
want to hold your hand
and just do ****
like read books
and nap
and go groccery shopping;
I want to do anything with you
because with you
it all becomes
infinitely more worth doing.

Swiftly like the night
or some **** like that
he ran
into the dark, like a proverbial Kenyan
he jumped
over trees
and swam
in the dirt
like a beautiful sea creature in murky depths
drank in the worms
all wriggling and fleshy
lunch
to a man by any other name
who wouldn't smell as sweet
he was hideous
like a jack o lantern
thrown off of a roof
of a 50 story ugly-person hotel:
vaccancy if your face has broken a camera lens-
he likes
eating roots and shoots
and tell him otherwise
and he'll chop your limbs off
and his name
I don't know
he's too perfectly abstract for such normalities
we'll just call him
morality

Little lively lovelies
Sitting in a tree
What do you see?
Does the planet look so different
Ten feet higher?
I can get up there,
Conspire, desire
Want to be
In the trees
Where the beautiful things
Open their beautiful wings
And don’t even fall
When they jump for joy
But live in the sky
Like wonderful moving paintings
Of color and form
Just a swarm
Of frenzy in a new degree.

Is there a doctor in the house?
I think I'm having southern withdrawl symptoms
shakes and such
brain a blubbering mess
why give one so much feeling
if they can't get rid of it healthily?
Too much for one body to handle
maybe throw in another personality
nothing bad ever happend
just a technical problem during manufacturing
a wire connected wrong
or not connected at all
amygdala super sensitive
looking for comfort in wrong places
stupid faces
blazing aces
therapists are kind but really need a map
words only convey so much
can't help if they can't understand
whose fault is that?
Probably the broken robot
me
doesn't speak in proper vernacular
accustomed to being freakish and safe
greasing joints with *****
circuit boards of tofu scramble
electric feed back every once in a while
when I cough
perhaps new meds will calm overactive internal reactions
or maybe being all vulnerable to candy hearted young men
spilling secrets and insecurities to friends
but they'll all leave
right?
Europeans had no problem taking over lands
staying with natives
eating their foods
but if the natives had shared their deepest secrets and feelings
pilgrims would have gladly returned home for persecution
than to put up with an emotional Squanto.

Mind a steel trap
stealing thoughts and memories
cars and high chairs
the Shang Dynasty of "The" great wall
never once said
"What if I can't?"
they only said *****, please
let's build a wall to the moon
Nepal wanted to join in on the fun
captured children like Hansel and Gretel
fed them their own feces they puked for weeks
no candy here
just cold hard abs
rippling
like the ocean
tye-dyed head stones
skipping graves rather gravely
could you spare some change?
Nah man just some odors
re-ordering from Fed-Ex
exponential increase of refraction
reaction
all base
tickle me Elmo
and give me strength.

Profound profanity, he says, is the key to germination.
But why, I say, would one ever want to procreate?
For the experience, he says, which is about the journey and not the destination.
I can understand this,
it's like riding a bike
a stationary bike
that goes nowhere but see, you're going! Going and going.
I do see
and so does he
so what do we do?
Not a whole lot, just sit and talk of trains and temperature and how pirates walk.
He likes to do litmus tests of our saliva and hang them in the windows for all to see
that we are not acidic, but  on acid, and sometimes a bit base in nature,
like the trees and the crysanthimums and corinthian columns in Greece.
We traveled to Greece, once, on our stationary bike
it was beautiful and real and there was much salt in the air-
they grow olives and fish in the trees
and their water is just teeming with rust.
We put our rust on buttered toast like cinnamon and munched at the oxidized metal,
crunching like captains and cheesin like goats
just a random bunch of fools with our silver and tenticals and suction cups of steel.
We are like robots, fighting crime and boredom with music and shrugs
because frankly my dear we don't give a ram or an aries or any other kind of anything.
We simply do not
because we will not, and refuse, above all else, to sleep without a star in the sky.

Just a little prankster,
what harm can fire do?
Burning like a mountain top
must have the avian flu.
Why do'st thou sigh so loudly,
in streets to clear and broad
why do you hate the anglewoods
whose math is great and odd?
Oh jeezy miss Givens
whatever will they say
when they find out all the naughtiness
discovered on rainy days?
Wet and grey like mutt-pups
soggy like the news,
however can I cry
if she won't sing the blues?

Voila!
A beautiful ******.
Watch the delicate movements;
the serenity of spirit,
the feminine grace in her gait.
She raises a glass of water to her thirsty head,
crystal coolness against youthful lips,
curious tongue.
Vital and charming, she eludes all hunters.
She outsmarts and outruns the vikings who wish
to steal her mojo, her soul.
They want to skin her,
to feel her pelt against bare, sweaty flesh;
they want to mount and stuff her
full of formaldehyde and polyester batting from Wal-Mart.
They want to lock this majestic, innocent creature
in a cell
without padding, only harsh, cold bars
and stare at her nakedness with crooked grins on grimey faces
and **** her of her will to be whole.
Even worse:
they want to love her,
to hold this creature's hands
and write intense poetry of devotion.
These lunatics want to love this poor, hideous beast
who does not want the attention.
She is a monster,
a ******* abbhorred abomination of existence,
and they wish to court her like a little lady.
Pristine. Pure.
But they are only seeing a siren, a mythical form
better left to starve on the jagged rocks of eternity
than to be admired and held in soothing arms.

Legggoo
and you know
you know
I got that good good
and you want it
see
and you need it
and it's wonderful
not going to lie
just going to be honest
and I don't know why you're being so coy
I mean ****
just tell me what you want
and I'll tell you if it's accceptable
just don't go and be dumb
with other girls
if you think
you think I'm worth something
because you aren't even that hot
for real
I know you are ****
but I need answers
and I need boys
so don't be oblivious
and don't waste my time
let's just be honest
so we can move on
cuz all I want
is to feel good

What a cluster-
sometimes you wonder
when things happen
if it was on purpose
or why you can't control the resulting emotions
like why you care
or why your tummy feels like a small ball of copper has been given a shock of electricity
just why
and might I add
who cares?

That's a load of lovely luckies
frolicking in meadows
flowers of sun melting mosquitoes and lady bugs-
don't mind except during pollenation season
need to reproduce
hard when you're dead
then you're decomposed
wouldn't propose any other way,
weighing pros and cons
coming up with brainy storms
thundering and enlightening as they may be
smell like lavender after wards
and the rainbows criss cross the atmosphere
like roads for the birds and airplanes
leading the way to another way
another then another
all together now:
synergy.

Mainly
I think it's silly
to walk on the ground
when there's a perfectly good sky
just across the way
and it's floor is softer
thinner
if you fall
you don't collapse
or break
you become
better

Confounded by the notion-
tough calls made by high hitters
holy rollers
pushing perps towards methods
needles and thread
heart of lead
logs split the stems of the reasons,
sob stories, trust issues
daddy problems
it's all the same
to some
the proletariat
guilty and prestigious
what a winning combo
lacked freeness, full of this knowledge
can't write worth a ****
**** poor,
not anymore
since passion was absorbed
a dried up, muddy ******
spring is coming! spring is coming!
One if by land
you if by me.

Stretchy sticky tape can be used for plenty
like preventing loose lips from spilling secret information
make 'em taste adhesive next time they lick crackly mouths
serve as a reminder of the importance of person-person confidentiality.
Some just can't keep a good story in their head
which is why they shout
and beg for the forgiveness of their unpopular ways
I love all these outcasts
because I feel I should, as do many others
they want to feel like good people
holy
and sometimes you find
you do enjoy the company of the strange
and I find
that I thrive on absurdity and being a ******
because it's exhausting to try to be normal
so you just act a fool and laugh
because you love to read about politics and physics
and you still enjoy
being un-sober
though it isn't apparent to all because you aren't so obvious
(except now)
and you know roughly who you are
at least have some ideas as to who you aren't,
you aren't a princess or an athlete,
you're not valedictorian, not perfect
just a humble little ****** with birds for brains
flying out of your ears
a whole flock of 'em
chirping away eating worms
early in the morn'
just insane in the dark.

don't even know
can't
too soon
but maybe....
all is well
or acceptable
it's alright
for now
for later
not so bad
when things fall
together, apart
inevitables taking care of themselves
cells having souls
that's the goal
of all of us who'd like to believe
that cities are simply breathing rocks

Jimmy Beans were strewn in the fields like fire crackers
out from the waxy hulls
sprouted miniscule Bizarrities
(which is a word because it was their names).
The Bizarrities were kind, they enjoyed playing pan flutes
and had a nifty knack of flipping silver coins so that they consistantly landed on heads.
They cried when picked in the Spring-a-ling,
but after a day or two adjusted to life outside the vines
and took up anthropology, or archaeology.
A few opened their own dental practice and picked the little green teeth of fellow Bizarrities.
One day, to-day,
a Honey Tree was swimming along when it came to a Bizarritie.
"Hello kind Bizarritie, won't you play a song for me?"
The green Bizarritie laughed in false glee and said
"My dear sweet Honey Tree, thou art positiv-ity
the reason why I left the ground
and moved to Bizarritie-town."
The Honey Tree, baffled and distraught, contemplated the feelings he thought.
It was on that day, bright and dreary, that the Honey Tree grew ever weary
of the merchants on streets and artists and skeets
and the reasons why
not all assumptions die.

May I just say
That you are more lovely
More imaginative
Than any I have ever experienced;
You put the D in my Day
The smile on my laugh
Make me feel all kinds of silly
As if falling
Down a wonderful hole
And I keep falling and falling
And just when I think I’ve reached some sort of destination
You appear
And the journey continues
And we fall together
Because nobody else is around,
It’s just me and you
And our tumbles of ridiculous words
Not knowing which way is up
But it’s ok
Because as long as you’re by my side
Touching my fingers
Breathing the same existence
I know it’s ok to be me and to be us
And to be
And it’s beautiful,
Knowing you’re in this world
Walking its planes, seeing its glory
And it makes my ribs feel like they’re expanding with all of the sun’s light,
Stars in your mouth
And it’s alright
To lose time and money and energy
Because with you
All is found.

I wish I could call you a regret
because then at least we tried.

I wish I could say you were selfish in bed
because then at least I would have felt your sheets on my skin.

I wish I could say you stopped being romantic
because then that would mean you were at some time,
and
I wish I could just find another guy to obsess over
because then
I might take a chance

nevertheless
can't help but remember
what happend that day-
not so fun, huh?
not a proud moment in any of those 24 hours,
just nostalgic
destruction
wanting to go anywhere
to not think about there
here
and now and again
I return to those moments
not to reflect per se
but to induce vomitting-
not so fun
being compared to undesirables,
and yet
so fitting
in a way
or five hundred,
it's you.

We don't know we're young
which is a shame
because we would take things less seriously
live the lives
that others would want to experience vicariously
we would stop pretending
to have self respect;
we haven't earned it yet,
too busy
trying to impress others
"friends"
when really
they don't care,
just want us
to make the calls
so they don't look out of place-
if we knew we were young
we would embrace every breath
knowing that it is as clear and pure as it will ever be
that it won't get better
our bodies are in their best condition
top knotch
they want to be appreciated by other bodies
and should be
but not when they're too close for comfort
and even then
most of all
learning that we are young
that we are getting old
makes the cringes all the more worthwhile

I would be woven into your sheets
a necessary fixture in the framework of your box spring
tangled in a mess of us
we would pass our moments sharing a breath
a shudder
the most aggressive acts of tenderness
we use words and lips and hands and ourselves
to perform otherworldly kinds of magic
the kinds that make you laugh and cry and scream with joy
we'll kiss till our mouths become blurred,
impossible to tell whose belong to which half of us
all the same
loving until
the barrier between individuals has been demolished for certain
and certainly, we won't mind
be a relief
caved in, paved in
until one last moment of clarity
and the city of which we had worked so hard to build
has come crashing down in one last passionate upheaval

His eyes do not register my being
but his mind is buzzing with my existence
I can tell
by the way he stares, stressed, forced into the distance with attention emphasized on peripheral vision.
Oh, I am right here
and he knows this
he is all too aware that I am wearing the pretty blue skirt today,
that the other young men are paying million dollar compliments
that are deposited into our little bank of wins and losses of humility,
one stab at his ego,
one illuminated point on the score board for my courage.
He pretends not to hear
my laugh
when his jaw tenses and he refuses to join this plane of energy
but rather pretends that he is in a dark, sound-proof cell
where he belongs
where I do not want him
because I get a sick little thrill,
a lurch in the sadistic region of my brain
to see him struggle so,
to witness a weakness in his steel, tough exterior.
You have a heart
and it is beautiful.
I want to share this sensitivity
but if you are incapable,
I would like to get a torturous, self-inflicted pleasure
at your lack of interest;
One deep, throbbing dagger in my tender, juicy heart
slow and painful
all for you, my dear.

Smiled until toothless
then was never jolly again
the little kitty had fleas for brains
itchy in all the plausible places
drove to the market for some milk
came home with a tom cat
soon there were little kitties
with lots of love and lots of neglect
they fought and played and drooled and mewed
went to cat school
on vacations they went camping
in the mountains all was well
couldn't distinguish
day from evening
one person too far
enough rocks for the mittens

So what will I do
with a stupid little boy
who won't just think I'm great
when all I want
is to hold his hand?
He should know better,
that I don't just fall for just any old male,
may be attracted,
may even think they're cool,
want to do naughty things,
but to actually feel
that's a new one-
maybe he knows
that my heart feels like a pathetic mess
and gets embarrassingly excited when we speak,
maybe he is fully aware
of the effect he has on me,
how I want him to be happy,
want him to be near
want to sleep beside him
maybe I'm just getting a little ahead of myself,
maybe I only like his kind words and attention
and really
we would not work together at all-
but I don't care,
it feels too good to not want to pursue,
just wish I knew
and that it didn't matter
because there's millions of boys
some probably even better
but for right now
I'm trapped on this one
picking myself apart
hoping for some miracle moment
where he shows up with flowers
and some deep poetry ****
and I can be
like a little girl from the tv
beautiful and perfect
and the sun will set more beautifully than ever before.

Cigarettes have more than smells
feelings, really
make one's head fill up, get bigger
remember
that day, when you came home from ballet
you were 6 and one half and 4 days
and your daddy was smoking a cigarette,
told you what a pretty little lady you were
a small woman
but you weren't
you weren't a woman
just a little girl
wanted to be a ballerina
but daddy wanted you to be an adult,
gave no choice
you can forget the car,
the moments the sounds
the feelings of fear and pain
but that smell,
the sickening breath of smoke
the head full of it and screams
a sweet little reminder.

kinda cool,
everything
not too shabby at all
maybe it's perfect
this whole whatever we all are
and nothing is truly awful
but unfortunate, at times
and pretty **** alright the rest
oh yeah
not horrible
simple really, if one can breathe
occassionally sleep
or not
too much greatness to observe
swerve the baysides
collect some efforts and shears
become air statues and memorials of testimonials of primative genius
mmhmm
downright loverly
splendid shining on
cathartic rhythms

*******
think yer mighty fine
with your big ole bugged out eyes
you all scruffly and *****
like a home doesnt have you
nobody does
youre all you
all yours
no chores
youre probably high
drinking the day away
eating tabs like they have substantial nutritional value
and its kinda ****
the way you look like a mangy dog
could bite and bark
but youd rather snuggle
be sweet
could snap
any moment
couldnt support the weight of the world
with your little arms
but youre you
so you
and its me
you should become accustomed to

So you think I'm cool, huh?
Witty.
Lovely.
What gives you the right to form those opinions?
Who are you to enjoy my presence?
If you really knew my desires,
my thoughts,
you'd know I'd rather be left alone.
Actually,
I'd rather be mauled by rabid tigers
than see the appreciation on your face
or to hear you laugh at my words.
They are not for you,
none of it is.
You can be mine
if you wish,
but I can never be yours;
I would cease to be myself.
I'd be smothered and sweaty,
and really,
I just want to drive as far away in the opposite direction
windows down
hair slicing my face
until you no longer exist.

Tea that was once imaginary in the *** is tilted into her gilded, delicate cup.
Thin, like a butterfly's wing, the handle will crumble if  pressure is applied.
"Thank you," she whispers like a lovely little lady to her host, a giant stuffed rabbit.
He is missing a button eye and fluff is foaming out of one of his ear holes.
He nods, and rips a stitch turning away to greet another guest. Her eyes widen.
Fast forward to tye dye and LSD. She is in the mud, covered in rain and ****** fluids,
in a crowd of strangers-turned soul mates, swaying in the vibrations of guitar strings,
thumping palms and fists against rapidly disappearing ground that is no longer solid,
but liquid, Earth, and soon it will all errode until the molten metal core is revealed
and then
all will be one.
Rewind a few lifetimes, pause.
Others are watching from outside a glass cage.
She is inside, curious, observing the observers though aware of  why they stare.
She has a growth on her shoulder, a cyst the size of a sister,
a mini sibling not fully right or grown.
She is a freak for these onlookers, it is her job, duty and fate.
They laugh and grimace as a spot light focuses on her form(s).
She feels numb to the gaiety and exploitation, absent from the popcorn grins
and sticky cotton candy fingers leaving blue prints on her window looking in, so  she can not look out.
Record,
her children all know the moments of her past, the past she never can remember because it wasn't fully her,
but they feel it, in their hair, and their nails and their dreams
that their are their mother's problem.

I think I think of things
in a way that alters not their reality
but my own true ways of being happy around them.
I think that I think
so much
that the world around me warps into a nightmare
filled with people
the dreaded people
making me interact
talk
have feelings
my thoughts make them monsters
who want either to hurt me
or wish that I would disappear altogether
but mostly
I think my thoughts can be tamed
with a little courage from my cowardly lion soul
I can be
dare I say it
content

Now
what can happen
except ab-solute-ly anything?
Could maybe fly,
maybe see a coyote in the wild
stumble upon love
or make lust with a faceless nobody
who can be a somebody
for a while-
could camp out in a tree fort
for life
eat the continent of Africa,
it's well-seasoned,
could swim to Atlantis,
meet the emperor penguin of the Arctic
love it
become a hunter
leap from an aeroplane
tattoo purple ink all over my skin
then rip it off
only muscles
for climbing mountains-
can do anything
but what will I do
after all?

Dahling you tease
you can't possibly be so innocent,
can you?
Those green eyes and lavish locks
oh girl you must have a closet full of rotting corpses,
wrought iron skeletons,
but no?
You don't put out?
You don't go down on the first date?
You don't even kiss?
Well little lady
I don't know whether to pity or help you
and your clean little ******
I bet their white, right?
You say you are only waiting,
only respecting yourself,
or are you afraid?
Too perfect to make a mistake with the wrong boy,
get a bad grade,
a blemish for not removing make up at night
let alone spend one with a male,
all sweaty and attractive, he probably has a tattoo
never been to church in years
but that turns you on right?
Maybe you should loosen up your chastity belt a bit
let the blood flow between your legs
let the possibilities of torrential disaster enter and intrigue,
but you can't do that
can you
control freak?
Can't be happy
only antiseptic and old
counting down the days until retirement
so you can look back and say
**** I never knew fun.

All-new
****** lands
(except for the natives)
dying to be properly deflowered and nailed and ******* and erroded
to make way for gun forts and gold mines
(they can be built!)
they're called Zale's and they love money
funny, not to all but to enough
call them crazy call them savage
but maybe they just love their homes
and don't own the kinds of weapons that make the loudest noise
but that **** the slowest and with least dignity.
Color-me a Cosmo girl
fit to be cover material, just look at my hair
look at Pocahontas, you know she was bald?
Hideous, un-English in every way
probably because she wasn't
but gotta give credite where credit is rejected, overdrawn
maybe never even earned just splurged and secreted
but wanna hear a secret?
The land belongs to nobody
not a soul not a body not a mind
they knew this but knew others were destroying it
that's why they were mad,
not because they were children who had their toys stolen
but because a living lifeless matter was being assaulted
catapulted into the future of steam engines and fried chicken
feathers blowing in the winds of convertables
they took scalps to maybe open the minds to the error of ways
not that one's head should be disassembled
but one can't seem so oblivious or wide eyed when shown the  facts
of obvious emotional response
but we are young
dinosaurs were old and we have time to forget.

Ciao baby, preggo
that means let's smooch under romantic balconies
and make lovely thick-haired multi-cultural children
I want a big ole belly of wine drinking zygotes
feta crumble eye *****
real live sculptures in my palace
jaggedy rocks with blood streams
trickling into the ocean
salty and brine like sewer sludge
let's go for a swim
could be amazing, or beautiful
most likely exciting at least
light bulb moment: I want to hear yours first
you're so dang brilliant like cerulean skies
fake but still pretty
tell me your story
teach me your lingo language
sil-vous plait?
Non?
Well fine, you're verbally redundant anyway
thoughts made of unsettling murky waters
no light can penetrate
and sweetie neither can you
not now
I'm 20,000 leagues too deep for your puddle of a conscience.

Yessir I have felonies
and melodies both melancholy and miraculous
paragraphiculous and ridiculous
stole some shows and some thunder
thighs like two day old pudding slap 'em and ride the waves
sike
drink up some dishwasher detergent chased with lead paint
not for the faint of heart just the stupid as ffffffffuuuuuu when under the right noises
and boyses and girlies all singing their swirlies
and twirlin' 'round like pinwheels of tin steel
ten feet off of the ground
hillsides like pill boxes full of coins and coincidences
unmeasured instances of grief and shame without a blame
no face to force hate just mirrors to show fate
and the stars in the sky with their winking teasing ways all
fall to the ground
will be dead within days
but they are not forsaken, maybe only spared
to avoid seeing the moment when sunny didn't share
and all went dark like absence of creation
animation of fears all mixed and respun into dope dubstep
to be grinded and mashed
and spat back up into the trees

She liked Jim's Jam
so sweet and thick
it was like little lumps of heaven
on top of toast
or scones
warm and crispy
like logs in a fire
newts on a fume
charred and musky
she liked a lot about Jim-
his smile, his laugh
but not his sads
so really
she didn't like Jim
not all of him
but enough for some happies
yummy Jam
fires and smoke
hair like a wolf

How soon is too soon
to dance under the moon
stars for angels
your eyes the reason to smile
or are they the reason for all the positives ever?
Quitely so
I like you a lot
more than you realize,
and not so much you-
your role in this physical 3D world
or even your actions, words
but mostly just the sum total
of all you have been, are becoming
the energy you unknowingly give me
an essence I suppose
of someone greater than man
aand yes you are one
a **** fine specimen to be exact
but it's as if I am subliminally attracted
to your very existence
on a level that makes me believe in a God
in beautiful souls,
yours being the most divine
and I can feel it
the moment it enters a room
near or far
anywhere in the world
I know that you Are,
your physical self holding all that is You
and every second is made more perfect, serene
because you are gracing this world
with your being that is so right
I am willing, no grateful for the chance
to be vulnerable to such a person,
bow in your presence,
feel all you are
and to offer up all I have
to make you happy, prove my worth
and in the moments we are together
I can assure you
all the atoms in my body freeze,
my heart becomes still
for you have such a calming affect
that all I can do is smile
and hope to all that is in the universe
that I may somehow give you
as much happiness
as you selflessly give me.

Well mercy mercy me
merci
pour le vine
c'est tres.....dry
however you look a little more lovely now
call it alcohol inhancement or stupidity or lack of judgement
just call me
and tell me about yer day
what are you wearing?
Sweatpants? Hot.
He one time said he likes to write
I took that to mean "We're soulmates"
but apparently it just meant he was *****
but so was I
it worked out,
a mutualistic relationship
he collected my pollen and tickled my pistil until nectar oozed,
licked my petals
picked my leaves, it was a fun spring
then summer came and dried up all of the birds
they didn't fly away home
ever they just sat in trees and watched the clouds go by
lazy birds lost their drive to destroy
so they relaxed and hoped for a tomorrow
maybe a next week who knows
give it some time and all is good
all is well and swell and fan-tastic
and many people are stoners.

No problems, just theories
and excuses both lame and creative
extravagance in rare form,
perfect, really
if you wish to boil down the exteriors and denature the proteins
fleshy and energized, totally organic
like a Tropicana Sunday
complete with yellow Voltswagons and STDs.
Why speak of such things?
Shock value isn't worth much,
just a fist in the ***
if that's what you're into
and even if you're not
(especially if you're not)
because then you can't appreciate a good smack when it's deserved
and you begin to feel lonely
like a kid who can do no wrong
so never enjoyed the beauty of time out
only the isolation of magnets on the refridgerator,
domesticity a promise but not an end
only the beginning, a cycle of strife that is fully necessary and advantageous
when placed on the plates of the right eating bunch,
and goodness it's a lovely night
because the stars are still shaped like those homely spoons and beasts
and all the world's at the feet of the manor's Lords and Ladies
such wonderfully pitiful people
though can't blame them for much
only for being so flea- bitten and haughty
when the serfs are just as alive.

There are instances of my brain exploding into millions of rubbery blobs of mush.
Sometimes my mind leaks through miniscule cracks in my skull
caused by incredulousness, or intensity,
or a milisecond of  thought that traveled far too close to the realm of insanity.
Blessed be he who can not think, for he can not feel frustrated.
He will not try, or object to the rules of laws of that which is taken for granted,
claimed to be known as fact
even though we all can see it's *******.
Once, I even died a little bit, seeing a bird floating in the sky,
because it was just too magnificent and startling a phenomenon to be handled lightly:
these miracles of nature that don't require formal lessons or user manuals printed in multiple languages.
Blow my mind, **** it real good and share a cig afterwards.
My cranium can handle enough
but not all
and it prefers the experience
of profound enlightenment.

Just too eager
easy, wanting attention
affection, direction
the comes and the goes
love me ******
fawn
call me gorgeous
if you mean it
and even if you don't
I get off on knowing desire
desire it
desire me
lustycravings
instability
balancing on air
falling into temptation
don't deliver me from evil
want to get there ASAP
if it calls me pretty.

Paws and reflect
we're all good little kids
in bleachers, listening patiently,
allowing nonsense to continue
then the trees fell
things got out of hand
kids became adults with super strength
lifted the floors up
threw chainsaws into crowds
yessir
they grew up that day
that hour
and nobody pitied the inhanced
only wished they could join
could be as jaded as the them
climb mountains and spit acid
melt rocks with a look
but no
such characteristics were reserved for the up-and-coming
gods and titans
full of potential energy
bursting at the seams of the skin
splitting open into laughter and mockery
they will save the world
or at least give it a hell of a run for its money.

Motivation to be lazy
tweaken all day on high self esteem
rising to the sky like smoke
look at that grin, like a smug donkey
hee-hawwing like a little jokester
but nobody's laughing,
you aren't amusing
just sad
bohemian life catching up to
an unshaved smelly *****
can you at least get a job?
You were such a sweet kid
almost had a future
and now you're stuck
on the couch
in time
too high to continue moving forward with reality
who are you really?
I don't even know you
but I know
you frustrate me,
but not because you're a burnout
no
I can accept a *** head, we can be soul mates and light one up right here
but at the end of the day
when the bowls are gone and the dishes need washing
you seek more
and I fear seeing that liklihood appear in my own actions.

Electric
tingles
primal
friction
diction
in movements
bristles
sweat
breaths
skin
necks
dark
rolling
sliding
­grabbing
and then
nice knowing you

If you like
some day will be so drastically different from today
that you will never know how insignificant current worries are
or how silly actions were
life can be
how you like it:
queen of primetime
soccer mom
beach ***
anything.
I think I'd like to be a traveller.
I want to see the places I've only heard of
to ensure that they do exist
but I'd want to do so only if there was no hostility
which is impossible
so I suppose this will have to do
only hearing stories
googling images
reading books and learning languages
and just imagine the view from another mountain.

I would never
or would I
hard to tell
when it's you
easy to analyze someone on the outside
doesn't need all the facts
a proper conclusion
but from the inside
can't really say
how you feel about the day
or if it even matters
or if it should to you
difficult to know for sure
if the bugs bite for your blood
or because you're already decomposing
so what is it, exactly
which is more accurate
are you alive and thriving
or slowly rotting inside
each step closer
to a less than legendary hault

I can make you talk
walk on coals
I like to think
I'm a tiger
elegant and powerful
but I'm not a liar,
won't fool myself
into believing
I'm a whole lot more
than a kitten with a crown
snoozing
while the big cats demolish buildings with their roars.