abridge the air above the aria
because basically I'm bent on balancing books
center to the capacity of culpability
derived from the demonic disappointments
entering my ethnicity.
Forget the foul fate
of  so greatly glazed
a high horse
inside an icy inescapable
jail, where juveniles jinx
Kublai Khan, knocking the kimono
lying lazily upon the lamp.
Mortifying my middle man
never negating the negotiations
of an open opinion
perhaps a pernicious
quagmire, quietly and quickly,
ravenously rages,
sickly. Stop spewing
this title to tempt
under the universe
very volatile in
waiting. Wonder why
Xanthippe from   Xian is
yearning for your
zenith and zeros in

on your words.
Pondering,
wondering,
if this is all for nothing.
coming up asundering.
their voices thundering.

and I am
silent.
now.
alone.
staring into a world undone,
wondering where the sun
could be.
And seeing,
it's right behind of me
And I wonder how I got
where I ought to be.
my food for thought is free.
it's the words inside of me.