THE LOST BUDS EMERGE.
SUN MELTED FROST BRINGS FORTH SPRING
FLOWERS AND AN URGE

TO WANDER, AND SING
SITTING IN THE STRONG, BRIGHT GRASS
LISTENEING TO BIRDS

WHEN ALL THE LEAVES PASS
YOUR HEAD: LOST TUNES, NEVER HEARD:
UNKNOWN WHEREWITHAL

IGNORANCE IS BLISS
AND THE WONDER OF SNOWFALL
IS MORE DANGEROUS

The unremitting motion of this earth,
unnoticed is continued in its worth.

can you remember wanting,
otherwise regret is haunting
and the thought of it's over is daunting

the other night i literally fell into a flower bed
and it did not smell sweet, or much at all
i think i broke my nose
putting it where i shouldn't
it's always a power play push and pull touch and tumble
tickle my interest and i'll pick your incense
sometimes sounds surpass *** for sensuality
make a face like you're angry and you're evil
eyes roll back and take it tack it shoot a shot then rack it

everyone wants to say hi
until you say hi, so i get high
the reason why:
promise > reality
so i lie
in disguise
find a fine line
between casanova and creep
riding in a jeep or other 4x4
we hit the floor in a 3x3
went to the sea floor 2x2
noah's angels and all 1x1 have fun

And now without sense
Your scent has overtaken me
And my common sense.

[(x⊃y) · (z·x)]
/∴ (x·y) · z

1. (z·x), you simplify
2. x
3. z
(more simply)
4. x⊃y, you simplify
5. y, by 2 and 4, MP
6. x·y, by 2 and 5
7. (x·y) · z, by 6 and 3
QED



*


TRANSCRIBED:
If ‘x’ then ‘y’ and ‘z’ and ‘x’
it follows that ‘x’, and ‘y’, and ‘z’.
One, ‘z’ and ‘x’ – you simplify.
Two, ‘x’;
three, ‘z’
more simply.
Four: ‘x’, then ‘y’, you simplify.
Five: ‘y’ by two and four M.P.
Six: ‘x’ and ‘y’, by two and five.
Seven: ‘x’ and ‘y’, and ‘z’ by six and three.
Q.E.D.

Ain't no
*******
thing to do or make, but
Poetry: productivity --

at best.

the morning after New Year’s Eve*
In icy weather, warming comfort yields
companionship, hot chocolate,
love. A promise to himself revealed
(again) how resolutions turn to ****.

He poorly planned for no more one-night-stands,
but woke up with a head too hard to think
He slowly dressed and thought it was his man's
duty to bring her something hot to drink.

This year she hoped she wouldn't sleep with *******.
She hid her head in ***-swapped sheets, and cried
inside. He left the bed; she knew he'd lied:
"I'll be right back with coffee and some rolls."

Surprised the lovers'd catch each other's stare
In February's blank and blissful air.

Could thou, sweet flower, grow in any garden
besides that closest to mine, just past the fence
that bounds my lush, ever-growing heart? And
weak shrubs cannot veil you, for lucid scents

prevent and taunt my tangled garden, green
and always lacking. At times I descry
those delicate petals kissed with color
and wonder – and wonder what could have been
had I not left your strong seeds out to dry,
had I overcome two stigmas' azure.

Regret is such a reoccurring dream.
I would soon whack redwoods and evergreens
that overflow my empty flower bed
and plant my cherished flower there instead.

Waiting for her to appear
Some say you make your own time
Others, tk abt good things, comin, n waiting
But what about great
How does that fit into fate?
I wonder if looking makes
it dissappear, it
Being the object of one's desire

What flourished beauty lives within your thought
is always silent fuel to beating hearts;
and all in melted paradise, must cease to talk
for passed in subtle air a string of farts.

summer love*
Simply in the sun-warmed grass all day
we'd sit, and talk about some useless ****.
And in my jeep I drove you to the bay
to watch the sunset while we shared a bit

of wine. We laid down in that cooling night;
I watched your gentle lips move when you talked.
I told you that I never felt as right,
as when we kissed. My fingers interlocked

with yours; I brushed your beachy hair away
and shared a kiss that may have been our last.
I held you in my arms until the day
peeked through. We knew the sunrise soon would pass

like this. And though we think it isn't fair
departing is the summer's balmy air.

I know it’s true
because I know
it’s true
for me and so
I know it’s true for you.

We want what we can’t have,
inversely:
we don’t want what we can.
So, I will ignore you
(and myself)
for tonight;

I will make new friends.

Ah, what a refreshing ****
I am! Nice, lying is sick
but lying to myself
is good and for my health.

It nerves me when you love me ‘cause you don’t.
I’m jealous when you tell me, “Never do
anything I wouldn’t” For then I won’t
ever wish I could not be with you.

I do not know the thing’s you do, but know
the things you say you wouldn’t even try.
If I had friends like you do, then you would go,
though you justify every single guy.

I cannot stand this double standard; love
should be a thing we share – not give. And take
my hand. I reach to fingers of
your giving hand, which gives me fake for sake

of your forsaken mind, which loves not me –
then who? – and does your heart? No – not physically.

a fairy I cannot catch*
It taunts my curious eyes in blossomed green;
that light elusive sprite which mocks my sight,
in gardens where that fae comes out at night
to dance among the flowers' subtle sheen.

This fairy is disguised by buzzing lamps;
by day she hides in flapping butterflies.
In every blade of dewey grass and damp
reflective flower's gloss she hides. She dies

whenever someone says they don't believe;
as children wish on dandelions, she lives.
And flower's dust is magic for her breed:
spring's silent sparkling fairies. She gives

me joy in every fleeting light I see;
I cannot help but love her mystery.

O'er scores of years and hundreds more we sing
the song of lady liberty across
land and shining seas where freedom rings
of strength in overcoming all we've lost.

The boys in green died camouflaged as men;
free to fight, they fought for freedom's rein,
and liberty and justice galloped when
the wind that raised our flag then sailed the slain

home: where the heart and Stars and Stripes were sewn
of nation's loosened threads of flags and sails.
The final folds undone as taps is blown;
brave souls are set to sea beneath its flails.

United by our rights, and one of which
states: "all men are created equal"-ish.

Encounters**, though encountered as perchance
are calculated quests of happenstance.
Though man is subject to his journey's end,
the road is paved by beasts of circumstance.

Our free-well, then, just navigates the bends
and all roads lead to paradise – I mean,
we're probably all parasites, it seems,
the physical expands beyond the soul,
unless the soul is physically controlled.

Consider physics' undisputed law:
all energy's conserved from see to saw,
but what about from saw to sea:
the sun I see set on the sea –
it clearly still takes energy?

so lunch depends
upon

a red-winged black-
bird

glazed with strained
honey

beside
some nice pickles.

Make me naked by petal, walking by vine
and just a seed, two lip pieces, tulip
then bury me in you i know you’re mine
rushing slowly soil, sunk, blossom tip

give me kiss for color, coming on to
you. On you, no limbs but falling leaf
by leaf, bipedal, standing—but bent, you
blow the dandelion dust, white, belief

is something but lust for a wish to come
true. I have to lay here next to you.
It’s spring already, by trunk gold bees hum,
new roots are sprouting from the wish you blew.

Fold you over, fold me bare and red
then dwindle, unkindle, lay your sleeping head.

it's best to pretend
you're drunk
-er

than you are,
then you can get away with more

Take my hand, my stupid jokes, and mix in
your unfettered passion, which hastens me,
raging and ready to kiss. Time like a thin
sea, is running to the cold ocean, free

of premonition, heavy with waiting
an extra second, to think over my
attitude and confidence. Then, kissing
and forgetting any thing or thought more.

Go with me in the black canoe. We won’t
drown, but we might fall, because the ocean—
your ocean, is not made of water. Loaned
sorrows are due soon, so cut commotion

in half and use one part to love me when
it hurts, and the other to hate me again.

a beauty out of my league*
To show desire's poison, for our sake
she'd wink and make us think we stood a chance.
But sweet as honey, April, seemed to make
every hopeful guy compelled to dance

for her. We were her loyal worker bees
and she the queen would reap the floral sweets.
I caught a sight within a balmy breeze
of April's flowing hair in tempting heat.

I stood away where blocked behind a fir
I picked a daisy from the soft green grass;
I never got the nerve to talk to her,
too stunned and shy I let the moment pass.

Her sight is so compelling, sweet and mean,
It taunts my curious eyes in blossomed green.

lucky boy
gets to rip his face off
everyday
with a razor

A boy lived atop a hill
pleading for a way out
that did not require skill,
experience, or clout.
He decided to drill
for oil -- with doubt.
In spite of these doubts he grew to be rich,
but was turned to a mule when he married a witch.

i fall for girls from the fall,
mostly ladies with letters of their names
in the middle of the alphabet: elemeno peas.

I don’t have time to care;
it’s too early in the morning to open my eyes
and be someone worth judging.

Sleepwalking with an intention
is a way to escape reality
in a pocket of reality,
a way to bundle up
and only show a little
white triangle in a blazer pocket.

you do not like my flowers: throw them out;
collect the scents of other brighter buds.
But flowerless, and powerless I pout
about my lack of flowers; lack of love.

I garden and I wait, but nothing grows.
Your soil doesn’t take to nourishment.
Though I can be the sun, or man that sows
the seed; but I can find no ground to plant.

My flowers come from far, or must be weeds,
exotic, or too normal burden seeds.

But who says weeds are not exotic plants—
that should not grow and should not stand a chance?

I should just drop my seeds and let them float
on any wind that cares enough to dote.

you leave
i lose. my liver
starts to quiver
the snake can't slither
and my heart
needs to ****.

it's just gas, don't know why i'm such a drama twist

I’d love to give you truthful sentiment.
You’d take it as a ******* line again.
I’d love to lie to you to get my way,
and then reveal (magician-like) intent.
You never thought I’d have the ***** to say
not one thing of “I love you” (or the same),
but I avoid this loving lying when
you don’t believe me – think my words are lame.

You will not share in my false love, but I
can trick the brain, the heart, the lover’s eye;

though I refuse to play this trick on you,
though faking it is something we both do.

Together Lies and Love live in a home,
I doubt that Love’d survive it on his own.

distraught hands, wrinkle face, cracked out lighter
a fire used for smoking cigs and crack;
a burning which you are the only fighter,
but you like the burn, the empty black

inside your lungs, and organs, void of life,
but you are you, still moving, to – crash,
deteriorate, into roaches rife
with living. You are alive, but as hash-

marked-meat, a vessel for the vultures
yelling as crows, with anger in silence
and calm resentment, held with stiff sutures
like a dead doll, button eyes pulled for pence

or dime. Ordained as evil, you are human
I’m here to hear you cries, as hell is moving.

I want something
burning. teeth
        \/\/
give me sharp teeth.

make me a *******
panther. lying
is the only way
to say how you feel.

give me a punch
goddamit,
so i can punch you back
with my ******* forehead.
give me something that smashes.

give me drums baby,
electric guitar.
give me blue, the color and the sound.

give me calm
only
after i make

a ******* ruckus.

on Narcissus*
The sort of love that's lust is most unplanned.
The self's the harshest lover there could be.
"There is no beauty more than thou I see!"
He calls back to me, "Thou I see!" His hand
outstretched is soft and reaching towards me,
and I reach mine to beauty young and free.
His muscled body causes mine to stand.

But when I touch this creature fair and strong,
that image scatters; beauty must be shy.
When he returns, my passion cramped too long –
I need those rosy lips before I die.

To lust and pride Narcissus was a slave –
but daffodils are growing at his grave
to show desire's poison for our sake.

The disparity of happiness
between blue collared men with
No
leftovers
from lunch (or anywhere else)
& the mixed up, excessive-
Lyelling (who are so close to anger
That the shaking sycophantic splattered bursts live in my mind's eye)

is ******.
I'd rather drive a truck.

bless me with soft hands
pressed to impress lasting warmth
not just on my skin

Bluntly, you
are country-
bumpkin,
eat a pumpkin,

yams, and an
order of deli hams,
underdone just for fun.

Afterwards, give the
rats the words to
eat the leftovers.

Ask me about my

conch shell, go to hell,
unless of course that suits you well.
Never mind, now it's
time to quiet down.

That lucid scent is tormenting me.
I can feel you

through every opening that will allow feeling,

and I am left
with just

a

t
r
a
i
l
.

when we met again*
In February's blank and blissful air,
my inhalations thin and quick and dry
were only halted by your frigid stare;
to me they wondered where I'd gone and why.

That one-night-stand was fun for both of us,
though neither of us seemed too satisfied;
when your first words burst out within the hush
my face grew warm and, caught off guard, I sighed.

"It's Valentine's," you said; your smile said
much more. "I figured we could take a walk,
cause what we did before was fun. You're red?"
We both knew why, but still I couldn't talk.

I could not reason why she grabbed my hand.
The sort of love that's lust is most unplanned.

I farted, at once, on command
I'd hoped that my gasses'd get canned,
but when they did not
I went out and bought
some stinkbombs before they were banned.

My baby,
my darling
my Chinese ******* finger trap.

If I pull you too hard you’re going to snap.

if i pull too loose
you’re too abstruse
you’ll come undone,
so will the fun.

You hold me tight,
just when i fight.
so
i’ll let you loose
onto the night

and off you’ll go
an empty tube
i hope the next guy won’t need ****.

Oh jeez, is pleasing
I
could ski down those slopes yo-
u
call eyelashes. Stuttering with my e-
y-
es. As your butterfly eyes, fluttering my
o-
h, my. I’ve never caught a butterfly, but
o!
once one landed on my hand, and
I
guess it's about timing
&
once & placement.

a circle of life*
The bright red leaves are whirling in the wind,
their passing reminiscent of her days,
when auburn hair would break from fragile skin
like cracking umber leaves in fall's malaise.

Her daughter saw the doctor twice a week;
the pregnancy was moving well along.
The two recalled chrysanthemum's conceit:
in life is death; and death is life's old song.

The funeral was on Thanksgiving day;
her daughter in the hospital was ripe
and could not mourn, as one soul blew away –
and one without a Nana burst in hype

to life. The birth would turn out perfectly,
exactly as expected it would be.

On the same sort of necessary apathy
That keeps my youth fixed in the weekend,
My tooth chipped, and sockets
With broken bulbs
There is no value on
In deliberate art

That rose perfume inclines a love divine
which flies in natural drifting with the birds
who perch themselves alight with silver chimes
unspoken, ringing silence though no words –

pop! The question he meant to always ask
was if she liked, him liked him. Like a rose
he picked – so precious but it couldn't last –
his fleeting presence shipped away in rows
unbeautifully unpacked until it passed.

They'll gather all life's mysteries – her eyes –
and still in love confound him after all
and sitting on a park bench you'll recall:

the hands on sailing ships all wave goodbye
the fireworks are bursting in the sky.

Defiant is this youthful balmy air
which cracks in cold like horses' rapid feet.
And you, my friend, in silent fall are fair,
but chasing tracks in circles when we meet
discussing how a love disguised by dust
could lead to such a loathed disgust. In lust

You fall for what you, hopeless, thought was true
in moot pursuit the tracks are chasing you.

And though you're young this lesson you've learnt best:
that chasing dreams in circles brings no rest.

A carriage drawn in sunset central park
in clanked incessant beats brings wild joy.
And catching wild leaves you hoped a lark
would sing an angel's melody, young boy!

i want head rubs
more than head

<cloud>>>                                          cloud >>
                                          *sun
<cloud                                          cloud>>
wind>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
^umbrellas>>>>>>>^umbrellas>>>^umbrellas^>>>umbrellas^umbrellas>>^umbrellas^>>>
people>>>> people *******>>> talk people everyone sun >>>screening up spray me, read this>>> *******>>>, some are finding it, but words yelling up over the sound of the wind>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><which aways <<<<changes direction>>>>>> <<<< <<<< <<<< <<<<
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> <<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> <<<<>>> <<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>v <<<< <<<< <<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>but time always goes forward | for us at least.

I may have been drunk,
drunker than I've ever been,
but I hadn't drank.

i don't identify with white
not when i'm on my bike
not when you call me ****

little angels
take these falling tears
as your last time
on earth, children
– our tears, darlings
are filled with you. now
you are not
earth children.
our eyes, sweet innocents,
fill up like yours did. before
god came to carry you away
to his home in the clouds’ cradle,
the clouds were welling too.

i wish the world could take this burden of blood
and fear, sweat,
and tears
from you, frightened little ones.
but we cannot.
and that river that we and clouds make
is now your home.

Here is the poem,
a train on tracks who knows where;
"what wonderful sights!"

a waiting affair*
I could not hold my breath for quite that long
awaiting your arrival at my door.
My wife is out and though I know it's wrong,
the wrongness only makes me want you more.

I cannot help but wonder what you're wearing,
and if you think about me like I do.
I wonder if our spouses are as daring;
or if they maybe know of me and you.

I rake the leaves and hope you'll soon arrive.
I put away the pictures of my wife
and stare intently at the empty drive;
then that roaring engine brings me to life.

Your car drives by; I cannot help but grin
the bright red leaves are whirling in the wind.

Oh my,
I
could hold you

Safe
in heavy arms,
against my strong
chest pressed with aroma;

and there you could press gentle lips,
show me weakness
and strength
in myself.

Oh my
what I
would trade to hold you
would never let me hold you as I can.