To live is to research happiness
and homes for the pleasure of ending.
People, through illusions, can shape
happy possibilities from speech and position.

Don't write it out.

A life more useful than tragic
is original in a moment,
can transcend as well as
fall into mistakes and experiences.

To get your body to lean
as far forward over the
insurmountable bubble as possible,
Is to create magic that consists of gateways
and actions -- the outcome of which
can place a thinker with only few
leaps stranger than your enemies.

Always forgive.

Magic sometimes longer than a pause
between morality and naked minds
influences the two ways a relapse synapse will run.
The true temptation of safety can be
carpeted by play dough and play grounds.

It's better to not sustain interfering manufactors,
to not pirate the lies a man historically risks
on quality of thoughts,
But instead depend the nature of your virture
on exploration at the heart of echoes.

Why should you quit?

A human's greatest obstacle is finding the principles
we don't discover with the jailer listening and
men afraid to rock the boat.
Give better than you dare have.
Reset the age of the mind and give parallel
truths at the point of sweeping tides.

To understand the laws of popular drifting,
compromise the art of part establishing,
occupy an ambitious ideal;
You will lose an elevation over not being, not remembering.
Sometimes treading water becomes a nuisance,
and you'll lose a choice in the dungeon.

Don't abandon your force.
Don't regret the pursuit of circumstances.
Don't delude a reputation of bridges and evidence.

Empathy is traveling the world for imagination and salvation.
We are here for a spell; one equality
shreds the ears ready to get you in trouble.

Camel-colored corduroy, light wood
As comfortable as a chair in a waiting
Room of a diagnostic center can be,
The center of each chair sinking
With the invisible weight of bad news

Shadowed walls -- fluorescent lights
Surrounded by glass windows (it's going to rain!)
Making it impossible not to notice
Grey skies, dying trees

Is there really healing in a place with no feeling?

Chattering of the women behind, in front
Surrounding (no, those pink pills are for evening)
They're here every week -- used to fading

Family in the corner
Fear radiating
In the shaking of the knees, the hand
Running through a father's brown hair
Pacing -- new to the waiting

Pounding head matches pounding heart
Pounding veins (the door
Is flung open) (anderson!)

Not the right name
Another minute still to dream
Of new diseases unknown cures
An alien baby with six fins
Growing in my thyroid,
Maybe a new form of mad cow disease

Has it really only been fifteen minutes?

Man with sunken eyes, shriveled hands
Staring at me, whispering to his nurse
That I'm a demon red (don't mind him)
His wife has cancer and his body's dying

Thank the black woman turning the tv to silent
No one wants to hear about politicians' affairs
While they're waiting for their cure
Or diagnosis

Marean, sarah? sarah? once twice
Flashing orange
Second door on the left
The left, the left -- okay, lay on the
Plastic (how's middle school?)
I'm 20.

Then a long-haired woman hovering
Lights out
Blue glare of screen
Memorizing past accidents, unnatural
Genes (how's the ankle)
Aches on snow days
(Take this towel put your head back
Don't move  have you done this
Before?)

Expecting to feel a cold gel
But instead having an almost-
Liquid that shocks the skin -- pour on
The throat, torturing the nerve endings
Heated

No further description or
Terms of consideration (violation)
Plastic scanner pressing,
Digging into the esophagus, )(just
Sit still shhhh )

Like thick, rough fingers
Fingers scratching, squeezing
Choking -- panic (don't panic)
Resisting the urge to claw, white spots
Don't fight (silence)

Breathing
Fists clenching tightly
Woman's eyes changing, medusa
Coming alive in a
Spinning room
No breath
Falling

.

Door opening, flash of green
Fingers disappear to a cart being
Wheeled away
Neck (throbbing)
Machine blue screen flipped off

Now that wasn't so bad, was it?


Jump up, coat on running out
The door to the safety of a
Car with yellow lights, results by
Friday (smells likes rain)
Trees skies dead grey
Still

Warning:
The seagull flying over the Appalachians
could not possibly be amused by the
puzzles of an illegitimate composer
and the skyscrapers climbed.

1.
The skyscrapers were played by tall
rocks a girl climbed when she couldn't
remember if the cape she wore was
made from steel or newspaper.

11.
The newspaper they all read together
that morning (girl, boy, king, etc)
promised nothing but a fifty percent
chance of dandelions terrorizing the bus stop.

2.
The bus stop had since become a
dealer corner and the sunset behind
the mountains was blocked by the
flipping hair of a lost boy.

7.
The boy bought a toy for cheap -- it had
a built-in laser, so she stole it to blast a
whole hole in that guilt-ridden quilt hung
over the four dollar love seat.

6.
The love seat, she bought the day he went
to maple -- the soap dispenser was broken,
but she couldn't find anything new (that she
knew) to wash her hands with.

5.
The hands that handed her a hammer were covered
in promotions, so she stole the motorcycle when
they were watching the scarecrow going
through electric-shock, disco therapy.

8.
The therapy that she received from the
parrot-king and his troupe of square roots
was enough to make her not forget not regret
the boy with feathers in his ears.

10.
The ears she woke up with one morning
were different in shape than before
and the black fur she knew
was growing before her eyes.

3.
The eyes of the boy were wider than
the nightly news station promised, and
there wasn't really a difference
between caves and boxes in a town that small.

4.  
The town she arrived in didn't have
a carpool lane or derby, so
she had to take her pet goldfish
to the river for his depressive state.

9.
The river wasn't as flooded after a couple
weeks of changing the tune on the jukebox
she found way before the departure
of her white gold pearls.

12.
The pearls she wore for her
coming-of-age were buried beneath
a dirt mound when she promised herself
to always insist on herself.

I asked my mother for a glass kaleidoscope,
but instead she handed me three shots of wine
and a field guide to running galactic bases,
which I guess is her way of selling dreams
at low prices. I have yet to understand a coffee shop's symmetry,
so I embrace the scrupulous company of a dragon-riding-a-butterfly.

One spin around the Milky Way leaves the butterfly
with holey wings and the dragon vomiting in my make-shift kaleidoscope.
The apple tree in the corner of the living room ruins the symmetry
of the space and I have to chug another glass of wine
to make up for the peach tree I couldn't dream
about and another wrong note sung by the basses.

The song's in too low of a key, which is the basis
behind the evil chinchilla's plan to mass-produce butterfly
farms as part of a larger goal to pillage the dreams
of dreamers. Luckily, we all have a handy-dandy kaleidoscope
and a bag (or two) of bitter-tasting wine
stolen from their boxes -- too much symmetry.

My brother put a block on local news; the symmetry
of our county's border was too much for me to bear. He bases
his action (when mother asks) on the wine
he didn't drink, so I throw the broken butterfly
out the window where it lands on my nephew's spinning kaleidoscope.
He doesn't know it yet, but that drum he's banging will envelop his dreams.

A hike to the top of the cliff (a leap) re-energizes my dreams
and I still can't relate to the maple leaves and their symmetry,
but at least I can look through a lampshade at the kaleidoscope
of trees dancing below me. There are seven thousand bases
yet to run and they still haven't caught the butterfly,
so a boy yells, "Drink!" and I take another sip of wine.

The dragon and chinchilla are tipsy from the wine
at this point and discuss the difference between dreams
and electricity while my mother sautés the butterfly
in ice cream and abstract ideas. The symmetry
of my right ankle is still a bother, so I tell the basses
to sing a quarter tone flat while I collide a scope.

Off goes dragon-with-butterfly (once again) and I finish the wine.
I make my nephew a chinchilla-skin kaleidoscope and rinse the rocks stained with dreams.
My mother comments on the apple tree's symmetry while the trees below keep running bases.