Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy. In this séance with the immaterial realm of concept rather than the predictable clockwork reductivism of a perceptual welter that is limited by the concretism circumscribed by spatiotemporal stricture we find that an extravagant twinge of even the smallest tocsin in the interstitial carousel of conscientious subroutines compounding recursively to pinprick the cossetted smolder of potentiality rather than extravagate into the vacancy of untenanted nullibiety can spawn a progeny of utilities and vehicles for dexterous abstraction that poach the exotic concepts we fathom by degrees of sapience malingering in lifeless bricolages of erratic abstraction in manners useful to transcend the repose of abeyance and heave awakening into the slumberous caverns of still-life to make them dynamically animated to capture ephemeral events that defy the demarcations of wistful indelicacy of the encumbered bulk of insufficient precision.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience. Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber. Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation. This basic interface with the world can either be mercurial or tranquil based on the interactionism of the enfeebled trudge of surface senses or blunt intuitions and the smoldering impact of the vestigial cloaks that deal gingerly with the poignant subtext evoked in the cauldron of immediacy rather than pondered with the portentous weight of imperative singularities of uniqueness derived from the plunge into the arcane citadel of microscopic introspection so refined that the ineffable drives we seek to fathom become amenable to the traipse of transcendental time that rarefies itself by defying the brunt of compartmentalized bureaucracies administered by the fulcrum of stereotypical notions of acquired gravitas imputed to mundane pedestrian quidnunc concerns that defile humanity rather than embolden the subaudition of gritty punctilios that show the supernal powers of the axiomatic divinity of sharpened sentience to reign with supremacy over the baser ignoble components of bletcherous nescience that leads to knee-**** platitudes that provoke folksy peevish divisions. We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. Obviously a growth mindset is the galvanic ****** that spawns the imaginative swank of the pliable modulations of our perceived reality that, when protean, showcase the limitless verve of our primordial cacoethes for epigenetic evolution rather than the stolid and staid foreclosure of impervious sloth that memorializes the gluttony of speculation about fixed entities rather than imperative jostling urbanity that dignifies the brackish dance with dearth and the exuberant savory taste of momentary excess because it engages the animated pursuit of limerence rather than the exhumed corpse of wistful regret. Nature is a cyclical clockwork system of predatory instinct met with the clemency of the prosperous providence enacted by the travailing ingenuity of successive cumulative generativities that compounded unevenly and unpredictably to predicate a fundamental zeitgeist calculated to engorge the fattened resources of the resourceful and temper the etiolated dreams of the fringed acquiescence of a hulking prejudiced population of dutiful servants that balk at the diminutive prospects of a lopsided distribution of talent and means but slumber in irenic resolve created by the merciful hands of defensive designs that configure consciousness to relish comparative touchstones rather than absolute outcomes that straggle beyond a point of enviable reference to shield the world of the barbarism of botched laments clamoring for an uncertain grave from the gravity of the orbiting satellites of apportioned wealth both sunblind and boorish but simultaneously inextricable from the acclimated fortune of heaped nepotism and herculean opportunism. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery. We need to traduce the urchins that sting the system with pangs of opprobrious ballyhoo and the effluvia of foofaraw that contaminate with pettifoggery and small-minded blather the arenas better suited for the gladiatorial combat of cockalorums tinged with a dose of intellectual effrontery beyond the span of dogmatism rather than the hackneyed platitudes that infest the news cycle with folksy backwardation catered to the fascism of a checkered established press that urges insurrection while tranquilizing dissent against the furtive actions of consequence hidden behind the draped verdure of pretense whose byproduct is only a self-referential sophistry that swarms like an intractable itch to devolve the spectator into a pasquinaded spectacle of profound human obtuseness that pervades malignantly the system of debate until the reductionists outwit themselves with the empty prevarication of circular logic that deliberately misfires to miss the target of true importance because of the pandered black hole easily evaded by creatures of high sentience but inevitably ensnaring the special kind of dupe into a cycle of bellicose ferocity of internecine balkanization. The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity. I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization. When we analyze the gradients of anger, for example, we can either be ****** into a brooded twinge of wistful resentment or we can decipher that through heuristics designed to cloister the provenance of subconscious repose with ignorance there exists a regimented array of tangential accessories embedded deep within the cavernous repository of memory that designates a cumulative trace of compounded symmetries of concordant experience immediately perceptible because of the tangible provocateur of our gripes and the largely subliminal tusk that protrudes because of primal instinct that squirms with peevishness because of the momentary context preceded by the desultory churn of smoldering associations swimming with either complete intangible sputtered mobility through the tract of subconscious hyperspace or rigidly fixated by an arraignment of circumstances with propinquity to the deep unfathomed flicker of bygones receding or protruding because of the warped and largely unpredictable rigmarole of constellated spreading activation.  
When we examine the largesse of the swift recourse of convenience we forget by degrees the travail that once bridged the span of experience from patient abeyance in provident pursuit to now the importunate glare of inflated expectations for immediacy that stings the whole enterprise of societal dynamics because it vitiates us with a complacency for the filigrees of momentary tinsel of a virtualized reality divorced from the concretism that used to undergird interaction and now stands outmoded as a wisp beyond outstretched hands straggling beyond the black mirror of a newfangled narcissistic clannishness that shepherds the ostentation of conceit to a predominant position that swaddles us with fretful diversion that operates on a warped logic of lurid squalor and pasty trends becoming the mainstays of a hypercritical linguistic system of entrapment based on the apostasy of candor for the propitiation of fringed aberration because of the majoritarian uproar about touchy butthurt pedantic criticasters with a penchant for persnickety structuralism. With the infestation of entertainment with the ubiquitous political cavils engineered by the ruling class to have a common arena of waggish irreverence we forget that sometimes the impetuous ****** of propaganda is cloaked by the fashionable implements of a rootless time writhing in a purported identity crisis only to gawk at the ungainly reflection of modernity in the mirror and remain blissfully unaware about the transmogrified cultural psyche that feeds the lunacy of endless spectacle based on the premise that one singular whipping post can unite an entire generation of miscegenated misfits looking for commonality to team up against the aging generations that cling to the sanctity of cherished jingoism against the intentionality of a revamped system that malingers with empty promises using exigency and legerdemain to obscure the mooncalves among their ranks that march on with quixotic dreams that tolerate only the idea of absolute tolerance and moderate only when feasibly permitted by the anchored negotiation of the fulcrum of totemic governmental responsibility between factions that wage volleys of invective at each other to promote a binary choice of vitiated compromises of mendaciloquence that ultimately endanger the republic with either the perils of hidebound conventionalism and nativist fervor or the boondoggles of fiscally irresponsible insanity cloaked with rainbows and participation trophies. Reproach can be distributed to both sides of the aisle because ironically in a world where gender is non-binary the most important reproductive ***** in the free world is a binary-by-default despotism that polarizes extremely ludic fantasies on the left met with the acrimony of the traditionalisms on the right that staunchly resist the fatuous confusions of delegated order only to the sharp rebuke of the revamped political vogue that owes its sustenance to a manufactured diplomacy of saccharine lies and ubiquitous lampoons that are lopsided in the direction of a globalist neoliberal bricolage of moderately popular buzzwords and the trojan horse of insubordinate flippant feminism that seeks to subvert through backhanded manipulation the patriarchy so many resent using lowbrow tactics and poignant case studies rather than legislating the egalitarian system into law using the proper channels. I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent. Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.

This little man that I know with money in his sockets and routine in his pockets has self proclaimed that he is a tight ***. When I envision a *** such as this, I imagine a bundle -- of securely aggregated, perfectly sharpened number two pencils. The businessman just shy of adulthood and too tired to remember –even the beginning of his of disclosure, denied his struggle to acclimate a multifarious lifestyle, appropriately suggested in the form of a triangle, and a circle, both of which embody polar opposing adaptations of humanistic routine.

The two shapes: The circle, denies the break in motion by imposing a constant cycle of diligent compression, there is no room for pause only steady flow and relentless drive. This influence of life impression slows down the heart, body, and soul while speeding up time. This particular commitment accommodates the dry colorless beings that embrace and accept boxed imprisonment.

Traditionally, the triangle denotes rhythmic patterns that elevate and drop to a point in which imposes a healthy reflective pause: progression, reflection, balance. As stated, as a provincial approach, a regular triangle flat on its base, peaking at the top represents a healthy, solid life routine. In contrast, the triangle can be flipped upside-down introducing an entirely new dynamic, composed of flat-lined monotony, tapered off to a regressed realm of destruction, regret and disorder. Despite the uniqueness of the standard triangle model to the man in question, it is important to compare the negative reflection, for it applies to the entirety of this investigation.

We used to be lovers, he and I. We shared my giant pillow-top that I bought on the black market for a meager two-hundred fifty. -- A mere steal at that rate.


We occasionally exchanged ideas, mainly about ethical concerns related to globalization and the environment.

I attempted to give him a cooking lesson once, but that failed, indefinitely. The bust was not my doing, but simply, a great disinterest on his part; or better yet an inability of not being better than me at something.

Everything has gotten so crowded.

Never Acclimate!

~

For Mr. Keith Wilson, an Answer...

from the British Isles to the Shelter Island,
a former colony, a scion of a special relation
a question arrives, wind wafted, upon wings of bytes
it is not an inquiry of heated
weather

rather,
an inquisition question of heated
whether

will we grow acclimated to the heat
of impossibly unjustifiable man murdering himself?

by acclamation!
we announce
not ever

Acclimate away you accustom to rabble streets, calculate thy cantankerous beef with another diabolic past!!
Destine connoisseur,

Old things get older while thy love stays newer!!!
What a hope to hope for something!!!!

Bare faced sophomore,
Soporific enducing trips to styles of maxed out galore....

Domineers on every corner,
Where youngest of mourners art ourn own children,
Gravitational to all pull ins,
Guided by ourn own sins we set our own adversities!!!!

When wilt we climb out of ourn own hutch?
Our brittled bunch doesn't think of two but one!!

Jilt all thou will falsifiers,
Killers and liars,
Were all wrapped tight to the same metropolis line!!!

Okaying thyself?
Canst we OK what's wrong and not fine?

Schzoid scribble ******* in,
Undeniable on planet green earth!!!

Underhanded,
Diploma drop ins,
Morphine moratorium so Grey thy sounds are!!!!

Yet thy smiles so beautifully wide!!!!!

Seek as thou finds,
Find all though you mayeth hide!!!

The scorch is over to be bear!!

Where is the opulent Queen who I seek?
Yet hasn't found me yet...

Maybe
Just maybe one day I'll acclimate enough little yellow butterflies in the depths of your stomach to spark words of
passion
longing
excitement
from the tips of your long capable fingers
I'll collect enough of the color yellow.
Maybe it would one day be stronger than my  growing green?
Maybe one day it will hurt less to think of you,
or to talk about you
Perhaps the yellow will give us more time
The Yellow.
more memories and laughs
to show you
That you are seen and that you are heard
And that it's no use to use your words
so many words
on earthly sun-soaked terracotta or frayed and faded blue
I look into your deep hurt eyes framed with lace and promises
I gave you red and I'm painting with yellow now
please accept my yellow
I grew it in my chest just for you
Just to plant the warm glowing cocoons deep into your stomach
Hoping
They just might become butterflies and we can live our lives together hand-in-hand.
Maybe once they emerge it won't hurt so much anymore and you will smile.
And maybe, just maybe after a while you'd realize you don't need to keep using your words for girls who never cared to hear your heart that beated yellow with all it's might
Who never reciprocated with the strength of the yellow you gave them.
My chest
it now hums and glows with much yellow
a perfect place to rest your head, my Love.

I don't kno what this word means.
But honesty and heart are the means.
I know it like I know a dream.
Lets move foward to the scene.
I want so bad to be the best...
To let loose this dinosaur caged in my chest.
But I care not for fame.
And I feel ashamed.
At this life in which I rest.
My only goal, (my hearts m-o)
Is to help the ones in need.
I scatter seed, to those who plead...
And pray for rain, so they may grow.

The quill's sodden ink evaporates
while this bell jar encapsulates
leaving these dreary words to permeate
only to rain back down and stagnate

this terrarium, my lonely estate
pickling eyes that spate
people peer through the glass only to deprecate
while I slowly start to acclimate

two horizons squint until light dissipates
allowing the darkness to overtake
monsters crawl out to dilapidate
snarls and growls devastate

this is fate this is fate this is fate this is fate
is it too late is it too late is it too late is it too late
echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate
this is fate and it is too late these echos verberate and I ruminate
I ruminate and ruminate and ruminate and ruminate

with a languid gait
a countenance set straight
while I desperately try to create
a happy blissful sunny green free state

it's not too late it's not too late it's not too late
meditate meditate meditate meditate
don't let the glass alienate
pick up the hammer and swing
                                                       till the glass B    E      K
                                                ­                                R    A      S.

What gives this is something I just can't take finally looked in the mirror and recognized  I'm apart of the most hated race/ black lives matter when a white cop shoots a black man in face/ It never matters when we do it to each other it's rather ok/ I'm just saying what I see you can say what you say/ we can agree to disagree the decree we still slaves/ to a system we victims to the transatlantic trade/ To a degree no one to blame now, we're  blocking our own way/ opportunity knocks but we stuck in that ol maze/ it's not like back in the day yet still in the same phase/ I tried not to write this it's been lingering for days/ why'd  Harriet walk so far how come Fredrick said hey!/ that's not how it should be/ we know Martin had dreamed/ Malcolm by any means/ 400 years you see/  they just wanted to be free/ What they fought for at that time is promptly  upon us/ I oppose riots protest and violence to fight back seek knowledge/ Relay that to the kids so they can understand the science/ as to acclimate any climate/ alliance to survive this/ Visually loud a silence/ we hate each other we are the misguided/

I was sitting playing slots
It was two a.m. and vacant
When a man came up and asked
Is this seat beside you taken?
I turned and told him no i'ts free
I looked deep and saw despair
He dropped his rumpled duffle bag
And plopped himself into the chair

He let his body acclimate
More to the warmth, than to the seat
I turned and played my game some  more
This man was basking in the heat
I watched him pull the tickets
From his pocket one by one
He laid them out before him
Until he'd counted twenty one
He fed them to the slot machine
Some kicked back, he got real tense
When he was finished I looked over
He had put in just ninety cents

The tickets were the remnants
of what others may have lost
But to him, they were a rental
To keep him not from getting tossed
He watched me for a while
Not hitting one button on his side
I could not help but look over
No matter how I tried

His hair was grey and matted
His fingers showed the stains
Of many years of nicotine
His eyes just showed the pain
He lit a smoke, second hand I'd say
He'd pulled a bag from in his coat
It was full of butts, all well worn down
Already ****** down someone's throat
He gave a cough and coughed a bit
Like he was getting set to speak
Then this man, slid over some
And in a voice, weary and weak
He said 'you got to line them up
I'll give you some advice
I knew that slots were random
But, this man....he had a price

He stared close at my empty glass
I'd just finished a cold beer
He coughed again and then he said
Son, it's surely dry in here
I waved a drink girl over
And I signalled to her "two"
I mean, it was cold outside
And I couldn't let him go  with out a brew
He kept eyeing up my ashtray
Where I'd left half a cigar
I knew that he would have it
in his grasp, before I went too far
I watched as he kept staring
Looking round, checking his back
He was fidgeting, and shaking
Waiting for the drink girl to come back
He had no bills to tip her
So as he saw her coming near
He got up to use the restroom
He said son....please watch my beer
I tipped her for the two of them
He was watching from the door
I guess when you've got nothing
You've got to learn just how to get more
I lit a second cigar up
clipped the end and took a puff
He sat back and breathed the smoke right down
Until his lungs had had enough
I asked him if he'd like one
His eyes lit up at this
He said thank you and was grateful
He said sir, I'd be remiss
But, can you cut it with your cutter
It's been so long since I've had one
I used to smoke them in Miami
When I used to winter in the sun
Lately, though, I've had hard times
I'm not half the man I was
I can't tell you what I used to have
I can't total up the loss
I lit the smoke, he ****** it in
Almost passed out from the taste
He said, I see these on the street some days
All crushed, son....what a waste
I used to winter in Miami
Watching jai lai, betting big
spending cash like it grew on trees
His eyes, they danced a jig

You know, now, when I think on back
I'm more thankful now than then
But, son, if I had the choice
I'd do it all again
Now, I come on in here
I pick my row seat in the fifth row, son
The fourth one in by the third glass door
The second seat, just over one
I listened to his seating plan
I looked around and tried to see
He said, you're looking at what seat I'm in
Looking for door number three
I'm kidding with you, there's no seat
I just move around to where it's warm
to where I might find some conversation
A place, some shelter from the storm
I knew he was a grafter
And in the end would be found out
He was looking for the easy way
Of this there was no doubt
whether he'd ever seen Miami
didn't matter all the same
But, in truth how many drifters
Know that jai lai is a sport and not a game
I finished up and told him
Keep warm and find a bed
He told me thanks, and shook my hand
And ran his hand over his head
I got up and I left him
Leaving five bucks on my machine
A fresh cigar in my ashtray
all where it could be seen
I walked away in silence
Heard the ticket get spit out
I then turned to see him leaving
Looking around for his next route
Whether he'd ever seen Miami
had cash, or food to eat
didn't matter in the long run
As he searched out another seat

Her husbands’ death had come upon him quick.
He’d always been so full of life and song.
She’d had no warning that her Tom was sick.
until he crumpled to the sidewalk and was gone.

The very day they put her husband in the ground,
a Jet black Lab with no collar or license
that she took to calling “Pepper” came around.
“He must belong to someone.” was her sense.

She put up signs and Ads and asked around.
She made inquiries to find the owner of the Lab.
No one in town had seen the dog before
the day they placed her man beneath the sod.

Pepper stayed faithfully at his mistress’ side
They took long walks down Beachcomber Way
Only Pepper heard the tears she cried
and stayed by her till the sadness passed away

Three winters they passed in that little town,
a town that made its living from the sea.
Eventually she felt strong enough to work
and re acclimate to life and company

As Spring’s warmth dissipates the winter gloom,
Sadness cannot forever shadow hearts
The heart is a perennial and so will bloom
as soon as the snows of sorrow will depart.

Then, on the anniversary of the date
the day they placed her husband in the ground,
She called and called but Pepper didn’t come-
The Jet black Lab was nowhere to be found.

She put up signs and Ads and asked around.
She made inquiries to find her dog again.
but no one ever saw the Lab in town.
The stray will go where he is taken in.

antioxidants, to help
we are poisoning ourselves with every breath
the records in the corner
crumbling underneath the dust in their crates
crunchy warm voices bounce off the sunrise
spinning around and crashing like cymbals
mist at 7 am and a cup of black coffee with two teaspoons of sugar
far away from life
in a corner, under a desk
all my friends want to be cool
i want to hide and be happy in a field
with a mug of steamed milk, with a sweet person
who tells me many things that make me smile
and query, and discuss
they will be the kind of person
i would braid my hair around
when i was listening intently, who would interrupt
themselves to point out a bird startling
and spreading it's wings
or how beautiful winter is under the surface of the sadness
how death is somehow majestic, in the way that
the earth can bring itself back to life after it has lain still and alone
for many months, she can still yield all the possibilities
of fruits in spring
he seemed confused by this idea
i was not upset by this
i was just a bit melancholy but not because of him
because of everything around us
he sees it as cold and uncomfortable
he doesn't understand why i walk outside every night
to teach my body to acclimate to the conditions, this winter
so i can accept it and become it without freezing over inside
and learn to love it as much as the warmth
he rolls his eyes, they all do, they roll their eyes and turn away
and ask why i don't put on more layers instead
why not three sweaters instead of one
why not fight it more, to keep your last skin thin and flawless
i only have one left, i dunno
one skin left, have to get it weathered quickly
before life boomerangs back
this skin is careless and has nothing left to care about
she laughs until she's crying and holding her belly
and she doesn't feel anything but tightening
everything is corroding us from the inside out already
i want to at least breathe in the direction of the moon
once a night