Whyever can nobody spell anymore?
It's starting to cause me concern:
For as long as I wait,
                                   as far as I go,
It's the one thing that no one has learned.


How can it be that the grammar
Of the world is on sharp decline?
The words that they say,
                                          the sentences short
Grind sensitive ears and mind.


I know that I slip into lapses, too
Where I no longer care for perfection;
I say "runned" and use "i"
                                           where a capital would stand
Though no one's around for correction.

I know you want to,
I know you need to,
Catch and pull again,
Catch and pull again,
I'm telling you-
Everything's gonna be alright.
Just draw another line
Above the eye,
Again,
Catch and pull again,
Scratch and pull again,
Brown pencil smeared-...
A threat,
To the norms of beauty.

Whyever did you do it?

A fear they're gonna see you as you are,
Is part of the morning routine.
Does the pillow have
What the face should hold in?
And do eyelashes grow
From one magic roll of woven hair,
And does it ever end,
And will I know it?

I am afraid...

Is this the part when,
I go to the mirror and say,
The most genuine "sorry"?

I might as well just save it,
What a glory!
Hot mess with dark circles,
With patches,
Best,
Just save your breath,
I know you're phony.

I am myself's
Worst **** girlfriend,
Cheating and then saying I'm sorry...
Just to fall again.
I have lost faith.
In what I say.
Oh, what a story...

I have to buy more eyeliner,
And brown eyebrow pencil.

Mental note:

One day you'll be above it.

yass yass
you his over my shoulder
******* through Foucalt
agreeing to whatever I said in a way
that doesn’t show commitment or care
to my whichever whyever opinions
cause I’m here to drive you to Vegas
so we can drink and you can leave our trip
for a guy who tames white tigers and will buy you

white wine from California from a vineyard that his friend owns
and he will have to take you there sometime

you sure are fun
and we have fun but I don’t like being
a vessel for your fun
so you can take your ambiguous agreements
and your artificial american adventures
and shove them up your
recently waxed showered this morning but look ***** on purpose
middle class daddy issues band-groupie neo-intellectual
early twenty’s ***.

and your sigh and smirk
and say *yass yass
and push a bang out of your eye and look ravishing.

RECORD: I LIV)E}D] ON THE MOON
FROGMAN: KWOON
RECORD: UNGODLY Froot
frogman: wax tailor

YOU'all are just like other people
We love to sting
sHe loves to trance
he admires b-e-a-utiful twoomen
Us're whoman
And most-times, twoo whomans

:Now I know my ABC'S
watch me confuse'em like the bourgeoisie:
-"but he pronounced it like Bilgemonkzees"-

( . . 3 . Oh dear, I hope you don't forget to feed me . .
  2 . "I am still learning,"
and I've Dear'd to Remember to Forget my Confusions . .

REFORM: WRITE FOR SELFSE

{B-E-A-Grateful no-s1: "Read DeadHeads to BEGIN,
                                     or Blue Tails to END"

-flips coin- }

}

1 . .

CONTINUE: DON'T FORGET
RECORD: curiosity's and imagination's
FROGMAN: selfse
program: INTROFLECTION,

I think "We've thunk it once before,
but it Bears repeating,
now"
LISTEN to us, all of you.

Que'Sera!

-caches Bit-

HA!    VV    !AH
        S A Y
      HAHAH

-Opens Mind-

"MY FROG... we're full of chars-"
- [May{jor(+/-)To}m] = E.ven-One
-- 1999-2001, a Race Ode-vent-you-See

[END OF LINE]

for those who may be hamyoung-us for the first time

{END OF MY RHiYMnE}

And Whu-may-n't be pondering what isn't going to clappin now.

(BEGIN TO /S/hEwE TiME)

It is of Coarse : Smoothing for the Mind, Body, and The Selfse of us all.

So,

SPEAK/ . 0\UP

|Whyever needs Bee? Wills Bee.|

Oh, you're di-vidend?

Oi've got these Two Mackszillery Tired Molaz, Whight.
whand day I was cwussin'a peace'a fwaery'dandy
and tay cwacked, whont down ta cagey'mentals.
now ta twooe woots is eckzpozed.
and i sding'em evewy dway

. . .-inserts troothpic-

jrus'tho da gwhothet OH's it's thrill'a jlive one up'teir
-- prole


/and the ghost speaks:

  ?_      
/\          
  /

I used to wear tinted glasses to hide my eyes.
I don't just mean every now and again,
But all the time- outside and in.
I'd scrabble for them in the morning,
Groping wildly in the sunrise.

If, by some chance, anyone happened to spy,
In the brief moments I removed them,
And say "What beautiful eyes Mr Finn!
Oh whyever do you hide them?"
I would never tell them why.

But now I don't seem to mind so greatly,
So here's the truth; I downright hated
The way they always looked so **** happy,
Even when I wasn't. I always felt
As though they betrayed me.

It didn't even help when I would frown.
I would practice in the mirror,
Contorting my face into grimaces,
Willing my emotions to be clearer,
But they let me down.

Now that I'm older I don't mind,
And have begun freely accepting
Their emotional misdirection,
Concealing the feelings underneath
To which all others seem blind.

I'm reminded of a MacEwen piece
Since, openly, my eyes conceal the truth;
"What if the whole show was a lie, and it ****** well was,
Would I still lie to you? Of course I would"
If those lies bring you relief.

The fire politely rages on at her center
The drive cascades up from the heart and out from the mouth and
Smoke rings forming the letters of the passion and blowing defiantly
(or pleasantly) In my face. Sparks escape occasionally, starry dreams from here to wherever whyever
nudging quietly the air to the side and lingering where they may as they dance among the dreams
All to the sound of the drums and the sound of her heartbeat
and the night air
and the sky

coldbreath and sparks forever in the Tango

There you were, flying high
Soaring above this weary world
But sooner than later you fell to earth
And found it hard and cold.

Whyever did you fall?  It seems
You never saw it coming
And now the last thought on your wand’ring mind
Is to go and start running.

The question of what next is put to my wandering mind.
I may meander through a couple analgesics, anxiolytics,
or tread cautiously through an odd assortment of spices.
Alas, there are still so many trips, yes, I hear the Entheon
calling, calling out my name: "Mydriasis, come home to me".

Lets reexamine this phenomenon, of entheogenesis, whyever
it should be so spiritual for some
but no longer for me

is our question: an ethnology.
Earendel; The pilgrim
sought Empathos, Psychedelos.