an edge, the Double facet
becomes a gEometry--
but each petAl ends in
    But if it enDs
but love is at an End--of roses
              cementiNg the grooved
                       colD, precise, touching
               columnS of air--The edge
Crisp, worked to deFeat
     cuts without cuttIng
                            edGe and the
                           figUred in majolica--
        from it--neitheR hanging
    From the petal's Edge a line starts
    glazed with A rose
                              infiniteLy fine, infinitely
                                      It Is at the edge of the
itself in metal or porcelaiN--
          laboredness--fragilE
    makes copper roses
         meets--nothing--renews
           nor pushing--
         penetrates space
                       petal that love waits
             plucked, moist, half-raised
              rigid penetrates
      Sharper, neater, more cutting
so that to engage roses
  Somewhere the sense
               steel roses--
            that being of steel
          the broken plate
The fragility of the flower
           the Milky Way
The place between the petal’s
        The rose carried weight of love
       The rose is obsolete
        the start is begun
     unbruised
    What
whither? It ends—
without contact--lifting

Abandon your thoughts to keep your mind blank;
bare like the walls of a dental office;
clear like a polished mirror.
Don’t let anything back in,
even the thought of your aging mom -
forget her impending mortality.
Grasp you love for him because
Hurt can come from even the lightest places.
Ignore the world’s problems,
just focus on “empty”.
Keep your mind like space,
let there be nothing, not even air.
Make your plan now,
neglect anything other than this plan.
Oblivion will welcome you now,
Pure Spirit. Put this plan into action
quickly, before the feelings
return to ******* over.
Spotless.
Trigger step one and fill your pistol:
unload it into your brain.
****** mind now dead,
white unconsciousness harbors.
Xylographed onto the coffin:
“Young but no longer sad”.
Zen at long last.

A girl bathes in the sunlight in a
Bright red bikini - the kind of red of some lipstick that
caught your attention at the mall.
**** the men passing her by, absorbing
every detail of her body.
Few have felt her touch, that
glorious touch. The touch I’ve grown to
hate with everything
I keep bottled up inside. She likes to play
jokes on a hopeful heart; stealing
kisses from the
lips of a boy, still learning to be a
Man- an idea my father
never taught me, not because of a lack of
opportunity, but because he never figured it out himself. She  
played my mind like the piano keys she used to
quell the
reoccurring thoughts in her mind: those of
self-abuse and insecurities.
To feel wanted and loved, she
uses the attention of those staring eyes as she bathes in ultra
violet rays, questioning if the
water is a comfy kind of cold, much like the
X’s and O’s placed lovingly at the bottom of the note that ended
years of dedication, years of forgetting our uncertainties.

Zero degrees couldn’t be colder than that.

Alcatragedy, aesthetics, and a
Bubbly feeling beneath our feet. Let's
Cruise between channels; there's no need to meet. Re-
Doxx on Galaxy's
Extremeties typeset whatever is
Faked, overridden, and
Glistening in chic.
Hybristophilionic puressure
Infracts upon the fourth wall we seek,
Jicking, ticking, trickling in.
(Kickstarted convection)
Life is beyond a stream...
Minuet attraction
Null, neo, and novelty
0.0
Pulse or minus me.
Quantitative lacerations, fantasy and a fascination
Recreations masking
Softsations
Taint my rose and wildest dreams!
Unphasing
Vermillion reasons to like it.
Wordless, grinding sonar screams; Isle,  
Xana, et tu. Rumble a shy oasis in
Yeses, twos, and please
Zzz

Across blanket seas, I lay my spent body to rest
Buried in comforter caskets, I don’t welcome this sleep,
Creeping slowly through consciousness. The
Darkness fogs, and regret and dread
Eat away at my psyche as I know that
Factitious deities await me on the river Styx.
Greeting spirits before they drift to Heaven or to
Hell, guards grab at passerby and direct them to the other side
Injustice! I scream as I’m guided down below the water, against
Jutting rocks amid the fire and brimstone and I beg for guidance to the
Kingdom of Heaven, renounce my Sins and pray to Him
Leaking lies across time, I plead for mercy for my eternal soul
Making testimony for my wrong-doings but my mistakes replay like a
Nightmare in my mind and sears my eyelids shut
Open your eyes! Come the screams of lost souls but I lay
Prostrate on the ground unable to move and I
Question my life and things that I’ve done. I try and
Reach for some redemption but the Man
Strikes me down with his thunder and
Threatens everything I am afraid of. He can smite me,
Unify all my fears with his words. He releases his
Verdict and all hope I had is wrenched from my grasp.
Watching me with judging eyes, the Man sits on his ivory throne and
X-pells me to Hell and I scream and I cry and I
Yearn so greatly to open my eyes but I am heavy with
Zzz ‘s and so very tired…

Anybody literate can read and write.
But do they understand?
Can they see and feel the deeper meaning?
Do they hear the poets words?
Emote along with the writer?
Find a chord striking them within?
Gasp at the beauty in the imagery?
Hold their breath as the poet weaves magic?
Inhale the scent of sweat the poet gave?
Jump at the twists and turns?
Keen to learn the ending?
Laugh and cry along with the poet's words?
Mope at the end?
Not wanting to let the words go?
Opining their views, not the poet's.
Positing assumptions not the poet's.
Querying imagery, syntax, metaphors and similes.
Robbing the joy from the poet by making grand assumptions.
Seeking to emulate the greats, and join the canon.
Taking what they need from the words written down.
Utilising the poem as a learning tool.
Venerating  the poet and their work.
Words speaking to them from afar.
Xanthic coloured complexions, as they read into the night.
Yanking at the pages of the book.
Z**ealously impassioned by the poet's conclusion.