NOW that i flew by fierce few
sabots language trickling
and in the morning's red eyes
my heart picks rosenbloom
   picks blue berries upon the side
   of the road of Life while i sweat
picking love by the fingers wishing water
like i dreamed of a woman (but if i
should say, 'hold my depleted lips
wishing water'  i wish and pray
as a common soul:  but begging
cups of water to spoons dance
every-
   hands (you know lust)  a spring
of Life:  this most exquisite
of all loudness:  strumming a guitar
singing any language above the notes.
   and this imitation resembles
the humanity of flesh.  thinner
than a hair of silently who are we
inclinded and cling towards the greatest
poem of my heart -- me.

:: 09.08.2020 ::

Hanging from the sky :
a summit, a toe, a hope, and
those that the fingertip can't reach.
Without doubt, it stays asleep.
Until serendipity embraces
dreams into wakefulness.
At that—reality coincidentally doubts itself,
and forever will illusions be given the
confidence to live.

Comfort
within
the shower room
For they enter
to feel
the birth of a butterfly
but instead
they drown of numbness
to stains
that even water could not wash.

Trapped inside concrete
one of your choices were;
a window as big as fifty bananas piled together
connecting yourself to
charms that cut your head from your body
everyone knew this, but
procrastinators like yourself
their head and body stay inside the concrete.

It is not sunrise
that judges
the morality
of consumption
But the quality of ;
bones that break;
hair that grow;
skin that feel;
and words
nobody spoke of.

It                                           travels
the world
for it
hopes to see                          you
—if it does—
It does
land the skin
of your body,
and runs
until the                               pores
that                                       expose
your                                hy poth ala mus
is found
                                               e at e n.