The defenses failed, just tell them to evacuate again.
I know we lost, but must we even rebuild?
Disaster struck humans and angels once were worth more.
But all they did was keep heavenly bodies fighting!
And every third word I try and speak with
you, but these sounds so precious threaten our lives.
And maybe I cling to hope which clings to
those who get an angel's death, making things right.

I think I love
with every cell of my being,
with every drop of soul in me,
with every breath that visits my lungs,
with every fingerprint I’ve ever left,
with every laugh that parted my lips,
with every language my tongue pronounces,
with every way I know how to love,
with everything, yet I end up with nothing..

Concessions since made
As hearts coincide
A flash in the eyes
And it'll end fine

You're not in the wrong
Not sure If I am
But it's never much
We rise with the tides

Everything moves in chaotic motion
The more things stay the same
Sometimes I try
But I never find the right words to say
If we don't see the light tomorrow
If you don't come out the same
I hope you recover
And keep your will to change

I always feel your words glow
If I'm asleep or not, I don't want to know
In losing, I only hope that it starts to show
This structural integrity

I'm still awake
I'm scared to die
Scared of all the little deaths
That come with change
Am I in the wrong?
It was just a mistake
Like everyone makes
Or so they say

every poem is a test of character,
holy/profane all the same,
algorithm entirely humanized-you,
the elected words cannot be voted out of office,
by a recall petition, regardless of
constant corrected incorrectness.

sorted by size,
nocturnal alliteration,
do they sound in the dark
like your bleeding or you’re breathing?

holy/profane all the same,
Gertrude truth is a truth is truths,
you think my name matters?
Artificial Idiocy. Everyone poem faceted,
a chip off the the naming blockchain idiot.

when I imagine-lie,
it is a truth in and of its own
holy/profane.

call me baffled.
that is a god enough
one word summary.
and so true.

baffling perplexing cryptic and opaque.
in all honesty.
if you’re reading this, you are
testing my character.

what have you found, or even, lost?

in the midst of the characters is
character

reverence in poetry.                             everything to every person.

reader claims they can                         a necessary skill for
uncover the reverence.                         successful hypothecating and
in the scripts that                       (buying)poetry-creation outta nothing,
life straight hands me,                          tell them what thy want to hear,
for collection & correction,           and they’ll call you laureate,                      
secretarial transcribing,                        instead of good listener
binding, typo correction                       or just a keen observer-fakir

mundane are the tasks,                          just take what they give ya,
that’s all them muses ask,                     dress it like Joseph in a
don’t interfere, taken what’s given,     coat of many colors,
bow, curtsy, show respect,                     don’t let on your plagiarism
treat its aspects/instincts correctly       is all them, redressed legally

you’re just the pass through agent,   true you, gotta be smart about it,
patient for no payment expected,    variant spellings, swinging verbs,
be our adherent, not our truant,      be discreet, they’ll call your script
we appoint don’t disappoint,          a real keeper and give love or sun,
accept our patent, render legit        mucho poem emojis accoladeya

as for this reverence thinge        devil in a blue dress, walk the streets
if I do my job ok, on any day,     grabbing snatches of overhearings,
any poem could save a life,        pressed into a single tunic, you think,
if I get the commas placed,         he a genius, knows my thinking,
just right, the periods period,     exactly,  what a great poet and
while obeying the speed limit    con/hu-man par excellent

them muses so **** pleased     even fool muses, too full themselves,
by this true confession released, muses who think we stink and
and self deprecation,                     couldn’t do it without them
they call me reverend,                   great pretenders by stealing
imagine them silly folk,                everything in everybody and
calling a big fat liar.                       all thieves and cape riders,
reverend, duh, the end                 original liars, pants on fire



before midnight and after 3:20am April 7~8, two oh nineteen
any message you send becomes my intellectual property, fool....