Urges, we never said...
Were the time, the thoughts of open bother
Of a sleeping prophet, with silence to lead:
A care into the limelight, with heaven to hover

A brassier share, in the need of promises
Sent from guarded selves, a world which delves
Integrity is mine for a shall and a swallow of vices
That remembers you, when patience looked for life's health

Speaking of hell...
Strange invaders, strangers in the mystery of this yarn
Weal no more, than a crash of existence, we know so well
Letting mercy see my upset, a habit has me by the toe I shall learn...

Is it me, or did I just wake up?
City's of strength, and the embarrassment of delicate poise
Have opened their doors, to a solitude that has become a covenant
With the voice we add, is silent warnings of another's choice?

Tell me the story, comes my conscience
A hap of retribution in the same, the shadows of a scream
I have made, a promising God, a sign of the times to presence
That has looked, and seen our terror, the bitterness of a demon...

Save me from a stone of kinship, with a kiss...?
Proper shape to a wish alive, in sordid chance, a wind
Of guidance and justifying malevolence, that has stolen my wish
From the heart of me, a stare of pining finish to a lie to mind...

Pillows make fast friends, if shade is forever cool, intrepid...
Interest in a careful window, is many to fathom a liberty in shyness
Acts and paces of facts, run faster than all of the powers that are, hid
When children dance, the seed of specialness is a call to wisdom's bless...?

Care for another, victim of insincerity?
Long truth's and the tomorrow of interim
Has a rather chosen, possession of sardonic not, the charity
Of privilege run so far, for a wicked dream to lend...

Cough, cough; palpable
Anecdote to share a legend, no man has let live
Longer than a kiss in the heat of a kindness to ****...
Seeing is believing, even when our hope in a purpose above, a world in love with what we give...?

Oily flowers
Slap faces like an angel
Simply twain, simpler powers
Sit in the sun, like a smile for the devil

Agony, of an oily smile
Sit to once, upon nothing more...
Hap and adage, require you, of a while
Meaning no-where's step, for a curious war...

Anything, everywhere at once...
A promise to shed, a tear
Through and through, before life begun
The love and misery, is a magic, to fear?

Sated...?
And shown to chew the thought
Is a mystery, of reality, so fated?
When poor is such, aren't we a death sought?

Oily more...
We said the cope, of another world
Suggesting only, the question's we were
Given pride's notion, specialness's devotion; is a fears lover, ever early?

Drowned world
in a miasma of plastic.
I turn to love
is not just a flash
in the pan. I am moody walls
and stone borders,
eyes on the horizon,
the quickening ****** sunset.
I try to believe in some heaven
that I am here.
I should pay more attention.
I should bloom like a flower
underneath your sun,
rewarding you
with an infinite unfurling of petals.
The night need not crush.
It may reveal its stars.
The child brides’ shrieks
do not always
denote pain.

You wrap around
me, like a fog.
Haze of bitter
sweet miasma.
Smothering.
Smothering.

I enjoy words
Little words that fit unto tiny cubbeyhole spaces, a word like Key, something you could fit into a pocket, makes other words rhyme and think about secrets and doors. A wooden frame, gateway to another room or someplace else, it opens and closes and clicks and turns and clinks and all from that tiny three letter word.
Large words that stretch and yawn and roll around in your brain marble like trying to fathom and plumb their bottoms. A word like Miasma. Miasma Miasma. What does that make you think of. Like a big stinky cloud, it creeps along the ground because it's heavier than air, something soup like, but I've never heard that word used to describe a soup. Or really used for much of anything at all. It's not a word people say or write to each other. Miasma. That's sad. It's a beautiful word. An interesting word.
"Normal" words, everyday words like buttons. Makes me think about a button on your coat. Maybe it's blue or one of its shades like cobalt navy or azure. And it's popped off and rolled away under a couch or in a crack somewhere. And we all agreed that that Buh sound was what those round objects made of all sorts of materials that hold your shirt closed, that sound is what that thing is going to start with... buh tuns... or **** tons... how strange. That we all agreed that.

My stool is black again, I've been smoking
She said, "I thought that you quit"
I said, "I never meant-" cough "I never meant"
She said, "You said you could anytime, anytime"
But what's the worth of words spoken,
when you never meant, you never meant

To give the impression
you'd follow through
Only to sate the voice of reason in a poisonous
miasma of destructive and ambivalent
tendencies held too long and too deeply pressed

Uh oh
Cough, cough, cough, cough

. . .Cool.