I always start withe negation
  Perhaps ‘neti neti’ is my preference of becoming
     The lingering traces, oh..do I adore
          Summing up explanations with
                                        halfheart’ expressions
             Gravity’s weird, man.
          So sometimes I’m not feeling the kicks
            That I’m giving to myself
It’s really hard to not give the impression
                                            of having an agenda
       Because I don’t want
                       to be a pretender, I guess
  And I’m fake either way,
                so why argue that I’m real?

Preaching to a deaf choir with no skin to sense yr presence

There's a thrill and you fall into it
          again as you forget  
                     Rubberneck contagion
           Anxieties in the upper regions
                though, no gut disturbance
                            a strange observation process

                         -without that hinderance
           Hopped up, the witness
                Gaze upon a brewing formation
             Linger tensions
           Fears shoot up from the deep
          Like ghosts and demons
            Around every corner and
          shadowed path
           In yr house, when you were young
       Still perhaps..

     you let it bite and a car pulls up
            Single pointed aggression
      And we proceed
           Such a wonder
                         Not really
               but the feelings
        procession of instincts
          habitual
     And we choose fractions
        Be important because we believe
       what the F* does that even mean?
       Can you go through the process
      To figure the dimensions of a form..

        Listen for a moment;
         He says he's drunk
      but really asking to be loved
    and miraculously it worked
       off he walked to oblivion
     if only we had the guts to follow

   ..I may have gone deeper
   Than I can dig, up a figure anyway
  But it's never a settled point
    So there's always room to play around

The labyrinthine system of enrouted intrinsics
That behaves as a medium
for any and probably all vegetative states
This present, (assumingly)included
Pulsating root systems
nourished by chaotic, brutal wisdom and love
Dancing in murderous creation
Purity exquisite
Laughing in a deliriatory manner
No laws to uphold
Or silly rituals, pesky square pushers

That’s what we are:
Composing manners to stunt
All that which promotes
Radiant leaves..firm trunk
Composting neuroses
to encroach upon the crops

All a lumping together, forced to face our separate selves
Though if we forms divised apart
When do we melt or sublimate back?
Off tract by habit-tat-tat-tat-tat
Laughing; the brat upheld her ways
Braying and kicking and making a stink
Staking unholdable, miserable values
Dolls on a glass shelf, and we dust to misinform
Because these ever static statistics
hold our weary waves from wagging
To their novel nature
And I pray to find that state, that place, that thee
The Thou-
Caught by the proud, the sounds they unfold
And the echos distract, and derail off a track
That could never take leave
The olive branch dove of concept
panics from the sound of arms
..she never left
Never will and the wilting flower falls
to clear the way for something new
A bubble, a blob, a splat, a clump
A bloom forms upon making a collective sound
While the bustling pressure denies details
These breaths, these cells
Streams of blood; thinning and clotting
Thoughts and views and spewing momentum
Fulcrum lifting these crates to cohesion

Gruesome clots
of concentrated tantrum
Donated air tubes
who function to ventilate
That can airrigate the condensed spaces

When properly running
Executing the wasteful obstructions
Which aren’t much fun
when freedom’s an outing
All this idling and itchy blood,
festering in a wet sponge,
In an open container,
Where walls hold daggers.
And the guides are all blinded to the path
To make my own path anyway
Just if we could find hold of the string
Which was the pull upon my stride
And my pride’s woundedness proves
A fallen walk upon the obstacles
So it appears, way, must stroll more rhythmically
Dropping the scholastic endeavors
Because it’s all becoming pleasure less routine
Tensions streaming through a dam
And now it’s all recycled
Plagiaristication, even in the present fiasco
Can’t a task be a task? A breath, a breath..

Infinite masks approaching the infernal sacrifice
Transparent as glass or crystal ware
Prepared upon the dinner table
But I forget how to swallow the liquid
And soothes aren’t soothing
For they all appear as deception..

For even though we may favor those of similar
They who denies seeing oneself in those opposed,

               Is a liar.
everyone is made of everyone(-thing really)
And as you gather bits you see in others
                           You wind up with you..
So why keep contorting and condemning?

..a cutting edge
I drown in it
Cause to see this gem
          Then feel this slight
   Is hard to right.

..as I dream the roots eat me away..
   As the roots eat me away, I dream of me..

Like a hole, the wound is where we grow
As we bore the nurtured seed unfolds
Plastically mending it bends to reach the essence
The intended ascension vitaled in presence

Return of the theriomorphic rage
The cages rusted down
                        and low upkeep
Due to negligence and apathy
..that they won’t stay locked up forever
Stirrings brew from the deep
And these beasts persist
                 whether acknowledged or not
Crossed forms wearing ties to hide their teeth
Serrated stationary,
           moments of graceful decadence
The Moon still calls
And the sea forms seasonal attitudes
So whether,
Wherever
A call rattles to be answered