allow us beget
the nigh-times,
when running,
      screaming,
out unto the night;
      scrap the fire in your head.
marvel at emoted removal
from renaissance of self-
implication, mayhaps this
time without screaming, without
Yelling;      times post-passionate.
direct line of sight,
pop the blinds
and come see the reality;
becoming,
always embarrassingly patient,
and upfront representative is flawed.
**** the right thing.
the same exact spot;
the aways self-same.
**** it to loss;
sliced thumb to bone,
luckily the left-hand,
and not the Hand of Creation.
(unused potentiality,
most likely)
and at times,
make it wholly
so unbearable
so that you'll never forget
the purposed-reason
behind changes in survival;
**** a memory on memory on memory;
be cold,
be uncomfortable,
be the resonance
found plucked of soul.

how to ask someone,
        "Did you give me
         a cursed object?"
then come back
a moment, to surge
in the direct current
of channeled simplicity;
laughing at endless skies.
and there was a moment when
you cared how others saw
you;
a fraction of the sum.
a fraction of One.
still, senses know that
they're running for pace
but not in challenge for a
confident solar plexus;
main-veined ring finger.
(go explore, do it well)
and like a cursed object,
was more a power
surging hallucinations;
light that fire in your head.
(be well and fine,
if this is the right;
this is as well as meditate)
this is not the wrong.
this is gulping black coffee
scalding words instead of tongue;
losing muscular expression
if only a time-temporary maneuver
over head, and then forward
movement with no self-impressions.

originally, you came here to copy
a poem, then there came this
spontaneous *******.
i luck out, and can keep up a
responsibility for the drunk-***
and fu- (*******) saddggoddamn
it i finally got this typer typing. but,
still, why do i keep expecting
someone to come walking in the
front door?; why am i complacent
to thought of some ephemeral intruder.
and, watching eyes hallucinate
from corners, one hell of a talent
by use of self-destruction;
self-evisceration, but how
was that precision of language?
why are you lingering, now,
still here? how
about let it ******* go;
good me like you used to, and
all over-the-place is a kinda
way of life. (feeling wasted;
trashed) there's never been prison,
listening to privileged rock star;
kinda in for ******.
all he did was smile,
and he shook guards' hands.
validating them,
more so to get in any head;
willing patients a preference.
(let 'em guess their illness,
discounts if right;
derisive mocking, otherwise)
now, guessing around too long,
a rise of sun to brighten . . . nope,
segue **** from out your ***:
    In first light, wax poetic.
    In the night, wax tragic.
Paper may burn but
                  Words will escape.
            Lawrence Ferlinghetti;
****** that up, huh, LawF?
bet he wore bowler derbies, and
money-down if a three-piece suit.
                             (betting on vanity)

prattling on, in fit of insanity,
and there was, almost, a
lost teacup of whiskey,
yet saved by practical skill,
and i had just picked up
that cup. this is melodrama.
feeling quite off-place,
comma,
who will ******* abate -
will placate - actuality
if this vessel finds itself
as lost cause?  (guess
question unanswered;
left) promise you, that one,
nor any other cat,
is real. forged truths placed
with mind not prone
to retaliation; generational rest-
rictions for those come second?
(who came second?)    won't be funny.
surprised to continue, but
****, we all saw it, chuckled
effective appreciation.
now, float the dead ones home;
never be good enough,
quietly, just look like
the magazines. just like you.
just like me.

fear, not
      waking again;
                cored-understanding.
          fear, found
               pseudo-rational,
   in light of possibility.
           in light of Self-doubt;
           when the Conscience whispers.
                 constant murmurs,
"did you love them?"
                 when shut-eyed,
"will they remember?"
    anxious thought, rampant
                              at ending; yearning,
             rampant in drifting. yearning,
   for the lighthearted, only; yearning,
       from Self's-center, only,
                    there already.

late morning -- pretty certain
i am drunk. three point; gotta
laugh at that.
     (there's something about you;
           seems to sync with the Universe)
                         light music,
with reminiscence of myth-
ologized ***** Den.
      (in silent darkness, walls
           vibrated in tonal quality)
***** Den; orange-light hazard
zone. occupied: white skin starving
African child.      (means you could
                              see the collar bones)
    GIMME THAT MOTHER
       ******* AMBIANCE
[(get in the background)
           i don't mean it]
      i do mean i want to sleep.
to be seeking destitution and
continuation of Self -- sac-
rificing wanderlust, genetically
struck?
      i do mean i want to sleep;
passed out a lifetime?    nah,
i lost my voice from recess, but
   **** that sixteen years,
though no waste. no waste,
and again i'll sing with you.

first empty page; they lessen
                 and so on. a drawing
          closes distance, and
    to have missed that middle-branch
                     after searching
                         all the others, when
        thought-seeking meticulousness
                      flawed us --
             distracted by color.
be me some ******* keystone
       disturbance. all this
    *******, self-wrough, and
    seasoned by delicate hands.
                  (a bit of straggled breathing)
    a pale vessel to be burned; not
          so prevalent,
without some sided-suffering
         since denouncement of day-timer.
               cycle too fast,
       when the sun grows;
          burn-out right quick.
approach in calm and
    slothishness, chew nails
to nub, and move with a bit of
      caution. a drawing closes distance.

there was offered a cup
      of coffee to a hallucination;
   some test of disembodiment langors.
           then realizing, these dreams, --
     awaiting some metaphor here --
           are not all dream, and
you can sleep or
      you can ******* die
   as a drawing closes distance.