phe
nom
e
no
logic
al phe

nom
e
no
logic
al phe nom

e
no
logic
al phe nom e

no
logic
al phe nom e no
logic
al phe nom e no logic

al phe nom e no logic al

Time is of the sentence, while
verbs reveal their intents
for adjective nouns (pro or no
comment) quickly in vents
meant for air, but coarseness
courses through upturned grates  
shredding of courses into no ways

to go from here to home,
awaiting infinitely fine moments
caressed along necks of silken
skin within the wear of stretched out
glances left lingering still
in compassionate ponds rippling
soft warm smiles lazily by
the melting cares of the world
golden in luxuriously wrapped light
playing across the surface & through-

out into emerald encrusted irises
to cast love's shadow over
swamps of fear gurgling neuro-
toxic diatribes against plu-
perfect pasts & future
imprefects presented in a case to
Your Honor's (the jury) out of bounds
dissolved with ear ration-
al solutions mixed & stirred
thoroughly throughout,
without spilling too
much.

nobody whose who’s
****** bleeding nothing’s
lost or found amongst
swing swung sounds
and rebound where
nowheres echo off violence’s
clamoring dictum: to each’s own
silent stammering victim  

no bits limit the need to share
no stars emit light without due glare
no atom resists the urge to fuse
no one exists alone to choose

yesterday isn’t tomorrow’s
friend forever, yet
if not, one today might wonder
when rain wasn’t
more than lightning’s thunder?

Truth? a lewd's you
in known certain terms:
whether veins, when drowned
hawks a gin (loomin’)
a shin splinters as
mines bore on; why ‘ol
car bonfires grow tired
of a pack o’ lips’ wisp ring,
“Hydra Djinn—
Sine diem purgare nox.”
Redeem and weep
in tents, faces & phrases
met a fizz[i call]y
drunk in jest id bouts
wrested liver's tried & tested [buy con-
testant after contest-
ant] where West lids gaze
in two, the joy of the flame
hungry's gasping for air
[nothing's becoming] bright
berthed of ash-end tombs
lit up in the night.

why can't I just
it's just that
I'm sick and tired of
if I could only
the problem is
I don't know why but
I can't believe
but that's what I mean
I hate it when
it's annoying how
I can only imagine
if only there was
but it's like
isn't it funny how
now see that's
I mean obviously
it's just ridiculous
there's just so many
I really do think, that, you know
it's just one of those things where it's like
see, no matter what
I can't ******* stand it

You either know me, or you don’t.
I’m your best friend, and worst enemy.
I’m bought, sold (new and old),
sought, found, and tossed around.
I get twisted and turned,
mimicked and gimmicked.
I lead you here, I lead you there,
I lead you just about anywhere.
I whisper in your ear, and boom across the sky,
feeding off echoes, savoring my cry.
I’m overlooked and undercooked—
raw as sushi just unhooked.
I’m encrypted and coded into complex clues,
hidden in books and the daily news.
I’m hacked, chewed, shredded and burned,
analyzed and synthesized at every turn.
I’m stronger than ever and growing each day,
collecting, connecting, and creating the way.
Information’s the name, and if life’s a game,
then I’m one slick player with zero shame.

Success & Excess,
the double-headed goliath
atop the mountain drinking wine
laughed with all the slop-eating swine
at the ant-sized pilgrims
crafting their shrine.

But soon the mountain cracked
under the lives spent toiling
over construction & protection
of their collective prison--
the bitter stench of cynicism
wafted freely through its halls
& prisoners prayed for the crumbling
to bring them fresh air.

The mountain did crumble, success
& excess met pilgrims in fate
as the trumpets of creation harmonized
with the oboes of destruction
to wring out a nocturne
for the newly born babes.

Cynicism dissipated
& their souls grew
stronger, their will followed
& filled the void of Excess with
imagination to create
the world again.

Success, the wounded foe,
was forced to strut around town--
pilgrims & prisoners
laughed and poked, yet
at the nucleus,
Success whispered: "nothing can stop me."