I bought a bundle of clotted cream out of the clearance basket
located all the way in the back of my local grocery store.

I muddled a bit of leftover herbs in a mortar,
making it into a poultice sort of good I rub on all my sores.

The more I make fire,
the more ash I'm left with.

I poured salted water on the fires,
steam showed up in the air.

More minerals caked on rocks.
Pock marks of sour crusty cake.

Four years of dry seasons
left layers of life loving salt in a dead lake.

I'm cracking,
Breaking eggs out on the salt flats.
Making flavor out of rocks.

I clocked in on my personal best this morning.

Waking up sore, I poured my heart out on a diner waffle.

My waffle seized up.

A victim of sugar shock.

I soaked it syrup and butter,

then I gorged until my heart stopped.

Baby magpie birdies
Cluck early in the morning

Coyotes have breakfast
on all the worms and birds.

Trout gather nymphs in slurping slurring.

but the longest live terrapin remains inert.

Stuffing brittle remnants of dead little bits,
crammed in a stovepipe shaft
had lighted and lit up a huge fireball
over all of my peers and enemies.

It wasn't hard to see at all,
unless you liked living under a rock like me.

It was the sort of thing you regret never having saw,
and the sort of thing, if you were you
you would never see.

I grazed over a stained-glass marble work the had hung up in my office for fifty years too long.

I managed to mount a log of ******* on the wall before all of the college kids realized it was an atrocious idea.

So.....
(I did this)

I sent a saliva sealed manila envelope to the smartest people and the world.

And I sat and chew on my foot while everything burned in soggy peasant grass.

Good ideas last as long as atrocities.

My marbles shine...

they sparkle ******* in the corner of the floor.


I had to scrape up all sorts of crooked glass *******, because I had expected early evening company.


Never again.

After works I forked over tip dollars in order to pay for all of the premium services.

Even still, after, I neglected all of my maniac potion recipes.


Instead, I just waited to see
how bouncy and fun fun fun every one might be.

Mud is the word of gods.


You only are afforded fungus if you can knaw on your sisters ankle.




The world is raw.

And we can not let you be nothing.

You're strong.

and perfect.


I'm sorry.

Have our food.

I get it.
you're perfect.
We do what we can.

I span over gravy trains.

Other than that.... Just be a superhero.

Obstain.

Enjoy your muscle density and fast hearts.

I'm hungry.

I'm not bad.

I'm hungry.

That's why I'm sad.


I'm sorry.


I miss my grandma's tortillas.


I miss breakfast.


I miss her stew.


I miss waking up.



Because she is dead.


But she would make breakfast for you too.

I pocked a glass candle holder after I knocked it off the shelf.

I smelt burnt tortillas, and felt like a monster.

I floundered.

I snickered.

I broke a bit off of a bar of KFC gravy.


I'm sorry.
Maybe I'll be good.
Maybe I'll be nice.

Maybe I'll move foward.
Maybe...
Just Maybe...
I hate rice.....

White Rice.

I love vitamins.


Just not white rice.

I built a greasy rafter aftershow to embloden my favorite actors.

I stand rainbows in corners fired about in brick-a-brack cookies.

It's morbid.

AND funny...



And they look at me like I'm more funny than they are.

And if I am?

What **?

Should I resend myself?

Dive in a bar?


Never.

I have a way to get by.

Get by in life.
Sorry, so do you.

We can burn up.
Or we can end up in a hedonistic stew,
after spending our lives melting, and doing out best,
doing our best to live a fun life, then wind up in a vat.

To live all day and make your best,
only to wind up into a battered smoked-out whiskey barrel.

A junk food vat.
Cake with nutrients.

Very 'not sterile.'

Caulked and sauntered in a evercornered in a vat of sugar goo.

Waking up is great,
when you had a nighttime full of dreams.

Sleeping can feel not great,
tho,
when it's bursting at the seams.

I used to sleep,
and dream a lot about a life I should have had.

But now my dreams end up with me shaking,
breaking off slabs of my own cast iron heart.

I know.

It's rusted and torn apart.

I slipped on a pair of sneakers,
Waxey, slick-soled.

Obviously mottled with bleach blots from mopping too many floors.

Made, canvas first,
the cured in a patina of labor.

They're comfy, and rugged, and they will probably last
twice as long as me.

If my shoes could see and endure the future,
do me a favor:
Please don't ever tell me what they will see.

Breaking off chips ice,
More brittle than a pack of Juicy fruit left in my coat packet,
In the car the other day, chipping of bits of dry sugar goo.

Making off, with paper slips make of lies and anything
that left me with more paper at the end of the day,
after waiting for hours at the check cashing place.

I shook off my pants, and spot cleaned to give me 48 more hours
until a proper laundry.

I took off from a broken stance I made for myself.
A sturdy, stable footprint pressed in mud,
and left to freeze overnight.

I made off with a lot of stories,
but I left my mouth at my lover's house.
In the corner, with my charger and water bottle.

So, I shaved off every hair on my head,
slept standing up,
and made-believe I was dead.

I left a hard boiled egg, and dried chili in a pickle jar.

I had a briney, eggy, chilly pickle in my fridge for weeks.


You can't pick in a pickle jar frozen in time just to see.

It's a bullet in the eye that never had a chance to breath and see.


So, one day, maybe, if I'm brave,
I'll have the strength to eat

The flavor I fermented in a jar at the end of the world with solar heat.

I created a new condiment out of jelly, ranch, beef jerky, and lsd.

It's really salty and cost as much as a buttered popcorn kernel cover with the mist of the perfect potato chip.

It's as sweet as a ramen noodle prison driven in an uber lead by a giant ketchup SUV.

I grabbed all my groceries without a bag after I heard half a revolver full of bullets pop off.

My meat bag soaked a paper sheet and started to lose integrity,
ripping at the seams, and it seemed normal.

So, I freaked and I bailed, after I showered, my drain looked like a rusty glitter parade and it made me feel *****.

I checked out how well the stew was seasoned from all of my advanced students.

I knew the recipes and rudiments only hold fast after hate hadn't held and wouldn't last.

So, after education had made real mention of how hard life can be,
That's when I wrote my book of what I actually see.

I stuck a butter knife into my childhood tree.

Just to see.

Never. Not ever would be me.

I'd rather die that gleem a glob of hate after a shaft had held us fast.

I'm Sorry.

I'm boiled water that would never last and stack us upon stale oxified office keys.

Please. I'm sorry.

Just send me to bed.


I'd rather be dead than answer a question that held my soul in remission and stuck me on a hickory sticker post caked in hate and held up with stagnant sand.

The resin built a bark on my childhood tree.

It's sticky and it burns, so bright. My eyes can barely see.



I plugged up holes on how I hate,

But that's not enough for me.


I made dinner,
I fed you,
it took a while.

But you don't care.

After gorging yourself on tasty food,

You can barely see.

Mandibles stroke against a stork on high noon.

I blew a cloud of candles to make us all swoon.


This is very much off putting,
I can see only glass.

It's pudding in central air while you stair at my ***.

I apologize for forgiving how sharp shells can be.

Because I dig  hella deep in ground that I can barely see.

I hate to hold you hostage.

But what I hate less
is that I don't have a life to give,
and my girl woke girl cares even less.

I had bad manners, but I scattered a couplet of culinary dealings into a platter of shaky masses and unironed dresses.

I had crispy dishes stacked in the sink,
and it stunk. So, I plugged up the matter whole to show that I'm still think about how hard life can be.

So, sorry...Lemme see..

I had bees in the garden, that polinated my assets, so I could finally see.

But that's all.

Im starving.

I no longer want to be but the brisk shiver air had spared my whisker hair, but after, I'm sorry. I'm left in a pile of knee-highs and overcooked fries I left sitting on my seat after a retreat to the nearest McDonalds.

She shoved me in the corner after chipping her teeth on the tip of a ***** bottle.

Nodding off, and mottled in bits of brackets holding fast.

I sighed, I knew it wouldn't last.

Like, it hurt.

It hurt real bad.

But I let it pass,
and now it hurts a little less.

I'm still a mess and my clothes are *****.

But folks say that I'm still young.
They laugh when they found out
that I'm not even thirty.

Before dressing myself this morning,
I made sure to add a dropper full of toxic masculinity into my
molten coffee cup before it had a chance to cool.

Then I pulled all my banal toned clothes out of the dryer,
folded them,
and cried over an expended dryer sheet because all
I can do is look clean and neat,
when I would rather be a colorfest, wrested from
a notion that I can't feel bright, without losing strength.

This is why I cook my own food.
Mend my own clothes,
Dance my own dance,
So, I don't own anyone a **** thing.

Globs of scraggy oogle blorck
Cracked in ebbs of nibble naps

Scrapped in cork and oggled mek

Gorged of mega noogle neck.

Feeling alone.

It's not bad,

Unless you hate yourself.


It feels really bad,

But what's nice...

Is making for people.

TASTY FOOD.

From everything on your pantry shelf.

I'd soaked my sad *** in saline water to see if sins bubble up.

I had had bad noxious knowing notions while wretching up a sip,

A sip of sour, mineral remissings caked on cornered eyes.

Salting, sour corners of mourning lives.


So, instead of feeling something,

I poured molten oatmeal in my bowl this morning,

Just to stay alive, and feel something warm.


After my fifth cup of coffee,

I got bored and stormed out the door to challenge all the

Vagrants at the park to chess to buy a case of ramen noodles.

My cat shivered this morning,

So, I asked her if she's cold.

And my dog had moved a little slower,

And I know he's getting old.

Which is not okay with me,

But life don't work like that.




I made myself some tea, because it was really cold,

And stage a couple of cans on the counter,

While making breakfast, so I can feed my pets.


But after cooking my own food and looking in their eyes.

I cried a little bit and said

I'd rather die than see them sad, because they are my friends.


So, just today, and just because,

I'll share a little bit.



I'd rather share a moment than spend forever feeling bad,

I'd rather give my cat and dog sliver of bacon than see them sad.

I know saturated fats are bad for them, but they're just as bad for me.

I just like to see smile as they smack their lips
when they see that I don't hate then, and include them in my joy.

We only have so many years,
So much money,
So many hours.

So, let's go for a walk.



I'll get you snack when I get paid,
And I'll buy you each a toy.

I found magic in the dirt.

After packing it away, I flirted towards the sunset.

And after fire had been made,

I sat in fire shade and made plans for buried treasure.

I measured my golden pack in the heat of night-made flame,

Blaming only others, I had to pack away my shame.

I found aground about battered chafe a windrow full of hair.

Soaking into the ground was innocent blood caked with despair.

After climbing loads of hills, on skis from a dead Fin.

I found a supply depot where I could fit in.

I found a place in a broken world, placed fried potatoes on a plate.

And after hell had passed me by, I sent myself away.

Life never ends, until it does.

Is never fun, until it is.

It's only bad when it's not good.

And really great while eating food.

We'd knitted our pits into the peach.

"That'll light it up" we said.

And then we came to life.

Starting as blips on a grid,

It ended with a kiss.

A bug pressed upon my leg.

A bit of frozen plantain had stuck my knee.


I froze a hair of against all of the pretty girls.

I boiled all of my hell so there was no stew that they could stir.

Good night, molten soggy rock.
I'd never knock on your door
know that we are tracked in a singular
Triangular fate.

You're simple.
So dimpled simple being.

Absurtitiy dragged in the average being.

You've breached the see and now I have to to pretend like I see you on the horizon of peace.

Beware knowers that know who they don't know.

You need praise.
Want want it.
Live on praise in turn.

Average seeks average.

Genius seeks and can **** after anything that differs from the art they want to create.

Fail in creativity from the layman is the creativity of their own.

Making a mountain out of a knife.

Made out of diamond dagger tiger teeth.

I blasted a plastron of over cooked crust over my underexaggerated neighbors.

I plastered a naked girl with her breast broken over the necks of our favored favored people.

After my mind had let her go,
I stayed near to frozen water and cracked an egg,

I prayed while I fried my food in that frozen skillet.

I played with the string on my boots,
the boots all rotted out,
I played with them until I was brave enough to shoot out a complaint about how hard our life's had been.

So...
So they got mad and binned us into batch and snatched away our phones.

Bemoaning about out lack of rights is like a baby pooping too hard.

It's not all about you or me.

We're here cause we let down our guard.

Safefy is just safety.
But safety isn't safe.

You are you,
and I am I
cause we don't have the right color in our
face.

I burnt a crispy bit of bark,
So we could cook our food.

And then we sang and smoked some ****,
before we choked down all the *****.

...

I woke up early,
it was cold.

So, I cook all the water I could.
Because coffee and oatmeal warms you,
in the wild,
warms you much more than it should.

But not only that,
only two days in,
your boy smuggling in some bacon.

Why? You ask?
Because.
I love my friends.

And the coolest sight.
The coolest thing in the world.
The coolest thing ever.
Really.
The coolest thing....


The coolest thing is watching them shaking after several brutal ways...

Cooking up a pan of fresh bacon.
In the morning.
With your friends.
Is the best way.
The best way to spend the end of days.

Flanging on the fingertips of a fire,
While tipping out music,
To the holy goddess of desire.

She's the hottest girl,
that ever was.

She holds a guitar,
and that's not fair
because, how can we be cooler?

You took it all from me.
My life is a haze of social acceptance that I will never see.

While slapping together insulation to pack me away for winter,
I found a pipe of frozen water that splintered through the piping.

So, I shut off the shower, and stop washing clothes,
and checked, tapped all the pipes to see why they frozen.

It's cuz they're real steely and had whole rod knocks,
so, by keep them in, the system it shocked.

I rocked them about, to generate heat.
But, I broke my house up, and burned it up the neat.

I made a batch of pepper steak to make my ex-wife happy.

I tapped into my clutch of over-buttered eggs to scrap together a bit of food to show that I'm real.

I flapped a pair of fragile barbeque wings, and sang her a song.

I piped icing into a long string of lies that wouldn't last so long.

Although it's tedidous,
I've abandoned the mortem of the tedium
of face harsh advances.

Standing in a copper cage is a molten knackered weathervane.

Naked, I abstained from God.

I knew I was bad, so I knodded.

But GOD.
I'm appalled.

I'm out in pasture packed, knackered rack dealing.

Let me die.


And give my something to chew.

I chawed on all of my raw dealings.

Poetry *****.


And so do you.

Give up all of your ideas.

And we can watch you get blue in the face.


Poets are the band geeks
in the world after we all figured out music is cool.

Poetry is for us.

Poetry is for you.

Poetry is heavy handed.

Loving it is like loving a stray dog.

It'll turn you blue after you had all your emotions.


Poetry isn't new.
And neither is what you do,
or what you're feeling.

Poetry is just cheap words that act like crack to move you through your dealing that'll get you out on the other end.

So, spend life like you never hear my name.

It'll be just and fun and good, though it'll never be the same.

I hate to share.
To bare myself on all sorts of losers.

Everything thing is new news to them because they've never stepped out the door.

You're welcome.

I'm happy you paid so much money so you can ignore your own emotions and latch yourself to mine in order to find what it feels like when you live like a really real person.

I'm tired though.

And I appreciate your immersion because it pays the bills.

But still, i have my moments when I feel really mad about
how a human can by feeling.
Using the money that they had to take the place of who they are.

And I have to pay rent.
So your cash goes real far.

Pickling together a masterpiece to save for after summer.

Sticking together twigs and rocks to undermine makeshift smiles.

Picking apart all sorts of art to find, to make much fun of.

Spitting, on a fire made of hell and hello's, kindness that sired a stainless steel barrel whose wall is caked with woes of all of our unhappy people.

I soaked my head in acid this morning.

And afterward, toked as hard as I could.


I poked a hole in my favourite tarp to let water in so
I had something to couple with my lunch.


I flaked on dinner plans with my favorite guy in the world.

And I stored up all my regret in leftover pickle jars.

And after stacking them
I finally found the devil edging herself on the brim of my seat.

Brazen molten filigree sorries
Shelfed themselves on the edge of a shore made
of stickers and shapely woman.

Before I begin my crayon scrawlings,
I have a question.
A smart one that knows to gnaw on the back of my head...

"How do we know when we're alive?
And how do we know when we're dead?"

I gambled on Bumble to cover over my loneliness.

I've scrambled, and mumbled little nothing into pretty girls.

I scraped about a belly full of happy feelings.

And afterwards I taped a shape of my happiness onto my ceiling.

I gored myself with a peg leg after refusing to leave the bar last night.

I swung around my belly and bled all over my date
Just so she would go away.

Bright, shivered bitter mornings alone allowed me to store
all of my stories in my musty electrical archives.

Still, I held fast after attending my Tai Chi class hosted by that really pretty girl.

I billed my self early in case I outlasted my own ego.

I had to cancel several mornings, then finally withdrew.
'Cause I knew I never could act how I am and see her again.

How silly were you?

How afraid did you act?

I billy clubbed your sugar out of your back,
and I acted liked you were my brother.

But really, you werent.

Sugar you burnt.

And I glowed in a softball saccharin deal.


Still, I'd feel, felt molten stolen molted ****.

I'm sure.

It's the native indian bit.

But I let it all out.
And after I shouted how bad I felt.

But still sticky words held me tight.

And I'm left in the ground.

Without rights.
Without words.
It's okay,
it's absurd.

Just let me go to bed, like it said.
Just let me got to bed. Please. Bed Please.

I bragged about salty craggled bits forged in heaven-hell.

Breighed, knelling, in a door of mud,
is okay.
All night!

Until THUD.

Thrash,
he lit up all of our butter soaked popcorn.

I knew I deserved a day of rays of hope.

But NOPE.

Never.

I'm threw.

I blasted threw what you knew and showed it all on all of our state of the art cameras.

Depedent I should be.
For you to show all of me.

How much I was bad,
and how much you real weren't,
how sinful you've been,
and all the bridges you've burnt.

have business,
and show up,
like it really should be,
have hope that we all hate your less
that the goldenglory.

Take a nap,
take time,
take a dime and make a phonecall,
taken down and transcribed,

take it,
please take it please,
take all of what makes me bad,

so in your face I can breath.

Let me breath your lies,
let me stir up a stick.

I'll pick my better losers
and they'll clog up the thick.

The thick in the stickers.
The wishers awash.

The bleek nickle-dimers,
who've aschewed all begotten
dinner diners.

And alchohol sticker states.

Make me feel really bad for felling
how I do,

then I'll feel hate.

Golden petals are soggy,
riddled on frozen ground.

Silver is so lonesome, so it peddles
real problems while run around.

A mound of ****** and taxes turns into
electrum and magnimation.

To learn a word, don't ask.
Just look it up.
And avoid cognitive degradation.