Settled in the the dried up grass
among the thistles, tired roots, and nettles.

I've settled,
I know I'm not a succulent.

I'll repent but so should you.

I hate vegan food,

but your beef based, chicken stew
is gross,
and I'm not one to lose my subscription fee.

It's food coloring on habitats that I can'ts see.

I will never use my arm.
I can't raise it above my head.

So... Instead.
I'll used my legs and my feet.
And still try to be neat.

nucka nucka  NUCKA

i was too much.

Sorry Kate.

Enjoy youre run.

It's clear that this is what you need and am going for.


Sore.... so SORE. It's okay. gn baby girl.

You do you.!!!!

take me take me..
I hate myself.

Take me I hate myself for being a girl who
has to be brown.

Take me take me.
Please take me.I
Im not a bowl of noodles.

I'm youre girl.

Don make me die.
I'm a real person.
I dont want to die under a pile of sticks a soiled water bottles.



Please.... I'm in a lot of pain.

I'm going to die....so sorry. so sorry. Oxygen is for the fun.

Bleeding is what happens when you don't have blood to bleed.

Crying is the sideboard when your grief no longer leaves.


Kind of, if kind of life, the non altruisctic bags that see.


It's kind of if you hadn't tried, sisters only find the way to grieve.


Taxes and obama find a world where I should pay.
It's only taxes and costumes, it's not my greatest day

Candy and fireworks is the stork upon me sill...

Even still.. there is something about words that I can't feel.

Even then... I'll try to pen and round up my heart.

I'm so sorry. sorry sorry... that I can make you try to start

to try to feel somethings.

I'm sorry love is real.

i'm SORRY that your huge rules commitee finally has to feel.

Littered in a spilled pile of nose bleeds...
Still...
I'm sorry.
I seceded for a bone pile.

Beguiled by huge head and lightning
it seems that only strawberry swirls
could unfurl a white mans bleeding heart.

Fear.
Anyone had ever lived,
all you have to live is fear.

How many of you can feed yourself?
And are strong enough to build a home?

How sad... are stringy children who can't even cook a stone?

people will like your words,
but they won't like you.

They like pepperoni pizza,
but they don't love the goo.

It's okay, I understand.
Nobody's quite like me.

But what I see is instead a sort of class story.

I'm poor so I don't get a second chance at having fun..

But if I were white, and were not brown, I'd have a better chance at having fun.

Placid, secular wretchings have held a hilt upon a building we've since had our city agree and seal all of our holy hopes on.

Wobbegone travels hadn't held a torch to all of our second city queens who held their beautiful social justice cloaks upon brooches tied on our heart strings with pins tipped with poison.

It sings...
her voice.
Our champion.

She sings, but still it stings to know she'll have to die on our behalf because we can't handle a golden cow... Let alone: her calf.

Laugh at her
and let me be.

I want to die before I live.

Honey soaked milk is all I ever want to see..

Blind me blind me blind me.

Pristine hens,
covered in golden feathers had penned
me a welcome note
to show me where all her, and their eggs were.


... I never stirred in the mornings,
because our rooster was a horror show.

He'd blow out bellows and blankets of snot covered win,
that began to make us feel like sinners for only living.


Still every day...
We'd sit there and lay.
And stay....
and lay.
Every day and every morning.

I'm sorry I wasn't more for you, Sir.
I"m sure you'd rather I were.
But all I am is a chicken, Sir...
Really!!!
That's all I ever really were...

Dead grass is holding up my garden of chicken ****
Stories, many stories held high on the projected
notion that I can save every brown person one day.

Pickling is a process
And so is sticking with some showy shrew.

Stewing is a process
and so is showing me that I'm like you.

It's takes a *** of water,
It take showmanship.
Laughter into laughter,
into improvised loving moments that slip.

Slipped into a joke, and
sliding into a smile.
I don't have to try.
Because you, your soul
I can beguile.

Maybe not no ones.
But that don't matter to me.
It's the game that I had chose to play,
because your eyes are all I see.

Never have I ever felt not so even crazy.

It amazed me
when I found out me,
it was not ME!
It's you!

It's in everything you do.
It's in the air upon your hair...
It's the smell in your soul, it's true.

It's eleven in the night.
But still i'd rather fight.
For the fact that you're not me.
But I can't begin to be
a guy who can be for someone.

For someone who is him.
It's a shame, and I'm a sin.
But even still it's how I feel.
I feel your wrong, and I'm not ill.

Let me mention something:

It's how pushing my soul
to the limit had in fact inhibited me.

Shivs in my sides helped enlighten me.
Like gold leaf on the edge of the break up letter.
I'm better for it,

It helped restored me and help me see who I am.

But it's awful hot in the pit now,

I'm a boiler room pal just like all the rest of us boys,
who toil and sell out backs for butter and soil.

Something we can eat and plan with.
Instead it's sand that we find as our foundations.

You can call us the sod and clay nation,
because that's all we'll ever know.
My motivation is my hog, and my puny reproduction is my sow.

Souled up sewings in a demon quilt,
built on lies and loans,
deals and interest
have shown that I'd rather blow out my brains
than abstain from honesty. Honestly.

Today I had some breakfast leftovers:
Normally not, but I had friends around.

Old pals and lovers were in town for a concert.

So I asserted myself and my pad,
and allowed loads of hippies to flop down
on my poorly maintained hardwood floors.

I'm sure it would rile them up if they knew
that all my repairs were
made of petroleum and unsustainable glue.

But even still,
while peeling potatoes,
I imagined my hashbrowns,
my real spuds
forming tornadoes on all
the tent towns and dreamers,
and all that would seem to know peace but not hate.

Because ignoring what you don't want to hear
is only ignoring your fate.

Classification of species can only bring pain
upon scenes of release or of strained abstinence.

Instead let's count our sense, scented with sensual players that be
waiting in state for some late queen to knight us into our own.

I showed up to tell about how hell is right here,
but, being guided by fear, the crowd steered my broke *** into a crowded oil barrel.

After emerging all sticky, it hit me that I'd be better off alone,
but I had already shown my hand and now,
unplanned,
is why i'm confused and covered in feathers.

Every morning she left me,
but before she did
I would make her eggs and coffee
and we would dig into the plans and meat of the day...

Then she would go,
I would stay.
Because I worked all night, and get home at 2.
But that didn't matter when six o'clock came
and my baby had to get ready.
Showers and blow dryers fired at full engine
while I managed a 2 hour regimen including
coffee filters and boiled eggs,
toasted with bongs and foil.
Toiling over a freezer frittata
my motto is that:
I love her and should oughta help her.
Because she's mine.
I don't need help back.
So much, in fact, I'll be glad when you don't.

So now our morning is built upon me, and what I see.
How I feel,
because even still.
I don't see you when I leave or when I go.
But you do when you do and you do.
I set up a show.
Just for you.
But you can't take too much.
Because I will no longer be me when you do.

Boughs of plasticine
built on my mind
a line of obscene edges
combed out on
needle built
lines
grinded
into
a
line
on decent
course. leg with real
emotions that weren't out sourced.

Well!
WELL
yes.... yes
it's something we should do.
Let's take ALLLLL
the arts we found.

I'll take mine...


...and


you'll take yours.....!!!
Yes!!

AND WE'LL MAKE A MONSTER.

Sandpaper shawl.
I schlepped back into class
in a sandpaper shawl after all the hell i'd been through.

I glued buttons on my
Sandpaper shawl
and scrawled in chalks all
of the meditations I learned
while I was trying to earn my black belt.

It' felt great.
I wouldn't no longer berate the less
cognizant mission.
Initiative is is alive form of protest.

It's the most and less of the human
full on experience.
Don't get delirious, live.
Please love
Please give

Dinner built in blood shot eyes
is honestly mostly meat
to even lay a blanket
on out ****** picnic feels real bleak.

let's not get up
stand up
lets not get too much air.

I didn't wear some socks today
I can feel silica in the air.

Roughy rubbed nightmares
scrubbed on the edges of my feet

I've rebuked all license of the
folks that think I'm neat.

"Hey!"
"I hope you have had a wonderful morning!"
"I'm your milk dude"
"Yes ma'am, I'm apart of the diamond package."

"Yes, MA'AM! Yes we do... but the residue you find around
the corner of your bed is due to all the
fat Sedona sand skitters."

Yeah... yes ma'am. They ruin the land with their compostable cat litter"

It's a pity to ****** about,
so I rerouted my question.

"Umm... I came here to learn a lesson about life and love, and every little bit held in between."

"Okay, well you'll have to turn in, because there is a lot of sinful fog in the air, so maybe it's time to repair what we can and have time for."

After a day filled with intuition,
it's a mission of frog filled fairy tales
loaded on my bar-covered wagon
was bales of hay that was
just once grass in the wind.

cut cut CUT CUT
skinskinskink...
COOKCOOK COOK COOK  COOK
sin sin sin

SLEEP SLEEP
eat eat
SLEEP SLEEP
snore...
ignore..
ignore
"Shhh"
"Don't breathe..."

"Shhhhh!!!! baby boy!!"


"HUSH!"

"shh.."


"please baby boy"

"Ignore....nore........nore................."

Have a haberdasher
would can fix your swollen shoes
in a manner so professional
when we wouldn't have to schmooze...

So...instead the sewer percolates
and chocolate gets hot.

Desires are molded in a mold
with trade secrets, I'd get shot
for talking about how we did it, and how we are so nice.

because sugar is like acid when you accept kindness as your spice.

Still i'm only leaving my legs to show up and show up all the sugar that I see.

i when i need my need insulin i know that youre
much less that what I need.

Classification is hard to predict.

how **** impossible would it be enough
if you hadn't made enough food in your family so
we could all be safe?

Three days after pasta night,
It's alright
It's only food,
and we are so poor
so don't be rude.

Glassiness of faces
would make me remiss
of the pace which
Would rather I breath straight forward.

Lordness,
lordy lordy
gorged me in a intestine filled

Gizzard gritted grated grop
of drops of sticky sweet silt
Held in our hand with self hated pigment
sewn upon on salts colored in summers
and others
but even still
Built, on eversnow evenings
bereave me and steal
please believe still
Believe
that I'm not unnerved by that fact that i'm
a person.
it is certain.
Just like you.

A stew of free seed words.
It's absurd.
Blood.
And words.
And painful shields.
words,
and thoughts that you would
kneel for.
Some shore..
some ocean.

Some place
Some face that is worth the world,
Some face worth falling in love for...

I've coughed up ***** of pill soaked cotton,
every morning.
Everynight it's like there should be shows on tv showing how rough life is.
But it's not,
it's a business that's built a cathedral
and stitched ups sides of all the folks that were lied to.
In order to stay true
to nihilism and anarchy
it occured to me
that the final way to stay in my lane is my sitting my ***
in hot sad littered with lizards and all the water in my upcycled big gulp cup.
It *****.
And I'm scared.
Because they took my stray away, and with out lids, it the woods,
i can't keep the ice to stay cold in my drink.

It's the first inkling of poor people killing for schillings of basic disposal needs,
but the rich folks greed will instill into us
landfill thinking.

Like we're supposed to be sinking on the ship we were shanghaied on.

Somewhere there's a team who's playing against me
on a poker table sharing hands that I can't see.
And even though, so far away
Somehow she had helped
Something was deep inside that really could not be helped.

So far, somehow a burgershop
Had happened on a hill

Behind my fairest lady
was a milkshake buried in a field.

Somehow she said fire was the only way I live
Some how she said with out air, I would never find a way to give.

Somehow. Somehow.
Something she said.

It really hurt a lot.

Something space left me with things
I lived, but rather naught.

Perhaps I've covered courage
in porridge pile polyps.

Some sewed such defiance
in my interspersed spaces with my trollops.

Often edges are so soft,
and had held on hearts of me.

But it's the *** of soup of knowledge
that lets me know what I can be.

Actually, and after,
Beds, before, bravely built
Came cross crew, caulked, caved
Dove, dived, dug
Entered, expected every entrance ever.
Finally, few first felt
Gaul, grace, grossness,
How high her heaven held
In interspaced indifference.
Just jokes,
Kiddies kidded
Like little liveries. Like lost little laughs.
Most meet
Not next, not never, not neat, not nice.
Only over onager onery.
Please place people, perhaps past pain, past peaks, past pimples.
Quit quivering,
Right rangers, running round ranges
So soften such seals
Take tough touches
Under udders, undulating urges.
Very verified visages.
Why worry? What's worth when worrying?
Xenonphobic xenons xeroxing
You. Your yummy, yearly
Zone, Zoo.

Back when I was eight, every friday we would have

our own little holidays.

Filled with pizza, too much soda and locally rented games.

Even still, as it was
there still was an occasion

Sometimes, mostly on weeks when
my dad had ideas that would engage us to
toss away our pizza,
and all our nintendo games

We would get chinese food.

And that was all the same to us
as having a vacation
We didn't have brains to think
That it's ONLY chinese food.

That's not how we would think
Me and my little, and my older brother would
freak out at 6 at night
When the mom and dad came home from errands
with boxes written in a language we couldn't write.

All we were was indians.
All I knew was stew
We weren't dirt poor but even still
Egg drop soup was something new.

Holy hell, i loved chow mein
I smothered my riced with hot mustard
Even though I was only nine, i knew was divinity was.
It was eggrolls, fortunes cookies, and my newfound MSG buzz.

Wrinkled in the pages of my book
was a wrap of ancestor skin.

Wrapped in rice paper
was a roll of animal sin.

\Stew and steams
Sewn in cages
Soaked in milk
and blessed with sages

was silk and heart weaved in a page

on a paper book so thin.
so thin
like looking in a leaf who had been
out on a rock for ages

only veins left with out skins
it's what we printed on our pages.

Well you never bought a pass,
and we never asked permissions
But tonight we've permitted ourselves to indulge in our mission.

Out of all our stories, we had found a few
that dig into your psyche, and set your soul astew.

So tonight, and tonight only, don't go to bed really late.
Because we perform an hour show, but it'll last all life if you let it.

Only three acts, just like you learned. but we act like it's forever.

Please eat before, so you're instore, for our hedonistic endeavour.

Scissors used to be a tool I'd ask my mom for
So I could clip comics from the paper

Sundays were colorful, and full of ads
and deals, and payments for the lives that we had.


Older.
Older and older I learned
that's lives aren't made out of food and water.
But paper and paper ideals.

I spilled on the floor
my heart bleeds on papers

and i bleed on it more and god how I hate her.

Lifted in the bed i bought
I cold sweated out all my ******* thoughts.

I riffed with my buddy
in a car,
why we made a blood moon from a start

I blew a bowl on a moonlit lake
while we munched on cornnuts and catfish steak

I jumped on hills in his corolla
the morning before the night it was stolen

But it came back,
and so did he

and the next night we kept out lines out
for the next catfish in the sea

I felt like making files
I feel like I can finally classify my life

I'll rolodex my women
and archive all my strife

I'll log away my first fire
and try to learn from it.

Use my important papers to build my pyre
and use my rage to get it lit.

I haven't eaten lately.
I've forgotten how to eat.
I'm a chef,
I make me unctuous meals.
Then I leave them in the street.

I'll chew my food,
then spit it out.

I don't deserve to be.
I'm made out of starvation and self hate.
But I should eat more calories.

Instead I starve,
Instead I wait.

Hunger is a feeling
that I can really feel
Which is why I'm scared
To stop the movie reel.
I have my momentum.
I get force fed so I won't die.
But what I really what is lunch.
With my friends...
I want to try...

Space and time
is only that
and can we
make
like...
life and persistence?

How often should we feel so bad,
and question our existence?

I used to blow up ****, and plow up
all old stories,
and i used to throw rock at old windows,
and soak in all my glory

so sticky sweet
all i want
is candy from the mexican kids
because it's so sour and so hot

I think i really like
Really like what I may be
A dead man who feels alive
when tied to live people's livery

I find that fire burns when gas is all around
And I find dead useless meat in a freezer
because it's old and can't be found.

I ripped out grass
out of the ground
with my unclipped nails.

I build dirt under my skin
and it's why my life has failed.

Today I sat my *** upon a grassy spot
And I afforded my soul patience
So it can conjure up a thought

Only problem is
I have a problem listening

I don't hears words of heart
All I hear is nonsense
Din, and things.

But now I have to listen
Because I'm ***-gary

When my forehead starts to glisten
Is when I found the will to be.

How crazy was when
When everyone saw
how quickly my fingers fired

Like a flare from a flare gun
It was hot
Much hotter
Hotter than an affair with an affluent women

Still I said
"Let's stay in the freezer"
Because believe it or not
I'm a geezer who finds life
Easier when it's whittled down to slow motion.

There used to be plenty of time
and I would spend it with my friends
and their sisters

Wistful air are all we had on trampolines

Spliced together is our life
scenes of sun-soaked adolescent stages

On a rainy june 15th
with a basket in my hand

I carried my first girlfriend to the promised land
made of pollen, lies, and lillies

It's silly how much
Still silly how much it does

How and why did I
just find you so freaking perfect?

Maybe it's real obvious now,
about how and why I did.

You lifted the lid off my world
and hid all hate from me
Ridded me of all my pain,
for a day or two so I could finally see.

How did it really happen?
It happened late at night,
while we were serving dinner,
lit by candle light.

Fuzzy smells on frizzy hair
is how I held her first.
I helped hand out tickets,
and she helped me with dessert.

Across the room,
she worked away
and worked her way towards me.

And I loved talking shop,
So I got on my knee.

I helped her with her cravings,
and she put a lid on me
She simmered in the mornings,
while we sang and climbed up trees.

At night, it's late
And life so tragic.
That's when she cursed my life
With her yoga magic.