In the air I used to smell a sweet smell
In the ground, it was there too

In the trees was fruits of sweetness
But sad berries turned to blue

In shrubs and weeds I seated
My stories were seeded swell

But without water is weakness
I'm beholden to my well

I held my tongue.
As often as I could.
While dating the skinny-faced girl.

Sure.
When she twirled me around,
I found myself out of my own head.

And
Sure.
Even when she was found dead,
in the comfort of the bed,
in that house of hers,
doused with secrets and drug-fueled murmurs.

It's stirred something deep down inside.
Whirred up all of my hiding hidden emotions.

Sure.
Sowed.
And show how action over devotion
determines who's actually in charge.

Ugh.
So I barged into my mildew-made storage unit.
And I used it to plop down
And sit.
And see.
On a concrete floor.
With nothin.
Just me.
and I mangled me.
Exsanguinated.
Strangled.
With bloodshot eyes.
Enough.
Enough to manage to see how
hate
and hard hell
can create an icecold shell
over everything I ever wanted to be.

I think I had a good idea
To build a new strong closet
So that can hold lions and my dreams I do deposit

Only problem that I have
is the rattle snakes
So home to have a path to my mind vermin take

As much as I would miss them.
I know they're just plague rat
But so sweet I wanna kiss them
A furry rodent that's like me.
But the that I don't kiss them, they'll
take my life from me.

The dirt under my knuckles is that last leftover I have from
helping out with a wheelbarrow full of hashbrowns this morning.


I can't butcher a hog, but I hauled in the cases of Coke, and bread, and extra chairs, and also managed to scramble every egg we had on hand.

And then I pretended I didn't care after I tore through my backstock of bacon, afraid of making my aunties sick because they're thick to stay home one winter in their ******* lives.

I don't want anyone to die.

But I know that they do.

And I guarantee you the last thing you want to say when you get to heaven is that youre dead because you couldn't get enough of your ****** nephews disgusting Christmas stew.

Solemn works is just sticky words.

I'm sorry that I'm absurd.

I hate brittle air

and

I hate bearing palps of air and stuff
I hate gruff
I hate air
I hate staring,


I'm sorry sorry sorry sorry for brittle built beings.

I hate the journey, and I hate what they see

With simple syrup and burnt boards,
I was able to afford a helpless freak
that figured food meant chili dogs and
an amount of delivered food whose price paid
for only labor and not for flavor.

She would have been my wife,
but instead I let her beat the hell out of my brain
And I can barely write a word down about it.

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.

Pasted a "Help Wanted" notice on my local community wall

without following proper protocol,

because I was in a crisis,

and stalling emotions is a perfect, impatient way to

stall and stay away natural feelings,

while instead,

letting them ferment in a rotten brain until it all winded up dead.

I pretty sure I found some bugs in my pirate ship
Earwigs and some roaches are brimming at the hip
Sure it turns out would should have saved a lot more food
Because we are not the only life the lord determined good

So now I build a fire made out of barrel scraps
The whisky makes it higher and our work it does entrap

So give me a glass
a glass of water
I can only sip
I'm bare rehydrated
On the trip
On this pirate ship

What would happen if the smartest dude you ever knew had gargled half of glass of alkaline work, and half asinine notions?


What would it make?

A potion of well-constructed posited positions based on logic?

Or a self-constructed swamp bewailed in muddy air the had never even shared the point of life and joyment?

Instead the swamp was employed by devils deployed to only stack up and foster self-hatred?

I was really mad today
so I mashed a hellhole I had made into an internet message.

So I had envisioned a visage of ******* and poachers
that had stoked a fire made of
fair trade coffee grounds and mounds
of unmanaged bullets that are still
held hostage for melting a hellhole into a business.

After anything. Anybody.
Assuaged about all anger.
Anything! Anytime!
and after all, anybody.
Anything.
About anger.
About apathy
About all agape anger, aged about angst.
After anything afterall.
All.
Anything.
About anything.
About anybody.
Always.
And Always.

In this evening I have decided
That milk and marriage goes well with porridge.

I managed to surge and outsource our storage issue,
I made it pass us, and I still wound up missing you.

I've made it past us, and yet I still wind up missing you.

I barge into life like a barrel full of bourbon lit with a beeswax wick.

After starving for four and a half years, I contrived an urban survival technique that only factored in quarters and reeking like *****.

I found several ways to kife away hours of free wifi off of my free smart phone given by the church to help with job searches.

Lucky, I had several minutes to myself to make believe.

Lucky, I was too cold to find time to cry, and grieve about a golden age that'd really only made sense when I engaged in backwards thinking.

Life can stink, and that made me happy; that I held so much in storage, and it'd assuaged away my insecurities in fear.

I used old times like leftovers; to build a porridge of a heart poured over stale soup and beer, and left out, but it'll be the last thing I can find on a life boat to bail me out of bitter makings.

I've never cried like the day my woman died.

First she was friendly.

She was my friend.

And she taught me to be good and then

and then she died
and
and
and
I cried over her.

I made sure
I made sure

Splintering sounds
mashing in rock slides

Spending a town's
worth of gold
on iron oxide

To explode
TO EXPLODE
with all out nitrate

To erode
TO ERODE
all of time; wait;

Here it comes near!
Here it comes faster!

Rusty Gold, Rusty Gold, your only disaster!

Rusty Gold, Rusty Gold, he'll make you life end faster!

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.

I had acknowledged the brevity of placing crystal on the mantelpiece.


I felt so bad, but at least a loss of a crate barrel of peppercorns had released me from the largest form on endangerment.


Relenting,
I, snoozing about in a blanket made of broken trade deals and lackadaisical linens laced into a self hated leaving.


I shiver like a silkworm held against her better judgement.

I'm sealing a lining with my spit because I'm uncertain what will be.

Just say the word.

If world peace depends on me.

There used to be music on the hill after dark.
I pretended that I had other plans but the stark
contrast of life and blood versus gold and cold mud
Had made a hut, all about people.
With gold steeples, a church steeple made of calcium cultivated out of all the rotten, wasted, and frozen cold goat's milk.

My crush made me a stupid house made out of cardboard.

Because she is so stupid, she rushed her feelings, and made a made up world that she stole from frenetic fantasies and little xanax pills.


I was stupid too, and cooled her off with *** and comfy mattress pad because I felt like a badass for having such a badbitch in my comfy covers just because she liked my ****, and was too thick to think about how radical it was do spend all of her love with a crazy bull dozer like me.

I thought with all four of her welfare made eyes she could see just how beautiful and disastrous you have to be to get on the hilt of god's golden sword.

It's not beautiful.

It's dead.

and it's morbid.

Glass.
It's shredded hell.

And it spills on the world.
Spilling on ground.
and smell.

And it's awful.
I hate it.
it makes me sad.
But still.

I would take away your world.

How in the hell did you get so furry?

Well, I think it's just who I am..


How did you feel so bad then?
It's just my answer, ma'am
It's just the feeling that I feel I see folks feel bad

But it's not your answer...

I know but it makes me mad.

While tying flies for winter
I found myself clipping apart
All sorts of animal fragments.

While spreading soil for spring
I found myself smelling of soil
and **** and earth leavings.

While living in life and in summer
I've be encumbered by guilt
the guilt of a creature at ease
but i'm still just a creature
who is allowed to live at
summers eave

While dying in autumn I share
Just because and how that I'm scared.
and dared to go love
and my love sent a shiv.

Only her
for my life
I would spare.

Suddenly so sullen. I shave a bed of sully folks
Stoking fires made of poision
was not the tradition of my old folks..


So, it had to had to happen sullenly
Fire on the flame
I could not hate so sullenly
Humans I could not abstain

but it to it, came life stitiches
Leaving love life in  a bag
I may have life, but stitches
but still i'm just a stag.
A bitter leavened heavy heart but still i'm just a boy
I cannot lead anything
I'm hungry boy toy

Head will make a little ache
On top of my brain
Into crested bends of pain
and tight twisted silk hankerchiefs
wrapped and soaked in brain juice knots

Stoppage is helped from leaking with
the duty of my handbuilt tourniquet

I finally keeled over

I stepped on covers made of flannel

And leaned up on wood panel, cigarette smoke-stained walls

I stalled old age for as long as I could,

But I didn't have the utter gaul to think I could keep you from falling.

I knew that was a fool's errand, but it took everything I had to keep from stalling.

I'm appalled after how bad I felt for not feeling happy enough for all the fun that we had.

I've been pulling chunks of snow and ice
out of my dogs toes
I've greased his paws, checked his maw
and evaluated the wetness of his nose

Requiring snacks and tennis *****
Fetching in a field
What a fetching wielder
of a happy heart
He'll stay when I have him heeled
How often he softens sullen hearts
and makes a sappy heart healed.

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.

Joy jostled just jitters
Kidding, kindness kindled
Lots, lowered lifted, leaving life, leaving love
Missing mindful mana, making mindbreak messes
Nothing nestles, nothing nests, Nothing needs no nowhere
Only owning our own oars, oaring on
People pawn past pieces
Quit quiting, queerly quizing
Row, Row roundly rays round
Softly shade. Sowing softness, sounds slick, so supple
Take timid, take trouble.

Let light hold a higher being.

For real!

I'm not worth seeing.
But maybe my ideas might be.

Ratifying nasty little ugly

Atrophying fleeing itty being.

Maintain out yourself.

Face masks, take place and set pace for fast track nastiness,
so hold fast back, and pass your soul only onto a whole heart whose focused,
and not the fast track that send my gut reeling everymorning.

mourning over my quaking oaks in an haphazard effort to weather the storm.

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.

i shouldn't have tried to have so many issues
it's like living in a picture show stitched together with all my tissues
and paintings made of fear.
it's nearer that i'd thought it be
its my monster i have to fear

I had a huge *** of sugar water boiling overnight.

After several days, the police knocked on my door

for several nights to ask if I was alright.



I wasn't, of course.

But what could be said?


They didn't care.

They were just concerned if I was dead.

I made a point to poke a pinhole in the shade
to let a little light in.
How honest hearts hate home
Lonely, living life like little lizards
under a dome
under a rock
How I wish the garish light and wind would
Delight me by dowsing me in a dirt devil.
Locked in a replica of life
I'm ******. I'm ******.
My equal is a little homunculus
Clue me into why I try to live alone in a stone home
Humming as I cry. I don't ask why.
Lizards aren't for me. I'm a birdie that can't fly.

Judgement. Guilt, Flirty
Those bases are begrudgingly
Logy, lackadaisical  pace
Send tracers out of guns
What fun can feel when I steal all my light from my dear sun

Moaning is a miter saw
Sawing on my face
Mooning is like cortisol
Doping me to win the race

Get away

Blemish made gay
So Haven built saccachrin shades.

Lade in blades of bluegrass viddles.

Shipped in little phases.

I lacked shows.

I lacked phases.

But she lacked guilt,
and Monophonotic stilted milk.

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.

Glassiness is the hell that's
happened to crack my blood-soaked eyes.

And crass presumptions
hold little hell when gumption is what belies

Belies a holy belly,
Held in hell,
but built upon holly and poison ivy stalks.

Still,
I don't talk about green deals
and I don't care about water.

Not long enough.
Not enough to falter.
Not enough to give an ear.
Not even enough to breath.
Not enough to give a shoulder.
To cry on.
Enough for the earth to see.

Jeez.
I'm salted and run about.

Please.
God I'm all fallen out.

Really.
I'm all sort of problems still.

Ease.
Just let me bleed out

Freedom.
God, just let me go.

Grease.
Ooze me out of a freedom that I don't know.

The morning after a horror date,

I baked myself a non-denominational celebration cake.


I celebrate being alive.

In spite.

Bedazzled by a bedroom sprite,

I made light of my emotions,

that turned into pig iron and over caustic coke that could never even ever start the driest fire.

Straw.

dead grass is all I saw.

Passed in the moment i meant to be alive
all life is just a patch of grassiness.

It's an obsession to pick apart the source of life
to make ourselves less remiss.


But even still... it hurts so bad.
I'm glad I have no guilt.
Cuz if I did, all what I'd feel, is every pound of what I built.

Stumbling blubber-bees have fountains of fat.

I fumbled on ******-knees to make sense of all that.

Pretending I love the oceans of chubbies
is like making a seal out of our patience for blubberies.

Fat floats on our oceans,
we know all of that.

It floats on our oceans,
It floats out at sea.

But if I want a gold metal,
obese is what I can't be.

I had planned on heading to Home Depot, because my way of life had required a gross of wooden stakes.

144 ounces of hate made of wood would construct a plank of self hatred that I would keep harbored away until judgement day.

Likewise, I had hoardes of rotten twinkies to sink into the soil.

Sink away and sink, boil away the toil of broken hearts an overboiled sunken sweets.

Seep into the grown, the sullen sugar can and will boil away in the hate soaked heat that made the life of our ancients so gay and disfrayed.

Mild emotions and ambitions only manage to feed the hungry monsters that have ensconced themselves in power have yet to abate their desire to gobble up everything that is not them.

Somehow while I'm out in the snow I've learned of how snow ages
Somewhere on a page of an ancient book I learned names of all the Stages

More often I've had hoarfrost
and ever had ended in a graupel.

I bet I bet I bet
Yeah...
I know.
I know.
I know.

Not much here.
But I regret.
So...
So.
So
I said it.

I write my words a warrior
Gladly like gladiator in a galaxy of thought
that's throught with folks that's think they're worthy
and they deserve a spot.
So try me try me try me.
I may be soft when I'm at bay.
But try to cut my throat and
then you'll see the light of day.

Doo-Doo day

It's almost there

Doo-doo day

It's almost here

doo-doo day

It's right in front of you

Doom is a foreboding

It's almost Doo-Doo day.

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.

Shoved off our red hot suffered shackle

back brazen stripped out spine bits stack higher than I can see

Bleeding out of wood grains are sandy strips of solar flares that stare back at me with a stupid grin.

I pumice ****** off the grimace writhing, then stained with lye the burning heads, severed without cleansing.

Stuck with a red hot poker made me skin burned and sticky,
and it ripped from me my whole world.

Shivering, I stirred.

Numbness makes sense when life's absurd.