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.

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.

While digging in my garden I wish that I would find
The hilt of an old dagger and an old ration rind
I wish I had the vigor to feel all the burdened dead
But I don't wish the destiny of those that ride the river red.

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.

I'd love to live in a rat's nest
Besting the next rat next to me
Making meals of apathy
Slovenly licking off plague fleas
Please let me live in a rat's next
Living on cheese and liberal arts degrees.

My fears are my strongest feelings
That I feel in my life right now
***** had seemed to help some how
Until it made me feel much more
Mourning makes my eyes sore
Don't think I don't feel normal
Face faces normally
Don't feel bad, I'm sorry
And my sorry's enough for me.

Pickled in my jelly jar
was a large milky sort of monster

Transmitted is my mind so far
was a memory omitted.

Tackled in a tackle box
while pickled in a pickle.

Living life like Goldilocks.
is living life a little.

Passing away is sharing the light and dark that folds in every day.

Stashing away love is selfish and you're above that.

I'd sashayed away in order to stay healthy.

Although stealthily I'd made a round robin attempt to eat

that's neat, and neither are you,

so I stew in a nest made of my best ideas

Like noodles held in stasis

I will hold fast with graces

My brain my brain I cracked it
Autodidatic missions lessened feeling
crackled, wrecked, I wracked it
I wracked I wracked my brain
Stained in cacophony
Lacking in harmony
Hacking hacking
I wracked it
I wrecked my beautiful brain

I mention cost pretension
Ten
About ten I've had so far.

Like a gooses on a lake.
Like a lot of angry geese.
I've leased you hard felt portions.
In giving, I made it least.

Lasting on so little.
Like liver in a bag.
Bleeding onto to my friends.
I am such a drag.

But I won't belittle being
But about who I won't know
Knowing is a feeling
A feeling I feel, won't show

I made a snack tray out of anarchy and stale sandwiches.

I made a ******* stack so high that I'd be lying if I said it wasn't cool.

I stood, high up high on a stool after making breakfast.

I lied, after folding fried bread into a spiral, and then I died.

I tried to fold it in a square,
I dared to sow salt into a dare.

But, that didn't matter.
Nothing is near nowhere.

Pleasantly cleared upon the break apart
was the justice of silk built imprevity

So how often should braided legs of halls
laid with willow braids and wicker built baskets.

Lacked in the edges of eve was the unforseen
take of unscrambled
unforgettable
political action.

Even while waiting for actions in order to divert it.
Let it bleed and bellow out loud.

Let blood shout and and iron bleed
Let it need, let sounds shout and bleed while life
heeds warnings of hate and hell built will.
Let it lie in state still
and it be before will
let it still
let it be
Boughs, enact a bill

I pounded an ounce of rice into a fryable patty.

I knitted, ratted about bits of **** made of laughable brads brazed.

Shatter what could be in normal clotted cloueds shrowded in holes of
fire and acid.

Creaking in fast bending dealings.

I hate it and hate you too.

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.

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.

Regression is the precedent I've since set for myself
Upended on the shelf was an unfortold, frenetic, belt-pelted being.
So after the cavity in my dominant eye has collapsed
after the day of shooting and rapture has wrapped up
Enough of it has shoved itself up into the upended titled bent being
whose naive native notions can only see the chemical show
of wriggles and lines that've dissolved in the dealing of
chemical knots wrought for that rapture
It's a shot taken in, in little apeture notions
It's showmanship commotion,
Locomotion in sinful, fruit-built, salt-ridden,
and laughter-built ration packs.

Fashion.
Razor wire fashion.

Blessed
Brazen-fired blessing

Messed up.
Most, bereft unsure *******.

Fess up.
Make sure we don't lose hope in our unmessing.

Time, sorry, it's time go going to bed.

Instead I grow tired of waiting, so when it
shall will be uncertainty, let me pour into my camp and let my swell into sticky built hell who hole upon all of our hell built being.

There is this thing inside of me

Inside and I burn it all night

Bearing fruit is this ugly little seed inside of me

I slept outside, in hot pine tar to keep myself stuck on earth.


Flying into a lunar corona was a burnt little seed that cracked

first thing in the morning

after all the worms suffocated on my mud hill

and after all of the soot the storm deposits

in soft sod underbelly brownstones


Sintered bits of shredded mail make my eyes light on fire
whenever her hair flipped and smelled light rainlight after we stayed up all night fighting and *******.

Stillness made the water on my head cool and soft

Softness held my hard heart aloft in a little parchment paper so I can save it for later.

Shame is useless
like locks on wooden cages.
Cutting into heartbuilt buildings takes ages.
Laughter, she said, is courageous
I'm dead, I said, I can't assuage
The deep part you've pocketed
from my locker I left out open.

It'll only take a token to turn
My moody style into hysteria
My misery and you
His and her history too
Is best probably unspoken

I remember when I popped a blister
It hurt like hell on Christmas day.

Ripped apart was Mr. Painful
There to teach and make my day.

Having a glass of tea after a shower of frosty green grass.

It's only showing how well showers can amass a humble passage.

Never have I fastened how I've happened upon a life like this.

Please grow.

Please show now that plowing weakness into ambition is desperate.

It's blatant.

It'll show how cretins can bleat out hateful rhetoric.

And it's gross.

It makes a conscious heart sick.

So, lemme go.
Lemme show how much hate can glaze over us.
And that
can be enough.

Stored in my grandmother's back room
Storage held shelves and shelves of cotton covered trinkets
and odds
and ends
Sundries that held old funny stories
and cans and old flyers that held little more history
than the **** I took this morning

But upended, on side
collided with time
was a heap of old wicker bough baskets
stacked in heaps and heaps
but guarded and carefully covered
Covered in cotton lace.
Tatted in tantalizing
waves of rings of knots, holes, and wide open spaces
The treasures I found measured in yards of cotton lace.

It's all I want to do now.
All I can do is talk.

It's the only power I have,
is to have a time to squawk.

Even still,
let even measure,
make sure that I can be.

Even now,
let cloudy weather,
determine what I can see.

Lately I've alienated the amicable bit of my being.
It's like looking, like seeing through shriveled shades.
I've abraded my non-brooding gregarious being.
I've leaned on pretension and obscene half-hearted concession.
It's a lesson I'm learning that's burning holes in my midnight blanket.
I thank god I can say I don't die everyday.
That I say that I pray that I'm thankful.

I burned a bough of rosemary for my favorite friends.

Brining to for my most sorry,

glinted pen.

Shriking,

I held holden fast,

I made a golden wool


I held it fast in burdened good cause I knew it wouldnt last.

Crafted,

Long lasting carved,

Was a shorn and shaven, wooden totem held up high upon the door.

Paraffin wax held lights on high sticks held up on my hallway halls,

Held up high and burning for more hours than I needed.

More hours shown about in stories that led me feeling that I would never have a minute to think before the tank of time will sink me dead.

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.

While spotting for terns and heron,
My sunburned arms were glaring bright red,

Subsurface sunfish weren't interested in my suffering,
they preferred my redworms instead.

Pock marked, panfried fresh
finishing my signature dish with zest isn't fun anymore,

I scribbled little unintelligible notes on a scrap of crusty paper

I messed up ******* and felt that sleeping made me hateful.

I never rested until sunrise faces me and blinds my eyes.

I've never tested just how hard life is but this morning I'm going to try.

It will happen in the nightmare
It will happen in the sand
It will be a rusty barrel that you can hold with just one hand.

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.

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.

Green lights can turn frost into emerald glass
At last the chill had finally stopped deciding to breeze itself in
So finishing the rearrangement of my furniture became
less of a blustery chore and more an assured
passage into a brand new page
I haven't had the pleasure of having yet.

I placed a well woven blanket on the edge of a window sill.

It was well made and warm.

I stormed apart because impactful starts had shorted out holy night.

I shared a napsnack of overdigested hellholes branded in fire patches.


It's ok.

I'm left forgviving hell in firepatches made of dust and stool.

I learned how to forge fake glass in my home over the holiday.


I learned that frayed edges on the hem of otherwise pricey pants on happens to make the wax filled stance cost just that much more.

I held on to a basket of old receipts that lasted longer than my marriage.

It saved me thousands of dollars,

but still I disparage the process,

and have to much pride to counter act and access the process,

founded out of fired,
mired in pumpkin mud,

living life,
feeling fire and holding beauty,

but never able to forget that I'm a dud.

I'm producing a fanciful musical,

founding on impatient propriety.

Mulling indignation, stewed in salt and peppered annuity.

Think of wood, think woodland critters.
Think and help less land
Helpless land that shivers.

All you want is take and take.
Eat and eat.
sow and rake
and rake and rake and ****.

Nothing don't belong to you.
All you are is a big bully.
Even if you're small and weak.

Our mother earth you sully...

It will take quite long
Struggle, make all of it
But bleed is a method, that we make sense of life.
It's like reading without struggles
Its a word without a life.

Living like a lizard
In heart, heat, under rock
It's the way to bear a blizzard.
I'm mortal against Ragnarok

I made a sandwich.

For my favorite girl.


I found her, found out what she loved.
So...I tried to unfurl her.
To fix up my girl.
But what I found wasn't that.

It  hurt.
It was curt.
And..
Well...
It was super complicated.

So I waited,
and faced what I knew was hard news.

Still... I waited,
and listened.

But that didn't matter

Not time.
Nothing did.

So I slid in to remission.
And held my self into a selfish chokehold.

....I'm told I'm not bad, I just deserve a chokehold.

Cemented into dead empty was the best of me.

Cremated was an elated hate built race war that I was never meant to be...

Crammed into a noodle *** was a lot of hate filled bits.

But I don't speak for skin and bones.

And Even more..

I'm not all of it.

Seeing as I'm tired now it'll feel less
Less while I sintered a hot dress
Off of my messy pal

I'd love to live in a rat's nest
Besting the next rat next to me
Making meals of apathy
Slovenly licking off plague fleas
Please leave me alive living in a rat's nest
Living off of cheese and liberal arts degrees.

Who knew that the pain I spent my whole life preparing for
is the type that will hurt more than I can ever say, and know that even with my own best graces, will stain my soul like a scar can in the worst sort of way.

I prayed that it wouldn't but that won't work anyway, but not because I don't have a god, but probably because I don't know what to say.

So I just lay on the ground and let life happen to me,
and it'll happen again, it will happen to be
the only happening thing that happens as often
as a soul ******* thing that loves to make my soul soften.

Splattered on grounded gravel
was all about lava labor
a little more that flavor savior
the saber that'll build
a little field
of golden grit
lit with lampblack
and litwicked slacked made
lackadaisical magick
whick will have woven tragic
old fashioned words
built in passions
and up on stewards
hoarding all of our
new world copper
and proper human presents.

Sometime.
There would be a time I would walk home.
And i would not let life stay.
Occasionally life sprayed away.
Like a cacophony.

Nice noise, ****** boys
Noise, boys, noise, boys.
****** ****** barrels.
It makes me so sterile.
Life on ears.
Like potent steers.
Will make aggro hearts so sterile.

God, godly
Good so gaudy.
Goodness, good have brought.

Gauly, galleries have a lot
I take my pence and a ***.

Potted in a plantern
Patterned in ***** herbs.
I don't fell my motion
My love is undisturbed

I read and study history
Almost every day
Like watching children have to learn
Learning how to play

History is how we know
Just what, and who we are
History is what we show
What we think is on par

Just because because it's happened
And just because it nests
Just because horror can happen
Doesn't mean feel bad, please don't rest.

History is our mother
And our father too
Life left in a basket
Is a foot without a shoe.

Held in a concrete roach shell.

Smiling, I had hated charming shaving.

Little, bitty shavings.

Shredded.

And held an inch above my head
when I never knew a knowing rapture.

It'll hold.
It held watertight.
And it'll capture when I'm right.

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.

I think I found a way to wear away my stomach
Corrode my hard built gut lining.

It's easy.

It's just making knots out of string
And it hurts but I kind of like
how much it makes my heart sing.
It's a song I never knew who wrote but
it shakes me.

It's louder than a missile
shot from a fighter jet.
It's a wreckful way to live a life you love.
But it's the self that I respect.

God, poison hate-crimes have held me in wrapped up pieces.

I shared friends, made more the many people my people.

It's yucky,
but still,
I'm not evil.

And even held an even keel,
showing that I'm still real.

I'm, not were I ever, even people.
Not evil.
Not even.
Still.

What kind of leader are you?
What in the hell are you talking about?

What sort of shoes do you let yourself wear?
And what in the world can make you shout
Like you do?

Is it all the blue air in the sky?
and the way fresh dirt smells?

Is it that a chicken nugget
tastes so great
but will never make you well?