Bach likened hope to god
Lauding in laurels like a living legend
He's dead, real dead, it's odd
Oddly deadly ditties
Harp on hope and mindful mitigation
Irrigation sows such sounds in fields
Of hearts who can't be found
Fiddled at a clavichord
Fixated on a face
Looking at her clavicle
With music
Sweetness can erase
Erasing dubious dealings
Let them leave my face
I need to forget the girl
Forget my heart and race

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'm dead.
And so are you.

I feel blue.

You feel it too.

Sadly the fight of forever is never getting us anywhere, but
is just as fashionable as ever.

I feel clever folding my feelings and tucking the under my seat
beneath my feet.

Bad.
It's so bad how radical untamed rushed tactics
can't do a that **** thing.

That **** thing.

That **** thing that sings the harbinger song of patience.

Light clicks off of keys
Clacking,
I gulped
ice cold water
and It made me breath.
And it made me think

Paper smells...
Wet paper
held in a cavern over night
while fires lit the walls.

Terse history vibrated through my mind makings

In the fashion of wigged baroques I stoke a fired that filled my hearth

In the dead of night I unearthed true passion from skulls of dead families

It brought me to me knees when I saw silver on their neck

I wrecked coffins with my brain, i stained what life made good

But then I understood
Standing in the rain

I abstained from stealing
From stabbing myself with drugs that I was dealing

Alone in pain, I strained from feeling

I feel the dead, a well read infected sore.
I can feel now, I can adore.

While I made a batch of tortillas,
in the heaving air, a steam from my heavy ***
I thought there would aught to be a feeling made heavy
from students of flavor and feeling.
Wrapped up in husks and disposed of from dealings of life.

Like lead and lemon, mixed with hell, I dispelled how I felt.

And selled all hell had built up for me
Now I'm left all with *** knees and trees can't even make fruit.

Some would call it absolute, destute.

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.

Lemme try to be compliant with who I was and who I am.
Let me lock a ice filled dinner into a sacred spot

I only have so many teeth
So many meals in my life
So I think i might try to like
Painful flavor and hard life

Pain pyres, maybe might
be a better idea
Than feeling like a
monster who feeds fear

I think i might make cupcakes.
For my favorite people
Or maybe breakfast suppertime
In my own atheist church steeple

Turns out that pasta, and hamburgers
may not be much a sin
And finding out that folks don't love
It's garbage self love in a bin

Misanthropic ipecac syrup stirred up in my belly
Jelly filled bow hunts
Haunted my head
****** doughnuts stopped me dead
I vomited a sonnet into tissues
Fuzzy stars seem to swish through
My larynx without time for healing.
Stealing good graces from her strawberry face
Is the only way I'm dealing

Blessed and arrested are the bales of prays at leave.

Shelved off a leaf everyday had made room for more blood to bleed.

Avarice and greed made a grassy *** casserole dotted with

kisses forged out of milk and peanut butter cake.

Sugar pillows,

Packed in ****** up straws.

Sugar shame drew

drawers of shaky skeletons.

Melted, into cold.
Selling old freezer burnt bits of hope.

Melted in ice,
Felted in wool,
Tilted in title,
and turned into stool.

It happened on a fragrant feast.

It happened in a tree

I felt when a sore had burned

I felt it beneath me

Under a sort
Under my breath

I felt a kind of knee

Like a bump
and Like a lump

Lumpy it came i see

Ever so often, someone sent food, which was good.
My god was it good, so really really good.

Out of every coffin was a sort of reprieve because of that
heap of uneaten rations from the dead who have died.

Died
Died they did.
And now
from they're dead eye's I've hidden my guilt and ridden my gut of the fat that had enacted a deal on the pit of my gullet that'd made me so sorry. To hate all the glory and feel all a sudden so sullen, so sorry, I'm not buying glory.

My Lord makes me hate killers.
Which makes me hate me.
Vinegar is wine in my eyeballs.
It's how the Lord makes me see.

I chewed on parsley and daisies
They played like paisley flames
On the silk neckerchief she
Hung over my post last night

Goblets shove all of the leftover grizzled gristle and guts,
Sinew is dry fiber soaked and tied taught.

Hack up with your sharp knife,
shaving diamond dust and uncrusted rusty edges

please pour that toxic oxidized powder into my tea
I want septic shock to leave me without the chance to see.

I googled how to bootleg, so I can learn how to sell my favorite movies and have all the free ***** I need.

Pardon me for saying that I should have found out how all by myself.

I used my first batch of wine to pickle my corneas and sear my kidneys.

Even in the summer time,
hotdogs fall on the floor
The best of us can rest because
We know our dogs will eat them

But I've been at night before
I place that I can't find food
And a ***** hotdog is a treat
But eating dirt is rude

So I pick up my napkin
And pick up my pride and self
I revere the ***** dog,
I would place it on a shelf

But out of way, food does mean nothing
so I garble it instead
because with food I can be something
I can because I am well fed

I've allowed loudness in my life.
Poor boy.
Poor Chowder.
It's like a firework in a boy's ear.
I'm sorry dude.
I can find a way
To help you
Forget loud noises.
Remember food.

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

Learning electricity seems like magic to someone like me.
Like learning how to be okay, and to function happily.

I make rivets in my stone steps, and they're all made for steel.
I block love out like shrapnel, I would rather die than have to feel.

Salt can smelt on you
And take your taste
Make it much better
Like colored dye on gray wool
that is made into a sweater.

Flickered into corners,
on the edges of evening doorlights.

Flattered, happened, and upheld
I had centered myself

and sold my soul
to a crossroads man.

Stamens float above the stems
of all upended stalks.

Arthropods can crack their
old shells upon my rocks.

Tricky little fishes find so many ways
to out smart me.

With out my sunglasses,
in brightness I can't see.

I never knew how hard it would be to try,
try so hard to get and deflect bullets.
Those gol' dern' democrats.
I don't trust the enactment of the queen of the old west.
In the best state of being,
maybe in five or ten fearful years
we maybe can seen and rebuild our republic.

How did that ****
Aloe Vera plant
make it's lamb's eared roommated
out of my cheap dollar fractured ***?!

It's like I had the endurance, nor was even half
assured that wood and pvc would help blood not bleed of my
misguided wiccan made baskets and up on
all over the hard wood.
Not good, you should mind you
understood?
It'll be moisture vs. floors from before the second war, and after global warming.
I'll say, it'll be, or it may, a relic should see, the folks that we'll be,
after all that I may let my knees will be broke is only the folk that have life in their eyes and may might have try to be people.

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 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.

Time to make an hourglass,
Time to pass all feelings...

Time make sure that we
feel
all of Earth.
her underkneelings.

Time to take a second chance
and not hate life so much.

Time to plant some flowers.

It's time to make it such.

I've enacted a plan in my personal journal
Worrying and fretting is a fraternal ambition
My mission is that my dad can live on
My brothers can feel and feel what's on
His brother's brain
By that I mean I have to abstain
from self serving service
Love makes me impervious
to the shame and the guilt that life gives.

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.

Caverned in a cage, a cave
were mountains of stable shelf food along with baskets.
Baskets filled with food and horrid stories buried among the bits.
That shrapnel, that ****, that little bit of metal that finds a way.
Finds a way to stay lodged in my spinal column.
Laudnaumn is a painkiller
a time spent life spiller that'll take upon you strife and the life of a soldier most totally taken, spaken and spat, with lack of fine skills,
no skin to donate, no porridge to impregnate my brittle bitter being.
Now i'm saught after, and it's now that I'm seeing.

In digging a pitch garden made with stitches of ruined charcoal
I sowed into ten bowls made of silver
Ten showmen, made of clay and soul.

I knew enough to know I didn't have a second to have for myself first.

Still, it's worse to know I thirsted for a patchwork portion of stable
little points, painted on a thrift store surface.

I didn't care how clean or worn it was,
because it always does the same thing
and it stings my eyes
and dyes my curtains

It brings my lies
and paybacks certain.

Not knowing is enough.
Showing feels too tough.

I baked my show sinew, and stuck it in a stock ***.

It's a lot.
By god it is.
Caught in needlepoint necks makes my life something I could give.

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.

Bugs
Little bitty bugs
With itty bitty legs

Hugs
Tiny widdle hugs
wrap around my legs
and it bugs me

Shrugs
Teeny bugs
Itty Widdle mugs
Smile and wave
at me

Tugs
Tug at my heart it does
Tugging
Holding on my pants
Grabbing the cloth
gathered at my knees.

Bugs.
Little bitty bugs
Biting at my shins
I begin a life of hope
But sins had shaped my hair
So I lugged in a soap opera chair

And I sat.
And I stared.

Dry hugs held in hope
Fried hope crisped the open air.
Listen, missed is open air. held in an open trope.

Lost in the big ribble rabble of hoopla
amongst the slick linebackers, spinners, and hungry hogs and sows.
Outside licking a neck, and after scraping my back, peeled apart
I showed a sort of myself that only spilled when I'm all ripped up.

I found you in the crack
on the sidewalk.

Like an ant who had feared fire and loved honey you shoved me into a space. a little hole.

a foley.

a space-sent lollipop propped
up on
edges of heaven surged beds.

Instead I'll meld, build, and set upon places.

I know we're all poor so instead of wealth,
our award will be people and faces.

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.

It turns out that gobbling up gaggles of desperate souls is a perfect way to con humankind.

I really don't mind being wrong, and occupying the space of the poor.
That's nothing more than asking me to be who I always was.

What does bug me is offering hope from the top of Olympus, and then patting yourself on the top your back,

when in fact,
You're the weakest.

Finding the slightest pimple on your face in the morning would set
you back so many hundreds of years,

It makes sense how selfish and petty people can be.
Because life is so hard and blinding, it would take a chosen person,
so special, so real.

It would take a real human being for us to realized what a human should be.

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.

I brushed the soles of my boot against the icy grain of frozen dirt.

I touched the crusty, crystal pane of white glass stain with watermarks and fingerprints.

I tried to abstain from feeling cold, because of how old it feels.

Being old can steal

bold feelings

holding on to the heels

of gold leaf
peeling off of sinter cinnabar shelves
checking off sinister forces

pieced apart by well ministered contorted purposes

Such forces on bring remorseful endorsements and attackments

and shunted, splintered, fragmented tactics.

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.

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.

Goddess.
Goodness.

My fortunes of fate-filled freedom is riddled
with over-worked words and little bits of truth.

I'm bored.
Overshored.
Freckled, and aloof.

And that should be proof of how I'm feeling.
How it happened it's only how I'm sure
that shouts at my indignants is the best way to get ignored.

I'd be blessed if my favorite person could craft me a masterful desk.
A nest of self-respect, and pickable tidbits, pulled apart.
Not thwarted, not bad.
Not sick or covered with warts.
But the sort of self inspection that's about
touting my lack of malfeasance, and
my transient, nascent notions
who've showed up and overpositioned my person.

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 think I found out a secret
I learned to concede

I'm sorry sorry sorry

I will I will concede

Let me make a calculation
But I should just scoop.
**** to regulation
I'll concede concede concede

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.

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.