Let's let our life roll on
Let me feel nothing on
On an awful awning
on our deadly fawn
Sawn on deadly sawings
We should take upon
Upon our own aggressions.
Lessening our loud report
I don't distort her founding
I tried not to report.

But it hurts, it bleeds.
Ape great needly needs.
Lovely bloodly needles
Needing nice nancy ways
Caughted blood can make life thud
It's the only life we need.

Globbed all up

Knackered about and baked into

an overdone buttermilk biscuit.

I hate getting up,

Not caring is a sin too,

I'm not sure either, but I will see if I risk it.

Every morning, on a run. a dandelion crossed my path.

I wish I were more smart,
but that's not me.
That's not what I have.

I can lose a homie.
And dip out a little bit.

And show how I'm not smarmy.
To no react to what is it.

Ask me a question.

Ask me all you can.

I just need want you on record.

And prove you are a man.

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.

Goodnight my lovely deary
Living, lively, love I'll kiss your head

Good my soul so dearly
Lap my life and make me less dead

Good God my soul, so nearly
Leave a legend of life-built beds...

Goodbye my only, barely
Made a bed of dead straw and heads.

I held an hourglass against the sun to burn up all the bugs.
All of the little critter crawlers that buried under my skin.
They like me more at night, because I'm very warm.
So, they storm my hair hedges and burrow in my skin.

The ****** up part is that I let them in,
and allow me to be itchy all night,
all night in my dreams I sweat.
It's salty, saline regret.
And it steps inside me, over logs of happiness and hate.

I let them in to help me begin to be a better person.

And they let me know that the horrorshow is that I'm worse than ever happy memory I held and thought I still was.

Please...
I'm begging you
dig deep
and let reality sink in.

Let sin and acid rain showers show
everyone everything about how horrible life is.

It's a bitter business to sort out all of our tired terror into
stupid little sections
and it beckons the question of
"Why?"

This stuck in my head while smoking outside last night

The idea used to tickle me

and whisk me away in my head

But now I look at meandering

as something you do when you're dead

nucka nucka  NUCKA

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 listed out my groceries because I have to eat.

I seek them out, because Life *****, and I have to eat.


I see a cute girl jogging, but I ****, and I have to eat.

I meet my friends, and apologize,

I'm not strong.

I live in fear.

And I'm weak and I have to eat.

All I did was abstained from trash built feeling
I mean I drank gatorade
By only sweet sugar is what stayed.

Cramming little boondoggles along long ladden trails makes missing pain and loss a love; makes it a lot like other efforts pretend to  matter because if the potato fields thought they didn't matter, we would rather have a foxhole shell be a dud, that
Auntie Helper revive a dud.
Wet fire responds with "Thud"
Our life fire lives in mud.

A mud of fear and hate,
with a net that cannot shelter.
Abated by billions sounds great, unless you cannot eat.
Auntie helper puts them to bed.
But, her machines can't cloth you. Nor make socks to clothe your feet.

Cold.
Uncle helper reminds they're not dead.

One time.. I helped my uncle build a bed-shaped casket made for the dead.


Reading red as luck of fortune only made me much more mad.

Because, I bet (even though I'm reckless)


I am not the only one with a

mom

and

dad.

Walking in the witching hour
is better left for those that should.

Schelping in a helping of life with a belly
full of meal should
be understood as awful.

Bellywake.
Incantation should me wake up just for dinner?
I know I'm a sinful being
so seeing me is all you have to
deal with...

Someone said one day
"You'll make a lot of you!"

Someone said that I should say
what I really do.

Someone, somewhere
once upon a time, said

That I AM a lunatic
and that I'd never really shine.

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.

Why I ranted past, and next to needs, that's the reason

I made so many abrupt ideas into how I feel.

I know I did it all night.

I know.

I'm alright.

This blows.

It's can be just right if you promise to pay attention
to very little, and let my buy time to be a regular part of life.

I remember a big lady, in her large house upon a hill
I remember big fat cats up on her window sill
I remember oatmeal with raisins and big spoons
I remember feeling when my parents got off work
I remember that they would be here soon

I remember rusty tractors filled with spider webs
I remember rain barrels were my ocean as it ebbs.
I remember stickered goatheads and splinters in my shoes
I remember squishing bugs and hate how they would ooze.

He always asks for snacks because
in a matter of fact always was and is maah doooggge.
<scratches>

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

Serious sticky sugar heat
Baited me when I hated that pretty girl.

Crazy, I dug so deep
Doubt tip-high nights with a facade of trust.

Busting through a shroud of hell,
you made,
and hid,
cuz you're such a sharp gal.

And we both found it when we found ourselves
in a ***** bottle after a night of happy chances.

After flirty advances,
a shell ripped off my legs.

I sign that I was just another,
One of your nicely sculpted dregs.

Immediately, really,
I'll shut up.

How fast is it going to feel after that ******* slips at the hilt?

Sharpen your eyes from all the icicles that feel from the sky last winter,

I'm sure you saved them for a rainy day,

They stayed awful sharp in that cooler drooling out dry ice out of corners, out into the air.

I'm sure you feel braves for allaying away each little boil
the burns under your skin

I'm sure if felt great scraping up all the little scabby, ******, barnacles off of your underside on the night you finally decided to die.

I bet folks just don't like me:

Ryan Rivière:
hey, kid. DM me if you’d like to lose in either a wit war or an academic war. ready when you are.

Ryan Rivière › take head
Lacks a clear (but a poltroon-like optimism) principality of the nature of nature: nature itself is a bully (take note of the many catastrophic events incurred) and one might argue to the degree which humans are actually less of a bully when personified against nature.

Woody:
A caw-
ing bird
with blunt
-ed beak
and clip-
ped wings
that can’t fly
or sing
worth a lick
-ety split
always
pick-
ing and peck
-ing a-way
at the best
chirp-
ing inside
a chest
-full of
beat-
ing Blue
-birds'
heart-
felt art
-tistic
songs in-
stead
of sing
-ing along
think-
ing it
knows better
than
- the rest?

I'd been wordy since words were a thing

I've been unhappy ever after in every song that I sing


I've never had a bitter deal not feel bitter in the least

I've fleeced and choked my hope for rent money in the street.

Sacrificing a seat of sullen ****** brews
and the same path of thinking that you make you use and lose
Like it's a blanket that with cover you
but it keeps you from you life
Wanting is discovering and makes like not worth strife.
I
I
I
It's like bleeding in helpless deer
It's like a fire undiscovered, pain bent on, without fear.

Degraded relegated
after our
horn-held *******-red bed stands
stained again stick wallpaper
and painted like...
over...
all over our
overpulped walls.

Hosting a party in a hotel room
is partly why I'm not as hydrated as I should be.

Parting waves under a durag to helps shape my hair
left me owning hot oil and sandpaper.

Maybe later I'll be okay enough to say that I'm in love
But showing up like how I am is unforgiving,
So I'd rather shrug off nature and notions
owing to outlying litters of
frogs, fish, and finality.

*******,
****** painted perversions.

It's a simple symptom,
made of soy-based meat, and lumps of super sorry self hatred, held in solitary confinement with lies, and that little bit of **** that hangs off of your hands after you scrub your hands after you take a load.

After you ****.

Slugged off a solid mud-baked toad made of humilation and june bugs.

It *****.

And so do you.

Just dont' eschew how bad you've been,
because You're found out.
And you'll pay for every calorie.

Every ad-spot.
Every sin.
Every media spin that you hope
make you free.

Not even.

You're a cast off,
frozen bug.
Slug.
Salted.
Neutered.
Faulted.
Rotted.
Broken.
Blackened.
­Fractured.
****** up
thing.
You're nothing.
Natta.
Bladda.
Broken.
Stoked in a fire of lies.
Try.
Please.
Try to be a person.

Please.
Know what you lost.

because you're worse than a ****.

Worse than a ****!
It's absurd.
You should be in charge.
But instead you're a childish joke.
For real!

Commander-in-Chief!

You're the ******-at-large.

Just taste the hesitation
Out of all the kurfuffle
Out of air, we've stuffed
Our own misplacen muffler
Half full of air
and half full of horrorshows.

So, seemingly
Lately,
Steamingly,
As of late.

Make maiden mating hatred.
And hold a hoard of hellhole ears against the hard of hearing.

It's searing molten gold,
the type of metal that showed how
showers of sparks
showed us how hate and hearts can hold us hostage.

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.

In an effort to make things more friendly everyone was instructed to leave their dogs at the party,
while the rest of us were kindly asked to go home.
Still, the cops showed up and no one spoke any English.
I mean they understood it well but lacked the proper capacity to carry on a conversation.
Still.
I've never seen a party look so happy when the K-9 unit finally decided to show up and make sense of the situation.
They were qualified.
Probably made the most sense, and should have brought those good boys out in the first place.
Still.
They licked every last inch of my face.
Real estate in skin is something to be graced with, not take unfinished.
Polishing cheeks in drool is the duty of dogs.
Goodness is like a gallon of pond water dredged from the bog.
Slaving away for canteens of nostalgia, patina.
My memories stay sealed in a golden marina.

Flickered in a lamp
Was the last light I ever saw.

So it's time to fight
because I'm at my last straw.

We'd never had a night
Or held a monster head.

But instead let's let light
into us.
Into us all.

He didn't graduate.
He didn't even match his slacks with his shoes.
He's so old.
His chest hurts and he smells like *****.

Life is a set of stories.
Like a cranberry nicotine bullet lodged into
you
into your heel
into the boot of your shoes.

And now my antics are broadcast on tv like a radium
built barrier against clean air and the understood.

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.

Still what I had wanted had finally happened
Way up high upon a hill

Finally my eyes can dry a little more
And I can feel

Joy is just above
Lit by a fire dove

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

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.

I'm a cold person.

And I'm good at being cold.

I've been told I'm an old soul,

But I'm not so good at being old.


I'm not sold on the oversold notion
that being old means being tired.

I've felt the most old at my youngest
and my most ancient is when I'm most wired.

I clocked in and rested a bit of work against my knuckles.

Bested,

I stuck a nest of broken bits under the chin of our
prize-winning sinner.


I gurgled and brimmed about happy.

Knacked, I wont be.

Around me, garbles can't see.

It just is.

Just.

Just what WILL BE.

Wagging in the wind
was a piece of who I was.

Sagging in my legs if a feeling
that buzzes

Fuzziness is fleeting
and it clouds my thought-filled head.

I'd rather eat some nachos
so I don't feel so dead,

Cilantro, lime, and lemon
Pinon, pickled flesh
Fistfuls of water women
Men wish it were more fresh

On an aluminum sheet tray
It's curing on the sheet tray
Living life preserved
In my own ceviche

Serve it with a garnish
Serve with silver please
Serve it on a sheet tray
Serve it on your knees

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.

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?

Let me see if I can find it
The burden in the tree
The bird that stole my heart
and took my soul from me

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.

Circled in a porcelain *** was wrought iron wires ripped in spirals.

Spicks and speckeled on the edges of oxidized was
only sticky sap and resin that built a prison of circumstantial evidence.

Penance is paid in pay grades and time off in tropical nations.

Make me believe our hearts should all grieve and pay for the insurance of patients.

I really don't have the wherewithal to weather all this worrisome ****.

Crippled, I griped a being
Let me linger, let me hate
I hate the sort of seeing
that makes make berate
I bet a kind of action
is a sort of betting worth
Let me mind my faction
Let me have a opinion sort

I asked Mister Brick Breaker to take some stock off of my shift

Mister Back Breaker said that I was remiss in my dealings and all but how I felt with them

Miss Packet Maker would weave and send out stories that would not make us stories.

She used to send out stories about us, and how our lives were not bad.

Crispy.

A list maybe...

Crispy air.

Crispy chips.

Crispy toast.