So since I've been on the trail
To the water fall
The cadaver that use to slow me down
Can't keep up at all.

I'd rather fall asleep at night
on a bench with a good book
Than have to sit through a movie
And pay ridiculous rent for a shanty nook.

The things I really only like
are things that I can share
Like food and stories and my space
That's why I keep my space bare.

Stuffing brittle remnants of dead little bits,
crammed in a stovepipe shaft
had lighted and lit up a huge fireball
over all of my peers and enemies.

It wasn't hard to see at all,
unless you liked living under a rock like me.

It was the sort of thing you regret never having saw,
and the sort of thing, if you were you
you would never see.

Sent in iron ore was the map to the shore of ever after
Placed in a rafter in a barn was stars, and stories, and glory from afar
Caked in resin was a guild of everything we ever word, a codex made of blood and wood that understood
all we ever where and every would be.

That's why.
That's seems to be why I'm ******* all the time,
there usually is very little at the end of the road to be had.
I haven't felt so bad in winter wear,
but winter's here and now heat is what I've got to make
a part of my life.
Bearable things are what turn strife into fun.
Making runs onto lakes and fields.
I try to make the words sound like real leaves on puddle piles
Endearing doves mourn duck rapes, wild berry patches, thistle thatches.
So, twirling into a spiral.
Sinking into cones.
Pine trees stay sticky,
and climbing the big ones gets me home.

It's hard to stay dark and empty
But it's easier in a lonesome house
Loneliness pretends to be
A cancer, a head louse
But it really isn't
It's not so bad for me
Being both bad and good
Can help a dead eye see
Seeing with a vision
That's not yours alone
Makes precision out of murky minds
And can help a lone heart make it home

Chasing...
Chasing trouble
Chasing sinful behavior
and facing on me once everyone is gone.

Forlorn for another's struggle
Forlorn for a family
but instead I have to go to bed
tonight with only me.

And that's the way I like.
Alone for my own sake.
But really I'm alone
because for those I love
it's just hell that's all I make.

I feel like I've blown my brain to bits
A blitzgrieg of what's left of it
The corpse of a dove I still keep in her cage
It's outrageous the pageant I put on the stage
Softness meets a ******* rampart
Flying in fire air
Blowing me apart

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've eaten fire food.
And read a sad story made of soup.
I remember well the boy who tried to sell me some salt goop.
Good food is good medicine.
It's sinful cake in carrot broth.
It's cheating without cheating.
Showing a story of love and hope.
But if you eat garbage,
Then a ***** of sadness bears on you.
It's a sullen sorry stew.

And unhappiness will not do.

you ****.
you never gave a ****.

You ate twice as much Mcdonalds as the
push ups you did.

You let your ID lead your life.

And you followed all the money.

So just because you're told you're funny...
you aint.

You're tire
and faint.
and sorry.

And I hate to say....
but a loser.

Who shows up dead.

Shriveled and spread out.

Layered.

With out.

Doubted and dead.

And made into a spread.

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

Classical ain't as classy as it sounds.

It's a ***** little thing that pounds you late night.

The best music you've ever heard

was birthed by poor souls who seldom see the day of like.

Like this crazy trumpet lady who had a thing for me.

I couldn't get a date because of crazy she seemed to be.

And that's what I love those most, she loved her painful process more that she ever would for me.

I'd decide to liberate, and decriminalize my *******, but no one seemed to care.

I've always had honkin' *******, and they made a lot of people stare.

Soaked white shirts don't hide honkin' ******* on fat boys at the pool.

But my ******* don't make the headlines because they don't make layman drool.

Blending! Spending an autumn is a perfectly bled out seam.

Sending! Rending out glory bugs from your favorite stream.

Bending! Glen-like ice patches made of snow.

Ending! Burning crisp, glass ridden grass off of you

To show.

Mint was the smell in my garden
Wintergreen made my soul harden
Fashionable stockings and
Mintable stocks
Were refreshing and tainted
All the evergreen stalks.

I shouted and campaigned
for a milder need
But desire shot me
and so did greed.

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?

Let me paint a picture of pinbuilt basket hope
Like a ***** tincture of tolds that told me nope
Like a noose that necked me for lack of livery
Like I condused a might slack, a lack of symetry

My passion project as of late has be to not hate who I am.

Bastions of souls hold in cold hell, burn higher than I've ever been.

Sinful shame bends rays of shelter, over arching our heads.

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!

I'm hungry.

I'm not bad.

I'm hungry.

That's why I'm sad.


I'm sorry.


I miss my grandma's tortillas.


I miss breakfast.


I miss her stew.


I miss waking up.



Because she is dead.


But she would make breakfast for you too.

I blew up a glue gun in highschool.

One, owned by my chemistry teacher.

Met with high heat, and overclocked ambitions.


So I knew from others

That I was a fool to believe

That I never knew to look in a mirror.

\
I feared I'm the steerer of hate.
Of how I fell.

Of how I'm in charge.
I'm the one to ring the bell.
And make sure that everyone knows.

That everyone knows about everything.

To show that everyone knows about everything
and anything,
and that is always how is goes.

And that just goes to show how quaint, quiet, and simple
everything can and should be.

I use that idea,
I use it everymorning
to wipe the gunk out of my eyes
so I can finally see.

While slapping together insulation to pack me away for winter,
I found a pipe of frozen water that splintered through the piping.

So, I shut off the shower, and stop washing clothes,
and checked, tapped all the pipes to see why they frozen.

It's cuz they're real steely and had whole rod knocks,
so, by keep them in, the system it shocked.

I rocked them about, to generate heat.
But, I broke my house up, and burned it up the neat.

I flew against the wind in order to meet Mr. Wonderful this morning.

Had I known all he do was ignore, I might've had a second thought.

It's not that I hate him, or that he hates me.

He just seems so much more happy when I'm not around.

So, today I found him.

In a pile of laundry.

Soaked with **** and remorse.

It's much worse when it's him and not me.

Pressed, in leaves of vinegar and soy sauce.

Sensed, believe were me of essense.
The sense that umami came from within.

I'd made a cathedral made of mud,
and the local pigeon was our dove.

Our mass of candles stood,
massive sticks stood in for candles with no wicks.

On congregated and consecrated Sundays with the local cats,
some were stray, and some were ours, and some just liked the snacks we held in reception after service.

Speaking in front of the congregation made me nervous,
Sure, it wasn't Sunday,
No one knew.

They just did what kitties' do.

All kitties do is watch and play, and that's what I did too.

I played preacher and prayed with my fuzzy flock everyday

I have wishes to grant,
Stories to finish.
Dreams that are still waiting to come true.

I have nothing.

I have jokes with no punchline
No breath to breathe into my proteges,
Nothing to give to my lovers.

Bread and bridles debriding spittle
and little glass lentils made of starch and silica salt.

Bent
Tilted
Wrended and upended on a layer of greasy catfish.
I wish I were so slimy
And licked about with my whiskers out of me.

My meaty barbels are my eyes when I can't see.

Boiling Boiling Boiling.

Rolling caustic water.

Boil.


Boil.


Burn up the most peaceful thing.


Wait for them.


And boil them in water.

Do it.

Do the most hateful thing.

Turn the kindest element in the world into a cauldron full of slaughter.

What happened to your muzzle?!

Well... the neighbor had food.

Your snout is so wet!

I bet.

What about the pads on your paws?

I saw a cat.

What about the stickers?!

The whiskers...

What happened is that the world found out you're soft and pokeable!!!

Ughhhh....lord help your footpads and noseholes....

So giant
God your nose
What gives you the right
to so much impose
All you eat is kibble
and you smell a lot like death
But you find some way to fiddle
With my heart, make me bereft

Your muzzle's cover in some goo
But you don't seem to care
I wake up to a story of
Who happened, happening in the air

I can smell it on you
But that's my own fault
I should've bathed,and fawned you
Would've taken my guilt off
Should've found a way to pawn you

But you're with me every day
And I know I owe you snacks
You make me live the worst life lays
Just joyness you attack

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.

Abating all avarice and abominations,
By beings bold, being belly built.
Could calling cold courted crows
Deal dead? Deal dismissive degregation?
Each ear, each eye, every escape
Feels foley. Focusing for foresight
Goes good. Godly given grace.
How high hope has hindered hindsight hisses.
I indignate insight. I immolate indignation
Just joke, jostle justice jesters.
Keep keeling.
Loathe loaming living lilted leaning.
Me, moan. Milling molten mealing.

Sitting.
On oak planks.
And splinters sticking in my ***.

Pitted.
Placed on a saucer like a high-class olive.
And I had never learned what mass was.

Still, on seclusion.
Held on a highlight board.
Held up to the limelight of precision.
My work can not be ignored.

But even after I had held it.
Up close and to the light.

My ***.
They can smell it.
I don't care.
They can share it.

They can see
and they can smell
Just all what they can see.

It's nothing.
I've ruined your sight-seeing.
Because all you have is just me.

I lessened my practical protocol
When I met my Celeste
Calling a kinder creature
Calling me was my Celeste

A kindred part was stolen
She warmed my steely heart
My mind made me so sullen
But my grief she took apart

We had gathered wild greens
And gathered in the night
She slathered me with dreams and
She was my delight

Delighting in her aura
Soreness fled from me
Celeste had lessened my cold core
I again began to see

Stolen from a fever dream
She took love away
Life on a cliff side
Lifted her
But she fell, she fell from me

Lovely little girlie
Had fallen off a cliff
Her soul had settled my heart down
Laying, laid down a drift

So gentle soul, she took her toll
she took some life from me.

She took it with her when she fell
On bedrock last life she lay
I won't forget my sweet Celeste
I won't forget that day

I felt so old so long ago.

And I'm a lot older than I was then.


I sang my saddest songs when I was happiest.

But I was young.

I had no sense of 'when.'

So, I banged out hours and hours of labor,

and logged away notebooks of independent thought.

"Naught" is not like how I felt.

I searched for a more creamy meaning.

Something much more,

And easy-swallow-snot-knot that doesn't have to fight for a feature
on our front page, caked in anti-anarchy pastry and high-fructose ****-stirrups.

Blanked in intestine wrapped tarmac built buildings.
Show in the end of protein trails,
can be found on ends of grapevines and haphazard wastes is the end
of loops and tangled edges border on tree trunks and the stumps staked upon the ground based upon
unscruptulious washing,
and bashings,
and unbrazened dealed,
left welt, unmelted and welded
bled and bleeding
melted
hell bend
understood
intrepid
instead its
hell
hell
under out spell
nothing
but hell
hell
hell

Pressed upon the edges of lamp black were words.
It's absurd But so still I had to breath and convieve.
I have to live in a life where hate could take total control over me even thogh all I can see is pain. And I want to die. and you won't help. Good night! GNGNGNGNGNGN
Go to bed. Goood Night.

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 remember, maybe not remember...
But I felt a flying love
I moth, maybe a butterfly
It's a bug, but like a dove.

Nothing is worse that waking up
In cold sweat in the night
Because we haven't learned the lessons
that helped us see up late at night.

Now I spend so time, in  bug built land at eve
Because bugs have much shorter life
I'm sure they have a way to grieve.

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.

I planted two dozen carrot seeds into the ground.

I did it, six months ago.

I took care of them everyday, but I ever found a sprout



I had made me doubt myself.
doubt that I should feel alive.

I doubted living, because my soul didn't matter.

Nothing did.

Nothing mattered.

All that mattered was cash.
No.

Not even that.

All that matter was a face.

All it took was to grace your visage.

And that all you'd ever do.

I knew.

I knew it.

I'm already ready to die.

I won't try.

Just eat it all up.

Eat it all.

I don't care.

Eat it.

Eat it.

Eat it all.

Eat it all.

I've give you 10 years.

But you'll burn your *** off.

Give is 5 months, you won't feel your ears.

Eat. it.
Go.

Eat. It.

God...
Eat. IT.

Try.

Try to be alive.

Eat. Eat ALL of it.

It it.
I will not try.

In my mind there is a place
Something I still can see
Breakfast on vacation
Accessed in a memory.

In my head was something
made out of clay and hell
but it's still so cold
tempered with love. live lovely bells

Every morning
Every day
We both needed each other
and breakfast
and a way to get back home again

To get home,
for dinner
love
and fights
and lovely heart built stories
made for your and my delight.

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.

I learned how to make lots of croissants today
But not in the traditional French way

I used the old way first,
with butter and forearm thirst.
Listing out my errors
Was heaven
Living in an failbuilt sunburst

So certainly it's striking
enough to have a beer
To celebrate the failures
The bring ending to a near

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.

I never knew a motor who had held it's blade so low
I'd never known a cutter who had deep cuts that They would show.

Never in a million years would sheer hair tear a part of me.

Your hair was brown.
And mine was black.

But gray is all I see.

All I can see is two people.
Two old fleshbags wasting food

All I see is the church we built.
The gooey stoop that held our mood.

I'll only plop a squat when concrete hell is mooshy met.
I'll only forget my god and dog, when my preacher is my vet.

Seventy-five toads were buried in mud
They sent five of their best into the road for food
Mud toads slopping in rain played today
It rained today
Toad Roads for fun food it rained good today.

Seventy-five fires burned in the dirt
Dirt roads paid for by lords of land management
Friends of the fire brought whiskey and fiends
Out into the the road with mud toads, frogs, and good food.

Out in the fields seventy-five acres were making me wonder:
What good does brooding do?

Seventy-five years of bears bearing fire and fur
Bears burned all the broken boards, thistles, and bushes.

It's good, you know; It's good to know the mission of fish, and bears.

Golden Hips.
Sealed with silver, molten edges.

Electrum lips.
Beckoned whips into searing sintered sedges.

It was tertiary.
And by that I mean it was territory.

And by that I mean it was tittilating.
And by that I mean it was terminal.
I mean, it had to end with a loud report.
We spent so long,
and the powder was so dry.
Your fire can't light this one.
The fuse is all wet.
It's over and done.

Peeled, and held in glorious places.

Held, confunded, and shelved in the sort of spaces

that tend to find the lot.

To find the shot of heavy metals.

It'll hold the hot glue,
I knew how stiff are the sticker spaces?

Cuz I'm not so racist?
I just like jokes and neon scooters?
And what's up with that?!

I grabbed all my groceries without a bag after I heard half a revolver full of bullets pop off.

My meat bag soaked a paper sheet and started to lose integrity,
ripping at the seams, and it seemed normal.

So, I freaked and I bailed, after I showered, my drain looked like a rusty glitter parade and it made me feel *****.