Clipped, and happening
on the shores of sharpened shears
Is a veneer of shock built beetle shellac
That'll act like a sealant.

Believe me, if you peel back the needle paper
of staples and waxy stock,
then,
again,
don't be shocked by all of the little bugs that shock you.

It'll reset back to zero,
Heroic actions, not withstanding
So!
Instead let hate have an ample landing,
and have ample space
To hold together
the sort of space that
had been bothered.
More so,
Bothered to be.
So live,
to breath
and see.

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.

I've dreamed.
And pictured a fragile rock.

So, I picked it out,
and sent an image of footage.

I sent it out.
I did..., I thought... Why not?

So...
instead of peace...
instead...ugh..I thought...
I figured...
ugh...
I just...
I must
ask...
What?

So I'm sorry.
I'll go back.
It took a long old little sory
to finally fight back.

This past weekend I had scheduled an afternoon craft class,
this past weekend I did, as a chance to see and say
all sorts of fun stuff with my buddy.

I best buddy I had held in my heart for years,
the sort of meatbag that'll make you think,
but won't make you text.

So, I held fast the next week after classes were cancelled and I never got to see my friend.

So, my week ended and, and my gut was more wrended that I'd planned on.

Funny, moved on as I passes,
through all the gunk caked on my classes,
I was still able to see, and to speak,
so to speak.
so I sung.

Really hard.

I gave hell.

Heart heat held enough
to burn up every crux,
cornerstone breakapart brackets
tacked up and held up
with stickers and shushes.

misses and muffles,

strangers,
and a stifles,
carbohydrates and rifles.

Light,
with blood and crackers
Like written in stacks
of paper and billets.
Pallets and the bit of bullet lodges in the gullet of my pasture horse.

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.

Who?!
Who had'ed ever known
That the swan had bought a novelty comb.
A hair spreader she sent to god.

Who would have know that light will only
shine on bright grifters.

Sipping on caramel and strawberry soda.

Who would let they're bright little Yoda be real?
To feel force that cannot conceal?
To drill in to quarries that lets all
the stories of strayies who are real
and can feel just how I do.

I'm blue you might tell
But Hopefully
can feel you
can fell you
and see you
to be
and to hear you
about who you are
and how  I'm not at all
and how I can fall
and how you are
and I'm not
and who can't I can be
and just who you will see
if you love you
If you love you
yourself.

Please allow yourself some bed rest for what sort of wicked gang are we.

Seven days have held heaven above my head, they took everything.

They took my robe, staff, and bread.

So instead, instead of feeling sorry and running my self dead after
the cliff had opened her arms for me.

The earth can shake, and I can starve.

Freedom painted on the golden hillside,

when I close my eyes
that's all that I can see.

They said I should stay in the ground.
It'll be awful *****
Try not to be wordy
And don't be the man we gotta send back.

I'm lacking on motion
And I cause quite a scene.
To be like a bit birdy is to be bloodlisciuos mean.
It'll feel so obscene.
It'll like that I'm dead. That I'm like you.

Sifted through a scouring pad
I had ten pounds of hellbent powder
and a shower of hellhole bits.
Bits that lit when dawn will light the rest of life

Classification of species can only bring pain
upon scenes of release or of strained abstinence.

Instead let's count our sense, scented with sensual players that be
waiting in state for some late queen to knight us into our own.

I showed up to tell about how hell is right here,
but, being guided by fear, the crowd steered my broke *** into a crowded oil barrel.

After emerging all sticky, it hit me that I'd be better off alone,
but I had already shown my hand and now,
unplanned,
is why i'm confused and covered in feathers.

I saw all sort of phantoms on the
held of gate
I grew all sorts of angry when that grey ***
ghost had make me hate

Only until after
all the smoke had had to clear
was only when this punk as ghost had flexed
force I had to feel

So I had to flounder
I pickled in a ***
I stuck my **** in tinder
and now Im father THOT

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.

Dandelion roots slow into dirt.

Working past ages of dust and skin,
bleeding out ancients for the ancient energy within.

Blankets of ages wear into an earth built silk head high above heaven for the sort of life that can be instilled by a seed held above death.

Old energy never dies away,
it's the priming of the candle that lights the path for the next day.

Things didn't break

They just kind of fell apart
I have the pieces piled in a corner

I can put it back together whenever I want
But it I like the way this looks
I like it better this way

I pretend that I live
I live in in a box
Only answering
To lots of anxious knocks

I live in glass globe
That makes me so perfect
I live a life in strobe
God it makes me sick

I don't want be
I won't be who I am
I won't let life so see
I bleed life like a lamb

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.

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.

Baking egg whites in my oven

was a sort of ashy quiche.

Making my laundry stay white is often

missing the beast of the moment.

Lowing out offers and staking a bill in statements made for really
bad, bad memories.

So, let's see what else can be made out of rotten, token failings.

Never, it's an assailing makeshift shower show.

Blowing in orange air, blessed with care and kinder coffers.

See what lot make little out of over laundered linens,

baked in waxed winnings and pinned under our armpits.

Lit with gas and kerosene and left leaning on our most flammable bit of prized literature.

Let light hold a higher being.

For real!

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

Patterned after the shapes she had built apart on my broken blanket.
Thanklessness is a fuel cabin held hostage.
Pottage is porrige in brittle built cabin cages.
Assuaged by buildings who have gas and hate as weapons.
Sectioned in air, I reckon bullets and hell will will hatred.
Stated in being
With gloss eyes seing
Saying
Praying
and bitter built being.

I feel like I'm at the age in my life
where I don't know if I'm
Cheap,
Poor,
Or extremely resourceful.

I cleared my crusty eyes with Visine after a half hearted attempt
to better clean up the mess made of my glass ***** of heart.


Stammered pockets of red hot sauce have been ladled into our
signature oak-barrel bed spread.


So, in everyone's best interest, breakfast has been rescheduled for tomorrow morning, and we will be happy to see if you're not dead.

I haven't eaten lately.
I've forgotten how to eat.
I'm a chef,
I make me unctuous meals.
Then I leave them in the street.

I'll chew my food,
then spit it out.

I don't deserve to be.
I'm made out of starvation and self hate.
But I should eat more calories.

Instead I starve,
Instead I wait.

Hunger is a feeling
that I can really feel
Which is why I'm scared
To stop the movie reel.
I have my momentum.
I get force fed so I won't die.
But what I really what is lunch.
With my friends...
I want to try...

On a walk I found some smelly purples flowers
I had no desire for flowers, but pretty stench I did intake

I was like injecting liquid power, in my body better make
Something happens when you attach
A memory to more

Something happens in a brain
that will make smell adore

It's a gamble
Cards and cares are dealt
It's molten feelings in a filling
Shaped like your heart that smelt

Wriggling in my cast iron stew ***
was a bunch fried up lives with no soul

Biggering a smile lines up
With a thousand gallon malcontent pool.

Owed in after thoughts on rafters on left
bacon and inter muscular fat.
It's that and high blood pressure
that's on my mind when I'm at bat.

I lived.
I had try to live with in her in a heart stained way.
Like lights on top of a hamburger shop.
Showing space, showing something we should stop for.
Because I haven't been paid.
I haven't been laid and
Neither had she.
So we should try to light a fire tonight
Still hanging out trying to see
Just how we should be.
It's not free, feeling another.
It's a fight you should show you should flee
and begin to be known.
Like a robin whose shown
a better feathered beat
A battered stray cat.
Clearly we have an understanding.

Let me mention something:

It's how pushing my soul
to the limit had in fact inhibited me.

Shivs in my sides helped enlighten me.
Like gold leaf on the edge of the break up letter.
I'm better for it,

It helped restored me and help me see who I am.

But it's awful hot in the pit now,

I'm a boiler room pal just like all the rest of us boys,
who toil and sell out backs for butter and soil.

Something we can eat and plan with.
Instead it's sand that we find as our foundations.

You can call us the sod and clay nation,
because that's all we'll ever know.
My motivation is my hog, and my puny reproduction is my sow.

Souled up sewings in a demon quilt,
built on lies and loans,
deals and interest
have shown that I'd rather blow out my brains
than abstain from honesty. Honestly.

Sold.
Stolen in grassy air.
Hay hell,
smell.
Musty, sharp bales selling me
nutrients.

So, I'm told.
Old rattlesnake skins and apricot spit
is lit on fire while I'm try to defile and remember who I am.

Debilitating rehab little mission soft serve digs

Mitigating shifting shores over migrating make-up plains

Stagnation covers cold old little riddles

Pragmatism isn't a vision

Stigmata lives on in our stitches

Gasses last about as long as a mass of memories.

Moving about in space,
laced with acid
and
storied massive centuries.



Gloss is fragments classed into fragments massed about in sand.

Blandness stands still, blonde and on call.


Knots hold golden ships,

Slipknots hold not at all.


Stalling makes glass great in smaller pieces.

By breaking leashes, you must need harsher bits in your eye.


Stay still.

Don't try.

Lying will wear you out too.

Just don't breath.

Blue is in season, and it looks real good on you.

Lovely little silver strings strown in long night gowns along midnight hallways.

Hovering into bitty livered beings known in **** lights owned twilight stalls.

Please place me upon a midnight farm
and try to convince me that it isn't the moon that I see through the trees.

Please place me up on the sundown settlers
who were better off not waking up and making up
a ruckus
in the middle of the night.

Cast upon the steel of frozen rivers
was the cascaded ebbs that be.

Harmony on hill and boughs
blow about in wind that I can't see.

Edging on the hills
were trails carved of old.

I wish I was a King from the east.
In the west, I wish I had his gold.

I never knew how to clip the nails that I kept on my fingertips.

In love with how the fingers had lived together, in a lonely way.


I sipped in the pool of tears from whens hearts been cryin'
in an escape, in an ache to find the other way

Escape is gray, great

and it's hurts so bad

Like sickled silver grated on a gravel beast released during my deepest pain.

It took so long to realize.

Killed in silver, was a glass goodbye.

Please listen.
It's a wistful bit of love I putt on green, afford.
Lord I'm lonely.
Good god I'm quite presently unhappy.
I felt so sappy when my world was girls.
Especially the girl.
But I stirred and wave about
And I shouted at my friends.
I dove too far from family
In the deep I got the bends.
It bubbling in my bastion
and broke apart my keep.
I leaked out all my failure.
And my mouth it couldn't speak.

****
It's bad
Let me distill
A drink of fun filled hate

No, no way
With all the scars

It's how you make us wait

Let me be a boy who could
Just find a flooded strand
Instead of finding out how war works
and how to make a stand

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.

Glow....

Row your boat about in an ocean of red...

Blood red molten soul

whirling and dipping

out over and under.


So....

Stand fast and crystalize ligature knots,
epoxy blots
cake frosty fast
everlasting feeling.

I know...

Planned, meals hold fat and
taste much tastier when the
hotness held in porcelain dolls,
and mattresses of food go good with
however well our day went.

I'm spent.

And so are you.

So eat.

And Pay.

Please go home.

So I can go home too.

I've decided to hold my head up high,
Above the noise, and amorous clamor.

And even still,
I'm enamored
by my glamorous, water-mirrored visage.

Hammered, I wished my mission was what 'this is.'

But it isn't.

But it ain't.

And I would be remiss, because I know,
For sure, that
I faint before
the shadows
and faint furrowed brows
of all of who have
had and all
of who have
may had been.

I came across a patch of trail plums along my errands.

I stared at them and thought that they were real small.

So, I tried one.

And found out that size is not all congruent
with flavor.

The bigger plums were fat and nice,
a taste that I could savor.

But the greatest plum wasn't fat and right.
The greatest plum didn't light my light.

The greatest fruit was soft and subtle,
and much harder to obtain.

I climbed a hill, a fence, a mountain
To taste that fruit again.
I knew.
I understood.
That the fruit knew that I would
Climb a hill, a fence, a mountain

Just to appreciate.
Just to know that fruit can grow
In a way that I don't hate.

Brazen molten filigree sorries
Shelfed themselves on the edge of a shore made
of stickers and shapely woman.

Before I begin my crayon scrawlings,
I have a question.
A smart one that knows to gnaw on the back of my head...

"How do we know when we're alive?
And how do we know when we're dead?"

Seven mentions, Seven mentions was all I had after
she died and it was up to me to check her phone.

It lessened the pain of death,
which felt right.

But also, it lessened the joy of life.

How did this happen?
Why is this happening?
What sort of deal did I do
that left a rust knife
shoved into me.

Blue veins bleed red blood.

White clouds can cry grey rain.

And perfect little packages can
abstain from turbulent life.

Living is a knife in the ribs,
barbecued in riddled coiled proteins.

It's obscene how dumb luck is.
It's obscene.

It doesn't even mean anything.
It's only a way to bring yourself back from where you came from.

1.  "This isn't how I saw my life ending..."

2.  "I don't end anything that feels so new.."

1.  "...can't breath."

2.  "Don't look at what I'm going to do..."

1. "People don't bend that way."

2. "Most people don't, that's true."

2. "Promise me you never felt anything."

1. "You know I would never promise anything to you."

Let me set a blanket
Like a knot upon a hill

Like a trinket in a spot
A spot that I can feel

I let it go and let is spill
upon the danger place

I let it happen on the sill
up on the window space

At nighttime

Even when I wake up.



In spite of good ideas.
Even mine...

Will be likely misunderstood.

If everything was perfect,

and we were able to know what we want,


The fire would be put out,

and our entirely population would look much less malnourished,

and even more than that,

they would not look afraid.

Those poor souls would not look sooooooo gaunt.

Black nerves
In shambles
borrowed from
the everlasting
light a long
ways away.

Simple well-mannered men
have sent me to heaven
and then to hell

I sounded off of my back porch
Making mercy out of snow
Leaving livery in the air
I performed a show

Sounding off into to the sky
Try to be a bird
Sounding of, please please try
Lovers love a bird

Lovers love what makes them love
Avoid sad, and hater hate
Let life you give all of it's hugs
And shut hatred at the gate

Perhaps I've covered courage
in porridge pile polyps.

Some sewed such defiance
in my interspersed spaces with my trollops.

Often edges are so soft,
and had held on hearts of me.

But it's the *** of soup of knowledge
that lets me know what I can be.

I have to say that I stayed up late last night fastening together
a pipe dream.

I slithered and slipped in allusions, and foreshadowing

And now that it's all finished, I'm gonna plaster
It up on my ceiling just so I can see it everday.