The self-pitying poor me’s
That restless selfish agenda
Spreader spoiled butter
                              on a fine piece of toast
The boastful explanation
                            on a beautiful landscape
It needs no explaining
And interpretations are
subjective speculations only
Nothing of a permanent fixture
As is with a and the cycle proceeds
My feeding seems undone and useless
Fits feel necessary but I don’t have the space
And never will because
Excuses are easy to come by
What’s the point anyway?
The anointing paradoxes
all lead to the same Sufferings
Opening my arms to embrace it
But nearly everytime
The struggle’s met with more of the same
The fight in a boxful of mirrors
All showing those beautiful flaws
Of which I’d rather frown at,
                      than spring a chuckle
And I am a cuckold in all this
Because I grasp the branch
                  while being pulled in a current
Instead of letting the river release me

Places you think of sometimes
Like that version of yr childhood house
Blended into yr current residence
That’s kind of yr mom
And kind of you;
Or that corner in the subway
That you often avoid
Because it smells
Like ****, but then
There’s times you go
Over there because
You have to ****;
Or that place that you think of
Where you can feel
The cool you come
Over and just melt or some other soppy,
For me that place is gentle moving, slightly
Transparent, sunlight fractated
Water

Fabrics weaved together
Tightly to form the ropes of time
Landscapes of memory
Holding accustomed affinities, signed
Snorting doubts to infinity’s reign
Who can I blame when I’m the only one
Cursing the numb for I yearn to feel the pain
Sensational pleasure. discomfort’s earning
All is forever
This is forever
Is now a never?

I’m not a genius but sometimes
words come out through me
     and say what I can not say
holding firmness inside a rhythm
that presses certainty
        though my bias taints me
it also grounds my lofty
for I find home in  all the lovely
in as well with grotesque malitions
       the burn of disagreement being
a fire of purification
       to love, for what the f... matters
    my view is just as ridiculous and
  if I see through to out of my bother
        my love expands, and the room became
that much bigger, with a larger crowd
  of lov-ed families

There’s no matter ever
no matter how dire,
that we should take too seriously,
and when realized: the better
to get through all the pain

Shrimps in the water of the sky


Lost my boots inside of a dried well
Cracked caked mud hold the fossils of my time

Hey darling, do you wanna
Oh my darling would you wanna

..

Our premeditations are spontaneous happenings
           Expressing itself in tense repititions.
                     naggingly, seemingly stuck in ruttage
             but really a strategy of suggestedness
         In a select position.
                     Spinning ideas collected for comfort
    A platter of minute individualistics
               Not so plain to see
                    But relevant anyway

Blood stains dye the carpet in
memory of popped bedbugs
The urge to scratch
lays beyond the vermin
No matter where it’s directed
it’s just out of reach
Some far off recess,
swinging on the monkey bars

       Mocking me

There we go, fell for it once again
Because holograms are so convincing
And I’m a pretense to the predicament
by being a participant
Licking candied sticks that inflame the ailings
The moans are a call to duty
Yet I’m unsure of what to administer
And the guinea pig phase is still in effect
So I should stop buying space on billboards
Until the ethicalities get stituated

I can eat all the moments,
in a moment
       as we’re slipping down the whole
Catch me in the action faulting,
  always wanting
skipping forward in revolt
     Reverse,
expecting always cautious,
           flowing nonsense instead always mixing with the tide.

Sometimes I wonder on the psychosomatic
Reactivity through the imposed implementations
That are constantly being tossed at us
In waking world, despite my skeptic layers
When someone says something they believe
I can find part of me believing with them
Their sincerity drives through many lands
Images, pasteurized truths
Heated by the make believe of our person
Symptoms.. what are they really?
Maybe just adjustments to echo-static pressures
(If such a thing exists)
They cling through the frictions
of separate functioning energies
passing by one another in opposing currents
Procreating gossips, and partial positions
Sounding inclusion marks of humours
or secrets between intimates
Hiding by asham-edness
For the matters that slipped away in an instant
Matter no more, may we propose new
May we propose new?
Would the qualities attributed to that novel
Contagion be seen flowing through the walls of the intended suggestion?
Pleasant would it be
And fickle would it show, at least in measures
of the preference
of the bowl that we incorporate

Like a collapsing tool
who’s pieces are smaller tools
Making other tools, made of smaller ones
        Spiraling out ad infinum
Spreading out past their nonexistant boundaries
until there becomes a faint orange glow..
                                                          ­      All over.
          And over again.
Until it’s gathered to assignment all presence
Then it turns into a tool of tools, over defined and sparingly malignant.
          Over turning on itself and holding grudges
Striking insets of childish nature
While springs and leaves hold their settings
Meta morphosis exhausting possibilities in a lovely fashion
          Crisp dews and inner faerie gather
A collection of fierce love helping itself to every serving with little consequence

Those who thought it best to
swallow the traces of their roots and
float above so called ‘primitive’ gestures
found that the growth of those fibrous
nerves didn’t end in the guts of their
devourers. Soon enough they would reveal themselves once again as a reminder
and a revealer of what truly is.

The Shaktic Yonied con-i-cative chronicle
Receptive magical majesty
Why do I insist to refuse the image
Which given to all for a being
I must, I must. but lust for sustenance
Greed gleamed gem, imaginative benefits
Illustrious acceptances held in receptacles
Analogous referrals for smarmy mastication
She: What a Be. The present of this presence
Shaking her out, letting go of these pretense
And obligative fashions
Of latching ons, to momentary ideals
Peeling them down, because permanence is the illusion

The banana tastes better without the Denial
Whittling woodwork
The sawdust agrees
We push, we push forth.. Hesitant to be forceful
Yet sometimes that's the force in it's own manifestation
When's the plan the being, and the being the plan?
Over exhausting contemplative complications
Isn't just a bean plant To eat the seed
And relish in her nourishment
But that want can be that active fault-line
Tectonically rupturing this productive structure
Impatience of the anticipating ambition
Crumbling foundation of her imaged experience

Perception is the adversary of all this malarkey
Projecting the doubt filter on how perceiving this reality
Realization of creation, the constant remembrance to strive
What's the precidence and where's my mind to?

Blind me!   Blind Me!

To forget the exhaustive duty

        Her beauty is so suiting
    Long to fruit.

To be swooned so soothingly

Useless being, dancing amongst the 10,000 things
      The Fool immersed.

Residual slime trails amongst
endless concrete plains
An excretion from yr mucus membrane
What an odd mechanic be your(yr) existence
Catching rays which may also be yr doom
And the shines glimmer on the dews
Shiny tip-tops: behold the grass towers
A city of stars along the lawns
Fowl performing melodies
Searching for a tempo, breaks the beat
Because it’s intrinsically
there, within, everywhere

Cigarettes seem so desperate to me
      sometimes I smoke too
   and that concretizes it more
messages seem to imply it being
        my doom, or an exit plan
     if I decide to go that route
I am increasingly reducing
     so I tell myself it’s a step
  and it is, but more of a stall
knowing well that it’s time to
               not wait, what is tragic
       is that maybe it’s just the way
  I am strong, and I am weak
we all pretend and kid ourselves
  about destinies beyond mortalities.
seeing a bold truth, or bearing witness
to certain experiences of faith
gives new gains, adds more weight
       to proposals within expressions

Severity and Mercy are contingents
We barely see the correlations but alas it's there
When I was a child I'd take naps during the day
As I dozed I'd get this feeling of absolute softness
Enveloped entirely in a rock-like substance
I tried so hard to come to an understanding
To figure out what it was
It was my secret feeling, a mystery
Now and then the experience floods me still
Like concrete sponge, oozing, yet, unbearably firm.

Perhaps it's something like that
Perhaps it's the ethereal non material substances forming into thoughts, ideas, actual manifest solidity
The essence of Binah trickling in through the astral
Formating, correlating, confusing
These aspects are tricky and I'm always in danger of forming fact from a theory, idea, notion..

Blessed be the weary for we may just get some rest.

saying, sometimes means to be said
   when others,  well,   you know their jive
      it’s like a nowhere rotate to what you got
          plot sticks, poking pricked to the target
so back to the start, it’s more meant in the motion
in ancient timesward were spells
       only said out loud with full intention
     hidden in the mystery that found fissure
                                             in the common place

I’m proposing a new marketing scheme
it’s technology way beyond our comprehension
the numbers don’t fit
             in the way that we understand
   ..but apparently our math is all wrong

The labyrinthine system of enrouted intrinsics
That behaves as a medium
for any and probably all vegetative states
This present, (assumingly)included
Pulsating root systems
nourished by chaotic, brutal wisdom and love
Dancing in murderous creation
Purity exquisite
Laughing in a deliriatory manner
No laws to uphold
Or silly rituals, pesky square pushers

That’s what we are:
Composing manners to stunt
All that which promotes
Radiant leaves..firm trunk
Composting neuroses
to encroach upon the crops

We sort of drift on many layered waves moving in opposing directions leaving in the middle occasionally.. get in these grooves that aren’t pleasant, kind of burnish, or temperamental.

I regularly, when looking for a reason, find nothing but a question bouncing around itself. No expansion in a tin cup.

In some sense,
we’re all proportionately configured
if we will grow,
to be with adjustment’s ideation

solidity is not a beautiful thing
when mixed with fearful rigidity
a hex is really just a RUDE blessing

    Till we strut, shan’t we be living
Please Pass the pickled Beets

If we don’t extinguish the bitters
  the chance of harvest will turn a cold
for such is a barren, and ex to fertile


    talk to yr enemy, learn to look
  past yr shaming, understand
look at yrself, stop being cows
because a mob is a mob no matter
      and mind ceases to see
if it only looks at feelings
as boundaries to grow in

Again
       going up the street
  Figuring for a transitioning
     But retaining status quo
like the secret people meeting clubs
and it makes perfect sense
     Make new spells
For enrichn’ing inflections
Be here now, be here now
         Attention
Be the setting
By setting the theme
Preen yr feathers and make the calls
      Walk down the street

A golden crawdad, on an urban sidewalk; in the end turn of Autumn. Oh, imaginatives can add such lusters

You dear naive, creatures

:my peoples gifts lie
in the certainty of prevailing
beyond this silly dress
and across great Lakes

:our mysteries will surf on each of yr tongues
slipping through cavities
to be drool on yr sweaters
but we will feed you what is necessary
for some is not for every
but every is essential,
in a sense as none mean any

:we will be yr enemy of comfort
so you have eternity to blame
instead of implementing self discovery
we sow the earth for discipline and connection
a hunter may sow too, there is no difference

:a cool wave of acceptance
pressing eject on certain tensions
if you let the challenge widen
to see it’s nothing, we are yr friend

Apparently,
    angel dreams
are surprisingly secular

animals exhibit certain bursts of energy
based off their gravitational point of entrance
      into this said world
who’s to say that the energy
       traveling through their nervous systems doesn’t effect them
          in the same way we process emotions
are these energies..


  peaks of expressive waves
i must seem belittling, for we’re of the beast
just as any, so in facing that
the other seems assured
but ***** are about in seeming certain
of uncertain shady surfaces

The heart of people
   It’s not an ideal
  No single concept can encompass it
  Reflecting patterns
   Yet defying yr notion of a set rhythm
    Lifting spirits, shattering planets
It will destroy yr life
         -How it’s perceived at least
      Our perceive, can’t be made to believe
         In fully
              Or bully serendipity
Flashing clips to form into structure
       Basic survivals
         Adverse to that can be Her Glory
           Nature
     Because the strive can equate to
          Be alive, not think it

When you can allow

  A murderer.. a ******, in a sober state

        to become bashful,
and lose a sense of their
characterized fiendish ness
not only that, but you encourage it

this is the hug of God

Credited miscreants palpitating my algae
Horror box syphoning on another lost child
Meander ponders to the local guard core
And another soda loses its cool.

Yet again, and its thoughtless intonations
Pressing down on a symbol with no acuteness
We’ll make a present to the lost and wish upon a black hole tumbler
To be dead before you recognize
Is that what’s going on, Sam?

The punishment of over-indulgence
       Collection of dripping
              hinderance of connectivity
    I thought, maybe it seemed like it
Not enough rest,
        With family meetings
    Intimate in normal day happenings
  Surprising hilarities..
    Endearments, ‘goodbye, twinkle star’
   Warming, sort of remembered
  Being again, like things again happening
Similar,

i have this scene in my head
kind of like the dogs playing poker
jesus and the buddha are playing pool
jesus’ asking ‘what should i do?’
guatama ‘tell them y’re god?’
it’s not really of my usual taste
but in a sense that could be a lie too

Business stains and I’m partially a napkin.
Or is it?. Can’t decide either way.
The moment aren’t too for it anyhow.
The mountain drive is so alive with soggy
Nights of living in a pent up tent.

We reached it on a back road,
      I’d hardly call it bushwhacking
Slave drivers move in and you find
       out it was yr personality
all along

The beach were *****
        Crawling, sinking, lifting foes, the victor.
Speaking of subspecies and kin. As professor has.
         Spells of nausea in the back party
        Sorting through the masters
          Seeing whom is served most devotionally
Bhakti, la-la, la la la!
              Present moment I am all..
I am all
I am all, I am all

Lifting fingers place a spell
And webs form out like destiny
Water serving through the flames
Emboldening, triumphantly exploring understanding.

Lifting fingers, for an empty shelter
‘It was crazy what was said through me, it almost sounded..but it wasn’t.’
And then we  cross it, move things
around a bit, losing yr place
Slightly, cautioning; to feel through the mess

Plenty are, and simply so that I short circuit, Everytime

Sometimes in the middle of a dragonfly
   The bunnies know it daily
We exceed its ‘proper’ function
Hoping faintly for a lift
Sifting through the broken pictures
     Chewing morsels indignantly
Living for the ‘how ya doin’?”’s
Caressing notions, moments folding
   Lift me tender, lift me grasping
Give me love of once I was told
Crispy Autumns and the baggage swirls around
And around the corner_

There in the apple eyed store-shops
She passed just ever lightly
Words are symbols, lying ever
Telling nothings, imagery
      To behold is another crossing
Of ever momentouses and cross-haired intricates

Livening, battering, shocking, scolding
      Letting it stick and allowing to go
Go, go. Go through and ask for a bother
               She will do as It Wills.