It seems so long ago
When I think about it now
Like watching an old VHS in my mind
A tape constantly rewinding to the parts
I don’t care to remember

But tonight all I can see is your thumb tracing my lips
Your hungry gaze upon me
Seeking an answer almost
An answer I can no longer give you

Tonight all I can see is
My hand holding onto your hand
Feeling your warmth on that cold night
Similar to tonight

It seems that I am the only one
Who has locked apart of you forever
In the hidden depths of my mind
It’s a habit of mine, I am sorry

But over time, these memories
Hurt less and less
Feel less and less like they
Were mine to keep
It’s become an unfamiliar picture
A distant hazy feeling
I’ve learned to let go

But tonight
All I can see is this VHS
A part of you I have kept
On the darkest of nights
To keep me company
For to feel this momentary pain
Is better
Than to feel nothing at all

You don’t seem to remember a lot
That’s okay, I’ll hold onto the memories for now
Like an old picture hanging on the corkboard in my room
You’re there when I wake
Illuminated by the morning sun’s gaze
You don’t mind hanging there on my wall
An unexpected visitor lingering in my mind
Catching my eye when I least expect it
But I’ll wait, as I always do
As morning turns into night, and night into day
As the sun shines through these windows
Ultraviolet waves upon my memories
I’ll wait for your colors to fade

On better days,
I would remember dragging my finger tips
against the walls
feeling the smooth glossy painted surface of
your skin against my nails.
But it seems like these days,
you are grabbing my hands deep into your walls
pulling me forward until I become them
their solid white flat hardness,
and they become me,
my blue water carbon body,
and that is that,
and melancholy transforms into routine
and routine transforms into pretend
and pretend transforms into joy.
It seems like all the games we play
are like this harsh compromise
and accepting it the way it is,
where walls become water and water becomes walls
where I can find myself slipping away,
solidifying into a block of
cement, covered in white glossy paint.
This is not love.

In our hormonal civil war
I found myself a samurai
warrior
so I sharpened my sword
-- there's nothing kinder
than the blade of possession.
lady killer,
flipping off the switch.
and in the darkness
I am you.
all
of my organs and whatever else,
becomes you,
to bleed your blood
to sing your verse
to clip your ears
for the music you haven't heard before.

but with our glands exploding
heads colliding
we fall backwards
onto our own swords
defeated inept.

Some wander through their rose colored glasses
bitterly nonchalant for their lives
passionate about everything in their
non-compliant ways and
unforgiving aesthetics
pleased to accept their parts

I get tired after a few dances back home
feet sore, the blistering skin
a familiar commodity
raggedly hanging irritated
drifting drifting away
onto the lonely tufts
of ancient carpet rags

my nose hits the floor
bludgeoning the tip of that sensitive aquiline shape
nerve jamming straight to the heart
and so does the dream begin
Soaking in the summer nights,
baked in that warm smile
isn't it so odd?
being terrified of an echo blocking me on the head
soon erased and tuned to an alien frequency

then
trapped in a cave
crying into the abyss
the man behind me
his shadow encapsulating mine
comforting monster
I can feel rip through me

and as I run from that i fear
falling down the rocky terrain
hat ripped from my hair
blond glossy tips frosting
the cross mountaintops,
I left my hat in his hands
the one with embroidered sunflowers--
with a scream left eroding in my mouth
from inside to out,
an ancient friend I'd forgotten

So many boys.
What to do.
my head hurts, my wrist aches, and at the end of the dance, i'm walking backwards

Most of the time I just feel like wallowing away and dying into this murky fog and it's okay because even with a moment of clarity, still still still adrift is my head flushed with the peach blossoms from the trees, still tender washed upon the shore

and you'd come up again
in our conversation,
a bit flustered
wandering through haystacks in June
what else did you want from me?
it's either this or that...
words shared yet lost
meaningless and obsolete
a hazy afternoon for two

i knew a child who built houses
out of pebbles and twigs
he glued them together with honeycombs
and called it love.
those inhibitions
he tore up and sealed
for another day

then one day the wind thought
to come around to tumble
the bees harpooning above him
hypnotizing stings,
the cries within him
undulated to the frequencies,
of bright peonies in the spring.

and I saw this,
twist I did,
to bend the story wayward
like the rivers without moons
peering inquisitively at me.

But they were only fictions
carved by ancestors and
ancestors past,
whichever way to get their point across
to hold my head in their arms.
it was
folklore I'd forgotten to let go
the impossible book held deep in my chest
the anomaly I'd refused to relent
the searching for paradise.

Secrets kept hidden in the box
Curbing Snailing Appetites
Never fulfilled
Never redeemed
Tuneful woes that float to heavens
Their cries met with open minds
To become the one and only
That biblical scriptures have prescribed

And to that day
I toast to you
my woeful cries still unheard
I keep them hidden safe and well
sounding pristine from within the hell
to what I have been taught
that all secrets that must be buried.
For I chose to keep those secrets pure
the chaste and virtuous without a doubt
For when mercy opens up her palms
Finally griping me to her *****
I unleash these truths
still yet unwanted and ripped into shreds

Never will you know
out of body, out of mind
atomizing in thin air
floating upon crystal castles
dangling on wispy clouds
I suppose I am to blame
I've forgotten in the mold
folded a thousand times
struggling under pressure
bulking exponentially
until I desist at last
filtering out memories
I couldn't hold onto regrettably
kisses so deep
so lonesome
the touch of lips still lingers
flirting with my memory
an ancient calling
my rhapsody,
to harmonize, baptize
recognize the demon inside.

and lost in it's cage the fallen angel sighs
of relief perhaps
or of unshakeable boredom
knowing that he'll
never be never be never be
unbroken

I recalled that
it was something that I ******* needed from you
but you wouldn't like it if you did that would you
wouldn't like it if I needed that from you
bet that you'll never ******* know
this hesitation

but you'll never be as beautiful
and you'll never be as perfect
as you are now
interspersed as you are,
bone, tissue, flesh
a pink mash
dripping into the sewers
years past
and here
still I've walked
uncertain

yet
teeth
biting onto my lips
burn my memory
scavenge the ******* murk
hidden behind these walls
what I needed from you
is gone
gone forever.

When the road holds dear to those of the faulted
and invade their dreams,
--it's been a while, yes,
I admit I've forgotten--
Lauren is here
sinking deep into the gutters
whispering hollow goodbyes
never so gone

I am your fetish
I am your lullaby
Oh it's my fault I agree
It's all my fault I agree
I couldn't stand my own ground
I couldn't stay safe and sound

To take back the past
To take back my past
To rewind irrevocably
Is a thing that can't be done
Is a thing that should
Never be done

I am your faith
Worshipping on your knees
You pray every night
To a girl that doesn't exist
To a girl that will never exist

But I'm not that bright I guess
I'm still a faithless heretic
Still you blaze your suns dreams
Scorching the ground
Of withered trees

I guess you'll never know
I guess you'll never know
I guess you'll never know
I guess you'll never know

Melancholia
is not mine
but a fruit that I chew upon
slowly at first
nippling the bud at the tip
******* the juice from the tip
baby,

just
a little bite
creating trenches
in skin, tiny crooked marks,
the footprints of the biter,
the mark of treasure hidden.

And you look so tangerine sour,
baby, doesn't matter
it's a dream of my own
mine only
and i'll watch as
salvia lingers off your skin
slathering upon the constellations on that that is lanky and pure
and the hairy forestation of your past discretions
stretching wide from fingertip to fingertop

see x marks the spot
that bitemark there--
is the foible my strength.
bootlegged and stolen through
a many tear ago.
just hoping to find
moon craters and lagan lollies
once again.

muscle and teeth bite into her
tearing apart her sensibilities
eating her whole
swallowing her soul
and the worst part is
is that she doesn't mind
she doesn't mind at all

the strangest thing this relief is
sense to sense, nerve to pull
powder blue restrains me so
it's the way it is
or should've been.
mother raised her right
it could've been--
strong bones shiny eyes
sunny milk and porcelain
pretty girl pretty hair
spiteful shaking windy air
tossing golden dead cells
off her shoulders
feigning no awful mystery
giving nothing to hide
for youth has been kind

but what if, the sultan cried
what if the sparrow died?
to the bird that lost it's flight
from being powdered blue
from windless nights?

soaked in water-like tendencies
she'll become like you--
amphibian needs and transparencies
water drops on countertops
sniffing noses every night
runny eyes dry sockets
chains held tighter the safer and sounder
of the faucet transgressions
to the sewer conventions
to the minor inventions
of the heart

and beat beat beat beat
who cries heart
who cries wolf
my Rogerian adventure
cries the moonless girl
and powdered blue this muscle tee'd man
he's her solider her painted town
oh la la she cries
on his shoulder
running dripping faucets
on his shoulder
you see
there's nothing here
and Gui Jun will stand here, eternal flame,
And soon, there's only one thing left to do
i promise

Yeah well ten years from now
I'd be dead
I'd be dead and withered
Skewered, hair hanging wet from red wine
Eyes gouged out mouth eternally fixated
A wide O with small maggots crawling out
They say they hang the prisoners on the walls of their kingdoms
They hang mine between their index and middle fingers and dangle me
Up and down they clasp and release my head with their palms
Hitting me continuously on the cold dark asphalt
They hang their victims the same way they do their enemies
There isn't any way out because who knows anymore which way is east or west
And so, when you see me as you near your haven of freedom
Be careful to close your eyes shut
Hold your ears tight they'll fall off when you start hearing
The cries of those you step upon

All along the dock
hangs my sunny face
I'm done picking bones
no one cares about.
There there, there's still
a chance to drop off.
Hey hey, what else is a
girl to do?


All that saved
you've saved
for someone else.
All that you left
has been shaven off.
All that was hope
broken up.
All that's been thought
forgotten lost.

And the strangest thing this relief is--
shreds the muscle from the bone--knowing they'd never come
Gui Jun, he'll stand here eternal flame.

Wait,wait you said you could talk me out
Still, Still! there's my chance to drop off
It's all fine. All good. All fine I promise.

let me consume your demons
swallow them whole
as they burn me alive--
for without them
my own demons
will perish and die
and leave me bereft
of that tragedy I so prey upon

organs pumping thumping hard
against the metallic blades of your chest
breathlessly shaken
constrained and beaten
fear striking harmonious melodies
at which upon their command
oceans sweep from head thru toes
dwindling and descending
roaring and shrieking
comes the dark
vanished sanity completes the task
awash with thought
like the an exploded building
slamming onto pavements like dominoes
crumbling infrastructures in mid seconds
the glassy finish dissipating into
a winter's snowing night
your hands shaken and cold
eyelashes battin' about
some old little thing you'll simply forget about

little earthquakes of my heart
soft and tumbling in the dark.
watchful careful rolling shakes
throwing poppers on the tracks
sorry wouldn't cut it if you were to blame
the needle in the hay wasn't hard to find.
bubbly fright sugary plight
busting off bursting out
a thousand and one reactions
each and everyone the same.
careful lover, don't come near
careful lover, i am here for you
careful lover, i can't decide
if you were me, and i were you
volatile and mercurial
leave the walls till they break.

i need isolation, not your constellations
i'm sorry but these stars won't guide me home tonight

our ships have sailed far apart
i'm sorry for your weathered heart

standing here i can hear the cries of my melancholic ghost
standing here i can see the tides bring in corpses of our love

but if you can please forgive me dear
i loved you so with all my tears

salt water was the only thing i could ever understand
salt water is the only thing i ever needed, my friend
salt water is the only thing i could ever be in the end

I've never been gold
Although Daddy tells me so
Yet we show no resolve
we've been strangled from the branches
growing out of my arms.
Still our palm lyrical lines innate
the lub-dub machine finely tuned
the knees have blessed by
the ashes from the moon.
But by and by
grass stains the tombstones of my dread,
locks freed from the brass constraint,
paradigm extrapolated from the taint,
**** smeared on the watching walls,
living on far longer after we die.
And yet, still here we stand here
cross eyed and bright
pictures tinted lime green light
motionless incisors greeting the might
feet planted parallel to the earth
being nothing
nothing at all.

All you want to hear is how you did me right
and never on the marks you left on my wrist
from holding too tight.
The floor is ebbing away at my ankles
cloaking my feet in an eerie comfort
How can you love me
when I am sinking in this inky black
fighting for expression, creation, reincarnation.
Don't tell me I'm too cruel--
when my gaze is fixated on a drive
where the words are lost in the motion commotion
waves of self-doubt and fear.

I am sorry I was built from fire
with the weight of my ancestors
hanging on my shoulders.
I'm sorry I never had plans
to settle down somewhere
to fly into the air somehow
I'm sorry I never wanted to be sorry
but forgive me if you can't forgive
hold tighter--I'll slip through the cracks
with the grooves of your lips still ingrained in my memory--
and forget me if you care enough to forget
of this false emotional monster.

dreams hang within a pedestal of lies
cactus flowered drifters
silent mouths, silent minds
I remember a night
a blue moon in Amsterdam
golden eyes, orange smiles
a hapless passerby

but oh how those nights
still scream my name
and yet i'm here sitting in vain

i'm not bitter--
but i've spent all my yesterdays
watching frogs fall from skies
dry winds still blow dust
from the paradise that
used to be.
oh those nights

oh those nights

oh those nights
so there


i guess
i'll keep wondering
keep wondering
if they'll ever be
here for me

the gunman is holding his fire
and the eagle is soaring higher
and this love is want and desire
but I can't find it any longer.

the train is boarding the station
and the waiting is like the waste
of every single story
that were lies about this place

take this away from me  
fill this sink with
endless china and my
wordless dreams

the pictures are but a liar
their stories written through snowstorms
and my drink is candy and whiskey
every night and day

the gunman is holding his fire
and the eagle is soaring higher
and this love is want and desire
but I can't find it any longer.

and i miss you i guess
and i miss you i guess
and i miss you i guess
and i miss you i guess

I love
--the candle--
the wick the fire
the lick of my hair with
the spit that holds it together
and I've been a radio never ending
counting the days of holding it-- forever
with hope
as wide as the ocean and I expand
as a blank state to be violated
tone deaf to my own cries

i am willful apart from my sore feet
weak and unresponsive
this frame upholds these acidic reactions
through the manifestation of the ejection
of my solemn protest

a cosmical request they ask for
drinking for a ****** later
***** splashes on a bathroom floor
privilege is a blessing not guaranteed
dancing on gravestones restless
upon poetic licenses and with composure aligned
towards the lines of our sky.

and I beg
I beg to be someone more exciting
I beg to accept my lies.

huddled up in a ball in a street,
hugging our legs embossed with the intrusive
criss-cross markings
that never seem to leave
explicitly exposed in the red light.
They--an unspoken peoples--
are the rash of the centuries
the red mark that has consumed your skin
leaving you nothing but the fearful vicarious conditioning
of your mothers heart
and the hot breath you breathe at last during the winter spell
before you are whisked into the warm corridors of
home.

A kiss
will suffice, no,
but the chapters of the autobiography
tell otherwise, as Marina Del Rey's siren
calls for you to bathe in her ***** filled waters.
Till thus you'll be clean once more, you and your lover
forever gone forevermore.

So silence awaits once more
and it's quite a scene
as our confusion envelopes the hypocrisy
of the chaste *****
who says once more
'goodnight'.
solemn
genuine
affectionate
crying--
we are celeste
the virtuous maidens
of the night and cursed are we
with the plight of the folly of our ***.
the holy Mary cries for our sins
our sexuality unspoken
our faithless oppositions
our gender--broken
our identities stolen
by objects of the night
a billboard of
a cavernous hole with
satin titillating  sights.
Help us,
we cry,
to the men that are so attractive
that represent our needs
our desires and wants
by their undeniable marble bodies.
Help us,
we cry,
to the men that are so attractive,
to open our doors, to carry our purses,
to make our decisions without any strife.
Help us,
we cry--thrice--
to the men that are so attractive,
to make us feel again, to fill in a cavernous hole,
to give us children that fight.
And for me,
love me, hold me tight, kiss my cold nose in this winter's night,
be attractive, just only attractive,
for you are nothing but
the man I love,
whole with all my heart.

enormous elephant in the room
his fat *** blocking the shrooms
i can't see the ******* moon
ahh this is that
finger that tap taps at the scaled skins
on the shapely layered fins
of the crated barreled tins
of my dainty figured limbs

that cross bows into the muscle
that beats a hollow hustle
a rhythmic monotonic tussle

that in which keeps this alive
this thing i call the enigmatic tide
this wussy like mind
this funk-du-funky found
that that idiotic lice that lied

in which I figure is the only thing left to ****
the mind that is not the vicarious blinds
that cover the truth in various skills
to which I cannot shallnot reveal in lines

Every now and then, helium
fills up and expands the entirety of the bottomless soul,
a beat drums ferociously deep in the heart
like a du-*** du-*** du-***,
engorging the fruity pulpy flesh with a
bu-dup bu-dup bu-dup,
flushing the skin a satanic roar
(always mechanical in it's clockwork nature),
and juices flow outwards unable to contain
an inedible inky fickle black
an explosion, compulsion, revulsion,
as it
spills consumes conquers
this too often naive heart.

creator destroyer is but the same
till death do we part lazarus calls our names
taken prayer taken fault
taken love to which we sought
demons cradling youth that barely talk
a family of three cherishing what i fought
the crawling the falling of it's golden age
the players love to take upon it's stage
acting role upon role upon role
till no one actually knows where to fall
so clumsily we go tripping down the stairs
taking those who'd loved and loved us so
becoming the demons of this too often naive heart.

my love is an ancient curse
the bruised fruit that falls from trees
has been taken from a cavity deep inside
is what those who dream want to seek
but please don't go please don't go
maybe i'm your annabelle
maybe you're my moby **** / /
but there's too much confusion here
it's just walls walls walls
buttered chicken has been worshiped here
a deity i've prayed to almost every night
my love is winter frost,yet taller than the sycamore, wider than the infinite
and it's okay because it's always fine
i've got nothing but time anyways
and i could be a superhero instead
because i'm dull and evil
because i could be anything you ever wanted//
anyways i hear you're doing fine
so i don't know why i'm still *******'

loveless
sings the bats in the stale night
--bats are often eyelashes of this night and they travel in packs--
while contending for the tender fruit
i imagine they are well fed with treasure
       but oceans love
is the wave i seek in this molded night
   to that known to be a saturated vibrancy
content is the ripe mind as my legs do unravel
wet and moist does this mind bring the most  voluptuous promises of oceans love
as these waves hit at my ankles knees hands neck lips cheeks eyes forehead
engulfed is the skin with the salt and a rush of an unforseeable force neither containable or predictable
i am so wet

your body is pure divinity.
buttresses stately and hidden,
ribbed ceilings magnetic and holding,
pointed arches lend elegance to your statuesque theme
lines are your soul and here i can trace them to heaven
a secular being sometimes finds themselves in your stained mosaics
pilars have become your outlines
to hold the delicate stained glass.
prayers are here
and I am transfixed by your
transcendental symbolism.
light shines through your windows and I myself
am drowning in this
gothic beauty.

i could die
a million deaths on the ladder
fall off it's runes 30 times
many sunsets come and watch
and shameless is the sweat
that falls down my neck

if i say hello to forever
i shall grow tiresome quick
and this is for you
princess aurora
when your day has come
i will help you back on your feet
after a hundred years rest
and our soles will touch the blackened soot
of hell

the demon is waiting for us here
i shall like to say hi to
the red right now
may dreams come true

.
Pinocchio has told this tale a thousands times
oh what a feeling
he says as he marches to the wonders of Pleasure Island
where ****** and games are galore
begging distraction he couldn't seek
.
lilies took her far into the woods
her dress brushing amongst them,
as she sang a swan song,
a prayer of her last will
to find an empty grave worth sleeping in
.
then appeared, on charred faces and knees
five hundred mothers, sisters and sons
carrying a man of burdened soul on their shoulders
in the scented night
screaming.                                                                                                                             thank god i'm alive
                                                                                                                                                thank god i'm alive

one is too little, two may be perfect, three is too much.
four is hard to keep track, five my head is spinning.
six i wish i never had that much to drink, seven i watch the clock ticking.
eight, is that a tape recorder? nine, i wish you were here with me.
ten, it's too late, too late i guess.

it's so beautiful*
*******.
it's a heartless ***** that luminates the dark sky as dreamers lie to themselves
romanticizing and influencing young everywhere to love dream and hope alike, when it stalks upon the sun.

despite all this,
the red on your white pants
makes humiliation sound a lot better than the repulsion of a custodian finding a used **** pad, soaked in red
clogging up the toilet.
dear.

it's a ****** that flaunts upon it's charms
while lingers in the blue sky staring up at the sun.

the red in the sun,
burns eyes so that the neurons in the optic nerve
die and somehow gives you a miraculous squint
but it's far more better than the repulsion of the custodian finding "lady" napkins  clogging the toilet hole.
dear.

someone's always got to be a custodian don't they?

stands alone today and tells a story to clouds
(putt putt)
the worst has happened at the days end
and the frozen orange Gallon
like ice has chosen to now become hand
all in all more or less
3.78lbs put in plastic wrap.
stands alone in the dollar market surrounds with fleeting thoughts sometimes forgotten
today at days end lost while
****** sun at times lost in ******* ******* snake movie
pouring into the retina of the brainless child
o mi babbino mi caro,  past is the skating rink of hell but
knock yourselves out in deep perpetual insanity of whats, hows and neverminds.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooosallyc­an be adisappointmentsometimesbutwestillloveherbecausesheis just whatwe callfamilyandfamilyissoimportanttoidentifyoneselfinaworldofchaosc­alledearthoooooooooooooooooooooooooo
computer glitch and error of the metaphysic naiveté of the skating rink of hell near the ******* ******* snake movie in the story of the white trashed oppressively personified virgo at the dollar market holding a gallon of orange juice that costs more than $7.65 because it's apparently organic and thereby magical.

just a girl with an odd skin disease
should i cry should i laugh
opera houses and speckled faces with masks on
covering your face in a banal masquerade
while you're looking like an actor with an  odd skin disease
perfect in  your on ways with glitter on your face no one else sees
as a music box nearby sings a dreamless tune
opens up the case with dangling jewels for you to caress on your skin
the last rays of the sun touches upon you from the windowpanes,
allowing the radiance within shine for one last moment until night falls
and the dangerous erroticism of the sun finally releases as it nears the horizon
like the necessary evils of the full moon as it draws in the horrors of the night
a child you once were with less worries now beckons the dark in your jewels
glittering in the dark
stranded, alone and yet free
of the banal masquerade.
maybe they'll watch you maybe they won't,
in your parade towards the clouds.

she says that she's been scared a long time ago.

that pink dress only gets worn in special occasions, mary lou anne!
so lost here, in a crowd with my fingers crossed behind my back, talking to a wall of pictures
--what she means is she's a queen of Chopins, the queen of *** covered mountaintops--

the hair dresser shall pin your hair up later at four, dearie.
she says that he was a man a long time ago.
mother mother, is lost in Kuwait. father father, is troubled with apple turnovers.
if this isn't right, then nothing will ever feel right again.

madam, please stop fidgeting with your dress.
a kiss has been seared onto her breast,
making the tissues underneath
smooth and strong.

darling, you look beautiful.
but somehow she's been buried there, with her daughters, her sons, and 200 families.
in a sundress by the beachside.
she says the Ripper tore her ******* open a long time ago.
music boxes tells her otherwise
that in his arms there are no more pink tomorrows.

to make someone feel the way you want them to feel
is to trade in your soul for a pizza
without the mushrooms, sausages, pineapples, M&M;'s, pepperoni, cheese, tomato (it's pronounced toe-mato mind you) sauce, crust, dough and
leaving all but an empty
box on top of the garbage can.
too bad for the floating astronaut,
drunk on coconuts,
when he left in his tin can.
he's begun dancing on empty matter
with all the missing pizzas.
i guess their owners have been
****** and dumped
in another swirling portal
a long time ago
when the light was flickering off on
that empty street at dark(au contraire, mon cheri!),
just threatening to die when you believed it was ageless?
the night will never be a color.
goodnight my loveless ingénue

silencio
green headless  are on the counter
screaming their watch-less glare
they lie silent in their wrathful stare
at my wall-less lair
this was not supposed to be
the bilipid layered says
I cannot watch you out to die
the zeroes yell this time
coreless deficient famine
the clock ticks its time
i think my mom is at the dock of the sea harbor in Sublime
and don't their lobsters never die?
if that is cake then so be it
and then we will make you mine.
chant with me,
hey no more negativity,
we'll go out and find a dime
it was till then I saw the ******
at the rear end of the bus
who told me... no more... no less
was what the bus was fee-d
a journey travelled
and journey lost
to Target I ventured to and back
and here the sandless land
I find you
weighed measured and broken
by your own laughing stairs.
llorando

altho
                  ugh i push y
                                         ou away, yo
                                                u have alw
                                                             ­        ays see
                                                             ­                       med to kno
                                                             ­                                               w that
the truth of the m
                              atter is, i will alwa
                                                            ­    ys need you more
                and yet
                                                        poets are flagra
                            nt wastes of space
hem      
                   ming the edge
                                                  s of this society
                                                                                                               confining it
                                     with hed
          onistic needs and wants
                        and all t
                                      he ridiculous feeli
                                                           ­                               ngs assoc
                                                           ­              iated with the fu
                                                              ­                                                          cked system of
                  emot
   ional intelligence
                                            emascu
                                                           lating the blac
                                                                                          k and wh
                                                              ­                        ite i des
                        ire of



Alas, Alas
I seem to have drowned myself into Kool-Aid.
"Poets are shameless with their experiences; they exploit them" said Nietzsche once.
I wonder how you are today.

spastic discs swirl and swivel at times
when the dream machine follows through
it's good intentions
it's at this time i'm held up at the overhang
on the rainy day
sputter gutter and mess.
take it from your acidic siblings that
brothels are for the sissies and the missies.
i know not of the time or place
but the measures taken for this dream
to make pace.
sometimes even jelly fish can jive to this tune.
now can it, Betty Lou Ann.

the young girl with her fat brightly colored shirt uncle
playing games
you guess, i guess, pork flavored buns!
one by one by one.
IQ games,
what quite fun.
try and find the
lying nun.

"****" says he quietly to himself.
what's this word?
bystanders see
and laugh inside
but the other girl at crackers lane
can only
watch and die.

Words never set reality in stone.
and sometimes
people
places
and
things
pass and go.
Nothing can be captured
caught and possessed.
All the better
to learn the facts.
But today was a yesterday again.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Your days of becoming an arrogant ***
are far from my days from being a condescending *****.
But in the end
we're all stupid ******
who ****
and marry
their cousin's cousin
from a long time ago.

Lackluster in spirit
pearls twirl in the midnight blue
like ballerinas on a frozen lake.
these swans make up for the moonless night
as your glittering eyes spark a glaze
behind the burning tip of your joint.
Last night I had dreamed a million dreams
of a million lights flashing
reflecting off the lake colors of red and purple.
The swans fly off sometimes when this happens
For a piece of pie in the distance.

everyone has their own silver lining is a bunch of flies covered in honey
in the end the metaphysically jaded murders
as every one else dies in the
intellectual wasteland
known as compromise
a symbiotic
parasitic
stream of conscious
and god forsaken humanity.