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.

From Aries to Pisces,

herein lies the golden-orbed saviors,
grunting and hustling
across the globe
to find
a pious zealous man
and bring him to
visit the Dark Angel below the sea,

herein lies
a dead leader
in a red country
inhabited by sunken cheeks
and the optimism and fear
in their
hollowed eyes,

herein lies
a dead inventor
of overrated gimmicks
men consider wonders
and substantial of life

herein lies
the tragedy of a man
starry-eyed at the red blinking lights of the street light,
having the jovial thought of a
fat jolly white bearded man leaving gifts next to his
pink plastic tree near the garbage disposal where he resides,

herein lies
life taken...
and
life given...
and
never noticing the forward momentum of which time goes by

It's just time,
a universal and society accepted measuring device.
two lines moving pass through roman numerals.
What comes
will come
when fate desires it.

blip bleep beep boop
santas gonna watch me sleep
slip sleep seep soap
mommy wants to have a feast
avocados, bathrooms, teaspoons, menthol breath
so very special to watch you seek
bread, seven elevens, toilet paper, adjectives
the way you'd never see.

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 warm soft coral petals on the face,
sheltering the delicate eye tissue underneath,
no longer flutter open,
to see
the many signed divorce papers on the mahogany desk in the home office,
the Bon Jovi tickets in the right hand pocket of the J.Crew pants,
the facebook profile of the attractive girl online whom were predestined to one of those tickets,
the letter of resignation hidden in the black briefcase,
the guitar that was pulled out of the garage hanging in his office,
the numbers of old bandmates on the coffee table,
the disappointed faces of the family and friends, and
the lengths taken in the pursuit of happiness.

And yet, he lies there knowing that, he misses
the sky,
the sun,
the stars,
the moon,
the variegated leaves in the fall and spring,
the wheel in the front lawn tied by a rope to an sturdy branch,
the cerulean colored house that was painted by cheap labor,
the fat cat lounging in the parkinglot of his workplace,
the boss that threatened due to an inferior complex,
the punk the daughter was infatuated with, with the waned colored skin and dyed blond greasy hair,
the plain-Jane daughter and her defiance of his authority,
the stepford wife and her arguments about misplaced toothbrushes and
the co-worker and his chiseled face with an inquisitive smirk of all knowingness.
And he realizes that now.

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

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

Coke at the fireplace,
sitting in a crowd
It just doesn't stop.
Doesn't quit.
"As long as there's that tic tic followed by that bump"
you sway your hips.
red dress shayshaying against your hips.
soft satin rubbing on that skin of an angel.
it's a black night
in a white light
You don't know what this means quite yet,
but the pulsating beat
tapping on your soles
in the distant city
it beckons for you,
to come out tonight
and dance your way back to it.
It's a white light
actually it's a white light in your eyes now.
that's what happens when you're destined for this part
equip yourself
on this ride
satin feels like a itchy grip now don't it?
but all is better ain't it?
many a hour later
you shall
share with us this splendor
blinding magnificence
for we are the peons
and you are the the great inquisitor
of the abstract blue
slanging rocks,
on the mountain tops.
Should we know better
or shall we know less?

running on autopilot

and no one knows

oh i'm running on autopilot

and I don't care

let it take me away from this

sleepless dream

take me away with that

breathless stare

with that grinless glare

to the timeless fair

somehow i know

it'll make me stay

a little longer

running on autopilot

and no one knows

oh i'm running on autopilot

and I don't care

----epic guitar time---

take on 1,2,3

can't you see?

it can't ever be

what you need

what you neeeed...

---pause---

somehow i know

it'll make me stay

a little longer

somehow i know

it'll make me stay...

Golden feathers
dipping, gliding, sliding,
soaring, diving,
flying...
in the bright blue
abyss,
among the veils of compressed
water,
above all,
gloriously free
and yet
so
alone.

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.

Leave the horror here
and
go to a knotty hill.
We can fall amongst the lush gardens
staring at
the black monogamy
to find the gold bits.
Let us drink champagne and toast
virtuous sin in this white light, but
allow our eyes and lips and hands speak our emotions
or of what is left of it.
We are what we are,
moonchildren,
yes we are.

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

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

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.

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.

I've always said I hated corniness.
Truth is,
whenever I see someone
like you
being corny
I love you even more.

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.

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

Why aren't we perfect?
on this boat in the taihiatian sea
amongst the gardenia planted pots
smothered by it's heavenly fumes
and surrounded by leaping dolphins?

1) you'll mess up my bed sheets
2) I'd make sure everyday you'll have is ****
and 3) because change is hard for both you and me.

but why is it harder to being all alone
-
wild


-
wild



-
WILD




-
with


-
freedom
-
than being with you?


so don't write about me,
when I'm dying and shriveling
and not here
and
this premonition comes true
and
I've
given up.
Write about me now,
alive and well,
desolate and passionate
imploring you to go
exploring with me
in both our
wild

-
WILD


-

ways,
perfect in our imperfect ways
being both brilliantly terrible
and both terribly brilliant.

i wonder if i should embrace the life expectancy of a snail slime-ing away
along the sidewalk,
it's sanctity already ruined,
it's guts spilled out in a portentous manner,
showing all what it once was
and all what will inevitably happen,
in an odd manner
somehow
filling in the void of this world
by allowing the stitch of the patterns stay put.
but i digress.
there ought to be much more.

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

happiness is overtly overrated
But we can't see it yet
as also we cannot see geniuses among our midsts
and the other amateurs.
"make it last, make it last" they say
I say"**** my ****"

To you across a sea,
I’d always hoped you’ll be fine.
But now you’re definitely not,
and you're just a person
to remember in that  Goyte song

So all I can think is now I can’t ever talk to you
not the fact that you don't exist anymore
or I can't see you anymore
And that…
bothers me most
more than the fact I can't cry.

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.

Today,
I wake with a fire,
burning through the gallows in this heart of mine,
searing the cavity within, and thus
churning the blood into a vile silver mercury,
throbbing through the aorta, veins, and
into the legs, arms, hands
and finally the mind,
into a madness
--and in madness a confession--
I yearn.
I yearn, so much and so much more,
than just a gaze,
than just a kind greeting,
than an accidental touch.
But I am
a beast and no more, eating, sleeping and watching,
as be it societal acceptance,
a self resistant machine,
that renders me a master of
the art of acting indifferent at your gaze.
Blame me not, my love, for this act is  to ward off
the seductive aphrodisiac of which vibrant colors  glows in ecstasy,
(being anything but)
in which I believe love to be.
So leave it at that, and nothing more,
thoughts of unrequited love
and thoughts never to become actions.

The single green light,
of that lighthouse cries out tonight,
crying
alive with a exuberant shine,
yearning
and pulling a child from his swing,
closer
to that barely visible, minute and faraway siren call
swinging
and yet somehow, sometime, somewhere, the child begins,
falling
into
that might have been at the end of the dock.

Methinks he doth not have compassion,
as his gaze strays to the waxed floor, and into the blinding florescent light
in four brief moments,
never once trying to reflect a sense of empathy.
For the petals of all flowers does wither
as does the strong winds eventually lose momentum.
And into that dark place,
where one's heart is discarded into
the deep Caribbean blue mass of water
--floating alongside the millions of seawater wonders--
empathy flees the best of mankind
elsewhere.
And who's fault is to blame?
A question even the most intelligent of beings
and the most worldly of people
cannot earnestly answer?

And he is here.
his words unthinking
and "free-willed"
scorning the self-piteous.
whilst he refuses to acknowledge
his own state of being maudlin.
and this fine youth trods on
unknowingly
stepping closer to the seawater wonders,
lost.
and a little bit more.
and a lot more less.
but inevitably

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.

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

Furnished armoire
holds my books,
that holds the cards
that write my life.
in that card
beside happy blue cursive font,
is a snowman
who says,
*******.

He is a piece of art,
of visible colors, lines, curves on a canvas,
a mosaic for all too see--
and yet he hides himself in a Picasso painting.
He takes love and drains it dry
******* in the souls of hapless saps,
and not caring.
He has no shackles that bind him to a corner,
his power limitless,
unrestricted,
crushing and more destructive than all of the surges of Poseidon's seas combined.
He watches me,
from afar, upfront,
making sure I glimpse him every now and then
but my mind tries to fool me otherwise.
He is...
fear....

sweeping and carrying me off my feet,
into the sky,
bewildering and bothering.
And he reigns over me,
his omnipotent power lying
there
(this the most blatant truth I can't obscure)
in the fact I can't let him go.

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.

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 *******'

Plague in body and soul
sweeps across the billowing waves of despair yesterday
while to-morrow looks forward to forgetting the lapse in judgement
made today.

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 love heroes.
They make the world a better place.
After the bad guys,
they save the day
heroically flying in the bright blue sky
shining in their pride and grace.

It makes sense if the world has heroes
to give the weak hope
and the evil a conscience.
but heroes,
the very ones that
save my cat from the high tree,
rescue the feeble from their fears,
and save this horrid society of it's
the omnipotent ongoing evils,
are nothing more than heroes.

for heroes,
as they glow and glimmer
in all their glorious ways,
being the big brother
judge from one side of justice to the other,
don't exist
to save me
to exist to try
to save me
and make me





they leave that to me.

that's why

Merge me into a sea of your emotions
to this end you can find what you want
or find why he left you
when we needed him most.
I know you hide for, hiding is easier than finding
I know you,
for who you aren't are,
and how limitations are how you define yourself by.
good god
I know you,
because at the Prime Meridian the light didn't hit your retina,
because you were too afraid to stand in the sun.

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.

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.

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

Take what is left of mine
Something buried and something wound
a jarred melody
of a song most dear
and hang it upon a river of self-doubt
to let it float in a pond of that overrated emotion.

          They had always said
                                                         in LOVE
nothing should really matter.

Never told us about the different ones.
                  don't they need it too?

You'll find me among the trees running among the trees playing hide and seek,
sparkling wide eyes and eager.

You'll find me behind the rose bushes sulkily hiding my deepest thoughts
with my hair dropped over my eyes.

You'll find me at the sturdy, shady bench under the eucalyptus tree,
being chased by Frances with his arms that sweep me off the ground.

You'll find me at the patchy sunny part of the garden,
where Frances and I love in the grassy fields during the day.

You'll find me faced down here in this grassy field,
with the comfort of a thousand butterflies but no one.

And then I'll find you one day too,
hiding in the shade with your goofy smile and your bald spot
with your beer gut and your odd love for ugly sweaters
here in the garden.

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

It is a fragment floating in the wind, compelled by the magnanimous winds to move in it's spontaneous fashion. Tossed side to side, up and down, forwards and backwards, it's moving so fast it is blurry. Then, as the playful winds stop for a second, it falls.
Falling. On the ground, it lies. I see it and see a piece of trash, huddled up in the corner with the bazillions of crunchy wrinkle textured brown leaves--withering away in decay. Dead. No longer anything to anyone, not even me. Nothing.
I suppose that's the way it's supposed to be.
But the wind--by god, the winds and their shifting moods--gushes back. Shaking the darling buds of May, it roars once more--picking the trash and flinging it in a motion once more. Filing in it's vapid cavity, edifying it with it's passions, pulling it back once more to defy gravity. Pure beauty drawing in, ******* out, taking, giving. Dancing.
Tossed. Up. Down. Left. Right. Around.

Anywhere.
I suppose that's the way it's supposed to be.
I leave it twisting in the wind.

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

Opulence surrounds you, overconfident in your approach
the golden lust of your ego projects
itself in the driver's seat with that tiny smirk
here as we drive on
at a adrenaline inducing speed
the sunset caught between leaves and branches
of these trees.
I am
baptized
in a hypnagogic state
dreamy
but
still here.
"let go"
I say to you
oblivious
to what is right in front of you.
"let go of the wheel"
because
it's too beautiful
and because
I think I love here,
as I close my eyes and
letting the wind toss my hair about and
letting the stroboscopic flicker
tease the petals of my face and
forgetting about what matters and what doesn't,
more than being here with you to be honest.

The ocean isn't really beautiful.
Even Bukowski said so.

Stop treating things like they need to be
happy gooey and awesome.
In fact,
the happy gooey--or crunchy if it is preferable-- awesome,
isn't real because it
oozes alacrity
and therefore adds some sort of undeniable blandness,
like the way they add unfavorable GMOs in food,
to reality
that makes happy gooey awesome all the more not
perfect.
The sun isn't always magnificent is it?

There will be bad days,
where
people are strange
and do strange things
that  you will not understand
and you will do strange things
where people will never understand
or when **** just starts to fall apart
like life lacks forward momentum
and nihilism runs rampant in your lungs.
But it's not always night is it?

And then there will be normal days
when this place seems to let you breathe for awhile,
inhaling and exhaling
filing up those voids of the "bad days"
and the "good days",
allowing you to enjoy the small pleasures of this
world.
Allowing you to fit
and conform
into boundaries of your own
self-made contentment,
ultimately restricting you
into your self-made hole
with you and your conquered beliefs over the years
from good situations or bad situations
or situations in between.
But
and don't mind me for taking that long to reach
a small point
the entire universe isn't that small is it?