May be I’ll start writing, today.  
The story of Zen Zero.

I realized that all good things come to an end.  The tears, the affairs, and even the faintest revelation about my relationship to the Emperor of Japan.  I’ll need help and... well, the truth can be tolled.  It can be that the faintest belief, that we as free people are subject to the king, our God.
A king stands in truth as our kin.  The love that has existed for a thousand years, about justice, permanence, and legend are here.
It all started 7 years ago.  According to the book of John, the 3rd book.  The face of his majesty does have an Imperial Guardian.  In any colour, red, black, blue, white, and even green.  Each color resembles the color of trust.  
I started training in the Emperor's garden at the age of negative 6.  Before my mother can conceive her unborn child in a marriage.  Like the burning of Shin Cho' Palace.  
"Oh, how they forget so quickly, the truth?" says my mother.
They forget so quickly the majesty and power of the Emperor's memory of Mother Japan.  In his Majesty's eyes, how many lovers stir the colors of benevolence.  Where and when does it exist and stop for us as an American patriot sold to slavery for spy’s.  All of his subjects do will and listen to the cry of patience in his family’s quarters.  
My father at the time of his marriage did not know the Emperor's name, I had asked my mother in her heart if she knew the king.  They are no longer married.  They had tried to burn down the Emperor's Palace with a marriage.  But I had already existed, in the love of my family at a wedding joining men and women.  I remember some singing, all though in my mother’s ears, really bad singing. In her head or mine at the wedding, whichever is greater.  Maybe the song was worthless or was the singer already lifting her fingers to strike matches on the bamboo fortress of the young emperor.  
They have had many statesmen destroy the dream that Japan has.  Through lies, corruption, and *******.  Each of the last three I had to conquer to be his Majesty's Justice.  I did not earn the right to judge any such subject or people, it was given freely at that time to children.  I had learned to love the Emperor, even in my own desire to please him and her.  
The lies were towering revelations about the coming of man in God's kingdom, and how the will of imperial veils never existed for the properties of mankind.  The corruption was the setting of dowers or dowries for the subject of lost families, in the forbearance of lucher escaped only by the luck of liars.  And then the dreams of revelry, owned by the ungodly and chaste men of the burning palace, whether sediscious, or whether the fables absolving time in the palace to a judgment had already met the Emperor.  
All of the priests (pre-ests) had to pray; for the remaining time of eternity, for the true judgment of his Majesty's subjects. It was to be taken from the subject of srys to the Emperor's Knight.  
To many were lost in the munitions of war.  Laws that govern and sanction truths were not available to those of absolute corruption.  Stalwarts, stonewallers, and stoners were becoming of the anti-gentry.  The laws were never to be discouraged by zeal, or by trial.  The laws had to represent the ability of love to change time even if the object of factions destroyed the old way.  They had taken the truth to prepare Neoteny for where the first Imperial Guard had placed his head.  The first Imperial Guard, that I became before birth had taken his own head with a weapon made by treason.  
My mother’s dress was made out of spider silk.  A giant spider played Chinese checkers with the Imperial Guard for my head also.  Never the less, the palace, this time was not burned.  The dress was made out of falling stars and spiders silk.  She had found the Emperor's tailor and traded my soul for the wedding.  The pictures that were retrieved from the wedding of my mother and father have ruminated in antiquity since the time until by birth my life.  The seers and srys wanted my head to take up the Emperor's chalice.  His cup, filled with my blood, Simian blood.  
I did not want to go through with it, birth and death before becoming subject to royalty.  Seeing the world before consummation, as I had was never thought of, it was seen as impossible unless by treason we had chided a woman of royalty.  
I have seen the last major asteroid go through our galaxy before it had ever had been a present particle of mutiny.   It proved to the child (myself) in gestation, between man woman at the wedding that time will pass just as quickly before my mind’s eye as it had at the day of Pentecost.   More than 500 billon people were to be saved by God rather than by a humble dismantling of a defense lawyer.
I had seen how flowers are made by tiny Zen Zero bumble bees going to and leaving from daisies and roses, and orchids.  How each seed takes roots and as do the munitions for treason and tears; how each man whom chooses to change their name because of treason begins to understand change when his wife chooses his name.  (The reference is to Zero attacks, suicide attacks.)  How the time and life and essence of life begins in literacy as a language of love.  Every old man on earth can help me write the scripts, but can the country of old men help me change the prophet?
As long as there is war in the palace there will be treason?
The spirit of the samurai was trying the youth in the palace.  From the first born male to the last lady in quixic geisha.  All uniques were to be placed before the Lord for appointment.  Any dreams of or visions of truth were a breach of solemnity lost by the virginity of the family.  The parents of each state were subjects to the Emperor's people, and to the chosen for freedom and slavery.  How many shining knights were to remain in the Emperor's house?  The uniqueness was subject only to the reason of the generation of the age.  Not many of my men had anything left after the life of the quill or pen of the Knight Meteyi had begun to take its place with the heads of loyalists.  His sword remains in the hand of the Majesty of Japan.  No knowledge, no lore, no president, no kin, or liars can stop his reign.  As if the last days of our youth were spent dismantling the bombs we had made during the last few battles over crude extravagance.  Oil, crops, metals, space, as space became a way to admire men in statehood was the example of treason to the following.  Democrats and Republicans began to try as is a trail of laws to and from changes for the people without a loyal subject to observe in service to a Nation.  Freed men became a bureau of Federally Bureaucratic Investigative subjections.  Whether the phone would sense its use and had no service.  Men tried by srys had needed no way to communicate, they were objects, objections, and objective to democracies.  Any and all of the western knowledge of good or evil was not earned in monasteries, it was as it were seen in-between a marriage of a man and a woman and the consummation of the first born to be the king in his own mind. Centrally, intelligence and agency became a lost paradox.  The palace could be burned through neoteny, the truly lost man or woman had to be part of the worm.  The earthworm had to dig up the lost and the prophet from its own humanly death.  

Chapter 2
The dress as simple as it was, was taken off and laid in a box for saving.  It was to travel through time in the Emperor's Palace to serve has a mold, a pattern for quilting lovers of the family tree through the history of love.  After the child was conceived in love, the dress is worn and then placed back into the box for time travel. From a generation of mothers to another generation of lovers. No man was to wear the dress as an idea, thought or wisdom.  The reproach, the dress, and the marriage is virtue encoded into a structure of life   The wisest man let the Emperor dream life into the belly of prophets through the dress.  The smartest scientist understood the impeccable reason of lust and gave all to his bride for the grave that the earthworm had trusted.  The publican had the dress made as a dowry to the tribe of Roman man.  And the Emperor breathed life into the woman with a few breaths at the wedding.  The subjects, the publicans had tried the Emperor for their bride, by making the flowers lean toward their lovers.  They had tried to tell the knight of the Emperor's Palace that the sun had also retired due to mutiny in the ranks and castes of statesmen.  The son will bend light into the palace of wisdom, and the subjects do grieve the stories from prophets.  
At exactly 10:03 central eastern standard time, the states men forgave themselves of suicide and left to burn the palace.  
Each dressed as royalists.  The burning of Chinju Palace is the last thing I remember before giving up to the sound of a 3 or 4 year old woman singing.  The next thing I remember is being dropped on the floor in the delivery room to a rattle and brattle of childish whims.  Like, the sound of laughter, but only as a fury of deceit, the singer was hurt when I had asked her to join the wedding ceremony.  She excused herself of the ceremony as was or were not subjects to the birth of the kings men in harmony.  

She tried, and wanted to steal the dress.  

Chapter 3
There was mostly nothing in the womb. Except Dogma.  My father, as dogma.  He would whisper to her in bed and they would giggle about never understanding anything ever again.  I excepted NAME for my name.  They didn’t know if a boy or a girl were to be born.  I could know the difference at the time of their conversation.  I then realized that the 3 years prior to conception were perfect.  And I, the Emperor's Knight, was tolled.  Tolled the way bells sound and the way people love to hear the news.  The way light has no existence in the womb, I was tolled the way Sandalphon treaded upon the tribe of Israel.  
Lying was not invented yet, well,... while in the womb, but I had heard some whispers in the darkness.  The camera couldn't fit in, I called and tolled the camera from the womb, in between to friends.  I called the camera, Dragon.  The dragon is the trust moving in-between true and time.  The Dragon, Meteyi had told me that we were going to write everything.  From the believe that martial arts were stronger than prayer, and to the reason that it was not true.  Factually, there was nothing but prayer and no martial artist had a sword bigger than the lie of the Emperor's dragon.  The dragon said, to my father,..."The world is to die for, and not enough."  The dragon also said to my mother,..."The purpose is in your belly as a rainbow in disgust."  He, the dragon almost couldn’t believe that I had mentioned to hymn that there was no way out of this without a dream so relax and let me fit in.  The doctor had to have heard of the loyalist dream of a birth right.  Basically, I didn’t want him to slap me for the first breath.  I hurt bad, like out of a sarcastic Scotlandish parody.  Many, many, many, men quit trying to go through the sry after that.  My mother creeped up to me after my kin had asked the doctor to pick me up off of the floor.  She smiled and handed the birth certificate to the nurse and read my social security number to my father on the phone, he was on duty at the Air Force Base.  My ears were still clogged with seminal fluid, but I could feel her dream a name into my soul.  She can know the Emperor's knight.  After a few moments, my cry as chide by the Emperor, into being a whisper of life.  From that moment on in my life, I could not cry ever, as a child cries.  Otherwise I could be a whisper.

Chapter 4
Every chance at change that had gotten to us was used by running from the dragon.  He liked Batman and hated Robin but new to fathers, knew that hatred kept something’s safe from the palace. The palace could never get filled by whispers.  The whispers only object to democracy and help the camera.  The daguerreotype was possibly the only thing that couldn’t lie.  It was considered lye to gossip worshipers.  Gossip may have started the war on bugs.  Like bugs in ceaseless noise are prayer or whispers, like gossip.  When bugs stop whispering, some seemingly are bad with superstition and others are horrible with bugs.  
The next few years, were also perfect.  I had no idea who else, I could be.  Absolutely perfect, the Emperor subjected us to love.  I could **** all day, eat as much as I wanted and was warned when they thought, like a whisper.  When it was time to eat, when it was time to bath and when it was time to be quiet and sleep were similar to whispers.  Diapers were not invented yet, I had to invent them.  My mother used to get sick from the pain of laundry and sleeping with me.  When the diapers were *****, she wash them and place them back on my ****.  Like a good, palace guardian, I used them up.  The new diapers had an air of mutiny to them, the disposable ones.  We never kept trash in the house.  The signs that we have had a king for dinner were never to be seen, but everyone had the right to change pants.  
Many of the ideas in life shared before birth were not existent after birth.  It was not until my family had meet the Emperor that... we needed to love God by learning to pray.  

Chapter 5
When we met the Emperor, it was easy to say that no whispers were used.  Other things were.  A memory, not a book was here.  There was no time, the palace he made for me was from God and a lot of people wanted in.  The Royal subject was the Emperor's first knight, my father's.  I had to memorize time, which in turn was not mine.  The actual Emperor thought, that I, am a poet of sorts.  We spelled the word memory in the sky together without words, whispers, or gossip.  The next few years were spent dyeing as tap or a drill bit would being to make a hole for fastening life to the surface of my families.  Called a tap and die, the whole of life must be treaded through time without a spry attempt to vacancy.  After the Emperor, my mother and father did not know that meeting the pope was bad.   The Emperor is good.  

Chapter 6
Mainly my ability to learn, had started to fail.  There was not need to have ability.  But walking was hard.  When I stood, I was pushed through, walking.  Like a battle of balance and superstition.  Crawling had no sense, being picked up made things silly.  When wanting to be here, and not knowing how to get there through crawling, here I was a a chubby fat knight.  Father used lemons on my taste buds and cracked when he knew not how I loved them.  He had to make work to pay bills and I learned that without a whisper.  So we would sh

Like some goofy lisp.  
Like left over from Surrey to Essex.
Lycan, Omish, with some Roudy Rawdy Piper.
Like a WWE event, no ropes in the ring and a whole
bunch of cheerios.  
It sounded like chweer wee ohs.  
I got England to laugh out loud.
We were all laying on the floor hoping
fuhat bassthard would gooh on a diet.
Like Van Gogh and his buddy whats his...
knuck knuck.  Painting pictures of Marshall
Islanders for a vote or veto.  Paul Goin and Vincent
Van Gogh sharing a lisp.  
Sthounds like..... Ah gawd!  
Shut up you sobbing limp noodle.
Try writing something we all can laugh at.

Humor me Socrates with Albert Einstein.  
E equals MC squared.  
One part energy, a mass constantly squared.  
Cheerio old chaps.

I purchased a trademark a few weeks ago...
I am developing a Intelecutual Property
Called IP

Tokyo Surf
Have fun.  Ttyl

When I was borne
i was borne on the crest of a wave
and rocked by the cradle of the deep.

My mother is the tale
        of seahorses running
chariots to Atlantis!

My eyes!
My eyes are stars
      my teeth are Spars!
My hair is made
      out of seaweed.

And When;
When I spitz,
i spitz tar.  
I is tough,
I am,
I is,
I arggggg!

The movement of speech,
speaking swiftly with eloquence
alliterative, quixic, elloqution,
enunciation, pitch, tone, intensity,
sensivity, proper, and evident,  
prosody, and brilliant speaker,
followed by a brilliant speech,
we all would love to listen to
a great idea.  Or write down
the secrets to success, to pay
bills and not get hit on by voodoo.
I heard them lye, lie, and then lie.
Lye like ***** hands needing soap.
Lie like there are no stars ever in the sky.
Lie like in bed with a ghost,
and then a ******* mindful of racists
with a passing grade for the bar exam
treated the 3 above outstanding resources
to the trinity to tell us to work with an Oath.
The availability to be independant is a solvency
to a cross examination, and the property of freedom
is a handsome reward if you can pry open the
jar of Trinity.  We wanted a badass to be the President
and I know, that we just might get what we ask for.

Remember to study your own favorite poets
a dedication to a life in the fast lane of the
most Amazing manner of all time.

We may just be the newest monastery in the world.  

So when we all say something, like all 7 billion of us.
We GET it.

DO NOT F&%^$^$ TOUCH ME, EVER!  Lol.

To treat a bruised parrot
on the shoulder of Sandalphon
a starlet.  Being
squired for aseen parrot
was naught something
next to me.  It screemed
constantly,... "Just let it in."
Do parrots think possibly
to much annoying.  
To teach a parrot
use oil, place it on every
feather every wing.
and then ask it to
write, like some thing
it can read.  If a parrot
reeds a child does it know
what to mean.  Does it add
surepititiously to the being,
any virtue, any thing.

Do doubt the parrot
if it can not sing!

A puff,
two puffs,.... A narrative or cleft notes for the Praxis exam.  Otherwise, as smart as a equinimity is, a expository form in writ.  The monkey's wait in Compton.  
I belay the last law they have and will naught forgive or forget a Jesus freak.

Like hair, or worldly for hoary, the wisest fame.  Desolate like chocolate in horse manes.  Like the banister to the Lycan prince, were to wolves and chocolate incense.  Like, bubble baths, with a line of babies to bathe.  Like waterfalls by angels made.  Like in the hands of a journey to begin, finding only to love a word again.  Like following a lover to her sins, like falling off a bridge so she can catch the words that forgive.  Like petting a bunny as it runs to a pen.  Like fitting in to the genes she cant fit in.  Like roe buck or fallow dear.  Like an old rhapsody made out of angel wings.  Like fresh new socks made for women.  Like shoe strings, fat ones 'in'.   Like totally gum.  In your hair, in your stare, in your hand, in your man.
gum

So writing less
and less than before.
As is losing a cressindo
is the score
of the symphonies
rhapsody.  Musickally
non talented, has magic
left the air.  
Assuming we are
all homeless and
treated by the
dust, reason.
Just completely out
on the dolly I trucked
the word Laureate in on.
Parting furnature with
lasting thoughts of
desire, for a thesourus
or a dictionary for
holistism.  The unholy
dead have starved them
selves after dieting on my
quarrel similarly, I may
need to be an action star
to recieve the spirit of
entrepidness again.  
Laziness has met the design
of my libido, and I can not
ever imagine being single.
No face to book, unless of
course to reprove prophetering.
And No, seems to be the
one and only world,
I had to be in.  Hittin it like an
old cloud with silver linings.  
Like slang.  Not really having it.
and *******, sexism, troubled
teens, the things of this world
that bother the US Marshals.
Actually begging the President
let me have his job and Joe's car.
What person uses the word
chortle to get through a
chidleish man.  Anyways,
heres to thinking of writing
poetry and leaving the under
world to be a monster,...
Anyways!  
I so much prefer to not over
write a zeal such as a poets.
Super trusted, trusty,
like an understanding
about cowboys with guns
in hip holsters, working
cattle and brushing
there teeth twice daily.
Yea, there teeth,
some here on the bottom
and not many on the top.
But ya no, not many
people think about tooth
brushes.  Teeth brushes
thats like a scratch on
the chalk board with out
finger nails.  I'll be the
poety lauretey kind of person
that loves to die young
and get old.  Ill be the
most misunderstood
thing on the face of the
earth and have to eat
a ham sandwich or
something.  Ill be the kind
of person who just
doesnt get some relationships.
Like, peanut butter and pickle
cereal.  Or socks made with
holes in them.  ***, sir,...
what are you writing?
Ill say poems, they say you
are not a poet, and Ill say
try some pocket lint to
clone a poodle or something.
Most of the time,
Ill crack a huge smile
and simply pleasure some
one and they will say 'What."
With out a question mark.
Then for some reason
punctuation is a majorly
late subject to emoticons
and dragon lords in
movie scrips.  An now, meeting
the reason that I felt no muse was
that I have been laughing out
loud at intellegence as is the
genuis of carisma.  Who cares
if Im not smart?  Graduating
is such a bore.  Gum is not ever
a turn on, and some way watching
people chew it is rude.  Comparing
two doves to each other is Darwinism.
Living alone with my mother and
step father is not going to last long.
But serves as the most important
thing to do now.   Any of the promises
of reading dedicated poetry is
almost to much favor.  Is there a
way to stay the allostatic load
of a perfectly running deisel
engine.  Where do poems find
gas?  or fuel as sir does say.
And now, what to do with a
wonderful heart.  I am pleased to
say that I am almost the King, but
must impress the most boring
people on earth without the
giant panda bear of a
poet that has made me
love this song.

Uhrde' eahai’ el.

EaShe'sheti... EaShe'sheti Eye...
I're...
Selah... Selase'eye'...
Esh'real...
Esh'uriel... Eshurd-ay-I...
Jamowhe'... Ashanti E'yai...
Ashanti Ashanti Ashanti I...
This daylight does not live in a box of dreams. Selam Malen Kaye'm.
For surely the angel of light worships the dream.
Sela amo' I....
Ashanti I.
The color of feather.
Selah.
In truth (light) of light…
darkness falls.
Crimena is not committed until pentance is revealed.
The spirit of Peter (Pentecost) weighs the salvation of Selah.
Selahse' 'I"  
Our King worships life
work for substance at the tree of life.
Shanti Lyre'…  Ashanti Lyre’
A shanti... 'I'
The Prayer of Shame...
Our Change.
Azhasurea 'I'
Azhasuras.
For the measure of man has not chalice; the chaste' is not measured in another eye.
It is the spy Gabriel in the urn of the grail.
Uriel…
Gabriel…
Michiael…
Samiael…
Matisyaweih… Ehyre’
Eshre’I el… Eshurdae'i…
Danae'l… Eshurdae'i el
Selah Sela' se' amare' ah.
Amen.
There are two at two chali'. There are two at two chalices. Chali. Cali'. Californiael. The me'rcha'nt of war is walking backward out of the grail for chalice.
Shall I. Make Michiael a sword.
Or shall I make Michiael.
Ashanti I.
Amen.
California= Caliphas. Chi'el.
Ashure'Ire'.
My sword.
The earth found underneath the Prophet Daniel.

I ate some
I ate way to much,
met the president
and the vice.
5 eggs, 2 bagels, 2 cups of joe
and 10 pieces of bacon.
Cherry pepsi and diet pepsi
a suicide Seriously,
with much more taste
than that.  
a final at 3:30.
pm, central standard.
The anatomy type,
I hoped that here
was some hope on the cover
I put it there.
a salted education plans
from a liberal democrat  
A democrat
North Carolina
can not keep
a shut mouth,
it is too deep.  
Havard is squeling about
science and privatization of
remarks.  Well, George
is the William and Mary.  
I spent the morning
trying to loose
a super lady.  
In my praise.  
I am not sure
how this is going
to work out.  
Time to study.
Is it really
worthless to get through it.  
Is it Ok, if I
am the ghost.
Of the pentagon.  

thanks for reading.  exercise or conflict resolution?

As I review the periodic table of elements
I have resorted to some thing so Idiotic
That the scientist have adored the relevance
of some infantile youthful designation.
I wondered... if one hydrogen atom
became two in what state,
what would two hydrogens be in another state.  
Shiftless bonds, or double 0 eight.
Is H2o oxygen or is it O2 in rain drops.
How exactly do I love your poetry.
Do I breath as do tears fall from my eyes.
Are we all spying in on the great love.
Does a capitol L make us doves?  
Ive never had such a crush,
To turn down.  How much of a hug
is a lie to another friend.  Ive had so many
affairs. That the friar asked me to spell affiar again
aware of a fraudien slip.  
I listed turned and down again I went as
I listened to my mother speaking to frenchmen.
The diety, the diet, the destruction of language, I just
stood there smiled and again I said... I wish you knew
what you were saying in Latin as the
holy spirit convenced him.  She said in uncertain
latin, the angle (angel) condemed us to understanding demi gods
and taro cards from matter to benevolence.

Butter remained in the dish
even when liquid.  An even
was the end of the day.  Prophets
raised on corn flakes were more
then or loose crunchy.  Seven
days were not remarkedly adventurous
in IT.  "Am Eye Ah Clnoun?"

or,... "WHAT!"

The dude er romulynn,
stood up and breached a
sword across the mouth of
every line of miss oh genius
phret.  

LYCANs actually have
a bagg for Crete, a steady lie
to put the tooth into.
Jesus is from Cremea'.
I said it.  

Noisy as 'He 'will' be in here,
nice day too. The butter stayed
in the dish as a liquid.  But
hot enough to melt butter.  
I said it.  

Enough proclivity to trace
50 cal rounds, cleaverer than
that, and totally was walken on
water.  *** a matter of fact,
do not lie to me, I'll help hymm.  

I said it.

Have a nice day.  Maybe a better
written one tomorrow.

Many words, so many words, are passing through this place.
Broken latin, mesonic virtues, old english lymricks,
ancient jewish pronuciation fliting phenomenal prosody.  
Life as all the proper words begin to shape this grandly
generous thought of commendation.  Roots, roods, rudentary
lauded buy more spies.  The plura, fauna, Jane Does and Rae Me's,
fosil laute... prose.  
En angle', in english, Angles and Jutes, as the rapier, pugio gladius,  
a bloodless synopsis, a canon, feathered conical lye.
Sui-hsing chide us naught for German and German's is to Chinese is Tzun Zoo Choo Yen see.  Their angels roll away stones, here men open doors, women pointe out stars to fight the bold, Oui Ye.  
Write two poems at once, or lie.  Write three poems at once, or lie.  
Oh, yea we write three...
poethree.  Oui Ye, Oye yea, O thee poets... we right thee.  
Austerity, Whiterby, Bastoniwa,... Red Socks and resident bee.  
Add comments, if Any.

Given two rights
for fighting.  
The Affair never made
it to production.
Every thought has
whispered freed ohm.
And to us here or there
two rights do naught make
a third right.

Thee gnome had called
hymm mein flatterer, then
an ape fight for quills, to be
or naught, hidden by a hive
patch of bramble.  Do ordinance
iris search of apart theorhetic sea,
Adeiu mostly, can wearwolves
as sultry be known to chew
rawhide bones teethlesslee.  
Gather by a dared deity
of A Roman's antiquity,
all of course to femine
posterity.  An Aye for Aye,
a sythe to seize do naught
ii and cling.  For better is yet
to OyYea' and I, causes instantly
be and bee.    

cliche toupee'

Every summer is a girl.
The loud walk on the concrete melancholy.
Street sweepers, sweat and eyes meet the lap top.
Panhandlers lay into persona
And I greet a smile with a dead president.

Virginia, she knows me.

And that’s what happens when we write and I listen to music.
The summer girl shows up.
Palmetto bugs screech, fire flies love my eyes
Then the sun preaches brown skin.

Virginia, she knows me.

Blue ***** fall in a basket waiting for the old bay’s season.
Family crowds around the television waiting for the next movie
I’ve written and we eat on news papers.
Washington never drained the Dismal Swamp.

Virginia, she knows me.

Then Kate the summer girl walks by.
Kicking wet sand staring past the dream.
I build landscapes to not catch I’s.
Simply amazed at what is said with out words of dread.

Virginia, she knows me.

There is so much here
We cant believe how much.
Toes wiggle on mutton feet in the sand
And she tells me about Hanovarians.

Virginia, she knows me.

Pressing my face on the day
Finding her hair taken by the wind.
I lay into a wave and the heat leaves.
She cant breath her breath taken away.

Virginia, she knows me.

My day laughs when she says I’ve got go back to
Richmond.  
Mom finds the umbrella and we go for a walk.
Then she asks without thinking if she lived for this day.

Virginia, she knows me.

Tourists trample sand and find chocolate icecream
To cool.  Locals forty second street and I in the middle
For freedom. She has a way with men and a walk.
She loves me and knows this not.

Virginia, she loves me.  

Bulbs break into stalks flowers bloom
For summer time and my summer girl.
Kate is her name and Virginia, she knows me.
This man will miss the summer and his girl.

She loves me Virginia.

How much for breakfast,
coffee chocolate and vanilla
Ella, el, el LA.  
One right, 2 the nose and back across
My belly, Elly, Ella, el la.  

Fitzgerald.  

The phone, pho' phourdy eighth street
San Diego, 8:51, vah nella, naps on my bed
Chocolate prefers then under the sink
Instead.  

Coffeenchocolate vanilla
El, ella, el LA.

Yea, the daunting superflous
reading clovers for
mercy and occursus truss.
Any of the subject
almost lossing sybolic
treasure.  Flights of
bumble bees in a
memoir to the unjustified
prattle.  Each
every, to and from
has little to no forthright
luster.  A tremble with out
fever sick.  A hot spell noted
by the chills.  Warm coolaide
at 99 degrees in the shade.  
Probably a groin pull in the
cerebellum to a feminine mystic.
Aponeurisis for a political satire
written in vetos, between the
colors of the rainbow.
Just plain old tired of the
savant, quixic, modern
prancing.  Dedicating a
spell to the matter of quantum
relics.  Like a choke hold
on a full figured transparency.
To much sale for the sailors
that had married the Titanic.  
Probably mustard on pickles
like gypies due lovers.

Friction into reality; I should say into fiction into life.  Small beads form on the upper lip,  Shoes strings become untied, a bottle is cracked as the ship leaves it’s slip.  Fret and cascade escape a troubled brow.  A boat builder an architect leans smirks and shifts toward the end of the pier.  The wake presses a ripple across the bay’s cloudy shiloutte.  Mooring lines tighten righting an unballasted keel.  Its crew makes up chalks and moors with figure eights and half hitches.  Take up slack and pull with the boatswains command.
Captain, Executive officer, and first mate critique fit for crew and evolution.  

Pea coats smocked, boots weather sealed with wax, glove, slacks, hat, and pants.  Stores are stacked and awaiting brow and chain gang.  Rations and stores for 4 weeks.  The harbor’s main berthing finds vacancy at the vessels underway taking.  Bow to stern aspect three hundred feet washed and clean.  She has a 9 foot draft with another 22 feet to the first rail.  

The lines in the boat shore for a nimble light sailing ship.  A clipper maybe,  I’ll wait to report further direction possibly assuming more command.  A cigarette falls from my first *******.  A jostle to my left crafts seagulls posturing a stolen meal.  Sulfur stings my nostril igniting the first of two puffs.  The captian rolls his eyes my direction gives the once over finding his intrest in the rest of the evolution.

A few pier hands set eyes on the clipper, smoking.

Mice run along the wooden edge of the pier away from some of the salted pork and grain.  Two other mice lose courage at my sight line.  XO and first mate shift and turn retrieving my concern.  The brow is being landed at the stern of the ship.  

No decals and no name yet.  At some point Ill find or ask to be apart of the ships crew.  Deck hand, cook, messenger, helmsman, assistant to first mate all compatible with ability.  The first mate chuckles and mentions a figurative by stander knowing that an employment opportunity starts with a  conversation.  

Crew’s first leiutenant for the most part looks squared away and a bit untouchable, salty.  Pants tucked into calf high boots, a beard, pea coat and a lost stare.  Hesitating a bit he grins and settles back to appropriate conversation.

My bag and jacket drop accompany to the stores.  Maybe a slow patient walk aft, there has to be a name for her.  At the stern a marching movement to my right and I can follow the rear of the boat and in peripheral the command group.

The Lion’s Winter in large old English print below a iron clad window pane bounces with the tide to the left and right in a roll.  I can see the ship, now calming into a quiet slop off of the pier and its mooring lines. The rudder is a massive distorted key shaped piece of poplar with copper piano hinges all the way to the back of the keel.  A small blue crab lengthens a breast stroke across the top of the water.  

The three follow the appropriate custom before crossing the brow and the first louie barks a few times.  Two of the ship’s crew begin inventory on stores while a bit of nervousness creeps over the contents of my only possessions.  Wetting my lips I can taste the salt on my face.

One of the crew yells,
“Louie, move him off.  He stump’n around the grub.”
He barks again,
“Turn two.  Got more an him eny’d, a Rat!”

I took that as on opportunity to introduction.  Mr. Louie straightened pursed heels and drained thought from my façade.  His eyes narrowed, he felt the calm of my urgency.  He knew I needed, obliged then walked to conversation.  “Cryme's, you look’n for someone.”

“Humm, a shipmate.”
I could see the it was not the conversation he was expecting.  He leveled, “Pretty tight around here. What do you have in the bag?”

“Mostly books.”  

“You cant cross the atlantic reading books.”

Sharply understood in sponse to kurt, “Is that an opportunity or an intrest accompany to nothing.”

“You can naught cross the Atlantic.”


Tim says leave the world.  I laugh and he says no righting, laughter.

He sat with Michaelanglo
a stirring butress, a rife old glutton.
Seething, the temple may be doomed.
And Jude, 'rich' as HELL,  
beaming of priesthood.  Cursed him
with mired lucher, saying... 'When do
you think our work will be done?"

The stars that shine about the church
over our heads are beauty,
in the Cistene Chapel are the same
stars that line the apothecary of our souls.
How then do we touch a theist?

With brooms over our feet,
with chicken bones to old to feed
to dogs, with lyes that burn the soul.
Tremulous attrition, and godless neoteny.

All munitions to the decks.  For
Jude, the job is never finished.  
And to a deity, man is completeness.
And the poet says to the unbelieved,
'Why so true?'  
"No one will believe in God,...
     if no one is in this Church."
The Sandbergs, the Blakes, the Jaynes's.
Here we have felt poetry, awakened to poetry,
and loved every minute of the poet.  
What record could democracy create
by Judas?  When does the account of
men try femine reason?
'Ill tell You',.. says Mr. Sandberg,
'Ill tell You!,...that naught one of us can forgive a
great poet.' And Jude, replied,... "Whom then
can I believe?"
Carl Sandberg leaned way back and answered,  
'You can believe the Truth; she is warm
to the touch and cold for the feature of
treason.'  
"Carl why then do we argue in 3rd person?" says
Jude.
Repling again, the Cistene Chapel is open
for marrage, the ceiling is finished because
no one can account for all of the stars, but who
has to pray with us for forgiveness.  
My hands prean lust for wisdom with a
pen, my hands pluck keyboards as do
Aeolian Flutes.  My heart is a broken sorrow
and my life is just a poet.
Carl has answered a question,
Jude has lies to tell, and a man will finish
painting the chapel with the sound of
Liberty bells.

It hurts at times
    ya know.
Everyone knows what
    to think,
and I dont.

Have we left
    because two little
miserable tricks.

Does that lady
   ever get over
the same old sh$#.

The cliche now
    is so blasphemous
like Hyku is a poets
framed senses for Hi Cool.  

Ever deeper into
   this I dont know
he never graduated from
High school.  

The US Consult to
    the poet laureates
office is hip with the Capitol
Chief and we have
an athiest for a lawyer.

Hi Coo.

As is I studed mythology
methodically, and had
stumbled across poetry.  
An art inform
Michealangleosand Toulereic.  
Casting a name
my father's train
turned into misogeny.  
Neoteny, mutiny, glutony,
and scruteny, all mashed to
gather.  If Dracula, is Jacob,
as John is to Attilla, and the
father of Abraham, Moses, and
Isacclee.  How due it two
the explanation of mythology?
Green mists, bats, wolves or were wolves
as a matter of fact, what by God's
creations do they mean
by Dogs of Thunder.  
Oh, a poetry be Aye,
to the Christmas time,
and the cry of the broken
crayon.  When do or die
meets my eyes
sacleblur to much monster
ment OyYea, to understanding
masses of poets treating and
reading a masterful poets tree.  
I and three make one,
I and thee make two,
I and geez do a lot of things
but must make better soliloqui.

I left for a few minuta
detail
wrote poetry all the way
to essex, my belle the enigma landing
and lost all of the words that proved
i was commiting treason.

and again I left for a minute
had no ideas what to write
i am the worlds first poet.
 Like great with a lower
case G.  

Any word, 7 or more languages
forward or backward.
prodigy, prosody, prodisy or is it odeseyus
he fell down flat on his back
wanting to know who c. reeves tucked in
before the C4 explosion.  

and I Cobak can tell you that
WE are here, in the Star Wars book
bith bounty hunting earthworms for fish hooks.
i write all day seas less lee.  
as praetorian Helmet.  

wehttam

I love our web page.  Just keep writing.  We will never read all of the poets.

My impression of women
is disheartened
by the most wonderful admiration.
A beauty
that once found grace
is a constant fear.
In their figure and their face
does hurt or spooky complete this.
I blue
Hollywood away to
lay awake in brood mares
stirring passive fires in
warm honey.
"I loved you."
Is naught "love" ewe.
Place this heart in a blender
and press,... love, or hate,
or any other garilous word
on the surface of the arcade.
Madness, or slight copped,
minced or purety.  
How then on any day
can watching a badly writen
play make surety?  
Does rhyming
have another way
to find I lauded enrapture
with the death
the tallest of tale tale hearts
doesest thou now know
if proven that one love is
worth all women.  
Reveled in horror
the blender shakes
as does my arcane prose
to the figure
of a woman
in underwear
on Friday,
the 13th.

More recent causes be
to blame; resting was not
as easy as resisting. A cold,
cooled viper soiled fangs,
once so seemingly beautiful
objection too.  Of dangerous,
ordinary.  "Ists, ists, ists,...."
continually, stomach, belly,
hand, foot, neck, brain, every
temporal sought try, emnity.  
The 5th, fours, poets counting
3 beats and 2 bars,... ONE Langston, Kerouac,
Thurston, any true scientologist.  "Ists."
The trite moekein bird song had treated,
and debt was emnity.

She held it
all of the feathers;
all of the hell
that ever mattered.

The curse
thee accused
the allegations
of a child abused.

Sry, cold, nightmares
of the very old.
In a pen, in embrace
all of the fear
all of the hate.

"Right, with me!"
"Write, with me!"
Every new dream,
write with me
using the dragons flame.

Red, blue, green,
the very chartruse color
of fame.  No swords, no
hard words, no martyers
do we stir.  

And mask all of the dead,
with the life of every word.
Left unsaid,  He alleged
that I had proved luster
to remove his head.  

And the mask stays
as a true love of words
wonderful words we shared
in stead of our lovers bed.

I took everything
all of it.
Ischemic tangeniency had offered
me the souls of my Christians?
I deferred to poetry and rhapsody.
Like a Vampire Weekend concert.
Oh, without magic wands,
or tutilage of mystery.
I took everything.
It feels like an ancient rain.
Like an old president as our king.
He and she had to tell a few lies
before death and then took the
truth to sleep.  She of course
was a Bonaparte, and he of
course was from Oxford.
He wrote Frankenstein because
of their affair, she wrote the
crowned prince a diamond of Hope.
And his family lied in the mote.  
From the Battle in Boston, to the
French and American and The Seminole
War.  How would I ever know that
crossing the Patomic ment
King George the Third
lying on my floor.
To this day, I swear
The First President
of the United States
is the King of England.  

How dare you? Know the truth.  
He wrote the whole book
and that we had taken
everything they want
as an Oath.

8 cops possibly 15 or 16 police officers
1 persona, the 45s scratched and repeating
From the south, no
From Asia, how
Certainly some western flare
Sheeeeeesssshhhhh
16 or 17 officers, why is it repeating,
Repealed, ok. Idk, one single actual law
But several piggy's with lights off
Chortled many brave pedalers
Just down by the shoe store
All of them will fit a persona
Try a pear, chew it and sip on some well water
I will never smoke indoors, not enough space for the frame
But what works, is a story by Dumbo.  
That dang chewy elephante.

Expression of all the
man ick.  Too much
to seem rancid.
The plan, you seem
humble.  Horses
at gate, are anxious
to the free.  
Tie to me, the ties.  
To much poetry
means prosody.
Speechless in every
picture, find a sweet
bowl of a cereal.  A muse
so benovlent, find
at least a numbered
of meek.  When then
are we to subdude, by
loving reason
to true.  Talking much
due to treason, longing
such for Summer's season.
And fire flies, to my eyes
due lye, the colour
of sea foam
green. Here or there
misanthrope do these
same beings
at a glance
ask for shooting stars
to prance across
my movie screen
The Milky Way.    

Do or dame
and esta' blush,
this bill of rights.  
So they say,
He that hateth
my father
hateth me
also.  So dude,
let us make
clowns of us all
and teach
the proper way to
throw a star across
the galaxy.

The fret removed
from music,
the takamine rouge.
I had to pull the frets
remove them from
the bass.  A fretless bass
from top to bottom,
a very note trued.  
But the weight
its gone
from the tune.  
Hours upon hours
spent on 50 cents in
silver.  I said fretless
bass and they left
untendered.  
Oh, the tether
do they hang.  
As St. Jude proclaims...
"There! Shame!"
All of it do I play,
as do winged instruments
of this very day.
To due, I had too.
Say, his majestic melancoly.  
On two Harvard Squares,
I say,...
I had too.

Write with me! some....

She wears a mask
hiding my fear
when i ask her to remove it
she hides it with a tear.  
Under porcelain
and in her hair
I find poets as do dragons
hide in lairs.  
And woman moves the mountain
as I make the mask of despair.  
If missing her is as a missing word
that moves from her mouth.  
Owed and due
to trust her pen
as it cuts as a sword
like as it does curse
all of her men.

Let me write to you!
Some thing
About baseball.
Or going through three
as a Latin poet.

This preacher had
fiddled a wooden cross,
laying it down
every time I
throw a fast ball.

He reaches
the t.v.
guide wonderously
curses Cubs.
A stick, of gum.  
Wriggling in between
giggling as whom
has the windy
affair.  

Starched cold pressed
pen stripes, left two right.
Alway, do dowelry.  
Of course revelation.
"Did he, boy!?"  Get through.  
Just lay down, thinking,
to look at the last payment.  

No names, and we
still play baseball
around 3.

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Have you read in the Talmud of old,
In the Legends the Rabbins have told
Of the limitless realms of the air, --
Have you read it, -- the marvellous story
Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory,
Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer?
How, *****, at the outermost gates
Of the City Celestial he waits,
With his feet on the ladder of light,
That, crowded with angels unnumbered,
By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered
Alone in the desert at night?
The Angels of Wind and of Fire
Chant only one hymn, and expire
With the song's irresistible stress;
Expire in their rapture and wonder,
As harp-strings are broken asunder
By music they throb to express.
But serene in the rapturous throng,
Unmoved by the rush of the song,
With eyes unimpassioned and slow,
Among the dead angels, the deathless
Sandalphon stands listening breathless
To sounds that ascend from below; --
From the spirits on earth that adore,
From the souls that entreat and implore
In the fervour and passion of prayer;
From the hearts that are broken with losses,
And weary with dragging the crosses
Too heavy for mortals to bear.
And he gathers the prayers as he stands,
And they change into flowers in his hands,
Into garlands of purple and red;
And beneath the great arch of the portal,
Through the streets of the City Immortal
Is wafted the fragrance they shed.
It is but a legend, I know, --
A fable, a phantom, a show,
Of the ancient Rabbinical lore,
Yet the old mediæval tradition,
The beautiful, strange superstition,
But haunts me and holds me the more.
When I look from my window at night,
And the welkin above is all white,
All throbbing and panting with stars,
Among them majestic is standing
Sandalphon the angel, expanding
His pinions in nebulous bars.
And the legend, I feel, is a part
Of the hunger and thirst of the heart,
The frenzy and fire of the brain,
That grasps at the fruitage forbidden,
The golden pomegranates of Eden,
To quiet its fever and pain.

The Skunk

Black, white, striped, memories of 'Pepe lePue', the Gallon d'Or is circling a room on a TV muted.  Back ground noise and a furious well comes from the kitchen.  The skunk has invaded the first and last right of the house.

A Perfect Swing

Starring
Theophilus Cobak

All of the fancy
they
could

every love.

As let as love
as nothing yet.

No secret kept.
No dream to service
as a bet.

No cold dream to forget.

They have desired to regret.

Love, as nothing
as everything
untold.

No rythm
to listen to
of an old drum.

Just drunken spirits
without the ***.  

Oh, these morbid
and fickle
les zen lei' bold.

They speak to french
kiss the dead undead
reading the poetry
of our life in dote.

They do not know
why New Orleans sells
spicy sea food.

Oh, the marrage proposal.

To many lovers
no children to hold.

The children leave
as Luke's dreams
of sky walking
to freedom lands.

They chide the child
and know no REN.  

Chide ren, as do children
know parenthesis.
Due trust is
to hold the
option of freedom.

The job
40 years,
demented posthumously.
The award of state hood
for mental posterity.  

Just chill and watch the sunset.

I just wrote the
"The better is left unsaid."

Ode to the frenchless
kiss,
I... will... knot... lie...
for the benefit.

If beauty troubles
I'd be a date, lost
for seven dollars
staring at ate.  
Hungered tame from
a riddle of shame,
we had o'er drawn
much too of the shade.
In through outter latin
as otter's train playful
matters enaccompany to
eyes of Saturn.  With little
to due and much about
emnity, it was a horse heart
beating in side of me.  
All of the kin was to much
Ken, and of course
Barbies are made out of
plastic.

Is the law then against the promises of God?  
God forbid:  for if there had been a law given which could have given life, verily righteousness should have been by the law.  

Gallantly,
reading the promise
if though
the hero's that hold the
sacred rose.  
The cape,
red and gold,
the legend of
the Talamud of old.
Bowing to break
the silence for to tell
the bull is the raposte
of the craft when
he snorts he guffs
scratching the surface
of the grave.
Braver and bolder
than the resting lore holds
the written tall lyric
of how bull fighters
speak to solem vows.
Did he or didnt he
warn the few
as the crowd revels
they reveal the truth.
To live or die by
the horns they hold.
A small last dance
to the left and right
the swirling
the sparrow and the robin
know
the footsteps between
the audience throws
the steps to flight
the steps to debt.
In between his teeth
he reveals, the color of
the flower to place on
the stones.  
The bull
or the hero lies here.
A few turns
a few lies, a few more
moments before the bull
dies.  To the clarity and
chagrin, the fighters
are the audience who
hold no pen.   They
stream to hymm the very
step, the very step for the
win.  
He snorts and shuffles,
looks to the crowd
the bull now knows
he is to die.  
Choosen to
write the score
of the mused sick
audience sore.  
And to these
days there are
laws that exist
to protect
the fortune
of the bold.  
Authority, sword,
word in hand,
and by law
of this land
do we save
the bull because
we
are colder than
the bull's sin.  
Trampled or true
the bull is free
untill the bull fighter
meets the
crowds revelry.

1, 2
buckle my shoe.

3,4
shut the door.

5,6
pick up sticks.

7,8
Lay them straight.

9,10
Do it again.

This thee due to plead
Never more says to me

Than the Raven pauses too a kaisura!  

The Beginning

False vision and schadenfreude, thee was lazy and vacancy is not just liberty wanting.  

Then and Now

Of the Novel/ play

Acts 8:34

He we go
A long winded example
Perfect order with curse words
Slimy like salamanders in mud
Slimy like lawyer politicians
But mostly
a penchant for the eloquent
Maybe hes a hero a champion
He speaks in parables and the miraculous
She wears her dreams
In a technicolor maudlin riposte
And at the end is silence with a b
Because
Ur vote is not my vote but then
Again just once I’d like to meet
So I’ll fall asleep with angels
And write long winded examples of
Immeasurable peace.