Stop
Laughing like that.
you sound **A bit
Pathetic.

Hide that smile.
hIde that frown.
Thank your lucky stars.

Steam from the shower
Clears the mind and
Reveals the
mArks left behind
because I am Too fair or
should I say Caucasian
looking, Hispanic
doesn't comE
acrosS clearly like the mind.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, to
Everyone but me
becAuse I never got
anywheRe on my own.

Here lies the secret,
Eat it like dessert:
All of this has been done before
Little doesn't even come close to describing me.

Melt into movement
Ease into enjoyment
kNeel into knowing
Drown in deliverance.

Scratch.
Cover.
Again.
Repeat.

That sad moment
When your fingers can’t type acros the keybboard.  
Because itall runs together like something
From another time whe nthings were less
Than they are now. It’ s always easier, you know,
With less. Always easier when hnds run smoothly
Over the snow or the leaes or the sun
Because they arent shaking quite like they are
Now. Now, with more thought, more feared, more lost
To the losing of days that always leave, evntually.
More to keep you up at night as your hands
Shake but tryto type throug it anyway. More
To keeep you distracted from yourself
But also more to kee pyou all too concentrated
On the world, thatthing that makes you rhands shake,
Tha thng thatis always more thn you want itto be.

a manuscript set forth
erors sprawld acros
every single page

t̾e̾a̾ stains spot it
where it lᵢₑs fₒᵣgₒttₑN
on your desk now

half finished here...

c h o p p y sentences
full of m̴i̴s̴t̴a̴k̴e̴s̴
marked up in RED

there are improvements
little notes jotted down
between the margins

waiting for action
as you steep a cup
to string it together

Within thine mind and my own is swaddled a gem,
Compress’d by time, containing every ripple of existence.
So it resonates heartily now within us both,
Knowledge emanating from it, long rippling,
Acros’t the unbounded sea of harmony.
Let no vast ceiling’d hallway cast binding shadows upon thine face.
Seek that possibility thou desire,
And find it already existent in thee,
But moor’d, due to unpresent light.
All things are this way,
Wrapt by unconscious night until
Thine palmed candle burns it’s visage legible.
Thus is knowledge known.