He and I
Are oil and water.
He is cigarettes and ravioli;
I am cranberries and ramen.

The great benefactor?
Yes, a factor
But not the end.
Not the root.
I shall never be a beggar.

Hark, calls reality
Indifference is aching for you.
Threatening, forcing.
Beware, or it shall overcome you.

I was never good at chemistry
And what is painting but a solution?
What are we but unstable?

Perhaps we are just allotropes.

Oh yes I talk about trying, don't pardon me
Innocence has nothing to fear, this is what hardened me

Just quit man, give up, be the pawn in world chess these thought never cordon me
Rise for you may not reign, but rise for you may be right.. this is the lesson that gardened me

I was in the zone too, I still feel low at times, but I fought and will fight everytime, atleast now I know what my stardom is
Never counted much on anyone, because sometimes when did I got to know what the word phantom means

And trust me I do have dreadful nightmares, but i don't let them warden me
Because what's much bigger and brighter is my dream and the ones I want to live it with, that is what that heartens me

Over expectations, just like over exposure to light, gives you darkened s(K)in
Same people, same situation but different faces, learnt allotropes are not found in carbon only

Was down and low and in pieces, survived, now I am coming thundering for the win
Dream, travel, love, express, experience so the world knows you not just some iron molding

Everyone's at war, some fighting for glory, some voicing their story.. latter is how I unburden me
Miseries in abundance, it's HOPE that forms the basis of my ardent leap.

children no longer obey their parents,
and everybody is writing a book.
      circa 1914 - 1924a.d.

away with you to the lyricist!
    and not to the earth bound roughage
of toil and till -
      or was that not the first encouragement?
have not but the first sipped water
   of these optical realm, fused more
than as modern antidote has it -
   been more intoxicating to see as if a first
dawn of Belshazzar?
              have these not been the invitations
   for scaling the summit of tw. Babylon?
then indeed, not with care or plush attire,
have we descended into an idle affair -
for the insurmountable cohort rattled
even the lesser who still struck a chord of
defiance and belittled by the world: mused.
as so much of love pours onto paper -
             and a paper that later becomes a slab
of stone, plunges with splash and splatter into
the sea as unknown as that, which
encompases the orbit of Neptune -
                 in that void and in that void,
        can we rarely find a bottle to bottle all
things concerning, up.
           or is that: man can no longer play monopoly
with the medium, or indeed he can:
      nuance layered upon nuance layered upon
insinuation, layered upon metaphor,
layered upon non-literalism, layered upon
   literalism, layered upon pun, layered upon
abstract, layered upon fear, layered upon
politics, correct?
                                  by the allotropes of carbon!
to the times when one could say one thing and
one thing only and feel a *will toward something
being testimony of unequivocal thoughts!
at a time when not everyone practiced politics
on such a scale, or wasn't prescribed
a journalistic career on the sly,
          when it fact: mere charity work.
life for life, word for word, deed for deed -
                       and to hell with human circumstance:
whether awe-struck, or awe-bound,
                     or as most can attest... neither.
now all is said, but nothing can be done -
       for now the only thing being said
   is a question of whether it be vogue
                                or ragged mops strewn
across a dark cupboard space -
as too the warm doughnuts and baguettes
on a Monday morning with headlines and
articles and opinion sections and photographs
and adverts... nothing more
                    than toilet paper already used
to wipe one's ****... lying facedown in
a puddle on some street: by the afternoon.
perhaps this too be a melancholy art,
        akin to the journalistic endeavour -
and perhaps both the hope in poetry as the hope
in journalism: is for at least a single
memorable day to be nothing but a sabbath.
could this world ever envision a media sabbath?
probably not... as this poem suggests...
   and another, and another... and...

Silent screams and rages
verse dreams and sarcastic sages
The row believes in the youth of middle aged men
All belittle the your heart when hoping your pang fear
And spring into delirium, and bright gold
Bright light makes heat light asking for you to kneel
In red and leaves of gold, I ask for company
In dead cyka soldiers, the dead of the night
Brings out the company, where you might want a piano key
Loosened, and a guitar string, tuned and pulled

Silent svelte girls all are on the shore
As you she shifts she hasselblad fought him ****
Tea, as the ballad of the hounddog
Go the round midnight, call me after life
GO here, and come back by her fingers girls
In her life, is white, there is blyke
Everyone has a Jekkyl Hyyde
She doesnt know who he she means
After the shindig of time, singing life
Keep it in her, she rights the wall, and rides the fences
She rides the friendly horses, I know you before friends have ***
Feel my living, light my love with food of life
Make me right wrong is the rife
Kaddish sits on the wrong her
Reflection of lapas lazuli and Meer
Urst auf von bon, werst worde gert
Someone took the art killed it with joy
Someone lifted her with the ploy
**** and feet tastes summer and winter tastes like sum
Feets and passerby, touch my *** please master
grace my pallor with your heat, and gush in the blood of the great hand
Slow dots and polka dance that enrichen the glib gleam of Arriana
If friends were enemies and enemies were friends, and friends were summers
The winters would leave with the lush green forests that smell grape and touch my dots and follow my valley
On a figged donkey sorry masturbator
I want you to ride the wind, with gully
I want you rise with the wind, and touch my langstromme with lakes of stowaways
I want you to leave with the wind I feel the wish that touches your heart
I want yin and yang, not love
I want your balance, and not your senses

The end is the beginning when the fire comes out of the blessed wind
The end is near, the tin can man fires the black and blue
The middleman has her hips in the red roses and the masks, and so Im here to **** you
In my whips and my black college wants your education
Education is near, and you are far and tresses of your hair
Egregious error, was to frame you and keep you in my heart
When I couldn't see the picture
Innocence is a true picture
I want you, I want you love me
I want gush virgins and rush astral stars that hearts cant keep
I want the rushed visions that allotropes the love keeps me lively
Me and Ann lively