Lights or darks
To break a glass,
I’m worth on it and not in the droll,
To depart from the bed in black the one who
Addresses themselves to overtake their self and become in a rave,
Violin string works at ease;
Give me a gulp of the Moon to crash to my side,
to crack in ecstasy of me inside.
I’ve put up enough with walking perfect like the porcelain.

yeux de TwiligLanguecoquette
Me noyer dans ta bave
Vivifier moi tranquille veut
Sable nuits nous Endulge dans
Obscurci par l'opacité des duskiness
Préparez-moi dans airify fraîche
Jog moi comme au sein ont été clarifiées
Faire un tour
Montez,
Talk toothsome
Sirupeux ludique
Glissant sur ourn propre amour
Sueur Ambrosial
Pas savoir aux hommes ou aux fantômes
High Hopes rester élevé
extranjeros amorosas contrairement à la plupart
Chéri
Bien fait
Kins d'exposition au-delà
Non destiné à la page en kiosque
Éveils subissent-sons popping
Sécréter les crys de chiens hurlants
Dynamitage comme un sprite
Délicieux sur des plaques d'esprits
Plébéiens à l'attribut non du monde
Brutes de la romance désespérée
Nous feras danser l'amour de la mine de danse
Nous seras valse dans laquelle tu ourn étapes
Voyage un de l'autre!      ( french)

English-

Twilight eyes
Flirtatious tongue
Drown me in thy slaver
Vivify me for tranquil wants
Sable nights endulge us in
Obscured by opacity of duskiness
Brace me in cool airify
Jog me as within were clarified
Take a ride
Get in,
Toothsome talk
Syrupy playful
Slippery on ourn own amour
Ambrosial sweat
Not known to men or ghosts
High hopes to stay high
extranjeros amorosas unlike the most
Darling
Well made
Kins of afterlife exposure
Not meant for newsstand page
Arousals heated popping sounds
Secrete the howling dog crys
Blasting out as a sprite
Delicious on plates of minds
Plebians to non world attribute
Brutes of hopeless romance
We shalt dance the dance mine love
We shalt waltz wherein ourn steps shalt
Trip one another!!!

I give you the freedom
to interpret “We” in general
or as just Us
two

may your Intimacies show you
what will guide my pendants
of thought kindlings.
I leave it undisclosed  too.

We are evanescent, Juliet.
Yet complete in how shattered we are.
A fractal.
We can’t trace our fingers over tangible frames of the ways of Connections,
clogs of the paths
Love cracks
from what we believe we have already surpassed.
We know we have no capacity of learning with clear logic
how We work,
what Philia makes of Us
and what we make of it,
how the seeds of uncertain Passions
find their way through
and out of Us.

It is indeed a huge insecurity of ours:
trying to find, trace
(on a lone garden wall
made of bricks and creepers),
and keep in our fragile handling
what these feverishness coming
out of hand do with us.

But then we
stand behind the other
(optionally or not: of our self still),
in the same way
uncovered,
insecure
and trembling
if I make it right, or rather we make it right.

The hands of both parties come
in one click and then
though we accost errors
we make our perfectly imperfect
clingings with some glass in that wall
as we again and again come
and will come into
lessons,
which seem new
but stay one and the same

or saddened by the world ideas that will keep on putting us through questioning “Who am I?”
with our silences filled with answers
that we will keep on becoming
and accomplishing without ever taking sentient notice.

I take you as we are.
You take me as we are.
We stay strong in that pair
of trembling hands that
though they do not know
what is ahead of them
or already as Them
when it comes to Love
or any pure emotional arousal
we make of ideas, we accept it.

We won’t ever encompass it
but it encompasses us.
We welcome how much we don’t understand
our bodies or how all of that
and even more flows
and will flow,
we are it,
teary from resilience.

Errors - not
Broken - not
Nought these names made up for perceiving *** and bodies,
these measly words as enough as one isolation to a whole abandoned waiting room at now

I stay in full apprehension and readiness
of what I come to exist
as and what feeling becomes me,
I won’t chain myself to
the scheme we might draw
with chalk on that garden wall.

And be that too alongside please,
simply of.

I am, will be there,
standing,
unpassing,
going through all the same strangenesses
alike,
yet kissing each
and every one
on their ivory breathing ribs,
because they only seem
to be deformed
and at unease.

I will stay in Love.
I will stay outside of it.
Without naming it or putting it
to any formality

let all these questions be a waterfall on you and welcome each and every one of them.

We don’t have to understand them.
We just will be.
We will stay as questions and just let it be. We don’t have to be apart.
We don’t have to be bound for eternity
with pacts or our bodies entangled.

I simplistically. approach.
these hurt questions with a stupefying tenderness of giving
each and every one of them
a chance to.
A thin line of peach freeze.
Sentinels of senses themselves, my arousals of then.
Phronemophilia stays unswayed. I am still in the same bliss.
Let see where we as consciences will grow and shape to.

In the end
it is seen
that loving anyone or anything
was only the pathway to solely harbouring ourselves and Love itself.
It is unchanginly It.
Same verily sacrum in choice of

then

now

lest ever.

Slurping accolades on Book of Faces,
****** poet **** romances himself.
Lubricating through superego Groups,
disorganization and breakdown of controls
chips him into corner. Bleak
moments of "Like" successes
are momentary arousals,
while blessings of truer constructive
criticisms become real get-offs. Spooging
on his own "Like"-abilities and
word-stock inventiveness he mops up
whatever approval he can.
Internet-tionalistic
becomes his coinphrase. He'll
Google-gunk it up in translation
to any language. So long as it buys him
some sensation. Forgive him,
for where else would he get it?

I saw most minds of my generation
(and a few generations past)
all boiled together
in the cauldron of history,
a simmering creation from ancient recipe–

who take one breath of fearsome air,
positioned on false arousals
erasing ****** decades
badgering doves with tropes
of noble hearts
protecting fiery hearths
with flag of nation raised;

who mix in a dozen distasteful cities,
adorned in luxurious isolation
producing delicate ennui
which finds each donation harmful
as colors pretend monochromatic
talk of godless violence
withstanding headstrong lusts for nil;

who devour a whole fetishized messiah,
crowned by galloping anxiety
obscuring bulleted defects
battling monsters mounted
on imaginary horses–not crosses–
whilst saving purest virtues
of every child & mother

who torch refuge under murderous lights,
presented as shackled dilemmas
casting diabolic martingale
pitted against those urban sissies
of shallow flimsy heart
mirroring frozen affections
for bizarre cloven rambling about “facts”

who finish with crooked saucy error,
whipped from soft flesh
converted into rusty treasure
absurdly vacant demonstrations
topping brightly flavored cries
still couching ambiguous decrees
amid gaunt periodic theatrical spectacle

who bellow “THIS IS US COOKING!”
awaiting timer dings to hail
the proud tentative product
of their latest ghastly confection,
seasoned with salty tears
and wrought of troublingly familiar ingredients

who pair sacrosanct identities with Pinot Noir
and speak of black & white & queer as if
they know who is what and why and think
they’re somehow differently acidic
in a stomach digesting stale bread
sopped up stew of circus elephants

who hardly know to laugh or cry,
when sadly forgetful, they’re surprised
by the unsatisfying result!

who hold their noses, ignore the taste,
with eyes downcast,
some mumbling, most shouting
“Just serve and enjoy!”

hearts long butchered out and filleted
but still pumping as they fed
millennial masses raised on milk
of Secular Western Humanity

gulping slurping moldy vestiges
forgotten soulful terrors consuming cannibal cravings
passions relit by ignorance of the poem
of life replaced by the hum of sly echoes

ricocheting in revolver chambers
ricocheting in rifle chambers
ricocheting in machine gun chambers
ricocheting in chambers of bombers
ricocheting in chambers of bone in skull

oblivious to decimated cities
–struggling against straw men ignorant to the epidemiology
of the ideology of the very viruses they created–
unworthy of mention or count or even noticing brown lives lost

beating beating beating pounding
till knuckles nearly break
atop the drum of warheads’ quiet boom
Long gone are all objections to escaping
the phantasmagoric discomfort of Actual Reality!

beat on beat on beat on end whimperingly
–with renewed amnesia–
in contemporary post-modern
dullness fading sparks of anticlimax
then no denouement… *Il est vrai pour nous aussi…
Au nom de quoi?

Canst I prithee a mere carpe diem?
A taste of nary for a fere's mien
And there thou art - cometh from Eros's hem
Love is a touch and not yet a touch then

For I beseech thy f'lood - flesh and the blood
And not the dearth in the midst of the earth
For I demand these arousals to flood
Like stream of ditty from a lovers' birth

But then should I bequeath hide this desire
A devil or angel - lurking inside
Fathom is to perceive, love is not ire
Still is to stay for love hath to abide

And if a time - eternity shall fall
I'll kiss the day and die when the night crawl.

If even the smallest hint of lust is a deadly sin,
Then I already have my foot in the grave.
There’s no turning back:
The notion of *** surrounds my reality
And caresses my mind,
Rules my dreams.

*** toys with my manly nature:
Foxy cheerleaders,
Gentlemen’s clubs,
Attractive college students,
Glitzy pop artists;
Lyrics of seductive songs about pleasing arousals.

When the word “***” rolls off the tongue,
I am left fidgety and weak.
The most interesting ****** account, I perceive,
Is Eve and the serpent,
Given a serpent isn’t necessarily human,
And Eve wasn’t portrayed as slithering.
*** and snake fit together because of this tale in Eden:
The serpent flirts with Eve, messing with her ****** response
To a certain seduction.
Ssssssss! Says the serpent.
[When people hold the “ess” in saying “***” as a snake,
My guard sags as if my body readies itself for ***.]
Imagine the serpent hissing at Eve,
Winding slowly about the trunk of the tree,
As though suffocating the knowledge in the forbidden tree.
Its eyes glued to Eve,
Her naked body giving in not to the serpent’s verbal abuse of ***,
But to making mouthy contact with the taboo, savory pome sensation.
The serpent may as well have also added, “Don’t worry…God won’t know about thisssss.”

Drunken,
Laying under the magnificence of thee
Enchanted in your company
Searching the eternity-
My eyes scan beauty
Your raven black hair that fall on your face,
Your silken kisses
And soft touch
Trembles my body
Erupting arousals
My legs locked unable to move,
Electrifying each stroke
I feel at haven when encased in your love
I move in to touch you
And you vanish in a flash,
I open my eyes in tears
Knowing that it was just another mind game,
Dreams sadden me
As I lay on my bed alone-
Lost in my memory,
Feeling its exquisiteness.

During the years prior to high-school graduation,
It was never a “piece-of-cake”
To adjust back to reality. A.K.A. school, immediately following
Occasions, such as vacations, for any reason, or even ordinary weekends.
There’s also that event that took place during a “school night,”
Where the thought of have to “hit the books” the next day
Haunted my conscience amid focus and participation, as I knew
There never were many take-off extensions during the week.
I’d be one who tended
To stare out a window and fantasize
Of the arousals and feel-goods
From being around groups or plainly out of the house.
There were times where I’d stare
And picture still being with my grandparents in Pittsburgh
Upon arriving home from visiting them at their house.
On some Sundays, we’d host a family from our church
To watch football games, eat, chat,
And freeze-tag around the condensed square of yard
Shielding the Kearneysville property.
How could I have bounced right into school Monday
With thoughts of care-free run-arounds
And my loosened muscles on furniture while watching football
Still spinning in my head?
Is fun really a dream come true
Or is it a manipulative dream that speeds up during the good times
And slows down with the drags in life?
I’d even find myself adjusting to reality
Even if I were not the primal host at my house.
When either my parents or siblings
Would invite friends or other people distracting their attention to the house,
I’d always feel like I had the house to myself,
Their attention on the humane outlier making them invisible
And not focusing on my whereabouts or whodunits.
To me, stepping off the grass and back on the mud track of reality
Won’t always work the way it should,
Whether recovering from brief gathering events
Or rock concert trips.
I heard a Sunday sermon where the minister referred to humanity as each a “vacationer.”
Might that imply that reality is an effortful fantasy?  After all, don’t vacations require work too?

What are we waiting for?
Stable lives and daily bores?

We pay the toll till every sense is spent
In refrain I can't regret lament

Going out into the crowded city streets
Maybe someday we will meet

We're gone too soon in a fleeting greet
Passer byes and distant memories

I caught a glimpse of arousals hints
I'm rotating in and out of wits

I've tried too hard to be denied
I don't give a **** I'm rectified

I asked her out to a whiskey bar
It didn't take long for her to accept

Our ulterior motives might
Come from our different minds

But in the end they're the same tense
I take her home and we have some ***

We wake up with the new day
Just to do it all over the same

The tables full and I'm well fed
The plate is clear; living to dead

I'm replenished in their stead
Natures faction is instilled in my head

I'm off to the market place
To find out what the new taste takes

Some are spoiled, others are left to waste
A hunger grows within our mistakes

This is about the time the soul kicks in
The words grow long and they fall apart

Apathy towards a disregarded heart
Should have known some were rotten from the start

Some say this cannot be fixed
When water leaks it collects in drips

A damaged floor tends to give
Caving in; an over saturated sieve

The candles dwindled to a flick
In a pool of wax the wick sticks

We ran through the forest
We ran against the breeze

We ran across the Great Plains
We'll run until we're free

The search is almost over
Our keepers want to be kept

All else is good and nothing's perfect
As she slips back into my bed

She crawls up starting at my feet
Making her way into my head

Our stomachs are full
Our blood is un-bled

But still nothing's changed
She begins to twitch and call my name

She begs me to **** her again
The scene is almost exactly the same

But when she wants it so badly
Can I really be the one to blame?

We're living, breathing, animals
Living, breathing, animals

Fixated dross entranced
floating maladroits' delusions
vacuous visions in arousals
fantasizing present stupors
stunted senses in disarray  
excitable dimness
foraging insignificance

Veracity exclusion zones programed
finding solace in asinine malaise
puerile aroma
reeking in hooligans rank lairs
dives and caves opened
damaged felons
in cuddled spite
the woes of misspent lives

From birth
creepers and crawlers
creped and crawled in lacking grace
dripping in muck from the cesspool
to become
bottom feeders destined cannon fodders
matched with *******
jiving vibes with no veracity
the dance of minions
bang wallop see you later
in essence easily replaced by a vibro
the come easy go easy
just give the baby
welfare will do the rest

Dopes musings flow
in ambiversion.
ignorance flourish ingloriously
in perpetuity
rooted in custom
and tradition
streert vendors
hawking bile
the panacea of the
discontent and disgruntled
Pen's river runs
barrier to the inferiors
the wound is open and raw