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David Zavala Dec 2018
To begin to end a line not finished: I want you happy not sad to be.

River

The kitten is small painting near, it had many days to await,

  Our a real painting, it is a man woman man relationship us and thank you.

      & White & White & Black & whitening greyhound does that did

Room

Held back a bed to view waiting room I love you. I need that girl less and less each day. I need my family less and less each day.

I need that woman more than I need my family I don’t want mustard on my hotdog what’s after two?

Hmm, three that was a turn table as we were leaving our house more like to be able to afford it and it will cost you money for your own payment of course I do of course you don’t know that why would I expect you to understand? Will you still love me?

If a nice affordable apartment loves dog friendly can’t she love dogs friendly in the next 5 years? Hmm we’re possible that would down time and less more more need less.

I love the turn table like if cassette deck, had a lot of knobs me you to determine.

I want my peace back baby I just want you so much I won’t have you, yours ohh “yours” I get it they’re charms it’s not community they’re charms dumbo I love she and she she I love she

Blurrr

It would take a while to figure out how to work it.

Like it’s thinking at least you are beautiful and young not young and beautiful movie and the love of you guys all day good night hope all you good with the day love, yours.

She has long hair and is thin, doesn’t mind my interests and will leave and no longer certainly will leave or definedly will leave or definitely will leave, she will leave and that makes it all the way better, sorry about your car accident and I hope you because I know you will improve your bank accounts too ambitious no name for more than five years at least it sounds good, we don’t steal that’s not right to see that a book award plaque was stolen,

In The Library

I got it: Hunter S Thompson painted the house, hmmmmm,

The interior walls are sound proof and healthy,

The walls of her house are dark brown and are rich and flavorful. They remind me of coffee.

I want you that way and actually I am big enough and am capable and yes, you are right this will not happen.

That way: I only want them that way

The Beach

Okay, I found several diamond shaped pieces and waited for eternity in parks I wore a white shirt which reminded me of a neon light bulb. It’s okay it’s not your light bulb. It’s your light bulb.

-

A Mountainous Future

Somewhere in San Antonio sit three mice dressed in Spanish dresses and ponchos,

Rights, we care for your small RV for another and yes your career is important and surprising and that what we want, we want something surprising and new and have not been able to find that, I have 10 friends on Hello Poetry.

Yes, we know the definition of socialism.
The another city was hot in that month and  less broadly defined less than it was in Fiji like we were in the other day/way or in Argentina like we were in the other day/way and which both we value and are nice and reminded us of waterfalls in one way or another.

In the way we were directly pouring universities and colleges

There are tables near the beach and you don’t care about gender norms just want the best for me too, I want the best for you too knowing something will not happen, let’s make something happen, whatever.

Without her valor we in water ripple of memories of old friends like an was image of time zone and arrived at our third trashcan yes you didn’t count yes I counted that’s a benefit we are all different you don’t have to use his voice and can insert here that you don’t have to use he voice but if you want something you could because like his job description and the concept of his as a catalyst is in the microwave not on the microwave. One of the other screens which yes, in fact, we did paint I know you understand and sheets with yellow stripes, a whole families that are really only like a single man who on the ground in a red sweater surrounded by fifth said hey, I’ve got to clean this up but I’m growing old of Thai food I want to cry writing that I’m growing old of Thai food, what’s a new city?

It’s a citywide call to do better - I do better all the time citywide call to do better. You’re such a little boy and sure, in the one new city mentioned in our apartment we spoke about recently and agreed on that I do actually care for your heath and I do not like them or think their nice, I guess the bigger big

At least I think you are gorgeous.

I want to be thin.

I want you to be my girlfriend.

I want a house.

I’ve honestly had enough coffee and beer to last a lifetime, I just get headaches. It’s actually not that bad when than singular way perspective is what I want a girlfriend in another state, in another country, on another continent.

Just then the University of Southern California emailed me and yes I have talked to them and if your experience is college is anything like my experience at one college where I spent two years then I may not might I may know more than you.

I came to mind from you, independent
and a visual of an Indian woman on the painted screen this is how it is painted, who considered working for a nonprofit to educate primary school aged children in India came to your mind and I was down on you while looking at a piece of plastic like Benjamin Franklin’s a horse, this is the will happen in my imagination because it won’t happen, but to me, this is the way it would happen, it won’t happen.

I’m upset that I haven’t met her yet but I hope we will be happy, unmarried, let’s talk about how it will happen so we can get married and then both both smile, not dumb smile, smile, not dumb smile, smile. Woah, privacy.  

We woke and thought about what to eat: the microwave.

The stove is nice. I am quiet, smart, and determined and you want me so I hit the switch on the wall hurt after thinking man, I get to walk to the light socket thinking that I know you want me I know you want me.

I’m the queen bee in the store lost for my money. He’s not that tall, is he and yes I can pay.

Fine, you’re was handsome, got it? I’m better now.

I don't like football though and at 22 I saw my shadow on the way home from the university and I saw just that, my shadow I had gotten a haircut and was probably writing emails and reading so I was reading and writing emails. This is the way. This is the way. This is the way. How much do you weigh? My mother doesn’t care how much she weights and how she doesn’t wright herself my mother doesn’t care about how much I weigh or how I don’t weigh myself. This is life defined. I want better for myself. I need to go home to quickly make it right quick. My mom is here.  

back in the mirror, see our shadows and pass a muslim woman, the mountains were large, we went to a movie and took him home to his pink house. Plus or minus it’s plus or minus only please be a pink house and will hold my arms out when I can’t afford them?

  ironic before me that’s present,
    asking myself how the white clouds          which reflect the
green grass could juxtapose my middle-class house.

Your shoes were Asiscs - the expensive kinds and our malls are mysterious, I think I should share with you, though it’s better if I know you and share with you then after discussion such that we were young and left the better for a three story building in Miami, but I enjoyed it. It’s cool. The people in San Francisco were nice but I remember playing guitar in a corner by myself and it’s that that I want to change.

I stayed in a hostel and the flowers in the hostel were so beautiful I took a picture on the third floor of them when I arrived to the third floor.

The front desk male licked his lips.

                                  why did he lick his lips? I was enamored by the magazines
offered by the U.S. mailbox and HEB produce and I do not have a sad face mother why can't you see?

“In the backseat is a
mountain less window
with pictures
on the wall
and chairs
I sit on, books to my right, camera, reefs above chimney, and tons of token stuffs, from all the places we've
visited.

Outside the wind finally blows.

Months passed windowless park.

Little homes made of puzzles and angels.

Be silent yellow-legged hippie, sandals on beach, yellow book of pianos. I thought we were modern? Wrapped in blankets, blondes, unshaven with my wrist watch on John Cage says he's frightened by old ideas so we push forward.

You an artist damp sheet synapse connecting me to old bird houses and streets canary to birthday parties basically participation.

We walked together to the theme park roller coaster and saw sandy rocks and tumbleweed. There was a home theater made by blue collar workers from Mexico who came to America and were loveless so we decided to take a plane to Fiji again after talking about it.

The plastic on the trees because there’s plastic on the trees and it’s someone’s job to know the right way to do things basically basically bad snakes under rocks, loud sound of Darfur!

We were models with beers cans on the walls, shelves, broken light fixtures, paintings of two, empty baskets, bar stools, doorways to our room.

An interlude! I hear it and see it. I can see it.

My sister eating cake, I swear!

It's a cubist painting! Beethoven is playing. So, A cubist painting!! Look at the geometry on the walls, it’s kind of so complex like that song. We’re too different. The end. Our tools were our background, the sky was empty, it needed more color I said walking through the university, "I need a big gallon of water and a lot of money."

“Can you protect me?"

I certainly can't - I can’t I cannot.

Are we ignorant or is Argentina *****?

The dirt on the ground, flag blue and white,
the walls that border the sheet lights
white wedding gowns, candles lit to a
blessed Mars, every scene is an image
of you can you please shut up? Come here, dummy, I’m dumb and going somewhere.

I only speak in Allen Ginsberg’s voice and you can and will write essays about each scene!

Beautiful women standing outside red building with slightly open windows in Arizona.

A medium sized Neil Postman - the message is you! You’re that beautiful.

The fire sits behind the phone booth.

An old lady in a grey sweater: “why would you take me here?"

(My apartment)
This is all my apartment lets arrange it.

The pintails in Austin are purple and hot somewhere else this too is old like the space is a colorless skyrocket in bright blue skies I want to marry you I want to marry you. For you, something inexpensive and sea bass and definitely decide sea, got it?

What I’m trying to say is that vial is not vale and that is very sad and makes me very upset that my promise made to you to fold the sheets will take that much longer

Oh, you are strong. This entire piece of prose is messed up and not the singular yes that singular unpublished unplural: Oh, you are strong. This is the way onto development developing devices righttt so start development want more synonyms? This entire piece of prose is sad, there entire piece of prose and so can you. Hi, you are strong enough to make good decisions and trust yourself and collaborate physically and expect thanks for the voices, you are strong and safe and have a community if you need them, you are it and I will gladly take your call and make you feel stronger if I have time,
David Zavala Nov 2018
The pinatera in Austin
colorless skyrockets in bright blues
A promise made to fold the sheets

The fire sits behind the phone booth
An old lady in a grey sweater
"why would you take me here?"
(My apartment)

Are we ignorant or is Argentina *****?
The dirt on the ground, flag-blue and white
the walls that border the sheet lights
white wedding gowns, candles lit to my
blessed Mars, every scene is an image
of death I tell you in Allen's voice! I
could write essays about each scene! Poor
woman standing outside red building with a
slightly open window in Argentina. A medium
to Neil Postman - the message is you!

Be silent yellowlegs hippie sandals on beach yellow book
of pianos. I thought we were modern? Wrapped in blankets, blondes,
unshaven with my wrist watch on John Cage says he's frightened by old ideas so we push the envelope forward. You an artist damp sheet synapse connecting me to millionaires. Old bird houses and streets canary to birthday parties. We walked alone in the desert, sandy rocks and tumbleweed - a home theater - from Mexico to America. We were loveless so we decided to take a plane to Fiji. The plastic on the trees, snakes under rocks, loud sound of Darfur! We were models with beers cans on the walls, shelves, broken light fixtures, paintings for two, empty baskets, bar stools, doorways to the room. An interlude! My sister eating cake, I swear! It's a cubist painting! A cubist painting! Look at the geometry on the walls - so complex/ Our tools were our background, the sky was empty, it needed more color I said walking through the university, "I need a big gallon of water and a lot of money." "Can you protect me?" I certainly can't - I laughed.

Downtown in San Antonio
sat three blind mice
dressed
in ponchos and Spanish dresses
Black rights you say? We
took a small RV to another
city, it was hot, less though than
it was in Argentina. Fiji was
nice and had waterfalls, there were
tables near the beach. With valor we
uncrippled the image of time and arrived
at a trashcan painted with a yellow stripe.
Whole families - really only a single boy on
the ground in a red sweater surrounded by
filth - saying do better - I do! Little boy
I do care for your heath. He was gorgeous.
She sat down looking at a piece of plastic
- a horse - and we smiled. We wake and focused
on the microwave. The stove was nice. I was loud.
The switch on the wall hurt. The Queen Bee in the
store lost my money. He was tall. She was handsome.
I don't like Burroughs. At 44 I never grew up.

We looked back in the mirror - saw ourselves
And passed a muslim woman - the mountains were large
In another movie he died so in this poem he'll be pink
and will hold his arms out to men - ironic before me
asking myself how the white clouds which reflect the
green grass could juxtapose my middle-class house.
Your shoes were Asiscs - the expensive malls were mysterious.
We were young and left the better for a three story
building in Miami - but I enjoyed it. The people in
San Francisco weren't nice, but I remember playing guitar
in a corner by myself. The hostel and the flowers, I took a
picture on the third floor when I arrived. And David
why did he lick his lips? I was enamored by the magazines
offered by the U.S. mailbox - HEB produce - my sad face -
mother why can't you see? "In the backseat" is a
mountain less window with pictures on the wall and chairs I
sit on, books to my right, camera in front, reefs above
the chimney, and tons of tokens, from all the places we've
visited. Outside the wind blows. Months passed windowless parks.
Little homes made of puzzles and angels.
David Zavala Nov 2018
Downtown in San Antonio
sat three blind mice
dressed
in ponchos and Spanish dresses
Black rights you say? We
took a small RV to another
city, it was hot, less though than
it was in Argentina. Fiji was
nice and had waterfalls, there were
tables near the beach. With valor we
uncrippled the image of time and arrived
at a trashcan painted with a yellow stripe.
Whole families - really only a single boy on
the ground in a red sweater surrounded by
filth - saying do better - I do! Little boy
I do care for your heath. He was gorgeous.
She sat down looking at a piece of plastic
- a horse - and we smiled. We wake and focused
on the microwave. The stove was nice. I was loud.
The switch on the wall hurt. The Queen Bee in the
store lost my money. He was tall. She was handsome.
I don't like Burroughs. At 44 I never grew up.

We looked back in the mirror - saw ourselves
And passed a muslim woman - the mountains were large
In another movie he died so in this poem he'll be pink
and will hold his arms out to men - ironic before me
asking myself how the white clouds which reflect the
green grass could juxtapose my middle-class house.
Your shoes were Asiscs - the expensive malls were mysterious.
We were young and left the better for a three story
building in Miami - but I enjoyed it. The people in
San Francisco weren't nice, but I remember playing guitar
in a corner by myself. The hostel and the flowers, I took a
picture on the third floor when I arrived. And David
why did he lick his lips? I was enamored by the magazines
offered by the U.S. mailbox - HEB produce - my sad face -
mother why can't you see? "In the backseat" is a
mountain less window with pictures on the wall and chairs I
sit on, books to my right, camera in front, reefs above
the chimney, and tons of tokens, from all the places we've
visited. Outside the wind blows. Months passed windowless parks.
Little homes made of puzzles and angels.

Be silent yellow-legged hippie, sandals on beach, yellow book
of pianos. I thought we were modern? Wrapped in blankets, blondes,
unshaven with my wrist watch on John Cage says he's frightened by old ideas so we push the envelope forward. You an artist damp sheet synapse connecting me to millionaires. Old bird houses and streets canary to birthday parties. We walked alone in the desert, sandy rocks and tumbleweed - a home theater - from Mexico to America. We were loveless so we decided to take a plane to Fiji. The plastic on the trees, snakes under rocks, loud sound of Darfur! We were models with beers cans on the walls, shelves, broken light fixtures, paintings for two, empty baskets, bar stools, doorways to the room. An interlude! My sister eating cake, I swear! It's a cubist painting! A cubist painting! Look at the geometry on the walls - so complex. Our tools were our background, the sky was empty, it needed more color I said walking through the university, "I need a big gallon of water and a lot of money." "Can you protect me?" I certainly can't - I laughed.

Are we ignorant or is Argentina *****?
The dirt on the ground, flag-blue and white,
the walls that border the sheet lights
white wedding gowns, candles lit to my
blessed Mars, every scene is an image
of death I tell you in Allen's voice! I
could write essays about each scene! Poor
woman standing outside red building with a
slightly open window in Argentina. A medium
to Neil Postman - the message is you!

The fire sits behind the phone booth.
An old lady in a grey sweater
"why would you take me here?"
(My apartment)

The pinatera in Austin,
colorless skyrockets in bright blues
A promise made to fold the sheets.
David Zavala Nov 2018
Downtown in San Antonio
sat three blind mice
dressed
in ponchos and Spanish dresses
Black rights periods. We
take an RV to another
city, it is hot, it is terribly hot and not NOT small, I am being mean, rude, and sarcastic I want more and less is what you gave me. It costs 250 dollars more. I should be at actually Harvard University I am happy those ends of sentences. Less though than
in Argentina.

Fiji was nice and had waterfalls, there were
tables near the beach. I once knew him too. What do you want? You decide? They’re on Facebook, there. Okay so now the rest of this sentence isn’t needed.

Here, let me continue:

- With valor we
uncrippled the image of time and arrived
at a trashcan painted with a yellow stripe.
Whole families - really only a single boy on
the ground in a red sweater surrounded by
filth - saying do better - I do! Little boy
I do care for your heath. He was gorgeous.
She sat down looking at a piece of plastic
- a horse - and we smiled. We woke and focused
on the microwave. The stove was nice. I was loud.
The switch on the wall hurt. The Queen Bee in the
store lost my money. He was tall. She was handsome.
I don't like Burroughs. At 44 I never grew up.

We looked back in the mirror - saw ourselves
And passed a muslim woman - the mountains were large
In another movie he died so in this poem he'll be pink
and will hold his arms out to men - ironic before me
asking myself how the white clouds which reflect the
green grass could juxtapose my middle-class house.
Your shoes were Asiscs - the expensive malls were mysterious.
We were young and left the better for a three story
building in Miami - but I enjoyed it. The people in
San Francisco weren't nice, but I remember playing guitar
in a corner by myself. The hostel and the flowers, I took a
picture on the third floor when I arrived. And David
why did he lick his lips? I was enamored by the magazines
offered by the U.S. mailbox - HEB produce - my sad face -
mother why can't you see? "In the backseat" is a
mountain less window with pictures on the wall and chairs I
sit on, books to my right, camera in front, reefs above
the chimney, and tons of tokens, from all the places we've
visited. Outside the wind blows. Months passed windowless parks.
Little homes made of puzzles and angels.

Be silent yellow-legged hippie, sandals on beach, yellow book
of pianos. I thought we were modern? Wrapped in blankets, blondes,
unshaven with my wrist watch on John Cage says he's frightened by old ideas so we push the envelope forward. You an artist damp sheet synapse connecting me to millionaires. Old bird houses and streets canary to birthday parties. We walked alone in the desert, sandy rocks and tumbleweed - a home theater - from Mexico to America. We were loveless so we decided to take a plane to Fiji. The plastic on the trees, snakes under rocks, loud sound of Darfur! We were models with beers cans on the walls, shelves, broken light fixtures, paintings of two, empty baskets, bar stools, doorways to our room. An interlude! My sister eating cake, I swear! It's a cubist painting! A cubist painting! Look at the geometry on the walls - so complex. Our tools were our background, the sky was empty, it needed more color I said walking through the university, "I need a big gallon of water and a lot of money." "Can you protect me?" I certainly can't - I laughed.

Are we ignorant or is Argentina *****?
The dirt on the ground, flag-blue and white,
the walls that border the sheet lights
white wedding gowns, candles lit to my
blessed Mars, every scene is an image
of death I tell you in Allen's voice! I
could write essays about each scene! Poor
woman standing outside red building with a
slightly open window in Argentina. A medium
to Neil Postman - the message is you!

The fire sits behind the phone booth.
An old lady in a grey sweater
"why would you take me here?"
(My apartment)

The pinatera in Austin,
colorless skyrockets in bright blues
A promise made to fold the sheets. . . . .

— The End —