god
you can feel him in each breath taken by the plants
                                   each breath taken by me
Chlorophyl
Bromine
Cell Structure

god  
is not in the breath of my lungs
or in the depth of my eyes
is not in the hurt of my heart
or the kiss of my spirit

I am a saint
Blasphemy


God
He is no feeling or breath of this world
He is no idea
No crusade
Cross
Truth
Book

He is the understanding and knowing
In this thought
Maybe, I am alone

pick and choose and prioritize
you have one hundred different kinds of days to live
about 30,000 chances to repeat them
where does your heart live
in the depths?
or in the stars?

he said:

"you gotta hit it hard in the guts, blood and thunder and all like"

life is fraught with peril
like a foreign film without subtitles
you choose how it ends
the subtleties
the inconsistencies
the balance of here and there
the cliche duality of life
good and evil
god and devil
now or never

      he rolled 13 cigarettes
      took one glass of whisky
      stepped 3 times down the stairs
      walked 3 miles down the street
      and fell 6 million times in the dark

i was born like a tree
arms raised like branches
growing through my chest
leaves falling all around me
naked in the winter
clothed in the summer
roots go deep
no time to sleep
come here and flow up my xylem
lay in my phloem
my chlorophyl will fill you up
my sap is like wine
stay drunk all the time

i mean, i love your sanity, but
i need a drink; i learned more sanity from a cat
than i did trying to cure my eyesight;
if you think my parents did wrong
by giving me a proustian lifestyle
then i’m faust; polka dittoed devil usurps all
meanings, even the clever ones typed: chlorophyl.
well i'll be too many coo coo in pikachu for the orange
minding the size of the amazon
(and saying - there's a pain in my chest when laughing...
had i a heart i'd call it keith lemon) allowing
the "fashion statement" and instant grams of followers -
hey, it's called a ******* for a reason - let me
anally absolve you from prayer
and salutation of the crucifix... k k o.k.?

i'm not working from standard definition,
nor am i too fond of the phonetic alphabet
that denotes the sounds of latin with /ˈlætɪn/,
working backwards, noticing the modern
excesses of those little bothersome flies
that insinuate the necessary stressors,
noticing the blatant similarity of how latin
was written and how english is written...
latin œ or æ is like the german ß...
interchangeable symbolism that's hardly more
o than e or a than e... but an interchange of s and z...
most noticeable in english,
for example the even word and the odd word:

size... zebra... symbol...
           desire... sophistry
           spasm... sequence
           sugar (no one says soo gar... sh')
           suspension... sorrow
silk... zero... satire...       
                                      
like i mentioned once... disease is not easy
with the prefix dis- relegating ease into
the realm of broken arms / fingers...
how it sounds and how it's written:
dißeaße / disease    
(primarily due to y in the prefix original,
  but when compounded changed into i and
  thus invoking the scharfes s -
  w polskim szarfes es)                                               
see.. it works a tomahawk into slicing tomatoes
right off the 100ºC scalp achieved when boiled...
you can even squeeze in a ripe potato if you wanted...
many e e e, many... i thought about reading philosophy
in english, but it was no use... i never solved
the enigma of the ditto ensuring first person, 'second person'
and "third person" how and why it was used...
joyce irish was used akin to the polish method...
hyphen-sequencing dialogue in one, two, three:

- i think.
- i take oaths!
- we're both commanding.
- reminder of the remember:
                                                       ­                                  etc.
usually it was just i said
and then                    "
that                             "
nothing.

it's ****** confusing, but english is the ideal
playground to write philosophy,
written philosophy is so weak in english that
only three maxims guard it (interchangeable to hide the weakness):
beauty is on the inside not the outside,
good things come to those who wait...
altruism per se / utilitarianism per se;
you can write with as much weaved fabric of words as you
like given the english scenario...
but i mind the forest for the acorn
and the crispy autumnal loss of chlorophyl kindred of snow crunch,
so i can twist further in the latinised kabbalah,
moving away from hidden nouns
and into the territory of unsophisticated
pause symbols... revelatory pardon with a and o hidden,
electrified hyphen or comma misplaced,
hence excess poetry extraction from the populace
not loving the musicology of modern grime,
hence the bewilderment of ancient lore of english
sentenced with: that thou shalt not lore;
why did rome survive in the most detested
part of the empire, so naked so ancient?
it's bewildering beyond the extent of natural bewilderment!

so if i were to ever teach english as a foreign language,
i'd more pretty much all the diacritic marks
of other european languages into english,
which is the diacritic blank canvas, and each of
the odd words would be written, for practice and
memorisation of an atypical english accent,
e.g. deßire, spaßm and all the -isms like
empiricißm, psychologißm, egoißm etc.;
and i certainly wouldn't mutilate the language
like native speakers have done with
pseudo-stenography -
'ere, 'av 'sum pears up... th' ladder,
                                         so we know u woz 'ere, lolz.

some might call k the "misnomer" / mis-sonus of c...
but q it also bargaining to take that same oath
of being entitled, as is s.

I see the photo, synthesis
Emerging from cold ashen ground
Ocular chlorophyl against
The vast blue sky
I hear the tiny buds assembling
Gathering their artillery of sun and water
Ready to paint a spectrum of infinite hue
Over monochromatic concrete
I petal to a sanctuary
Of a thousand birds in
Rhythmic flight,
In space of serenity
And feel the tight tug of my blood heart
That beats in synchronicity
Like the gentle wave of a butterfly wing,
I plant myself beside my eternal Love,
To rest in our amaranth garden

I'm the orange and blue.
The green leaves and
the chlorophyl too.

I'm the prettiest shade
of green found in the
garden of Eve.

My petals breathe with
lust and desire. Waiting
silently for your hands
to touch and caress.

My petals blush when
you gaze at them from
a distance.

You're beauty leaves
them amazed. Making
them twist and twirl like
a ballerina on an opera's
stage.

Trying to catch your
attention trying to make
you fall in love. Trying to
make you come closer
and pick me up from
the dirt and rocks.

Desperately wanting
you to take me home
and place me in a
vase.

So that i'll be the only
thing you'll get to see
when you wipe the
sleepy off your
beautiful eyes* ~

Oh, my,
The rumble of children.
Here they come,
To force the change,
Free from restraints,
These adult,
Checks and balances,
Leaping and yelping,
As if life were enough.
How dare they,
Remind me,
Of passions,
And moments,
When green,
Was just green,
And the leaves,
Were no more.
No chlorophyl.
No structure.
No odd oxygen factory.
Simple beauty.
And wonder,
Which you could hold,
In your hand.
And those hands!
Ah, the mystery!
No bones,
And no tendons,
Which ache,
And grow weary,
While you write,
In desperation,
The haunting muse,
Of troubled hearts.
How dare they!
The monsters!
They lift,
The veil,
Behind which,
I hide,
With my adult,
Sensibilities.

So little, it seemed,
In days of old,
Was required,
Or needed …
A moment to run.
An hour to play;
Alive …
And innocent,
Of the horrid,
Putrid content;

Leave me be.
I implore you.
A moment longer.
Your wide, shining eyes,
Tell the tale,
I cannot face.
The long, weary miles,
Which I faced,
With conviction,
Were a ruse where every step,
Took me farther,
From myself.
Leave me be,
For a moment.
I was caught,
Unawares.
I ache,
In remorse,
And am caught here …
Wandering.
A moment …
Is all I ask,
Wherein I’ll find,
Adult,
Control.

They leave,
For I’ve frightened them.
Without a word,
Or a jest.
Not a man.
Not a monster.
But a spirit,
Which doesn’t smile.
They will go,
And remember,
The thing,
By the lake,
Which stared at the water,
And glanced at the trees.
How I pray,
Fickle fate,
For their fortune,
And happiness.
Bring them not,
To this place,
Eons from now.
Show them not,
The soft horrors,
Of dreams,
And hope listing.
Show them not,
The water,
And its chemical,
Equation.
Show them not,
The trees,
And the oxygen,
They manufacture.
Show them not,
That putrid core,
Which they share,
With all men.

Great with a couple pieces missing,
I think their tied to my toes trailing behind in the deep snow.
Dooon't weep don't weep.
God isn't mute she's just not speaking right now
& that's okay
Everything is frozen
Nothing is over

We wake up to the smell of burnt coffee and stale beer
It's a new year
And i'm hearing static in the grape vines of paranoid minds that jumble lines and fumble over mines like "it's cool, i like my feet ******"
Muddy muddy muddy afternoons
Lets clear this debt to our projections of the future and settle down

They sleep now

I drink an endless tea cup researching the prescribed method for sewing two moments to one palm and tattooing remain calm on the other

We danced in the garden, danced with beetles & birds & one soul and i'm glad you didn't see it cause your hole would be twice the size of mine right now

Was that me?
Were those my hands sitting in a tree cutting vines to tie together clever lines and mixed wether into a raft to sail until these mountains of burning plastic are all behind?
Out of sight...i must have been but i can't sap anymore, or feel the chlorophyl running down my fingers.
Out of sight and the smokes still here
Out of sight

Now where did my pillow run off to tonight?
Rest your head on this rock when you need to.
I know you haven't been tired this february, but you will be & when that time comes i want you to rest your head on this rock
This chest
I'll be laying in the sand ready for you to open me up

Code me, i'm a program waiting for the enter key
But who are you?
That face has changed
Weight lost and knowledge gained
More and less alone than we feel

A pale mist settles on my chest hair while I lay in a morning field there's nothing to worry about
From holes, mice scurry in and out
It's scary when i shout without intending but now the airs hair is warm and alive and the ending of that rain is over
That reign that impregnated the headlines and airwaves
That reign that tied us to benches facing away from each other and the truth
That reign that kept us creeping through suburb streets, passed midnight, passed freezing, passing one last American Spirit that slowly kills us and drowns our voices in sticky tar
That reign is over for today

I know it's your play, but i refuse to play the priest whipping his own back under a lone candle
I can handle this if you'd stop making me doubt myself
The most kindhearted criticism is a catacomb cataclysm that becomes the only thing to demand you listen

I was just just fishin
Didn't mean for you to bite

Who is right?
Who sat up to write all the ways he was wrong one night until the morning?

I sat beneath you,
when your colors were fading,
in the dusty autumn
of thoughts and songs
you burried in the sand.

Furry, amber tracks of absent vines,
outlining the spine I had only dreamt of
Cowardice and missing chlorophyl,
I hoped to dizzy myself,
chasing the rings of your voice

I friviouslessly kissed the wrinkles
that gathered around your eyes
like ridges do that of a tree's bark.
I caught falling leaves
and told myself the spring
would soon return
whilst you rotted from the inside-out.