Joe wants to know
how'm I doing?

an innocuous query,
little can he know,
bye bye is my merry,
marooned on a skerry,
noxious fumes in the aerie,
currently inhabiting  my foreheady,
worry waves, rolling thunderous tides,
have myself beside

thus the answer to your toll,
something bad, on me, got a hold

Joe,
life is,
more than a tad
concerting

concerting?

surely you meant
converging, or perhaps,
concatenating, or concaving?
discombobulating, or more likely,
plain ole disconcerting?

indeed, all of the above,
fit like a glove,
but best combinated in steaming mug of
concerting

"to contrive or arrange by agreement: to plan; devise"

the world is secret contriving,
the world is secret devising,
a plan for my demising,
forces are concerting re me...
most concerning,
as trends converging,
concave hollow chains clinking,
a concatenating chorus
voicing their displeasure,
at my happy existence,
which now gone,
its loss, wept for, in great measure

life dissing me, in a manner
concerting and dis-concerting,
my composure,
decomposing,
the ides of depression,
hip hop discombob-
(undu)lating throb
but then again,
what's in a word,
what's in a rhyme,
jes that old timey R&B;,
rhyming and blues,
of a verbal kind

so, Joe, how'm I doing?

now that you are knowing,
as men of distinguished letters,
students of history,
part time poets,
Your Reply
must only be:

"Oh no, Natty,
say it ain't so"

I often wondered how it would feel,
If I was to lose a love one,
Someone close and dear to me.
Now I have.
I have lost you to someone else.
Never knew how wounded I would have felt.
The experience now surpasses the thoughts.
Captivation is nothing but the truth,
In this present time.
The desired feelings of love,
Drastically diminishes.
And I can’t deal with the hate,
Running through the core of my heart.
My blood like black poison killing me out,
No one can fathom my emotions .
Nothing can stop the drenched,
Forsaken thoughts of my mind.
Timely my breath decreases,
In an awkward demising motion.
Conquering me is everything that hate loves,
And love itself despises.
I can’t help it this time.
Everyone else I was with came,
And past by only for a moment in time.
I never felt it though.
The stupid ignorant feeling!
Oh how I wish it would go away,
To become a dream in time.
This insecurity,
That forces me to think of crimes.
Maybe I should protect  myself,
From falling in love again!
From living on your promises!
Protect it from this insanity!
Tears of a broken soul,
Who would’ve known,
You would’ve done this to me.
I admit I want to **** you,
But it wouldn’t help heal my wounded heart.
Maybe then,
Just for now,
I should live without love.
Or maybe let time become my lover.
I would have to be patient with time,
And let it heal my broken heart.

©

On the castrated futuristic **** a jump had been executed. I witnessed it, he adjusted his boots, felt like vanishing, the leaving of pure prudence.

Nothing makes any sense when the revision turns into continuity. The dawn is inexpedient to the lousy recumbent and its prosperities. The unawareness has made it to the core, therefore, the nightfall passes its independence and unfairness to our own.


Oh! My irrelevant donkey, that one, to whom I've seen tumble down and not approaching a grip. To his uncovered castration had been given a hopeless drop of newly celebration. That the donkey responsible for the path, the vintage tumbril cannot allow him to surpass.

Suspiciously probable for the conscious well wrapped up in the voluminous indifference, a conjugated apathy choir with granted presence and simplicity.

For him, that was, the moment, the freeze, the calendar date, the burial, call it a day. Of this cursed sequence, uncertain, an emerged insomnia confined in a sepulcher of paranoia.

It has torn, that liberty of unknown. His frozen bowels, it spans, a recommended dealer, I now ingest the syrup, it has darkened a bit in this limbo. The glucose did not annihilate the glutton, enough insulin was more as to come to delicacy, the quadruple figure does not reflect with no lens nor ability.

A hanging genital, fully outworn, in debt to the swelling and proceeding bomb. The ****** hole has been closed to the visitor in roll. A relic since conception, sodden with my self-distrust, muzzled to the art of action and disrupt. Poor dehydrated, yet to inaugurate, an everlasting sedateness of demising absoluteness and abundance of self-reproach.

I **** you! You irreverent donkey, to a steady furore and irrelevance, quite a damaging endorphin. Your tutelage did never flood me with yearness, it had to disguise with this sugar barrel of stupidity and clenching. This untainted audacity will never lift a curtain hiding the unseen and revolting... thing.

The mentioned tumbril and diluge of fresh sweat, a dryed armpit but a head transpiring with a tiny leap. An immense extension awaits for the indolent sailor, outstanding intentions to be a renegade, but somehow those rails just... get to him.

Hallucinogens of the stepmother earth, it is time for the urged recess. Bell, bell! I beg you to blare. Esoteric prairies dance to the classic and strange macarena, transported plebs by European train, to Trainspotting it reflects. That turbulent, nostalgic and wondrous effect.

Oh! My irrelevant donkey, all you see and will come to see, will puff out as everyone ticks. Your indignated throbbing will pace as impatient as you may. Your pant for conclude, but also recapture will barely endure. Nevertheless, your undoing will bash up all you never cared to do and take.