Wistful lust and melancholy mangoes
Succulent decadence and still I am morose
A plum for pining, a kiwi for whining
Pineapple dreams are the clouds’ only lining
For in the resting realm the reality is nigh
Alas cruel consciousness eradicates the high
And thrown am I back into awareness
That life and love are not games of fairness

Apology
All hail my sacred ideology.
I bow my head in reverence when I
Spill my emotions on your kitchen floor
Sorry, sorry!
I'll try my best not to do it again;
Please, pry carefully
I can take it if you’re careful
But pray for me when I tumble.
I’ve never quite liked
Having to discuss myself
Or crying
And I strive not to
But sometimes,
She escapes my lips
The jail cell in my head where I detain the things I really need to say
Has a loose lock
Thank God; Apology
Apology is sweet Ambrosia
With one almighty swipe, an Apology
Eradicates the words you said before
Eradicates the feelings you should've kept to yourself
It is courtesy
It is expected
All hail Apology, forsaken Smiter of all things relieving.

Photographs by Avedon

This was written in a friend's home in the Berkshire Mountains, on a Saturday morning, a few years ago.  Up early, I went exploring their bookshelves and found a book of Richard Avedon's photographs of average Americans out west.  Google "richard avedon photos of the american west" - then read the poem.  Please, for without seeing the faces, for this will make all the difference.  In the Berkshires, it is always chilly there, even in the summer sun.  This and other obscure references are better detailed in the notes.


Join my warmth and
my chill,
as the nine o'clock sun,
a 45 degree steeplechase
warms,
but still not
strong enough
to dispense
the lingering,
residual, remaindered,
breezy chill
of the prior eve,
that hides in,
emanates from,
the shadows
of the
deep wooded hillocks
of the
Berkshire Mountains.

Join my warmth
and my chill!

Upright jolted,
head kicked awake,
entranced and revolted,
excited and repelled,
emotive, yet, stilled.

For oh so casually,
this heroic city dweller,
brave and fearless
bookshelf explorer,
retrieves a book,
to find a new route
thru time and space
to the center of his brain.

Photographs by Avedon,
of my fellow Americans,
the Have Nots,
his "Havedons"
of the
American West.

These uncommon people
with whom I share
uncommonly little,
these drifters, the carneys,
the would-have-been cowboys,
busted blackjack dealers,
rattlesnake gut n' skinners,
coal and copper miners,
the hay truck drivers,
dirt so deep in
their pores ingrained,
colors and bloodies their souls,
browns their veins,
are the ones that
too oft,
go off first to
fight wars
in my name.

Photos untitled,
words unneeded.

In this far corner of our
shared contiguous space
called the
United States of America,
top of the line here
would be
insurance agents,
secretaries and maybe even,
the waitresses.

But their eyes,
oh their eyes!

Words I do not own
to fair share with you,
the clarifying gaze
of measured dignity and
immeasurable ache,
heritage pride,
heretical heartbreak,
that marks and unites
these disparate and dispirited
vessels of humankind.

Disjointed,
the noon suns finally,
raises my body temperature
browns my surface...

Yet, nothing eradicates
this ******* chill
in my soul
or calms my consternation,
as black and white
eyes discolor
my comfortable existence,
as I ponder
Avedon's words:

All photographs are accurate but none tell the truth

Pass over,
pass by,
The Evil Son at Passover
asks ever so sly,
what have they to do with me?

It is the Sabbath.
We luxuriate in our rest.
Rest is the greatest luxury

What is this Sabbath?
Heschel's cathedral -
existant both
in space and time,
and one enters
when and where
one can.

Do my distant,
(both in space and time)
American cousins
share my Sabbath?

Are they allowed
this luxury,
or is it endless exertion,
severity and deprivation,
all and every day
of their lives?

Constant risk every day.

Who cannot fail to see the
precipitousness of life
edged in the lines of their
hearts and minds?

Day to day hardens them
and teaches the
discipline of
severity unended.

Is the prudence of
self-forgetfulness,
their morning bitter pill
they must swallow
to carry on?

Among the resolutions
I need
to claim a
life fulfilled is this:

How to end this poem,
close this can of worms,
accidentally kicked open.

Will sunset end these
troubling questions
of which you have
your own,
more personal variations?
(what about the ...)

Perennials flower everywhere,
in Auschwitz,
along the Tigris,
even in Kabul and Somalia,
along the highways
that lead
to the mecca of
Las Vegas.

Perennials flower everywhere.

In warmth and cool,
in time and space,
they flower in my heart and
my brain and in
my prayerful tears.
flowing down my cheeks,
as I lay me down to sleep,
to dream these of
impoverished words

Havdalah^^ thoughts,
separations celebrated.

Distinctions noted,
even celebrated tween
holy and common,
light and dark,
Sabbath and
the six weekdays
of labor,
between sacred and secular
and
between me and
my American Brothers
of the American West.

I know
just one thing
to be true:

The Sabbath Cathedral is
open to all,
whatever day
you choose to
abide there

I await you,
my American cousins,
with wine and bread
and the
holy of holiest words
of comfort and sooth.

I will wash your feet and
lay you down to
restful sleep
in the
Sabbath Cathedral
in my heart.

Together,
at last,
we will be joined,
in warmth and chill.



August 29, 2010
Lanesboro, Mass.

Which variation do you choose to throttle blows
Squeeze your nostril collect that head fluid
Your mental eradicates nasal liquid
Nose running like a bungee jump
Panicking searching for the tissue clump
Dangling like Tarzan on a jungle vine
Hand eye coordination catch that snot on time
My nose got that stutter drip
Watch when I sneeze flying lightning manumits
When the nose pouring stops
I realise I was only dreaming pops

i am a poet and still
i can’t comprehend these symbols
these missing heartbeats
and hours spent counting thimbles
i am perplexed by love
shall we seek herbs and remedies
lose ourselves in cures and compounds
must our inner territories be colonized
while we remain captivated by inconvenient theories
struck down by doubt and insecurity
the mind wields no ammunition
and yet its cavalry has desecrated the land
without the slightest sign of inhibition
or a trace of empathy, justice or compassion
will we make a new peace treaty
will the blessed earth be forgiven
and can the sweet essence of her children
comprehend the innocence of spring
oh how our hearts yearn for dancing
still you spend your dollars and your pennies
but give your emptiness to the king
i eat oats and honey cooked upon the fire
while you distill golden nectar from the garden of desire
in the ancient inside-out alembic of your will
and imbibe spagyric liquid that eradicates all pride
and confers wisdom, truth, beauty and longevity
upon the already immortal nature of your mind

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why would ever thought become a therefore of being, a parallel pairing, well, i can imagine why, uncertain thinking gave birth and girth of uncertain being, but uncouple thinking from being and couple it to knowledge, how sooner the reminders encountered whereby expressing thinking with being as equal is lost, and thinking after the divorce from being finds a second partner, namely knowledge: and the men who stare at goats? sooner thinking and knowledge coupled than thinking and being, i do know that the former example eradicates thinking per se, but it also leaves us with pure intuition / knowledge / automation, which means less concern for a subsidiary of broken bones and unaffected brains to be worth a coupling - the former attempt eradicates this shadowy narcissism that the latter invigorates with how the outside is already defaulting the inside with c.c.t.v.

you will not eat the fruit
of the tree of knowing good from evil,
since upon eating the fruit
you will not think -
you will know but will not think -
and this will be a demise
you will claim to be supreme
as the foremost expression adequate -
thus upon eating the fruit
the wages of your labour
you will know more than you desired,
and will too think less than
could be inspired - not a question
of writing a pillar-like autobiography
but a question of writing a biography at all..
to eat from a tree of knowledge:
whether dual or by mono inspired -
serves no bearing -
hence the modern fable akin to brothers
Aesop and Grimm,
that he who eats the fruit of the tree of knowledge
will not eat the fruit of the tree of thought,
hence the dichotomy rather than a duality,
hence the monism rather than the monasticism -
and he who eats of the tree of knowledge
will look upon a pauper in a scene of
agricultural foreboding with much insolence -
for he who eats from the tree of knowledge
whatever the vector, whether into zenith
of good, or whether into the zenith
of evil, will know neither being reached,
for *thought will become the orient conjunction
of or being accumulative:
that good (thought) will be as puzzle-muddled
with evil (knowledge) as may be allow -
or as the Libra testifies - that knowledge is
evil and thought via continuum narratio is good;
but still gladly i too fabricating celestial bodies
with a lifespan of cats aged prior to 30 (if pedigree).

A decision made impulsively
Sometimes ends repulsively
But sometimes ends perfectly
And eradicates conformity

Look just a little more you
(When in fact there's less of you)
They look again and say that's WHO?
Open up their world view

When they see that people can change

Sedating Love (Genesis)



March 29th, 2012







  Love; everything inside of me screams passion and pure insanity.



This lust for desperate love in the form of an infectious boil is eating away at every ounce of my flesh.



Pain; I’ve been sedated with a malignant chemical; my IV revels in gazing upon the dead lying upon their hospital bed.



You’re my intravenous tube, my Lifeguard, my Moon of the Transcendental Star; the Intrepid Knight of Gallantry.



God knows the pain and dereliction endured in this time of tribulation have opened up the corpuscles of my inflamed and succulent flesh.



You’re my parasite; you devour my quintessence in a florid feeding frenzy.



Blood-stained memories of vivid iridescent colors embellish the walls surrounding my very soul and spirit.



-“God why?”-



“Now I see…”



This anomalous soul of mine has internalized every ounce of my virtue into a superficial layer of my being.



The torpid nature of my mind has caused me to secrete an antibiotic field; resisting the very heart of my chaste son who has gone without nurturing within the confines of this vessel of mine.



The trophoblastic shell of my epidermis merely houses a love of righteousness within me.



Carefully concealed within my hollow bones are the tissues and marrow of a youth who longs to break free from desolation and obtain heartsease.



A zygote in formation at present; now a blastocyst; now an embryo; now a fetus…



Where does birth lie?



My genesis, my dawn shall arise at the dusk when the day and night are at the careening point...



Where both opposing elements have joined and departed; they have done so at the zenith of their limits.



When a new element shall bask in the eternal purity of a chaste nothingness; it will be an efflorescence in which opposing forces shall clash.



A child bearer of light is what I have become; my innards glow with a radiant light as the very waste of my being has been purified.



Vapor and ash lie in my intestines as the love inside of me eradicates the abomination within; you dare to vanish into nothingness when you no longer have a purpose in this world.



My demons have lost their purpose; no longer shall they blaze my very nervous system out of whack.



My neurons shall be rejuvenated and the communication between every benediction of a soul shall be accomplished.



A dark star and the nebulae of gaseous radiance shall arise to bring about change in this world within a world stacked upon it.



Jade green horns and matching set of blood red eyes to go with it; this is a beast of gruesome wrath and a flame provocation as well.



Steam sears the very air in His proximity.



This is an adroit demon whose subterfuge lies in the deepest tome of despair.



He is the progeny of a Lord whose diabolical ways cast his soul from heaven down to Gaia below less than minutes ago.



-Love him-



-Feed him-



-Bless him-



-Corrupt him-



Evil and the offspring of vipers can no longer hold down my being; a divine oath has been made to induce my nemesis’ return.



It is my turn to ****** him into tears…

  

This is a godly sadness the likes of which will bring about repentance.





-Amen-

“She who has infused every minute of my day,
Hastens through titillating my endorphins.
Absconded hiding within myself,  
As blue crystals glaring teeter in the sea,

As we sanction the reticence of ardor,
While the sea eradicates its perennial effigy,
As infinite cascades eradicate beneath us,
As the water stride procures to the sandy shore,

Where the waves shatter on unsettled rocks,
As once again the clear light bursts as sun sets,
Enmeshed in a fabric of palpable vibrant colors,
Portrayed as that of a burlesque plumeria of infinites,                  

The plumeria burst of aureoles immortal love,
Unyielding its pedals as the devouring sea rotates,
Will ephemeral demise procure in the deep blue sea?
Over its blue pedaled face an astringent frown,

We have embarked on a promenade of love my dear,
I now stand before you no longer with emptiness,
Only perennial affection that you are mine and I yours,
       In our Aureoles of Plumeria”  
By AG 03/10/2018 ©

Sphere like mind, spinning round and round.
A Blur comes to form, colors racing in aftermath.
Simplistic, yet intricate design take place in imagery.
Two figures divide from one.
They Dance, They Cry, They Sing, They Die.
A Pool forms, where the blank figures seem to dissipate.
A Creature Approaches the pool, and attempts to drink from the small pond.
As this dark creature bends down upon one knee,
he sticks his large black hands into the discolored water, claws first.
He lets out a shriek, and is pulled in completely.
Seconds of silence pass by, and the creature is spat back out from the pool.
As he lie down on the ground, color eradicates from his strange body,
leaving his body still black, but coating his body in a permanent film of beauty.
He proceeds to stand up, but collapses onto his knees.
He presses his hand on either side of his head, and screams at the silver crescent in dark sky.
So many thoughts.
Yet each one being so different from the next.
Never had he felt such emotion.
His stomach felt as if it were in constant motion.
What was wrong with him?
He started to question everything, everyone, and even himself.
His mind was in a blur.
He couldn't keep up.
He wanted to Dance, he wanted to Cry, he wanted to Sing, and he wanted to Die.
And that was the birthing, of the first of the Bohemians.

There is Power in my words
oh how i love these adjectives & verbs
my adoration of this language
rooted deeply in fables..
and mystic lore

set in place long before
my great great grandmother was named...

Weaving the lyrics of my mind
into a tangible form
something verbal and legible
that touches the heart...

Concocting experiments
to combine the English language
with the literary elements of old...

Praying that i add
the correct amounts
of this and that
so the resulting bond
of Chemicals
Eradicates your mind
leaving a ravaged wasteland
of thought


I am Astral
these words are my Pulse
bearing to you my Genetic Code

He started it at seventeen
That most fantastic time machine,

Whose power to manipulate
The basic fabrics of our fate

Eradicates the Clock's control,
Who executes the midnight toll,

Whose hands have strangled man's ambition,
Whose sands designed decomposition,

Both talkative and taciturn
Now caged; the ravenous cuckoo bird,

And man, once puppet, now pilgrim, soars
O’er crystal skies and dusty shores

And Dimension's seas with waxen wings,
His fourth realm wrinkling like a string,

Testing theories in time traversed
Of history, life, the universe.

He finished it at forty-two
In subterranean solitude,

A pallid, daily de-livered mess
With faceless pictures on the desk,

So he sighed with earnest evanescence
And scuttled back to adolescence,

To own the life he would have seen
Without that hollow time machine.

The taste of your skin
Remains on my tongue.
Your smell
Lingers in my nose.
Your touch
So soft and loving
Is burned in my flesh.
The warmth of your body
Eradicates the slightest chill
In my soul.  
With you
I am at peace.
I long to feel your touch
To hear your voice
Whispering                        
Moaning    
Screaming my name.
I long to feel your body
Pulsing
Jumping
Swaying
Like the ebb and flow of the ocean
Underneath mine.
I long for the satisfying reward
Of your nails
As they rake across my back  
I long for your teeth on my skin
Nibbling at every sensitive spot
In my possession.  
I long to please you
With a near primal urge
That drives my existence.  
I long to see your expressions
As your eyes cry out in joy
In resonance with your body.
I long to feel our minds
Melting into one
As we reach perfect ecstasy
With an exclamation of
"I love you"
I long to hold you in my arms
And fall asleep knowing
That I belong to you
And fall asleep in such comfort
I don't ever want to get up
I don't ever want to let you go.

I inhale,
And breathe in your skin,
Your name flows out of my mouth,
It feels good on my lips.
Embarrassed
I hide my face
I look terrible in the morning.
But your look eradicates my fear
Those chocolate eyes
Will drive me to the point of insanity
I can see it already.
You kiss the freckles on my skin
But I’m not worthy of your touch.
You’re so ******* perfect.
I will never be perfect.

I want love-
Not the little love
That makes the
heart skip, and
The face blush.
I want to indulge in the Love
That ignites the Spirit

The love that fills all voids,
Heals all grievances,
And
has no boundaries,
No limits,
And
no preconceived notions.

I want the love
That is contagious by presence.
The love that
eradicates insecurities
And replaces them with ecstasy,
I want the kind of love
That sets people free.

I don't want the love
That beats around the bush.
I want the love that
bangs
down my door,
Sets my heart
a blaze,
And keeps
fueling
the fire.

On the wooden frame of this bed
Lie all the secrets in my head
With the keys to the metaphors
Resting in the crystal glass drawers
Where illusion is prophecy
And the god is hypocrisy
Like a soft dream I never dreamed
With the terror that never screamed
This cradle is the infancy
Of the lies of my fallacy
So burn the skeleton of rest
In the fire within a chest
That beams a golden hue of truth
And eradicates every tooth

Now you shall Speak with no bite
Now you shall Sleep with no fight

Dedicated I am truly
As my heart's telling me
Empowered by love
Roaring with glory

Elicited beauty of yours
Like rose from the wilderness
Lovelier than ever
Eradicates my wretchedness
,
Whenever I'm with you
I get butterflies in my tummy
Looking at your beautiful eyes,
Listening to you, it makes me happy.

You deserve to be treasured and loved
Oh, my love, That's what I'll do
Under the moon and stars above
Beyond any reasonable doubt, it's true!

Embracing the past you've been through
My heart is ready to love you.
You may find yourself lonely at times
GOD as my witness, I'm always here for you.

I won't oblige you to do the same —
Rest assured, I'll love you no matter what.
Last but not the least, I have a question for you,
?

there's a common "saying" in the realm of thinkers: i'm thinking about thought - and it's so common that it deserves an answer: that doubling-up of a two tier manifestation of consciousness... thought is a verb that seemingly has not translatory outlet akin to a limb, yet thinking is, very much akin to magnetism, thinking is a sixth sense - in that thought it mandible, and is attracted to almost anything, and can make something out of nothing, the mere act of thinking is obviously superficial, mere thought does not produce a tolstoy moment with a war & peace end product, but whatever they call "mindfulness" is a load of crock-****... the prime ingredient is not res cogitans (thinking thing) - you only become mindful when you stop to think... i have to admit, the least spectacular element of thinking is ethics... the ought i vs. the i ought not... thinking is hardly an "ethical" judgement medium.

thinking about thought:
    cogitans circa cogito* can sometimes
be debilitating,
to be honest: it's actually debilitating -
i find thinking a phenomenon -
or rather the soul (as concept)
an unexplained phenomenon,
  with thinking being a noumenon -
       i find that we're closer
to being the kantian revisionism of
cartesian "spandex" than we really
believe: i stopped believing in
the cartesian res cogitans -
i even stopped believing in my own
res vanus thing emptied, ready to be
filled,
      the spontaneity of thought,
its originality, even with a repetitive
narrative leaves me bewildered by
kant's res per se: a thing in itself...
       lodge a person in a stranger's pair of
shoes, lodge a person in a stranger's
cognitive "pattern" -
the result is: you'd still cling to your own,
however better the other's is
by comparison.
                  but there's a reason why
there's an antithesis to the cartesian res cogitans:
we do not perpetually think,
    there's no chance in hell to suggest
that thinking as perpetuated,
without holes of "meditation" where
no narrative emerges...
     i like thinking, i call it cognitive cinematics,
i actually prefer thinking than
           watching cinema -
      most people abhor the riddle of thought,
i find the existence of thought to be
as ridiculous as the "existence" of a soul...
    thought is alien to me,
      its mere existence is alienating,
in that it does not possess all the verb requirements,
yet nonetheless is the crucial moral
compass...
            i thought that i ought to do /
i thought that i ought not to, do...
                   thought is a protruding limb
made invisible by the disguise of its psychic origins...
i understand that extroverts abhor thinking,
and introverts bask in the "sunshine" of about
10 minutes of a decent narrative,
without a book...
            point being: i break down when
a súdòkū doesn't clarify into an ensō...
you **** up once, you **** up the whole puzzle...
actually, cogitans circa cogito is debilitating,
its a consciousness of a conscious,
  trying to limitate conscience -
      i.e. thinking is partially ethics, but mostly
narrative...
but there comes a time when it's useful,
           notably when you fucl up a súdòkū
puzzle and read some heidegger...
      something about aphorism 87 ponderings VI...
for a person so invested in sein und zeit -
so invested in being, and notably in time -
to produce the spatial rather than a temporal
concept of dasein?
  staggering...
                  even though heidegger is more
interested in space, rather than time,
                  to nonetheless write what he did...
mind you, what's the antithesis of the heilig geist?
the zeitgeist -
                and the father?
  the status quo: the un-moveable rock solid
presence of a deity.
                      i'm still bewildered
that heidegger was so obsessed with the temporal
realm, yet produced a spatial concept of
existence...
             why do i think about thinking?
how many mindless acts do people perform
that magnetises other peoples' interest to
"explain" the irrational?
  too many... better to think about thought,
than to think about not thinking.
people act so mindlessly on so many occasions
that it somehow makes sense,
to think about the sixth sense: which is thought.
entertainment wise? well, it's not
exactly skydiving,
       but if you find thinking entertaining,
almost toying with the ethical
dimension aspect of this rubix cube
of unsolvable curiosities among the general
venomous bite of indignities...
    the film's just started...
            and as long as you don't think
that it's all going to turn out into a telekinetic /
telepathic freak-show...
         strange, even the most sensible of
people manage to believe in a god
       in the realm of philosophy, or a soul...
that's a heresy and also abhorred is a belief
that thinking can translate into
telekinesis, or telepathy.
           i like to think about thought -
because it eradicates all ethical questions of
the θ-δει / θ-πρεπει -
        all moral actions stem from having
the capacity to invert thinking-as-narrating into
thinking-about-thought...
             it's almost like: licking the membrane
of the unconscious, to agitate it
into "speaking" confucian, i.e. the golden
motto: not unto others, as not unto yourself.
this, amazing to finally realise that
the primary concept emerging from heidegger
is a spatial rather a temporal orientation
of existence...
                more importantly: the so called
"ambiguity", or rather inconsistency?
so necessary in writing,
  if i was given a book as rigid as a rubric
of the times table of 2 x 1 trough to 2 x 9...
     i wouldn't be reading and immediately
"revising" / innovating -
   i'd be reading a well polished novel that
does not require my input, or subsequent
desires for an impetus to write...
        i'd quite simply settle for the end-score...
and grind out the meat of the narrative
into a session of commuting back home
on the tube, perhaps once in a while falling
asleep...
               there's essentially time,
as there's essentially space,
       and there's quintessentially thought...
where the two essential extremes converge
is already ****** obvious -
               actually, it's not like this:
there's the quintessential time -
   as there's the quintessential space -
    so uncorrupt-able as they are on their own,
than even when merged:
  there's the quintessential space-time continuum...
  thought? it's essential, but it's not
quintessential -
          thinking never was, and never will be,
the most perfect un-embodiment of man;
        sure, thinking is essential -
but it will never be quintessential...
                            thought can become corrupt,
time only becomes "corrupt"
      by nostalgia -
   as space becomes "corrupt" by claustrophobia /
agoraphobia.

Painting a black 
rainbow underneath 
a falling sky, it's mist 
consumes and eradicates 
your last breath, your 
last hope. 

They pour the drink 
you are forced to drink, 
and feed the flesh you 
are forced to eat. 

Taught to be stupid, and 
raised to be nothing, 
what's left to do, except 
make a noise so loud, fame 
will hear you. 

Your dreams will tell you what to do. 

bang 

bang 

Congratulations

Today, my professor walked out,
then back into the classroom
When I was young, excitement embodied my soul
like an embellished Christmas tree of happiness
At that age, I would have created an eminent fabrication,
such as walking back into the room
eventuates a new beginning
or maybe she was melancholy, and walking in
and out of a room eradicates her unpleasant mood,
like when you move the furniture around your house,
in order to adjust a grim, atmospheric emotion

This would have been joyfully amusing when I was young
Thoughts cascaded from my head and blossoming heart
as easy as a raindrop breaking apart
when slamming the ground
this was a lifetime ago
before He jumped off the father train
before I spent all free time vacuuming up
the pieces of mom’s fragmentized heart
now, here I am, nineteen years old
executing endless labor to
keep our house from running away
attempting the role of a second mother
to a younger, disconsolate girl
repeating the same thing every day,
I watch time go by faster than the petals fall off roses

when I was young I would have written this poem
with exorbitant talent
and an eagerness that encompassed the room
with remarkable vibrancy
but I am nineteen now, sometimes I’m fifty
and all I can see, is that my professor walked out,
then back into the classroom

expectation
anti-pain reliever
for idiots.

one
true
only.

walls
in the walls
of reality.

body
in
loan.

foresight
crack
of "imprisonment".

hear
one's
beat.

It is not only our
it is also
His.

nature,
cradle
and eradicates!

My torturous fate solely seduces.
Muse, but never mate.
Dragged ashore, escaped from destiny,
To love each wounded scar.

Desire taunts curiosity, whilst love encumbers mine.
Seven years kept prisoner on the isle of endless past,
Each sensual diversion masks the drifting time,
Each embrace marks my eternal days.

Devotion flits from his somber eyes
Spirituality melting by the hour
Our interrupted unison ensnared in glances,
Past this pleading stare.

My hands built your vessel and fed your bones.
My fingertips launched the ship.
Yet I am left the sole prisoner,
Entrapped in immortality.

Poison eradicates flesh, though this hand is not of flesh.
Fire purges bone, though this hand is not of bone.
I remain the true prisoner.
Muse, but never mate.

chiggety check my flizzow
its me yosef comin back for more war and gore
makin mics sore
once i soar on the mic
turn these hard rhymers into dikes like mike
everybody wanna be like me
six rings n pending put an ending
last second shot ya know ya got got
one eight seven on the cops
cuz ya see death knocks
unexpectedly thats how its supposed to be
wisdom in the streets crooked i
no need to lie
sendin haters to the sky
dt ask.why?
what happened once i tell em
them i stuck em buck buck em
**** em
throw em.up the river
souls quiver when i deliver
rhymes like mail no stamp
or postage kick up the mostest dopest
boys hope yosef is
on a downfall but still i ball
creep n crawl like eazy in the six tre **** what yall gotta say
i got propz from 3rd coast to the LA much luv to the bay
o yea im coming crazier than sling blade
haters get sprayed like raid
to the tombs ya go where body becomes fade and yeaa it don't stopp



uh while you flyin' with witches
im ******' ******* with multiple riches
even ya girl got her pearls tongue wrapped aroubd my hung
dickkkk stickin' yo chick
after i nut in her
i drop her *** like a cheap brick i stick
hoes like i stick my flows
nothing but that raw ****
that hits so hard make even the dead raise from casket
tisket a tasket
i got heads in a basket
crazy insane in the membrane
i told ya ***** im a four time veteran i can dance in the water and not get wet
can ya dig it
i aint talkin friends of distinction
im tryna put mcs into extinction
my rhymes be penchin'
nerves with the verbs that curbs
make reservoirs
at dry spots liver than liverachi
cook up lyrics like a japenese habachi sound the banchees
dont ya know jalel death comes in three
****** you and whole wack rappi. family
yall cant handle me
im slick as rick check the tock to a tick
times running out no doubt
got ya sweatin' as the water tricklin'
down ya check yosef eradicates weak
so no need to speak
uh my flows detrimental every time i lay my **** in an instrumental
learn to rhyme learn to spell
***** ****** always wanna yell
out loud but once i puff my cloud
i pop guns make ya soul run
as ya lay in a casket uncovered the shroud
yea and it dont stopp
cuz its 187 on a muthpahukkin flop

I gavel a wooden grave
,For my infancy set my
Golden sun over the fields
Of repetitive sirens milling
In my head and tipping
Scales of a blinded saint.

Order , order be proclaimed
Innocence is to be adjourned
And sent to preliminary trials
where I constantly seem
To look up at minerals
Smiling at flashing lights
With a chain of mediocrity
Like a noose around my neck
Declaring the plausibilty
Of my golden thread!!

Every tick and tock
I break away to
Dabble in the dark arts
Of marketing humanity
And turning my eyes
Into shop windows
...-Display cases to sell
My soul to the masses.

Order! I strike down in an attempt
To order myself to order!!
Confess your sins upon the Lord!!
My hand burns strikingly
Into charcoal on the light
Word of a guiding shepard.

Order lies with honour, my
Leash prevents me from
Tassled pillows and applause
And eradicates the whispers
Of order in my infernal mind

Guilty as charged ,to life
With abscence of parole
And good it be
If searching for love
Naked cuffs be
Then maybe this life
Is not for me

Draw your verdict on
The tangy taste of my hide
As you pleasure yourself
At the sight of my downfall
Into an endless abbys of
Doing wrong things in
search of the monogamous
Right

Somtimes
My
Insane
Life
Eradicates
   My
   Youth.
       Don't
       Ask.
       Real
       Life
       Is
       Not
       Great.
Smile, my darling. Everything works out in the end.

i have often wondered why crystals are unique.
Toućhe of thousand faces.
mankind as superior self, eradicates choices
Hath desire. hath fear.
i choose the prettiest face.
but it has a scar.
a scar from inside.
mind. unravel me.
when right is wrong and wrong is wrong,
i can't choose between right and wrong.
it feeds on my fear.
my fear to choose.

Living in Fear

Lost in a dream world, far beyond veracity-
Seated cross-legged upon a wooden beamed floor-
I pray to the Goddess, the savior of my spirit
Fabricated in a moment, although lost and forgotten-
Now I speak only to the people who live
Beyond the mountains, purple in their hue-

Dancing beneath the magical rain falling from
The loveliness of crimson clouds-
Melodious voices ring out as they
Enchantingly obliterate the demons of my past and present-
An expressive smile creeps up upon my face-
Finally I have been liberated-

As a ghost-like shadow eradicates the light,
I feel the presence of faltering footsteps
Pounding the floors-
Loudening voices resonate throughout the confinement of this room:
Speaking the words “I am coming to take you away-“
I feel a firm grip of a stranger’s hand upon my shoulder as
A metal cuff locks about my wrist-

I feel my body somehow
Disconnected from my mind as I rise to my feet-
Moments later, locked inside the confinement
Of an unfamiliar vehicle-
Blaring sirens exacerbate my fear-
In this moment of terrifying madness
I pray to the goddess, the savior of my spirit-
Crimson clouds transforming to dank, dark fogginess-
I feel a different sort of rain falling-

I have come to realization-
That the demons of my past and present - have returned-
As my soul escapes the confinement of my mind,
Thunder claps while lightening strikes-
There is no magic beyond mountains
No place for dancing and the only voice ringing out now
Vibrant as pounding upon a base drum bellows-
“I have come - to take you away-“

Claudia Krizay

There’s always that moment
That point in time
When silence
Eradicates everything
You swore you knew
Introducing you to a hollow reality

There's always that moment
That point in time
When silence
Answers all the questions
That flood your mind at night

There's always that moment
The only point in time
When silence
Proves who you can trust
And who to give your heart

Silence
Forever the deciding factor

Spoke to God recently
told him I'm lonely
told him that my friends keep leaving me
that it hurts
that I'm feeling weak
empty

He told me

as the anxiety was sinking deep

You don't see what I see
The beautiful people you shall someday meet

There is a future beyond your track record
that fills you will disappointment
and isolation
every time you think - overthink about it

But you are not filled with the things you keep telling yourself

or defined by your circumstances that seem to confirm your feelings

You are filled with me
Full of promise
and
Love that eradicates fear
a Lionees
that is not waiting to be loved
but waiting to be her full powerful beautiful self

your loneliness is cured in knowing yourself with Me