A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,

I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!

Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,

I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!

For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,

Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!

Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,

A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!

Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,

Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,

Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!

Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;

I finagle in my filigree!

J.
Ah, J.
A love I hath excitedly longed to find,
A love t'at previously had no name.
J.
A love too thrilling for my sights to feel,
and perhaps th' only love t'at couldst make me thrilled;
A love so genuine and benevolent,
A love so talented and intelligent.
Ah, J.
A love t'at just recently landed on my mind;
And made all my lyrical days far more splendid;
A love t'at briefed, and altered me more and more;
A love so chilly and important, with subt'leness like never before.
Ah, J.
My very, very own J.
Perhaps my future king, my precious, but at times villainous-darling.
Oh, J.
And perhaps I am just not as virtuous as I might be,
But t'is poem shall still be about thee;
For thou art-within my minds, still awkwardly th' best one,
With a pair of oceanic eyes too dear; and a civil charm so fine.
J.
J, o my love.
If only thou knew-how oceans sparkles within thy eyes,
And 'tis only in thy eyes, t'at any of t'ese complications might not become eerie,
And then t'is destiny is true, as well as how truth is our destiny;
So t'at any precarious delicacy is still faint-perhaps, but not a lie.
Oh, J.
A bubble of excitement t'at my heart feelest;
But if consented not, shall be the wound no blood couldst heal;
Ah, J, if the heavens' rainbow wert fallen, t'an thou'd be purer;
Born as a sin as us all humans, thou art cleaner to my heart still, and canst but love me much better.
Ah, J.
If only thou knew-how madness floweth and barketh and drinketh from our spheres,
But even th' devil cannot spill its curse on our strangled love;
At least until everything is deaf-and we duly cannot hear,
As skies descend onto th' sore earth; and our dumb sins are t' be sent above.

J.
How pivotal thou art to me-if only yon foliage couldst understand;
If only t'ose winds were not rivals, but one-or at least wanted to be friends.
Ah, J, even only thy words filled my comical ******* to th' brim;
And as far as heavens' angels canst hear, I am no more in love with him.
Ah, J.
'Tis cause my verses are seeking thy name, and his not;
I may create th' words, but thou deviseth my plots;
Ah, and him, the bulk of egotism, and whose frank misery;
Are but too disastrous to me, and in possession of too much agony.
Oh, J.
Thus thou art th' only one who remaineth solemn;
Th' one to remain ecstatic, and as less aggressive as calmness;
But of the broad thoughts I used to think of him, I feel shame;
He is just some unborn trepidation at night-though on fine mornings, he is tame.
Ah, J.
Let me disclose th' egress of thy journey, and tellest me now-is which towards mine?
Ah, thee, thou who art so bounty, and deliciously fine;
And t'ese thoughts of thee-are often tasty, and oft'times generous;
'Ven when thou'rt mad, and thy chanting is vigorously serious.
Ah, J.
Thee, a soul of painless blood;
Whose disgrace hath been buried;
Whose vanities hath been laid off;
Whose miracles hath been lavished on.
Ah, J.
Thou art one bright portrayal of my merit;
I fell'n love with thee in a single bit.
Thou bore my tears, and scorned away my guilt;
And in th' swaying summertime, thou wert my protective shield.
Thus my, my very own J.
My gale-like, and unutterably luscious poem;
About whom my thoughts are jolly, but mindful and insensible;
Ah, J, I wish I were more frail, paler, and gullible;
Ah, but if only being so couldst make me more compatible.
Oh, J.
And compatible, compatible with thee alone;
Fleshly be thine whenst all is borne on thy own;
Be thy only trusted companion, and thy eloquently verified wife;
Be thine, and thine in wifery only, throughout and for th' rest of thy life.
J.
All Let me then guess but the tranquility of thy thoughts-hath thou gone mad?
Behind us are rainbows, and thus thy songs should not be sad;
But even though they were sad, I wouldst lend thee my heart;
So t'at no summer sunshine couldst further tear us apart.
J.
Ah, J, why are th' blue skies far too impatient in thy eyes?
Just as how thy deep scent is febrile in my air;
Thy gushes of breath are thick in my young weather;
As buoyant as yon summer itself; as voluptuous as lingering daisies.
J.
And t'is ****** scream, within my heart, needs indeed-t' be fulfilled;
And its vulnerability t'ere always, to be killed;
Ah, J, t'ere is 'finitely no poem as beautiful as thee;
T'ere is no writing yet as such, as trivial and distant-as my eyes canst see.
J.
Ah, J, darling, and my very fine darling; is chastity to thee virtuous?
About which my soul is hungered-and t'ereby curious;
But if 'tis so, I shall be merry-and ever meekly laborious;
I shall make it tender, and maketh it a reliant gift, to thee.
J.
Ah, J, and thou came to me one aft'rnoon, with a sweet muteness;
For to thee, poems are far more pivotal to a young poetess;
Yes, and far prettier t'an a beastly bunch of words;
Whose curse is whose sweetness itself-and whose whole sweetness is curse.
J.
Ah, J, so shall I be thy pure lady t'en?
For purity is a curse-and related not within t'ese walls;
Walls of discomfort-irresolute and at certain times foreign still;
Walls t'at shun us-and be ours not, due to t'eir own reserved castigations.
J.
Oh, querida, my random rainbow-but still my dearest querida;
My poetry in th' morning, and th' baffling flute, for my evening sonata;
And as it is sounded, I shall be thy private lonely prelude;
But th' one who maketh thee singular, and nevertheless, handsomely proud.
Ah, J.
And thy perfect red lips are th' stillettos of the sun;
Critical but radiant-all too agonising in t'eir inevitable shape;
So t'at kissing might be just too much fun;
And from which, o my love, t'ere is no such a famous escape.

J.
Ah, J, thou knoweth not-I am asleep only within thy remembrance;
As how I am awake only in thy life, and partake of my justice, in thy glory.
Ah, J, but if satire were the only choice we had, shalt thou be with me?
Ah, my J, for be it so-I shall never regret anything, I shall never say sorry.

J.
Ah, wherefore art thou now, my love? I am now cursed. My dreams are mad.
I am now crawling out of whose realms; I wanteth but'a stay no more in my bed.
Ah, J, but in my dream thou wert too miles and miles away, and indolently anonymous;
I hatest sleep t'ereof, for t'ey piercest me so tiringly, with a harm they deemest as humorous.

J.
Ah, sweet darling, and in our dreams, t'ere is no strain, nor piety;
Even thou-in th' last one, despised my pyramids-and my chaste poetry;
Ah, querida, I am but afraid our loneliness shall be gone 'fore long;
For its temporariness is not sick, and canst work its way along, with a belief so strong.

J.
Ah, love, but t'is loveliness itself-is indeed tyrannous,
And its frigid poetry is randomly perilous,
As how th' daydreams it bringeth forth-which are luminous,
But as love is innocent, by one second canst all turn perilous!
J.
Ah, J, thus our story is brilliant, and in any volume real' magnificent,
With curves palatable, but with some greyness too fair-and too pleasant!
Ah, J, if passion dost exist, and thus maketh it all real;
And at once I shall understand thee; and listen only, to how we both feelest.

Ah, J.
My very, very own little J.
My dearest J.
The harbour of my ultimate love.
My most cordial, and serene spring of affection.
My most veritable nirvana, my vivid curiosity-and shades of frankness.
My dream at heart, and my sustainable ferocious haste.
Th' love in which my ever fear shall subside,
And be overwhelmed by its unfearing light.
J.
Oh, J, my glossy, exuberant darling.
And as more winds sway, and amongst the green grass outside,
I canst but feel thy eyes here watching;
Thy eyes t'at widely grinneth, and flirtest with my poetry itself;
Thy eyes t'at forever invitest, yet are all more daring than myself;
Ah, J, even though t'is love may be a secret scene,
But I hath felt, even vulnerably, not any provoking passion so keen-
For though they couldst my flowed veins hear,
They were still delicately unseen-with a serenity t'at was ne'er here.

i.
the Hibiscus is the paradisiacal
armistice of quagmire and wind:
leave it there anchored to Earth.

ii
when it rains, it bows to no one;
when it genuflects to no bird,
  it trills on the red of the moseying hour—
nobody sees the Hibiscus.
  only the children of the vandal.

iii.
last summer we had makeshift
bubble machines and in the high-rise
  of the twilight's cradle, we ran
viciously against the humdrum town
  blowing bushels of laughter at
the dreary populace — the brooms
  to a sweeping rustle, unsettled dust
mounting the ether.
         we hurtled across the
infantile roads like they owed us something finitely attributed
     to our locomotives.

iv.
  the Semana Santa had gone by
and the season, no matter how promisingly redolent with emollient brush
   of wind and laboring silence, held
no reprise — the Hibiscus,
   it is not alone in the quiet verdigris.

v.
  somewhere amid the hubbub of city,
there is a pendulum of line biting
   the shore of waiting repeatedly.
only steel scaffolds erected and no
   flagrant scent aroused. peregrinating
in the haloed hour, the nascent furl of
    belch from vociferous iron-clad beasts
in all of EDSA

   and when i look at people around me
they look like gumamelas, finally,
    yet i am

        not coming home.

i can never love you the way i claim — delicately and without violence. i remember hating flowers and broken seashells, and my grandmother, hand-sewing pastel dresses. deep down, my bones are raised on stories of ancient wars and biblical battles carried from memory to memory, a string of generational blunders — i am made of my father's bitterness and my mother's denial. so i will love you with corruptions and apologies, with bled-out  veins, giving in like an emptied river, with all the poems i have read and forgotten, and with everything that makes me finitely human.

Mamma poppy don't treat me the way she used to, no she doesn't even listen
It's frightening how my eyes light up to this tin-foil glisten.
Take me in your arms or better yours in mine.
A new way to feel momma's old touch &
Transcend these blackhole times
Black tar sublime
I'm finitely fine
I'll unlatch from this hook and swim from the line
I'm just waiting for clearer water
Where i can define myself as more than a junkies daughter
I'm finitely fine
Someone please give me their touch because all I ever do is destroy with mine

ＯＮＥ:
i miss the
way your
body sinks
into my
mattress
marking your
beauty finitely

ＴＷＯ:
and I also
miss how
your tired
kisses came
with soft
promises of
forever

ＴＨＲＥＥ:
i wonder
about who
stains your
cheeks now
with red
praise and
scarlet i love yous

ＴＨＲＥＥ＆ａＨＡＬＦ:
she would
never love you
as much as
i do

ＦＯＵＲ:
and i miss
you so much
i fall asleep
to the monotone
of myself
counting the days
of how long it has
been since
your departure

ＦＩＶＥ:
and to pass
my time
i count the
times you
told me you
loved me
with absent
ghost eyes

ＳＩＸ:
i'm trying
to live with
the ribs you
broke and
the air
you left

ＳＩＸ＆ａＨＡＬＦ:
but how can
i go on
with the bones
you left me?

ＳＥＶＥＮ:
i'll keep trying
but it's hard
when my
memories
of you litter
my head like
the dust in
my attic

ＥＩＧＨＴ:
and how can i
go on when
you emptied me
and left me
wondering why?

ＮＩＮＥ:
i have
watched you
leave over
and over
and my zenith
sadness is
quite enough
to make
a collapsing
supernova feel
shame

ＴＥＮ:
and sometimes
I blame
love itself for
handing me
right into
your hands

ＥＬＥＶＥＮ:
but when
it's darkest
please know
that my
moon still
chases after you

ＥＬＥＶＥＮ＆ａＨＡＬＦ:
and that
i don't
hate love
for giving
you

ＭＩＤＮＩＧＨＴ:
i hate love
for residing
in my heart
infinitely when
it knew you
weren't staying
forever

There is form Here
Form, chance, life
Might I leave it for the after?
Might I trade for the steady?
Shall I walk the roads of eternity,
Forever calm in memory?
Shall I make myself malleable,
Finitely changing upon the whistle of whim?
Mayhaps I should linger Here
And feel the dread of existentialism
And wonder forever more.
Mayhaps I should search for an answer
Beyond the void of eternity
Beyond the vertigo of life.
And wonder I will as I wander
Into the future ever yonder
Searching for meaning
Reaching for sense
And may I find knowledge
That I might lay it to rest Here
Where we have all begun
Where we might all end.

They salute the setting sun-
The invocation of eternity in a dark glass bottle
Colored in by the furious scribbling of a black marker
Always on the verge
Of empty;

To the dull cacophonous squeak that erupts from the tip of that thing,
Irate in its placid path towards obscurity,
Censoring the callous morning light from refracting
Into the chasms of some finitely empty infinitum
Otherwise dedicated as the blunder of nomenclature:

Reality.

But to the muted and forlorn residue of the aforementioned,
The fiery chill blazing down upon fair human hearts,
Only meek eyes and ears perceive You in Your squandered state,

Your quiet quintessence,

Your opaque perfection.

Shine on, though I beg!
For even this obfuscating cherubim
Is depraved,
And wicked,
And lacking substance
To combat they who stand aside from the narrow mouth of that empty bottle
Where emptiness becomes palpable while beauty has no form;

Shine!
Luxuriate the few and linger not on the fearful and ignorant,
Scintillate and commiserate with us,
With them,
With those you find and who find you--

Do not confuse yourself with
God!

For God is in the bottle

And God is the marker!

Confess your presence in our souls--give a name to what we cannot
So that when we wake we find no compartment for our passions, no boundaries of love-

Roaming freer than the dancing light made pale by that blasphemous credence of philosophy awry.

There were
Words upon a page
Written chronologically.
Chronically illogical
Logically impossible
Possibly an anomaly
And that would be
Phenominal

"The fate of failures, is perfection"

Attempts at great
Aren't practical
Without practice
Wrong turns had to be made
To find a new world
Order a new atlas
Errors addressed
At last
We find where to go
Because of someone's
Shortcomings

Trials
I err
Human is what I prefer
It's a blessing
My preference
For learning my life lessons
Is by living
Yes, I listen
But I'm missing the point
I have perfect vision
But Im def-
Finitely trying to zero in
Do you hear me?
Or at least see
Where I'm coming from
Nothing
The only option is more

If I plunder then fall
I'll spring
Before summer
Without having cold feet
Cowardice
Never climbed mountains
But a wise guy
Kept his toes
And still walks
The open road

Success
Is but a mile a way
My failures
Are just footprints
It's easy
To see
Where I tripped
But know
I never tripped
About it
When I reach
What seems to be
Overnight success
Just know
How you see me
Is the night before
And it took me
Ten thousand miles
To get to this
Opened door

I may be the orange, and you may be the blue.
I shall be the black and you shall be the white.
I could have one of those shiny bubbly lights, you could have dozens.

But that's ok.
We are all different,
But my dear oh friend...
We finitely share one thing in common.
We're all in this mad beautiful world together.

Accept it, Love it, and Live it.

The purest sexuality is not being
left excited by one’s ******
like a forbidden fruit
or found
in metaphors
via
allusions
of one’s wild
aphrodisiac breath
or resembling it phones/melody
during ******* in the bed;

it is the moment of philias
and events
that leave you finitely burnt from the inside, reforming
you and leaving you anew
for burning again

And humans aren’t its source

they’re just its vessel.

Just like poems kiss knowing:
no lips in flesh will be able to replace them for you.

The same goes with the choice of a human language
till we’re still
here.

I wasn't sure of
those words, that holy
trinity pressed to give back,

until your heart stuttered systolic.

Contracted, you underplayed every line as
I fought, undervalued, omitted and flat-lined

that singular skip your two-******, beated rhythm
warning beacon, red-flashing, blaring signal flared sign

granted every second second of each stolen time, when those
planets and these stars became so fiercely yet finitely aligned,

yes, I understand now, as we lay entwined, cyclic, chest
deep, life-defying leap, gasp of breath, wake from

sleep, it is this that I seek, sunlight unconfined
crushing breath divine, beat of two, separate

singular, unexpected yet still

defined in-kind, of your
continuation bringing
life back to mine.

The overture sounds a muffled thud,
       And scraping flesh against macadam.
Un-rosined bows screech across nerves,
                     Dividing molecules to atoms.
Each neuron fires off, splicing into three
The soul from the body,
          and something indescribably between.

Catching fire, he ascends -
            "This is what it truly means to be!"
Each piece, each side
Breaking away in-finitely
To somehow become more whole
Through division, and in balance.
                  Like a reunion, of holy trinity,
                       Caught ablaze in fissile symphony.

                   -  -  -

And like a cork popped from Prosecco,
Rewound, and played reversed,
       He careens with a whining pitch
       And
                 f
                    a
                  ­     l
                          l
                            s
   ­                           From orbit,
                                  Back to earth.

Glimpsing God
Only to be clawed back
To the pains and pleasures of Samsara,
        To taste the bitterness of my own blood,
        Transposed
        From the ecstasy of Nirvana.

This is how I came to know the realm,
     In which our feeble bodies lurch.
'Ere I was born as a phoenix
                       from the ashes.
      In the rear cabin of a hearse.

For one to write about me, would be a
          concussion of optimistic reflections.
My words conceal intentionally
                 inner reflections that even
I haven't gazed upon.

I'm a fragment of a picture wrote upon,
             but then bleached with new horizons
                                    that are neither rising or setting.  


Conclusions of my thoughts are like a hurricane in
    the confines of a daisy.
Bright but the beauty never
really placed singularly
                but chained together
in a forced marriage of convenience.

I'm neither what one would expect
or the conclusion of a vast dissection
         to collect
                evidence to my meaning and function.
I'm a verse that moves further than
                             when the words finish finitely.

Cloaked in black velvet and silver adorned skull peices. A halo of anxiety sits over my head. The intrusive pornographic thoughts rumble like holograms in front of my minds eye. Iris's and lillys. Dandelions and sunflowers. I want to stick my fingers in all the flowers and taste their pollen on my lips. Fantasia salivation elicted with cowbell bass drops. *** sells in seconds, lust in hours, love in years

Feeling  like a ****** journalist. Her green.hair, another with straight bangs. A septum and ****** peircing peirce me straight through the heart. Its vanity but its a start.
Let me wrap you in eagle feathers and wolf fur. Let me exercise your cowskull traumas, raging buffalo hormones into rebirth
Huff and blow moaned words into ear canals as I enter your eternal.
Infernal like the lusts of hell
Ethanol and bossom busts sell in seconds, Lost in hours with love to fear.
Gold halo of Anxiety paired with a silver skull clad in black velvet
Thrusts of the pelvic
Release whats held in
Redesigned pulpit seldom held words in
Align with me the divinity felt in
*** (in)finite feelings that last in transnce. Slowly peeling away strips of skin to permanance.
Feeling an earnest sense of wonderment. No time to wonder what it meant when impermance is permanent

Smoke cigarettes for the hurt when life has turned to **** but you heard it when i said i love you and you turned a bit. Looked in my eyes and i caught a glimpse of a future id like to witness. Didnt hear a word you said but i saw the world in your eyes instead. Tried to listen but my brain went dead
No words to say when you glow infared. Hotter than the spectrum
of sight. Glowing infared,
Youre hotter than spectrums of light so burn me like Arizona sunlight
Slap ***, hand shaped sunburn from a liquid honey night. *** on lap, lap up the *** like the last watersource, pour it on my face until gasps of air you hear. Taste your pollen near my lips nectarine fallen on your chest.

Feel the lasting affects
Of sexs' (in)finitely affixed fixation on transience. Glowing infared and ambient. Flowing energy in the pits of sacral chakras, returned to the crown and passed back down. Circulating intuitive lessons, divine bits of each other imbued in fission, fuse them into   living. Seperated by the gods as two seperate beings, unite mind, body, soul
Freeing all in estatic feeling.
Peeling all the tragic sealed in
Two seperate beings fleeing
Into impermanance
Towards a permanent form of seeing
3-4-5
666 eyes healing

Slowly
Surely
Inevitably
We gather round to sing perpetual praises
While subtly taking jabs at the merry masters

Their chatter is chaos in our hearts
And in our ears it rings endlessly
Their balance is impeccable
But we possess unbreakable destiny

Dying
Rotting
Finitely
We dissolve into the soil of meager meadows
And evolve into cedars of circumstance

These roots will become our legacy
And proof of their coveted love
The branches will become our sanctity
Reaching worlds beyond these frail bodies

Creation's whole, a single one who's I,
Who's you.  I'm talking to myself in thee,
O my most kosmic self who lives a lie
Called me and everyone who isn't me.
Space is my mind capacious with the in
finitely finite infinitum ad
The Word is God and every body's sin
Is mine that ever was and has been had.
God is salvation.  Christ is God who's love
With you and in your broken raging heart.
Broken, the light within you shines, the dove
Flies free, and everything is new.  Restart.

I am Creation and so are you.  Let
Go and behold the end that wasn't yet.

I miss your carefree stare
The curve of your bottom
When you text on your belly
I miss the places where your skin darkens
That are briefly visible
When you are playful
I miss how soft you are to hold
How you disappear into your silken hair
that cascades contentedly
When you hide and seek in the sheets that drape you
ode to the sadness of the moments end
The before and after you
I glimpse it finitely


Sam@011018

I'll walk to you some pretty day,  
the birds will swoop          
we’ll peck in the hay.            
Like needles, we’ll lay, with touching feet
To the hum in the grass.
Tracing ******* down the soft of my spine
And over my ***:
“I've got you”.
My hair will sleep across your cheek,
weaving the crevice of your lips
wandering you.
And then
silently
eyes fixed
finitely;
i'll help with socks as I had before,
you’ll re-knot laces
We’ll kiss once more.
We'll follow the sun
Jump from the bails,
We’ll hail to them both
And to our love
Never un-done
Never re-fail.
But as night falls
And spring is lost;
I’m sad
I’m hopeless
Like a needle is
Tossed.

Looking down a dread dark sea
an infinite horizon holding space.
The billowing surface,
for unknowable depths

And, yet, she dove.

Well, she was shocked
by a cruel shove in the back.
Eyes wide and body arched,
an unintentional start -
But when you look how the tumble turned to art,
It's hard to say fall.

in unwilling plummet,
from kindred souls,
We all gazed for a moment
At the foundation of space.
And to my eyes, at least
she was looking to Grace.

Tumbling in her fear she found
an Olympic diver in her heart -
First with polished fingernails
the aftermath had yet to start.

hypnotic waters gently parted
body followed, diving true.
steadfast and strong hearted,
On a course it looked she knew.



Night time now,
and still!
Gently, the great depth
and gently,
the soaring height
touch palms, so
lively eyes see stars
below.

But the illusion offers no clue,
What might lay beneath,
When we break the glimmer
Of the dread black mirror.



Is this the same sea,
I will tiptoe to in dark
wading until my lips
can kiss the stars?

*

When i want you now I'm weary
to probe those impenetrable depths.
so i look to beautiful heavens
to catch my breath.

But perhaps that dread sea
churns the blood from each spilled heart.
It's comforting to think
We can both become a part.

i feel (body)
the way it
between my hands

performs the youth thing: life. The

                   uncouth thing, life. The

body way it
needs between hands
its.

the inexorable flinchless hurt of its marching finitely
--into bruises of hands--
its own hands.

that they might make
,by the coming together of palms

,a softness more supple than sleep
(a finite more extending than

                                    infinites deep,

The future is blinding me
I'm lost in a space of bliss
and falsity
It could be something by which we all are led
or does it inhabit only my head?

Or maybe it's real
something planted to test it's appeal
for Miliband to prove his great pledge:
That school leavers are struggling in this big wide world
something to give him the edge.

Or for Clegg,
millions of pounds for the looneys in Bedlam?
he'd have to beg! But use it on us, boost the statistics
he'll get more votes for the kids gone ballistic.

Or maybe it's our parents as Larkin said,
In the genes they passed down or
the time they sent us to bed
"we never had all these choices"
they say. They really wish our lives to be better,
but how should the modern mind handle such pressure?

And oh the irony
that God and his threat has faced such scrutiny
but even now
in thinking finitely,
we still have brutally
created hell, right here
an earthly community.

you might exist finitely
but not here
and not now

here you will live in forever
in pieces of porcelain i will
hang your pieces from the trees

and listen to the wind at night
like a screaming child at three in the mornoing

I've reached the end of my days!
Tomorrow has never come, and I know
it never will!
I sit and wait for the sun to set, night's
humid breeze caressing my cheek with
silk touch, leaving a trail of goosebumps
that send a shiver down my spine.
Tomorrow will never arrive,
it cannot be!

Waves of distortion as these red eyes
catch aching morning light, a glimmer cast
into his irises until they dry and burn,
his head drops to his hands and a sob escapes.

The sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes,
the sun it returns!

An energizing sunrise!
Those bittersweet sunsets!
Each set in the molds of different lives
to everyone their specific smile or iconic laugh,
the ones that see as each of them are forced to see
due to the differing circumstances surrounding
their inhabited reality!

Tomorrow has never been, you have no proof!
On and around we spin, ruler in hand to
measure the meaning of a higher powers
light shining upon us, translating its language of
forgotten past and harrowing future.

In the middle of that vacant space in your head,
a spear pointing directly inward,
towards the infinite space still finitely contained.
Right in the middle, on the highest hill
next to the white rapids river
I am building my fortress.

I spend years digging my moat, deep and wide,
laying bricks side by side climbing ever higher
closer and closer to the sky and
farther and farther from the Earth.
A lifetime design to protect
my last spec of shining light.

Oh I know tomorrow never comes,
it never ceases, cannot end,
the light it glares and we turn to meet,
but it retreats, pushing us back to our sheets.
Time to rise and the classic
"I'm so sorry guys but i really
must go to sleep, could you please
keep it down?
I have so much to do tomorrow
and I swear on God himself
I have no time to waste!"

I have no time to waste
I have no time to waste
I have no time to waste
I have no time to waste

To the moments that push me back when I could have gone full-******
To the times when I refrained from spending the only money I had on something as frivolous as seeing you say hi
Somewhat the best antidote to stupidity is shaking my head no and waving a polite goodbye
So if I seem like I'm thinking about you alot
You may say I'm yes-ing and no-ing to you alone
Because I'm already broke
And you make me feel, like buying more time with you by saying yes
Since yes may mean an Amen to You
Even I know, No is much more exciting
No is harder
No is rougher
No is sexier
No has repercussions
No I am not interested in this superficial interaction because your space smells so much like you and I want to dig my face into your hair
So I'm sorry
No

I mean, Yes please.

Yes, I would like some coffee, please.
Yes, I would like to have a conversation, please.
Yes, I would like to fight my dad so I can borrow money to spend around your space, please.

It's not infinitely cool that wins anyone, though.
It's the finitely present, that gets their attention.

Let me think about how much I haven't said anything really thoughtful to myself
But I have said more thoughtful things to you than the one fixing my bed.
I have seen myself kinder because there are people who have a nurturing way to them that makes us want to be them.
And I know I am spicy and not sweet
But
If I could be that type of person.
I would make sure I had it easier for me to say
Yes
Please.

Until we see the world
As a space shared by all living things,
Each having a right to exist;
As nature intended,
In the beginning.

Until we see the world
As an infinite wonder
Through which we wander finitely
With a duty to care and share
That all living things
Might be fruitful and multiply;
As nature intended,
In the beginning.

Until we see the world
As our most valued asset
To maintain and grow
That our children
Might thrive and prosper
Without fear of disasters,
man-made and cataclysmic;
As nature intended,
In the beginning.

Until we see the world
As the only world
There is
Or will ever be;

And reform our lives
From greed to green...

We shall ALL be victims
of the worst crime
In the history of the world:

Ecocide.

AYO
~P

We try to sound
Profound
As we
Expatiate
Not meaning to
Pontificate
Philosophies
We contemplate
More often end up
Platitudes
Convictions we assert
Assured
Of righteousness
And rectitude  
Conflating faith with certitude
In provenances
We conclude
Consensus from the misconceptions
Answers to subsume
The questions
Even if the faintest doubt
Still lingers on each word
Of mouth
And furtively betrays
Ideals
As easily
As Death reveals
Itself to all of those in time
Who claimed in life
Divine design
More absolute than its unmaking
Predicating
Their awaiting
Finitely
To resurrection
On hypotheses
Of heaven
Fallible
Incredible
Intangible
Untenable
But nonetheless
Congenital
Is man in all his arrogance’s
Gods upon a pedestal

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, 25-X-'23__5:01<=

Interesting to know
Not necessarily to show:

The human essence
Is an octavian star
Branching upon its definitive
Existence
One which we proudly
Ignore the infinite's branching
In its shadow we linger
Finitely standing
Lingering as if we know
What color it beholds
Some decorative spectrum it loathes
To be blinded by white shadow
Of the branched light
Adjacent below
So what we know
Is one of a show
In which we name
In which we smoke
The shadow we bathe
The shadow we soak
The grave we dig
the grave we loathe
Call the barrier danger zone
Call the barrier freezing snow
Explain to me
Define your thoughts
Define a territory you claim you bought
Meh
Who am I even to sought; (?)
Display your colors
Display your coats
Calling ashes your most trusted troops
Hiding under those seven loops

                                                                                            ------ravenfeels

This clock, hanging above me and ticking away, just reminds me how much time I wasted putting chains around my emotions and sealing a lock on them. I wasted all of those seconds, that finitely tick by, throwing away the **** key to that lock so that nobody, including me, could find it now.

categorical imperative: so subtle:
you barely recognize it exists
since its existence is so subtle:
as if a Kantian counter-culture
since all the democratic chattering
and sparrow jitters:
by now all we're ingesting
and finding it hard to digest is
the western media-propaganda
complex:
like the Ah Ha'merican military-industrial
complex:
there's also the subterfuge of
the media-propaganda complex:
nothing new: last time i heard
i heard: zilch and then an itch
and i was spooked by how limitless
not being paranoid can make
you gravitating toward a second
layer of consciousness:
it's not like there aren't smart individuals
out there:
but even geniuses behave like
idiots in a chess game that's not
a chess game that's cattle herding
or rather: not even cattle: or
herding: just biological traffic...
and you don't really see biological
traffic in the animal kingdom
but in humans: at events:
just your yawn every day...
god she sounds so ****:
oh but you hurt my feelings...
no...
i just gave you negative feelings:
which is much better than
not giving you feelings:
i didn't hurt your feelings:
i just gave you negative feelings...
neurotic woman
psychotic man...
you decipher the words and
conjure up a picture...
but it's true: Lucy Letby and the whole
hero-complex:
more verbiage...
that's the western post-colonial mentality...
so the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq
were fair play
the war between the Israelites and
the Palestinians: fair play...
every ******* color of the flags waved...
but, somehow? Russia oh so bad?
i've visited Russia:
RUSKIE SKURVYSYNY:
so? at least i'll drink a beer
and eat dehydrated shrimps with them
thinking it's not Thailand and not
peanuts...
just by alienating the one people
that might have the misfortune of
keeping Christianity alive:
and you're telling me:
some advantageous lie some bogus
BIG STINK like it's the BIG BANG
and a NEW THINK is going
to: ******* help me?!
who you associate with
is who you become:
i never thought that being had
a trajectory, i.e. of becoming:
but being and becoming
is something that was not written
about in the 20th century by
either Sartre or Heidegger...
being dissociated from becoming
is the schematized man
of being and time and being and nothingness:
what is time and nothingness
when being comes: so finitely
and implores: so what of becoming?
i hate the 20th century schematized man
with "his"... (shh... more a case
of its make-up) Freudian secular trinity
of ego superego id...
that's fertile ground for conflating
the importance of pronouns:
but the it pronoun is a she that's a he
so your ******* noun of a name
i ask if Peter is coming for supper
implies that a ******* Susan turns up?!
a denial of: a Peter she: is a Susan he:
but a she Peter is still a Peter:
no good abstracting the Peter that's
still a male given name
when you say she: but still say
the already gender neutral pronoun
of the life-affirming: aye: i...
so...
   what's up with this custard pie of language...
and no wonder the Russians and the Chinese
are not invading:
too many idiots, spastic fantastic
******* jugabaloos... wondering:
um um: spaghetti sputniks?!
would it matter where i double up on the consonant
in jugabaloos:
is that better as juggabaloos
or better as jugabbaloos?!