The air is perfumed with fresh rosemary's
And the wild springs with lush berries
Their presence colours the nursery with a sweet loom
It bleeds into the forecast for tomorrow's gloom
Nostalgia hits hard, heartbreaking and eerie
For a day when I wasn't paranoid and weary
Well, I'll be down by the Brighton pier
Watching birds float past in lonely fear
I'd love to turn away

The pristine sun shines like Hades
The outside scent is yellow, maybe
Little daises laugh in the foreground
Gardens sow a loving sound
Once I could see hope in the trees
And the love that whispered on the breeze
Now the trees foreshadow longing
And the gale howls with wronging
I'd love to turn away

The intimacy in my yellow tinted flowers seems to have faded
And the soft orchards have been invaded
My words burnt in a smouldering pile of dust
And steaming with the heat of my lust
I told a crowd I had something to say
But the people turned away
away
away...

Skeleton bones in the closet, no, not I, I got live bodies locked in chains. In the spirit of Halloween, I'll wear a hockey mask and be that obsessed killer. Teenage kicks, listen close for the screams. ****** from neglect, ****** because of reject, ****** brought on by me always feeling depressed. You called me names, you tortured my spirit, you ****** me like the idols you worship. I've worsen since i started feeding on your hate. This is my manifesto. Are you scared? You should be. Because I won't take the ranting rambling bigotry you speak. This will be something straight out of a horror scene. The plot thickens, foreshadow what's next. If you think this story is fiction well it's not because we live in a cold world and I'm only giving you a description, a depiction of what words can do, I use mine for assistance, I learned to listen, I hope you do too, because you can create a monster with the powerful words you decide to use.

He looked fine. Fine with a y. Fyyyyne
However another guy had the best style, he could mismatch and make it fit.
Then again no man had abs like him, it was a canvas I longed to....
I will never forget the other guys eyes, his hazel eyes spoke to me.
How couldn't I mention the manly stance, broad shoulders, large hands man.
But honestly, I never saw beauty till I met blank.
Blank is kind, the kind that gives and expects nothing, for he
simply wants to see joy in me.
Blank is confident in himself, in a way that needs to prove nothing because he humble by nature
Blank is rational yet irrational in a way that strives and hopes.
Blank is funny, uplifting, ****.
Blank teaches me about myself, he makes me better.
I've never seen one as beautiful internally, which it illuminates externally.
Hopefully I meet blank.
_, I love you.

Its been a while, since I, seen that smile; that **** style, that turn me on, you're such a trip. I love how you keep it hip; *******, my favorite color- your Thursday pick. From your text, you seem stressed, might have to do it a little longer. Been working out, so I'm a little bit stronger- hold your legs back, shoulder press:I hope I'm making you wonder. Hands, coiled around your legs; up. Under your dress, hands slowly progress- it hurts now, the seconds seem longer; you feel blessed. You slipped, so I slide in; like it was meant to happen.

My hand griping your hips, pulling you in, a tight fit: harder- already told you I was stronger, now your feeling it. So professional when you came; now you leaving a mess. I flipped the script.

Black *******, with white spots all over your dress- blaming me for your mess. Now I'm  *******; ready or not. Your *** up, stomach in knots, my kingdom ***; our foreplay, can foreshadow my plot- give you a life sentence, that will make ****** on the dot. All our issues, disappear; like you're straight flush- red all in the face; light touch: 2 ours later; such a rush.

I waste my time while I work
I waste my time while I play
I waste my time while I sleep
I waste my time while awake

I intend to die without...

To die without honor
To die without dignity
To die without valor
To die without sanity

When the air around us becomes still, I begin the hunt for guarantees. Perhaps they are hiding, terrified, within the glimmer of promise that always seems to catch me moments before the fall. Maybe they are written somewhere inconspicuously, in the spaces between the fingers that hold me together better than gravity ever did. Savor this, I repeat to myself, a broken record that only remembers how to play the same tune over and over, over and over; but for some reason, I keep it running. Savor this. Savor this. Savor this. But when your lips greet the apples of my cheeks with a fire that cannot be extinguished, time is all that crosses my mind.
You whisper the volumes of reasons why you love me and I am only thinking of the moment you will tire of it. You shelter my joy in a canopy of trust, but I am far too busy counting seconds until the minute I become just another pretty story for you to tell when I have been set aside to collect dust.
I have discovered art in the curvature of your temples and the way you shook my father's hand with honor that night you kissed me under the illuminated blanket of God's great masterpiece. I have discovered it in the way you hold me close on the days I feel light years away from myself, the days when my body feels more like an abandoned orphanage than something that is meant to be alive.
You promise me forevers decorated in contentment and I am waiting for the day you regret it.
We are youthful and electrified, juggling candles at the tips of our fingertips and expecting not to burn.
I tell you that I want a yellow house with light blue shutters and a swing on our porch that rocks gently in the breezes of April.  I tell you that I have visions of us warming our feet by the fireplace in December snowfall, consuming peace within the melodious laughter of the children we will have. I tell you that when it storms, we will build forts out of quilts and hold competitions of brightness between the lightning and the glow of our own love.
I almost tell you that I need this, but I only find fear in my disappointment when I realize that there are no guarantees, and until tomorrow comes, we are holding our breath in limbo.
Instead, I tell you that I love you presently, and while we slow dance in our backyard a thousand eternities away, I am losing track of days spent grieving a dream that has not yet, or never will, come true.

If I could write the days into a memory i could forget....
than i could foreshadow the future I havent seen yet....
Id scribble down the worst of my life... But always sign the best...
Put my heart onto the paper and keep it out of my chest.....
But a stationary hero isnt the answer for my worded crimes....
Like the emotion cannot be beautiful grammar or rhymes......
A Fragile label cannot be placed on the package i deliver....
The damage is real like my poisoned liver....
I declare a proclamation of Houston we have a Problem....
I know my problems.... Words they wont solve them....
So Scribbled shaky pen stains on bar napkins became my bible.....
The pain was a memory not a selfish revival.....
If you can see yourself within my written pain.....
All I mean to say is " I wish I could See you Once Again"......

death.

a loss of vision,
there,
in the corner.

a corrosive lack,
purpose and sense
lost in the way.

another step,
suspension.

feels like it is time.

wrapping time.

making a fire
with all the debris.

I opened the gifts one by one,
knowing that the softness I felt
under the antique Santa Claus paper
was yet another bundle of fabric,
more clothes to add
to my ever-expansive wardrobe.

One by one, the patterns were revealed to me:
some plain black cotton,
a Paris print with a sparkly pink tower,
paper cutouts the size of my favorite dolls,
and at last, a sewing machine.

I remember a roomless memory,
my mother and I hovered over the machine,
the internet failing to teach us
how to maneuver the thread.

“We’ll try again later,” she said.

Now, I open the drawer under my bed,
remove a dust-covered box,
running my fingers along the top of it.
I remove the as-new machine,
my failed future.
I walk to my computer, switch taps
from a Buddhism study guide
to an empty Google Docs.

I wonder if I was a seamstress in a past life.
Did I watch my family create the cave paintings
while I sat in the corner, hide on my lap
with a splinter of bone in my hand,
feeling nothing but bliss?

Did I live in the Edwardian era,
tailoring a perfect three-piece suit,
a walking skirt, my daughter’s chemise?

Did I ever pass my grandmother
in a secondhand store,
with my goal of finding a perfect neckline,
my favorite sleeves, a plaid pattern.

Did I find them among the stained and unloved,
did I make them into something beautiful?

Was this not a flashback, but a foreshadow?
Was this a hint at my next life?
Will I do the same with my daughter,
passing down the cotton and glittered tower,
hugging with triumph when the machine roars to life?

Will I be there at her first fashion show?

What if there is no past or future.
What if my soul is me, unchanging, stable.
What if I’m a butterfly,
every passing second another cocoon?

For I am a tree,
and these memories
are my branches.

My left arm holds the present,
the current reality. I fail to sew
even a button, but my dreams
reside content.

With my right arm,
I hold another present,
equally as real.

In this world, I made my doll a dress,
a bedspread with the leftover fabric.
In this world, I am not a poet,
and I don’t often dream.
In this world, my floor is my stage,
this fabric is my home.
In this world, I know not of other realities.
In this world, I live buried in my ignorant bliss.

They called me a pessimist
And I guess I am
I mean it's true
But it's not my fault that the autumn days are dark
Whispering harshly in the night
Ripping leaves off of trees
Leaving them limp and bare to survive winter
The little winds foreshadow the coming brutal storms
That leave us cold in terror
But the breeze is so powerful
It numbs my skin like a drug
Keeps my blood rushing, wanting more
And my eyes are pleased to see the rainfall of the leaves
From branches of clouds
So beautiful
Then comes the holidays and cremed cocoas
The laughter and the dazzling crisp snow
One true pessimist
They call me but I'll go with it and let it go

No longer will you keep me in chains
No longer will you suppress me and my nature
I am a part of you as you are a part of me
I am the creature that perch on your shoulder
I am the creature that lay both hands on you and whisper in your ear
I am the creature that can foreshadow you
The same that allow you to enjoy all your sins and bad intention
The same creature live deep in you
Once all of the white winged creature has forsaken you
I'll be their with you but not for you

Time’s ominous perpetual precipice looms,
Darkly beckoning with gilded motives.
The student’s curse worming insidiously throughout the best intentions
The enemy’s ticking fingers foreshadow their fate,
But like blinded deer, we frolic obliviously,
Blissfully remiss in our duty as the forgiven.
Twilight nears, but we are still frozen in the sun.

Last night I dreamt of ticking time bombs
I awoke with your name on my lips.

We watch the perpetual war in the sky
The vivid colors of the gods
Bleeding before the mountains
A sultry foreshadow of nightfalls' catastrophe
He waits for the Suns' demise
Under the Gemini Moon
My Twin Legs split open
Wolves echo in synchronicities of
Madness
In the morning I call for Zeus
God of Thunder
Crack the earth open
Let my lovers fall to the underworld of your brothers  
Wash the scents of greed from my hair
And the hyrogliphic bite marks from my thighs  
Or bare my soul to wind
Starvation and feast
It all tastes like love
under the Yellowstone moon.

is crooning bird with
beehive nest built from soul
is sixty five years inside body of young girl
loves jazz and destructive boy
looks at him the way her voice does microphone
eyes are drawn black like cat's and she
sings the way a tail curls along wood floor
graceful  effortless  confident

shaina maidel with
a gap between her two front bent teeth
echoed laugh and studded diamond above her lip
jewish girl who wears
star of David around her neck belts
songs she writes with scratching fingers against
ink covered arms
pretty girl loves ****** and crack pipe and liquor
has a crooked mouth but hums melodies
smooth as the heart is aching

pink ballet slippers stain red
from ****** between toes
bulimia makes a home in her habits
empties stomach after every meal
makes more room for wine and ***** and whisky with coke
stumbles across a stage she does not belong to while
the audience boos and mocks while
the paparazzi stalks and preys and while
the media criticizes and
a world that doesn't quite understand does the same

we watch her disaster like
a car accident
unable to stop staring at the damage
we watch her downfall like
an avalanche in another city
it isn't ours so we do nothing to save it

this disappearing act is not magic but
a side effect of fame unwanted
dad doesn't understand that skin and
bones is foreshadow of death
says, baby, smile for the camera
baby, just do what you're supposed to
baby, just finish the tour
**** every last ounce out of her like
the wringing of a towel
it is an easy thing for a girl to become
invisible when she wants to
enough

crooning bird falls from tree and
we watch with hands at our side
bodies tilted in confusion
what a shame, we say
there is depth but it is hiding under addiction
all we see is girl destroying herself under
the fluorescents we placed above her
what a waste, we say, shaking heads
we do nothing in response

my love,
you tore boundaries with your swollen hands
they said your honest was too loud
hair too big
voice too bold
they picked with curious fingers and
gap-tooth jew girl with
the audacity to break silence
ended up breaking too

shaina maidel with
a space between her two front bent teeth
echoed laugh and studded diamond above her lip
jewish girl who could never be a star became just that
burned into supernova
graceful  effortless  confident in her
descent back to
black

An effusive elaborate scheme the colors advance to bright spellbinding allure then they achieve
Depth of quality by cutting back to softer hues and then the natural dark green is the bold
Touch that succeeds with total symmetry showcased in a view perfected by glass the prism
Most fitting not only to see but to be captivated by perfected expression it is a metaphor for life
The master designer chooses his subjects well one infuses another then by degree others
Foreshadow and glorify it blends tangible and intangible into intelligent coherent order tasteful
And sublime the hint and the elusive wonder all is needed is the wind to bow and ****** it into
A profusion a veritable concert that stirs with appeal life is in motion the players advance and
Retreat each speaking lines unique to themselves what sensations speak tendrils on a garden
Trellis held and fixed a gesture that plays and portrays intricate details the mystery that plays so
Well the stealing of morning frost then the blaze and then restful dying rays that spell comfort
The field rolls and contorts this brandishes excitement exuberance veers and plunders life
Become exploration trails hidden thickets hide and hold expression that is pent up ready to
Explode what vesture we wear it grips our friend’s astonishment is read on their faces but it is
Like a house of many mirrors because their lives are having the same effect on you some days
Are uneventful others are storm tossed with grandness the riches of an all contained realm
Spasms convulse like waves of the sea we stand forth to puzzle and dream what does it all
Mean the sanctity reveals plumes that are invisible that are far reaching and they have given us
This course of endurance that belies longing we grow soft and an inner glowing surpasses the
Stringent the misfit that moans against conforming we are treasure that exceeds all expectation
Life is rich we are its brightest colors and light night is for brooding the day is for shinning and
Divulging the secrets found in the brooding time we accost others we signify to them not only
Our own worth but there’s also fetching is the spray that magnifies the sky we are the bursting
We are the aliveness that is found each day in our lives that is the dooryard of discovery



----------------------------------------------------------------­----------------

Fascist fascist
Fascinating
Liberating or degrading
Hangs from single strings
Nothing comes and no one sings
No one laughs and nothing breaks
See the cracks drip down my face

Fascist fascist
Fascinating
Fascinating fascist face
Flash-forward foreshadow
White cold lace
Not as durable as we first thought
But the car is packed
In the parking lot
I light the cigarettes we bought
And now there is no going back
Not back to there
Nor back to that
Not back to night
Nor back to day
Nor back to summers
Far away

Fascist fascist
Fascinating
Forget my fascist family tree
The fascist fascist memory
And moustache moustache damaging
Or fresco firefly reverie
Just tell me that I’m yours
Sign the line
Like you have before
This is where we are right now
Two souls alive
In the empty town
Two souls alive
In the ******* ghost god-empty town.

So, What think you of Whitman?
And what say I of Plath?
I understand all but maybe half
On my greatest finest day
(dearest, how’d we get this way?)
How’d we fall so far from grace?
How’d this canyon split my face?
Maybe it’s the trace trace amounts of fascist.

Fascist fascist
Fascinating
Friday fickle convocating
Tragic talent intubating
All the world smiles, undulating
But in the end
You’re still a fascist.

Her smile held my hand
As I led her up the grand staircase
She pulled on her pleats
And carefully took her place
To be gazed upon and worshipped
Buttressed by my approval
A saint of ****** desire
She could not foreshadow her removal
As the glow of my delusion shines
She is unaware
Assuming her immortality
Cloaked by the intensity of my stare
Unspoken words are felt
She believes she has been pardoned
Mere beauty enough
For her heart had softened
Soon she paces
Back and forth in her discomfort
As for a moment
She lost her golden support
I dared avert my eye
To live if only for a moment
Alone and in control
Yet it only caused her torment
Her angelic eyes turned red
Her ***** sighed
Suddenly she realized
Her subject had lied
It was not eternal love
Or forgiving grace
Instead it was seduction
In his hands he held lace
As long as she was pretty
And demure in his presence
She could live on as a goddess
While faking its essence
What happened?
How did she lose control?
Assuming her power
She failed to see what he stole
Yes the princess
Has given her virtue
To an artful lover
Who pretended to be true
Her mistake
Was failing to heed his writ
Don't mistake my kindness
For weakness of the spirit
My power to love
Can be removed at will
As long as you are worthy
It will remain still
Spoiled by her parade
The queen commands
Her subject turns away
And begins making plans
Removing the grand staircase
He prefers an indelicate fall
The music has stopped
It is the end of the ball
Shocked to be so discarded
Once prized now yesterday's refuse
Devastated by her turning fate
She lives as a recluse
The Monarch
Sheds it's wings
Crawling back to her cocoon
Solitude the sadness to which she clings
The gaze is empty
He rises from his knee
Turning to another
She hears his heart plea
Take my hand
And mount my pedestal
Let me worship you
He smiles as she becomes ornamental
Another glass to break
Another jewel to steal
His passion unending
As the conquest is greater than what he feels

(You will make best use of the following words, if you open the Savannah, Within A Month poem, in another tab.)**

It was brought to my attention that I somehow managed to write ALL of the emotion but too few clues in my piece to relay the entire story.

Though, this was done intentionally, due to my reluctance to actually tell the whole story, I do want you guys to be able to read the words written in between the lines, without my losing what I’ve created, by undoing the strings that weave in and about the poem:

In case you missed it, Judy first reviewed my poem commenting on the wistful feeling that appears throughout the piece and the additional sadness at the end. She thought that, perhaps, my father had left us.

Well.
Yes…and no.
This piece is a really twisty thing of a piece that hangs off the edge of, “Oh, I get it!”
… even for me.
But, it’s that deja vu bit that makes it hard to grasp.
So, let me lay out a few things:

The airport bit, at the end, was referring to when I would leave for Savannah
…indirectly “because,” of my dad leaving.

But, it was just a mental leaving, that happened.
He never actually left.

All of the emotion was there, but I chose to write, instead, about me leaving for Savannah, rather than my dad leaving for another woman.
So, I end up talking about what actually went on, but instead of ending the story with, “and then he left,” i end it with, “and then i left.”

I tend to have trouble putting issues I haven’t actually dealt with yet, into words.
I apologize.
But, somehow, talking about a direct “result” of the issue was easier.

But, the whole foreshadowing of his leaving (which is written in between the lines), shows up throughout the entire poem:

The mood of the relationship between my parents was written into the first stanza.

The way mum thought about the issues between her and my dad, into the second stanza.  

Me wondering about deja vu (and indirectly, from my current standpoint, the deja vu i had just recently (that im almost sure i had then - about them splitting)) + Mum’s frustration and the effect it was having on her, into third stanza.

My attitude about her burning her finger bc of my question, in the fourth.

Her brushing me off about all of it, in the fifth.

My attitude THEN about her brushing the question off + my attitude NOW about her brushing the entire situation off, in the sixth.


-Then, actual recent accounts of deja vu come into play-

I asked dad if he was “working late at the office again,” -
But, immediately, i zone out, bc i’m experiencing deja vu,
(the smell of grits, i inserted to, in a roundabout way, say that it was somehow connected to the earlier events in childhood),
except this time, though it felt like deja vu, it seemed as if i foresaw them splitting when i was younger, but i was seeing it…….just then?

(deja vu is already confusing - and this little twist on it took me for a spin!)

Either way,

The stolen wine bottle was from the deja vu i'd had - It is placed to foreshadow an event that WOULD take place (there is a literal wine bottle i need to secure lol),
But also, since it felt like a foreshadowing, in the past OF the past, the wine bottle symbolizes my parent’s marriage being stolen by another woman.

The still frozen cookies symbolize me feeling like I was, somehow, stuck in my childhood, when it all was happening.

P.S. Not relevant to the understanding of the story, but the cat doubles as me, attempting to get the answers I wanted. I wanted her to just "realize" and use her mother's intuition to just "know" what to say to me and how to say it. But, she didn't. "So, I just asked."

Ive watched you weap
Bemoan in subtlety, without reason
Attempt to give light on an obsidian subject

Ive seen you bicker and cross swords
A struggle felt for miles
Have our confrontations meant nothing to you
Does venom foreshadow death

Ive seen you pass away
Day by day, its all the same

But am I the mad one?
Questioned by clans
When all I see is taunt discourse as if we're docking on long suppressed dreams

If it had been somewhere else, we'd hide a fixed eye to the occasion

Load the cartridge
Pull the trigger
Ignite cannons
**** the innocence
Have we lost our minds

Everything is happening so quickly
so many negatives surpassing the
insignificant glimpse of positives
that never seem to suffice,
there’s always this light at the
end of the tunnel that everyone
speaks of, yet i continue to see darkness;
a journey down this long tunnel brings
no illumination but only a continuance
of nihility, the damp walls
seem to bring the chill humidity
closer and closer with each step,
the droplets echo the narrowing,
flickering lights dissipate at passing,
the gag sparking stench of sewage
and ***** make the voyage to
light even more unbearable than the
previous hesitant inching towards
the so called spoken about bearability of life,
sudden scintillations of light bring sight
of russet, worn doors, consecutively placed,
discoloured of crimson roadkill,
I open the first door and see a woman
tied and bound, gag in throat,
beads of sweat turning the white gag
to watered milk,
the dirt beneath her nails entwines with skin
and blood dredged by her own fingertips,
to front is a tray of what seems like
torture tools
intrigued, I slam the door
                               and avoid a kiss
                                   from Judas

The next door, I open and see a man
sitting facing the corner,
wrapped in a flickering fan,
staring at a wall of carvings of ticks and dashes,
to see arms of cuts and gashes,
with a tray next to him
comprised of razors and knives
he sits picking at skin of bruises and hives,
tempted to grab the tool and corrode self,
with the reflection of whats within, I slam the door

                                               and avoid

Finally the third door
eagerly stares to
me with anticipation boiling veins,
I press my ear to foreshadow,
I hear a cries; a man of hatred
and a woman of pain
I open the door and find a bottle of whiskey
I take a swig and feel as if Judas kissed me,

Within the third door; walls
with peepholes to confirm the calls
on the left I see the sliding knife
over-panting roadmaps of russet to
the neck of the bound woman,  
the screams are deafening,
they present a vibration,
stuttering thoughts, and releasing the fixation,
prompting the admiration
to view the second door,
I see myself, in door 2
tremors and convulsions
seeing blood expel every vein
as the verticals
halt oxygen to the brain

Departure brings me
to the abysmal realm of society  
where the burden of negativity
proves to provide no proof towards what
differs between the endless, narrow
tunnel-visioned cesspool of bone marrow
and psychosis driven visions and the
narrow pathed voyage of life.

you always knew we would end this way...
it's why you held me so tight..

open wide, take the barrel, caress the lips
let the trigger be something
thats figured afterwards
as one thing held by
the stress of life,

let the burden of breathing
take the wind and dwindle
the passion you have left
to rekindle your passion to live
reloading the rifle
reviving every spiteful
feeling edging you closer to
the side of the high rise
in malevolence disregarding
the benevolence of why
you’re still sitting here
reading this; ignorance to bliss

let the goodwill of life foreshadow
that every stroke brings deep to shallow
letting life take the noose and tighten
until you loosen and righten
every wrong

let life bring your cuts to a heal
so that you know every human can feel
a pain get better and watch the weather
go from dark skies to milky clouds dripping light
and have the poor weep then sing together

so let life strife your feelings of self
so that you hear the whisper from
the storm pass,
and open your eyes,
don’t let the precedent of today
dictate the incident of
a familiar tangent
because with every feeling of pain
is followed by compassion of
the morrow

The warmth of the morning, with just its cold chill,
Can send the essence of the dark night, whistling
In the background, and making its waves, and tearing up its minds
Off speeding into the darkness it leaves behind in all its cold terror,
Letting the wicked and the injured inside, collapse and follow it,
As the days foreshadow beings to set in, touching the walls around us
Its grace and registration of a new day settling in, in unencumbered
Gripping making the new time, this new time, a complete release.
See the shadows of the darkness as they move so quickly, yet slowly through,
Hear the stillness as it begins to warm, and the floor begins to make
Popping noises, as the water heats and steams and comforts the room,
It can be felt, it can be touched, it can be the presence of the daytime
Floating over, bringing sunshine, bringing joy, and near fulfillment,
As the darkness of the night, recedes, for now, into the holes it is kept in,
Until the sun begins its flow, to the darkness.  Pray only for the moon.

I stand in front of God's judge scale
I know what will be judged to me
A crushing blow, a weakened soul
What's left of my shattered esteem
Nothings ever what It may seem
Trying to mock the flowing stream
Maybe it's all just a nightmare
There's no way this could be a dream

I see the lost in all the eyes
When I look up there's a gray sky
People pretend this pain's a lie
Ignore the hurt when facts are tried

Go find a mate, that may change fate
Don't be alone for your own sake
Go mingle in and try to shake
It's one thing that shouldn't wait

It's not a myth to go insane
When you are stuck with just your brain
A mate can be family or friend
This is something rarely obtained

I've been judged to have a blessed life
But I will see loved ones cry out
I won't be able to change them
Even if I fight or I shout
It will come like a nightmare
Cause there will be a fallen heart
But it's a dream cause in this stream
That pain will fade as I depart.

As the crow flies south from capital city
With soaring moonshine he coasts into synchronicity
Highways below dissolve into forgotten whispers
Like a rear view mirror sees only memories in its disappearing

Visual ****** initiates and fills this polychromatic cruise
Starting with a quiet historic ruse
Contesting over which of the two
echo shadows for optical repeal

the many leaves of kaleidoscope hues
That keep a running legacy since time before our time
and / or
Buried horizon from endless layers of skyward hills
Hills that have been storing a primitive foundation for the growing of substructure foliage in order to be able to drop its petals and leaves

Resolve is left with the one true and unbiased impartial decider...
the wind
to form a fair measure of mediation

From the human view
All are merely a preview for the impromptu quest
In an attempt to catalyze foreshadow and paint memory for the drive out west

To approach from afar
The destination appears to be a resting
shape of an antiquated location

splashed with opaque aromas,

sensory weaving visuals,

and

Melodic tones of nostalgic definition

Emitting vibrations of soothing tremolo that quiver throughout the body

this multi-strip string of singular select shops
Is the alignment initiative in the countryside
forecasting a manifest
for the hazy occasion
Anointing inspiration over the heartland’s artland
That nearly only hope,
could create

Invisible snows sprinkle over roads like a magic red carpet of threaded tranquility in its coat
Enticing, Welcoming, and Lighting up this neck of the west
And opening into the
Woodland Hills of Little Nashville

———-—————————————-——————————

I respect therapists
like I respect anthropologists,
they dig and encounter an ampersand,
they can always inform beforehand
and foreshadow results,
but they found my bones
below 6 feet
and can’t form an answer,
they knew where to search
they found the ticking finger
pointing at lazy fissures,
and buried blisters
but dripping shovels
keep raising a faded flag
that says
“they’re nothing here keep moving”

She is the calm before the storm
one deep breath of her cool scent
and her foreshadow
will send chills over your skin

She is the rain
her cold drop on your lashes
will remind you
of the things you did to her

She is the thunder
her voice filled with pain
seeps inside you
like the time she tried to die

She is the lightening
her brightness so quick
it is gone
before you can see her shine

She is the storm
that dances
never complete

Voice vibrations Keep them together fasten/
transcending trends fashion/wear on you ever lasting birthday suit/
if the boot fits suit yourself Cinderella/
if you lose it
the truth reflects in the mirror/
full of suspense save the dramatics/
chasing after the light a foreshadow/
all the hype ain't write anticlimactic/
ring around the Rosie/
plagued million ways to die hyperbole?/
a watershed moment
pivotal talk is affordable/
But those that inscribe
the inside of ones mind/
from pictures form designs which illicit and describe/
can alter mankind/
priceless

Hidden meanings foreshadow the gradient eminence off campus,
Stampless letters to be sent to thine dearest of ones!! Mother's hold thy daughter's, for you've lost your youngest son!!!!

Extensive Colgate frames to cover thy soulgaited plains,
Where fewest of animals hath roamed!!
Your caught in scrimmage,
Still Soo unsure if your found or lost at home!!!

Paceth back to and forth as far as thy walls will take you,
Where reprobate minds will break you,
Where loan sharks will rewrite tunes,

Sharking is their key to Finnish game!!!

They feeleth no Elysium,
Their one to thy flame!!!!!

Trilateral thinking freely turns negative,
Primitive to all known consistencies,
Bleeding at thy gums?
Third world indecently!!!

Misconstrue thine own miserly pull,
Galoot of what's not thine own!!!!!