I stepped out,
finally, a terrestrial in Istanbul.
My leveled shoulders carried
an empty satchel of undone buckles
To let every fresh sip of raw experience
tumble inside,
my adventures impatiently plucked
from the closest branch  
of a banyan tree bearing
a crisscross of endless tales.

I rescued my lungs with air,
thick with resentment while
swallowing astringent flavored symphonies
and ballads of orchestrated ruckus as
women deflated their lungs
blowing out antipathy, through high pitched whistles -
A forgotten kettle blowing off steam.

Adorned in scorn, sardonic welcoming mats lined the airport.
Women pushed at their car horns as if the dragging sound,
like a severing saw can cut through
the tenacity of the ones with innate ear plugs.

They have become obsolete traffic signals -
First, their green light diminishes - like their wages
Then, their red light is dimmed -
it stops too many people in their footsteps.
And thus the world just races past them,
And they are left only with yellow -
Telling them to slow down.

They said it was an act of love.
That their plumped crimson lips,
Glossily complimented with nails
that matched the tails,
of the so-called mile high club
was just too much to handle.

Priming for work meant neglecting their love
for the perfect shade of watermelon lipstick,
No more sweet ketchup fingertips
Showing you the emergency exits. No more,
lipstick stained glasses
of a self made woman.

These cumulating lip kissed glasses  
stack up like trophies,
that sway in the heavy panting
of the ones who can’t keep up with this generation.

So the women gracefully conducted the orchestra
and through lipstick stained whistles,
They tried to drown out the dogmatic policies
And with unrelenting strife,
they passed on some advide
stop shattering our liberties
And underminining our abilities for
Endless possibilities.
Because we are the ones
Who fly high and soar
And we will always
look fabulous
while doing it.

glossily white attitude, princess and rainbow goon
how i'm feeling you, don't have to lie, last night
we were blasting off, flying, watching our city
when i woke up, you were laughing, you are lifestyle

i'm your drug, like beat and melody, djset and rapz
we are totally white like the meetings of escada
24/7 way of life, the pulse of days flashing past
look, my name is tizzop, look, how i'm splashing

this waterfall is soaking you, powerful pressure
jason is stuck to the mirrors, drive-bys and k.o.
100.000, 00 $, spent on a party night
you can start hating me, you better go skating

i am excessively ray ban and i love to fill mouths
enuff talking, let's go, for sure, 3:05 am
mercedes maybach and chauffeur, life is easy
i deal with twelve souls, soon to be trippled

all the kids are trippin', pearly white nights like frippin
i am writing on snowwhite cliffs, ocean full of glowing fishs
i got the magical pillow, you may fall in love with me
always hitting the center, mansions for your longing

Like the leaves falling gently down from its branches,
Glossily walking across the hallway,
Like a stream flowing downstream in a clear pattern,
Sensation of warmth in my heart,
Is all I feel about her,
The brightest star among the bright stars in the galaxy,
Is all I see at the deepest end of my vision at the thought of her,
Beneath the ocean of my thoughts,
I can figure her out,
Bright smile, white apple shaped eyes,
Calm composure, confident and tactical in nature,
Beautiful she stands out,
So beautiful she is; she blesses me with her unique beauty,
I look at the blue sky sometime and wonder,
“Where did she come from? All this time I have been in the search for the unknown”,
She has a face of a child,
She cares like a mother and stares at me like a kid,
I Love Her.

ectoplasmic, echoing

fibers vibrate delicately, glossily,
held with tension and
******* with pearls.

powders exploding casually from
plucked strings

she inspects, with milk fingers,
that night’s catch.

in sea-spun, spider silks,
there linger tiny ***** made of
star sand, composing tiny symphonies,
bellies dragging ‘cross cornfields,
scratching still silhouettes,
notes in Solfeggio:
ink-black eighth notes
sprawling softly on
measured bars.

the chorus of silent whispers
crescendos and crashes down,
splashing salty poolwater
on silk screen paper.

damply, she lets spools spill
from her cream fingers,
inspecting knots in which
cracked fragments of silver passages
flutter.

one is plucked abrasively,
and it melts into her *******,
threatening spillage from
finger creases like hot mercury.

one gleams and she tentatively,
reflexively presses it with her pointer,
prodding it before she is
breathed in in in in and
suctioned through.

what does this passage speak?

charming crickets
flaky knees rubbed

the reverberation of hums
explodes in little hearts,
windowpanes
smashing and shattering,
billions of glistening pieces
embedded in tiny lungs,
orbiting galactically
like bellicose comets.

a hair stands up
and she breathes in,
one huge breath.

honey coats her lungs,
quick as lavender,
and
the bluntness of her teeth
deny endlessly the soft,
glowing warmth spreading
through her veins like liquid gold.

cocoa in her breath and
dusty icicles in her lashes

it was a tremendously satisfying catch,
that night’s catch.