She brought comfort,
The few minutes granted by the press of the snooze button.
The shutter of eye lids reaching the corner of rem.
Choosing instead to sleep rather than face the reality of being away from her.
The hesitation of opening eyes, a morbid reality.
Waking up, coming to the realization that the only perk life has is when your truly unconscious.
Lost in a soft dream. Inhabiting a space somewhere in time that feels like eternity.
An ethereal experience. Filling my lungs in a universe filled with her.
A place containing a medium that dilates pupils behind closed eyes.
Fearing that any moment might be the last.
A unexplainable language, depicted as a snore. The circulation of bliss.
Smiling in a state of sleep.
Interrupted by the sound of an alarm, signifying that our time will be cut short.
Annoyed by the sound of reality blaring it's alarm.
Half opened eyes feeling around to silence the light of a phone.
Modernized alarm. Made convent.
Lost in the sheets.
All made possible by the 10 minute break of the snooze button.
Picking back up were we left off, for 10 long minutes that seem like a lifetime.
All thanks to the press of a snooze button

Tap, tap, tap on your little device
Do you wish to hear my insightful advice?
Look up, not down
Take a walk into town.
Throw your phone away,
you won't need it today.
Appreciate the yellows, greens, and blues
Mother Nature won't mind if you use her bed for a snooze.
Tap, tap, tap on your useless device
You ought to hear my insightful advice.
Stop damaging your eyes
There's a much bigger prize.
Be wholly alive and tough,
You'll be dead soon enough.

I was packing some snus
when I got up from a snooze
to put a ****
In a boiling vat of hotdog juice.

She was screaming and yelling
as I poured in the salt
and the cops busted my door
as my meal came to a halt.

I said "whats the rush?"
He said "***** hush"
As he sipped very angrily
at his watermelon slush.

I am black
yes very black
so they put me in the back
of their ****** cop van.

I went to jail again
For trying to cook a ****
in a boiling vat of hotdog juice
as I watched espn.

I got out of jail
Cause my drug money was bail
went back home
to see a fresh cooked **** in my garbage pail.

I was so happy
that I took a break to fappy
on my nice leather couch
while my girlfriend was napping.

Today was a good day.
Ice cube agreed.
I smoked all of my ****
and gave into my greed.

***** don't **** my vibe.

I was born on February twenty-third
I was told by my mother that I'm a Pisces
I weigh one hundred twenty-five pounds
I'm five foot eight
And a half.

I have watches and sweaters and things to keep me warm and know when to be home to call my grandmother
I have blankets to tell me nice things
and curtains to keep the branches of my neighbors from entering my room but they don't mind.
They hate the feeling of glass
Even with the Sun piercing their every pane and the Moon blaming them for not being as bright.
The trees whistle through my curtains anyway but I don't mind, I'm a good neighbor
They think I'm a good neighbor.
I block them out to hold tight the thoughts of them just being there.

I have shelves to hold my things the things I hope to last forever but the very same things that will only last a moment.
I try to take care to my alarm clock by not pressing the snooze button
It stiffens my blankets and pushes the branches from my curtains

I'm still learning how to whisper even though...
Even though I don't want anyone to hear me breathe.
I'm afraid of spiders
I'm afraid of the branches waking me up from my 2am turnings
I'm afraid of my caffeine-run smile.
But you make me mesmerize into your eyes and I realize I'm not afraid of waking up or the threads of my sweaters unravelling or my blankets insulting me I'm afraid of what my eyes will do when I wake up and when all I have are threads and my blankets are no longer trying to keep my fingers and toes warm
You remind me of how I'm afraid of not being able to hold my sweater threads
You remind me I'm afraid of how my blankets aren't even able to keep themselves warm.

What will my curtains do without any branches to hold there
What will my blankets ever warm up
They'll be begging for me to light candles but I'll be struggling to find any matches
My battery set of eyes will make me hit the snooze button and the dust will gather on the tip of my finger so I have to wipe it on my blankets.

Hi.
My name is Paul.
I enjoy books and stars and eggs.
I have shaky knees for a girl who likes folded blankets and boxes of things from a shelf
My hobbies include pressing the snooze button lighting matches with no intent and skipping over the terms and conditions.
I stand behind my curtains to hide from my metaphors
And my mother never told me to find an Aquarius to swim in.
I don't have any fins but I do have hands which have fingers who haven't been warmed up in a long time but I know that I can muster enough strength to hold onto your hand just to walk around the block to buy a carton of eggs.
My hands aren't really able to do anything else
except pressing the snooze button and lighting a match for a few seconds of warmth
for only a few fingers
but those are just enough to open my curtains
and fold my blankets.
Those are just enough to press play on our nights away from the sound of a distant wind.
The sound our hearts can make are louder than any whisper I cannot produce
or any crack of an eggshell
or any trinket falling off the shelf and onto our pillow.

Alarm clock
We are laying together on the floor
talking about stuff, and I try to tell you
but someone walks in the room
and then you look at me and say
"Is this one of those conversations where you tell me how much you like me"? and I say yes
I place my hand over my chest and say
"I have been alone in here for 10 years"
snooze button
We lay in bed together
with your body pressing against mine
Your sleep is so restless but I just lay there
imagining that i'm looking up at the stars
deep in thought and wide awake
I can't seem to fall asleep, even in my own dream
sadly contemplating eternity
i want to build your dreams but you put me at odds with myself
and my responsibilities
snooze button
I'm beginning to lose focus
the world is falling apart
My thoughts are confusing me
Alarm clock*
My wife nudges me and I sit up
Am I really awake?

this will make sense in the end, or at least along the way... a modern version of the Ruben's judgement of Paris, although if you watch the debate, the mediator already insinuates the "confusion": to my left or to my right, ha ha, left to right, right to left, 1st 3rd 2nd... that's putting it mildly, if i were Paris i'd have given the apple of knowing to Hera, queen of the goddesses... naomi wolf... beauty is in the eye of the beholder... and your phallus in the hand of... mhmm... softer than the flesh of an oyster at the end of the day... they did say once in times just after Pericles: make my inner as beautiful as my outer, and my outer as beautiful as my inner... then take art as not representing images: or the "shallow" arguments... any man would have given the apple to the intellectual Aphrodite (karen straughan)... we all know that antigone darling is Athena: who speaks so little you start to equate wisdom to be a distant synonym of needing courage to engage with a plebiscite crowd... oh don't give that prize to her: she'll probably tongue-tie herself and will never be able to speak into a microphone, the intellectual Aphrodite knows all too well the conundrum... it's the cougar attired in crimson that fuels the whole debate... she doesn't need to have inner beauty, you phallus is already shouting 'sir! yes sir!' at the drill sergeant anyways... you take Aphrodite as a paradoxical beauty, namely that of long conversations and not long interludes of ******* and baking cookies... you'll leave Aphrodite confused... i once heard an English motto: don't take for a wife a woman that's too attractive... that wasn't intended to be within the bias of intellect, i mean a beautiful woman within the bias of being able to manage a harem of 72 male virgins... well **** yeah, artists leave clues, whether knowing or unknowing... they're working from triangles, poets end up writing from Δ, they obscure textures and antonyms of what appears to be monochromatic, we say: red, crimson, burgundy in x-ray confines... the point being: there's no intellectual debate to be had with someone representative metaphorically or not of Hera... you can't have a Parisian fashion week catwalk where you find dehydrated beauty on the outside and an anorexic ego on the inside... what you find in Hera is a volume (voluptuousness) on the inside, within which there's a leech libido that transgresses all demands for intellect... unless it's pistons-well-oiled orientated... please, read some Marquis... if you get an ******* having read a few of his works: you're qualified - or as i like to call it: neo-classical *******... ever masturbated over Bronzino's Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time? well, if you haven't i guess **** ******* and gang-banging is your outlet: mine are pictures of Aria Giovanni and Chloe Vevraire (googlewhack no. 3!): Chloe Vevrier... but if you're never done the Odysseus pokes fun at Polyphemus... yep: the ghost hand: nobody!


you know, you can cram a lot into a 30 hour "day",
which results in the complete erosion
for the capacity to dream afterwards,
to actually work from the unconscious and create
a subconscious medium vector that connects
to points of consciousness: 30+ hours awake,
however many hours asleep, and then awake again
for another 30+ "day" to digest...
the classical definition of the subconscious, in theory,
is that you get plenty of sleep,
and it's a bit like that schematic A x B (algebraic)
A knows x     and B knows x...
   something mutual acknowledgment
via the same schematic but
A knows x, B knows x,
A knows that B knows x,
A knows that B knows that A knows x,
   which is all very Aristotelian to be frank,
it's this hyperlogic of having to acquire
great technological feats and reduce such
complexities to cat-videos on the internet as
the Egyptian partake in the genius that actually
made it possible... the slogan goes
Moses, you fool! said Nefertiti...
    so B knows x and knows that A knows x
and knows that A knows that B knows x
and B knows it's not necessarily anywhere
alphabetically less, even though the French said
a, b, c... which was very imperial of them,
that's the imperial version of what the mathematical
imperialism proved with the English inches, miles
and furlongs... but in this French case of imperialism
it wasn't a e i o u, b c d f g h j...
            that's what 30 hours awake does to you,
you wouldn't think of alcohol as a party drink,
a social barrier deconstruct... after 30 hours
you're hoping to meet Vladimir Klitschko on your
way to bed... aye pleasing Cossack, give us a
smacker goodnight... one glove it filled with
whiskey, the other with naproxen and amitriptyline...
boom! k.o. snooze, baby:
you gotta love buddhist honesty...
at least you get to see the bright side of life...
  and if people start thinking that Kant was the harbinger
of ill fate... you obviously haven't met a necromancer...
it was only von Kleist for ****'s sake!
       and he had the American option of a suicide
pact with a terminally ill woman and a bullet from
a pistol in a ditch... you can't get more romantic than that...
and there i was, mid-afternoon, having done a few of
the household chores: the washing, the ironing and
cooking a two-course meal while my mother did
the taxes (seems only mothers understand their sons
these days... women my age?
   ever see David Attenborough describe Emperor
penguins? money was invented for women,
because it brokered the end of the brotherhood of man,
we became famished by feminine needs
and have reduced inherent sports in us (hunting)
to sledgehammer bashing entertainment...
i'm the "drunk" that would rather watch ten hours
worth of ping-pong that tennis...
    i don't know why they resurrect the Olympics
every four years, have a **** coverage of it anyway
and then go back to that Glaswegian diet
of deep-fried pizza and haggis... and i hope to never know,
maybe Sepp Blatter knows...
but that's 30 hours of being awake, and only not
able to relax, by writing...
                 you wouldn't see this sort of "abuse" of
alcohol anywhere in the world...
the Soviet sleep experiment is actually not that silly...
too much sleep can also make you feel the minutes
upon your wake as if you've been stung by a bee...
three of my all time favourite songs?
the stone roses'* i wanna be adored,
    chromatics' cherry,
and finally: i can be forgiven for having missed this,
i got into them seriously with the album aufheben
and didn't really move anywhere else,
the dandy warhol effect got me...
but this song out of obscurity, 20th century technology
translated into mp3 and then onto c.d. and then
back into mp3... a song from an album that doesn't
even appear on their discography...
the brian jonestown massacre's pol ***'s pleasure penthouse,
the song in question? fingertips.
so there's that three...
      but **** on me, i half expected android (2015)
to be like ex_machina (whatever year that was)...
same topic... what the difference between android
cyborg and robot?
                                  aren't robots the proper a.i.?
as in: in production, the thing that's not hand-crafted
is artificially crafted, because it is crafted to a large yield
of a product? isn't that so? i can't distinguish (as of yet)
the difference between android and cyborg, i guess
as a Latin man (a - z user) i have to condescend the Grecian
pompousness of demeaning Hebrews (original anti-semitism
originated in Greece, not Rome, the Romans gave
the Jews not elaborate architectural schemes to abide by
in honour of Octavian, but the supposed pride in Greek
thought, undermined what later science would provide
a Latin man with, given the translation of יחֵוָחֵ,
indeed variables... i once wrote a piece about
the two Adams... namely how אָ (alef)
and עַ (ayin) are prominent letters among consonants,
but no vowel kindred of Eve is equal...
or how Eve is covered in both mainstream Islam
and orthodox Judaism... and Christianity is
a Rastafarian dream for more jerky reggae reggae...
they never sing down with Rome, judgement upon
Rome... they always sing about Babylon...
well, polytheistic or poly-schismatic,
it's all Hindu from hereon in - apart from that
here's a very tiny heresy... is that yod he vav he
or is it yod he vav het?
         there is a difference, afterall:
he (ה)        and het (חֵ) obviously differ... oh!
xet!                   god this garden is a mess,
               i guess the fruit of knowing good from evil
was intended to say: till the land, deforest,
learn agriculture... that's good, the **** you do to each
other... well: that's hardly a tonne of grain...
but they so alike though, even when you apply a noun
to these two symbols!
  could have said he xet but instead it's known as he het:
no wonder the Hittites came along for a curious look...
mind you, had not a prominent Roman, a centurion,
asked for help... we'd be prudish in runic from the northern
invaders... so thankfully no one within the Roman confines
of encoding sounds didn't have the bright spark idea
of looking at the very tiny little island of Israel and that
four lettered word and how it became known
to say o = omicron, ε = epsilon and γ = gamma,
   and cutting those things apart leaving only letter
having done plastic surgery on the noun that denotes the
letter that's denoted by the symbol, rearranged it
and got the idea of εγo: ****** marvellous!
- this is not brian pallenberg's story about the pleasure
penthouse album...
but you know what really got me in those 30 hours:
day, night, day, night: a NHLF debate between
naomi wolf, karen straughan & antigone darling,
the part where karen makes the point that
once upon a time men who beat their wives
in Scotland were publicly whipped (dhaal,
straugan), and if they were beaten-up instead by
their wives, a plebiscite of good-wishers would turn up
at the house and apply the Freudian theory of
a castration to the man, bang pots and pans,
and then in public display him having to ride on a
donkey backwards, having to hold the donkey's tail
for stability...
     see that woman in red in that debate? a true political
man-eating beast of ***** readied in atom bomb
explosions... the one next to her isn't wearing any tights...
unconsciously you're thinking: i like her french freestyle
of not having shaved her legs... the smart one is wearing
jeans and she looks oh so desperate to get out...
    the discussion doesn't even enter the realm of ideas...
hen-picking is discussed... all poetry ascribed to language
is gone... is it politically correct to ascribe the sexuality
of female chickens with the word hen to women?
behind me in Blackpool stag-dos (dos? no does...
there isn't even a ******* spelling for that phrase...
hen-nights and the inflatable Juan)...
well obviously your mind is working out why you'd
**** the middle 'un right away... she doesn't say divorcee
which is so "unsexy" but say she's a mum twice,
a mum, a single mum... polly wants a *******...
her address is new york city? ******! i'm heading there,
right now! can a white guy use urban colloquial
in the suburbs on a piece of pixel paper, which he claims
is mere the cartesian extension of his thought
and disinterest in rhetorical skills? i hope so...
it's not like herr adolf wrote a disclaimer saying:
read this or a thousand volts up your ****!
that really was a constipated debate, plus the red was all
provocateur and peppered with "you know",
   and "i know absolutely nothing": there were no ideas
in the debate! whenever there was a chance to debate
ideas, the debate turned into a debated about words,
and what words to use: to simply brush aside any clinching
to a idea-debate... perhaps because feminism is
an ideology without any coherency of ideas, as stated
from the debate: a coherency of wording: and that better
be hen = an asexual chicken, rooster = an asexual chicken...
it's still a chicken kiev at the end of the day.
now? i might squeeze in another poem...
     but it would still be great to get any kind of analysis
comparing the movie android and ex_machina...
the only problem would be: both creators are men...
so that's gender-stereotyping already...
but hell! she gets to build a buggie that she directs with
a laser pen... so that's nice...
but i'd love a discussion on these two films,
given that the music in both films is very oomph!
thriller genre always had better music than horror...
horror music is too romantic... thriller music?
***** back-stabbing you whenever you think you're
going to get a comfortable 10 minute slot...
but it's there... aside from both robotic creators being male...
woman: ex_machina - out of the machinery of man
          ergo? deus, or woman as...
i actually have a problem with the word android...
the woman is a factor of playing the two men against
each other... the android actually find a mechanical
part of himself in the way the "human" talks to the woman,
while the "android" is prejudiced against the rigidity
of his ****** movement: unlike the "human" having
an intellectual rigidity... the woman plays the two against
each other... well, 30 hours no sleep...
  i'm doing the helter-skelter trying to throw ideas
by way of remembering the actual plot of the film...
this obviously adds nothing to the discussion:
meaning i probably gave away a "spoiler" -
but more the point, i need a refill and some fresh air
to breath, having farted into a leather chair for the past
hour.

It’s the hour before traffic,
around that time when the paperboys
sniff, all of them rubbing their noses on sleeves.

The smog is fowl,
a stray dog howls
orange explosions of bitter pain
through which the sun battles to make a comeback.

Amber lights
flash
right of way
for
whoever’s driving home from the pub,
whoever’s daft enough to face the day
that way.

The last ******* packs her bag,
stubs out her ***
and zips her **** shut,
‘A fat cow like me can only wait for so long.’

Soon the sky is Usual Blue,
discoloured by security swipes,
fake handshakes,
and Columbia’s finest

coffee-stained
coffee shop waiters
who sell the finest sugar cube coke
to those hardworking folk
who keep our nation ticking,

and tocking –
the digital clock,
my rooster with the fraudulent eyes,
tells me it’s time to let the snooze button go.

If I feel tomorrow like I feel today,
I'll try again Anyway
What's to be but what's to lose,
There's too much haze, too much snooze,
I sleep it off,
This heavy cloud,
The break of dawn. I win.
Another day another light,
Another date another sin.
If I can feel tomorrow this sad abyss
I might just die of lonesomeness...

An X-ray  of ******* love

They were so soft.
The hands that took control and made the pace
Of the heart that race
Within the mess of a chest
That bravado expels

It was so open.
That mind that reduced his fears Induced tears
Used to indulged his idol chatter
Hitting my wordy pitches
Like a home run "Hey Batter Batter!!"

It felt so right
The places that exposed his **** faces
Things that spread, squeezed, and joy in **** tasting
An inserted pleasure burrowed deep from throat to waisted
Passed out drunk on love lust and **** filled vases

The peak was so brilliant
Joy ride till they collide out of control out of their minds
Writing vandalism like an equations broadside
"E=U & I" , could hate you in this day and time
But starve till withered away the day she ever said goodbye

The splash was so divine
Touched by her personal heaven
An angel as lucky like the # 11
He could never pretend or fake being insatiable.
The main source of his complexity

The view was so vast
A world of flat boring land waiting to be filled
Brought to life by their skills and the pursuit of a thrill
Would feel beheaded if ever they stood still
Feeding their frenzy and bending alls will (to their own)

The potency was such a rush
Too much oh so much, but oh so desired
Craving how much she'd  say " it's you I admire"
Toiling with brow to his navel, igniting the fire
The long kiss goodnight, made the morning quench of the sun a joy to the heart like her sweet face and loving
The monument by which praise and parade of her exploited flesh bare the quill to write paradise that he is inspired

The dream is much too real
While they watch the world turn and the masses conform
We struggle against the tide and tread the waves of the pass they morn
A lottery, marathon, playground, where many have entered her but only one can win the title of "Adored"

The now is not so much of then
They were them sometimes Every now and again engaged in moments when
Them they see and believe "you and me can be...."

But time sprints, and they limp, slower every aging step
Till times out of view and they're  out of breath
Bed bound but not the expected intent
For one is most attentive while the other lay mostly spent
But embraced they lay unchanged in any way
Still in love and still insane
Crazy for each others bane
Awake for the moon, and snooze through the rain
Gentle dreams of forbidden entry, daily flirt but never stray
Away, stay, away, plead for a day. Agreed then rinse, repeat
A treat for the sweet thoughts of the "use to be" but enjoyable right here, right now, someday is today

-Xin-

Dear snooze button,
You are the devil.

The alarm woke me up
Constant beeping by my head
It just wont shut up
But I think I'll stay in bed

There's a snooze button for a reason
and that reason today is me
I'll try to be gentle nextime Mr Snooze
And not hit you so forcefully.

My bed is my kingdom the scorching sun seiges
My curtains' my fortification's already breached
I admit my defeat and go see whats in the fridge

I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
thankfully not in a medical way
i don't have to pop pills everyday
to keep an essence of danger under control
and to stop my head doing backward flips and forward rolls
to curtail bad thoughts and contain OCD
wake up and think "what's happening to me?"
but sometimes i'm full of mazey bomb blasts
and crazy contrasts,
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
I say work i'm not even gonna give 50% percent never mind double
but i'll stay just below the warning threshold so i don't really get in trouble,
i do see my sick days as extra days of annual leave
but my bums on my seat most of the year and at least one Eve.
I'm always ducking and diving, i hide and they seek,
but i hit my targets every week.
They can say put down your pens,
strip your pencils of lead,
you can't stop me writing in my head
But you'll sometimes dictate what time i go to bed.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
Nearly every road i walk down i've got a ***** cat friend
there meowing never drives me round the bend
but if me owing then just a letter i'll send.
I’ll rescue  spiders from the bath, without any exception,
But I’ll clean their webs and evict them when I have a house inspection.
Giving up pork, on a parity with pigges at last
But then i broke my faste with bacon for breakfast
Watching lambs a gamboling there frolicking is fab,
but i'll see you on a plate later if i'm craving a kebab.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
Money and the capitalist structure baffles, no thanks, no ta
but before i go out a quick sub off Ma and Pa.
I'll pay for a taxi, i don't care about the amount,
while checking fervently the statement from my bank account.
Cash cannot be eaten it just gets you into Eton
but i'll rifle through my pockets for pennies to get an eat on
i don't adore you, i'll say your the means to an end
but then i spend some more and ask for a lend.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
I'll say anarchy  is everywhere, petition and abstain
then  read in the late edition who i think should take the reins.  
I scream smash the system without any regrets
but then start stubbing out where they deem no cigarettes.
I'll say **** big business they are always looting tons
while cutting out Asda coupons to get the soup with croutons.
i'll say **** materialism, to that i am adverse,
"ohh if you want to get me some trainers Mum can you make em Converse? "
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
One Saturday i found it hard to move
crying out for water, more than needing food,
stomach emptier than the packets in my pockets
Early winter scribble
spoiled by the ripple of rain,
deadened and dull
on a precious day,
the time I crave
passes through a husk
full of caves.
Each inhabitant curses
and burns
the stagnant soil under their feet,
I want something to eat.
I need to drink.
The cold slab of sink
lures flesh to rest,
unsatisfied
with retched offerings
flung from a scorched earth
so next Friday, a few beers and l I’ll hit the hay
Ten beers later, where’s the MDMA?
And my staunch resolutions go up my nose
Chatting through the night, striking a pose,
Music accentuated, stars sparkling hard
World’s discussed in magic back yards,
Focused and fraught in tumultuous thought
Ten cigs in an hour
An hours too short,
As the morning comes, I start feeling a mess
It slowly disintegrates the treasure in my chest,
Feelings of strength crumble to a feeble frame,
Spears in my head, WHOOPS I’VE DONE IT AGAIN.
You’ll stop this time, I curse and lecture,
Two bottles down next Friday etc etc,
I’m a schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember an uneventful Tuesday when i wasn't working
belly full of rice
and i saw you twice,
two times a day,
on a day in lieu,
time stood still,
smiling at you
i thought i'm gonna have to write about you,
so i park myself in a bar after a joint in Netto carpark
and start using words to build an arc
and if you you do wanna walk in two by two,
can i walk in with you?
Is it this green ride that's getting me high
or the regret i seen in the gleam of your eye
that as soon as we said hi we said bye,
as disappointed as the catcher when he dropped the rye.
If i may be so bold,
if you were cold
i wouldn't hail these stones
i'd pummel Jack Frost until he knows he's lost,
i'll leave all the lights on to hasten global warming
make Obama declare winter a season of mourning,
If you met an iceberg of Titanic  proportions
i'd cut through it quicker than the Ripper does back street abortions.
If you were in prism
i'd try to unrangle the science of triangles
so i could build you a pyramid with all the right angles,
my stomachs in knots;
the most tranquil of tangles.
Then i saw you get out of the lift
and i wanted to play you a rift
until you exposed your midriff
because you set me adrift from chains and shackles
my mind goes crazy and fills with cackles,
i crackle with lightning, my energy heightens
my heart tightens
and not cos of cholesterol
cos i think you're special
and celestial!
I got dreams from naught, my head feels taught,
i prised a lesson from your eyes,
love is the greatest prize.
But now that's gone, all things
pass evolution in transience
faces that were everything lost to balance
blue it merge
but seldom a residual surge
and your bark today was worst than your bite
it said something softly,
i sow the seeds for the sycamore trees
we can carve our names on next summer.
Under an endless stretching sky
you wrote you
and i wrote i,
the lights in our eyes don't lie
they are gateways to the suns inside,
our hearts couldn't hide from this brightening tide.
I'm a Schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember this guy from work, cooed to me
look at the **** on this page 3
he drooled over Nuts magazine like he belonged in a zoo
i bet he frequented strippers too.
He said seen this clip, it's ******* great,
it ad turn a couple of queers straight
it was these two twins with rouge lips being rude,
the way she chomped on her like food
and they defo loved it,there is  no doubt
it's just just ***** Eskimo ******* kissing snouts
and sharing with her sister the joy of getting licked out.
Wonder how they looked in the family car?
giggling about some exciting destination,
like all kids displaying a lack of patience,
“are we there yet” chorused with glee and duality,
dressed in the same clothes to ensure parity.
Ice cream for tea.
Maybe they might be way into drugs
or addled with addiction
lacking hugs
and sore from the friction.
Not liking the glare
feeling scared.
maybe?
He said nar they love it up them baby.
But then,
i have it
about 3 or 4 times a week
after the 5th time of hitting snooze,
or a heavy night on the *****,
or sometimes no beer,
even after a sonnet of Shakespeare
a sudden urge comes over me,
GET THE LAPTOP!
GET THE *******!
Then it's
Japanese teen lesbians spitting,
finger ******* wearing mittens,
****'s ******* Britions,
oap creampies
***** covered eyes
***** flicking,
extreme suction,
**** destruction,
Captain Birds Eye gobbing
Batman ******* Robin,
A ten inch plumber ******* in a kitchen sink drama
Robert de Niro unpeeling Bananarama
Marty doing the Doc
a gimped up Kirk whipping Spoc
Rita  ******* Norris
Gail licking Fizz
Sally doing Dev
and Kevin doing ki.............Kevin, get out of the room.
Back to
a **** doing a ******
a pre op pleasuring granny
two ***** one *****,
then i chuck my muck all over my tunic
flip over and continue reading The Female ******,
I'm a Schizophrenic Hypocrite,
i've gotta split.

Chlamydia, you grumpy cow!
You're twice as grumpy as Sarah the sow.
Half as happy as Jennifer hen,
But ten times better than all the men !

Chlamydia, Chlamydia,
we never will get rid of yer.
A fixture in the draughty barn,
giving us milk and a gossipy yarn.

Have some grass and Chrstmas cake,
have a snooze and then awake,
to a surprise picnic on your floor,
then you can be a grump once more.

My sadness gets up at 2:00 am
Then again at 4:00
And 5:30
And 6:45
Then 7:00am

After the snooze alarm goes off
My sadness wears concealer and mascara to make it
feel awake
and pretty

My sadness hides behind a joke, a smile, a laugh
My sadness is scared of my happiness, who
Stops by once in a while
but just for a quick hello

My sadness doesn’t show through the way
I pull myself together in the morning like nothing is wrong
Or when people ask “how are you?” And replies “I’m good!”
People don’t see my sadness in the stories I tell,
the schoolwork I do, the advice I give them for their problems

My sadness doesn’t show up like other’s sadness
It doesn’t hold its head down in the hallway,
or sleep in until 12, it doesn’t go days without eating,
and it doesn’t try to keep happiness in a locked door

No.

My sadness only shows through the poetry I write
The music behind my earbuds
The short stream of tears when the doors are
closed and the windows are open hoping that just one
small bit of happiness will come inside and stay for longer
than a joke, a laugh, a smile.

My sadness stays in the shower longer than usual,
gets angry a little too easily, and cries a little too much
when watching The Notebook.
It doesn’t look like sadness or walk like sadness or talk like sadness
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t sadness.

No.

You can’t see my sadness.
It doesn’t show like a person with a
broken leg and crutches
You don’t take one look at it and know that
It is crippled and broken down

No.

My sadness is like cancer
You don’t know it’s there until you strip me down
peel back the layers of my skin
to see that I’ve been breathing an air like smoke
that’s caused a growth in my lungs and heart so
that each breath I take, each drop of blood that flows
through my veins feels like a weight on my chest that
can only be lifted with you laying beside me and holding
me until I feel as light as a feather souring through the wind
after finally break free of its bird. Its burd-en.
The thing that’s been holding it down, keeping it from doing
the impossible. But, possibly you can’t lift that weight.
possibly it’s only me that can lift that weight.

Possibly it’s been me the whole time.
Possibly I am the one that kicks happiness out the door
When it stops by because I don’t see happiness
Without you here
But how dare I place the image of happiness
Only in your presence when happiness can fall
In from any joke, or laugh, or smile
And happiness can stay past the sunset
Because you can still see happiness when all you feel
Is the darkness
Happiness can come in when the door
Is bolted shut because happiness doesn’t
Ask if it can come over
Happiness waltzes right in, unannounced, but
Always welcome.
So the next time my sadness is sitting at the table
And we are having a cup of coffee,
And happiness runs through the door
I will show sadness the exit
And then turn to happiness and say “it is great to
See you, please stick around for a while.”
And later when it gets up to leave
I will grab it by the arm and hold
onto it tighter than you ever held me.

so uhm
this is awkward
....
i spent four months
writing poetry
about some ***
i've been sort of in love with
(hell, i dunno)
and then suddenly
that guy
who i proposed to
in a mall
with a
fuzzy
cat
collar
is looking pretty good
he wanted to hold my hand
tonight
well,
skye,
you snooze
you lose

If it doesn't snooze on ur phone,
it doesn't exist.
So, I can blather all through the night,
without worrying about being blocked from the list.

Why don't I wanna leave this place?
Why do I like it so much?
My mind wanders, and I start dreaming,
And no one seem to care as such.

It's all good mate, I am taking it easy,
My face has a distinct glow.
Only thing missing is a random conversation (with u),
And perhaps a bottle of Merlot!!!!

Twilight silhouettes.
An evening cigarette, up on deck.
The sun sets - on the far side of the cliff -
While the boat
Dips and lift, dips and lifts.
Golden brown all around legs returning
A golden sun is burning out
Turning down the volume on the sky
Now the whiteness of the day seeps through
Our sand-entrenched shoes and is swallowed
By the vastness of the wine-dark sea.
Our salt-encrusted shoulders have rolled no boulders
To touch the sun at noon
Long afternoons through hazy pastel views
Till the day’s foaming sea breaks
Upon the hilly hooves of Spanish rocks.
Meanwhile, the spine of a sleeping giant
Lies in a hazy snooze,
Its camel back runs grey to black
Across the flat horizon. Pupils widen
As the semi circle of gold is swallowed whole
The velvet sea rolls gently for Poseidon.

Loyalty
They talk about loyalty,
Like it’s a fantasy,
They talk about loyalty,
But have no clue, what it means.

They talk about equality,
Like it’s currently happening,
They talk about democracy,
But have no clue, what it means.

Glocks aimed at cops,
Glocks aimed back at someone’s pop,
Many lives have been lost over Gaup.
Gaup that buys whips and thots.
All got something to prove,
But to who?
All got something to lose,
What will you choose?
If money equal power,
Than why is the taste so sour?
After all the castles and ivory towers.
You’re left a lonely dragon like bowser.
Loyalty tell me what it means to me?
To hang with royalty,
Or help those in poverty.
The place I used to be.
Helping people like me.
That society has coated with a cloak of invisibility.
Because they can’t stand minorities.
And that’s why we can’t stand authorities.
A toxic cycle that stems from a different ideology.
Instead of equality,
We have uniformity,
Instead of democracy,
We have white supremacy.
Instead of loyalty,
We have hypocrisy.

They talk about loyalty,
Like it’s a fantasy,
They talk about loyalty,
But have no clue, what it means.

They talk about equality,
Like it’s currently happening,
They talk about democracy,
But have no clue, what it means.


Too many broken promises,
I feel like James Sie,
Losing all his cabbages.
But since we are deemed as savages,
All the damages attributed,
Are treated as shenanigans,
Instead of answering calls to action,
We have a government completely dumbfounded.
Instead of compassion,
We are harassed and hounded.
We still got all lot of work to do.
And I hope one day we’ll have a breakthrough!
For we all got something to prove?
But to who? Maybe for me or for you!
All got something to lose,
If we never take the time to put on another’s shoe.
So, what will you choose?
Will you help light the fuse?
Or treat this issue like your alarm clock,
And put in on snooze?
Who will you be loyal to?
Your heart? Or to your privilege?
Hmm…

They talk about loyalty,
Like it’s a fantasy,
They talk about loyalty,
But have no clue, what it means.

They talk about equality,
Like it’s currently happening,
They talk about democracy,
But have no clue, what it means.

I left my glasses at home
So i cant see ur *******
We need to slow down
The incredible speed we r moving
When we r just standing still
But
stopping is not an option
I left my glasses off
So i cant see ur *******
Written in a text
Cuz u cant face me to set it straight
Cuz ur lines r twisted
And story is fake
I had to leave my glasses at home
So i could deny ur regret
Hit snooze on ur alarming *******
U dont get
To have cake and eat it too
Who lied to u
At least it wasnt me
But... u.... ur just a story
Ur made up
We wont make up
Theres no maybe written in the cards
Maybe u should thank ur lucky stars
For me
But now i left my glasses at home
So i cant see you
And the ******* u came thru wit
And u laugh and its the worst
Funny how ur the clown
And all the jokes r all ur words

Your life is valuable.
Your attention is too.
So don't be casual
About what you give it to.
Be purposely picky
With what you choose.
Each option is really
Putting all else on snooze.

It's all coming
the world
responsibilities
it's full of it.

It's all coming
the pressure
your life
make something of it.

It's all coming
stress and worries
pain and fear
and it's okay.
You know you have to go through it.
You know there is no other way.
And it's worth it - you know that too.

It's all coming
but right now it's all still far away
right now you get to rest.
So hit the button
and snooze.

You were born on a cusp.
friends on the other side
couldn't decide,
Scorpio or Libra.
You yourself,
as constant as the tides.

A tenth sign ram
was blessed to cross
your lovely path
and the ram learned:

Short curly hair
pinned back reveal
asiatic eyes.
As you pass by and by
Time and time hearts race

Chicken salad sandwich,
its moist mayonnaise
is never as delicious
without a pickle.

Grubhub.
No, Scrubhub.
Too content to leave the room.
Yummy Rummy,
food in our tummy.
forever.

Broth, cheese and wine.
Mushrooms and time.
If ever I tasted love,
it was shared with me,
in a recipe.

Sound opinion in scores.
Royal, like the Tenenbaums.
Bill Murray fantastic.
Pink Moon over and over and over.
Divide that by nine.

And now I know,
almost as well as you,
how good Goodfellas is,
even after the tenth time.

Early morning awakenings or
snooze again and again and again.
Paralyzed in a dream or
awoken with a scream,
we tried a routine:

Once parts of a team,
a memory faster than it seemed.
Ran for miles.

A boy and girl in the hall,
amongst the boys and girls
in the hall.
Digital regulars in ecstasy.
Wake next to you a daydreamer.

So, when life gets hard,
and you're feeling down,
don't be so glum,
ignore your doubts,
don't feel left out,
I'll be there for you,
when you need me to.

you said you woke but you keep hitting snooze
why you get your mind from television news
colors come in more than just two hues
things are different from different views
in the whole, we are only drops of dues
you said you woke but you keep hitting snooze

The sunrise greets the morning dew,
to paint the sky with a vibrant hue.
The last night has passed and a new days has come,
advertised perfectly by a morning’s sun.
Alarm clock birds hold no button to “snooze,”
nothing left from yesterday, so now nothing left to lose.
Go hesitantly wipe the sleep from your eyes,
and politely greet the oncoming sunrise.

The blissful sunset that once held the night,
sped off within our starry eyes so fast.
The brilliant, blinding, shining light,
tragically drifted off, lost in the past.
It separates the long days from the glorious dreams,
and divides them into hostile, opposing teams.
A sunrise and it’s rays can always carry hope,
that maybe one day it’s possible to move on.
Either surprise fairy tale, or tasteless joke,
maybe my sense of humour is just somewhat wrong.

So remember to always bless a sunrise,
but never, ever more than a sunset.
Both light up the passing, fading skies,
that cover our shaking regret.
At night, we all strive only to peacefully sleep,
to **** the hours before the sun makes horizon’s leap.

I’d worked late the previous night,
programing applications.
When the alarm went off at four A.M.
I hit snooze- no hesitation.
Eventually my feet found floor,
I stumbled to the shower.
A routine usually done in ten
took me a half an hour.
I was running up the platform steps
but my train just left the station.
Great, I will be late for sure,
I thought, in consternation.
At least the day was perfect,
Warm and clear, no threat of rain.
I fished and found my ticket
and took the next westbound train.
The ”E” was fairly crowded
When I boarded it at Penn
I’d missed the first and I was glad
Another quickly came.
Beneath the streets of Gotham
The subway lurched downtown.
Above all hell was breaking loose
as two large planes were down.
I climbed the stairs up to the street
And entered the inferno
The sky now black from billowing smoke
Bright day turning nocturnal.

A Seven thirty Seven’s wheel-
I heard a woman screaming
I saw a body at my feet
Were we at war or was I dreaming?
I stared up at my window-
where I worked the night before.
Where flames and smoke leapt to the sky-
where my co workers were no more.
They’re jumping, someone shouted
I saw black specks launch from on high.
Better to die upon the street
Than to suffocate or fry.

I turn and ran, I am ashamed.
No Hero’s tale to tell.
I was a safe way away
when the first tower fell.

Had I not hit the button
or dawdled in the shower.
Had I caught my usual train
I’d be dead in the tower.

This is my shame and burden
To live when others died.
Preserved by fate and circumstance
From terror from the sky.

I think I'll go for 
A disco nap
A nap inside a disco?!
you wonder.
No it's just a little 
afternoon snooze 
to avert the rising 
tide of blues
And put my dizzy 
thoughts asunder.

A little period of rest
will I hope
bring out my best 
allow my mind to 
float and dream
of fairytales 
And seas that gleam

And when I wake
at a time that suits
I'll be refreshed 
Ready to disco
In ***** boots!

Reaching a goal, victory in sight.
To be up on that stage, oh what a delight.
Years of hard work coming to fruition.
Now it's time to start paying back tuition.

True character formed, wisdom and knowledge.
Let me tell you what I learned in college.
Forget the status quo, this is all about you
Get up off your couch and create something new.

Success takes hard work, that's not news.
Remember that when you hit the snooze.
So step up your game, get right to action.
Put in the work to find satisfaction.