****...

It's funny how consecutive letters can bring about inspiration

(I've learned to balance my concentration during this poetic intrapersonal conversation)

its been a minute since I've had my feelings in it

(this **** is never-ending so there is no end to begin it)

I got time in my pocket and there is no better place to spend it

than here on this mic...

don't ask me how I am doing

because I am not fine

so I continue to work through my pain as I cry through my rhymes

and I hate it and love it at the same time

****** me off, yet excites me so

its chocolate covered honey baked ham

served with raw egg yolks

a perfect-disconcerted measure of pleasure and pain

but I can't have the sweet without the salt

cuz it wouldn't taste the same

and the bitter-after taste of its reminder would not be there to sustain

the hard earned lessons that are now burned into the brain

casting these sad images of this life like a video on repeat

and I can't run from my reality no matter how fast I move my feet in retreat

So I use my spoken words to inhale its life into my lungs

I open my heart and tune my ear to the song that is being sung

inside me (God-- can you hear it?!)

This birthing of my desire so rare; so hot that its cooling to the touch

I love how I am powerless to it-- my appetite insatiable and can never get enough

This thing is a love affair....

I don't think I ever loved something so hard that was so physically intangible

but living without Word is most assuredly unmanageable

wanting to abandon it all to be with it is a thought purely fanciful

but its better than living here in this world without feeling -- with out its Love

Word to me you're so healing-- gives me that feeling that keeps me reeling like no one on earth ever has
Lost in my pages left to secure and blanket me

I am comforted by your presence

but the correct combination of itself can be found

unlike the lips of the utterer...

Bones need not to be ashamed when under
florid light’s strict surveillance.

Take this as advantage. This means invitation.
Dragged you into a terrible work of a labyrinth,

anesthetizing your execution, your critical art
you had secretly loved and loathed –

Sensing out a pattern, your vision as tour:
we see nothing but wreckage, heed nothing but lassitude,

and when their faultless gravities fall
upon, let them interrupt us. When we are broken,

repair with beauty all who elude us everywhere:
introduce them kintsugi – all these years

of specious encounters: I have marks to prove,
telling like an alphabet, scattered like punctuation.

Bones need not their love for understanding.
When spread on a territory, virulent like a makeshift

field effect: necessary when transcribed what the utterer
resembles an intone of a blatant present: you too mirror

my figure. Shatter it when you are done with.

Bottom of the stack,
first shall be last

each line has the potential to lead on, read on

confer, compare parallel ports pulsing in
synchronisity

goodness knows wrong ain't ever right,
nevermind whys and hows when
nows calling you by kind
ask attention
still

reader
read this, you are the few,
other than me, I know you allone,
Dear Reader, whose name you alone
may now know

in your one
integrated, tooled-up, read-up, curious
and curioser
self.
---
words hold whole thoughts in harness,
letters let them live,
writers make them work,

poets pay them mind to find reason and
metre in the spiral of knowing
growing steadily meeker
as peacemakers take

the call as op
portunate,
fortunate. Good for goodness sake and
no measurer yet devised,
no witty invention,

can make you listen to patterns
scattered in the noise,

still,
time keeps its steady pace, irreversible.

all parallel paths cross mine, eventual.

vente vide vince but (vente was the size
of my coffee, I think) I think,

history waves a banner, see

it says many wrongs
did not come
past last lie believer ceiving a source

of knowns unknown re

making, fect per effect ual, right,

the basic idea.
You have need of patience,

curios and kachina songs and liter
ary urges from words

once stuffed with meaning, right, like
each word is a clay jar,
a vessel for a thought spoken right,

as my servant, my re
feree confounding my accuser for ever,

in a word. Hide and watch, or sing and shout.

The basic idea claims any word may be redeemed,
but the utterer must give account for every idle word.

The house-dweller,
the non-nomad, who labors,
who efforts,
who sweats and frets and fusses over seed
sown in history
must first partake the fruit.
Not ever must an idle word be

let alone to fester in rot for lack of
a taster to test the truth,
a darer
of daemonic algorythms pulling

the very air, air, atmostfear away oh,

see,
the arctic ice is adapted to by the
basic idea that things survive
as life lives, within the
field named
HIggs,
worms hold out promises

see,
the arctic ice is the scab being
ingested slowww glacial slow, soon

weather will find the pattern.

All things work right,
nothing works wrong.

--
Lemme say,
for a while, as defined by mortals,

we taught. We words took no other pose,
played no role save to hold
ideas taken by men to serve a human plan.

'Sup.
That quest ion. How ahye? serves as well, but

Sup says more. What is up? op
positive to down, related to spins named
charming and strange for reason

known to a very few.

what does the utterer give to the prayer?

Engulfed in imagination
Vision of health, wealth
I did not see myself foolish enough not to imagine me wise
Picturing the journey in my mind
Physically enduring the requisists of reality
Still in my mentality
I see myself humble
I see myself respectful and returned
I see myself loyal and returned
I see myself happy
I see myself loving and returned
I see myself spiritual
Having heard once a saying ( not sure the author nor the utterer),
"Vision without action is dreaming but vision with action equalls success."
Both these realms don't heed to my command , by the looks of the sum
Sometimes even lose control of my emotions, by them
Deeds should and will be done with the freewill and power vested in me by the creator.