There is an I beneath every
made decision despite my environment

My I exists and I notice
its being doesnt take up much time

My muse, where are all the
poems about cheese?

Where is your infinite material?
Is it somewhere in the
memory or tangible space?

Does it come from me
or do I reach for it as it falls
like gravity pulling dust motes
not quite heavy enough

I go where I have not
been once inside where
I've gone, but did you lead
me here? Are we tea before
steeping?

Does the water leach color from the tea,
or do the leaves happily oblige?

Details and pretty things
the strongest of foibles at hand

And on the other some amount
of certainty about the self, and
how it should be run and
perceived by others

She walks and
they watch:
a detail herself,
a pretty thing

I keep having
dreams of Okie
coming back, like
he was never gone
and I just didn't look
close enough, and I
wake up like maybe
he'll be there,

but I
don't bother checking

You know how I am,
but you don’t know why.

My mom would probably say something like
“Two unno fight like **** an’ dog,”

And I would agree, and quarantine myself
away to keep you from getting too sick of me.

I never thought it mattered if we agreed on
anything, as long as we said “yes” to each other

Baby got thighs
like she ain't afraid of gluten

Way she put it down
like a law, like Newton

I let you do to me
what winter does to forest trees

But I suppose they don't
have much say in the matter

A poet must produce some
type of lust in their words

To slurp up sloppily some
light red meat juice

.
...
.......
Then I never saw you
even didn't hear that song again
how everything got lost in uncertain
begins the rules of funeral  

Those morning dews,
how beautiful  the silver shines!
surely lost after a few hours
ah! the dreams grew and lost in daylight  

Moonlight falls on this large meadow
Certainly clears my distinct shadow
what a brightness in the face of horizon
get lost after the clouds covered

Hope grows love
where river moves towards the upstream
when loses
the time, untimely  

Love is a foolish pride
Find after lost,
as the day within the days,
daily

Lonely time as the pain of the poetry
In words, paper of poetry submerged
Find thy, say into the darkness
what a restless mind, drunk!
...
..
.
@Musfiq us shaleheen