Sidewalk Squares

I bounce to it, filtered, dejected, and living music: so many loses, so many friends, so ultra-cultured: a different pain, an unexplained passion, at women a bit lethal: I dream by casualties, those few with collars, those few resurrected: at mirror concerns, this melting entity, those shoulders as passed our caves: so free to live, so free to die, so free to lose a daughter: such fury, listening closely, while people appease monsters: those feudal flames, this ferocious castle, this interior rug: dripping sauces, dripping miseries, at something too spacial to make sense: sense a liver, sense baptized waters, sense a child dipped, flipped and ghosted with it: running through ghettoes, redeemed through behavior, as needed to work with God: some features, some conversation, while a brain answered: a different pain, a different psych, a new hunch: this world of problems, as confronted daily, while forced to go through approvals: looking at Naomi, afraid to blink, where many are enlove with reflection: this mirror game, this mirror pain, Osaka or death: so bounced in it, as mother’s father, while so misused it’s hard to peace waves: at guts bleeding, curled in a corner, and screaming at apparitions: so flung aside, so misguided, to refilm a portrait: this bun city, those hopping tests, this bodied universe: so sensed in it, so scented by it, such sex and pain and closeness: to bond through misery, to gather a contract, while Love just gave birth: fleeing into it, running harder, and leaping into Jesus: an interior dialogue, listening to Sophia, rewound to an intimate second: so fevered, so gutted, ruining an intellectual account: void those images, re-juiced and terrified, while Love is too much to satiate: an artistic monster, those ages, this flick in turquoise: attention to detail, while looking at a nun, and Love just asked about porn: so crazed with it, so bounced into it, a silhouette, a retraced shadow.

…an infant crush, those big boiling beauties, as inclined to adore anything: so young with fever, at musky toes, while reviewing our condition: so encouraged, as felt like mother, this world or destruction: our last discussion, our last kiss, while satiated and feeling newness: this thorn rolling, those tumbleweeds greeting, where sickness seems appropriate: those Gucci bags, those tennis socks, those all white Puma’s: that racket, those tennis balls, this film, this pain: such higher ambitions, settled in treasures, fretted and laughing: such a heart-chakra, such a brain-chakra, while two together create a tsunami: at something strange, this interior drilling, if but true affliction: flipping through brochures, looking at magazines, while sold to something intangible: at purer feelings, a rewashed face, a little Neutrogena—to adore as sameness, to get lost in taste, wondering as Love bit back: so field with it, so house with it, while judgement is passed: silky pants, hugging impish hips, bouncing Bentley’s: so controlled, so movie like, while losing where winning is sinister: this low approach, constructed for hells, while an atheist was just born….

…so inclined to watch, to read behavior, while a person is so sneaky begging for loyalty: encouraged to try, looking at patterns, while one suggests something innovative: so torn our screams, this hallway echo, while vestibule doors are slamming: so ghosted with it, to bounce with it, at serpent clowns: to remove a feeling, to exchange furniture, to refurbish emotion: a talkative blouse, a long neck, where a second becomes intimate: so inclined to ponder, to wonder about credibility, while a participant that dirge: (such serious desire, to need paradox, while living paradox: so filthy at love, so cinematized, where reality points and laughs and crashes those empires: such requirements, to dig so deeply, to give beyond our thresholds: thrust through, excavating swords, tiptoeing existential blades: such raw existence, such remodeled names, at pains a bit indebted)….

Purified by Wading Waters

…so underdressed, so chaotic, at blanket frustration: this inner city, this countryside, those nervous jesters: at rehab feelings, so courted by disease, at something seeming irregular: to give to life, this essence in sinners, while comfortable with insincerity: such architecture, such astronomy, where souls placate and desire subjugation: a real sick being, so into those odd seconds, while close enough to offend Jesus: our mothering overseers, our fatherless homes, so gutted, so infuriating, where a ten year old is father: an extended dream, a future in glitter, while serious with hang-ups: those ringing phones, this filled answering machine, while little Jimmy just left his fifth hospital: a slow process, an infant’s progress, while avoiding this, and that keeps coming: too involved to die, to enthralled to live, while mother just cured illusion: at deeper concerns, rummaging a cedarchest, where dolls and crystals are stored a lower level: at beating hearts, so chased by phantoms, to realize this ghostly mirror: attempting to know self, so strained to see self, while self is running and filled with impatience: our black moon, our lunar mood-swings, so close, so enlove, and quite professional: to sell a scream, to reknit a dream, while so underrated: our furious hearts, those rabid inconsistencies, while one puts together an ache: pure intuition, to finally submit, while another is smiling gleefully: to poke his brain, to continue courses, while arguing facts as if something fictional: such reckless music, such subtle crystals, at deep hurt, realization and sky-spaced concerns….

I remember us—our crooked ass ontology, our smelted rehearsals: a man is good, while nonintrusive, where eulogies and elegies are in latent hells: to picture this life, so concerned with words, while reality is pushing its canes: such gutting nausea, such rolling headaches, while nonchalant and impassive habits were forming: such lightfast interior, while never one dream, so thralled by affection: while never a change, and expecting rhinestones, where mutual responses were forbidden: wrapped in chains, gutted in spirit, dripping into emotional rehab: those screams laughing, this face wailing, those tears as baby dragons: becoming a monster, where love seems secondary, while so much hurt reverses initial feelings: but yours was normal, this routine conjecture, where living plurality seemed easy: as so destroyed, so hurt, where humanity inverted its meanings: so many gates, at such an open casket, while desiring unyielding loyalty: this fair pain, this fairer game, for those lacking interior correction: as one would murmur, another would exult, but Love felt like shame: this inner chamber, this black channel, our cords spray painted in jade blue: so many daisies, so much frustration, while built for this strange relationship: at comfort inside, while dying for pure affection, where struggle appears normal: such shapeless existence, such irregular unity, so untied, so disgusted and delivered into mirrors.

…such filament patience, so addicted to passion, while fevered about ecstasy: this uneasy world, our partial reality, where something regular is condemned: to need sensation, to desire overwhelming, while most are too distracted: to relish the Dandy, to worship the Geisha, such poetry and prose and shrubbery mountains: this writer’s chase, this fantast pace, our eyes sensing a mirrored stranger: as asked to love, while dying for creation, where Love is a next morning stranger: suffused with meanings, infused by screaming(s), at pictures taken in bright lights: this blank brightness, those interior artifices, while neurons are pleading for interruption: so psychoactive, afraid of euphoria, while most are chasing this elusive monster: (so gone those months, at Love those dreams, while wasting, nay, involving existence): at black sakata(s), at interior lightning, while reaching, looking, and feeling separated….

Gut Weather

…such rising temperature, so firm at chaos, attempting to escape self: something inexcusable, fretted by minions, reborn a mirror into valleys: such supple responses, such furtive avoidance, thereinto, a mental chasm: such deep waters, such raging seas, our ships tossed about in the tempest: those albatrosses, our riven necks, our open chests: an everlasting sky, a temporal nightmare, while great artists are yet to existence: so tepid, those speaking faucets, while acidic rain has flowered our garden: a firkin of passion, a grumbling arc, at trumpet assassinations: feudal larks, laughing songbirds, while objectivity slips it reigns: an inrush of daughters, while realizing motivation, hereinto, our eyes reminded of sights: so adored in color, so charmed afar, while torn for tortured and smiling gently: this true reality, with rare a mention, as one watches our silent sufferings: (but life is sediments, and rebuilt feelings, while unbolting our watches): vacuumed spaces, blackhole physics, where minds travel as we rest: such turbid ponds, so removed from time, as something curious has little meaning: to exist this tension, to curse while it lasts, where Infinity is just too soon: so elusive, where something is ruined, and eyes are pleading something opened: our gutty cries, as meaning nothing, where one demands courage: those bluer tears, those dropping cranes, where oceans wail from such intrusion: so downcast, or so downstream, where salmon pause, take a gander, and begin to pray: such senseless souls, painted in lowly terms, while something muddy is proud to persist: this fleece of tremors, those times it hurt, while never a thought to behaviors: so inclined to do injustice, a family so proud, while color becomes a byproduct: fleeing into religiosity, but refusing to shift gears, while myriads lie to winds: our conflicting hearts, our bendy lights, while anything is rationalized: as troubled wickedness, while kisses are plural, such odor, such filth, plus, a fabulous smile: this running machine, skipping cities, while behaviors are chasing: binocular concrete, at arm’s reach, while begging for exits: such a casual feeling, so easygoing, while we forget those first days: a kitten purring, a puppy yelping, where wires are missing sockets….

…such an icky feeling, while terribly bloated, plus, unshaven and looking low: such a passing glance, such empty segue, so adjusted to warm replies: at salty skin, and sweaty emotion, while feeling horrible: a low current, a sad horizon, a bleeding interior: to imagine a shift, while becoming familiar, where one can do so little: yearly inventory, daily check-ins, while becoming more so conscious: so elevated, so disappointed, at purple and green where silence prevails: to need a shift, to merely surrender, while forsaking a natural inheritance: to give hell its bounty, to renegotiate with spirits, while requesting a determined contract: this estate as passing, this season so long, while one needs a proper feeling: what hath man, but insistent frustration, and this board for guessing: fed to existence, chewed by objectivity, and spat to something uncreated: at deep head-swaying, at itchy electricity, while listening to silence….

…a patch of resistance, an unscrupulous obligation, while nothing of passion has ever done this: something by routine, and we grip for dear light, while one is just shifting through motion: those garden rakes, those garden plums, while we feel comfortable at gardens: so unrealized, so wrestled inside, such mirrored harshness: so deeply sensitive, totally adverse to criticism, as if two could maintain such fiction: while always submissive, while always passive, while a mini-maniac rants and raves and disrespects promises: to wonder about souls, those creative gateways, where one is asking about their freedom: so pinched inside, such frank reality, where existence drives our guts….

Jada & Will Smith: Sign, Sin, or Reasoning?

…ether antennas, remote wilderness eyes, a small and petite disinterest: at silver skies, at aurous skies, so many passive colors: iridescent blue moons, opalescent saffron sun, an inrush maneuvering, a hush-hush atmosphere, while words have become lieutenants: so close to cleaving, if but to lose, where indifference serves its challenge: those banshee retinas, those camera red diamonds, so cursed, so enlove, in a world too much to resist: at casual sensories, so casual attraction, while something grows into something addictive: a radiant brain, an outstanding conversation, toppled off by a belligerent physicality: so passionate, so outspoken, or too familiar with internal desire: such zenic kites, or omic rites, while insensitivities prove resistant: to live forever, this clever language, so coarse, so warm, or a living fount: those rubescent grins, those demonstrational lips, so supple, so soft, such sensorium captives: abased in poison, our years have flown, our aches have become insatiable: our eyes scream for devastation, our routine is filthy, our grime has formed opinions: to flee into caves, to engrave insanity, while pleading for unconventional determination: to lose exclusivity, to gain something at fire, while one is secure with temporal legacies: to know something about Love, to know susceptibility, while curled in bed looking at mirrors: this destroyed self, this angular self, so green with ambition: our learned lessons, our Grecian Empire, where one just isn’t enough….

…bashed egos, at Love with Infinity, those brilliant red minerals: at deep philosophy, rehashing metaphysics, while gazing through ceilings: our demarcations, but myths in time, where openness has become flame: so sincere, at primitive instincts, while harassed by rationality: to expect in tension, this life in roses, while graves are parading at futures: to need a child, something courageous, where insistence proves as truisms: those susceptible seeds, our susceptible arts, while one needs to mirror ruthlessness: so concerned with cinema, silky and long mane, or raven and nightmarish eyes: so possessed, so sensual, while we never believe in longevity: this cruel intruder, this wealth in hopefulness, while extremes become tolerance: such a morbid man, such a bleak man, while options are difficult to combat: our minds for running, those tribal hawks, while inheritance befell a phoenix: so close to you, so expectant of you, while we sear such severe silence: (those famous weddings, those glamorous souls, where reality hits about a dozen years inward: those constant wars, this weekly magazine, where Love covets something at opposites: this raving fire, this raging person, as many are matched for seasons: this war on monogamy, this sensational pluralism, while many means more: but two are destroyed, tugging Infinity, and holding for death’s light: so passive about dying, so enlove as tolerance, while kids are becoming indifferent: this grimace in eyes, this legacy in thighs, where acceptance has become our root pillar): so itchy those nights, such phone galaxies, where reality seems conditioned by human activity: our lithic attraction, our seduction mornings, while many are concerned about resilience: to sing a different life, to dance purple, to exist a level of rain….

…it becomes living, instead of dying, while attempting to become friends: it becomes segue, church rites, or understanding our rubber-bands: such elasticity, such bending here, or contorting there, while something special is still active: those societal frowns, while many carry closets, while it’s good where nobody reasons: such harsh reality, such pensive reality, to love and adore, but tolerance proves its conviction: at pale blue skies, or voluptuous midnights, where bodies conform to attraction: to resist termination, to hold dear to life, where souls are distorted: such rich distraction, such richer acceptance, where time reveals something indomitable….

Unbreakable Wall Functions

I lean into it, this web of profanity, this secular patience: so cured in areas, so bothered in others, while a psych can go so far: our beige balloons, our flighty belligerence, or soft at particular feelings: such human palladiums, those sphinx exchanges, at Rolex screams: so realized, sensing us in you, at captured frustration: leering across a desk, refusing feelings, where one deserves a taste of belligerence: so crucial with facts, explained by irrationality, while hard core facts frighten existence: our perfected representatives, our easy sways, a bit lazy with upkeep: to die in you, those minor prophecies, while so enlove with imperfection: our blurred curses, those blurry personalities, while gripping oil it slips recognition: so collar explored, so monkish with pride, while addicted to aesthetics: at fueled courage, while explaining inconsistencies, or becoming a known purana: (those longing legs, those eloquent thighs, while fluent an image upon memories): so captivated, so lost in chimes, while swatting fireflies: to lean into it, to intuit destiny, while angered it seems apparent: this way for winners, this way for losers, while sunshine befalls our congregation: at purple grays, or unholy days, where we become something frightening: a menacing fool, a man cooking upon trash, while baggage piles into conscienceness: those beautiful, do for deaths, those glamorous esthetics: as cursed to ignore, or laughing with morals, while dead a slice of peach cobbler: this intricate, ingenious, even allergenic curse: while Love is so reaching, such that second in spaces, while meditated upon pure desire: this literary maniac, this woman at three those mornings, while in tears Jenny hasn’t lived: (life is cruel this season, a man forced to relate, while awaiting his churn: this fragile reasoning, those fragile beings, at such an incredible treason): so boxed, unveiling cedarchests, where a chandelier is seated upon concrete: associations, or richer axioms, while one fights through behaviorisms: this uncomfortable assault, where words are spliced, and speaking is utterly ignored: such self-centered calamity, such a revving violence, where silence seems apropos: but this is infuriating, where one desires Yahtzee, while another desires something therapeutic: (as living with you, to imagine your entrance, infused to escape your portal): a man with screams, a faceless soul, rereading James, rereading my inheritance.

I got weight to flame, a grain in guts, at something prophetically dumb: so cased in souls, so scribbled upon walls, a yard so close to church: at pain and graphics, at photos and filmmakers, abandoned, abased, and peering into this energy daughter: to have for problems, so intimately discouraged, at abysm indelicacies: so spliced, in-for-out of meters, while phenomenon is brain-wired: afire an angel, losing innocence, so accursed to dung, fury, and retaliation: to sense something stressed, to need for electricity, to write and feel so detached: our lingering audience, this field of passers in solitude, while sipping for unexplored: so casual with beats, so thrown into cages, while something wild triggered a psychical energy: to see ourselves, as dead men, while Love is excruciating: so comely a thought, so gifted a feature, where Agony approached, made a home, and died come sunrise: this carried body, this mental catacomb, while mother has become a specter: so there in grays, while life is so indicative, where tiles are inexplicable: at furious screams, or furious non-reasonings, so calm, so alert, where something impeccable has become a ruined imagery: so laden with levity, so lorded upon a rose, while wrenching welts terrify wakefulness: to lean into it, to become something terrible, or to feel guilty concerning another person’s actions: such steepness, such indecision, where reality has become a cruel enigma: at denim blue tights, as something speaking, while so alone hell is beautiful: so under-siege, or so sublime, either/or, a soul is failing its presidency.

Brain Fragments

…at fresh-slaughtered souls, so song our graves, abandoned to wrong hikes: flower pride, a feeling-bouquet, at guts, and ruined: those papers laughing, this ink screaming, those satchels walking: at Love so coldly, at Love so oddly, for pain in simpatico—those den lions, this Daniel Pride, so accursed, feeling green, at blue weather: grinded softly, bleeding graters, our rock pillar demolished: our children’s eyes, as mother cringed, so gutted, so bloated, a distorted image: to have visions, foot to brains, while tumors laugh, giggle and wiggle forward: a man with crushes, this rushing island, while degrees speak to violence: too kosher for lunch, too piggish for dinner, and breakfast seemed quite conversational: our orpine roses, this chant with Jesus, at Mary with pure flirtation: something holy, a man’s legacy, at trials to believe rumors: so left a turn, so right an angle, while Love felt good, God remembered: such vatic limbo, at doors pushing, as awakening in hallways: those screaming demons, this screaming Jesus, while purgatory just escaped: a maven poet, an expert loser, at maven dreams: rebuked and studied, at glasses with numbers, while Love just ate a tsunami: this dell lake, this hellish, but solemn knell: at funeral kingdoms, those stacks by bodies, to blink, stand stalwart, while Ezekiel arose: so capricious, such wailing dies, while at sudden our sky enveloped fire: electric passion, arising with Love, our hero powers to guts: as left and running, to capture surprises, while slain asunder and resurrecting: those brown crystals, this brown earth, at brown deserts: so pale with pain, so palatial with rain, as tripping into sky-pits: to spark a cigarette, to inhale a drag, while fury to goblins—my guts: so outrageous, as returning for brunch, while Love ached and moaned and died a lieutenant….     …embedded secrets, studied rendezvous, plus, our senses sitting unsteadily: to prod a monster, so dense those screams, while screeching into dynasties: a quest for life, something too provocative, where a man forsakes his knowledge: to feel drawn, to create by whelms, while discerning serious hesitations: to skip logic, to forsake intellect, while awakened by dreaming futures: those feelings, Lord, this illness, Lord, so simply shaped, while dogs are running wild, Lord: those dingoes, this pack of rapacious screamers, or those laughing ass hyenas: this pouch of wolves, those inveterate passions, while churning towards something harmful: at labor and curse, ignited in aphorisms, while rereading a lime green leaf: so thrown with patience, so fretted by disaster, where life wasn’t this complicated: vetting quicksand, or building ropes, for Love is eight feet away: such storm and circuit, so deceased those years, while a hermit found, drifted and resuscitated a living ghost: those few dialogues, those few reasons, while cultures are at war-tears….

We skip ownership, flying into freedom, while souls are at love but conflicted: this perfect element, this conversational scream, while a man learns to set a seat for passion: so immortal, so cardinal, so improbable: at tear-cries, our stuttering voices, as damn near manic wailings: to adore so fervently, to rethink existence, to need like hell is voluntary: abusing our sensories, at something too deep, while captured for ghostly and searching for Jesus: grappling with walls, running through corridors, to arrive at one excruciating vestibule: so structured, such a degree, while reason spoke and laid claims to chaos: fitful panic, thralled infatuation, writing a mini-tome: fueled for favored, flavored for frantic, at fever and flailing(s): at doing anything, if but to cure this drug, while given something too intricate to vamoose: such abracadabra, such a Houdini act, while leaping like Christ was born: our bane, our interior, our crumbling castles: to remember a saying, to grip fragments, to become invisibility: but forgiving fathers, at prodigal sons, while yours is here forever!   

Bridge Wounds

…but eyes relocated, those losing meadows, to allocate a casino of winnings: so churned with life, at dreams, professors, and something indelicate: returned to self, but feeling off-centered, so scandalous a lie, so ruthless our concerns: baffled, and damn near dead; gothic, and damn near purple; so introduced to this tribal cathedral: so manic those skies, at something like peace, while hectic animosity lingers in turquoise spheres: our dying uplifting(s), our mechanical drapes, while drab, offbeat, removed, and too close for miracles: so suffocated, while needing freedom, where one might suggest a sign: but God is reading, and Mary is sketching, and ghosts are etching: at deep connections, bodies feeling liquid, at interior museums: such strangers, so convoluted, while dynasty becomes our friends’ opinions: hiking against death, while death is laughing, to watch as death tripped, fell hard, and dislocated its existence: so blue with you, so needy but resistant, at something feeling incredible: as never an overview, or ever a debut, where souls joust at midday: those trenchant murals, this low pointing, with something to die for: those ink-eyes, those flippant frenzies, at lengths with torture: our leaking lesions, our fretted mudpacks, at this battle engulfed and wheezing: shrapnel and fire, islands and abandonment, or rules for loving others: while passed to us, we shall not disobey, for such leads to ostracism….

…those tragic fathoms, to jaunt towards destruction, while needing father: a beige moon, a green horizon, as not prepared for war-terror: to bring into life, a small creation, while Love crawled towards deliverance: those sockets, those cries, those wires: such barb and deaths, such cranes and anchors, where one dies for intelligence: our remoter feelings, while disagreeing, where confrontation ensued: those quicker thoughts, those quicker replies, where one agonized over disagreement: to flail ambition, to quell heart-risks, at fret, bone, and terrifying marrow: so gutted interior, such whale-carry-ons, while a gentle feather misused existence: our proud eyes, our prouder thoughts, as pretending Anguish is filled with altruisms: our tragic curse, our flirting angst, while cornered for ruined and needing a quick fix: at exulted pain, at red rivers, while a monk just carried Monroe: those chambers, those perfumes, to realize seduction: as abased and lonely, or ontic and relatable, at something impressed as noble nights….

Hours pass-by, darker creations float forward, but distant a glare those eyes: a daughter born this day, a velvety blanket, and unopened sensories: feeling mother as diamonds, alert to intonation, so comfortable with father: glowing in sheer nightmare, a thumb, a breath, plus, drooling: a Tao heart, at Buddhists’ cadence, while Christianity was chasing: our lively beliefs, our catnip agility, while cats weren’t permitted entry: that magnet instinct, those craving tendencies, so proud our child needed mother: abashed and laughing, at deep saxophones, while cartoon reality befell a losing crowd: this man with concerns, this village for children, while Prima watches, discusses, and passes into oblivion: at coarser aches, bleeding acidic veins, so painted in an upside-down sky: our revved skins, our inverted souls, so welkin, so disgusted, and feeling good: blue black passion, so filthy with grime, while Love adored a dying creation: so glad at Love, this daughter emotion, to coo and clown and cave-in: (seconds at peace, vexed by pangs, and unsure if baby was nursing: those circular hours, this circular mother, where Love grew, and time seemed vicious: so agonized, so kosher, where swans dance gently: those intrusive eyes, those ruts made flares, at steaks and onions and living as a family: such little training, for it becomes natural, seated, conversing, and misspelling intensities): our held furies, such illumination, while it occurred a feeling defused but dormant.

Paint & Glitter

…humans get closer, an atypical miracle, at scents and devastation: some by rules, others unruly, where beliefs are challenged: sipping gasoline, devouring torque, and eating exhaust pipes: fumbling into purple, alive but edgy, at typical ownership: to need like disaster, to cry a red horizon, at gut, at daughter, at psychs: so guilty, a tight leash, or satchels filled with loose-leaf(s): so uncivilized, demanding courage, while, nonetheless, more ego than love: sickly for Adored, at rites those shadows, while filled with sexual aggression: irrelevant bruises, even advertised, for Someone desires me: those court eyes, this jurisdiction, while disbeliefs become blurry: our mazelike bodies, our impressionable heart-waves, while thumping and rising such sweet explosion: those faces, those years, to linger near dark ponds: those geese, those ducks, at pigeons and late with realizations: such fuel, those eyebrows, as time furrows, while delicate a racing personality: those features, this deep reservoir, so colored, so exhausted, and reknitting an engine: if but those arms, as always mine, this greedy gnome: so deformed, so angular, while bodies speak in silence: those chirping beings, those musical elves, as reborn, or at currents, while it felt heaven to win entrance….

…humans get lost, phantasmagorias, alienation, so perfect, so deadly, as finally alive: such a legacy, dependent upon relations, so biblic, while dying to know reality: interdependent, intra-psychical, at an enter-state: to become jewels, to die a rainbow, such animalistic works: to feel your soul, to know your name, while hoping with honor our last horizon: so destroyed in you, as feeling ecstatic in you, where tomorrow has little resonance: those vocals, this unsung heroine, this interior protagonist: at blatant suggestion, so partial those four dynasties, at corners in attics raging forward: our living minds, our dying bodies, while something was vacuumed: such destruction, such reeling anger, while mentally abusing such behavior: this rift in souls, this slice in aurous, while rebuilding, blaming mountains, so slowly restructured….

…humans become spirits, this element in crystals, those rising energies: to hit with sparks, or to sprinkle incandescence, while such a volcano just irrupted: such nose features, such interior eyes features, or so close it hurts to breathe: our subtle belligerence, our cosmological frustration, at something too epistemic to endure: those shadows, our insecurities, while too intellectual for death: our reasoning clocks, our permeated brains, so feudal those delicate points: as small giants, in Goliath’s world, while something so inconsequential becomes rolling fire: to ache in us, to rejuvenate in us, to sit pouting and resuscitating in us: such black portals, such redeeming mountains, while inclined to rewrite history in us: such devastation, such raging joy, so inclined to volunteer for addiction…this force in passion, this life in postmodernity, where reason is challenged: such gray pillars, such forced courses, while language becomes underrated….

…humans are terrible, but humans get better, while being spirit-human is fabulous: those times at memories, to ponder completion, to need something practically impossible: to desire your suffocation, for so young in you, while years push us to opposite dominions: or something delicate, our beating hearts, while so close God is jealous: this feud in blues, this desert in browns, or this sky in burgundies: such bland khakis, such intonation, while paint and glitter is tossed about our lives: our living quarters, a literary museum, our minds but mosaic tiles: to rise so early, to fuss so soon, where reality has started to babble: our Babylonian hostility, our chandelier eyes, so vigil, so distressed, and loving one last horizon….            

If I Love You, I Want to See You.

I’m having a problem—this dynasty of experience, this mystic voice: so captured by silence, our lives mostly silent, those fevers, those treadmills, this inclusive and social disenchantment: so crazed for daughter, but aloof to feelings, while inspecting feelings: something reasonable, a natural feeling, predicated upon traditional rationalization: a woman’s privilege, a father’s inheritance, where thoughts become actual properties: this war with Honesty, this cadence with reality, at rocket emotions: to questioning enterprise, to assaulting long held traditions, while feeling alienated for misprints: (such delicate spirit, those delicate eyes, those delicate features: while spooning carrots, or mushy chicken, those remarkable grandparents: at needs to help, at gears to persevere, at subscription to adore a charitable infant: at pause-time, at life-time, so evolved as a delicate creature): this feud in red, this blanket in beige, or those snakelike dominions: our soothing intonations, our dearer distractions, while granny comes back to adored and pliable: such wild completion, such fevered elation, as months demonstrated an interior majesty: to endure anxiety, to flee into returning, to carry while glowing: our preorganized assumptions, or this unreal entity, at something percolating: (but fathers know science, and fathers know for something unrelatable, while, in many cases, fathers know for an incredible mother: so lost, so disoriented, if but to win while related: cut too low, leaving existence, at reality seeming incompatible: but a dynasty to Love, but a miracle to Life, while sewn into something problematic: a fretted disaster, an inner circle, while never a deep correction: at bolder science, at survival of the fittest, where existence is dispensable: those calm, glorious eyes, those seeming truism, as exposed to gut a tiger): so many dimensions, so accustomed to this behavior, while encouraging pure annihilation: if but slight consequences, if but a loosened moral, as forgiven in truths: but Life was ruined, for Life was devastated, and Life screamed for Mercy: those furniture rooms, those star machines, while paper was wailing at fools: so reversed in time, so there this moment, while daughters love and adore: at painted portraits, at painted ceilings, or fresco fantasies.

…reality isn’t by chance, it’s a deliberate majesty, and it speaks in our receptors: so locomotive here, so used for threshed, while it feels abstract: to hear wisdom, to become calm, where, once lost, it becomes impossible: for trust is pivotal, and must for honor, while accursed by human instincts: our bleeding skies, our dripping exosphere(s), at challenge, agreements, and suspicion: but a woman, as, too, a man, specializes in relating our souls: acting in accordance, speaking clearly, and damn near angry when tiles are missing: a clove at this point, a dream at this juncture, while many women are in agreement: it becomes easy, this meeting of minds, to discuss, agree, and have a child: but many have secrets, and many are confused, while Confucius is slowly screaming: a loud resonance, an internal warning, while clocks move forward only: so hell to father, and hell to mother, while petitioning for clarity: for Life in miracles, and miracles are shared, but if belief has died, one fails to see such glory: this sacred bond, this musical friend, while looking at Love feels good: this seashore romanticism, those late night yogurt runs, or steaks at noon and laughing: a feel great high, those castle lenses, while doing fifty down Crenshaw: this believable creature, this marvelous confidant, or better, this official sage: something incredible, this using for used, this ability to love as volunteers: to dine in Rome, while trekking through Los Angeles, on Sunset screaming as lost in New York: this Chicago flavor, such million dollar pasta, at salmon feeling under-seasoned: so cursed to adore, so proud to die, while Love agonizes over revealing, heart-tearing eyes….   

We Never Debate Normality: Its Dreams!

…but terrific light, candescent charms, an electric crescendo—such venom, so battled, while harnessed: to choose attraction, or pulled by deaths, erased from perception: as myths tore promises, aching for despondent, so alert those particles: flippant with flipper, fragmented but undestroyed, painted in violet furies: flickering blue lights, at yellow-beige, or velvet fiery red: by threshold, by African Pride, by dynasty, penchants, or curses: too beautiful, so inclined to die, an intravenous agony: at fairer problems, damn near unwet, so accursed, so aflame, so radical at rebirths: reminded lately, about something funny, while pain strikes an opus—those bluer systems, those Ferrari Jets, as sunk low, abandoned highness, ass kissing and feeling existence: but sore to thought, our rehab nation, or something too incredible with quirks: fleeing for failing, restructured and reborn, at music, life, and summer….

I’m not elated; I’m not depressed; and I’m reasoning with Honesty: ate something heavy, and days have been muddy, and today we drink at noon: body aches, sore muscles, working out, going lazy, writing and feeling distrust: attempting normality, this fun ride game, with Rehab on repeat: so saturated, so blind, at deliberate ignorance: for life isn’t purple, and pretend isn’t normal, while we get angry: those things they do, or something unaddressed, plus, this DMV trip: something beautiful, to glance at decisions, while one rests too late into evenings: thirty days at it, to sudden upon a feeling, while Love was displeased: this unfair battle, those rites with courage, at guts for wars: so devoured, so chewed and spat afar, plus, noon is here!

…something smooth, something strong, seated in this phantom dungeon: summonsing tigers, florid a nightmare, finding enjoyment: looking at equipment, trashing a clove, and spraying Invisibility: a light scent, something morning misty, rereading something intricate: mingling minds, pondering prostitutes, while inclined to maintain distance: so fair and low, so raw and bothered, so inclined to go wacky: leaving self, a churning heart, at a particular thought: too removed to motion, too calm to elevate, or too revved to disincline: pausing and sighing, huffing for puffing, while Love is listening: so imperfect, at such a phantom, while alert for obnoxious with barf: this Bart adventure, this Lisa brain, while Maggie never grows: something futuristic, something alchemic, at disease, child and close associate: such a grandparent, so passive, while people feel loyalty: our ab tortures, our gut feelings, while everything seems ignored….

I must check in; indeed, I’m crazy; plus, I don’t want to stop: this slight secret, this month in layaway, while rented by serious contemplation: a daughter watching, a mother passing judgement, a few fathers pointing wands: an aloof character, a fair winner, plus, constant agitation: to dance this way, to rekindle a mother-feeling, while many had something normal: so blessed, so allergenic, while reality seems inappropriate: at deeper thoughts: if taught that way, it appears normal that way: those kids in Africa, those kids in Haiti, too imagine Normality: such murder and mayhem, such memory and movement, while music dances to mischief: a small proof, while speaking about yams, or insisting upon schooling: a witness to freebasing, watching a man turned-out, as mother gave him his first wilderness: something so normal, this Ghetto Brentwood, or better, this Beverly Glen museum: our bolder stereotypes, our impenetrable fortresses, our eyes pointing, our souls curling, our majesties interrupted: at mothballs, at milk with cookies, so delectable, or fretted detestable, while perfect those few eyes: those feelings, so alive, to have best for wrapped in skinless spirit-dreams!  

Born to be Normal

…unleash a gentle fire, this living life, rereading Teresa, or reconfirmed: unleash a monster, this interior avoidance, at darker days, at mental exterior: a rolling pen, pushing energy, sewn into something troublesome: such captive nights, at ink circuits, at paper knowledge: restudied, reevaluated, so uncomfortable—peering into secret webs: so benighted, so blackened, at thought to verse and running: this sitting stillness, this sanctum dungeon, where minds move currencies: unbreakable lies, building into cities, a gown, those flowers, this need: so pagan, so rebuked, wondering concerning our worship: such lyre love, such locked lotuses, at lotic levity: too beautiful, but a man’s affliction, but a man’s dynasty: so hectic, so hexed, so happy: such penchants, unholy passion, at years so devastated: at treble hearts, so impatient, albeit, received aggression: toxic undercurrents, rebuked kisses, while falling for failing and favored: so dense, so clouded, so reversed: our broken skies, those bleeding spheres, while God has arisen: so many dying, such irresistible sylphs, at tiles and tears and muddy terrors: if but to imagine, this life those cares, while mornings are filled with hangovers: unboxed toil, fragrant feelings, at freshwater menticide: unwet but moist, unwept but dying, trying but desperately to maintain upkeep: too floored for silence, unleashed and ruined, so piously a sinner: such a subtle secret, as it can never be taken, where humans think, rethink, and manipulate Jesus: such interior confliction, but bad children are adored, and good children are expected to maintain their course: so many qualms, such deep violence, too pushy, too pregnant, or too palatial: so nauseated, rethought to perish, or reluctant to perish, while something playful hurts: to quell a feeling, to quench death, at quarantines, pressures, indebted, but resolved….

…unleash a gentle fire, dwell that space, unlock and destroy something inveterate: so odd to say, this interior demolition, so feared, so fragrant, such fire to marrow: our hectic forgiveness, our hounds barking, our series in dungeons: so buried in libraries, so determined as doctors, or thrown to piles heaped in destruction: our wars internal, our bars upon religiosity, our wayward and laughing kids: at play those years, at pains yesternight, while skin has tangled with souls: alive but waning, or giggling unto realization, where nothing was quite funnier: scudding and flitting, wafting and crumbling, or too mystic to grip reality: this cave-life, this miracle to speak, while too human to resist: our needs, this space, while challenging clockwise beliefs: so tortured, so gorgeous, while immortalized: to have fire, embodied in humans, while reality is losing its meaning: mystic solvents, palatial fantasies, while most mystics are silent: our black skies, our dark red moons, our wants wrapped in our disgusts: at seas blurry, listening to winds, or harmonica voices: melodic thunder, at warning cries, but too inflated to escape….

…unleash a monster, restudy our building, where monsters are trained: such softer forgiveness, while needing our whistles, as time would whisk into phantasms: our curated spirits, our drilled mentalities, where life was prone to resist: our dreary good days, our biblical lessons, our utter passion for authority: as revised creatures, permitting a little closure, if but a favorable outcome: at space-phones, or gut-dust, at needs to replace a brain-lamp: so furious with aguish, at desires to flee, but Time is chasing: our warring frenzies, our survival by fittest, and suggesting casualties: this inner cathedral, this walking voiceprint, at something too remarkable to ingest: our pottery guts, those sky-photos, removed, restudied, and raging over a second glance: such dry water, and such wet dryness, at something so close to midnight: lava and soil, dinosaurs and brains, while he wanted with agonies to become normal….

Writing and Dying

I guzzle ambition, to become greatness, boarders and screams and Berlin Walls: eyes of needles, rebuked and conscious, to say something non-conducive: such negativity, such pull-backs, so delicate and missing targets: those mystic bursts, this dervish calm, this Sufi Path: inclusive of memories, a precious soul, at love and agony and disaster: our country wiles, our gritty and musky and dirty swamps: this marshy mayfly, this tentacle lullaby, as skin crawls and laughs and becomes hysterical: blood blue purple, swollen alignments, where particles build sky-wings: afloat in you, laughing with you, so curious as to feel in you: our children watching, our mothers warning, where Love would if but such cringing: to die aloofly, to upstream affection, at burgundy mania: to enact a feeling, to curse a hummingbird, while nothing more than sugar-water: those fresh ponds, those silky and salty crocodiles—our grievances: at fond shivers, an electric heart, but feuding a series of deaths: this writer’s elements, those winsome mistakes, while feeling good to have ruined self: our behavioral curtains, this festoon of possibilities, or fire running into caves: this lit firecracker, as sudden an occurrence, feared for embraced, while nothing is sweeter: at gravid fumes, and early morning sweating, so queasy, so alert, plus, a bit of vomit: those radical eyes, this radical breath, at terror-windows and laughing: our garden, Hanh, our emotions, Hanh, this meditative intensity, Hanh: How to Love, or how to sing, at beauty, power, and eloquence, Hanh: so gray with winning, so lost with losing, while secrets suggest a raving passion: a spoon to pudding, a fork to steak, a brain to water: engulfed and planted, up-soiled and ruined, but birthed through Job: our raging irony, our sentimental apologies, while honesty suggests something was devastated: existential music, a loud madrigal, or a reluctant and falling poet: to die prose, to spin poetry, while floored, unseen, and re-captured: a bleeding table, at pure rhapsody, so appreciated once discovered: this forest of songs, those indelible sounds, too wicked, too cursed, but tales told about a tremendous artist: at rounded clouds, or jagged cries, to adore you, to hate you, while flipped for demolished staring into you.

We liquify justice, in relativistic communities, those soulprints, those radiant flowers, this split petal: as born towards survival, too much ink to devour, and too many pages to fill: inexhaustible and flung, so detrimental and unheard, while voices scream at we-ness: so competitive, so excruciating, or so pregnant, lost, while existence is slipping her grasps: quilted and found, but seeming a distress, for Agony needs to ruin potentiality: so cured without you, so desperate to appease you, so human, too human, and dying to recreate us: infused with blurriness, at something nigh fiction, so immersed, so elated, but, too, so cold and depressed: those films at ruth, this knot so knitted, those lavish ass lies: to have that existence, to worship pure mud, while sliding down insecurities: such a delicate creature, a flagon of romance, or something too idyllic to maintain: this writing world, this author’s haven, this place both at life and suffocation.

…something inexpressible, something christic, something reviewing Arianism: this aged old position, this slipping through wrenches, at those colorful, albeit, destructive bars: this need for perspective, as controlled from within, or too complicated for everyday folk: those tiles speaking, this ceiling shoving, those carpets at living grays: unsung but comfortable, this wailing myth, at months pursuing and years recreating: those puzzles at noon, this crossword havoc, but so indebted to longing betrayals: as bleeding senses, or rubbish for humans, at cages and tar, or bars and relatable stars: those pin-links, this sky-tear, as a drop proved detriments: accursed and delighted, or blessed with responsibility, either/or, writing and dying with living….

Cloudy Waters

…such windmills, up for low, and high for dusty: at dusky parallels, disputed in eyes, removed from humanity: accursed they say, infused with anomalies, trying but baseborn: those high-ranks, those sky-castles, those celebrity rooms: at deep feelings, astounded early, participating in miseries: this thing we sense, this avenue we chase, while true penmanship is excruciating: boundaries, demarcation signs, at posts and planets and dining quarters: those quadrants, each at peace, each at warmth, but each at wars: we say much, by saying functionality, while true genius becomes loyalty: to art and bone, to pavement and woods, to forests and jinn(s): such ghostly texture, or ceramic wishes, while so there and such rain: to die in phantoms, to reread and shutter, while communication remains underground: a burst of fire, a mystic silence, feudal with ink: recaptured, removed, so seasoned, so legendary—or deeper delusions: those soil pleats, this soil furnace, while refined may be offensive: such soundless mailings, such rehab feelings, at trenchant wonder: this beast, its alarm, where too much is painful: watching stronger liquor, sipping grapes, sober and thirsty: loses by finite principles, agile and agitated, while reviewing our boundaries: sensed for thrust, a sword upon a rose, a child in mother’s airs: such heirs of life, such heirs of frustration, while critical thought is delicate: a particular group, wherever each may dwell, a particular palace for souls of hell: refused passion, casual a nightmare, while we need passion: at daughter thoughts, a bit longwinded, but elegance comes with pressure: at yesternight, floored for mission, a taste of vomit those crooked lines: abused but brimming, depressed but writing, while reviewing a critical mistake: but kindness so sweet, is kindness revered, while kindness maintained: those earning enterprises, this space in relations, accustomed to particular responses: (but adored creatures, could there be but one, while commonsense points to myriads): indeed, indelicate glens, interior landscapes, while our world realizes nuances: beige terrain, trekking mosquitoes, or something pushing for devastated and seeking coverage….

I wrestle formalities—I expect something self-conscious, but time evolves certain creatures: a blazing miracle, a clove and cognac, a furnace breathing—at delicate creation, peering into something sullen, while remarks embarrass, and aye-ayes are vigil: a sensitive keel, a sensitive earth, so blessedly accursed: a fatal shock, a ruined perception, as pleading beneath skin: aesthetic luxury, becomes wrestled familiarity, while one needs an audience: to see those ferns, to inherit our weeds, while at naked, infatuated, daylight love: so crucial, such starlight, running through perils: so injurious, at simplicity for trillions, while two met, distinguished color, and ached throughout Eternity.

…too much clarity, or too many positions, while craving for entrées: at séance feelings, gazing at teas, too famished to eat: a sullen dance, a removed premise, while becoming something: a difficult lot, a flustered eraser, a conversational keyboard: a gunning intuition, at mega-fire, whispering to our stenographers: an antique trinket, a powerful concentration, while years pass us: reborn flowers, re-sensed lungs, a bit casual with expectations: so professional, so chilled, so passionate, so underrated: never a sound, never a complaint, such miserable laughter: at deeper premises, at deeper claims, where it appears as simplistic: we feel self-interests, alive at cadence, a bit creative with batons: a major battle, passing kryptonite, sipping our existence: at pure confession, this on-and-off night-storm, where many feel it’s nonsensical: a desert feeling, a bodily feeling, while some must abstain: something to fear, quite irregular, as opposed to natural and free-flowing….

Forgiveness as Redemption

…back to dreams, flooring through blues, such a curious, reserved creature: so frantic our bliss, attuned to losing, our freeway trauma: such melodious Jazz, an armoire for sinners, so rebuked, so revoked, redeeming a solaced feeling: blamed for winning, so many hounds, to knit a secret close and tightly: such evident cries, so many seasons to grin, at perils to escape: rehab lottery, so found in an instant, rebooted, searching clarity, and left with memories: ten pages inward, rehearsing those mirrors, such sincerity and subject to rejection: to give in earnest, so rectitude, where pains cleave, and nightmares have clung: so dangerous, so respectful, as nights become evenings: so adored by seeds, but pensive by design, to reason, know, and recalculate: surface tension, re-familiarity, singing for sung, over a juicy burger: softer sins, silent sins, while emotions are regurgitated: a queasy violence, anger rising, repeated, demonstrated, and held hostage: for such behavior, this hard road, our ambient skies: refitted, rewound, so close, but time is toasty: those powerful passions, those characteristics, but Agony is refocused….

…an incredible miracle, to apologize, turn from behavior, and never commit that infraction again: our consoling eyes, our radiant countenance, so remarkable, so brilliant: but hell was fluent, and hell knew names, at tragedy, comfort, and misdirection: so normal those scars, as nothing upon earth, fragmented, neatly untidy, and such an untied creature: mimicked behavior, redeemed frustration, plus, a forward disposition: intrusive flies, opinionated lady bugs, while a good argument leads to cooking: at deep wonders, this place in time, while Love cooks frantically: fevered designs, scrubbing our bodies, graphed by poison: so redeemed, doctoring ourselves, prescribing an overhaul: light mechanics, atomic change, scooping up Infinity: those years, our first staircase, and needing reciprocity: those angry winds, those carefree clouds, where calm voices meet minds: such resentment, such planetariums, such mixed emotions: our haven hearts, those nuts and bolts, where Love is so sincere: to need hope, to restructure bonds, to laugh and play and re-marble our senses….

…so tightened, such a new creature, flying into appropriate responses: a sad texture, a fighting war, so encouraged, so reinforced, while nervous concerning whiplash: an imposing fugue, a screaming dream, at both mirrors and disbelief: an ex-puppet, now a puppeteer, while remarkably responsible: a better human, a closer friend, both developed and under-weather: touching shrubberies, identifying with snails, while moving attempting pace: a florid brain, a saintly aura, while rumbling is taking place: but a chain of flowers, or an unbelievable ghost, destined to outsoar screams: such watery fire, such a rasp to midnight, pursuing pure passion: those wailing incentives, at such determination, with a world crawling shoulders: those interior trumpets, those reaching determinants, so out-classified, with both affection and love looming: that gallery of pictures, those free-flowing miracles, while eyes see subtleties: abrasive remarks, a sensitive nature, a remarkable family….

We respect, love and adore resilience: this spacial atmosphere, those courageous ambassadors, so seated, so alive, at pure wisdom: to live existence, to unite with magistrates, while wrestling with yesternight: so diligent, semi-mystic, quasi-supernal: as flying creatures, tussling an intensive kingdom, with memories to subdue: whet for success, sliding through rings, and conscious of potholes: miracle minds, outstanding faiths, skiing and surfacing and paragliding: dusky moons, fevered ambition, such dolor, such garbs, such halos.

Screen Saver

I see algae or sulfur or blue-red ocean waves: I see mud or sediments or dolphins those ways afar: I see trees or undergrowth or underbrush—those weaving feelings, this sluggish morning, while needy for excitement: but a number, in rushing carnivals, at clown-faced portals: those edgy reminders, this interior satire, those perfect behaviors: such company with lives, such intrusion with cries, at monograms, and pictures, and imageries: those deliberate shifts, those teal volcanoes, those ritualistic islanders: scooting forward, at radiant fervor, while becoming jelly: so needy for feelings, while rejecting feelings, at sandy gray shores: a bit blasé, at music and madness, while calm and irritated: needing neural fireworks, or immortal passage, in a finite world: enjoying sights, reminded of elementary, where something simple becomes sublime: at mother those days, this complex reality, such emotional flux: a man in parts, a child in dreams, a writing fantast: rereading paragraphs, dispelling perceptions, reworking allusions: but a cave for some, but existence for others, while simplicity seems rewarding: as casual beings, removed from mudslides, or engaged in minimal habits: to watch and judge, to pull back and cringe, while we offer complication: bewitched by standards, feeling unreasonable, while assured about this universal condition: replayed in images, photographed in memories, and feeling blindfolded: stirring our stews, cleansing our cauldrons, or refilling our chalices: at something intricate, by means of reality, wondering concerning life’s crises: taken by resistance, lured into shattering waves, while so crazed love becomes harmful: at misprinted assumptions, while it slowly stops hurting, moreover, it becomes normal: so bold at flights, so determined at worries, while one feels entitled to dance: If but this, and then that, while time is gentle.

Weather snares us, removed from objectivity, and gathered at windows: pellet rain, curtain pleats, passion and sullenness: a phantom heart, to summons lightning, refueled by something elusive: so casual, gazing at lurid colors, fretting over something passing: at deep wonder, flippant upon paper, while shredding those thoughts: an oracle feeling, a prophetic feeling, so read, so graced, so heavy: it keeps coming, we keep reading, where simplicity is out of range: a little soft music, a little by chants, stirred into consciousness: this beautiful scream, this marvelous reducer, while life-bread is damp and soggy: restored a glimpse, raving in atmosphere, and reconditioned: such feral ways, such epic literature, such a drifting mind: reading miracles, if but that itchy nose, at powerful intensity.

Screens shift with time, at intellectual grottos, revising an essay: answering questions, taking responsibility, even absorbing one’s career: becoming involved, while evolving in increments, so knee indebted: carrying feelings, debating an audience, tugged and yanked by cultural nuance: gloom dissipates, while giving light, our souls strumming our intellectual guitars: birds chirp afar, dreams seem appropriate, our width by thoughts expands: (life is passing us, beauty engulfs us, while reality has its lengths: so purposed to sing, so artistically surprising, at Rome and scholarship: fleeing into elevation, rescreening our courage, while painted in beliefs: this raving blur, this blurry existence, if but to harness three great photographs…family, career, and humanity): this enormous portrait, this charitable valley, held responsible for joys: immersed in writing, uncaging something softer, while speaking to something frustrating: attempting at balance, recreating happiness, at swords with phraseologies: painted in existence, recapturing a glimpse, while many are raising children: re-dedicated, at every step, while choosing to encourage strengths.

We Fight to Exist

…hectic interior, a pivotal axis, those dreams, those fires, flushed and needy: so close to pain, something christic, by origin and flame: nocturne sea-lions, nocturne bodies, our toes fiddling seaweed: a cursed sunflower, such minutes in soils, such a day for graves: our precious daffodils, our precious organs, our floating animosity: it’s ash and rubies, our first seconds with light, our slow, curious and kleptic deaths: such memory, so close to sunrise, to awaken in cotton….

I died to know you, as an exterior phantasm, so hiked through jungles: I ate piety, I redressed pavement, I became inedia: those fillers, fasting over waters, our ship so close to shore: filed away, a chapter in novels, even a reread paragraph: so fueled our grays, such revving iridescence, so ivory, so penchant, so jasmine: at life in moments, tinted with invisibility, those apricot/aqua eyes: re-bled, fasting by remembrance, so reluctant to surrender: our faith in treasures, those mystic stones, those jasper cries: such radiant florescence, such flavescent gardens, or such manicured sensories: our casual introduction, a hint of disdain, while walking through migraines: as adult majesty, our soaring mechanism, so mango, so peach, so plum!

…raspberry topaz, devilish song, prided in deaths and resurrection: looking for dying, so near a furnace, while life is smoldering: flowing wings, flowing winds, or flowing casualties: too removed from feelings, too indebted to feelings, where many feelings are unsatisfied: a sapphire rose, a sapphire scream, at sapphire curtains: at something believable, at something fleeting, while we honor things we will towards nonexistence: those cubic grins, those interior gems, as radiance permeates our castles: those grander hats, those fluting miracles, at string, violin and cadence: so warm with love, so cold with interference, while angry enough to utter, I care: at plangent cries, at seas and storms, floating upon driftwood: those bottles there, those cloves nearby, or this radical dissatisfaction: this itchy feeling, this sweltering desert, this heatwave passion: at dismissive eyes, or crumbling eyes, as we try desperately to rethread….

I feel barrowed—waving through time, a bit selected by an alien: this can’t be life, pushing this boulder, and appeasing something critical: those tales about existence, this foolish feeling, while days blur into existence: our waking clocks, our steamy coffee makers, our bagel and cream cheese: our evening pick-me-up, our midnight water, our three to four mistakes: such routine, accustomed to protecting it, a bit off-balance when it shifts: those dependable responses, this wheel for coloring, our pride in pastels: our pears with memories, our pastas with wines, or our preference for turkey ground: this life by ribbons, this dissipating headache, while something beautiful is occurring: those new puppies, those cheerful eyes, or that watchful, musky raccoon: so encharge of existence, such slipping our reigns, reaching into pitch black coal.

We juggle jagged jigsaws, at fount, flare, and firebrand, our souls concerned with searing sanities: that thin composure: If but one more, so filled with both belief and skepticism: our love for sensories, this inner chamber, this sanctum of dreams: our passionate frenzies, or stoic mysticism, while feeling subtracted from existence: our measured deductions, this state of uncertainty, while fighting against perceived phantoms: our days with thoughts, our thoughts with intensities, while attempting to separate thoughts from feelings: our inner polygraphs, our mental typewriters, or more, those emotional narrators: our growing resilience, those mechanical games, while many need to set one astray!

Worlds or Privacies

I throttle gently, or topple into silence, afoul a mess of emotions: to adore pleasure, pain verses happiness, of course, siding with joys: this perfected picture, so acclaimed as genius, while doting softly: sable antennas, a sable body, such sable Alcatraz: something boding, a big purple balloon, or a radical pink elephant: so close by Eternity, so aloof to Reality, roaming this sable valley: at cable eyes, electronic thighs, while Love dances those melodies: at midnight poles, a tear stolid, something meaning impassive: so alluring, by radiant lure, uncured and tragic: those vacuum lenses, those optic lieutenants, while ears percolate: ontic fevers, as relational fevers, while pertaining to existence: such habit, such praxis, while rereading paragraphs: a man writes, a man dances pages, while certain sentences capture speculators: this film as explosive, such ruminating debates, while Love sits as if yesterday wasn’t gloomy: such frantic arcs, such redemptive linguistics, at algebraic tears: mathematical particles, symbols midair, so allergically tragic: fuses giving way, oceans bright orange, at intellectual monsoons.    

…it appears dense, searching for openness, where sentences fall into cadence: at Love’s beckoned passion, semi-disturbed, where humans are treated differently: so famous a nightmare, at trysts and dynasties, while something unreachable appears appealing: so torn our pride, so unpaved our churchyard, while an errand-boy may tillage at three those mornings: our status claims, our interior hymnic, while a rose has met our window: such zenic pain, tilling gardens, approached by alarming life: those Ashrams, those gated communities, so convinced or convicted: those different appeals, assessed for different reasons, while both neat and well-kempt: at a violent war, at violent happenstance, replete by ominous avoidance: those trialed kingdoms, this inner community, those few potent voices: while so concerned, required to subdue, so interested in containing monsters…so stolen from insanity, faced by objection, reported as well-mannered: such mental wellness, as such a countenance, or released back into worlds: interior serenity, chastised by city reality, where indecency appeals to lower senses.

I meander afar, meditated by perfection, as not some extreme moral creature: at screening nights, some nocturne animal, or some daylight art: meticulous, yes, demoralized, no, where something mixed seems appropriate: at bashful stars, unleashed into privacy, while something immortal has arisen: too keen for solace, too wild for freedom, while revealed in something mythical: an astral heart, a magnificent gaze, while threshed and tilled by delightfulness: this challenge in souls, becoming of mastery, while we tidy our sorrows: those clinks in chains, those feral cartoons, this fragrant and furious flower: while fleeing into lights, spacial for concerned, at blaring opalescent gardens: those violet tulips, this dye is daisies, at music and power and passion: so remote and concerned, so aloft and crafted, insomuch, as, deliberate and passive: those green blades, this clump of desert, found or lost where gibbons speak Australian: as concerned witnesses, involved in fervent weather, while excluded or reentered into pianists’ heart-symbols: as fleeing into time, re-chimed and ignited, at brilliant and flesh-like prophecies.

We close with pressure, searching our canvases, and disputing our interior portraits: as souls needing solitude, or whispers those far meadows, while engraving existence: such fair wrangling, such fairer music, while something quite elusive has become a shadow: our radiant dreams, our frontal-pose notices, while we wait and dine, or panic over something we find adorable.     This exposé of tiles, or those hewn cobblestones, where we tread, fall into, and exist!   

A Child has an Invisible Feeling

…too sober to see, too debilitated to whisper, rewound to cradle existence: a furious face, a flavored accent, so freckled, so brilliant: I reach lips, I caress chins, I tug at hairs: so flung into it, mother seems different, father has become a ghost: so hard to die, with principalities arising, while indebted to an infant soul: damn near comatose, leering crazily, asking a son’s identity: so young at it, so depraved with it, at biscuits and bacon and belligerence: so anti-presence, while seeking presence, a bit confused: laughing with elders, smelling a steep stench, but times were good for standards: such classical behavior, such interesting characters, at paradox, pain and pleasures: running through sugarcane, tarred but balanced, at grown up interrogation: reviewed for classification, those therapeutic eyes, or that groggy intonation: so misspelled, or such a magnet, at diagnoses for one so bashful: a Hulk temper, a remote hostility, asked repeatedly concerning mother: a broken home, or neckbone city, a little juice for rice: an eager dilemma, a cradled predicament, while saying nothing: befriended through ruse, if but a lucky confession, where a child studies those eyes: trained in arts, suffering silence, a bit awake those nights….

…too delivered for sanity, too purchased for liberty, for mother located a stepfather: a different type, filled with Hulk, and offering Gotham: those dreary alleys, those raging corners, a bit handy with fists: so close but distant, to witness ingenuity, and reminded about good fortune: those reinventive wheels, those inebriated moods, while alive for angry and damn sure hostile: so much laundry, in perfect America, this home of screams: adrift at times, a bit sluggish those years, while a bit displaced those days: undergoing shock treatments, in a brutal atmosphere, but chicken was remarkable: some sort of seasoning, some sort of affection, while eggshells lay before our castle: a bit frank, a bit curt, plus, a bit apathetic: something with us, something about this arrangement, a man attempting to harness a classical addict: those dreams, this forced obedience, while lost in some sort of passion: new cars, a nice home, and all for me: this scream she sold, those banisters laughing, those steps as an embrace: those broken windows, those blatant remarks, my neck my pride my dignity: if but to wiggle, as but to slip through, while cautious concerning repressed feelings: a watchful life, a vigil diligence, a bit alert a bit dusty….

We see our dreams, some escaping our reigns, so we reestablish our enforcers: so rare a soul, even a redeemed creature, while forgiveness comes at shadows: this property for rent, this island amid our ocean, this place for our sanity: a musical chair, a 7up frustration, or a talkative teacher: so dear those seconds, needing but a glimpse, in this unmixed hostility: afloat with granny, a broiled steak, and seemingly chaperoned: a small cat, a litter box, and a good deal of authority: elders love animals, they see something different, they embrace a comparable human: this little person, so accommodating, such a clever confidant: a bowl of strawberries, sliced nectarines, and three plums: maybe a sandwich, something grilled, as it becomes, eating means healthy: those events in brains, those universal worries, or those hostile orientations: these become secondary, where utter respect is primary, while too many concerns are dismissed: indeed, a man enters his world, with irregular ideals, and our world points to something indelicate: attempting to love, attempting to adore, while physicality becomes intimacy: beauty is paramount, frustration is bottled, where duties seem apropos: places for dinner, places for television, and places for men and women: words found demanding, are words surely valued, while people are wondering about one’s core person: soon revamped, soon reidentified, so at this inner-spacial warzone: a bit pulled back, a bit infuriating, where America is searching out entrails.

Leg Cramps

…at love crookedly, at vice pleading, Mercy, aflame a night-gong: too many ingredients, too much gumbo, while traveling southern weather: too infused, by a delicate second, at love and honor and disobedience: such sweet nectar, such peach fruit, at pomegranates and motherly kindness: so controversial, so tainted by Love, as agonized as a badger: at tender softness, to realize tender hell, such weeping ash: our glorious intakes, our California paperwork, our required signatures: fevered for encounter, screaming at buses, amid at Crenshaw traffic: butt booty naked, attempting to redeem intakes, while America has become cruel: our flipped furniture, our frozen steaks, a man attempting to cook invisibility: too seasoned for taste, too salty for puppies, or too venomous for cobras: striking regardless, harnessed and rehabilitated, while released to vultures: so delectable, so raw to senses, speaking in tongues: so cursed to die, so alive those seconds, to obtain with this want to harbor: but graves are watching, plots are passionate, where tombstones are electrified: an interior wound, a mobile heartsore, so incredible and denying Jesus: fueled for combat, at achy valleys, and so many tarred dreams: to perish making love, to come to those points, looking at rebuked aesthetics: a free prison, a freedom war, while restricting behavior: at hay-fever, or bodily temperature, those diamonds, those furs—and such outlandish caricatures: those cartoons, those webs, those incredible neck-bites: so filled for lies, so rotten for skyrockets, but ever a delicate, remorseful, quasi-honest creature: our wakes so internal, our arts so inflexible, to have noticed a feeling a presence so involved: soul-partners, so faint a nightmare, at trance meters, overloading Fahrenheit—billed for injustice, wrestling with spirits, at rung and staircase: those anguish-valves, by sheer bliss, while a man forgets his inhibitions…. 

I’ve said to mountains, such reaming evidence, and I’ve uncaged an encaged bird: I’ve passed through, those portals in time, given a life sentence to Existence: I’ve ached and groaned, in gut-moans, afraid and petrified to fail: I’ve made unredeemable promises, in this quick land, where a promise should have a date: a smaller issue, at inebriated tissue, a bit abused by self-portraits: infused by Love, refused and delicate for Love, while so in Love our hearts are one: so prior to deaths, those immortal traits, while a man is selling a contract: it depends upon you, it dies in you, it is upheld by reality: if but to atone, so draped in curtains, while peeking into America: our baffled arcs, our recited orchards, or fleece and crimson, and Scarlet Letters: those few dreams, while preoccupied, but a brain to storms: such alcohol, or too much honesty, where a sage destroys his image: those few, in-sparked, and dynamic women: as so many, such relic arts, our segue into abstracts: those macaques gunning, those fool-hearted regulators, so appealing this light too much of an effusion: to re-tame an ancient vehicle, or to un-tame a violent provocateur, so cursed to need submission where outrage is so engulfing: those revving cries, those railing heavens, such unraveled hemp: but a scream in motion, but a series of faces, where each bursts forward from one face: this running into, this pulling backwards, while floored for anti-science.

…such hourglasses, such Metropolitan exhibits, at such fairer senses: or one so special, as infused by lightning, but too complicated to re-ravel: our cannibal high-pressures, our remarkable feelings, as fused for battles: those high-rises, those outlandish kisses, while frustrated by irremovable patience: to dance in apricot, to envelope in fennel, so accustomed to Karma’s Valleys: as pure confliction, or untold affliction, so cursed for warfare, plus, adoring such passion: such mire, such mud, such maniac, and radical addiction….

Brain, Spirt Amore/A Deep Rejection

…terribly splayed, terribly frightened, at seashells and oceans: gray noise, imbued feelings, looking and learning, so masterfully captivated: those rageful eyes, this rageful friend, while so disappointed: for life was roses, and life is complex, and Love knew for destruction: this alpha-omega, those purple tiles, at something incredibly aesthetic: to give peace, to achieve something slanted, at irregular emotions: so forced to comply, at years those demons, while eating sour vinegar: so into you, those irregular cravings, those outstanding appetites: fleeing for returning, arguing for yelling, at laughs and pain and so enlove: speeding through feelings, giggling inappropriately, and pressing in concerned areas: such blatant creatures, at séance and ritual, explained as something dynamic: our interior careers, our exterior careers, at Love as if a lifelong career: so spaced, so green, so enlove: by an astray thought, looking at Gorgeous, while subdued and resentful: those powerful, also mawkish, and defeatist sentimentalities: at poetry’s face, at prose a lunatic, while offending and recruiting: those bolder havens, this cemented niche, alive for ruined and running through majesties: such esthetic faces, such iron grays, while at a partial charade: unmasked and deadly, recaptured and fueled, while brains leer into several hexagrams: our cut lives, our dynamic voices, at something if soul-prints: re-knitted, re-cultured, to need something so deadly: those aching cries, this aching gut, if but too explosive to depart….

…it dies in you, those cascading elements, while lost and found in you: an examined woman, but tales fell hostage, where souls recompete: those heinous gestures, so uncured, as radical and unraveled secrets: so rebuked, slicing into oak, our days magnified in woodblock: as casual lullabies, our reckless homelife, so focused, so driven, but words have taken a hiatus: so found in you, so deceased for you, where a simple gesture resuscitates you: our tight buns, our tighter brains, to grip for life exposed to sorrow: evading wishes, for wishes ache, to find with time this longing ache: a deeper parade, a seasick mermaid, while illusion awoke and begged our presence: so flippant with delusion, so abnormal with delusion, while passion arranges a nightmare in delusion: this pretty disaster, this feudal Lord, while pleading to rescue a lonely poet: our broken seasons, our laughing vows, where passion cried and pleaded and begged another poet: this film in turquoise, this rage in agonies, where Love was a meet and greet….

I focus drearily—at blue burgundy moons, encaged at angst, survival, and red suns: something apophatic, as too cataphatic, but speaking negations: it can’t be said, but it must be said, so enchanted by nightcap thumps: realized in you, so addicted to possessing you, as if a wife is but a dream: so crazed by ammunition, so despondent to touch, while frequently assailed by energies: a furious woman, a furious scream, as currents form into fireballs: so elevated, such a powerful confession, where one is deep in Jesus: our flinty hearts, our abused beliefs, while tormented, regathered, and terribly exiled: those bolder cries, this bolder need, while one suffers from a deficit: so bled for furies, so external a nightmare, while fevered for gutted and begging forgiveness: this curse in waves, such weeping ash, as one convergence on Wednesdays: that gentle soul, that wonderful soul, while partaking of this delectable poison tree: so alive in us, so pushed by us, at miracles to deplete us: abed concentration, flickers vibrating, while thinking of visitors: computing intensities, to settle in you, while realizing something inking in tears: at inrush and sparks, at flutters and terror, while at something with full evasion: such intuition, this highbred fuse, again, at seashells and oceans: bled this excitement, redeemed this daymare, so asleep, such fairy-dusts, and false amore!

Resilience is Miracle

…re-pleated with eyes, allergic to patience, spinning for glory: so close to pain, so unraveled by rain, acidic mud, acidic honesty, and failing existence: controlled tendencies, so close those islands, while waiting gracefully: internal perils, plus, aggravation, seeming re-stitched: this long, vapid and vacant dirt road: where eyes watch, or eyes whisper, or eyes are uninterested: those carnal havens, confined by lusts, reborn, saddened, and yearning for more lusts: against reality, where life makes little sense, according to those parallels: flung by emotion, but so indebted, where it begins to matter so little: hardened feelings, this firm language, where we must participate: so flung, and traffic is moving, while some receive indemnity: fevered but shy, allergic but desperate, failing but passing hells: so cured for winter, so lonely for passion, so increased, so vacuumed, but passion is enthralling: treated with patience, accursed for debauchery, if a man must die: such absence, fueled and needy, where one is aware but flailed: purgatorial eyes, invaded hearts, impatience and needs upon requirements: as man feels, as man responds, where little has a current reservoir….

We gaze into existence, such a fair creature, revamping our assessments: those tremendous feelings, our pedantic grays, at flush and memory: so devastated, at pearl green blues, or burgundy rhinestones: affectionate creatures, evolved creation, while tugged by something anti-science: our human instincts, needing viable souls, rereading our propositions: pausing for answers, contented to exist, or flung into a persistent choice: such hectic ashes, while second to win, feeling first to win: something secondary, if other selections are minimum, while sacrificing everything viable: such casual debates, while holding to a particular stance, even where said stance is deemed ridiculous: as feeding sharks, so destroyed at seconds, while redeemed by a slight touch: so incredible, as never an inclination, has become fettered existence.

I’m sad a song, but redeemed a song, and feeling precarious: uncertain reality, black haven clouds, pushed for determined: a flesh wound, so late in existence, as forced to churn whiskers: this viable avenue, this sky-alley, at those dirt valleys: a powdery flower, to harp upon a wish, relaxed by something elementary: at sorrowing eyes, content with lies, if but a vapid embrace: so mediocre to lusts, but determined to value lusts, where lusts have side horderves: but anguish is flesh, and flesh is delight, while we must seek our truer souls: topaz troubles, threshed heartbeats, and fueled delicacies: to want but not need, to adore but not love, while struggling to feel beyond sickness.

…so shoved by insistence, to accept our lots, while pretending it’s a first choice: our hampered rights, our permission to choose, but with or without it becomes reality: it requires little assistance, in order to flower, in angst to blossom: so appalled, so displeased, where fate is giggling: to need assistance, to give up a lung, to scream and cringe but tales remain sameness: a furious argument, this resilient mirror, where it reflects personality: as life pauses for some, while viable and fervent for others: a little empathy, a bag of dishonesty, plus, our futile replies: so unexpected, this splice in souls, while wrestling with offshoots: this three pronged branch, leaning into Eternity, where one is accepted while two are rejected: this hellish design, torn by roots, and flooded with compassion: those few days feeling, while newness is available, where life has become turquoise: so eager to unite, so eager to fly, while flying disrupts reflection: at beige realities, accepting something unfulfilling, but needing if but those harms….