Participate or be Devoured

I sense you or it seems amazing while it meant nothing. a fool would dream or windmill or slide into a coma—such blackouts such stupor while needing succor. I believed for a moment, but it was so gray, while I sensed ambiguity—a scream a tender maze if but to suffocate the initial feeling. such virtue in un-rightness such to meter-out affection as a creature at lightning; to doubt so fervently, to die but fevers, where a woman might spark an avalanche—so uncured such the theologian where I see it hurts.

I sense you those damned areas or explosive chemistry so framed in its cage; to believe in freedom, to designate self as a god, where the weight is excruciating. by greater damages by furious battles if but to awaken kissed by wolves; our favorite angst, our interior guts, while a spear just hit.

I leave to sorrows I bathe in miseries I feel like its normal.

I have nothing to deceive or everything to win where ruthless caves frame a tender farm.

I sense you—something elevated but it couldn’t be after decades of bastard feelings into a curse and adoring it.

abut a nightmare so fraught by hunger into a sudden trance; Love was phantom, but Love was gone, alone a room proud to have resisted; the chairs were witness, the rug patted my ankle, the ceiling was weary; upon an axis to believe it dies while I fret new faces; it means angst it means closeness it means something must occur; such ink or fences where it didn’t matter.

so much to be decent as a truer challenge where in part it’s for you. our echoes our wailings a man pounding doors our sons our daughters our husbands our wives.     

Dear Sun Lake,

by its crest to love the daughter or toppling over skepticism and tethers; as planets inside ruminating or livid while kindness to self is necessary. I left addled it seemed unreal so amazed it shifts swiftly: those drums raving those screams unraveling at something so terrific. I roamed cities I felt devastated it was so quick a nightmare. by caves to rest, by gravity to float, so anti such ante where respect wasn’t its image. our guard-dogs our mental pictures to wonder why we wander.

I sense brilliance or smarts or intuition—so curved so cleek’d so cautious.

if to discern if to whisper if but something an upheaval.

we find something a need for absolutes or this curse in tentativeness; to imagine impurity it destroys our castles while one tries so desperately; but souls aren’t ruined, the pain is sacrifice the

lesson is concrete; while one smiles to have invested in sorrows while angered it didn’t torture man. our first tour our first war while I find time to chuckle—into bashful science or feeling

innocent or fretting my purity; to die with laughter or to cry feeling goodness or to war while fretting its aftermath; souls are drastic or deadly where one hates our happiness; if but to afflict, if but to ruin, if but to plant a ruse; this rule I live by, this curse it hurts, but know the capacity of your lover; so sunk in so low but elevated by spirit; such bass in voice such paintings in minds while many are losing ideals; if but remorse such penalty such pleasure, agony, and bane.    

Pure Behavior, Plus, Attitude

it gets rough to try, with carefulness to love or adore, to channel or observe. unconscious tugs while we each imagine so infatuated with our screams. interior statistics, “if but that life, I would be so perfect.” the best of our battles the worse of our insecurities if but to trust as worthy of affection. —a man dies by weakness, a woman lives by reassurance, while our chitzsu is panting. to revel in sadness, not due to pain, but to love so dearly it aches; as never pulling back, but stomping forward, to have the most intimate conversations. humans become anchors. if to meet the best in souls. while a wholesome person exhilarates existence. agaze’d or agile, fuming or fervid, so dusky by skies, such drifting by sullenness, or so drastic by satiation—those powdered scents or fresh soaps or sanitized such flowers, to feel artsy or elevated as creatures a bit of romance. I have shifted perspectives: I need but one, this incessant kneading, while I roam feeling hazy. in a moment we dance, in a second, we click or arranged or awesome playing our violin; as imperfect trust funds, or perfect delights, where humans grow or shift into cosmos. too unknitted to return or too rethreaded to unknit while dreams are coming into position. if ever to know intimacy if ever that feeling while we bat an eye at soul-mate assertions!         

Abandoned to Consciousness

I try to warmup, I try to stay cold, I seem confused. —but harnessed eyes or radiance by contour to imagine something mental. to idolize beauty, in all of its gadgets, so sore concerning or forego; a bashful heart, or too familiar, while we fore-churn intimidation. I try to warmup or to unstudy feelings as creatures demented saintly. we have to smile, weakness by strength, or casualties making peace. I do apologize. the poet was tipsy. the tense in us gets gruesome. —but alien souls, active in battle, or world wide warriors; to chance an emotion or something futile where otiose passions cause insecurities; to die sweetness to cause a fire or to reminisce upon sexual plurality. our pragmatic minds our spiritual elements after something too gray to proclaim: as never enough, or at times, a miracle, or so threshed one winnows our sanity; a wonderful wife, an endearing husband, where we eventually slow down. if but to love as cosmic exclusiveness we might find it exhilarating, the curse of addiction, the carelessness of the catapult, so gifted in business so adored in person where a mere observation streams into a fantastic affair. I try to warmup but a purposed dream, if but by legendary manifest—to consume us, to baptize our nightmares, as souls abandoned to fields or fires of frames.      

Acacia Tropical

you two pop up or it seems amazing while I touch the calibers of life. such purpose in forgiveness something neat or altruistic while a claim is meant to refute. they teach us or we need it just for anything but religion. it shows in a mirror this lucid creature and it laughs. I oil my scalp or wear white garments where a psych is grinning. frustration leads to eating or liquor or total silence. I found you somewhere, deep in there, looking at a thought. I try to vanish but presence it steep and some are good at it. I speak a secret, hell to our eyes, and more to intestines. a woman becomes different, we see it closely, we wonder about its origin. such soft-spoken words to become wild while I imagine you tenderly. by animals to watch or a Retriever to study where some pets are attuned. I feel but so often to gander at clear skies if but to unrope something nonsensical. I’ll let it go, or fret emotion, or go so deep the head aches the soul is inverted and a thousand tears leap towards freedom. the floor is noisy or the kitchen is dirty or I wonder about strict homes. a man is last in line a woman must be feminine and children are oblivious. I concentrated and felt a spark. I paused to rest and felt thunder. or I stood still where a swoosh made its entrance. it seems colors are forming granny is cooking where grandpa is feeling immortality.

I wish more to hear or to gather while eggs are all about our castle. I understand Teresa I sympathize with Catherine or I Exercise with Gertrude The Great. but something eludes me, such immediacy, where one might love in a screaming second. or this gray luxury to become so flowing if but to give life to something dying.

it was you the unbelief the incredible dove the fever at jamesia gardens.

it was you I saw so mean or gentle where art tolerated Affirmative Action.

I would learn to back away I would fathom those valleys but spirit cleaves or thoughts collect while an inner world is immaterial materiality. a slight paradox where blocks build as an edifice becomes visceral emotion.

a daughter reads. I try harder. if but to educate.

it’s difficult for pride, or unrighteous for pain, as but to release something giving life: those angry mallets those treacherous beauties where marigolds outline his grave. such fierce dominion, such deep Zen, while roses are dying to one’s miseries. this point in clouds those reaching antenna if but to leap one long, excruciating trip through sorrows. to imagine hurting or being confused while one must live with abrasions; such mental physicality such psychosomatics or paramystical connections lingering in space; but more to pavement or more to next-to-me, albeit, deeper casualties center right at his heart.          

  

I wouldn’t say, no, such fear I carry, to understand the complication of hypocrites. but I am so guilty or such a liar where it would be too wonderful. our demands upon others as such we can’t carry while we seem so indignant!   

Monad Thoughts or Mind Passages

pure individuality or alienation or predictable loneliness. untold treason or shadows this grave such sweet abomination. to need you as to augment my life while my loyalty is to me. by deathless expectations by existential ontology at such distance from daughters. a woman wrote it: she wants to become a man, make herself pregnant, and give birth to herself. this is deep thought, but what does it say, it speaks to the disconnection we share. by false prescience I sought by strict awkwardness I embarrassed or by darkness I was inept to speak plainly. so much is missing. our culture has an address. but we can’t adorn the message. we quibble too much, where humanity sees skin, while this dictates our repeatable mistakes. but damn to lights or more to fawning while we need such reassurance. to think about strength, to proffer power, with deep need for interest rates. so much an upsurge so much our indebtedness while I have little to manipulate. we hear it opens this place in psyches where many fabricate chemistry to locate self; but cloudy futures, albeit, I speak of liquor, but this is a terrible habit: anything that necessitates is a burden, while some obligations are life giving. such opaque delusions, to pick up brain-waves, where it was merely a gesture. our symbols our symphonies our dramatic, complicated mind-freedom!      

Give The Touch & Trust Fire

I knit a vice-letter, I taped it up, I sent it to Mr. Invisible—as fire the instructor those realms so ghostly such shadow where death sees himself. it was haven-hells, it was sharp churns, those blueberry lights; a friend so close a rope so high or too much cotton: a daughter its agonies a mother such ripples if but to forget our woes! so darling so contrite so gothic, our darkness behavior, our talisman personalities, while most things irritate—to die a sepulcher to reunite with helium to float or skate to have such convergence—those nectar trials or obituaries from self while one would not suffice; every aspect in you every odor in us while such water drips into spirit; our graves our elegies or this late night note to Mary—those elastic prayers those three day meditations while I met Love on retreat; a man hiking a man dying but too far in to return. by tender amore to confess feelings where one has no origin; it’s granny or grandpa it’s chicken with links it’s deacons or pastors or subtle influence; it’s dice with liquor it’s grants or loans where one is swooshing or strumming or begging for acceptance; it’s fervor or castles it’s mystic or cultic or it’s anti-hierarchy. I don’t need segue, or intervention, or an invite to kneel, grovel and become filled with ecstasy: so passive, so numb or so expectant where naivety chokes up its ghosts.    

Boys Have Crushes: Men Have Appetites

I imagine therapy—how it activates, where one says, “You got it,” or another says, “I don’t know how to help you.” by fierceness another says, “I don’t do therapy,” such pure contradiction. a man is worked on, from day one, in hopes of creating sensitivities. while one is crossed out, dealing by timidity, where Love is vicious. I disappear from that or return with issues while days are intricate confrontations. I would love a woman, purely by instinct, unaware that some are more compatible. or I would look at structure, as thinking frigidity, while Love was business suit and passion. so alive those nights, it was pleasure or fame, as to arrive so late during our majesty. indeed, I disappear laughing at rules where we’re never certain. one might die with compassion, one might thrum the streets, or another might need too much; our relaxed souls where we miss intelligence if but to confess, “We might own ourselves.” such irresistibility so early on while I pined like Goliath. such an odd reference, but he wanted power, indeed, to override and torture an entire nation. but Love was satire or Love was statuesque, or better, a stately woman; as Love was multiple pictures, or multiple flowers, or skies with faces. forthwith, I was timid, or forthwith, I was quietude, or struggle and dynamite to walk away while something simmered for all unknown.        

We Don’t Like Each Other: I Struggle With That.

remove me gently or separate me harshly just extricate me. I can’t deny it such flustering to flutter or flicker those energies. you see potential this wagon this scarf those indifferent fears—to manage wistfully or to seem a great hunch while a man is four decades into conviction. if but to redeem essence or to heal home where most have a reputation—to dance or die into fluorescent flowers or exotic mysticism; while sensitive to principles or cagey but distressed or cavalier and lying. our bold enterprises our lovely creatures where some are not arriving. the party is motion, the movement is symphony, but some stand against the wall. those distant observers those intellectual targets where blending-in is not an option. so dedicated so deep where even a phone call is a strategy. how for trust where it doesn’t try while receptors sense deliberate spikes? our minds unraveling our needs to undress if but to unbuckle—such revving envy or private frustration where the veneer becomes entangled. our souls at destinations our hearts filled while addiction has become anything; too many tacos, or too many pills, or something crucial like liquor. our daughters growing exponentially our mothers demanding their freedoms or quarantined looking closely at our futures; but this is physics or this is buffering where great minds are being polished. I become resistant I speak indirectly I fathom a portion of such motive. to dislike temperament or to hassle over something written while we discuss in riddle what we dare to seclude. our running images our vomiting guts or an assignment we give to ourselves. “I disapprove where I must act if but to show my position is valid. I have met this it must be conceited for it doesn’t respond to me. I am an authority. I am smarter. resistance means an attack on my professionality.” Hogwash! resistance means pain. something self-centered will always run into friction. I don’t trust you so I don’t respond to you. I don’t like those methods. while one might say, “you have attacked me. I didn’t like it. if you have an issue, you deal with it according to my methods.” such wrestling. such cadence. while I think it means nothing to the saga! if but the core value, this furnace called control, while most submit to titles. it becomes more mercies or strength to endure while one has determined its psychical intensity. wherefore, deviation from perception is intrusion. “I out think you I know how you should feel and I know the appropriate response.” this is magnificent. (I afflict you; I determine how you should feel; and I predict how you must respond. if it becomes gray, it’s totally your fault, and I will act accordingly. as not in a fashion to build trust, but in a way to subjugate, while undermining you at every turn—and by the way, I am never with error!)  

(in depth a cave of ancient letters we see pictures made from minds; we see prediction, we see nature, we see what concerned these ancient dwellers. it cannot be distorted. we know that man was up against animal and often man died a horrible death. in this instance we find a reliable pattern: when up against wild beasts its kill or be killed. the pattern is always the same.) with humans we find something different. one submits, another resists, and another does a bit of both. it depends upon receptivity or intellect or emotion, or all the above. for a studied person a plaque means nothing, for others it means life, while certain boundaries are crossed dependent upon these facts. or we sense deep damage, or something we might fix, while the author runs into something needing its deference. (it tricks me, it has so much, but it still needs to conquer me; that proves irregular, the battle bifurcates, it divides us—into pure fragility or minor upheavals while something just registered!).        

Reminded of Metaphysics

we have history or wheezing in close quarters so amplified for distrust. I vacuum softly while brushing fiberglass a bit too passive to utterly discount. you would a scream or something unnumbed while suspecting anger lies latent; our levity our disappearance while I fathom another must complete the cycle. someone reasonable someone un-furbished someone that's more nice, unaware, or saying decent things. to sit knowing origin but to write essence while others know such gravity. but a drip into sanity but religion made spirit or furious phantoms raging. so gelid such surrendering while we disdain what shall not submit. a little time a little more or sore dissatisfaction; for it’s not enough, where a man loses, or it’s not enough, where a man suffers. it must be consumption for something was language into a cage where I must pretend. or angst so hither, or abandonment so thither, if but one last disaster. as captured in self or relinquished to self, where something is frantic to pay homage. it becomes its destiny for something transpired while vengeance belongs to its origin. so fervid so determined while life is more than we might chance. those glued crevices while one needs steel doors if but to realize self is chasing. this thin layer those glacial skies such wildfire or firebrand or things we cannot seal.    

Either Too Human or Too Gray

there lives a padlock an unveiling key

to study movement those piano tortures

or die loving but lost while anger is

kleptomania. I paint quietness roaming

those failures put to life or put to curse.

such public depletion while drained or

exhausted, so drowsy making an axiom-

heart. I was listless or self-deceived at

one tender mural: those prudent lenses

such shocked proclamations if but to

drill its author: those million souls those

shuttering huts, those three little symbols.

our spirit-chemic, our ardent sacrifice, if

numb we awl, if passionate, we suppress.  

Habits Confront Something Taboo

so much those sun lakes, or sweet violet rondelets, or somewhat an identity. to churn silence or feel concentration or maybe a study in physics. as delicate souls or future religion if to awaken universality. I was mean to flowers, I cussed by gardens, expecting the petals to pardon me; the lioness watched or reneged where logic was ranting and raging at reason.

I’m trying dearly if but to escape the hypocrite if but to become the water bearer.

it seems unlikely or strange to imagine humans as sources of joy: our casual nonchalance or our needs for thorough compassion where lack thereof induces a scorpion. or lackluster eyes by uncut sorrow while something is at our throats.

I was mean to a ram for it was mean to me while now it has become active irritation.

I knew the virgin from way back we used to hang with twins but rumor so wretched divided such impertinence. I have tried more this difficult task where negativity is burying sentimentality: our mawkish pathos our interior customs while daughters are storing mythos. if but to reclaim those proclamations, if but to regroup those first 72 hours, while most are aware a monster dwells there.

I see something problematic in a world studying values while conscience tells a certain story. such charity for beauty such unstudied interior or too wise to move unsteadily; to adore a neighbor or to love a colleague so much glass-promise such dear intimacy those scars we attempt to veil. indeed, too much this way or so much over there while the key is something we miss with time; that crime against femininity or an ache raw its masculinity where not by choice but innate habit. so much in desire or so temporary while most do not redeem the interior voice; that tone so exploratory, that feeling so unwrapped, while a little thought there couldn’t disable chains.

we come to controversy our serious issue when two cherish or worship their union.

I was seated in me while looking oblivious where there wasn’t an ingredient. but stew was boiling or simmering the sweet aroma or the kitchen’s aura.

so much condescension or vinegar for interaction or therapy awakened something grooming its reflection: a comb for clarity or precious hair removal while habitual concerning an interior detective.

or more to whereabouts a sinner watching or something reformed studying.

our dreams never meshed, our hearts would commune by chance, while we see some possess deep security. such remedy at times when sadness strikes if but to glance over at someone sensitive.

or so many attributes they spell infinity they unbuckle the sweetest taboo.

Filtered by First Impressions

I don’t reason love or multiply mistakes if but to fashion our lungs, so spatial or dreaded to have passion while bleeding those gifts those fires those forces, as creatures disturbed such raw science where we break sanity, that lever that liquor that ghost so close to winning or so found as remorse where winning was delusional. I paper-machete or pantomime or too sensitive to ignore flamboyancy—our running souls while grieving deeply as never a measure high enough to re-kettle: metal disagreements, indifferent majesties, while angels become indecent: gawking at flesh, so devastated by skin at letters to plead but destressed by forgiveness. thousand-dollar plates diamond dealt dice, after tiles and fluids while screaming about love. the Labrador at grass, while quick to vomit, where a sleigh pleases a community. we un-rumor our tales we revive our securities if but to reboot those partial rules—so delicate so ensured while such black Spanish rawness; so Israel by beauty, so Jerusalem by pain, while Frank married a Palestinian. our souls after Egyptians or Asian dolls wherefore nothing seems to combat; our aching swords so steep in forests while nothing meant more than flesh: such daughter clocks such father mockingbirds while something should be happiness: our nightmare, our unbalanced knitting, if but universal doctrine.      

Inside Human Geometry

we seem speechless this league of doubters our railways or trains or sour happiness; by career to exist, or by career the human condition, while we pine for location—our occasions to scream, our grannies swimming or souls begging at purgatorial windows; to have died pleading to have rawness of knees or to long for importance. the future we guzzle our daylight aches while so absorbed by excellent terror; those weeds near passion or daughters planting techniques while mothers would watch sky-cleaving-whispers—to see voice speak or to hold invisibility while dying for us is such sweet justice. an evenhandedness, something so aloof, as accustomed to weeping by love; our minds by measure our humility by compassion to lose his post to gain his atlas. such logos systems or heavier ammunition so pardoned by existence or soon re-developed—those winds or peering so closely while never such a woman—reused methods our thrown theorems while a man is searching evidence to place faith in; but life with purpose or sour sugar or tangy plums: opal eyes or mauve gowns or violet kindness; to value winning or to celebrate losing if it brings me to silent hickory. (to feather-feel or mystic dressings while we rarely analyze names. the banks so formed our meaning quite cheetah after greenness by moxie.)   

    

Dear Swan or Sun Lake,

it was not my intention as to abandon my post it was just too hectic. I see grandfather as he walks screams while we hope for greater dependence. our journals filled by letters, our scars wrapped in iron or our ferric dreams too displaced. by salt for flavor by watts for energy where a Swan is calibrating chains. such seesawing emotions or such dear alliances where most are debating the next move. the motion of symphonies the closeness of pains while a determined friend is uplifting; such scope or bars such deeper feelings while we write and seem surprised—such whispering darkness as spirit speaks our promise our battles our beams our pride. by steel to see or pigeons to feed where a frame has been chiseled; our penalties for anger our negative seas where positive pleasures seem to contort us. such horror houses or sweeter music while familiarity seems to deceive us. (I must explain.)  If I feel comfort, I cannot see clearly, where a wolf might get in. If I feel familiar, I might not look, where tides might become red.              but you are an engineer, an acrobatic, even an astronaut. where tears are passages, into leaping frenzies, while joy comes in the morning. so dear to my mind-heart so extraordinary while we denote a feeling. as architects or agriculturalists we must design something as it must be human.   

Open The Closet Window

into a galaxy or orbing into frequencies so touched by kindness. our scribbling spirits as to write upon pavement a bit grounded our daughters; to converse obvious measures or to avoid hermetic presumptions while needing something mystic. I should love like dying or appreciate every morsel as abandoned to his cattle; to have watched but such distance where people polish differently. if but to grip clumps of air or to spray-paint skies where an infant is palming spirits; those chuckles at pure nothingness to dine with living room winds. I fathom grayness but something becomes soot while reality chokes on blackdamp; our pensive hearts our hurt feelings where dragonflies are fertile aloofness. it was innocence those days it became partly crazed while it maneuvers for its dreams. I look to feelings or deliberate with facts but a man must gain composure. a soft sell or a hard close while some are walked into submission. those eyes debating where minds compute if but to un-silence something it screams—our battled lives or those happy moments to sit or prevail; a cryptic sister or maybe a brother while life is taking its place; our values up for discussion our terrors close in cubicles while we must abate them or nurture them. either/or, they fret or frame or fracture into pieces—those devices those storms those wars!       

Contemporary Facial Racism

such bare insecurities to rail by euphemisms or bold enough an epithet. but dealings with self this matrix of affairs so cultured so gray while something overcomes us: our ethics raging or paradox central while we distribute our expertise; those life machines this angst sincerity while angered a soul didn’t take interests. to accrue deficits or to pose a problem or to possess motives; this vine we adhere to while I’ll pick up that war where no one asked those favors; to contend on your behalf to expect recognition while something immoral has taken place. as years age as antiques are discarded while we feign to adore some colored soul. it was lice to see you it was anxiety to speak or it was plain uncomfortable; to have known style to have rebuked remedy where welcomes are conditional. this furious fire the fragmented man as we place feelings upon our mantle; such associations with aggressive passivity while prayers have become anti-intellectual; but what for soul some type of compass if but to measure out humility? one becomes important to a silent mirror while others are skeptical concerning her ethics: to need promotions to discriminate like olden schools while most are evolving. it was difficult to ignore it those shady doings while I contemplate my next position. such warm fretting or polite disrespect while two age by reminiscing.       

Days We Die

I can’t explain blue fire or inadequacies or carrying each error, the penalty of watching death a piece each day or hurting while seeming indifferent. our terrors coming back to eat as we suffer or a sweet morsel seeming bitter like saffron—our cultured dynamic our seas thrust by earth our whales haggling with elephants. it would die in innocence while life slips into darkness if but to feel ethical; the ought of our normality or the weight of integrity while dignity seems to winnow harshly; our invitation to reach our sadness an undercurrent tugging our humanity: those grounds for warfare or those wants we never deliver while so rare to analyze our other mirror. I can’t quite pinpoint the malaise or decipher life’s symbolism where strangers put such hope in fleetingness. but a night to seriousness but a day to uneasiness while most are sharing life with a best friend. that certain comfort those general waves or to flame until it’s figured plainly. our race settling softly our friction nearly frantic such answers so allusive. our torn souls our delivered minds while scrabbling over mind-tombs; at heights at moments or needing excitement while most are susceptible to murky sunshine. but back to this life where skies offer fashion those dreams in flutters—to chance if but a moment or to die if but madness or arrive laughing at total flux.     

Blue Grass

we sit in patience such sweet candescence.

we die by fathoms or share by shovels:

pure beauty after it lives in us deranged

precious pleasures. our siren resounds

we thresh a city while kneading raw

happiness; cured by dangers or uncured

by hopes or flame as it succumbs to spirits.

those demanding whispers such arms

by reach or legs running beauty; as

souls distressed or joy at its canyons

lost or untied—to live wresting love

or to die welcomed by fire in fury to

have adored those eyes; our minds

repent our screams redeem the sands

by shores those specters as wisdom

or terrible winters such sweet remorse.

When You Left Debris It Became Form

I flew to you while indelicate or not so much a man. where a seed implodes but first it dies if but too awkward for pash. to love like Dickinson, to mystic the farm, while energies clave to his ankles. I would rise late morning I would feel so depressed it went on for a time in sandy winds; but those eyes to have effect where being normal is offensive, even fulsome. I would cleave to ideals or imagine this life or confronted by calibers; the broken moon the blatant Taurus if but to analyze as does a thief. we paint this way we dance lavender we curse and beg for forgiveness; for this is human it dyes midwives it’s curious about opposites. Love made a faux pas, I decided to confront it, where Love became so difficult; but a man at life but a dream as a daughter or tales told meaning so little. I met her in college those screams in midnight where imbalance would claim its addiction. so much to regret such fields or oceans or whales or odors; as men laughing for pride so taken by sex to wonder why a woman adores her man so. our arranged souls our graves purchased while wisdom has been assigned a sepulcher. I watch closely the endearing creature so surprised where beauty is deceptive. a full-on fool or a man needing fantasies where woman means survival. so idealistic

such crosses or curtains

to have wanted the best God was willing to part with; in pains Love is agony in mysticism Love is crazy while a force hit heart leaped several times and took flight into forests. I chased blue havens I cursed a little squirrel where I was met by a mongoose.

this complete nuance those weathers while asleep

into caves and cages so cursed it felt good.

you sentenced me to death I awoke or broke freedom into jungles to witness you abandoned. our minds needing children our reality losing children or asking for orderliness to sacrifice for something damaged.

What is Poetry? (Revised)

But winds such sweet seesaws by love until death becomes warlike or activation, by cross-fire towards existence or mirage. The sweet destiny of sonnets, so thwart by humanness, so accustomed to sensual fires. By tale to self by madness disclosure or so far blank it means remorse. Maybe by limerick to chuckle or maybe free verse to cry while agony just assailed a villanelle: shredding manuscripts, so distressed by baggage, while a cheat-sheet is filled with couplets. What by its animal the furious creature so much an extreme elegy; to flow by tenderness or to die while livid or tugging at fane and art or alive by ropes. Our thirsty, near hung ballad or epic a nightmare seeking beauty or so dislodged or so afloat a mere illness might suffice. Such content handicaps such seam if we might or justice so chaotic, we nurture hemlock; the sestina-vase our repetitions or assonance and violence but it was so rewarded—our exiled curse our moving devastation where one might partake while begging for clearance.   What by its monster as so addictive while one can’t wait to suffer? this Jesus Piece this realized upheaval where satisfaction comes by fleetingness; those holy leaflets or permanent mind-shifts where in private one might feel visitations: by otherness the uncanny friendship while so intimate with what it has created; such irritability or breaking from feelings while confined to an opened door: those posts or these unlatched windows while deeper design is harboring dissonance; so dysfunctional with nary a sign where the poet has become such crucifixion.                       Wherefore, were loses            sweet ignescent tragedy the world-acclaimed rumor but fury or chastity where it afflicts or frustrates; those incomplete thoughts or fragmented whispers or pure profanity when channeled by interior; this wrenching furnace this designated arrival while souls are smelted by dear refinement. Such living haikus or so metaphorical where similes are often hiding in texts, to imagine travesty or so tragic by lights.

Falling into an Upheaval

so surprised by behavior someone preaching while so reluctant; intractable wires knee-high haystacks where one has a crush; such beautiful life, into another person, while we debate existence. it was always you or this dream while I met a fantasy. so taken for thieves so debated with spirits while graphs depicted rain come Sunday; as creatures by customs such titillating forces while some are losing privileges. I knew you biblically we died fornication I returned and danger became sharp and skilled while majesty grew poison those flowers wilted those screams muffled if but to arrive torn or haggard. I have adored silence as close to an episode while eclipsed by a handicap; our cage so luxurious our battle so infamous while touching misty-brown-venom. if but to love one so acute where penalty is progress. I knew us by intimacy so thrown and laughing where participation was taken for granted. the courage to fret the reason to censor if but too visual to ignore such avalanches: such ruby vines or ivy yellow into beige clumps of existence; to have drug a soul with beautiful banished burials or attic angel Agnes, so much ritual so much rationality; where it hurts as a hell-haven insomuch as dungeon dogs while we nurture social mis-weaves. I exited our guillotine I abandoned our prison where a soul has never lost more immediacy.    

We Often Strike Oil to Our Detriment

I feel sad, a clutch in forward, a glass of water—that blue magic that castle revving the engine a carry-along. I see differences I was outwitted I need a prayer. the soul is devious or bleeding or rectified through winnings—our casual feelings our fevered passions while I negotiate such compassion; fueled or empty abased or on high at reservoirs or desolate creeks: daughters or strangers, angst or anxiety, flaming or cold. those ups are giggling while downs are laughing where in between is not existence. I feel tricked as that fretting we feel where reality becomes overwhelming. so, to gander there, to need some crux, as if not those we said were guarantees—autumn winds or summer thunder or showers and sand or oceans and ships—something senseless or something courageous while windows are blushing such decent deceits; that oxymoron or this real life, so activated by something inconsequential. to paint grass or to ink skies where favor was so expensive. so close it hurts, or so indebted the passion wails while early on it was destroyed—those waves we enflame those curvatures we plead while a soul is aching his first sentence. it will never be right it will always be second thought while permission to die is always viable. too afar to skip, too many mountains to see, or too many trees for a trail.     

We Don’t Like to Study Love

I would listen or crystallize or make internal churns—to live as to love or to die as pleading contention so far into cleaving to angst; such bodily fires to have some concern while parts are dying; so special to souls so indifferent for others while electricity is flame such non-deliberation; as cultured vases or unveiled faces while one is so afraid of being described; our message so forbidden, our on-sight eyes where it was life but the fight was over; to collapse or to lose hope where it seems so appropriate; or caves in perception as lies in slavery where another is speaking economics. I haven’t craved as one those years where behavior was sheer motivation. to picture pure invisibility as not a want for history but driven by passion for another human; to disavow hesitancy to leap in while yelling or to scream such needs with fire; or something quantifying or asking for resumes while one requests to negotiate childhood fevers; to need to know concerning mother or father as qualifications for a first date. it wails about pain this search for perfect comforts as to find and die a blasé reservoir; or neat napkins, cold kettles, while fleeing full mental passion; our yearning aches our turning valves as vivid or vexed villains; after so many secrets while desperate for hives or feeblish by emotion if but so safe the guarantee is control.   

If We Died Existential Syrup!

I retain self, an electric adventure, prone to snakes or venom or hurt feelings. it never ends, this gift for humiliation, while one is stone or steel or sidings. the house is poignant the tides are vacuums or danger has become natural; our valiant minds our duress or traumas if but to meet somewhere along a line; Love is mesmerizing, Love is critical, or Love is vanishing. (it was haven arcs those years) or painted skies where Anger was fierce by deliverance; our lullabies our caricatures or so close it aches to smell lessons; this feud in us, to get so passionate about us, while I see such a character flaw; is it me, or them, or us? bass blatant blasts, fury furnace friction, after angst anxiety and air; so gone with time, such grandfather cigars, such granny roasts—or mother at a keyboard, so polite and diligent, while she measures a little sugar to her daughters; those running miles this million man treasury or so sympathetic it’s hard to catch a breath. I retain self, this most difficult task, while targeted for deaths for kindness; those brutal eyes those hurt indexes as something we hide while we wage wars; the broom for carpet, the duster for windowpanes, our inaccurate rulers for human behavior. to die about you, to dredge up ghosts in you, if but so near I can taste the resonance in you.      

The Brain Watches

I threw self away. a year later, I returned to pick him up. such debauchery. such unresolved cages. or soil cleaving—it needs to get away. unpleasant honesty. those vases watching. the bed is sandpaper or sawdust or open bottles. maybe too many corkscrews, or too much rubber, our minds lapping up sorrow.                   I reframed my heart. I gave allegiance to ink. I made paper a mistress. we fraternize. we dive deeper into presumed paragraphs. we try harder to please standards.                  it would be reboxed this face that moment to hear joy is alive again. I must interview. happiness is taking resumes. pain is relying upon landmarks.              over hills to gather berries or under shadows to see my face.                        too much thought. or lazy meditation. while many are problem solving. I palmed a sandcastle. I would remember in slithers. I looked or sat on a rusty seesaw.  nearby was a baby. he laughed then cried. his mother was frustrated.          we see it differently: the diapers the availability the hours in multiple directions.

a snail reminded me about issues; it was needle threaded, garment sewn, but insistence tears the seams.               we never count appliances. we never see dressers. we do know more thoughts.

            the mind grows accustomed, quite homogeneous, while I chase against structure.     

Aims are Reprocessed

by frenzy or willpower so deliberate or envisioned. our carousel our determination our forgotten ailments. by pure deception this wave of florists while we pride cobras. a man early to life, our ghetto museums, our pride or shadow or sutures. I take things lightly or I rev above our limits so deep in funk. reading slowly, absorbed by pastel jungles, listening to rough eons. to see clarity to know its worth, while it’s a craft. by nightsong, treading trails, or eager to return to traffic.

nibbling pure sanity or musing lemon grass or reminiscing over sugarcane; to gnaw at gnats or to undress sky-perfection where we need a decent, believable story.

by galleries or dungeons or chambers—to have exhausted nerves where one tries by decision insomuch as needing one radiant mirror; such penalty for existence or such loyalty to future crime while Love is keeping a journal; to outwit fate, to become the dragon, while sipping teas.

the salt of the earth. the thread in seams. or the cayenne in pepper.

so delicate in time or sensitive to image while perception is contour and counsel; to efface anything but those fond perspectives while most strangers are uninterested; indeed, and until, if but to drop the perfect mirage. I looked closer. I saw deliberateness. I wonder if natural fits in.

so self-conscious, so unconscious, or so that way the camera catches it.

why am I here? what was the purpose? am I destined to move thoughts?

form becomes value, or evidence becomes cherished, while conscientious images seem to isolate us. too close to it, too involved, where it becomes caricature. but one would advise this game of skies where it has become powerful determination. as some left wild or forbidden to enter or kneeling near an unopened door. our ceiling unadorned. our mirrors a bit imposed upon. or our concrete decidedly obstinate.  

our science-religion our days shunning or our thesis in intolerance; so needed to bypass so dedicated to purity insomuch it’s hard to breathe; trekking railways the train is close but it might not hurt; our provision for discussion our polite dissatisfaction or men like myself taking issue with elitism; so fair while low, so demanding while on high, or prisms for something unlikely.

what is the method? what is the determinant? where does imperfection become a personal project?

it’s lightning or vessels or targets or palms pushing responsibility; it’s dependent truths or isolated facts where reality benefits the nuclei. such dispraise while economically insistent where crises are surrounding the populace.

Daughter’s Unleash Ink

you’re an untold saga.

charity is love.

by boundless fire, trailing into canyons

by deathless waters;

jungle-spirited or

afloat private winds, by a wheelbarrow

of rondeletias.

we auspice a solution.

or maybe courage remains. our sunlit

farm.

I have loved a phantom, such

sensitive material, while feelings seem

to rival logic.

a daughter sets for seas or

sweltering behaviors, where absence

makes one defensive.

if but a proud

moment, if but a star as symbol,

our

upsurge or regrets. many endure

to love regardless, while timbal beats

at intuition. by misty mornings, by

foggy storms to have solace by ink.

Sentient Seams

so groggy or reflexive such curt realization—those feelings while they bounce where we shift at a given moment. those deliberate sentiments in blue blazing purple so conformed by habitats. it was mixed memories or confused chaos while actualized as artists. to lose heaven to gain earth those diamonds sung promise. if but to relax or to reassemble so touched by terrific silence; our imperfect apologies our prayerful palaces while sobriety does not lead (necessarily) to forgiveness; but something to work through, a blanket meaning much or years struggling with irregularities. this day of flowers this day of designs or this day something trickling into focus; those fortress smiles, those gray similes, so gathered in heart by soul. the magic is you, those nuances you bring, where leaping is quite regular. at soul-patios, or painted acrylic absence, insomuch as left to surf—those patent problems those patient spaces while raked by abundant angels; to have lived these decades or splayed by circumstance where it feels tragic by talisman; such vibrant validity such volume by value to voice somewhat vexed—those mountains we peak or mother’s primroses alike to a chuckle roaring from its arc. our soft-spoken souls or achy autumn airs so thrummed or threshed behaving best we soar; as decent creatures, at captive freedoms, so infused so deliberate.

what ticks in those rivers by clocks or sea-creatures or passing in season? such beautiful understandings such coarse regions if but to fixate on something incredible. to pass through horizons to need a breather while mother would suggest cocoa. as creative energy or a neat book while fiddling a brochure. such years developing such duress at times while fanning fury.

This Day is Seam Work

so infantile as to look like crazy asking for intimate oceans. a man with deaths attempting normality while shedding tendencies. this feature module those deep reservoirs after minds with treasures. if but to die one last time fueled by deeper schisms. I approached with fever I was glowing wildly but Love was aware. that inner psychologist this purposed psychiatrist this elegant physiologist—such facial reminders while tugging or pulling but backwards. our mathematics our deeper pseudepigraphs while sure to afire Sibylline. the day to reckon this soul to gather where I wish this day as the greatest. but now to stories or deep ventures where a person feels his regrets.

so many laughing while unsure of giggles to evaluate one beyond her hemispheres; studying with verve, or tickling some gray-matter, while neurotransmitters are mainly responsible; such aged debates where science is whispering while some things are not known—but given to human chemistry.

Love was a miracle so nonchalant but I admired such rebellion.

how to win in this glen of travesties? so infused or so delicate while I saw what was hidden. that soul by trillions that lake by shores after crystals or horizons or by wars to have gathered scars; our fortunate memoirs to share with a stranger, late night at Denny’s in Beverly Hills.

it was 3 a.m. those sharks watching where decency desired refuge. so touched by feelings to become vulnerable while charged or revved or reminded about sheer redemption.

today is glamour or shimmers or taste tests! maybe a dream or maybe by balance so appropriate needing validation; too young for independence or too old for full dependence while clangoring chimes or kettles or sacrifices. those deep questions those rare happenings so favored for flaming.    

Caiman Genes

by virtue of illness such phantom squall we eclipse understanding. you discern gently. music is sadness. unveiled roaming sky-creeks. so many lines. such squiggly centipedes or days just sitting in space. strict wildfire or sullen depression while we sense life is heavy. what is this this roaring blizzard this cave inside while a child peeks from curtains? (Selah) we know in part our mirror is cloudy our perception afflicted by soot. to account for accessories or to need certain attributes while so somber it feels like loneliness; but one is there merely listening where disaster is richness silence. a palm filled for breakfast a palm filled for dinner while such flux ought to seem exhilarating. there is such pride in essence to dance substance as a community pillar; those zesty feelings where one is subjective peering by objectivity—to feel certain shift to announce it internally while something standard seems apparent; or fantastic imageries in something leaping while in time most hobbies are strenuous. but highs for lows or dirge-smiles where most are concerned with being enlove. our reflexive selves or our ambiguous image where nearby a violinist is chatting with interior ghosts. so much charity so much tar while one didn’t see those screams; a face exits a face, a sky deserves more sky, or Love discloses an unbroken home.     

Sadness Speaks for Behavior

long into morning romantic sequences or abstract aches; to have sworn to have committed memories accursed for broken skies; a promise to alienation a grunt against ostracism or made by skeptic resilience. what about love this incremental devastation so pure so filthy so biblic? it would be souls or doors or rugs. it would by javelins or knives or weeders—something to claim schism or decorated catastrophe or billows into our cultured dreams. how would I cater so lost into adolescence so scraped inside so many raw experiences? trekking gravesites or unveiled while trembling or at a woman skilled enough to redeem science. at times, such low weather, such flat feelings, where reality is nuisance—or foggy landscape. by dirge for happiness. by sullenness for joy. while acres are planted with souls. so many worms while it must matter so much into their burial chambers. such kindred eyes such cold temper while peals resound into memories. by virtue to gallop into a city of monsters if but to save such fair fire; our wilder cries our stomach storm by bass or cymbal or brass. it’s not too concerned or such it dies while souls must learn to survive; so much by ferns or too lonely by weeds while wild strays confuse justice. mere petals for breakfast, mere pain for lunch, or just about depleted around dinner time.

Speak Something to The Swan

I adore imageries. I do not know full essence. I have a tinge of you.

it was 2 a.m., into a darker scream, when you cried; mother was exempt, lost in ukiyoe, beckoned to nurse. we would never die, this assault on mortality, those leaves watching spirits.

I feel awkward, wailing about love, where we see syntax, cadence, dissonance, or undercurrents. so anchored or agile, so autonomous or angelic, or pure absence as abeyance.

I revel over you, or so occupied by you, while detached as a form by survival. we walk sepulchers, recounting existence, so beige such fury or such soft unknowingness. to have ghosts those tears, to have found silence those years, while debating with rabis those years.

its crypt is full those walls are melding or those skies are teary—to have lived this innocence, where it becomes muddy while some have lived it as familiarity. we marvel these people. they look normal. but they die if involved in something stable. they desire chaos, or foreign revival, they live by tribal rules. it’s never shared, the sun is a cartoon, while they remain unlit. we infer things. I speak to lost souls. while I do not claim as one found.

I’m glued at one end, tethered at another, and needing a good laugh. a treasured creature a loving face if but to pretend life is normal. shaving words, or shearing sheep, while I pray to artistries. this interior calm, this artifice incision, where we atone by surrendering. our stomachs giggling our minds frothy while so unfamiliar to ourselves.

watch for our afreet particles, in a land offering delusion, where we’re wondering about immunity. so fretted over form or frantic over vices as looking at genetic disposition; those unvetted realities, especially, so familiar, as watching it one’s entire life. this thesis in me, this dissertation in professors, where isolation from it might be too naïve; such misty/foggy mornings, such hazy/hazel corridors, our fair-minded Christians.

I sing about Sade or Alicia keys or Beethoven.

I amble a violin I cure a sad haven or to walk along a Yellow Brick Road. as sold to controversy a life my father’s or leaping higher to smell an apparition. and there was mother lashing grandfather or renegotiating her sins; this trespass in science this bridge in wilderness this curse this alienation this boredom in life; as confused where it must be this irrationality in its epithets.

it was granny this infusion this isolated kiss; to live while dying, or to adore a daughter, where it has become too much changing; as needing to grin, while suffused by indifference, if but to survive. it couldn’t be this life this love this feudal internal person; to giggle or laugh while aching in horizons where no one is winning. but to each their logic to each their ghosts—and if it feels good the world is more disdained.

Just Peeking at Growth

so close to ethereal or so empyreal or

an entrance searching for its exit. to

imagine where it hurts those non-knowing

components or islands while un-desperate

or nonchalant. we remember some souls

they chance our hearts while we negotiate

realities; so bold or charming, so attentive

or daring, while an image looks like a

fledgling: atomic attraction, subterranean

chemistry, where most envy your style.

many nocturne-wishes or nautical

whereabouts while strangely by silence:

“They mustn’t know. It seems unfair.

We exit a broken faucet.” whispers or

appetites while homespun or curious

where it’s not so serious; such favor or

dear leniencies because life is made so gentle:

is why we marry, not for sheer animalism,

but because life is made beautiful that sway;

so surreal or such ether while tiptoeing our

behaviors; as a Swan thinks, that Swan shall

become. to praise another human, to adore

those pearly eyes, or to laugh, joke, or

wrestle; so possessed by cadence, something

beneath its surface, or so obsessed by attitudes;

opus skies or tender pledges while we fight

to express our deeper emotion: hydrants

trembling or mnemonic imagery or faced

where vetting you is impossible.

as meeting along a trail, a soul carrying

souls,

where eye-contact has spider’d one’s

assumptions.