We Fear Murder

so many systems so many murders so reminded of intolerance. a man jogging, in such loneness, while losing his life. a woman but a target, door shattered without an announcement. such dear violence such deep disgusts alongside our depraved history. eight murder shots while so justified as we notice the nation is healing. the lawnmower at its grass, the leaf blower at its mites, our officers at predispositions. such a god-complex such raw engagement while expecting citizens to kneel. we seem undercut while lives are precious but not one a decent understanding. like running with scissors or brushing with razors at something so ill-gotten. such timebombs given to protecting while eager to murder. such pressure or depletion while sparked on power. the soil knife, the digging shovel such raw interrogation. our hands up, our bodies for sacrifice, our souls raped of decency. by a screeching reed by Christ’s blood to disagree with such rage. replete with hostility while listening for tone to demand submission. our guts our penalty our flesh or skin or honorary murders. so disgusted the oceans of our pride while black integrity is a joke. the weeders the machine while too wise to listen. such premeditation such deliberate bullets while feeling esteemed. the broken lattice the raging bull where humans are playing mind-checkers. as marionettes so tugged asunder so humiliated. our mentalities our disputes as surefire graves where the model is to murder first and figure later. such exaggeration, in a land anti-black while publication must take the back burner. to dream of mutuality or met by shoebills where society has caiman teeth. our children taken; our property levied our bankrupt morals. to have such a curse to force through traffic while most lives are overlooked. it has happened, they need silence, while we don’t ensure peace. to edit our behavior to replace our memories where one senses something inevitable: those tired recorders those intolerant cameras in such an age where lives are inconsequential. the battle for decency the rug bleeding to look over at black faces. such strength while so precarious an encounter is like possible death.  

Tart Tears, Tragic Ecstasy

sweet & sour vinegar such byzantine religion whereby a man might panic. such limits in us our vows crooked where he never meant his mind. a pack atop the dashboard a hat he can’t wear or a coat which fits others. by dear fantoccini or strings absent our fauna zeitgeist! those misty pebbles those mental air bags while love would backfire. our sharp curves a boisterous woman or a mini-manic—such mantis intentions so pulled by a newcomer while this happens in many schools. compassionate horsepower or magical torque while a man tries in vain. by gaps in visions by rectangles in feelings or triangles in fire—our wretched mistrusts our furious flavors while it meant so much those passing cries. or an outsider’s novel the pure frustration as alive but fragile—our oxygen our creek-caves our demons into essence where so many are scandalous; but true fever as cursed fever such chaos or nakedness or beauty. by emotions, those mélange emotions while touching seems so determined. by serpent lust to imagine a garden while naked or naïve such soft-spoken obedience. so much more the autobiography the war those white dresses—if alone or relieved while murder to brains or occupation. by soul fitting jeans to have like, damn it hurts, or tender the music which drew blood: those evidence-sheets those tidal-wave screams while man humbled by mistake—this creature so adored into science while treated like the helpmeet. if to strew myself into sky redemption while a man must turnoff the cartoons. an interior journal so fond of paradise while a man deceives his existential: an-other-witness, or Frida’s cousin, to become an unspoken policy. we refuse to discuss it. where absence means innocence. while two are heavy at making this a living. the emptiness, the lesbian’s war cry, the homosexual’s identity. such accidents as to outline futures where a daughter made it deliberate. to paint what we see. by such aggressive cinemas. where targets are unaware. our skeletons reaping, the gatekeeper screeching, where four generations were throttled by milestones.      

Behavior Contradicts Our Values

such unsteadiness as it peaks where insides shiver: the black-blue excuses, those reasons we project, our souls aching injustice. the daughter he loves the mother on battlegrounds or forbidden comfort-fruits. a lion my cave a grave my tenure while a tomb reads something irrelevant. those dear eyes as nothing but analytical while a man can’t fathom those reasons. our brains screaming but ever so calm while wine is too much. so wrong at times so indifferent to humans or such a deliberate attitude. as protecting self that fragile person while forced to be strong. (the curse is experiential it cuts bone where we meet devastation. the fragments of my sanity or the father an alcoholic or the jealous stepdaughter. those inner covenants if but this life where it comes like sirens. such strange values or passing some STD while feeling justified. our warped assessments our cold feelings our callous beauties. as a soul wept, he felt so complete where death seemed his option. a river of sinews a behavior problem while we ponder if mania means bipolar. a flagon for Jesus, or abstinence for John The Baptist, either/or, death was imminent.) if to blush at this, so uncured in you, while a person is too misinformed. our jungle solitude, our discolored perception, where a man searches his integrity. so indicative of illness, such raw behaviors, while held guilty for a genetic alarm. as to kill the cancer patient or to silence the baby’s cry where a migraine means work harder. or slaves found guilty for slavery in a just society while we assert some men, women and children were meant for servitude. the bible at this, those misconstrued scriptures while most become anti-Christianity. the ocean thrown out with the whale, the baby thrown out with the adulterous, or Israel no longer favored for grumbling in the desert. such things distress us or motors are no longer revving while a few people are purely scandalous. the sickness the diseases the possibility a child is estranged. such music as it angers while a man is but his rages. our innocence so vetted, by a five-minute meeting. our organs or pipes or churches (our behaviors!).   

America Keeps By Outrage

the mornings are sameness, a clove with coffee, something tender but problem built. the welts of society. the looting for the deceased. or rage tunneling scars. it’s dark these sails or graves for passions concerned with grandeur. the back-office thoughts our presidential responses or needs becoming like winter. to know behavior or nothing more while a mule demands through passivity. such heavy skies to carry injustice while we see how people perform. a canine let loose. a knee unto death. or a department set aflame. under your watch. but it means nothing. while many are disenchanted. the triumph is the National Guard. or such aloof regulation. while reality is chunking up blood. the demon-house the cage-war or hell to the rest of society. our cuts with fury. our devices with mutiny. while only the rich adore Trump. it becomes a game. but it shows ambition. the main requirement is riches. but more to this clove. it deserves greater attention, while I journey through smoke rings. our lives as meaning so little where we hate for the purpose of survival. our converse. our nonchalance. or our endorsements. looking for a masterpiece. writing several entries. while it becomes its torture. our language, so sketchy, or too rough to adhere to; our dream so captured, so unsteady, while we hunger for shame. our restricted venues our mornings those terrors or pain as my gift to you. (hold closeness or drown screaming while realism has nothing to do with our commands.) such a formula. while good anger is deceptive. insomuch as to ask for something un-societal. the coffee is gone those birds are silent plus the times are against liberties. we see decline. we blame Obama. we ignore our legacy. it’s outrageous. it devastates. where America is apologetic. but a new religion. or the faith of riches. where a man doesn’t desire rationality. (it means nothing.) feet are moving. decisions are difficult. the nation is falling. as to walk away. at either four to eight years. while asserting, “It was America’s fault.” we have so little respect for obvious structures where intentionality doesn’t excuse negligence.         

It Seems As But A Glimpse

the pools stir those leaves creak the soil is chains or restrictions or chaos. others must be me or I am them into detention’s eyes. curfew for adults or Coronavirus for allegiance where music is failing its commission. budding softly such gusts into windows or mythic magic becoming excellence. by black rivers our curdling intestines at chestnut wilderness: the fox giggling those sneaky snakes or the gifts of our paradox. so distressed these days it feels so familiar where wild monsters gnaw our flesh. such media those souls so alive while adrenaline is passion. intonation or subtle cues while the canine is responding to the master. an old motif an endless maze where millions are a bit indifferent: neither way, nothing there, as back to such intimate depression. our lost angers our forfeited sheep while Armageddon wouldn’t change next year’s events. for it cycles. life is heaviness. the violins are churning clouds. by caprice while frustrated where officers have such a war to vacuum. our first perception those quick judgments or latent suppositions. those worries those concerns while most people argue more than listen. we have beliefs. they determine behavior. while we assert — “Not everyone is guilty.” such feelings absconding with pains or experience or terrors. such bold protests or movement marches where millions still portrait “Solidarity.” our mandolins into atmospheres our neo-privileges where people are convinced the scrolls are authentic. such elasticity or bendable plastic while one person can’t rid us of our faith nor pride. it was well with reality to kneel into insanity but we rise into relationality. those old fables. these hectic standards. while most are so held back by disappointment. in myriad rooms we listen to Cornel West made more concerned than before. such power is voices, such children concerned while believing in guardians. by thimble we presume or trails to kingdoms while the poet is restricted. the veranda is now the park. the patio is now the beach. people are faced with their thoughts. cupboards are sullenness. credenzas are memories. or graves seem closer!      

Twigs & Roses & Psyches

one prunes twigs, another, roses, or another, psyches. breakfast becomes murder, such middle graves, by purity in something crooked. frantic readings at impiety where one becomes a great inveigler. our beautiful miseries our kernels in devastation while caged an adolescent sung his terrors. we see a dear fight if born with love or here’s to triumph! so suppressed or digging trenches while a woman buried honesty. courtroom legacies as so much innocence while we feel unclean. it never dies. made for excavation. where a gentle phrase causes an upsurge. no deadlier war than self-mutilation so after ourselves abandoned to wires. I met an omen. or black essence. or calendula images. we sat in quietude. we stole from concrete. we abused abstracts. it was face-value, a Philistine promise, or an Israelite goddess. I chuckled gently. we knew for rubbish. we returned to status quo. such seismology into beige atmosphere so cursed or blatant such roots reaching into history. I hold silence, I give her determination, while aching in tribalistic pains. (you can’t take it. it ruins clouds. it destroys brilliant men. such creeping at sites such poltergeists where fury has always tasted sour. (would you take it? would you risk the struggle? so into freeing me!) those pierced illusions, or golden jackals, at fierce battles to soar again. the tragedy of skin or those luxuries in the majority while we meet at Abjection’s porch.) to have let go. the proverbial walk. but those watched, got angry, while denying me such retreat. if to hesitate or to wage crime or to inkpad a nation. (it was regular those days, where sense wasn’t priority, but impetuous statements. such became its dejection its catastrophe while there's a monopoly on knowledge.) teach us familiarity, as opposed to differences, whereby, we learn to harmonize. but hostility is this: to have placed a person in a box, whereat, one realizes that he broke out. such perceptual clashes. everything was so neat. one categorized a person for his own contentment. so apostolic those years or sought for embarrassment while pruning an exiled psyche.        

Study of Postmodernism

those wastelands this hypocenter while a soul wrestles with hypersensitivity. such blanket remarks or screams into silence where faces rupture or demean so sacred into cosmology. such seismic tortures to have set buildings aflame where analysts are calling us heathens. those blacksnakes or so uninvolved while certain behaviors cannot be condoned. a man loses life his epicenter where pain ruptures from state to state. we regroup we wait as if retribution is but a noun. but a flagon of gin or a palm of percocets so associated with anarchists. our Shiloh heritage our Cush mobility where souls are siding with Neanderthals. it becomes silences or tarmac feelings while minds are feeling crestfallen. those rams in signals to symbolize like giants if but so ruined it flavors as normal. where violas are sweet or pianos are genteel while Love is anger or regrets: a man searches a well or a trombone insomuch as an elegy licensed to call for more affection. (those artifice rhythms or those hips such devastation or thighs aesthetic into souls pleading ventilation. if but a mere trumpet or a small embryo to have loved while adoring several in sexuality: the minor infraction those scenes in blue print as agitated to preempt the desire. an amulet so snug or drums in Africa while a heartfelt tribalism: such jejune affection such terror to say her name where it was perfect to become baboons. those tragic cries those ruminating eyes while Love is content debating phantoms. but truths wail where aggression was tender as such to have never expressed it—while a caved creature too passive to stay alive where fever explodes such depth of fury. by outflow, into a person’s inrush as to feel underrated by small people. it’s more from a disdained person. it kills when it’s beneath science. or it prowls or lurks like lions in wait.) too casual our debts to scream for payments where one is semi-oblivious. the mouse by its hole or the snake by its pit while a naïve person helps for privilege. so cultured with you so alive while making passion where too far away to adore such cameo plights.          

Ink Jars & Faint Gusts

such hand-me-downs those plaid pants those church fitted tops.

to retrospect a little. to tug-a-war with the lioness. or by chance, he exploited himself.

such middle-hearted creatures such manatee problems while we carry Jesus—to defend or

to pledge 

or to reschedule a promise. but something probes me such careless meditation

such spacey cries. familiar garments upon new persons

while casual enough to peak higher. Love is ingenious or Love is a woman or Love is a professional. by debated famine by aching reality by liars or nuns or a few priests trying so hard.

it becomes pain, for greater reasons

while its

too close to experience. to die somewhere while made filthy so indebted to survival. the mind-house those fuchsia rugs or dice-crème counters.

we know it works we adjust by study as never permitting too much control.

to keep it clean or endear a bee-hive while every cut is different from you.

those things in us. as to see disgusts. where most are vigil upon a phlox: something royal or something steady where many wish to deflower the deflowered.

tempestuous moods to know more than enough while flying becomes epistemic.

our first tare our porcelain distraction while an emotion spawns its portal.

Grandfather Would Say:

“the wilderness was solace or wires such telling archives. to evince is impossible so qualified where critical thought is absolute distrust. to paint pictures to plant a platypus our minds becoming wolves. so tender but rough or so open for some so hellish on color. to abide as polite to perish for self where others hear heartbeats. I would search in vain for something human where I was met with vanity. I would feel like forests or frantic a star so accursed to die here. a Bud Light a pack of cloves or more bloodwork. I see jubilee, or such intentional laughter, while a man is cursed to see subtleties. deliberate shifts. our rights so important. while a magician promised immortality. so much to need essence so gentle to let go where privacy shows society altering good people. we’re bombarded the catapult is innocence while every number speaks to insanity. a genetic hostage a presidential hazard while might is such a dangerous creature. the death of us. those whales we harvest. while people die in America.

“Rome for me or Grease for us or logos by privilege. our mistakes. our foolish pains. while it depends upon correct analyses. they thought us dead. we took to syntax. we read relentlessly. it seems difficult. it becomes training. while many have little respect for books. it silences time. such a need for relaxation. especially, On Powdered Ground.

“we write prolifically. we sense something unspoken. we make terrible bloopers.”

Dis-Absolution, The Fire Is Color

a man buries fusion or blunders hard into scientific dejection. those rainbows such road-work acclaimed by tyranny. I would dislike me or disown me where others used me. such genetic heists such DNA robbery while Isaac Stands Accused. so many years a similar thought but different intuition. a daughter mid-wings such terrific fright while medium feelings. I knew so little I intuited more fires where I knew all avenues—those Blue Cross rescues those Medi-Cal years or tied gently revived in an ambulance. I can’t undo medicinal wires or write freedom clearly such wealth in deciphering why one is losing. the filthy attitude. the welkin authoritarian. or those hierarchical countenances. while we feel insecure while we hate mirrors while some are dearer reflections. the haven moon, those ventriloquists or vinyl bleeding into a white carpet. such uncured mystics or radicalized congestion so minor to hate us. something means so much it feels like legacy where human lives are dear debates. a woman made a commit. I almost missed it. essentially, she spoke about my past—where death was liquid or beauty was chaos while a man lost gravity. we know a common feather. I can’t figure clearly. but I have a hunch. another woman, in time with hooks, just took a picture of me. she never asked. my mental nib was wailing. I was dearly edgy. but we wait. we die or live as ghosts. where many speak about exaggeration. but to die while living or to live while dying, such nectar rich existence. I told a woman something. it seemed so obvious. I watched as she debated the existential, the implication, while determined something was afoot. so calm or skeptic while evidence is saying something, it hurts. the precious person that deep leniency while we often hate our chorus. those choirs raging those rustling seaweeds while a whale crawled into a land creature. to carry a manatee or to efface an elephant, while said element becomes a gorilla. the inner chimpanzee the argumentative ape or sailing for months sipping seas. to love images, to imagine one feeling, while diluted enough to sing dis-absolution.     

Grade School Didn’t Depict This

we have by pendulum while it studies us where it leans towards fire. those silver starlings our sanctity secluded or such sullen sanity. by irritability or addict behaviors while justified by desolation. the wheeled spider, the rhino’s anger, or reflection not believing its hustle. such Tibetan leakage or rites so deliberate or bereft of what he deserves. reading for clarity such imperfect geniuses while a hunch is soft execution. to spaces for humans by radicalized trespass to ask for warmth or affection. the scientific shoebill, the long perceptive tusk, so constructed to expose something without a resolution. why to jump or to leap into something frustrating or never ending. even sobriety has impasses, let alone addiction, or its simulation. to meet once again to have thoughts where one is angry while another receives it. the terrifying linage those escaping to sunshine while found ten years into a new life. to ask for interaction or verification or something with meat to chew. our dueling empire while it was said in such reception, “Forgiveness seems weakness”—especially, during rotation, those wet-dry or eager cries. there became a few choices: submit to humiliation, overwhelm the adversary, or both retreat but try again. so much dogwood or dogma or resurrected parts as jewels or defenses while one learns anger. it leaves attraction it becomes affliction while one realizes a critical point: we desire what we give, no more no less, so if I give one disrespect that is exactly what I want in return. but if I give one kindness, in an effort to reach him, I would like such receptivity. I met a man. he had several diplomas. even the highest one. we chimed at a distance. he gave a level of disrespect. I imagined this is his location. he became disturbed. he asked me if I was dimensional. I told him I merely mirrored him. he was outraged. he yelled for satisfaction. I walked away a bit confused. if one gives silence, where I become silent, how can one become irate? these are simple examples. but if one shows respect, or if one wants to maneuver, dispense such compassion while remaining alert.   

The Captor, Sweet, The Nectar

I can’t go far. I must stay closer. the trough screams.     it was sheer exasperation. or total non-confrontational. while instinctive assessment.     we hide from us we die our reflection to imagine we’ve done such music; the calm in war the uncharacteristic neatness where even love is symptomatic.     I would locate you or find myself where a sweet trait became minor confession. I would speak to Bishop. I would lie seeking remedy. he would rectify the lie I worshiped.     I wasn’t attracted, not as madness, but those ambiance eyes. such single mandates, to arise as cultures, by silent disgraces.     it was us sleeping. you pulled the signature move. we seemed to coalesce in dungeons. our breakage our courage while you foresaw perception.     a soul as an oven a whirl as flirtation or so quick to rawness our six-day chamber.     the pomegranate symbol, such dirt beneath sneakers or such sweat the nape; to taste salty flesh to touch a mushy mushroom while I lied to have potion; the vast hallway those vestibule demons where entrance was pure negation: our debts those boyfriends or a man with his projects.     I saw a sepulcher I ran for existence but life becomes something debating us: the beauty in there, the knowhow churning in there, the child laughing so wildly out there.     the loveseat was filthy the full-sized bed had fluids but the possessed body is so false with cleanness.     I resolve to adore I die to taste I miracle an event a double climax. we spoke our seconds those tears were blackmail while Love never cherished my sacrifice.     but we leave life alone we permit her to have reign while we become passive pantomimes.     such pianist’ darkness. so inclined to court depression. but a deep pain we pain to disclose. our dear violinist. our re-purposed deception. while midway into killing us I fell enlove. the kill his throat the bite his chest while I convulsed, she gave mercy.     I couldn’t fire a fight I fueled failing while death was sweeter.     our strings breaking while penance was raging such a blessing to have stolen DNA.

The Sun Is Black Marmalade

but a citizen strung by glass eating off the stove. our blank ambition hands so cold while Love shredded her garments. blue-teal eyes or ivory limbs so much a need to be everything. those gifts to hearts the shackles tasting sweet or the miracle so frozen. as accustomed to losing or winning vinegar while they desire breakage. the purpose in the substance those blown apes our gorilla problems. so gorgeous but not enough while others aren’t even trying. a man to his rib a woman to her cage while neither understood integrity. the pool is burning the familiar has become a burden the children are too unfocused. water is running liquor is spilling our forest seems so dedicated—to deer or meadows interwoven as so dearly explosive. our battling minds our wilderness melody or intermission choirs. those deadly appendages our apples so sour as sudden into disappearance; to awaken cut asunder leaking grapes while wine was salty: the man in the dress the woman in the suit or the walking camera. to love like losing to plead like God’s closer while begging was disgraceful. such virgin soil such unclear skies or muddy but beautiful idealism. our wait to die our wait to live where life is but more waiting. where Love has a career, a marvelous family, but she rubs naked razors across her obedience. to hate living while so cursed to live where sudden into a bolt of happiness. those vacuuming eyes those helicopter instincts or random sex while away on sabbatical. by soul he laughs it cuts too dearly while he seeks unsavory episodes; our saga rich humiliation on all fours barking while we awaken five lives richer. such dreary grasslands or ghosts’ hopes as to return home sung while desperate to feel hugs. our aches bleeding, where Love asks, “Was it sweetness or hell?” our paint brushes our sabotages while existence is in variety. our phallus disposition or our womb ownership where most are disappointed desperately. those red ants if but to parlay with one where another loses track to find a bump on her breast. our only one. our devastated beings. where Love said: “You’re all I ever prayed for.”

Pain Becomes Mellifluous

what becomes of depression, or happy malaise, or blissful sorrow? clarkia eyes. or calendula smiles. such by a calla lily. what terrorizes its soul, as an unorthodox creature or a doctor of these streets? a liquor consumer or a floating dysfunction such raw activity. (so hated where it was hard if but to become (unbeknownst) an agent of confidence. the steel countenance the problem it is, while needing what we are.) almost irregular while one watches where it’s crazy to digest—the black moon our inherited racism or demeaning others for fair pain. so much to discover where agendas might shock us if but so loquacious a liar. (but a man was direct, he offered a solution, where Love might live that life. like a hospital, so special to Ezra, while most want out; such chemicals such devastation while crucial or temperate some desire to excommunicate—this life of whistles the gorgeous pain or so sick—as to look to desire while too depressed to feel otherwise; those feuds in us while seated or chattering where one needs to know where attention is given.) bucolic fields or a bachelor’s button where a baby’s breath is terrifying: such feelings aren’t fugacious such memories are mesmerizing the math the hatha the hash. but a different person those years at study while another is trying to identify from a book. but what becomes of depression, or happy malaise, or blissful sorrow? (such disjointed souls such racing horses while one gallops into a parlor: Love looks the musician or the mystic while life becomes an anthem. those foxglove windows while riding graves those freshets those fuchsia dementias; to have understood by time into fevers while a person burns with intensity—at every dungeon with stolen keys why a man said he would wait it out. that wise magician those tender wands as onlookers became angry: too offer freedom, but he would not blaze, if but a new trail is too many adjustments. (oh darling, would the seas preach joy, or the sands speak glee?) so pushed into parts where stubbornness hawks as some indelicate creature on the verge of melting into belligerence.      

What Outdoes 60% In California?

so confused about relations or so infused by admiration. our sundry needs our autumn leaves or desolate happiness. but declining faith at radical claims while analyses becomes crucial. by critical premises to dare assert our inability to isolate, or determine affections by exclusivity. one becomes concerned. however, some are old-fashioned, some are new-aged, where others are forgiving or daring. nonetheless, we dream about rites or passion where tenderness is pure, plus, encryption. (this sounds subversive, while it seems apropos, where two hide nothing, explore their mental channels, while loving with acceptance of every tendency. (but one argues about education, demanding the parameters make for exclusivity, where statistics show an educated person is more likely to succumb to a tryst.) we’re not speaking certainties. we’re debating feelings. while asserting a keen assessment—most, or the majority of academicians, are postmodern pluralists.) so, we need to filter humans: Does plurality determine an inability to love? or, while this is anarchical, Are such people designed to be more caring or loving, due to more freedom, or an ability to live more intentionally? we don’t argue either side, while experience seems influential, where one is semi indicting exclusivity. indeed, it’s safer, while we debate contraceptives, but if used nothing poses a great threat. we think of children, what we want for them, while it certainly isn’t plurality. in a way, we answer our times, we dial our urges, or better, we look for a way to become human without the guilt made by seclusion. our greater grandparents might laugh, they might chastise us, while grandfather was a bit lose in his dealings. maybe exclusivity provides closure, control, plus, a bit of a power feeling. maybe it releases more love for it feels secure while it too nurtures self-respect. but what for deviance, or what for animal likeness, or better, what for our indebtedness to each other? it seems clear. honesty is so required. without the threat of losing a person because of leftist perusals. but temperament, or openness to mutuality, while most feel better with security.          

Simmering Or Boiling

I face haunting facts or benighted reality while chasing the distant dragon. so cursed in loses so confined by winnings while often a person inherits a nightmare. but over that way they seem simpatico they dance, set the stage, or swim like athletes. by fierce examples such deep contradiction where a person cleaves to his experience.     so paranormal so paramystic while life has baggage: those literary projections our dear desire as to assess a person by a given glance. (I live in scenes abandoned to dregs or found to resonate with a given few. such existential enmity by sensual science where relationality is conditional.) Artemis for women. Penelope for chastity. or Athena for paradox. (a person relinquishes sanity, or too unraveled to claim rational, while this might become sin.) such facial winds those long alleys or such urban graffiti: to die with culture while we pine for extraordinary where others are cursed if we achieve.     the spirit so detected or so irritated where others are envious. our desolate cities as moving souls while such root-comfort in concentration; but something is warm, it needs ice, the want to find existence in another human. such determined impetus such catapulting excellence where devastation might be waiting.     our lack of guarantees our baffling faiths with so little to substantiate our decisions. if but to despise a man if but to determine his demise so abhorred for his honesty. to claim purity where others smile while we must all plead forgiveness.     such trials by pigmentation to appreciate certain types, especially, if I can get one to endure by infinity.     by manipulation as to obtain everything while too much clarity is offensive; but it reigns as truth, “If you love me, you should fall susceptible to my deception, if not, then you don’t love me!”     if one needs accountability, or if one is too inquisitive, then something is in disarray.     I wonder by methods, trying to gain insight, into why some of us desire a spouse: we do as we please; we don’t sacrifice much; where others doing correctly sense us as universal failures.   

Primitive Gene Pool

those mounts those social ribbons while I desire freedom. its infinity its treasury if but to understand its portraits. to listen to you to need you while so stubborn as to reject you. so much love so much convenience or attuned to something unhealthy. by condition where he needs affliction if but wings to his galaxy. but a liar those years but inconvenience those welts by upsurge or downpour. our medic canyons our trailed valleys our psalms or palm-prints. a modern rose a primitive jamesia while caves connect to dungeons or tombs or dreams where one sits evaluating a man’s guillotine. his head near mutts such flea-bitten mongrels while a mongoose happens upon a diamond. our rugosa minds or dear tyranny while a man must endure a runaway hunch. I would dare those skies such words in his screams where his face has become offensive. so many floors such wars to quench while told a soul must desire peacekeeping. those gate-reapers those fenced magnolias while a trail shows a deep need for dejection: the gutter baby those alcoholic infants to see the dear one trembling from withdrawals. so many before those seams such dying to arise where no one gave much credit. a driven discontentment a prejudged assessment where a man is designated his dreams. the polyantha gimmick those mourning seasons or so disenchanted one can’t obtain a positive review. to adore like absent to pursue like losing where it seemed so interesting—those rattles in shrubberies those webs in houses or those trapdoors in offices. by tender raspberries by relic emotions or primitive eyes where one is caiman or dinosaur such raw energies—those women so unconfessed or such deep damaging bodies while a man suffers his greatest combustion. (if minds grew marigolds or tummies knew facts as one driven into extinction!) looking to sprout or touch the black science at one too explicit for random miseries. too suffused to silence too much dusk to sky those wild hibiscuses. so held by roots or fires our hands bleeding ink—the gut’s reign the death’s canopy while truth is so disgusting!                    

Condemned The Love To Participate

so much the terror those tragic webs so wicked so assailed into Asian cries. but a born/behavioral talisman or a travesty-hat such hailing-bought-haven or acrylic personality. to die in a sentence such sincere disgusts for he reminds us of deprivation. by London artistry too filled to fumble such instincts those years at sheer embarrassments. Love was shocked or treasures were casted so course into trails such beautiful sorrow. where normal was chastised while reality was crosswise so real so regulated. the smoggy rooms those stenches or stitches while a nun rethreaded her addiction. over cold beers a true confession, I take it to the catacomb: sights in us or pictures snapping while afraid of anything but sex. by a standard sold so early where a man convinced or evinced her into believing love is but physical. we say something in this unfair pain while adoring companionship. those windows those widows those welkin warnings—as baited for hated while hell was a bailout—a jackal’s charisma a Korean’s jingle so knit so tightly or confused. it was thus sporadic or uneven such silent/unhealthy longing. whereby, those fluttering frames those feathers famished those feelings failing. where days were darkened the portrait polished the gangly grasshopper. so exiled or unrecorded where vultures partook of flesh.

such was fresh in me such was trauma or courage or mother or father pure stipulation sewn solace while calmness was actual retreat. too afar to baffle to close to battle at miles or milieus or mega militias. so vague in there an omen at treasures in there or something a bit gray those occurrences in there. Love is an octopus by deeper levity to have arrived as a goddess. our filthy daiquiris our rancorous cigarettes while so deep-in the impossibility is palpable. it was a dream a sudden clash into glass or steel or fury about flaming. so dear to me while it shall never matter for math has condemned the mystic.             

Spirits Are Up For Ransom

I get concerned when one pops in, for we consider what it carries. so long at silence such mystic children so consumed or self-centered into galaxies or deaths so young communicating that way. a man met strength he decided to retreat the spirit kept advancing. the man is blocking forces or seized by energies while some are from atmosphere. to adore something ancient or to understand more does exist where affirmations explode into literature. I recollect or reveal into sudden chills a spirit so facial as asking while disappearing. it didn’t stick which brings us to conviction while one might say, he is clear; for if not, one would tremble, thoughts would rummage until one landed upon an infraction. it raged it needed its home as one is born into a search for interior recognition; to align with intestines to bring brains to ambition while many are designed to render experience. one might hold a spirit it eats or flees or returns—as it laughs it becomes maniacal it must defeat its habitation. if but to relinquish it to sudden into remission while one’s spirit looks through another’s eyes. it peers at itself it lunges at itself it adores if but to control itself. our silent universe our present contention if but to space a spirit lodged in his essence. a child deprived of hugs becomes introverted where love seems to belong to discussions; such dependent creatures or at tension with something extensive while never a war where everyone was elated. to keep it together to analyze self while something is taking its course—those dark jealousies for too much makes skies crazy or too little causes a chasm. so amazed it hit where it peaked as fleeing to its source. such a deep secret where it realizes the agent is not guilty. it makes its investigation. as deciding upon its action. where it might return to its emotion. I ponder Moses even those magicians, we have something similar in our times. one worships by self-assortments; others worship as monotheists; while some are atheists or polytheists. such hold similarities. it requires a keen eye. where contempt is shared or distrust is intimacy.      

Supernatural Perception Is A Threat

through waves or force the feeling of suspension. but connectedness by understanding or tapping into sky-wells. full complication so internal where fire seems by ransom. to have a feeling or to exhaust emotion where behavior isn’t an issue. such furious wires so born to disrupt while beauty is auctioned. by points proven if to disturb tranquility, so distressed another found joy. it meant so little. so meant for invasion. while it went too far. it becomes difficult science, or quicksand religion, while it liberates or confines. (to look at Love so thrown to believe while something is dis-centered. sunlit valleys or countryside sparks while we believe not in our practices. existence is for manipulation. nothing is authentic. while we like it this way.) “I want nothing for you. nothing I can’t rent out. for you are a threat. I report those, in this spell of fusion, for it’s quite raw.” one might awaken it, just to identify its location where something unreal is monitored by fury. (I think of a woman such flame to glisten where she wanted to be seen: nothing more, but maybe to be worshiped, or to charge up for it was sexual.) what happens those askew darts, where one is possessed, or unmonitored. so headed your way as sudden into a trance while I felt it was unnecessary. such those illnesses by different compartments where some are concerned about free agents. something must submit if but to maintain balance while we can’t escape free agents. it’s quite natural for us if but to suggest something extraterrestrial while harnessing perceptions. each group has it source its ability to rev into a countenance. it becomes a commodity. it’s reduced to a product. while most are angered by calling it holy. everything is by conspiracy. or the feeling becomes: “Only I or we can operate the vehicle.” one might retreat. or shift perception. or just fail to pursue those windy spells. as more of you, or analyzing follicles, a bit distressed where it means so much to alter life: by missiles or by sheer bullets for innocence becomes dangerous—plus, “I can’t permit that, those supernal thoughts, for they cause discomfort.”                   

Heart-Cliffs & Bridges

what have we given, other than soul, mind, such rockets or silence? over the tan sun or dirty with forgiveness so abashed by weather. it seems that way while hushing nervousness or faced by reflection. the stolen moon or a hidden nose while we take to one knee. such dangerous feelings so struck by fury where trying seems so difficult. our guts our geranium our granite or skin—those glabrous emotions those windless seconds while such sweltering becomes dizziness. or to adore gradually such dear persons while fleeing for it isn’t polite. our deep dark secrets our mature madness where most are flexible sadness.     (so normal is something we disapprove of.)          

helenium pastime or mannikins pointing at self to find essence built into marred sorrows; such ruins such gray laughter if but to look and be cursed; as to see hermetic(s) or trespass by accident while one is absent of an agenda. but Love is delicate. her smile is shattered. her hands are trembling.     there’s redness there’s blood while one has nothing to give.     over yonder is trauma, such deep desperation, but Love hasn’t missed an entrée.     those teal/cypress eyes where it wasn’t intended while an undercurrent bonds the orange skies. a horizon of prose an inner ache-beat such drums by no more its destination.     to understand it destroys to walk while screaming or lost near a hospital kicking curbs.     it was such neat insanity it was outrageous it was the best ambrosia a man may taste. it was unstitched luxuries or something too superficial where breaking up becomes so easy. as if a man died as if he was unfit where another merely spoke delusions. our baffled/addled souls. our nice dismissals. or mid a crisis to love another and come back to aid the problem.     or to ask for impossibility to override all senses while baking an illusion. where it never changes, it’s never sameness, or we know too much to make it work.     we pick one this war in arms as committed as opposed to seeking a perfect human.     while we try desperately, if but the last hero, so ashamed if one can’t appease invisibility!                 

Genetic Environments

I seesaw between kindness or sullenness or upbeat malaise. I disappear in conversation or return saying, “What was that?” it seems inappropriate such friction to determine future hostility. so young at this, so defensive with this, where two have built a fence like this. I have said drama into something self-reflective while often we stir deep wounds: the regurgitation, those flashbacks, where the motive is thought through. (but responses might trouble, where one is logical, but it’s supposed to hurt more. this is problematic. it’s a symbol. while some people require too much!) if it devastates those things in us then it’s interesting. if it’s viewed with much rationality something is out of place. (while so critical is this fact, when it comes to them, we are licensed to speak as he does.) one needs more emotion, even if angry dissention, while if it wasn’t there, it would not erupt. but something probes, a crucial point, if one is passive does that necessity more abuse? the kid is nice, so one slaps him, if he lashes out, is he guilty?     we film our souls such dear discrimination while it’s difficult to determine leniency. those cries screaming, the countenance boxed off where one has assessed based upon insecurities.     often, we find a situation, where contours class, as that becomes a reason for assessments. it’s no longer facts, it’s hunches, while feelings determine something is not right. or better, one seems put together, by whatever means, but I need to authenticate that. so, something simple, is made complex, where the passive one is now angry. but that is such by motive, indeed, while a little anger is often helpful.     if one is trained, it might flow well, else, it becomes a resistant project—requiring caveats, as opposed to mere (exclusive) behaviors, in a world demanding pure submission.     one is aggressive, another is passive-aggressive, but all behaviors must be by guessing or by intuition. nothing is straight to senses as in pure clarity while we expect certain responses.     anything becomes irritation. mere pleasantries carry undertones. while our spirits grimace upon our egresses!

           

the project is by contention the pantomime is disgruntle the puppeteer is vexed. we meet the rebellious puppet. we take essence for granted. we undermine his need for mutual respect— while distressed enough to cause intentional discomfort. but here is its reality: it doesn’t matter if the puppet is upset; or if the puppet maintains kindness; the goal is to unravel something that has trained itself. moreover, the goal is to unlock that dynamic, in all its dysfunction, while, too, to replace his thoughts concerning his addict mother—or addicts in general. if but too controlling but never a controlling incident where a hunch might outweigh actuality. I surmise with uncertainty, for one was quite presumptive, where silent wounds reflect another person’s contempt. our homes, our childhoods, they determine the respect we shall receive in the future. be it good or negative, or some middle reality, or somewhat the deviant outcast. to hurt by intention. to box one in. while lack of affection becomes his anomaly. but a given dynamic or a teacher’s racism where this becomes a mirror. or a prison ground, suffused with such behaviors, while one works hard to control his thoughts. or an asylum where most are otherwise in such a way that he learns something intricate. to then desire normality. or to shun normality. while still an above-average socialite. in truth, something is peculiar, despite the behavior, any or everything is problematic. such a reality, while one assesses that, they, too, are subject to their observations.     how to exclude self-analyses, in an environment where one works so closely with instability?    if a prisoner becomes his environment, this is said of every situation, despite, one’s frustration with the facts.     a Buddhologist becomes a Buddhist, a meditator becomes a sage, while a psychiatrist becomes everything it entails.     it becomes an old cliché, we become what we associate with, in an environment where characteristics are being absorbed.     it’s escapable through removal. but most are not looking for change, but mastery over the given principalities.             

I Don’t Question You!

one wishes resplendence or to believe where faith is rendered passion. by tender wilderness, the aye-aye laughing, the owls speaking Swahili. our gifts for compassion, our teal eyes, so taken by another creature. to decipher love its intensities its lifeline. so gracious those months so dignified these years but something holds fever hostage. by deep lagoons or upon a leaping frog as negotiating our actions. those soft ponds those algae creeks or brooks into our mountains. such dreamscape gentility. so gorgeous in sophistication. whereby, a gesture becomes erotica. our sweetness so incorrigible, our minds swarm with graces, there is much to a person’s integrity. if but to adore essence if but aging with delicacies so featured in a person’s screams. faces in faces, or fire filming fire, such fierce familiarity. bodies knowing solitude or souls at serenity such brave ideals. fated gates or firm fences while one has its keys. to speak as a child by engendering affections where one is absolute monogamy. (it tortures the poet, to examine the kingdom, as to determine—we’re attempting something technical. as needing an excuse in this freedom of opportunities where slight admiration strikes the human ego.) whereto, such asking for absolute detachment, while pleading for exclusive access, in an environment searching for its meaning. our religious notions, but our anti-religion, where we need pudding but not its ingredients. so moral at our terrors, in such glitter our society, where one gives in the heart’s absence. it becomes free-floating, our inclinations where one is assessing us: to determine value, such needs for nuance, while we perish by originality. our formed bodies, our long mane, or an animal inside that comes out; indeed, or something reserved, so captive its excruciating, while a person is breaking out in hives; such a perfected countenance, or pent-up energies, while so behaved one becomes a great magician. it seems nice but it shall implode while others are tugging at its soreness. nonetheless, our aches for acceptance, our groans for completeness, enhances our inner negation.            

What Determines Deviance? Only Consensus!

such distinctive features so eclectic our minds rashes over beauty. so negative by perception, to wonder intimately, what are the quirks? millpond serenity or old flames while life is fettered to appointments. to have elegance or sewn sophistication where a man debates his suspicions. by sabbath night or Pentecostal fusion so deranged I can’t assess Love. those morning ghosts alive but suspended where questions are posed by neurotransmitters; such fragments by spaces those faces across their penial glands where Love would argue her absence. a whale into darkness or pictures appearing such cuts or devastations so prone to believing—the silent omen the interior apparition so cursed it feels like it’s bliss. so many tender Goliaths so confounded by grayness where something unstable feels so secure. our minds more unable, to determine our floating sky, while something yearns for abuse: a hatred for self, or treasured inabilities, where a person doesn’t fathom the human’s worth. such a need for tableaus. so delicate our psyches. while Love has been in therapy since adolescence: the addict parents, the creepiness, or suicidal by fifteen. the overdose, the beauty treatments, while glowing comes fragility: a want for children, a need for comfort, while amoral or unexplained. a doctor at physics, a scientist to the tilt, insomuch as to give deliberate signs. our secret souls. our attempts to reveal discomfort. while a person determines to see only glamour. those halcyon eyes, the hibiscus palm prints, so absolute in arenas of spirit. such a carpenter while assembling regrets for one is plain too innocent. the need for experience those miles upon regions if but a lethargic hourglass. our confliction totters it tilts into tolerance our core values are chaotic. at imbalance by terrors while one asks, “Why are you dying?” such becomes the answer: “I have incapacities or better, I have failed humanness.” one needs a plethora of souls. if but to sustain existence. where reality is too much to consider. the clocks are incorrect. those determinants are too vague. for some are too exposed to follow a social ruler.

Mystic Shoes & Dark Silence

I saunter in daydreams as conversing in gestalt if but those curly eyelashes. to have moved quickly to have died repeatedly such crooked faces. our cobra charms our daylight horizons if but one jury to exonerate existence. such violet garments such mauve rainbows or too much to sustain. the daughter is legacy or dynasties our pores sprinkling jubilee. as a mere person so unorthodox while fleeing so quickly, I return to sociality: those rooms for trials those chains or cuffs or told — “The one is set free.” so unfastened so early with life while never understanding the raging process. (we sense differences. we tremble with anticipation. where two suggest an exit plan.) for this is life, such dear maturity, where two separates at participation.     I read Naidu. I love her flowing creeks into diamonds so shattered while answering congestion. those murky lagoons or the Buddhist’s mayfly if but unsteady, reaching depth, or arising at this distant memory. so cured somewhere or so ill elsewhere while the package comes with dents or imperfections. as never to lie or to compete with lies where two participate but only one is guilty.     the risk is heavy where two come together for both must decipher those closet dragons.     by an idyllic world, we have come-up together, where too many fireflies have visited our hearts.     if but to manumit love. if but to feel until it blossoms. those prisms those hues those crystals!     such erumpent logistics such furious frames or sudden events unforeseen.     our needs to un-whelm, or our minds tugged, while often we run into mistakes: those road blocks, those new additions, or a person’s ulterior motives.     it happened recently. I mapped-out a plan. where one shattered my schedule. but life is like that, our values challenged, while we write some off as assholes.     but an easy task, plus, it defends us, while optimally, we must determine their purpose.     those spheres by intuition, while we must be careful, for desires are often imposing. where a person will see, exactly what’s needed, to free self from responsibility.     so famished! such a kind shark! or such mystic shoes!

Likeness Is Unforgivable

I don’t grasp enough, as the terrible creature, while I demand humanity. those futile reasons those bold green eyes or such lustful tyranny. we become addicts as once a neat child while addiction doesn’t mean substance. to feel possessed, so much another soul, while wild or stolen into ecstasy; to loosen self, to unfold or become connected, to the primitive/tribal element. such sharp essence, such raspberry china so much nectar or vinegar. it was pain to adore it was agony perdured it was forbidden, riven, even taboo sexuality. a room in India a castle in Europe or such wreckage so tender an apple. our courted brains our rabid needs where we feel so guilty so ashamed while craving corruption once again. to wrestle with flesh to ponder what’s righteous or to kneel until our knees are raw. such fantastic fury those glistening frequencies while two are so close it becomes mother or father. by shifting landscapes as to dream about freedom if but a different pair of receptors. the courage to scream, while man is watching, where it was miracle or debauchery. so torn to have deaths or so enlove with myths while chronology seems appropriate. our ruthless oblations our uncured devotion where an anchor was packaged with a smile. that need to reorganize those dear dark dungeons while we attempt to rethread our dying tendencies.   

Sky Breakage or Dark Delusion

we rive early those raised in depression where mother is dying or father is delirious. we overlook scars it seems insufficient we hate mirrors. a man back then, a young master, a therapist, counselor, or someone to pay the rent. by sixteen such rummaging such attic furniture such a perspective on existence: it screws us, we watch for bolts we live in squalor. a clean kitchen, a tidy living room, a messy bed quarter. to want for no greater reason than, to escape his condition, while this was heavy for Love. to desire with fierceness, to receive disappointment, or realize they, too, are chasing destination. our raving skies our knee dirty prayers our cuts our bruises our raging into this bleeping forest. but the tides are cold those cloudberries are singing while I pause to find a ribbon. Love couldn’t see beauty. I pointed at miracles. I held a cup of determination. the small creature those paranoid eyes if but that corner could appraise. siblings gone. mother dead. father deceased. I need isolation. I might become a monk. just humming and cleaning and studying. but the world is calling, this secular calendar whistles or this pursuit through mud and grime and recrimination. at a dominated world. by an inhabited skin. where it gets too intimate by disgraces. the force in us those guides in us while wasted years speak to temperaments. as by feuds, those needs, while most desire to be twenty-five. such elasticity such reigns such attraction or courage or fleeing into paradises. so distressed about non-consequential realities while the wall is sailing. maybe too much delicacy. or fair disturbance. while some spend an entire existence fixing two or three incidents. our distracted interior our mind’s visuals while enacting those ghosts: the firm disrespect the broken flesh or terror so tragic it didn’t end at deaths. if to live while determined something should elevate. I watch it. it’s sickening. while we just believe others are obtuse. it helps to move us. such demonic angels. where the world is afraid. our casual dalliances our bias towards gratification insomuch our world is peeking or prevalent or demanding bleeping accountability.                        

Pedagogy Rose (Sun Lake)

be a leader, Love. follow sages. read literature. (so far into a galaxy. such fair meadows, or mental corridors.) to possess grace such heavy presence such mythical facts. to know excellence where sparrows roam intuition but an egg hatching. the walls are crumbling. our soulprints are visual. a hand-hawk is scribbling in Arabic. (doorbells rung, or cloth wrung dry, to have found the situation. a man ruling. we argue might makes its immediacy. while monologues should help articulate feelings.) starlings form in skies, some type of deliberateness, where people are asking for elaboration. life is filled with us; kneading given respect; while social resumes are closely inspected. we fail to understand that, our behaviors are recorded, it’s those properties that determine our futures. the sands have prints, the seas have visions or our skies are more rosaries. it becomes silence while looking where we don’t reason our emotions. such needed intelligence. such teacup concentration. where love is predicated. (as with God, we only have attributes (God is good, omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent—these are attributes) this is the same for love). we have keepsake actions, or locket behaviors, or tender consideration of our mind-scopes. we decide by influence; for example, many gravitate towards bubbly characters: the life of existence, the charming traits, while unaware that that person is wrestling deeply. we look at the surface, where this is wellness, but defining our intake takes time with experience. a smile might crack. our glass is visible. we notice something where many will piano those responses. indeed. a bit gray. while wreckage becomes an influential magnet.     read social brochures. ask key questions. when writing, get to the meat of the subject. (such frost these years, such garden impressions, where many are digitizing their birdsongs. the onerous is complexion, the onus is self-disclosure, the ontology is identity.) we maneuver gently. we assert by evidence. while we endure, we prune our hostilities: as excellent humans, if it might exist, while tempering our tendentiousness.                    

Damaged Furniture

by twilight we shall heave or symphony or distress. so nonplus or aria beauty where we see hats but one visits more often. the mind is the fantast the ego is its reality our screams are so muffled. it becomes adventure while one is pretending where we calculate differences. I saw an image an architect or clandestine hostility. so much firewood to believe in essence where unsteadiness becomes privilege. such rich dealings such false imagery where most people are looking at the heathen. candy covered penchants or syrup with liver-works while a moment in time was manipulation. to lose certain rights. unable to say it was accidental. while existence becomes premeditated. such rhapsody those veiled antennae where one can’t connect portals. (to have become yourself, to fit so closely, while chiseling so neatly.) but people aren’t there. the poet is slow reaching. or we must unlock what’s been resting! (it gets frightening. dealing with imbalance. where it’s desperate to cause regression.) to then say it was there. to then try to label it. or worse, to refute all of a man’s hardwork. but let’s be civil, or rectitude, if it’s rooted the earthquake shall but rock it back and forth! (those grapes so luscious such teasing nectar to partake with feelings, while seated amid those fields, rocking gently upon that gate, where a stray Retriever approached, sat in stillness, while barking lightly.) those days getting away. an inrush of beauty. or appreciation for genetics. to rapture in nature, or split a pomegranate, while granny sat sipping and crocheting: “You’re a great grandson. You are smart for this. I do see what’s going on.” those facts we overlook. where influence defines resilience. while there are certain habits we can’t refute. (I station or watch or am shocked by universalities: our similar raindrops, our spirit telepathy, or this gallery of cruelties!) as knowing pain, indeed, we know it hurts, but inflicting willingly those things that happened to us. the cycle is ubiquitous. from upper echelon to squalor regions. (most would prefer others squirming.) so forced some are. this caliber of daisies. while the kittle is in pain.                 

Silhouette Dynasty

there’s appearance or shadows while a person fills in the blanks. where two misdirect values, or expectations become concrete facts, while insights are foggy. I dare to brooch the topic. I shall become an outcast. while it never seems appropriate. (Love is peeved a bit angry where one demands something another person can’t give.) principles shift. honesty is limited. while a false foundation often becomes a legitimate platform. (we sort of die with it. while needing an image we haven’t depicted.) behavior becomes syllables. we find ourselves looking for the accents. while often debating critical churns. (I respond gently while an elephant plays piano where one is disgusted with dynamics. I want to retreat, for rationality has pawned its ghosts, but I listen instead: such gray currents such indirect antipathy, for one assessed, got too close, or missed the beauty.) we ask for diplomacy. we want to be loved. but we act in a fashion that necessitates submission. (what use is honesty? it must liberate. or more often, it causes a grudge. so, we prefer niceties, even when faced by aggression, even if it increases over time.) I tell a secret: the person was too vicious, every waking fragment, where negative seemed too repulsive. to need grace, while feeling nauseous, where the person was excited dearly. it seemed disgusting. where to see it is too trek backwards. it’s sheer anxiety or distrust where the other person is shocked by one’s behavior. to be on point. to analyze movement, intonation, attitude, or disposition. the life is cruel, but one seems disgusted and privileged, if but to invoke such uneasiness. we ask for engagement. we need that murk be ignored. we demand acceptance. the breed of souls those ways we deem normal where cheetahs stray from lions. our competing dynasties. where one must deal with walls. or occasion self for dear resistance. (but it becomes its fruit. it renders what’s invested. it laughs or cries, where that takes precedence.) something might be gray. but such is fact, we hold our understanding, we yield if convinced, but we must see it clearly.            

The Rocket Disassembles

such grasslike clouds such pelting raindrops or glasslike affirmations. to look confident or to break character during therapy with a need for an elusive absoluteness. (many frowns upon me. the person behind the mask. or this assertion that most affairs will fail.) such delicate topics, such behavioral items or rubies so infectious one is crazed to hold on. (it’s not to shock, but to point to a dear fact, one must work at redeeming the relation.) such simple clichés. such Rubik’s Cube identities, where one must negotiate core values. those jamesia diamonds so pure so tender if but to suggest an unlikely human. our desire for the best or our ill-responses where most are ill-fashioned to love. how have we learned, in a system with ranks while I grow forward dispelling the other’s integrity? I deserve something. I demand something. where Love is unknit about our positions. it seems apparent to me, the needs for admiration, where a woman says, “I’m more than a doll.” but I want to cherish rainbows or have a neat family where I have ideals. I want to adore the image I need it to sacrifice while something desires independence. (what happens when doors open? if I am always defensive, or always pursued, or always open, can I maintain something loving or compassionate?) indeed. we run into an issue, in that space of humanness, while we never understood our struggle. upon a geranium while tides are breezy to float into pure purple eyes, to love like redemption those helenium pictures so comfortable so gregarious. as imperfect lovers where some things are silly, in such a sense to run around undressing similar traits. the want for something the need for its manifest while people aren’t raised to meet those standards. those royal palaces that deep irritation where I needed you to die for us. (I speak impossibility. I’m sensitive like others. I need a steady ship; but instincts can’t be abated.) we curve them, or learn to mitigate them, while they suppress or then explode.) the core person is on trial. what does that person need? in an environment that advertises multiplicity—or self-gratification. (we haven’t touched honesty.)         

Kniphofia America

I can’t rapture the science. our ears deafening. our eyes reluctant. (there was music such sweet cadence by remarkable ear-bites.) such outstanding believers, to wonder about motive, where one segment runs our country. by nectar rich figs to have loved like rabbits or to have given dearly by disappointment. our shadowed hearts our distrust where we must feel good. I looked for consistencies. I gathered the fragments. I determined the best for this culture. indeed. I heard a woman. such elegance such articulation where Love is ivy league. it was quick deciphering it was our nightmare where we must address white males. (by mentality. by age. or better, by orientation.) our minds racing. our politics imploding. our petals or camps or mega-conventions. to have adored another person, while wrestling with social silence, where we can’t intrude but you are relegated to disdain. our dear Americas our flowering red-hot icicles while we laugh light-heatedly. I couldn’t depict greater ignorance, so many bloopers, as to berate media with such raging vehemence. where the rich are churning, for aristocracy is concerned with behavior, while they overlook something unqualified. we escape into souls we love like sugarcane we attempt to believe in something. such responsibility such heart-fever where adoring life becomes its challenge. the patio by whispers, the tales by disgust, where one stands there feeling ill-equipped. our inadequacies, as becoming hostilities, while one points at every person in the crowd. as spoken to like dung, where one demands respect, or to do some off-colored behaviors. it doesn’t matter, for this is life, most make excuses for people we admire. but Love is intelligent, those eyes are built fires, while personality was so assaulted. as heard in poets, this flame it sears, “We need them to speak plainly.” where mothers are informed or fathers are understanding while so much is dependent upon culture. to persuade gently, or to disregard entirely, while many turned eighteen last year: those voting machines, those feral agents, becoming involved in tradition.    

Seeing It Doesn’t Mean Sh*t

dear Losing or Demented, how has life treated you? “It has broken concrete. It’s dreaded reality. It sharpens by aggression.”

our barricaded insanities to have come into it where the soul was expressed tribalism. but freedom is aloof it rests in its psychiatry while one must abide in

frigidity or rough science or nickels or quarter-packs after weeds or stems such paranoid stigmata. to give ammunition to speak those back-doors where even Jesus

was shocked.

such gut-passion or furniture fatigue at lower ottomans or higher settees if but to believe as a man discounts his origins so sick so tentative if but the ruling nation.

we assess scruples where he lives as a nut, plus, drinking has fractured his personality. to hear a conversation, or lean into self, while affected or changed those sanctuaries as one enters the room or it’s obvious, you don’t fit here.     so much affection but feeling an outcast while it deserves its academy. a believing nonbeliever a satiric shyness or oxymoronic clarity. where one would pass you that. while pills are mystery. insomuch as one is furious, he spoke so close to transparencies. the vexed author those terrified gorillas while a man married a tiger shark.     so unaffected come years. so tragic his first response. where it isn’t deep enough!

laudable efforts. pierced sensibilities. where we will never get along. this war I need. where one is equipped. as I lose, I walk away smiling. this sociopath this psychopath this normal evaluator. to have it categorized to know demarcations or to show it to a given feature. that mistake in souls, as to see familiarity, and plead for a friend. those tithes this curse where the preacher is filled with his best interests. so emphatic for this independence while trust is so chesslike.

a sparkle in a scream a demon in

a salad those mazes those eyes to

fret in fear or to become a little

baby while life is prenatal or

dear protagonists, to pardon daily

the friction in authority where

one says, “I know for pain. I

give rain. but he must apologize.”

damn! I need to curse.

this land of feelings by the truism, “My emotions are more important than others!”

but over the tide near the frontal ocean or under the sunrays—those weaning spirits this undercurrent war

while mother resurrected.

it was easy it came naturally it lives in our homes.     but justice somewhere those few damned to politeness where people feel so bleeping normal.     the vase just sits. it collects dust. we wash it during foggy dusky caricatures.

our tender thoughts. our wrung journals. while seeing it doesn’t mean sh*t!