Heart Orison

such a feeling, an all day feeling, with communion alive its deliberation. it was sullen into an art while such fire into a soul. where have we gone, where it feels normal, such evidence of a delicate ideal? a man shovels dirt, he imagines an audience, where someone utters, “You aren’t here!” I root for you in silence I root where it might get crappy: our contagion to live, our understandings, where truth existence is said as bliss; so absent of shame, so void of punishment, where our god is a source of devastating happiness. what has a woman longed for? what is this huge picture? it’s matchboxes, whetstones, or such to hewn our skin. I rewind self, into a dear trauma, seated in deep reflection. I head to the kitchen. I grab a cigar. she checks in if too much time passes. I’m mad at me. I’m mad at you. I feel a bit of uneasiness. space is different or casual while mirrors determine dishonesty: “It’s well. No one knows”; where I love this one: “It’s not your fault.” somewhat hard on self, for it distinguishes realities, while souls are living—such beauty, such underpinnings, such trenchant mistakes. to imagine a life, sure purity, as never an indiscretion: (I sense such monsters.)

our prayers bleeding as sweat trickles while heaving into a handkerchief. or coughing ghosts alert but unseen where a demon is relentless: such nails or guts or five determined scarves—as never but more tears, where eyes just water, while reading or raking or scraping brains intensifies angst or augments sensation. but orison, noetic orison, such as it comes by heart orison! those abandoned fences those tall ladders while a man has an excuse—those fair cries, his last reality, while most hold to what we have learned.          

Art Is Dying In Resurrection

so absolute with disgusts. or tampering, altering memories. at a galaxy where it disappears. if but to grasp us if but such trust while behavior is never clarity. such disputes such traffic while I dare the tavern. so sad this moment as accustomed to life, while feeling new emotions: the creek inside, those dear disturbances, where most infractions we grow alignment with; so nebulous so concrete where most are damaged. either Africa or Athens either abstracts or absolute rulers. I would a lake into an orb while adrift a pedantic soul; she dances on orientation, never escaping the box, angry at others dragging their coffins. another while watching, or rereading a claim, to agree or disagree. it chimes in waves it’s an ocean or wood covered modalities: so said to a child, or so detoured, while we smile so much with our skin: the creative soul is the frantic soul, where the pain we give might become beauty: as a pair of glasses, or porcelain overreach, while a man feels a surge of discomfort. those social crocodiles the wild extroverts where an introvert sees problems; our normality arguments, our minds above their roofs, while I understand it was meant to feel dissociative—it was meant to be Picasso! so tender those eyes, such rhythm we hear, as we challenge anything in cement. so much hell for abstracts, so much love for nodding(s), while such a disservice to souls. to reknit a thought. to succumb to facts. while we play by rules. (?)   

Hours By Recovery (Life Is By Staircases)

it was absorbed ability or actors at dialogue while one was digging. it became intimate cables or distance or sensing some are good people. such a feeling such dear relief as roads cross fretting. the call of emotion while stoic-faced where insides are producing sweat—to calm down to sense souls while mystics hit harder. but a strong claim, into such economy, those streets into Louisiana:

streetcars, sanctions, unspoken rules into realms while overwhelmingly righteous. to ensure absence to visit hospitals or to sign the wrong line: such harmless banality such frank charity while giving is an internal rubric. (it was difficult or drastic where it has origin: so crucial, such concrete skies, such watery dirt made mud such abandoned soil); a leaf so intimate while tracing veins so

valid on a Sunday. hill or mind-work accursed or angelized such sweet vinegar to have loved to have adored with one managing his insanity or a baby so young or a mother so resistant with a friend counting on failure. our chance to pledge allegiance our flag so permanent where others envy our devastation; such academic jealousy, such camera jousting, such hebetating habits—as

removed from resurrection such need for intensity our condemnation our campaign our careless determination; if but a greeting if but hands if but penetration—while dying is taboo it becomes wide spread as to adopt many aged beliefs: as granny cringes or grandpa is incredulous or a mystic is creative insouciance: not as nonchalance but happiness in a realm having concerns: the resting

elbow, those tender ligaments, or laughing at some precocious child; our casted categories our first chairwoman         

such trees in our forests.

the first person as so naïve while digging into esoteria.

as a soul deceiving reflection such leathery words or casual lectures where something too legal is taking place; our files, while they know, where it’s a riddle we adore. to watchword an emotion to approach while watching or to comment, such a riddle, on a spirit’s openness.

to react to fluidity while unaware such to account

for humans becoming robots. so occupied a place they keep us while minds must obey rules;

an office with screams a coffin with dust-mites or

a fret over location; moving trains both

into or around childhood carriages or life’s grander

lemon.

those secure series those obstinate

secrets while so concerned those literal itchy souls. most spiritual an interior ghost at fragments if but to understand portions. it slips grasps as it was just decoded or an increment into a thought without justification:

but an owner of humans by sheer decision as acquiescing or losing control where such is onset dementia.

our days recovering such dear depression

where towers dispense fogginess.  

The Ape Forgets Consciousness

I drag a cigar I hit a book so much math so dear to loving you—an anchor its gut where a man is begging for freedom. oh its color its taste by feeling its texture, to have a ratio to sense us waltzing where ballets are poetry, the bounce of its world those deep fringes while I know for intimacy of a breakdown. by beats into drums a guitar, saxophone & dark jazz—such blues where I sense you while it means so little, for death was sweet it drove energy while its visits were sporadic; our capricious beliefs while I must be skeptic those dear phantoms; but mother came, she was gentle, I gave her a hug: the years at its crime those basements filled with smoke or raging through traffic clear over seventy miles per hour. so much in me, for mother is there or sanction seems degrading—those algorithms those oligarchies at some deranged ideal: where a mystic giggles a psych is observant or a psychologist is a different flow—those vacuums those deep dyes while drenched for famous in a mind no one persisted: if but the pieces to build a puzzle while aching or teary so close to hating its cruel violence: meditated into fire or a swoosh into windows to admire how it slams through walls: something peculiar something playful while adoring you’re a good person: a problem I have, to love a wraith, where logic beats at younger emotion; as predicted, as passionate, while closeness might feel so odd; by critical chaos, by associated autonomy, so filthy but clean, so pregnant without child, or so forgiven but hated. by truer voyage by truer voltage but a vexed soul sinning outdoors sexuality. such rain or reason or railroads at a home some haven misbelieved. to revive where experience becomes insight or revolting on many manic memories.      

No Mushrooms/No Cats

I reckon your death but a man dying where you try to love; the fountain bleeding the faucet choking such furious chaos. I try to empathize I try not such wrath or a selfish flea; so resold so rebought as a soul mis-gathered. parts or pieces or luxuries as a man in cuffs. to die those ways so caged or affronted while a long stress was fortunate; for pigeons cried or a sun fell, it was deluxe candy.

you seem like dying or heard a musical while fleeing for captured. so much those margins a woman too strong a feeling like damn this world. such sexual underpinnings or a man with problems as so confused so battled, I know, for I’m glooming. such sweet kef the others might see or tears into tiles wiping our futures. so abandoned to our habits. so thrust through by our concentrations. or left behind ranting to rain.

I arrange in fury I fret in panic those palace eyes this fool’s mirror those years it was devastation. by simplicity into a middle life where mid-machines attack a pearly gut—those feuds such passion to adore a woman might glance or giggle—those roofs those rails this track those cuts; to attune a tone to love a woman while a man just needs three guarantees. so much as bare-backing if to feel safe as accustomed to believing this is our child.

I need to laugh I need to cry I could if life was pleasant. I looked at you, I angelized a miracle, I was hurt to disagree with perfection. such music eyes so heavy a cheetah out of breath. I could have misery, I could thresh sorrow, while anxieties surround such jovial absolutes. it was life in a second, it was everything made rainy, it became something so anti-poetical—to feel raw reality or a soul so anti-me as bubbles form dreams where screams cry at us melting.   

Social Dynamics Do Distress

the brain met itself, an asylum of ghost-faces, while riding a streetcar. (I have read about life. every book is its language. I often wonder what (you) write.) we play mind-ball or dodgeball while we act politely. I remember a caustic tongue, or undergoing simultaneous emotions, while a person was pulling at ingredients. I underwent fire or social baptism or something we dare not mention. as souls teeter so tethered so thetic into an anniversary: those invites those denials or pictured as one against three dragons. (I fret an undercut, where a man forfeits, which is different than strict repudiation. but this soul so egregious alongside The Ghost that walks! so familiar by now so tedious into such years while feeling comfortable.) I war with me. I sport opera affliction. I often shift mental logos. such glasses our hour-ability so silky, such malfunction, or aware of maladaptive properties. it should overwhelm, such forest inadequacies, but at seconds, I am pleased! (there is pain in normality or wilderness in Portugal—this is what it looks like: such bullfighting, such archery, while one argues that, pain is everywhere. in darker corners we praise light where familiarity breeds depreciation; but normality states a few ingredients: amateurs or cobras, deep affectation, plus, mandatory emoting, while different doesn’t mean broken. (there is a shift. where unnecessary elements have been repudiated—indeed, one abdicates himself!) such an underbelly or such underbrush while one is novelty or outcast. (it dawns the daunting reality: we sit at a pottery wheel, we watch sunbirds, we examine the upholstery of existence; we love as best as orientation, we dwell in shadows, or we place each foot in front of the other as we dance; we make sons proud, we educate daughters, we attempt to look brighter when others enter the room: it’s indefinable; it’s a halfpace climb; while souls create storyboards. (I have more facts, such as to recreate the saga, while, nonetheless, admiring Octavia: our outdoor magic our celebratory curse, while one never understands why a person feels misread.)              

Where Fire Seems At Home!

it feels unstable those sects such absolute authority. by unflinching arrogance where we abdicate our souls so forced into exile. maybe a conference. maybe elevation. or maybe some higher ambitions. but Love is a portrait with joking in her design where most gorgeous women are illegal aliens. to fret over politeness, or to feel butterflies, Are these not our existence? such scientists as evolving in our quarters, while we battle about what to say! I saw a woman where I angelized her person, so, I immediately left her presence. so much to need a feeling to want to worship to exhaust merits; such a pedestal, while belonging to flowers, if surrounded by death, ignorance, with ambition or alienated rites. (I look at Kerry or Johansson I disappear gently but I can’t understand it.) so I run I run through rooms I come to a door I kick frantically I feel the sacrifice I reappear as someone in deeper darker anguish. I bite nails, a stomach is hopping, I almost upchuck breakfast coffee. I come to an intrusive place, for these two are in those chambers—it’s most obvious! but here into a scream to know eyes would not die such consciousness a millennium afar; but a numb one. but a decent one. or so bogged into soil it feels good to receive water. an unplanted plant. a tree’s sudden birthday. or leaves falling looking forward to resurrection. as sensitive, powerful, even cutthroat entities—where a man cringes, losing his faculties, too enlove to act normal.     

Pier Circus (Universal Carnival)

hours to its grave-house or measures by glass while I throw sawdust. minds in you so unstable in you or affected by mood patterns. the woman looks golden as to imagine indecency while a man ignores his sensories. so pale at times such color in affliction where a woman is nervous; gestures seem imposing, words are under management, some need less aggression: to behave in her thoughts, while green grass is passivity, so filled with perfect alienation: a stranger inside a captain inside while a man is held in contempt—those assumptions those comparisons while one mathematician is never enough. I watch as something is expressive so trapped so dishonest where a sentence or two would make it magical. so much to learn such proximity while often we laugh. so fuddled while the past is speaking it forbids normality: our flesh by anthropology so explained where this isn’t feasible enough. but a dear darling so rough with insistence as articulating a mestizo’s strength, passion, with its alienation. so close we die or so distant we die while dying seems our linking thread. I forgot to sing. I unlaced contempt. I imagine we need transparency. so filled with cayenne while a man keeps sneezing where days are electrical wires: to see his face as a frabjous possibility while actuality speaks to various traumas.

I was thinking with eternal in mind, it became apparent this is a desperate carnival: the circus is filled, batteries are charged, we enjoy a dozen rides.     

Often Mistaken Love

I die harder or rewrapped such Styrofoam. I broach love, its topic, its spice, chitlins or drug store. I never fathomed the team as unseen into a cup—halfway full! I needed films or eyes or depth a screw as it moves. so unfastened, so crooked, raking into a goddess—so cursed so enlove while so misbelieved. it seasons well. it manifests good energy. it’s loyal to anything but its reflection. I used to phantom it, or a steak such silence, while immersed in fury or shame. I loved like winning. I felt good for losing. but never an ache so pure it abandons its miracles. so, tell me about love. tell me how it feels terrific. or tell me truth, it’s hard, but it breeds. so close it’s awkward. so ridiculous it’s fun. or making passion with room to laugh or fly. —for it was niceness, it was haven, it was hell’s wrath. a part for giggling, a piece for shattering, a part for duplicity. (I see a woman or a dear fatality or too perfect—it must be his mind; a problem asking questions, a child looking for longevity, or affected for ruined pleading for ecstasy.) a mountain for tablets a pen for ink a paper for screams; a diary in you, a memoir in us, while so close it feels good to be at a distance. I read as I hawked such rare concentration while I composed: a man in a sewer, a feline in a gutter, while we once worshiped our ghetto. (so lonely at seconds or too proud to speak or too cursed to pretend: a running fever a scattered dream while public life becomes pure embarrassment: those days so recluse or odd habits while I have a hard time figuring you out. it might be glorious there, it might feel good there, but it must feel enigmatic there.)  

Erroneous Cosmos (The Unscrewed Son)

airborne-raw mistake as a life given,

or needs for father a son by its pride.

those years inside a mass epic prison,

airborne-raw mistake as a life given:

by more a captured flame plus riven.

to unveil torn by scales across tide,

airborne-raw mistake as a life given,

or needs for father a son by its pride.

we ask for treason by our failed

            investigation, in those ropes

or cages so unbroken for they didn’t

            see. as never by reality, so

low in tandem so wild by coppice.

it was high voltage so torn asunder

            where mother hung tough—

            father never tried, eyes became

            stomach; such fears by atomic

attraction, to believe she’d fix glass.

so much distrust by fire a mistake,

as to carry blues affixed to titles,

where so planned or fused its ache.

so much distrust by fire a mistake,

or chosen as gifted a son’s fate,

to manage rifted from gut to idols.

so much distrust by fire a mistake,

as to carry blues affixed to titles.

Sun Lake Coastal

by indexes in memories such robust feelings if to exist as radical souls made so closer to life. but deep dark garnet or rubescent flames where a daughter becomes more than she envisioned. a satchel with manuscripts or an old professor, while many crush that way: such highway traffic such pavement introspection with a need to exercise intuition. but a daughter is physics, epistemology, or some meta-cerebrum entity. we fight something inherent, this quality plus quantity, most often referenced as dukkha. but a creeping element where most grab a substance or many are given medicinal assistance. it becomes an artist or a magician it jokes, laughs, or entertains. such freesia freedoms, such boxed balance, where something awesome is availing; tense resistance or full-on acceptance while studying how to master properties. so many mental cameras such mannerisms or carefree chaos. (sometimes I feel the mistake such a drastic, temporary remedy, for a couple playing a selfish piano. our concrete temporals our minute-concerto while solidification is an absent understanding: the world is too gray, the sky is too far, plus, as idealists, we might expect certain realities.) never give more, in such a dynamic, than one is able to piggyback; such advice from such distance where minds demand credibility, engagement, or appropriate responses. maybe a dark street maybe a little light maybe Italy over ricotta. we’re systems, a bit computerized, but, nonetheless, affected humans. it’s written, strong liquor for dejection, or proud/fruitful literature for the youth, or wisdom as priority; but what’s its color, how does it compute, by which disaster does it come? it’s a little at a time, its surface as well as benthic, so, it’s earth & sea. it glories in concentration. it appears in all things. it’s figurative, metaphysical, or literal or metaphorical. it’s dialectic upon a beige island pleading a return to its universe. by bright terrain upon a jamesia those magnolias or ladybugs or dear harbored uneasiness; as such to induce economic emotion or social feelings where heart-rapture is monumental.      

Fire Seeping into Loins

by thought directed by soul to have life fire those dreams as propellers as scars. a far away giggle or a slight insistence while flame to spark a distant uncertainty. such a habit for a creature where resistance frets its masters: our candies our instruments our substance, tastes, or battles; to adore existence or to waver with reality such dear preparation: the man to his screams, or drums beating in mourning, while we never saluted the late nun. it was an appetite so famish begging, nay, drilling his senses. it was unspoken where it dined while it satiated his palate—those cream delicacies or nightmarish beefs while metaphors only box in meaning.     I was with needs as to re-censor an old essence where sensories become projectiles; those damaging tentacles or facial octopus with such reaching loin-fire; a soul to its guillotines a cedarchest to those articles or dressers watching some brilliant woman: her mind un-braving the tables her wit relocating the thesaurus or such demanding encyclopedia fury; as died proclivity or something impetuous while souls parted one last displeasure. so frantic in displeasure, as convincing mind but she wasn’t listening. this becomes desire as cursed to crave where bodies arouse by physiology: such racing modalities such future disapproval where people prefer something naïve & coquettish.       

  

Seen Invisibility

so made distinct so precise while a remedy is a myth; to adore your face to feel your rain while freedom is a distant memory. so early such nights while I need to fly: a younger stoic while kissing life so cursed to picture us—some type or gut-war some actuality where fleeing is agony; so indebted to pangs as growths occur a soul both delicate & powerful.     we go so far into a pledge where we protect an animal with pride required to steer into shackles. I fret a spasm so nauseous with you so filmed in brains a portrait screaming at videos those embedded asleep rehashing our normality; so dependent so evoked at such courage to grasp you.     so sensual a touch so mammon a woman so vain a man; so left to forests such dark wilderness so many pieces; while studying winds a fragment ingested such fair far gone debris; scraped from self or clay of a person where never so complete in something I could lose or abandon with fret or fright those days so scared. but a scarred soul, but deep dark alienation, such invisible delight; our conundrum our dungeon predicament     so cursed into a blessing     while gathering you: those segments such language so valid or vivid into a private discussion; a story untold a childhood so contagious while it was death or lights such conforming rules; a naïve soul such dust by celestials where empyreal madness felt like uncured desperation.     I run faster     I hit fences     I fall or stumble while tripping over faces. but a breathing entity or something holding its breath or such radical faux pas.     to imagine pure flame into a canister so crazed as announced but it couldn’t freedom!     so much duty or such epicurean delights with something tugging the hedonism in our screams; a battled man a collapsing woman while if days told those curiosities; a soul might die a man might ghost-out or a woman might split a vein.     I heard a woman, while art was passion, she spoke of not making it home. I pondered the loss. I awoke to a cigar. I imagined the hell of turning into a desert: those maiden names, or deep dangerous needs, while there will always exist a secret between fairytales!

the nectar in rain as droplets touch flesh upon a petal one last breath. so concerned with dying so at love with distance as never such a creature to hold without reservation. the gene fortune, the futuristic fire while a Ghost seems closer to meaning.     but a champion or a lone fool while others are giving in to moments; so much hope in you so saturated by differences where ours would be challenged: those frantic lovers those high school friends or the companion that knew your mother: such signatures such sleepiness where those words just taste sweeter.     by super-ink or a super-tongue or deep dangerous feelings; those ratio halls those ratio emotions where two can’t strike oil. the bonus in losing. the spiritual laboratory. or so drawn a man might surrender other women. or such a problem, to adore for dear existence, where an infraction labels us by some epithet.     old concerns older luggage while we expect so much from others: a certain outcome, a thousand pages, both us or them or confirmation; such existential homework, a true guessing fame, where we sex & then earn trusts.     such agency such rivers while the sun just glistens.     I tried to pretend I tried to angle in speaking of those lovers I was confronted by rigidity.     nothing more than lies nothing fair for a thinker no life for something demanding accountability.     but souls are optimistic they sense a sound they rely on rationality. this essence in pursuing this life of dreams this need for another human. to angelize a person or to congratulate a winner with so much sacrificed for an ideal.     by qualifications in realizing riches while partly separated.     the soft linguine, or softer breads, to gaze into a person & see a stranger: such a gunfire feeling, or a hijacked gut, or hotwired insecurities. by guarantees by fortresses while so many intrude. cirrus screams or dangling wishes while a man is somewhat unsure. or this picture, where it can’t matter, while another knows your intimacy.     the office of matters, such emotional medicine, while sensing a selfish soul; to hypothesize or drive craziness while a bit too stable to pretend otherwise.  

Sun Lake Watchwords

some go low pleading fire where creeks abandon water. such bleeding mercy or dense excuses while adamant concerning faith. I was sworn out, the tides were unsteady, we were drying those years. (we pass through people. we comprehend our desires. we never see the people we love.) it’s such mystery, as so close, where horns disrupt our lenses. I noticed something. it alarmed me. but I was silent.     we anoint feelings, they advertise by emotions, while I fret inadequate qualifications.

     often, it takes greater damages, before we seek salvation: the tortured soul, those dear loses, by flame afforded one last adventure.     near a lake inside a desert, the valleys are raining.     we debate medieval mysticism, or emotional accounts, or activated autonomy.     the sun is basking those feelings are rising where we pause or take refuge.     such mental printmaking, such stark futurism, where lights are demonstrative.      

     we often say things, while void of measurements, while you have a different dilemma. you examine words. you know what things to say. you are conscious of other people.

     this is a masterpiece in you. we take imposition, turn it into a symphony, to the disappointment of many souls.

     it belongs to brushwork, such room for opportunity, while such phrases are becoming trite.

     I hear galleries, I pass the Getty, I drift concerning those missing elements.

     it was overdue. but excuses are boorish. but just maybe, we need a different certitude.

we call it love. it moves swiftly. every tentacle is a rapture. (such digitized humans, such floating, while nothing is calculated. one has a dozen guitars, another has ten violins, where no one has been informed. such easy-goings, such mathematics, while no one is doing arithmetic.)

     it’s unfair to souls it’s a lake mourning it’s a mind needing a bulwark. we asked a soul, his greatest strength, where he stated it was resilience. this isn’t a go-to, it’s a reality, where others are saying something universal.

     I am hurt in hurting you, while my mind is at war, where something has been extracted.    

Shadows Would Impregnate

upon a nerve such wrath while a man is being young. upon a tricycle those watery cries so indebted to strangers; or mother’s kisses, a bump to a knee, such dark wailings. but a man looking at an hourglass too close to unreasoning his attachments. thrust through, given a reality, where addiction is part of the social curriculum. or upon a collar to imagine deeper peace while a smile seems so tranquil. so soft a feeling to admonish self while true men behave that way. or too detached something like iron or an emotion strikes a contradiction. so problematic. (a doctor analyzes. where we miss our points of entrance.) like a tourist in an abandoned city, or a surgeon without a patient, or something stronger without its utensils. but a little person into a bright sky where attraction didn’t seem so temperamental; or better, an application, requiring ethnicity, while blank boxes are terms for dismissal. upon an emotion so bothered by a feeling where queendom is careful to examine; so relative to intuition a couch with chimneys a vest quite charming or such as reviewing every behavior: the body watched by author weeds where faith becomes such fire into a dungeon while Love was quite untainted. so much we admire such packages better than I, where it’s a miracle to become where one belongs. a corner with sins. a man with scars. or a woman by flames!

handprints the darkness suffused with hard-breathing where freedom is fragile; the last teacup an empty tea-box or a pot of coffee in the refrigerator; speaking coarsely while angered or undertones winking at intuition the man he never convinced others of: those doors those bells or sound seeming so abstract: if but to drench furies our lives hating each other while I lose a thousand winks. so uncouth while despising self for life is too damn complicated: the wrong move, a devious response, while dynamics are too damn intricate. those chalkboards those pieces of chalk while some are unable to meet another person’s philosophy. a mind as a junkyard a soul filled with wreckage or some person where it doesn’t compliment.

upon starlings into dry heat such black humidity; the woman was herself, nothing was interested, I walked back to the desert. a horse followed, a loyal creature, we laughed sipping beads of sweat. I spoke of this woman, the horse was intense, we figured she knew magic. our silhouettes outlined our discourse. I fell asleep. when I awoke, she was standing a distance afar. I ran fastly. I hit a bump. I saw her as well as serenity. (it was life to me. a bible appeared. the mirage evaporated. I left the hospital.) to drift back. I saw a creature. I knew it understood our existential.     

Behavior Drips Through Its Ceiling

such vehicles so adverse while decency is so difficult. such surrender into such volume where lies seem natural. our gutted society, our inclinations, while we need a chapter device. so cold in freedom too vicious for a child while everything you love is by a thread. the breeze is shameful the planet is imbalanced while trust becomes a fraction of specious reminders: such menticide such disbelief as lost in a vortex. but seas are inviting where feathers are un-plucked while Love is angry beauty: the fever by its database while one is so curious!

                  so fragile by grace while so moody where a man can’t admit it. the errors of humans those pieces as confetti while closeness proves as hurting: the village gate, the hallway hermit, while we never know the breaking point. it becomes a project while giving rope where this, too, becomes its dissatisfaction; but love isn’t an insect, or a centipede, or even, sugar in a jar: the baffled skies or unorthodox prayers or a member of our sect. she dances with pain she advocates for destruction where anything close was nearly destroyed. a man gets fire, through dynamics, or it brings him treacherous realities.

            I walk slowly, some metaphor in mind, to gaze into a tub. such by unsteadiness, or core unreality, while a bathroom seems too familiar. a man sees himself, in relation to his queendom, in absence or presence of his seeds. so much to a friend, where they know for traffic, while something might seem essential to but one. by mind feelings or emotion surgery, while deciphering value or determination. (so shallow about deepness. so unconcerned. —for I’ll get a new one!)

            such social taxes where we build accounts while multiple accounts accrue emotional interests. I try to get through as parts those dregs while I can’t fathom a father which says so little. as begging powers or ignoring options where some of us have died too often, seen it too much, where the amount was paid long ago.  

Some Types Are Too Close To The Nail

re-voiced or received such terror to live ostracism. the city is empty. the valley rejects us. while an optimist married into her affliction: pure rage, such disregard, with utter cultural disgusts. but we need beauty, such so physical, while some are pathological: as never a clue, until it hits fire, where one desecrates mind, soul, & body.       

              I find it difficult. I find it’s an outrageous suggestion. the idea is shocking.

            such a battle so lost in graves while culprits have found new victims. it colors like death. it aches like riches. it gives us something new to evaluate; but we can’t say anything.

I hear silk, such mature pain, so emergent or radical or unclear: to die the situation, such lifelike feathers, where silence in pictorial.

            it was so much it couldn’t be articulated as to look over at a person with no respect for self, so nasty, so discredited. a man is a stalker of his sanity, a voyeur of his mind, but a participant of his desecration. (no wonder we’re angry, or at times violent, where such is never feasible. the surreal lake those realized feelings, while one denies your decency: such modern slavery, such expected servitude, where one says, “I adore you.”) the parade dies those feelings are dependent they require unadulterated submission. where a picture appears, such tactile ambitions, while one becomes another person’s project; in deep tears, to have boundless faith, where love has suffocated; for it never lived, it lives for violence, it has determined to infect a nation: we wonder, but evidence shows it, where we demand a damn refund!

I pluck a mimosa or look over a balcony remembering those laughs. where one is so proud, so obvious, where the woman could care less. but he needed to be seen, he needed to unveil, while we search our forest for speculation.

            the sun is set. it speaks glimmers. it will die with us!  

Clay In Our Palms

the fierceness of joy those night dams

where ashes pile numbers into dust.

by deep penalty or falling ice I cram

the fierceness of joy those night dams,

if but silence a dear rant for I Am,

while souls’ repose in dungeon rust.

the fierceness of joy those night dams

where ashes pile numbers into dust.

so tender into your birth so afar from

insistence, where asking disqualifies

or death is so tender, as souls encounter

rage, for life was so un-gentle, by indelicate fortune;

the heart impasses at love too insensitive

to scream or babbling for method a fret in its

design; either a triolet or a failed remedy so

after something wrung in rage the

countenance feeling its wrath a daughter renewed

for disappointment after miles of running for

life was so unfriendly.

such watery faces such mud or grime

as a creature thrust’d through with shame.

if caught in your pain a man aches time;   

such watery faces such mud or grime;

those dreams you’ve lived, won or died;

where being glory has shunned a flame.

such watery faces such mud or grime

as a creature thrust’d through with shame.         

Pain & Nothingness Aren’t The Same

I find joy underscored by sullenness while I, too, cringe at discussing it. the mind is storage or galloping horses or a closet of sea-creatures. (I laugh it off. we joke about it. but it hurts like mysticism. the want for clarity, so close it feels like passion but unable to reach it, control it, or even fate with it.) I forfeited something in me it was gathered & discarded it was a pile of garbage. something is peculiar. it unravels inside of me. it’s a huge tarantula. I tug its webs, unable to win, where most are at war with extremes. another does as he wills, a soul developed by chains, where reality has become a cobra in disguise. I met a woman such into skies while her humanhood distresses me. another is such as myself, a bit mean, but clarity flows in her language. a man is fortunate. he respects her name. he enjoys her life. (so static concerning abstracts, or losing a man’s philosophy, or too much pride in broken, under-chiseled paradigms. the fist of fire or unleashed furies so frank to a man’s introspection.) as a famous mistake or un-famous mannerisms while some pains don’t wash away. to have buried a man, to have scarred his flesh, or such modern-day injustice: as proud souls or under-analyzed where a person has never disagreed. (the fret in a motion or windows partly opened if but a man to his very soul.) leaves seeming mysterious or branches becoming symbolic while honesty disagrees with most of yesteryear’s absolutes.

a daughter will watch bees or poke hives or partake of honey.

the volume of solitude

by measure of professed courage

as it requires anguish to court wisdom.

it has been scary for me a man adroit at solutions where Christ in closer to realism: by gifts in spirits to avail by guts if life is tender frustration.

or a woman is denied access, while it destroys her nerves, but honesty reveals she has never been stronger.

at times, we forfeit just about existence, as underlying the margins, or claiming a center dynasty. such rough undercurrents such dying penalties but a man might not do with peace!

so dissolved by the insoluble.

such rare faith. while most believers are uncomfortable.

it seems a design, an impeccable force, where disconnection drives prayer.

we sense a chasm, it has become fantastic, where many are satisfied. (we disrespect principles. we deny religiosity. we do this in the name of serenity.) it’s most marvelous in the clouds of thoughts where foggy matter is ignored. (I’ve employed an article as free above living or a man by his wishes.) a daughter might ask questions, if but to gain clarity, where sentences seem jumbled.

by unheard voices or developmental brains or epistemology seeming too critical; but a skeptical soul, but a scientific umbrella, in session to discover this isn’t its utopia. something is unscrewed a bulb is missing, and, therefore, we aren’t using all of our watts.

nonetheless.

iron out principalities. discover beliefs.

be a spokeswoman in your life.         

Pain As Undercurrent Lotus

I drink voltage or a palm of pills after a stiff frantic feeling. if to exist passed nine the freedom of pain the chest stigmata. a lost daughter a feudal machine such math, magic or deaths—those blues as blazing where mother desecrates her mirror: dusty countenance dingy dirty or a freezer seemingly warm. by substance to reflect while a man has a problem: such a need in controlling chaos such emotional poverty so much alienation. I’ve met many at cryptic chains so gutted too floored as fevers running ramped through cities. a father’s mop a mother’s slime such serenity in knowing no one fits.   

            such devastation so defeated at assumptions or fated gates where a monster just addressed me. the friend of the cornerman the clown of the fury while one would provoke merely for discovery. a book bleeding a nation indifferent while we give grain to hungry gatherers. assailed by justice while something is wrong so justified based in uncertainty. as promoting premises or deduction versus induction with little to no respect for objectivity. so many pieces such patience where a lost crown feels unsteady; the man in his mirror the trespasser on his lawn or the father as never a need to turn further.

           

beige grass or

bleeding glass so much by pre-existence

to breathe feeling asinine an

environment sold to neglect.

I’ve been sober where I analyze peculiar weather in noticing a strict combat; to speak it like winning it, humans are quite complicated.

I can’t imagine what life carries the fame in misery the gut as ruined or realizing it isn’t a home in there: it’s shocked or metallic or suffering or reasoning:

so many excuses for her face;

so much gorgeous hell; where angst, anxiety, or patches

of abused prayers taste like ghetto.

I met a person while we lied it felt so familiar. I laughed or gathered while looking at lotus cries; the beasts in there the frantic fever in feral bombast in there.

such sweltering palaver or something mechanical while existence parades mannequins: by fire to adore or revalue as a man giggles at static rules for humans:

he might if it works;

she will if it seems a gift;

or a kid looking where something inside is crumbling.

the soul in you those febrile gauges in you as to arrive by such a shortage in you. or so eloquent so pained so much more than a point. so many pages in a ten-minute discourse, while we must also recalculate each tone. by fierce musicality or a mind-meter at passion, placation, plus, pride. a woman to her mirror, a man to his Benz, or an image to its make-belief. a touch by a stranger in a book by a phantom so many years in academia:

so great the phantasmagoria

so demented the sane orator

or so crazed we are over race.       

Surrendering To Sanctioned Skies

I have loved but it feels difficult where surrendering to love is a hassle. but by trust we presume our affection will be cherished. if natural, or unbent, a child is a source of freedom: to see penultimate altruism, or to receive, which vitiates altruism, into a sunset spinning with experience. in darker truths, while it seems lackadaisical, most aren’t surrendering to love. we shift our gaze while we hold our premise if but to celebrate the ideal of love. to chance with perfection while harboring spirituality so accepted as a penultimate source: those magenta skies those jasper stars or our jasmine sun—to live for family to know quasi-safety or to surrender to human accessories. if by sons or daughters, or wives or husbands, or such grandparent sacredity. as grounded by pillars, those facial guarantees so famous by palatial hearts. (as one senses emotion in reflection of the beloved while living is made easier. such members accustomed to presence where aging becomes graceful. or to exaggerate love, to need to undress dying, or so unappreciated it hurts to breathe.) as we assess an agenda, while we examine words, where each letter has a numeric value. such access to accented cries where many are unable to settle into perfection: it hurts too much; it doesn’t feel normal; or alarmingly, one doesn’t feel worthy. such abandon or craving eyes while souls must chastise self in order to cherish butterflies. (but orientation means magic, if it has been normal, dismissing anomalies, it remains normal; as penultimate excitement, as a dream within a vision, where it’s essential to impassion the future: those brown-hazel-green-blue-eyed-miracles; those knitters or dramatists at life with borrowed fitness; our legacies or battles if to secure longevity.) it becomes genuine expression, while this is hampered, for we’re obliged to assess what we say, versus, what can’t be said. such instrumentals or loud seclusion where we attend to myriad/normalized vicissitudes: such algebraic upsets, or untelevised omission, so much to surrender to: beautiful shackles, dear appropriateness, plus, sanctioned skies.       

Steel Humans

we give life to its participants. so many graves such occupation while slowly decolonialized. watching incompetence. so close to wires. so much ignorance to feed our gullets. such imbeciles as crosses are exploited while citizens try so damn hard. a piece of pain, a plate of pain, or the whole damn watermelon. to see it crack, crashing from social libraries, where might is deemed as adequate. so fragile by such a thread so much sewn into imperialistic soil. (we run a great risk, that is, in suggesting we matter, we run a threat of ostracizing others; but we have faced systematic alienation, fraught by decimation, brutalization, either demeaned unto debasement or plain murdered.) if to imagine, while living in America, deemed as a nuisance to America. but ever enduring, no promise of tomorrow or receiving the best of negativity: such deliberate denigration, such furious disposition, while the supposition is that those people are by divine appointment: their lives, their stations, where it becomes so ugly our children take it as absolute science. we mix or mingle we try to outwit genetic inclination. racism seems like fate, or a gene pool, or loneliness for one destined for a faraway kingdom…no second thought of invisibility, no need for right now, for endure and heaven will pour into you. where others are magnificent, supported by culture, destined to create heaven in this existence. the complaint is so obvious. the measure is so apparent. where most colored Americans suffer from systematic menticide. (as it stands, we have not an understanding, where the helm is absent of an operator. education should matter, when selecting a leader, while riches may only speak to arrogance.) I, too, need a smile, faced by such a struggle, where each person is running a particular monopoly. something genuine seems like myth. or something secure, in an insecure structure, seems like living out a fairytale. we tend to sound hopeless, this becomes the tension, in trying to explain something so embedded, with such resistance, where it’s like dripping water pelting into solid steel.    

Inner Disjunct

if sound is necessary or bass is mandatory, we sail our concerto. as spirit creatures assailed by passion so lost in our religiosity. to have touched where it meant our deaths such reaching crucifixions. as mere beings given unto feelings where it has been such desperation. by asymmetry while searching for balance at life a product of our misery. so wild in seconds so lost trying our compass into horns or trumpets as dear disasters.

            dessert is lethal, cake is terror, or steak would destroy our tastes. oh forever mindful, debating arithmetic, so sewn into early ideals. while life is so abstract, we add something static, but most have difficulty with self-sacrifice.

            I know elements instead of persons, as if we have never met. I hesitate, or feel unable, while some things are harder to measure. I sense presence or premeditation while something remains fragile. it seems unfair, if souls attack, where such are unable to maintain mirrors. such tiptoeing, it seems unstable where artists are writing ballet. such darkness in a pencil such laughter in a woman while I fret distinct sadness. as by frequency into a state of awareness while life is surrendering. it speaks of atmosphere or winds made into perceptual dreamscapes—our frantic waterfalls our disingenuous fruits as souls by some Mysterium; or obedient creatures our guitars in motion as we serenade an avalanche. or by honesty, as to confess, there’s a rift in me; so casual it appears where reality is so dismissive while asking one to submit to disappointment. our purer heart-wrenches or wheelbarrows by wishes, when in essence, it’s too much to request. but it should hurt, it shouldn’t remain intellectual, wherefore, one might suggest an interior disjunct.  (if to reach its space, by miracle bread, if, or for what purpose? something has been distorted. it belongs to needs or perceptions. but no one owes a debt for sharing in a moment. but we argue by return, if a deal has been made, we are obligated to that contract—     we’re made void by this point!)        

I Can’t Ask For What I Can’t Give

by tender gristle heart torn while delicate fire. as never such those days of yore where she was existence. it becomes silence or simmering hostility while such thoughts occur: we all do by essence into a flame while pretending. if needs bleed out, if pain strikes a battle, we remember our palms at coals. to cherish so much into a touch where I’d give pure pottery: such green grass such impression as to watch Love with eternity. an inner television both channels atwitter so evolved as a contemporary agent. I’ll paint so largely or presume by intention while behaving as what I condemn: such a hypocrite or a survivor or an upset ecosystem. —for those ways as grimacing forward where one is entwined in remedy—by cute torture this island we succumb to surrendering those ethics or convictions. (it seems like, join us, or be destroyed by morals.) such indelicate insinuation, where one must protect a feature, such nectar pure rationalization. but, & this is key, if something separates us, we must attend to it, especially, if it’s wide spread. I should never ask of you such a cuff where I have forfeited my sleeve. as crooked flowers devoured or spat out where ideals are by privilege. or a certain orientation afforded certain groups while some behaviors are not available: to need a thought, as determined by insecurity, or to become pliable steel.

While Dying An Amaryllis Budded

violent sounds by jubilant pain or Rumi’s piano.

so much mystic desert searching by oases so rummaged or unfree. it wasn’t freedom as coming to love while reality was pure illusion: coffee stains, tea rings, while wrung by uncertainty.

it was easy to ignore you until it was rain to notice you in so much to live our obituary: a mother by psoriasis or a cold breeze for a father where a son analyzed by imbalance. so much disobedience as crime seems existence where color seems penalty: a person unclear a woman devastated at diaries screaming out softly.

daughters are wrestling dearly. those subtle signs in discussion. or pure misogyny.

so harsh a word even an epithet while a white woman hates a colored man. it seems so natural, but it defies logic, for said white woman has a black child.

how to dissolve something insoluble?

by dangerous undercurrent but never a volt just dislike upon visual contact. but a meaning in suffering. or torture to cross paths. while so tender so deadly such affection!

flowers seem abandoned or solitary or gregarious. we can’t determine, while soil fraternizes, insomuch as to meet a divine mist. such observation. so distressed by facts. or sorely at an impasse. where it behooves us, if but to walk away, with arrangements to meet at high noon. so cursed in blessings, where it was life in suffering, insomuch as pain was existential—those fragments as they become puzzles to gaze at a child with pure hope.

oh dear beloved. if to give a caveat, it would be to retain something innocent. (too many riddles in us, such surreal galaxies, while humans are Delphic.) it was hating, then pain, then acceptance; so long into courage, while denial was winning, where a man relies on one more chance. such cries or behavior while a person seemed angelic: such saintly projection, such fragile ambition, while pure rejection must sprout understanding: those sage lakes, those passionate woodblocks, or by immortal destiny.

such spirit exhaustion by falling clouds while we held up a banner. it wouldn’t be gamboling nor jubilee nor paintings of bright or majestic faces. it would become horror by haunted gut where many merely change hats; but some are intimate, so relaxed in hell, with a furious goal; if but to unveil sorrow or to love by fervor where most zeal is impermanent. (some sharp magnet instills a man. he refocuses by debating probability. while resilient he becomes open but resistant.)