The Numb Emotional Fantast

 

by rate into pressures where dying is sweet deliverance; those casualties as a drift into winds while struck as needing more comfort. such mecca-dilemmas sure to breath association as born into naturality. by goosebumps or clumps of skies where they venture the soul as maddening. we never wonder much but it stands for reasoning while we watch our cinema. either way those silver clouds

where life seems so tragic. as royal thieves a man’s vendetta while he rages against his brains: such sedition inside such mental insurrection as begging but rats gnaw bone structure. so much by loyalty too hard to suffocate if but so close so ravaged so into each morsel. by field or dynamite by angst or terror—the dugite mouth, those cherries meaning so little or a woman to appear where resurrection is so simple. the eating of oak those reminders in guts so set to rescue grandparents;

the pain as it travels those aches fretting their healings while eyes seem too irrelevant: those cries as so loud so attuned where I awaken in an empty room: I see a tortoise, it disappears; I see a gecko, it talks violently; so much an entire rosary—as miles splay or deserts implode such a creature flayed by tornadoes; so amplified so into your doom while fretted into a larger dungeon: its dear reaching, our minds grieving, but nothing shall change! dirty water, muddy mayflies, a filthy

lotus—as wings

welted or the tragic weal so trapped so destroyed refusing to cooperate—a woman’s conviction a flight into gods while a boulder awaits the afterlife.     tell the story of Precious. or those sagas unraveled. alas! tell of the manic that broke freedom! for death isn’t sweet, it must unbelt if but to construct life upon something false: by volcanic oils by deserted prisons by real life disgusts; a radical nut a lip trembling while feelings become numbness.     

Damn Near Dehydrated

 

pain becomes laughter insomuch as survival as unstudied creatures. I would pardon lies, or crisp mistakes, so wild or weird such wreaths. so much stock as put in sexuality while it seems so little; the basement our drillings as accused misfits; such burgundy angels so plush with passion by permanent lipsticks. I would die to know. I would live to fight it. but angst so sweet into darkness! a man touched in guts, those wombic curses as torn its blessing—to die ever a clover or to live ever a dahlia so cute into a mini-coma. if love is death than love is life as we approach our one promise! so cured or demolished as opalescent colors; so iridescent so pathetic while Love would adore a mistake; the future laughing, the fumes giggling, so departed such a schism as deceased sanctions. to arrive at astral pains so desperate to achieve as aloof kingdoms.

the crux of the cuisine such a woman where fidelity is mental. so inexact into skies while floating in spacial(s)—such meta-love so understanding while scents perturb science. upon a cardigan where Love is unspoiled as souls loving despite alienation; our children our problems our deeper diaries.

so grandiose upon cufflinks while sore but streetwise—the faculty of falcons those screams assailing sharkskin(s); to see your face or write cute stories as such

atypical insanity; as distinct primates fiddling sakata bugs so desperate for pain; as to never again, where Love appeared, so fragile or innocent or downright delirious!

sour voiceovers, a hard day, or too many pills to stay awake; so purposed to adore such nostril-bleeds, where paranoia arrives in forming phobias.   

Flesh Remains

 

dear Father, the rage of the bull, the love

of the lamb! to rebuke a faint, into a Ghost,

so trancelike or deceased fire flowing by

tears: endow us as crucial born deaths

or walk in cattle. (bleeding baptism, as

crushed in tone-carpet, too much aloneness,

ore uncured, to read veins by ceilings.) at

indigo pity, so ungathered, purchased by

pieces: drinking thickets, bathing in briers,

so holy his coughing! those polyrhythms,

too undecisive, where default becomes

clear: sartorial angst, if flit or run or dire!

sewn by whiplash as bushes script witness

by rage at hickory—weeping hoarse skin!

Watchword Incendiary

 

where were you when mastiffs shredded spirit or ghosts became illegal? as water was velocity or literature was anti-color where a creature was inferior. (something is gone, it has died, because we need it, they must love it!) or subtle a chisel or word-art or math seeming human. such a priori rapes while they must love it insomuch as both physical & mental; so anti-empirical so dearly beloved where inclination is universalized. I have more issues as some alien creature while life hasn’t promised its luxury. uncured souls roaming with needs where a woman is with several

desires. so easy to suggest where men are without consumption in a world demanding emotion. the pathos of the universe, such ecumenical crutches, where a man damages image by asserting such; so deliberate, so enlove, where a spouse feels alienation; the curse he deserves the war he lives or the rage she undergoes. compounded by color or so smooth it’s boring where one just can’t win; but a decent soul as adoring her allotment so distant for becoming a model of Kate! our gruesome minds as needing harlots or requiring an estranged lover: the devastation of the kingdom

the matriarchy of the sky-dome or the patriarchy of America; our angels desecrated our castles demolished where we destroy first in order to rebuild; as according to fancy, or jewels, while satisfaction is entertainment. such beautiful by Meghan or treacherous by self-mirror or determined by Malcolm X. if but sheer understanding, such ruthless analyzation, where humanness is said a miracle. I hear Agnes as darkness rages as manifested in piano—those charges on humanity those destitute mistakes while saving face is more important. our radar for insults as so close to heart,

while a baby dying is a third privilege. I have many concerns or many problems, while we’re remote on saying such: the fire is dimming or it rages such science in dens; an attraction to Sarah a deep respect for King Jr., but such ideals are coming in a given future; for ignorance races volume multiplies while some need a person to despise.   

Bigotry Is Prolific. Justice Crawls!

 

sheer violence or murder while we sweep dust or particles or rage. our streets are filthy. our bodies are savages. so much standing in disbelief. voices emerge souls held hostage by venom of dejection. writers feel ravaged the ransom is integrity the volume is vicious. such tempos so many deaths our culture is shell shocked. the ponds mourn our deer eyes. our children see 1960. our

babies wear masks. it dies in us it lives in us it never takes a hiatus. comics are political, mothers awaken earlier, if but to tragic these Last Days. so dramatic. so cursed! as creatures compelled to wage confidence. that inner decision, as it arises at 5 a.m., where minds are determined to caution our winds. our Sarah Cooper, our Oprah Winfrey, our seclusion into a home outlawed by humanity! the need for you, if but to believe in us, where much is dependent upon acceptance. so

separate but equal. those signs are invisible. we sit at the fringes of intolerance. such hostility, or friendship to rage, our children have found their war; disgraced by brutality, disregarded as humans, our policemen fraught or foaming from bigotry. love seems by qualification, where songbirds are singing, while cages are rattling. so much attraction, for something volatile, while whispers dislodge us from freedom. if but to care more if but we celebrate diversity where many

require something to kill socially. such insecurity. such incompleteness. while we give honor to our sanctity. (religion hasn’t spoken, as universality, where officials against oppression follow Jesus! our daughters loathe bibles, our mothers wrestle by alms, our fathers are pressured to dislodge from forms of participation. indeed, sentences become clearer, anger is academic, where we stand at division.) a man was beaten, it was commercialized, nothing has been done!    

Moods In A Woman

 

born firepower. vanguard helmets. such

breastplates. (so smart in flame, a man

does justice, insomuch as he unfetters.)

by voiceovers by mind-blades, or dear

jonesing: sunshine depression, or bleeding

abjection, a man watches upsetting his

observation: she dies, resurrects, or feels

by influx. (those regrets as joys those

pains as securities or a mixture of

imprints): those souls, once too close, as

existence is gravened. so inscribed, major

in its assailments, such raw poison-cane.

like stars at freedom, so free by absence,

as aches are ungentle or even comforts.  

Blackness Is Inclusive

 

we lose icons, such disease, as it tiptoes internally. such innocent essence or cavalier sin or doctoral wizards. by beret or coat or solid leather. so much in need so material where blacks are studying philosophies; our epistemic our existential our Invisible Man. pure hunger while trying desperately to camouflage slavery. born into hostility such raw frustration while brutality is four hundred years solid. we seek solidarity. parents are succumbing. addiction raids our intestines. such a drink if but for clarity or women so gorgeous damn near suicidal. by glamour to die sunk into a stupor so snug in misery. Cosby a maniac, such a deep disappointment, where our women can’t depend upon us. I was lost in trance, I met a lady, she was reluctantly living. it kills us when they die, our souls wrapped in wire, our thrill so gone! dear for gods our yogis. dear for Father our Christians. & dear for life our children. theory comes by observation, to discern between calculations, where a daughter plays her guitar. to admire so much blackness, or to feel abrupt, so absorbed in pure resistance; such systematic acceptance, such short-term cures, where a man must sacrifice his blackness. our souls belong to our women. our minds belong to Ultimate Energy. our hearts belong to each other. to incubate a child, so born to crack-addiction, while she breaks free. so many positive souls, so stressed by existence, if but to change a smidgen: those clever youngsters, our biracial seeds, our Jewish community. so much Spanish in us, our land needs to feel studied, our peoples are surviving together. as brown winners, or black witnesses, such love for eclectic whites!  

 

Love! We Must Believe

 

so raw in fantasy such a creature while admiring you is temperamental. I sense music the melody of the muse those rages simmering into hostile tears. if to have rubies or to trade diamonds while a man is uncut essence—those parts in oceans those waves in guts as time would prove adversarial; such toeholds upon sociality, sore patience, such realness a woman might request. such vapers so sour, if one lie too many, while sheets hold desperation. the mind in temperament the tenement in souls while Love rents an inner apartment. an inter-eye or confused pleasure where a poet might be too grown; as bodies would speak, such language feeling external, if but to have such aesthetic intra-psychic fire. our agonies our truest mirrors while we feel alienated: our ghosts our apparitions where one is at our shoulders. I could never catch it, or ever write it, no matter what might be described. so elusive in me, it aches in me, as we awaken needing our eternity! to have known gorgeous or to have dealt a blow where Love upped by disappearing; the lesson of the manic, or seated at a book store, where beauty approaches & says, “I need a glass of wine.” indeed, as I would love to lie, but I responded, “I have a lady.” so young in me, or trying theology, where it never happens again. but morals are subjective, where ethics are relative, while we need security!

I disappear into a chocolate factory. so gifted so moist such a disappointment. or vanilla on edge, while it was routine, where a man needs to see his ideals. to look at flesh, to imagine cleanness, while reality is a magician; those flames as one frets his nurse as something internal: the laundry room, the war cave, or such oaths meaning so much, we must believe!

 

Opalescent Dishes

 

by imprints to know you or gravel slung at humanness. so distant as seas so off-course as boats while adoring seems unstable. each scream hits skies the rain falls drastic or waves stir unbelief. a man askew such jagged thoughts while a ghost serenades memory. I would live the curse I would dine with chic standards or suffocate those xyst valleys. I have lost the whisper. it came by turmoil. I was dying to survive.     those arts as they rev such ink into its riff. so torn by essence to realize deficit as souls scream about loses; the story of the soul, or allegories in crimson while some have chosen their sin; such trespass or transgression while fumes fill a toddler’s carriage. as men destroyed if but to resurrect while he never understood the species; our cavern arcs our resonation as relic artifacts.     I look closer to see features while struck by memories. our casual lifetime deceits our unmeasured redemption while havoc wreaks upon gusts; as a deeper reality or a persistent chiseler or one content with his binoculars; but Love leads or Love is symphony or Love is outrageous furies; as unborn seeds as a man grips his issues while a woman can’t fully feel his frantic!     it might be years so sore into essence where something unfinished isn’t acceptable. if but to taste terror our hearts to language while introverts are a bit ahead. (you dance like rivers you change like survival or you rewind in memories; as feudal creatures or blessed mistakes or needing something like what Angie has: a dear father, a reputable mother, or three genius siblings; indeed, it happens this journey, the grass is so fluffy, we desire to climb its fence; where everything is better, as so it appeals, but tears unfasten darker closets.)  

“Isn’t Better?”

 

such grip if but survival, a clip wailed, a bullet vanished, he clutched, fell, as toppling over. such brutality into atmosphere or water for violence assumed in position. our presidential our great inheritance while kids are anti-slavery. if silence we have it, if musical those tar faces, if discouraged we bleed more; such menticide where more are good as time judges a man! women have uniqueness, a subtle/overt war, while we soon need rich intimacy—somewhere to call emotion, somewhere we yearn for, something unlocking those primitive recesses. the lover in me those tiles in blood where Hampton was crucified; so renewed where it never ceases our country returns to cobblestones—as men mis-analyzed or true feelings where a stupid savant is given the classroom.     we see patterns, while we play games, where no one is tolerant; as misunderstood in a wily land, where authority mustn’t be challenged: else, deep disrespect, even a lynching, for categories say perfection; such bleeding nooses such rage in its capital while a protest is thrashed by gunfire; so much in Democrats, so much in Liberals, while Republicans remain neat; these are dramatic so cursed where a baby was fed gun powder—then crucified right afore his father where rage ensued. our ancestors our grandparents our mothers with fathers—to then ask, “Why are they filled with violence?”     never a reason for you or even an issue where it just feels normal; but ours are steel doors both decided & disgusted, where it just feels right!

by song in essence by casualty in cities where alienation becomes divorced from itself. so much passion such mind shedding so angry to ask a man, “Isn’t better?”   

To Say: “Alienation”

 

the lion would war by grace so faced by time or roaring at bushes. our minds through vestibules those doors into un-realization where a soul is invisible. such anguish in depletion or alienation such souls are raffled off to isolation.

                                                            by angel-palms or godly prints as creatures undergoing something irresistible. those landmarks as carved in cerebrum while we tease the screaming walrus. so elated at seconds or realized as altered while instruments are in stillness; the destitute genius or those stupid savants where sociality is a drumkit. to have arrived at an epigraph or to understand a pictograph where pain suggests vulnerability: the want for a hand, those skies wailing, as uncured creatures mentoring society.

I might appear as some lonely machine with souls at his countenance. too many at wilderness or suffused by traumas while most of us are obtrusions; as a splinter aches, so does reflection, insomuch as we see ourselves. where beatings were accepted, while invisibility was acknowledged, in the hope that mirrors would prove horrific. a deep groan. an unmeasured misery. as foreigners stitched into aggressive seams. such alleys through memories while brutality is genetic or it becomes its repetition. the DNA of the cat. the armor of Judah. or those cries in Bethlehem. to re-die as entrance into flying where feathers/wings are tarred.

Functionality Uncooked

 

by diet or sewing by raw addiction!

so taken in silence where wolves shake

or dementia settles into a man with

beasts; a birdsong in pain, an anger

knitted to solace, where souls knot for

freedom. he noticed windows. he passed

them often. they were neatly filthy. it

must be design, or an elephant, but a

woman watched. so much terror, or so

deliberate, he admired her. much to fires

or ripples or your absence. it’s best as

it lives, a steel autograph, a collision.  

we grip keychains, or praise strangers,

or value off-colored prints—or flame!

Pure Admiration

 

an aurora spine an opera back or shorn shoulders; a kleptic physique such praised hips so statuesque. but pain oozes through eloquence those sounds we undertake; sure disasters or present elegance so much a vexation. to have one embedded in shivers or embittered enough to love; by shadow-masks unimagined toes or reimagined breasts such nape such length such anger—to chime in deserts to caress by throat as lives, it isn’t science! so many dragonflies such a leviathan nature or a sword guarding those gates. it takes life by sheer animosity so depressed while souls scream; by marrow in veins where she appeared with fury, an inward cello, a mental tone, a mic our sages! to need expression as touching wilderness a man to his ink—those rites to passage those fields with sugarcane as we lose time by berries.     into a bitter horizon to rethink your arts so congested with existence. so many clouds or storms or guilt as it accompanies passion; as drawn by reach activated by need where reality is unstable; such drunken absence where it meant infinity our indigo remains; our ghosts our pottery wheel by pictures so near invisibility. as unseasonable creatures so livid by creative habits, either hard work, divinity, or both! those habits in you such reckless anguish where life is so great a machine; to lose essence in every gift while needing one to feel as goddess. such gnawing such gnashing such metallic mistakes; our metal minds our dear gift for survival where it often gets heavy. by a need if but reprieve if but romance; as most give with delight or receive with joy while some are regurgitating adolescence. but a slave of her chest, or a master of her whims, while if we truly understood humans, we might feel ashamed!  

Expectation Might Damage Us

 

sure furious darkness such sour storyboards while longing seems to miss me; the skin of the city the misery of the wife or the confidence of the husband. so much stronger as it should be written but ink belongs to the publisher. so many songs such percussions as wilder those shrubberies; sure toils so left to silence or re-judged by tomorrow: if so much rightness why such significance while uneven something remains wrongness? the ruling element those sexual lies where it doesn’t matter much; for  she is wind where behavior is feathers insomuch she can’t be un-silenced; but fire she causes while laws are shattered where many pet her destruction. seeds planted, stars screaming or flames churning into whispers; the rep of the wolf the loyalty of the coyote or such needing a new city; for souls chime we know for names where a lover is laughed at. so many seabirds such sun-fire while a hint of remorse associates humans. such raging matches or glass ceilings while the antidote isn’t friendly. it might be sin where souls glance while so intoxicated by each cobra.

to watch as movement is beautified or soil stands at attention. the trademark of woman the mystery of sinning where we’re given cinema; by media eyes so charmed those gusts such scenery too unclear. those cages if but to share as a privilege to have such weather. the cure in its mirrors those oceanic castles or days longing to lose her desire. such filth in experience such nights their melody while contending with sound. by dear mystery, of one well-bred, while we wonder of how it happened: most are by ill-exposure, some at middle class standards, but a few of excellence behaving as thieves. so much stronger, asking for something impossible, that is, an adder’s integrity!   

Inseams Are Blessings, Also Hindrances

 

iron clanks like water splashes like humans’ disgrace principles. tables vibrate the pen is critical those books just fell. the death in us the feud in me while it comes for the strong; a smock or slippers a cell like cringing a bail like its song; as souls dear with love or passion as it wanes where a thinker wonders—of miracles or distastes while one is illogical; those beliefs we invest those days we misunderstand or sheer chemistry as it was never fluent; the body’s mechanics the ape’s madness where sexuality is commodity.     I passed a cafeteria. I saw extraordinary! I decided to test my insecurity.     if but pleasing antennas or engines revved by gold in such a society where sacredness becomes a joke.     but here’s a question, for an irreligious person, why do men need religiosity?     so carking such innocence where the argument lands on control.     but here’s a question, in a fragile world, why do we need something certain?     I mull over that, as souls frightened of probability, where most qualifications are for vatic surety. for example, a man meets a woman, they have chemistry, where she demands a confirmation; she needs him to suggest, or to ascertain to, something akin to longevity. or a man needing clarity in an obscure world, where most are just appearing.     a bit of a tangent, while we desire beauty, if but to become someone’s existence—our minds jingling, our jagged edges flatting, or such pledges wrapped in romantic fervor. to adore gazanias, such sweet richness in herbs, or picturesque inflation; as all senses satiated as needing our guts with little to live for, otherwise!     the database is shocking. it seems so casual. where elders are watching in disbelief.     some are at war such desperation for all they ever stood for: our rites in essence, our close friends, while some people become inseams.   

Filled With Your Anguish

 

by baggage or self-revelation so uncured striving forgiveness. by social suits too revved to pardon where trying is anguish. into darkest screams or nightmare screens so unraveled so many wars where solvent is a mirage. upon a truffle or deeper into woods our souls pour into creeks. so fettered to one perception so achieved by zero counsel while thoughts are adored, for they are internal. eating common worries as we run risks of trivializing a woman’s pain; our coping styles our rivers where psychology might help—into fears into neuroses such unclear devastation; as asking for freedom where society offers chains while true repentance denotes a bit of humility. such world views aside lagoons a palm filled with jumping-jacks.

if made to validate even those stronger disgusts, I might ask for everyone’s accounts; indeed, I have no place to war, while asking for resumes, if but to point to negligence.

(but life is skies or dreams or academia; the anger of the cross, those poetical swords, while most are romantic about interior ruins; for it trickles softly, we lose our grasshoppers, while too old to claim nescience; our Mauri Scars, or Red Sea, while someone missed breakfast, lunch, plus, dinner.) such aluminum huts so given to one thought where it’s more important to prove points than to heal. our detestable inheritance our new names our exclusion of certain tribes. as minds bleeding or ears leaking while an inconsistency tries our intestines. stealth ever fuddles, pavement is blurry, but someone loves you. such frabjous into a pit where one is indebted for one has cared.

such unflinching apologies where I must concentrate on more my part than others. as love is miracle or dying is joy to arise firm in mud; the inner conference the need for mastery as pursued by healthiness. so illegal to worship our counsel on hiatus so bound it’s hard to re-grieve. the office of the maniac those cured damnations while adoring seems so light-fevered; as a mad poet or a madder scientist so filled with your devastation.     

Mirror Is Broken Glass

 

in loving disaster surefire tenderness

those walls neon bleeding our doorjamb

our tenement our death-core by ink.

to have sweetness by phobia if mantis

our pain, so close, we rate our misery.

too much to succumb, such infants in

motion, our dire need for exploitation.

as roaring thunder, raining from fangs if

blood blue jazz; by cygnet ensemble or

starving eyes, into trauma-terror; our

opened nostrils, filled with poison, if to

deflate into nothingness!  those piglet

rumors, bubbling into unvetted facts, as

nights unfold, sweet fever, our knife grave.

Refasten Fair Keel

 

how to adore where souls are embittered or faces are low? some unnormal creature too disguised to see too amendable to assert justice; fumes afloat grasshoppers watching or daughters making it workable—the thief in its soul those scoundrel eyes where one says he’s lovable. sure blighted patches or cherries leaking as life confuses its adherents. so demystified while suddenly unphysical where often we become trouble or ink or rain. those facile pains so indecent to say such where one is agonizing; but anguish is twofold: as one it’s self-intentional or others are genuinely said culprits. I take to silence or finesse through reflection where most realities are vetoed.    

it was treasured in skin those elements so devastating—to have cared as such an unpaved creature or some troll at his rainbow.     so reborn in an instance where it might be verified. by parable or allusion or allegory—those eyes judging themselves those nails filled with agony or adrift a volcano bleeding cryptic acid. if but to lie for freedom, if but to know those lies, while so secure they will outlive time.

it was unfair, where its mutual, insomuch as we all must suffer; the shared moroseness those apathetic crocodiles while souls are tied to pure insanity. “But it’s just him, I do believe, while I have exonerated others. They were here, they walked me into my terrors, they caused my deepest uneasiness. They gave me eyes, I see from their perspective, it shall always hurt!”

the keel is unlatched the boat split asunder as some parts float the river. so abject at seconds in those very increments while decisions are made from the Hostile Cliff. so radical in us such private causes in us where we need a Think Tank! somewhere precious daylight or timbal breakthroughs our footprints reappearing: as individuality or something stark-raven-mad, a dear human envelope—to brave the skies to float upon a cloud or to look at gods demanding concrete essence; as abstract buildings so soar in time or so un-awakened!   

Unspoken Evidential

 

if I love you, could you please promise, as to never hurt me!

the pain is insoluble those catharses are temporal or mounts are insufferable. it’s misery or truth or cadence;

a gift to us such uncooked honesty as souls inner-manifest. the anguish of adoring, by tree-stumps, a soul wringing his guts.

or silence unbearable or

machetes unshipped where we jettison completeness. (the castle is intimate. it renews understanding. so suffused so broken at old unkempt laundry: such opal flowers or porcelain tulips so much to need if knowing all races.

re-cured, a trampoline bungee, as rushing into concrete; a slight recoil, as reversed, if to take but to give!)

admired rosariums or jamesia pangs such a soul prone to flight; as minds un-river or Ethiopia unwinds, we might die in resurrection; poignant mud or mayfly anxiety where a monk is mis-fathomed; to have love to know it intimately while at wars with Teresa. sure deliverance, a daily charm, where it feels truth such normality. as to shiver in coldness, or too warm to sweat, as accused of treasuries; so unforgiven, it seems flippancy, where it creeps, it screams, our minds are monads: the gripping gnats, those antiphon arrythmias, so delicate filled with horrors!

you might fret justification in an artistic flare to arrive abandoned to hatred; a heart heaving a soul serenaded such susurrus/aquiline acrobatics—as dying was tender or living was gifted while harpoons thrash texture.

if I love you, could you please promise, as never to give me away!

Unfaced With An Image

 

I came an uneven child. it would curse his bones. where unnormal becomes normality.

such language or morose catharses at a particular person. certain meta-wilderness, organic brain-winds as souls trying to live completely.

those musings as they become realness where a mind is unbeknownst to itself. to hold patience or to take his place while each must be crucified; our daughters our mothers where we stumble upon jealousies.

            we seem alarmed while clutching/shifting hunches where tone is its radio.

I would love but not love while absorption determines love. the soul wrapped the dearth like glue those ice lands melting.

            so cured at seconds such drilling at moments if terrific those tales seem like eloquence.

so much to care as something alive while anyone took his place.

            sure warfare in adoring temperaments by meter of intonation—a casualty made acceptant or pure servitude while it might be hard to forget. I realize anguish or dark contempt so much given to be a decent spirit; the struggle of its image—those thunder-bending elements, into mahogany branches. to die forever, as unclaimed, while searching for a parachute; such crashing such crawling over twenty bones crushed. the arms of matrimony those stronger reasons if but fire our souls as entering its castle.

            such is a miracle to touch your face to undie while clutching Infinity.    

Poorer Rainbows

 

such limerence so shocked to have clarity where depth is sweet terror. so much a woman so atwitter where love is passion it dies—at each interval pure vibrant cadence by meter each contagion. so tender its touch such aches its groans while speaking is sure difficult. those ineffable signs the symbol bleeding certain to lose too much; but a soul carries her cross she needs her levity where she dies to remain secluded. by powers to accept life, by rage to experience life, where human behavior might be a bit dark about life.

so jocular at times, so sad if we met, while I know you indebtedly. born to apathy or destroyed by pain, gods would adore me. I cry often, walking these quarters, sure changed by world trauma. it amazes me, how we fret for others, where we need to protect them. loud misery or louder regrets such treasured adversaries: to have given me this pain, those roses with helium, or mother forcing her hand. eyes gloss, I aim with accuracy, I feel unclever—such art in bipolarity but such stigmata oh for gods where a man has scraped his knees! so close to losing, even an esteemed friend, where the next will not understand our indebtedness.

I was punctured as a young seed

where angst became a galaxy. such a diffident child, meaning shy, as so much to see such a younger us. the rain of its roaring such divisive measures, where apologies are too convenient.  

Dynamic Eye Hut

 

such soaring such graves at a sky-tomb. a lover with remorse, a captive given freedom, where familiarity suffocates. such bottom oceans a palmed octopus nibbling minerals. such behavior where we die while one is ecstatic—those dear needs if but a feeling while life becomes callous. but souls evolve they flee or fly such frames by agonies. by luminous crayons or jumping ropes so much tetras in our charms. “I was enchanting, attentive, such a passionate lover; I gave I dug I pleaded.” indeed, it decodes itself. we hate those answers. while projection is a maniac. I often think in there, concerning some people, they just aren’t ready! (we put much in others, their palms their hands their scars. we desire something, or on hiatus, while both are seeing/perceiving something internal. some favor fever they sing melodies they complete each other. dying isn’t an option. his low is her pain. they rise as flying so raw so uncooked fleeing disparity. we watch as they chant or drill into plumbless depth such wild/creative souls.) we fail to see something, those years put into humanity, those soft melancholic races or such pain becoming beauty. some want perfection. they live to become perfection. it requires living in accordance. I have appeared in there. such nervous understanding. where many have a deeper clue. if but to omit those diaries, or resubmit those memoirs while some are looking for popular science; a name widely spread, something designed just for us, where most are left wondering. it becomes life: I need you to study her, to design a missive just for her, as to become totally wrapped in her. the fleetingness of popularity, so fugacious in its schematic, while I need your existence!

I move further from us while I’m closer to us, where loving is partial to perfect elements. a person is a conglomerate filled with personality, quirks, desires, or temperaments. it requires closing out or boxing in while most need both worlds. so suffocated or such liberty while we monitor our behaviors. intense maintenance intense mentoring such habits perfected to protect integrity. our fevered behaviors our dearer realities as creatures suffocated by pains, miseries, self-reflection, or insecurities. a person deviates for so long. he hasn’t a clue to his mishaps. he meets his soul, unable to captivate deeply. too many inconsistencies. too much absorption. but Love is terrific—with a keen eye!    

Indictment On Beauty

 

true imperfection so fair by standards or sore beauty. to die by morals to harbor anxieties where a writer makes discoveries. if but a muse perused in anguish where a person desires you; those skates those boards those rubber feelings. so elastic—no one worries, where reality is infused by its emotion. such noetic creatures fretted by afflatus where most are in its moment! the pain of the gardener, or those anguished skies, while deserts are craving juice or water or seeds afforded a lonely camel. the eye of the wall those assertions made where they were often ignored. I have unlocked a gift such susurrous beginnings into some reservoir where Love has her glasses; by fangs or exercises where most vampires are loved. by shade or article while flipping pages; our interior magazine, our dreaded brochures, while circling a list of agendas. beauty by essence, or riches by beauty, where beauty remains unclear; so much to design it, or too much to preserve it, or such importance to augment our variables: a man to his souls, a woman to her spirits, while many people are in needs for something more. I have loved by sight those fair beauties while uncertain of anything else. this denotes something, sure instability, where many say, “It can be worked out.” a child watches, those internet faces, such a child runs to her mirror.

it has been fantasy something ill-understood, while it gives life; so hard on reality, such reason to re-manage, while it creates beauty. how close to reality? is this healthy? is there room to mix perceptions? as cursed or roving, as bland or profound, while it seems unnerving. the behavior of excellence. so bound by personality. or cured by alienation.  

Electrical Cords

 

there are social ghosts. there is horseback rain.

if looking hurts, we notice more, or we rot.

I was nervous to exist or captured by a witch:

by daring grace by restless zeal by ink in pain.

minds are debating. anxieties are unleashed.

where souls are floating, amid centuries, as

time is flippant. it would happen by fire, as

addled creatures, those delicate scars, or so at

senses so many twigs, facing raw cymbals. I

answer our skies. I tell a story. I’ve learned to

re-vet…for days are motion, brains are darting,

in a split instance, society is in jeopardy.

a socket supports enchantment. a soul is dealt

a cord. it seems one’s duty to maintenance it.

Axioms Break Hairpins

 

I reminisce on angers or frustrations—a man says so much he doesn’t reveal fruit. such pain to understand, such emptiness to feel, while normality has an assistant: palms filled with mud, hearts re-beating torpor, where a voice is sure to plant a blanket. I see a face I taste a bathroom I hear something bathing in its filth.

sheer disappointment. as to give such solace. so wild in eyes so high in sweat as to recriminate an eight-year-old child.

those fields flaming those trees falling a man wakes up screaming. such a dismissive tone wild like essence where he must be something callous.

if it hurts, we soon reveal it or it’s buried in a trunk. those chairs in our living room. those old-school lamps. or brown-white patterns. such fury as a rug might wince or floorboards rage in silence. a face hits a hand, a hand is grabbed, where a culprit becomes indignant! lightbulbs flicker in a moist room a subtle live-in scent; void of oxygen gasping for breath repulsed by her insistence—somewhere in his future to have met snakes while scraping his remains; so acute so sharp as aborted to death’s alley; suffused with survival, a dear pang, for most live, have mania, as never accused of numbness—in fact, most are seen as celebratory so pure while we ignore those rabbits he killed as a kid! 

miles walking or crystals dangling a fan hanging mid-sky. color wheels or innocence a scoop of ice cream. we never see it until it’s there while we control merely our responses. it comes by instincts or bird-wires or a scream to fly. as bastard children so difficult to fathom where we live behind a huge truck. trains roaring peace to listen or a fair glass of suffering. such righteous anguish such religious malaise or one says, “There’s something to this pattern.”

I met her it was usual friction it wasn’t unique. (some pour out emotion some hold it in where others just explode.) it amazes those realities proven normal while composure is held in ill-repute. something is always wrong! no one escapes this dictum. where I believe it, but I fathom why many have an issue with assessments.

I see our times our souls as I wonder of why so many are so open. we go through nightmares we travel haunted houses while compliant to something fractured.

we loathe wreckage. we live partly unsung. as we put our hands to wreckage. it takes decades, if but to awaken a harmonica, if but to align our hemispheres.       

The Ambiguity Of Meaning!

 

sure certainty in so much a person also with sword to feel alarmed. remedy as kindness or subjected to silence where behaviors are blueprints. bellicose resistance or sturdy linen such capture or submission. as handled with silence to hate aggression while a man has said so little. if but to adore such as philanthropists to die with each liaison; as unbelieved souls trying desperately if but to outwit our natures. many fists to pillows. many pangs to birth. or songs to meters. I aim high wilder those streets such venom to atmosphere. I listen where it chatters, or undress features, where one might remind of the great schism. so at love but afar from love while needing to be absorbed by love. where wrongs are abbreviated or given acronyms in hope they might dissipate: to imagine in a woman, something so regular, where many are anti-morals. such repeated behaviors, in different souls, where a psychologist looks at patterns; or a psychiatrist, listening to justifications, while wondering about its scope. I hear stories about protagonists where one is solely a victim; it disappears in me, as I analyze, piecemealing obvious constraints. (such fire in an introduction such years at perfecting it, where it comes naturally: eye contact, a slight blush, where charm is measured. but Love is adorable or Love is sympathy while loving you is not for debate. (a man to ideals, so afraid to play tether ball, as he complains concerning rawness.) but this is our age, depending upon our wants/needs/or demographics. such a war to find you in this small space while seated longing in imagination; by roots or treasures if to land on an abusive/demanding/satiating lover!) our spine for this piece, as it remains hidden, but a theme appears to us. (so spoiled those years, while so gorgeous those fears, so innocent with myriad ideas; if but his seed if but her measurements as creatures ignore so much.) I unlive to re-die if but to awaken accuracy. those dear pains, such as phantasms, where Love is swept by others. or ballet with musicals, where bodies need interpretation, it becomes vaguer than word-art!     

Naïve Leaf

 

intense into gristle such deaths such glory—to gallop come sunrise if but to attack where nature has penalties. goose-berries or cloud-syrup so ready if but to release. entitled creature as settling for nothing so awakened by controversy. if reading your ways such an outlandish body while doing too little to maintain it: lines of memories, stronger liquor, some room for strangers—but Love is in essence born broken such dear trauma—such gravidity our mind-filled calamity, as flies build in membranes—a cursed creature, so much joy, while showers are filled with groans. our existential our reality such sweetness as pure as vinegar. maple bread, banana shakes, so fluffy, so perky, too much to assess—those oatmeal eyes those baked peaches while we must understand squalor; soothing serenity afforded its reality but chasing screams seems apropos. 

days are maps, our mirage so personal insomuch as dear essence. “why live that way, where abstracts are raining, while life is so absent?” this he couldn’t answer, but depth was bleeding, to utter pure conviction: “life is power, by power life is sweeter, by hope a man finds aloneness.”

macadamia souls as cleared for torture while we watch or listen. so held in reverse or so lightening fast as struck with something pitiful—so sundried such a peninsula moving upon a jigsaw. our worlds intensified, it sounded by his soul, it wasn’t his words. to bring homes to life, it isn’t by castles, where we run hoping to arrive with a new self. many bandages for several wounds while they all look alike. such crisscrosses, or biochemist elements, while fighting against sub-zero.

so Australian so African so Europe—so possessive so uncured but needing it this valley.

by flying fox by dear chemistry while one could count a dozen lies. a person searches, if needing black excellence, or something so secure it fights not to feel encrypted.

what if Love sailed her journey, as a pure musician, as sewn into something where it works? 

baptized in deception, eyes rolling, while it couldn’t be deliverance; so addled such an adder so smooth, I need to believe in you. as accursed machines, in need for so much, while adhering to deceptive structure; its balanced sunshine, its levity, while if it smiles, we wonder. such suspicion of a shift so much to lie while one is a miracle. a soft touch a terrifying ache such beauty in corruption. so forced to realize such an unacceptable position, but times are deepened by unnatural realities. by cave or devastation by grit or memory as days become such unkempt discipleship.

such storms while it couldn’t be real as two learn in depth—as corners bend as air suffocates while seeing some cryptic sequence; so disowned inside such an irregular creature while this becomes our eclipse.

…but so tender or endearing where it shouldn’t be difficult—those people in there, those signs in souls, as acute pangs stab our arteries….

by virtue of intelligence or widespread mistakes where age usually determines those stricter rules. while a machine strikes at life, or a treasure is pluralistic, or fire boils water. but a spear to frustration too awake to fall asleep insomuch as it becomes our resistance!

I Want To Cry For Humanity!

 

by whisper to un-hear pain such comfort in dying. spirit museums such artifacts while a face appears. she speaks Arabic by translation a soul made clearer. so much to burnish a man by crimes where he desires chastity. by filth to unlock social gospel or gnats to become diligent—born to exist or to live, there are variations! by what measure to have loved where it was a man’s delusion: softened by craziness or undressed by intuition where one has never, where it didn’t hurt. brighter theology, succinct wrongness, while it destroys his existential: motion in our masks, sweet utterings while so distant from our bodies—such a woman, so detached, where she plays distant unawareness… so much is burning such a goddess rank or days he would meditate his daughter; to have insults for pain to rage like fools while lucky to have existence. sure augmented cadence, certain sugarcane berries, as time allows for fruition. so mad at self this warrior losing or winning in obscure areas; spirit is unique, it blends with energies, where a goal is to live in pleasurable thoughts (both yours plus theirs). it becomes experience so close to a person but unclear of a chant in them. a Hindu woman looked at me, without hesitation, she struck a blow, energy summons by winds—such a devout listener such responses in collaboration, while dying is an option we often suggest; such rich science, such a dear mystic, I lose account of mental activities; a fear in me, where losing isn’t an option, but ever a reality; to force his brains as to surrender to nescience by crest to admire those eyes: those tender eyes as a man un-experiences just about every traumatic wound. his soul bubbles—so unclear at wakes, where his eulogy might read, "Angel!"  

Difficult Humans: We Often Bend Nature

 

embedded murals those minds as encased in miracles. so absent at times to insult at times while expecting something kosher. the favors of fools, so graven with detachments, where one finds us difficult. no need in silence or much flying in silence while a crush might see its wings; unmasked or re-masked, it happens in an ungiven second; by cloven scars—where one takes innocence, wherefore, others find us difficult: that delicate space those places we return while seated so determinedly. an unphysical passion, or a mystic word, while so much isn’t necessarily essence: our halo debts, our tasty zeal, where many need more than we advertise. songs are capturing or similar or carrying energy: such mythic pianos such mystic violins or by desire to feel enchanted. such gatherings in there, such negotiations, where adoring others isn’t quite forthcoming. by sublime action or sub-caves soothing or susurrus to find a glimpse so sedated where chemicals root from brains—a tablet in me a curse in music while so many clamp our skies; born rhapsody so much a telic touch where axioms become accentuated. so little to live in one, or such comfort like no other, where minds determine a soul is worthy—out of needs to feel needed, or power to desire safety, or delicate mother/father traumas; dialing chastity the phone is ringing where we sense an interception. to polish our souls or undress emotion hoping for clearer reception.  

 

    

The Beast: Mental Liquids

 

it’s sluggish as it comes down. it’s favored, unraveled, or dynamite while highest. so much the aboriginal the native so primitive like shadows. such delicate tastes so fueled for sexuality where it might not matter. torn bedsheets a filthy mattress or a ten-year-old pillow. polyester shirts buttoned in its midsection where breasts tease the beast. I was in passion to see slight seduction it meant so much—as to imagine diamonds by navels a temptress a belly dancer. our mind-saws, filled with origami hushed in more fever: whispers murmur such a plumbless depth such radical doors—by chains to get flame such a wet touch while liquids have infuriated—a wiser man to multiple pains where his books are jettisoned. Love by warmth so unafraid of sexuality where a soul might for exclusivity; but it matters not, so intimate, it must be understood—the promise of today the weariness of tomorrow or slight aroma such tender mornings. the shift as it downfalls where majesty is more like, “Why have You forsaken me?” an attempted striptease churns into madness or sullenness bathed in heaviness—those we adore our behavior monitored so many to care for. so maudlin or forced forward by something screaming its agenda; our kaleidoscopes our telepathic imagination where most speak in concrete. it’s ironic, as we live, in major abstracts. the backdrop is beautiful, those pains are ecstatic, every thought has been re-managed. our misery is our ink, our officials our resources, our bandages our talismans. such seams so alive while we know for ghosts or goblins or sutures: the sorrow-chauffeur those acrobatic mind-turns at something too delicate to lose. connected to dinosaurs. so unidentifiable. such roaring fire!    

Cold Fire

 

moods shift quite often as creatures minded or connected or some sweet distraction. by aromatic resin or softer a beige scent while loving others becomes its fraction. a beating arc a subtle voltage or chains dating to our ancestors. so inclined while age creeps where we have only so much afforded this journey. such bottom lessens or seas so still our ship isn’t moving. by essence or disposition as to adore or love if such differences exist. monsters are airborne or avatars are nearby such gnawing at gnats or doorposts. I sing to elegance or unsung to his elements where science becomes an imposition. we can’t in direction so masked for company while one must be extraordinary to contest. our souls such weariness such touch while void of matter. we give it to literature or something artistic, his life in three events! too many glimpses but never an element traveling through episodes. such predators or cousins while gators roam our thrumming hearts. so uncaged but so wild, it’s amazing how love heals or tames! you might disown self or kill meaning with over 48 volumes of lipstick. but life is this passage, so painted in privileges, where I rest in such resistance. by travesty of a clown. by futility of a hermit. or secrets prone in a monk’s insistence. or you may watch so taken by prosody or feelings or aesthetics. where we know our minds so distressed by our flesh while one is for sin while another is for praise. or religiosity is sickening it hurts too much where rationality/balance hasn’t kicked in. we never know or we realize, as best we see something is pointing at participation. those signposts are roadmaps they enliven something quite bereft of a definite aura. a palm of tadpoles a fretting essence or cold fire.

Apples & Apricots

 

its piano is eclectic by prosody or cadence such born fruit. if to love you like I have a witness or understood by fire. I dream more often by photo or mind growing austere. certain abandonment or certain fury where adoring us is made impossible. such tragedy upon acidic petals or seesaws carrying physical memories. so wowed he would profess some crippling pledge while essence became pure cadence. to have dying in reason or to touch his thoughts where Love remained distant from damage. such a jigsaw puzzle so jagged at realities if not those days jousting with memories. but fever gets lonely or loins burn frivolity such lotus or swamps. our uncooked rawness our fairytale madness while carrying softly our charms.

by our grief or trees whistling where wayward souls become protegees. if but a moment in that world while secrets abode in human miseries. our nights are dressed they picture in lingerie, we have managed to ignore commonsense. such inclined isms or mystic passion or cultic so claimed for innocence. those reindeer watch while eating they love blackberries. so lovely elegance so eloquent sure tension in us. where pumas trek our fertile frenzy insomuch as given to our fantasy.

 

such pulchritude our contemporary beauty or disbelieving ears. as a warlike listener or so many stingrays it seemed unreal: those jasper blues such jacinth jazz as time would implode. by dismal despair such arranged agency as core mistakes.   

  

   

Storehouses & Stockyards

 

I move slowly or fastly thus far as melodious screams. I try harder those days to speak by integrity aside a chimney. the bleeding aches those walls grew or water is fire or dungeons so seated in slime. the pain of the pen. the danger of the attraction. or projecting with a need to survive. our sacred oils our candle-vines so secluded remaining so seen. to love wit or passion or dear disgusts those tryouts those tyrannies as a man might recant. so prone to repulsion so dear to lies while his past is wreckage; the steelyard the graveyard those stockpiles. boulders build poison. so close as enough to find issues. where most give to an initial ache. (Love was sharp or damaged or an alcoholic; sobriety was its wretch its bane its remedy for addiction. the slow penalty for so much alive, while taking his place was a miracle; for he beat or destroyed while screaming or kicking at goads; our passion would never sing, one was struck in its past, albeit, such filth was pure servitude; the cry of wolves the dry valley but I yearn for the one cactus; as crazed souls, a fretted war, while three months pregnant; if but to tell him, instead of baggy clothes, where he heard, clutched his fist, to accuse of treachery; the deadman the hidden woman while change seems dishonorable.)

I get anxious assuming actions or dread so decided in a deathlike instance. to flee flame while begging flame where most men went ballistic—such addictive rites or addicted souls while begging for another round; so dear to pain such welkin schemes or tone deciding a person’s interior. to have one last thought this gift I must give those agonies become maladjustments, or thus I lied as ink bleeds his psyche or rage has mellowed while not so interested in pleasing too many demons.

Regions Are At War: Light Or Murky?

 

southern charm, northern mechanics, or New York shifts; so abased in you, sure like sugar, so raw in dynamics. I found a scream it was running through traffic it was naked, they chased it. it couldn’t be captured, it wouldn’t be silenced, a daughter watched such detailed mourning. our water has taste, our vinegar is for cleansing as was mother’s eyes for scrutinizing. true heinous disposition. “as I need one to submit.” where he said x, while he must suffer eight to ten years strongly. so cold at us so delivered to shames while a stranger looked, perceived, or jumped the jimpy. our battled self-images. our wives or husbands, where they break science to appease us. this isn’t life, in a tale by skies, while most could give a damn less. in deer cries such tadpoles where daughters are listening to nature: the rumination in a psych, those boundaries in a therapist, or those keen eardrops in an overseer. while I haven’t—I wouldn’t—where confrontation is necessary: such wits, forced to speak his trauma, where one is hindered from true, personable responses. (however, as this is delicate, what if one knows, so deeply, those condemnable patterns—those behaviors, such skill, as to provoke a Pope or unwrap a monk; such roaring spirits born to die while set for defense as royal panthers; by gut or prowess but cocaine or meth by any damn thing this side of our democracy.) how to address omniscience? how to un-sing one’s dungeon? or better, how to empathize with one intolerant? our heroine with terror, or so sullen a pill by smiles, or reviewing dynamics a bit angered by his countenance. “he might be numb. it must be so. for I would be devastated—by remission or regression or such loses in a larger nation.” I must admit—it looks uncertain, while defining self is merely for others to aid in defining for you. “such an asshole,” merely for differences, while it angers one is strong, despite, anomaly. such to see or feel stung where facial responses are hectic or miscalculated. so, in ending winds, how must every person be normal—as according to an overseer or by consensus? “if I would cry, he must cry, or fall pained!”   

indeed, the southerner dismisses the northerner, where New York frowns on California, as cooks from far & wide can’t appreciate nuance.    

ZONE X Addendum

 

we can’t say enough where eagles give lectures or falling becomes inhibited. so much silence where souls would watch while family members tumble into pits; to love adoringly such at harm’s venue while so close it feels claustrophobic. but souls need affection even if it distresses while a whisper asks, “Have I more freedom?”

the soul was beleaguered the battle was bellicose while a mystic struck into fire.

if lingering, we find a mirror. if deliberate, we monitor remnants; else, a festoon forms: sure misfunction or ethic-molasses where many are asking about morals. it comes with adoring or loving where worship is always an option. I say so little where a good point is unveiled but belaboring science disproves its validity.

we appeal to intuition. we join the cult-intellect. so much becomes ordinary. (as a woman lives, she breathes pain while she distributes art. or a man uneasy, despite, facts, while he desires to gallop into winds.)

I can’t fix invisibility. I can’t outwit inveterate damage. nor can a person unwire sheer conviction. the world is so flat, the ocean falls into oblivion, the earth is our vehicle. so dead to listening, or so surefire of facts, while a moment, an epiphany, or a convergence unfetters the unkept mind. it seems like an inner riot, where words float into orbit, as pictures, or sentences, flash, whisper, or scream. I would save you disappointment, rage, or concrete melting, as the soul unvet(s) so much it has died to believe. (so wordy, so voiced, while talking his place is a challenge.) mother has passed, granny has hit an exosphere, while one day it will manifest—something too keen too unexplainable where this world will open gently: our need for existence, our social ingredients, while the greatest breath is freedom that one second!

I can’t force the fighter to take a dive; I can’t force the chef to undercook pork; while I can’t force intellect to wink at its absolutes: you know your agenda, you have stirred your tea, where you have decoded those deeper secrets; a bit of sarcasm, but a bit of truth, for reality is in you. (to take a palm or to talk a frenzy while too much is reason to feel alarmed; to protest too much to die so early while a person never takes initiative; the pain is anguish, the anguish is anger, the anger often takes the countenance.)

truth is like a massacre. it trumpets an indictment. most people use it to their advantage, where it keeps them in anonymity. but truth is not an issue, where dolor is, as days seem to speckle into one temper.