Muttering under my tears…
I don’t mean to stay much longer
(And you know what I mean)
But sorry and SORRY to bash you over the head okay see now here it’s not
not
not
The best thing!
To know that I tried so stylistically
To renounce senders and benders and heaven-lenders
But all at once! they left me too
They say what I say
Say
Would you go?
With me or out
The house on
Fire
In
Other ways
It is hard to see
Too much of
Love of
The picture that left
Me
Here with
You when
They were suddenly
Bagged and taken
Off the premises
For our own safety
Net
To feel full
Catch
And sink
You cannot divest yourself of the art of it all
You cannot
It is the whole purpose you are alive
The love in her voice
The smell of the rose petals on your cheeks
Wind in the air
And a mystical lilt of song from the distances
You traveled
I cannot stop
The crying I do
When I think of you, love
Please, please, remember who we are
And we will never be lost
We will never be lost without each other ever again
I promise
Give me the paycheck give me the pocketbook
Honey bun honey bun
Let me marry you to the tree
So you can buy it some friends
Let me pay my own bills with your money it’s not
Confusing I’m not jumping the gun we’ve
Just got
A lot of bills to settle
Way of late makes me think there might be too many twists/turns at the roundabout
Too many ritzy beamers at the parking garage
Well Bezos
Well Mr. Burger Flipper
You are so heroic
You are so the same
You are so different
Inside we are all made of meat
So if cannibalism hits
I’d put my lot in with the burger flipper
Then there are pots of hot shit they say I don’t see anything
But I guess I’m not alone there are that many hypocrits
I don’t hold on to friends I meet online and certainly
We only discuss art, not change
But I wonder
How one can be devoid of the other…?
So, when I write abstract poetry, I get a lot of backlash for it not being topical or structured enough.
You know what?
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOU
I can write whatever I want
And think it’s beautiful, too
And if you think my words are beautiful and still critique?
Then you are a hypocrite
And nothing less
So just think on the criticism
Stick to those textbooks
But try opening up your mind once in a while
Pedant
Try seeing English as a game instead of a prison
Contortion of the silence
to disregard
makes placebo worries fallacy minor times
then staccato will wreck me / us all
and YOU, friend
What have you say in this part of the Earth?
What doing here, being here, breathing here
Berating your daughter for wearing blue ribbon
Not holding the mug long enough
Sawing the log in thirds
I could rattle off these unique visualizations
But the point is you do or don’t belong here
So go ahead and choose which it is?
Nary an experiment, wanderer
Tell me tall tales
This nuance, this tact
This lack of heft from his right shoulder
He held me on the way back
He held me on the way
I am stymied so often in my response that no other than publication itself
Could find me happier
I am wanton, it is said of us all, but to liken to criminals
No! no… that won’t do
So it is ideation that again culls our yearning for the morsels of oddity so cherished
By our brethren
And I do mean our friends
Those of ourselves who see ourselves in our own way
And not in a mirror timefuck that would have you disheveled of mind
At the thought of looking at yourself wayside
I am in doubt at this conjoining of ideas
But if it works, work it
And if it doesn’t
Send it to your brethren
In sentience I see you in color I feel you in loathing
I now know how gullible you were
I’ve always found your house oddly appealing. I suppose because it is well-kept, and no weeds seem to be growing in the front garden. Your house just looks nice, in the same way that houses can look sad, lonely, rude or proud. I like the quietness of your house, and how it stands contentedly on […]
If I knocked. — Words & Feelings
Unduly do I cause confusion
In the sack at night at nana’s bed time
There cradled her apples swell
There cradled well, in pleasure and night
That something wert off but none the less the lamp
Struck him in the corner of his eye as bright
And suspiciously so
That any other mechanism other than light
And the light of light
Could transcode his thoughts
Well he had had enough for the day
To be sure
