Disgust for Your Style of Thought and Invasiveness

We’re almost at the definition

It conceives itself in your mind

What of it?

What of it still?

Stiller than ho?

All aboard the hype train

No trained physicians know me

I’m all lost n shit at the upside


Tasteful timing

Same exact words

Different meaning

Because of how I typed them in

Same exact thing

Different readership

I have a feel for these minutea

How is this even possible?

Two seconds changes the entire poem?

Yes, fart

But it’s not the real thing

So we don’t know for sure

Staven winkies n crup a craugh

He hellbacks n shits his terds up high

Nigh invincible, his disgust for maturity repletes his soul

Male poetry male poetry

All male poetry

The commitment to music

The commitment to unbreakable sin

Is still weak

We are exercising

We are weak

Here and there and some times his brain goes

Does go

But sometimes the gun is to his head

So all aboard the third person

They know him

They know him

Know your audience

It’s basic literature

So all the schizophrenia out there is…

What, exactly? And who? And who shares this shit?

Who actually share their pain?

That’s so unethical

Keep it to yourselves, terd shit terd shit terd

Keep it to yourselves

There’s no pattern there’s no rhyme

I think they like destroying me

But it doesn’t come easily

So I win the war of attrition

Many good stopping points but what of the author?

When does he stop?

He wants to accept his readers

But they don’t not harm him with schizophrenia

Fucking freaks out there, man

Fucking freaks

So many bad people


So many

I have a writer’s bug so expect more soon

On the Ground

I was throwing away everything, I was throwing away my phone

When it hit me

The scissors from the sky

I flung them ricochet style rotating through the air blades open

They puncture a good man’s head

They pop the balloon

I cut its string to set it fly

They hit the ground


No one is remiss

About a pair of scissors on the sidewalk

Remembering How

They all fall

Upon me

In my reverie I am astounded

At the blasphemy, the inundation

Of a round world gone flat

At how royal the tone of the scene may be set before the play is rehearsed

I don’t normally speak so linearly, but

At the pinnacle of the schism, we sit

And to be on or out of beyond-the-beyond

In windy romance

Sets me free

There are ways to see

There are ways to remember

I still do not know how long

It will take me to go soft

They expect kindness

I am gruff

How is this contradictory?

So it is perception and image clawing at me again

I idle so long

I forget where I am

From time to time

The romance does spark

Indolent fleeting memories

I stymy my wishes for a grander tomorrow

By sitting on this chair

Here now

Some wander lost

Others lose wonder

It is a bit off the remainder to think that I might not survive

Simple and iridescent naturae come take me

Find me and fuck me

I want to remember, too

Science of Love

My limpid children

My love my life

Come to the

Whenceupon we came

We said Shall not be

Shall not

And then it went far


And farther

So it sums it about up that IRL is IRL so it is no longer clear

This bestos is my friendzone

It’s the harsh dandruff that comes out easily

So it is mothers

So it is fathers

That the day we do not know is the day we see

All I can say is Wow

To notion of voice

That some do not are so be thus loose

And elsewise, others seem not to suit up

But withance and allyours so goatit

No problemo

Just a slippage

And the tip of the iceberg is where now?

It’s a math problem/riddle

Knot theory

They all harsh

They all hash

Bat at it bat at it

I am come again

And withance and without the sound

The sound of money made

And cranch in my pockets

Your bones are loose

Allow me to fix them

How cyppola

How cyp

But offance and adage of want be

Neigh neigh

Like a horse

No sluttery or tommance aboot

All the tricks from all the whores

Who are proud

And yet

Do it anyway

So it is that being hurt by TOTAL STRANGERS makes it easier

So it is not, contradictory

Contraindicative of a violent statement is a fightin’ word

So it goes

All have you and neighbors deluxe

They all have lives

As was once said

And I still never believe it

Am I better off?

Now that you love me?

No, not really

It’s possible

But at the same time

Shit on Mt. Everest

And then Vesuvius

So it all goes down

Un the underground underfoot and persuasion matrix

They all “test it tight”


That’s loose

PSA (for me)

Hi guys. Someone’s out to get me–I can sense it. So if you (I’m relaxed, I’m fine) know any information that could weed out the mole(s) (it’s probably more than one, I wouldn’t be outpowered by just one bloke) and bring them to justice, please report it to your country’s investigation agency. So for example, that would be the FBI in the United States, and if you’re in another country, every country has them.

Good luck!

(PS: Try using the internet.)

The Sound of a Typewriter

My love my life my ambitious pursuit

I do know you well

But it expires at expiry

So sue it and shut up

But what of…

And whenceforth…

The denial. The staunch denial from the couples.

There are many. And you’re supposed to make others happier, losers.

This sound, where you get angry at me, this sound, you know it to.

I’m not here to peacey-weacey

Just a staid ground

And so it soft harkens on up on the hill

The Christians fucking killed me

Bomb the church

Simic Manipulary

In time I striate my axes and think

Then there are others

In rue with the cue of the risk of the time of denial

I stay far away, sir, from the red

And to know is to bleed but feeding me?

You don’t stand a chance

I’m grosser than the ball

So keep your knits in a bundle

And stay warm on the streets of Pakistan