Why are things not enough as-is?

Who is dying this time?

The disease is productivity,

The productivity is disease

We all search for reprieve when insurmountable pressure is laid on our shoulders

The next time I see you

the twinkle in your eye shall dry

I derive my satisfaction from knowing that your heart is encased in ossified knowledge

ledger balance set

all crude, all sophistry

But in some ways, a love nonetheless

False Paradigm


I knew home




Now, I am terse, corporate, and dissident. I like to grind eight hours a day precisely plus overtime for a biweekly paychecke and go home to drink a single beer and watch TV.


This false paradigm has got to be eradicated.

Do your part.


The rose in the rough

Makes me weep

Seems time has stalled once again

Over the loss of my girlfriend

We seem to be set for the acting scene

Another time, maybe we will be better

The Next Fruitful Market

See between the seams and let me know

your number

I’ll call you next time

after we fuck

falter, stun drone

hate (speech (guns (gone




No one knows the lost misdemeanor of the history of my mind

Legacy is no matter for one ado with strife

In decent hope, some say this way, some say that

But we all know, we all know

spoon, fork,

gone gone gone



shorn at the time and a little freckle

some stains on the carpet

well, little one, play and frolick

love is the hinterland’s hearth


stilettos and magnums

make way for another revolution

no stye, just the grossesse of fallacious ideas

may somber simplex scent sibilant


inundated with dew

the freshness of the autumn morn’ sends me tads more than I once knew

target misdemeanor, it was

hit and run, smacked the cop upside the head

no one knew

i all alone love in disguise

some times the adverts catch me naked

the real estate of the mind is the next fruitful market


so, in stunning resplendence we all sing

and dance dun over all the countryside

say “wherefare” and we’ll fall

stock in crew

wish you knew


scintillating freshness of the stars

alpha omega gamma burst reaches my cell phone tower

telepathically communicating with the human race

this one’s from Thailand

this, Vietnam

I have a home on this rock and so many world citizens to meet

we all love, sometimes

running, running, gun stunning and to do more more more

is to stay where you are, move objex, and send love letters to your brethren


inane studious mindset of an academic

i’m in prepoderance abreast of self-serving beasts

for one beat, the fencing is laid to waste

in West Dorm we all party and haze

(haze haze haze)

neat art, bro

chuck shit slit wrists and numb-nuts can find you again


all hit and run

all blow((horn))

cross, crusty

old man in the countryside

sommerset dew strewn culpability

in fondling little girls



To Mars

I saw, once, a star tearing up at the crevices in my eyes

It told me, Stay where you are, you are happy, you should not go

My cat meows

She, too, tells me not to go


I am solid on the Earth, I will never go to space

My father says he will give us an inheritance if he goes to Mars

I miss them already

He spoke of his father

My father’s father


Some due haste is measured in competitive notions

We do not all of us know where any of this is going

Well, Home

Well, fallen

Take home


The style of want to my love(r)      is

to be that

at the sense, senseless, to continue

somewhere, in lust and sonder

I want

I want to go home again

Nary a Traveler of Youth, the Wanderer’s Impeller Makes a Way Forth

Many find a way to stay what say you

What say you?

That I may do to be so much more than before or to say


I cannot believe you did what you did when you were younger

When I was younger, it was still in the blight of our eyes, our years

So to steer clear of something worth knowing is to self-suppress and know that once, I knew, and once, the knowledge was thrilling power

How quaint, the despondence of the youth.


Imitation games don’t stall me, I’m just a young gun running from the law, at haste at Stalin’s bequest

to name a few


. but without knowing who goes which way or why the namesake(s) keep us occupied might frighten those who do not know the shifting of the wood (on or beneath) the desk

. is made of


global c-



impellers make a name for themselves

due ritual won’t dance anymore

slay survivor, stay rich .  .   .


namesake                namesake

no quiescent disquietude oft resplendent meandering through havoc


somewhere inside


the stairs creak with violence

I’m not wary!

no one is scared


insipid attitudes molest the ears when the buffet opens

nay, a traveler


some say


wandering is truth


Feel lifted feel gifted a sin a sun a someone to hug and hold

Feel like the apples do fall far from the tree, who knows why?

Raising my hand I am robbed last. The process is not so painful.

In my memory I was a fish, and I was fished, and I asphyxiate

Every night I like to dream