Waiting, spicy feelings, Hands tingling, vitae. Dial again, A few moments away, His reckoning, My fate. Fountain, fairy meeting, Handsome thing, you love? Felt such was nonsense, Your heart a curd, confess. Your heart abscess, turd, You depart as if fuss undue, Who could stoop so low? To like remarks of word, A lonely teenager, To be touched absurdly. Headlights flashing, His fools, my athletes, Picture captured, Is this your image? Then post a back link, Or get your ass kicked.
Tribe, should I fight? Sunder wood, my life took, Can I have another? While wife cooks, Thunder looms. White, she relies on tools, Not the lies in schoolbooks, Taught too to sophist fools. Identity, laughter, a memory looks, I would be a king if I were a rook, Or switch places, if I were a crook, Knew rules well, or sting of the hook.
Whatever they do find With whomever I don't mind Though I don't believe They must be alien I lost time Swear I'm not blind I look and see Words in the breeze Tongue-tied They oft-lie Telling tales of talking trees Ghosts will moan Beg and plead Selling rhymes But not this guy Not Today I don't got time Not for pizza Not for pie Not for holding others up Just to drop them when I die Today I built a shelf So they can sit there when I'm gone Thinking about nothing While they listen to my songs
Unfocused (not soulless or goalless). I smoke spliffs to get my mind off this list of frustrations. Intimidated by outrageous race racing, flaming faggots nigger-bait while still claiming that they win (but the win's painful). The wind is still unstable. My win is a long table with nothing on it surrounded by fables. "Nothing comes from nothing, Son," 'cept Miracles and Bagels, two billion silent men in four billion different conversations, but know thyself and when you're asked just say that you know nothing. Winter's gone and spring is here The hummingbirds are humming I think I'll make a song today, Son I'm feeling something I'm feeling something.
Climate I math notes climbing, Natural knowledge, Eye Rhyming. Pass on the peyote piping, Thy patina, your knife finding, Kite blue, alike my soul, Life in tense, dividing, in two. A walk in reverse, after marathoning, Designer clothes given patronizing, Living Patron, sizing larger. I'll talk and traverse, Pasture paragon lifestyle for, Pluto could not write himself, Aristocracies would sign lords, Soule, crabs and seacreatures, Arrange, kill. Labeling features, Toward no end, untoward wool, Frayed at the end, Dog no match for wolf. Tres bien.
Enamored, von con amore, Ore d'amore, et mortem. To lark poetic, of home, Until my heart explodes.
As poet, aspire, assume desire, I wrote for poets, declining, Prose for poetry, I grew designer. More spoke, iron, strewn aside, Cycle heroic for biking true, Though as porch, her mire I knew. To sit in snow, still forever, cold, Gladly to mix into a sill window home. Lover's letter, one pens from notes, To end on soles, or in bags of herion, And never spoken, lovely, but phoned in, In drunken speech, early in the morning. As men, we aspire, and assume desires, I wrote for Odin, always refining, Notes for nobody, I grew aside, Man of the world, I knew her ire.
She won't relent, Heart of paper, stone read. Western hero, composing feelings, Zeal formulaic, deceit ceaseless. Eastern, kind words repentant, Unlikely to spend life waiting, Ferment, offense, to be condemned. Sweetheart, If one only dances, not for scent, Lance just for chests, Language, port for gents. Madame, another supplement, For what drunken mess is other, Than more time misspent? To see the end, would we prevent? Could we? All I see is a girl, a vent, Policy diverse, absurd, dissent.
Solemn acoustic, play yourself, Silent, foolish, I wait for death, My chord arrest, My Lord attest. Holland music, half my breath, Tax my address for half my wealth, Alas my protest, perhaps my stress, In direct response, my indirect. The woman scoffs at his giving gifts, Living gifted is not an ornate box; Richly leveraged when you need a lift, More alike to a light that is simply off. She says, take me out, tonight, Whereto the people are young, Bodies are loose, fabric tight. He says, mistakes and lies, Too young to accrue true views, He mocks and chides.
Pour courvoisier, coke, smoke weed. For core voices toking loke green: Cork d’or choice, spoke woke meaning, Joke broke gleaming, Boast goat dreaming, Invoke oak healing, Poke coded readings, or cook mud. Saying I wouldn’t eat if off the bud, Gimme a fucking break, dawg you would. So form apostrophes, hoax followers, Dominate dossiers bespoke by leads. Chorus needy, broadway job, police: Honest lobbyist leaps, not, Calling policy preacher law, Homely Claudius fears god, Homer justice, and beating his chest raw. Former lover, for I see you as bourgeois, Fleecing people of their heart and minds, Champion blind, one eye is all but lost, Camping, body weak of fighting for causes, In causeways, his cautious mind pines, Cheesing through life, eating off rind, Leave, dodge, dive, Breed, scoff, lie, Edict goes like: What is life? Four courses, hope, feeling? Of course there’s more, but more redeeming? He simply says: I’ve not found thy.
They write light of my writing, Erudite Facebook, liars' rights, Poetically I am but humble, Penning comedies of tribe. Unlike, Unlike, Unlike, Unlike my peers, I replied. Despite fears and sighs, My stride upright, austere. Alas, long grass, an axe, Tomorrow fills, fellow actors, Craft jazzy, played by amateurs, Demanding average. Eyes glassy and skills assay, Alas, follow mass, a bass, Screaming of typeface, in your face.
I have a shelf of books, all ashes. My most disastrous, Poetically immaculate. Writing of real life intangibles, Kissing a boy by the shore, While the crowd screams more. That's the 21st century, man, Progress a little beyond books of ash, Paper plates and cheques for cash, Beyond are spaceship parts beneath trash. If Etan must, they probably may have done, So if May is upon, another spring comes, Against a flower one cannot lean butt, Especially with the shadow cast cut across. Don't show up at the poetry contest, Rhetoric political, ignorant, floral, passe, Or expect they place you last, lame, fake.
My belly white, tattoo skin black. World external floating my inlet facts. Arms extended, hurled outward to any man, At least stolen by chance; At last romance. Of snakebites, stated minds, Or nothing. The badger writes. Science though he knows nothing of, Only fighting and dénouemen love, Fakery and the image source he knows, Yet facts alas in the seeds he sews, Spits on the dirt, who, He walks upon with shoes.
This morning's protocols Beginning pondering What to do with people on the web. Thus with a deep resolve Maintaining promising Again untrue We will meet again This time she has evolved Now loving squandering Dreams anew Then dreaming to forget Sometimes I can recall Accepting sombering Time wasted In following a trend This time he feels involved Now loving squandering Has a few Then lives in the regret You ever feel withdrawal Oncoming vomiting Bid adieu To all of your old friends I can't say I'm appalled Forgetting honoring Lives wasted Unfollow them in death
Quoth the stone road. “Does a slug judge blood in a cut?” “I’ve seen a sponge pull the snow into it’s lungs.” “How does brush on a bluff approach a shrub?” Roads groan in prose as such that the dove dove and the grove was lush. Lots of berries for the nature boys. Pure love it ’twas.
Friends spoken to be millionaires paid, Mind hopeful, experience bar full, I'm hoping to get a millionaires pay, Friends along with, interiors vague. Though rhymes alone do not denote caste, They are like paste, or a paper, Clinging to the things we wish to frame. Like metal rods with a magnet lace, I walk back to my original place. Pens broken and arms folded in front, Mind hopelessly lost of useless knots. Life like a lark, but come too soon, So hopelessly lost, inside of dark, Heart fought and hard fought, And eventually the daybreak comes.
The thing that hurts the most. You calmed my storms. You helped make sense of the chaos. You plucked me from brokenness. Helped me find strength. I don't know what it was. But just looking in your eyes. Filled my soul with peace. I miss it. I miss the quiet. The calm. I miss us. I'm starting to feel broken again. Empty inside. Trying my best. Not to let anyone see. But there are days. Where control escapes me. Do you think of me? As often as I think of you? Do you remember my name? What it once meant to you? I look back on that day. March 10th. Where I lost you. Where every image I had of you. Just shattered. You were no longer a refuge. You became a source of pain. You still are to this day. I blame myself for it. For my losing you. It's been three months. Realizing it's true. I don't cry as much. Though my heart still does ache. Try as I might; I can't bring myself to hate; You. The situation. Us. I want to throw it under the proverbial bus. I can't. Because the sky still reminds me of you. It was our destiny. Our sky. The world was going to be ours. Accept it. It's over now. These dreams just won't come true. I need to accept that what we are. Is through.
Someday I'll forget you, That day I'll be free from my thoughts, That day I'll accept that I don't have no one, That day I'll be happy being alone, It won't depress me. One day I found someone, Though I won't hope that it will happen, We never know what happen next, I just need myself ready for it. But for now, I wish you were doing well, I love you from the bottom of my heart, Even though you don't care about me, And I don't know if I exist in your life.