my room is supported by tons of concrete, metal, a bit of wood and insulation.  In my chamber, theres an odious and embarassing dispaly of empty bottles, beer and wine bottles... casino bycycle cards for good measure, untouched pringles... and varios other comforts and pleasures.  

Adjacent to the counter stands an enormous concrete support beam, almost invisible with its cream stucco finish.  almost a place to put your hand while you are stretching, instead.  

My back feels stiff beaucause I danced too much, and what I really want is to feel something so comulsurary and veiny and terrible that I feel lucid with liberyy and pride.  These kinds of feelings, one has to look for them.  They aren't on the streets, there in some sort of sweat dream found when fixing something in the microwave or standing in the correct corner of the space, turniing on the floor lamp just so.  

I need to find it.  I must find it...

that he was a black collared catholic

that he knew he was a sinner, and he would be washed away, and go back to sinning again

it made me think about his life

the way he said it, then talked about *******

the way he talked about ******* with love and his wife with love, and his scotch with love

and his faith with love

all perplexing me, going in too many directions, wishing that the anchor would fall somewhere, of sin

many who are good know that they sin
and my grandfather is a good man


but then he also said to me
with so much intensity
that I am a piece of cheese
for the audience
this is the diplomat, who called me the muskrat

and I said,

yes sir, yes sir

and I am so conflicted about that,

because he also said that his greatest regret is that he never tried to become admiral,

and in order to be admiral, one must have courage to stand up to authority, to be of authority, not of soldier, but of master

who is weak?  and who is right?

My Grandfather Said something today

and I'm thinking about it tonight

To the news
I paid attention to you, I searched for a few answers
for a few seconds
and you taught me a couple of things
there are brutalities, and their are downsides to perfectly cleaned sinks
you told me should and you recommended rulers
I paid attention and then I closed the window
I paid attention to the pictures and read the headlines but didn't actually read the headlong
to the news
I confess, I'm sorry I did this
the problem is I'm prejudiced, and grumpy
and I'm convinced that you aren't going to teach me something I don't already know
then I exited your window
Sorry about that,
Seany

alone with the page
and it is very relaxing
to exist in this way
alone
with the page,
and the space is clear for singing
but I don’t want much noise
just silence
when work is over
music would be too intrusive
no, just silence,
for the moment
please

I changed the reaction time,


how a neutral makert, how a window breaks when nobody cares

how a flower market stays in business for ten to fifteen years

how'd why and whodunnit
here’s your rose


and the evening blends with the morning,

did you take that purity from me, bird who sings when I sing?  coincidence?

or did you take it from me, as I sang it…as you would steal my string cheese I had for breakfast


I paint the town with my poison, with my jacket, with my eyes, invisible

snap chat vanishment taken from the lyric of a turnover rap song,

I flip the krabby patty and it does…sizzle

so did you find your dignity?


Changed the reaction time, neo was struggling to work with trinity,

and of course, he was defenseless when it came to good noodles


the agents, well, they couldn’t stand the smell of gasoline and cigarettes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6XLEGu6gvI&feature;=youtu.be

YEHEEEEEEE

I made a neucanse out of my luxuries


the wine worries me


and the high only takes me so far


want the words an the numbers and the faces to ean something?  can't you accept nighilis?


spit out another phrase to make sense of it, fine


I type in order to avoid bedrest, I haven't begun makes my own arrangements for that yet, it doesn't even make sense, really


as the battery begins to die, my wine runs dry

and,seriously, out of things to say as the orbit on tv goes tp mir o,,ideate sp;ar system, impressive to the 80's physicist

using their finger s and thumbs to re enact the satellites behaviors

I pity their inaccuracy

If only the string theory folk

could get their act

together

I’m waiting for that titter tatter of brain matter to come in and let me know whats really going to happen below the belt, I’m waiting for that slash of mystery finish that will reveal whats hiding at the end of the tunnel, I’m waiting to be tossed about, build and ravished and destroyed, smashed into a million pieces and turned into tinker toys, I’m wanting to be broken down by scientific analysts only to be a mistake mystery explanation for string theory.  I’m hoping for a mixture of time axis, along the equator, letting the jukebox serenader agree to the next fashion statement.  I’m marveling at the mystery of mixed up majestic time tables, who will lead me to exactly where I need to be.  I just want the sweet marmalade nectar to fall down my throat and lead me to a dreamless sleep so I may wake up and know exactly where my destination lies, no coffee, complete. I’m yearning for the woods to call on my name and show me the nook where the fallen spirits lay and they will help me, take my hand and show me the horror so I know when to hide and when to come out and be alive.  I’m gazing at paintings and marveling at the different colors and letting the textures be examples of how to stroke and at the precise moment when a mirage becomes a masterpeice.  I’m noodling with the spaghetti stories and taking my turn to lead it to the guru who will finish it with one hand held up, and a finger gone, understanding the principles of buddhism.  I’m throwing knives in the air and letting them fall into the sand then dropping acid and doing a dance between their places, knowing very well that I may land and meet my gruesome death.  I am putting my feet up and staring at the ceiling and knowing its distinct features, its bubbles, its textures, and the answers?  they are only in the subtle hum of the air conditioner, the ceilings stoic nature, and the space between.

the spigot has run dry, its a desert out here, grimace while you’re trying to make it, trying to ******, the bars are beckoning, madness, out of your control, the smoke around your face, you’re laid out on your back, a defeatist, shackled to the plank, memories stick and then they fade out, wasted, wasted away, and you follow with your hands, you shove them into the dirt, and you try to remake what was given to you,, you put eyes in the little scuplture, but its crooked, and it stands helpless amongst the others, in a display window, where passersby think that it is creepy,

"creepy"!!!!

they say, and that is what you are, combing, combing, chasing down airplanes that departed for the towers, their destination is history, and their timing is a bead in your eye, in time, it halts right before it strikes you, inimaginable quest, one episode, and then, its over

a talk, here and there, smoke

David was right, about this and that

yes, yes yes, and he, looks out the window when he is speaking

his voice is a relaxed tenor, with a gruff, with a trimmed, kept white beard, healthy looking

progress not perfection

practice humility and you will never be humiliated

what do you mean by this?  what does that mean in relation to yourself?

the laughs, we laugh, irony, george carlin

just sighs, but the productive ones, the ones that a train makes in its initial conflict with the engine, the wheels clinking over the spokes, the passengers looking out the window in reserved anticipation, children asking for more candy

just, therapy, a relationship of authenticity, but then you have to ask what is authentic, the self is starting to drive me crazy, I feel who I am changes every day

I am one at a party, and I celebrate my new found self, and it is opened and it climaxes,

and then I emerge from the sofa and it stinks of stale smoke, the floors sticky, and

I am in the shower and naked, naked, water, euphoric, cleansed

and I look in the mirror, and who?  what?  

is an imagination capable of shifting the behavior enough that reason can be manipulated, and even the most insane, deviant ideas can be justified with symbols, language?  the right language,

centered, strong defense, high jump, killer right jab,

sCRAP WORK *******!!!!!
HAHAHAHJAHHAHAHJAHAHAHJ



BLAH BLAHB AHALDJFAKDFJADFKJAKDFJADKFJA

and go over old poems
and think of what could have been
and sigh, that beard looked pretty cool
with the scarf
I looked ready to take on the world

but I've changed, I don't look the same
I took the medication
and now I sit
and look over old poems
wondering where the madness went

I'll let them feast on my body
but until then I'm a godddamn vessel, there aint no stopping t he SKRAT

he's teething, a mice rodent, liking the thick cheese, and he's got a belly that never ACHES,

The SKRAT will scratch!!!

only so many ******* days to say what it is, that I wanted to SAY!!!

SKRATS don't breath, they teeth, and they scurry from burrow to burrow

dodging looks, dodging gifts1!+!!!!

and first things first I have my breakfast
eggs, bacon, toast, coffee
then I buy a six pack and now I'm sitting here
unsure of what to do with myself

still out with the mysteries, wondering, planning, thinking about what to do next, I get to the open mic and I'm the last on the waiting list, and I don't get to perform, but I get a slot at 7:40 next Monday, so I'm going to give it my best shot, I want to be really under the radar, the people at red rock are all artists thinking about work, its a cafe, people go there to help themselves think, or to relax, quiet and intense is good, that is what I'm going to go for

sometimes it is easier to laugh, and other times, its weeping, its complete falling down the waterfall, sailing on a little leaf , next to rats who eat my body, make commercials for cheeses, they have the hunger in their eyes and their pick their teeth with toothicks, hang back with their bellies full and watch the stars overhead, triumphant and warm, rats,coated in ****, content as can be, straight out of a disney movie, their coats distinctive from one another, scampering down the way, always looking for realism, jealousy isn’t an issue, envy is motivation. Ever lasting life. hellish little rodents, swine, but honest.
can I lick the fabric, the flypaper, and hope that my tounge won’t dissolve? crushing it with my fist, its something new, and I don’t understand that. How do things tell stories? Why do I continue to feel moral, even in the face of the most liberating hell, that speaks true to my rattling bones, what is the string on top of my head that levitates me towards the heavens, forcing me to believe, to give my body to it, to starve for it, to throw it upon gears, singing gospel and hating the lie churning in my gut, why do I repent when I know a closeted sinner is blessed as well

the elderly want to tell their echoes because they knows that they will be left behind soon and that fears them, pride an legacy run so deep

men want to be the best they can be, something taught us that we must conquer the world, and men believe that this is their purpose
people swarm to wormholes, and then they get ****** dry

but these men, in their old age

have a spirit that needs to be expressed
try asking an old man
a question

artistic development
and I'm learning just
what I'm good at
and people here
can watch me do
my latest
by I am just
a regular guy
trying to write
songs for other peoples
rhymes
I've made my way
throughout the process
I've tried this and that
but nothing seems to
work
I'm trying to
understand exactly
what it is
I'm going to do
I will eventually
end up with
something
nothing, hahhahahahhahhahahaa
I relax a bit
and I allow myself to sit upon the floor for a minute
I let myself
get into
a spiral
of confusions
but then I let
myself go back
to something that
I can contain
I don't care if
the people saw me
in the state
that I was
I am a
good person
and I try to live
what is told to me
because I understand
there is so much suffering going through the word
I'll do my best
when you explain
what you
are going through
I will
try
I will
try

breathing fire
dreaming the horrific dreams
spending days a sponge, emulating
MULCH
TAKE
SPIT
picking at the sobbing satyr that is begging to be
Plucked
stirring up the soft drink and making it
too hot to touch
MINE
TAKE
SPIT
or shall I go?

NO

never, I lift, I am a winged animal, heavy as a pig
dragging on the end of one long spliff
I spit
WHIFF
I'm IT

gone amidst your brilliance, wherever I can feel you...
wishing you the best, since I can't always grapple with your success
shrill and forceful, yet sleek, let me swim

for you, I shimmer, make ends meet again

signed,
Muskrat

always trying to prove something, to neself, to the universe,

to the person down the street

ehh purple hair and fractional tennis *****, then

lead the plastic barriers,

remember the number

ohh saintly hell, I feel like the callous on my feet are even stronger than last month, and this walk is jazzy

so I go about proving the gods, or some diety, that this is, infact, tanglible...artifact to be exact

proving it to the widow who fancies the conversation more than the content,

proving it to pine needles who know they willl fall in two, three days, anyway


prove it to myself, and my toes, and my eyeballs

red flesh and bolstered blood,

can I have a candybar for sixpence from the richardsome magician in the sky?

no, he is occiupid with tobacco candy and the home baseman is comalainging about his peanut pickings


If only I was a kite, then fate would truely be out of my hands, and there wouldn't be any more reason to feel proud,

perhaps tied to a tree for an eternity, perhaps confused bewtee the medeterranean sea and south africa,


who could i be?

just keep writing little melodies
soft and sweet
and harsh and in between
fragrances smelled in the middle of the night
taking on their magic flow
dwindle and fall into what is
and make it work wonders all over the side of the wall
and drop ash into the discovery plate working framers framing cash
perhaps there was a fight?
don’t worry about that
just play through the jungle
working on masked critters
creating jellyfish with their new makers
shaking violently at the end of a new scene
and making worthy the shocking ending of beauty
and conjuring makeshift work on tranquilly
and understanding
letting the appreciated
be appreciated
and letting the disenfranchised
have a little piece of the pie
its all in measures
and its working just fine
letting people grow old together
alnd letting new ones know where to take it in
and deciding in the end
that it is all a catch
and the worthless dying speak to the worthless still
and the growing old must grow old quickly
and they preach their insanity
and then the man asks himself
Am I a platform for people to stand on?

up on each side of the street, there are markets- flowers, knick knacks, strawberrys....

glass, dispensaries, two hair salons adjacent, nobdy picking on each others business, umbrella lady is patient


uptwon more high rises, a standard issue brooklyn-style cafe and then a mini market with conviniences.  

parking lots, skid row is teemed with decent hobos, scary hobos, hobos who make eye contact and those who don't.  Most hobos make eye contact

they pitch tents, **** it.  The policemen are on bycycles, or rushing for no reason

a c fashion district for wigs and gowns and jr prom emergencies, pink wigs blonde wigs darkwigs, mostly blonde ones, white ones

suglasses, casts of impressive busom stature

car lots, the car lot across the street

it's function rotates clockwise

they have an umbrella and wait,

patiently

Is drudgery
fixated in time, unkept
mixed mockery
television shows
and showers, bath tubs
the sink, its flow
Facebook info
no lines, no purpose
no therapy
just drink, the woman
the fan

something about shotgun poems
shot on hello poetry
put it all on the line
where I have a few seconds
to write something
from the gut
let it spray
then its done
and then the internet
takes its course
its pretty ******
cool
I think Hank
would have had helloofva time
with this game

so I'll sip my wine
and wait to pounce

a storage unit meant for all kinds of arrangements

mostly quilts and toys from residents who didn't want to bother, even with the junk people...

or didn't even really have the money or time to move out properly

they were arranged, all like this...

the quilts, dusty plastic baby boosters..

more quilts and used beds,

and then there was a guitar...

and a pair of running shoes- i opted for the more colorful pair

I depart the unit,

I've got an axe to grind...

little about last nights performance
I sang a song for the bartender
I said something like
tip your bartender
or something like that
it was cheesy
but I think the old guy appreciated it
he charged me less for my beers
when I left


But I did a few numbers
mingled with other artists
everyone was very respectful
and one artist said to me
"no disrespect or anything, but I wasn't paying attention during your set"
and he was genuine about it, he had long hair, kind of the last breed of new york beatnik
he was almost saying naumas day to me or something like that
and I responded,
"no its good for me, It makes me better when people aren't playing attention because it challenges me"

the look in his eyes was sincere, again
we didn't say anything to each other after that

Ben and I have plans
to put together a show
and we're gonna do a poetry set

I felt so guilty
for leaving early
the truth is I didn't feel like sitting through their set
I was tired and I had to wake up early for therapy
so I got up and started walking out
the bartender only charged me six bucks for two Guinness and a shot of whiskey
and I went back and grabbed my coat
and I was out of there
and took a cab home

I am addicted also
to the poem
blowing a sentiment bubble
they fly overhead and I like to
catch them in my hand
with the right amount of suds
they sit there, bublbous as ever
and they shine against the sun
and I admire their beauty, and then
as a wizard
I let them float away
once
again

Woe the charisma of this place
One kid who was alpha, is alpha
Is in trouble because he hit someone
Or someone hit him
And he decided it was just to hit back
And coach sits him down and says
Life throws things at us, this life, this existence, he looks out over everything and he sees, he had been there, he has been all over, to prison, to award and glory, to dance floor, he has seen and he says this life, this life
And that is that

And the three of us
Look out over everything

the craving
to make it happen
to make it witness
to draw without measure
to eat all the time
to exist on the carousel
with holden caulfield
trying to look cool
and coming up
in the end
with the edge
again
isn't it
beautiful?

I promise you, your poetry *****


signed,

The Muskrat

Stranded at edges, holding onto nothing, got nothing but a few pairs of decent clothes, your scarf, holding on with nothing but a few tree branches, the wind carrying off with madness, outs a fairytale ride, in the rearview mirror is pride, looking at you, mocking you, some sort of biological mistake, unstuck out of certainties, what the ****?  try to give me some sort of detail, and i'll escape down the slide towards my own sanity!  

Oh what? you're mad at me?  fault is in the heart, and fault has to do with who gets caught, fault has to do with the self, fault in law and thought myself

so... what doesn't want to be written?

myself!  it scurries away from me when I least expect it, peter pan would have to sit down scratch his head and think about this one

god ******, shoot it with a bow and arrow!   pin it down and force it to choke up a few lines that actually mean something!!

no no, waste of time, I guess, waste of time

I spoke with a  poet yesterday
(I read poetry at this open brain and I was nervous out of my mind)
and both of us bombed so I went over to him while my girlfriend was talking with some other friends to say hello.  I told him good job even though I didn't really mean it, but I was bad too so I needed some company, anyway we talked about what poetry is and should be, and I got involved in this long pretentious conversation about art.  He asked me what magic is, and I said "Harry Potter" we both laughed.  His other point is that poetry should reveal some kind of truth, and I believed in the complete opposite.  I said poetry should be a way to escape, we laughed at our disagreement and then we drank to that.  That was the end of the conversation, but my point is this,

poems poems poems,
who reads these ****** things anyway?

a stoic, I am, meant to be

passing by slowly

long times spent gazing out the window

the snow on top of the adjacent roof wouldn't know

I am a stoic, but less noble

tilt the head back and let in, let in,

what needs to be dealt with

decisions, decisions, plainly, dealt with, all the same

a stoic, remember my name

just for tonight
hold me tight
I'll expel, I shiver, my legs, my hat falls off the bed
one more cry, tonight, one more, tug at collar
begging, please

one more cry, tonight

are you a stranger, a villian, or a wonderful story?

cloaked in eagerness, are you bearded and magnificent?  cloaked in sheepishness, are you hatted and stached?  tell me vanity, where u at?

is everything about you and we all lie about it, or is nothing about and you means something when we deny it

I hope that you are not too sensitive to my pondering, I admire your power, it seems to me that people buy a lot of things for your sake,

as religious, as deeply rooted desire, are you intensely desire?  do your eyes burn as my do?  are you tired of people drawing attention to your exterior?  are you gods child?  are you on his mission?

I would understand and respect that, but I'm not sure if thats where you at

are you compare yourself to the light that shines over the mirror or the mirror itself?  do you have a special shelf for products, or are you the messy type?  I could see that you would be the messy type in private but perfectly ornate in public to over-compensate

maybe that was mean, I don't mean to be offensive, I study you because I fancy you, not in a ****** way, admire you, your charm, I'd like to figure you out for my own contemptlations, so that when people talk of you I will have my own rule and the whole conversation would be easier to tune out, I would thank you for that little bit.  


Vanity, have a drink with me, questions questions questions!

hangs in the clearing
of time
unstuck
as vonnegut would put it
I sometimes imagine that
and I
am born again

lost again.  thought I had found something, but then you seem to fall on your *** or wake up confused. that’s why the night makes more sense sometimes, because you can just let the night take away your sense of needing to get something done, the night doesn’t have any expectations of you.  The day expects things, the day beckons you.  The night is cold and careless, its when the bad things happen, its when the drinks happen, and all the good ideas happen, too.

We put them
in a bad place
we put them
in a bad place

I ignored a man
before the storm
I ignored a man
before the storm

and I went out there
with my groceries in hand
and I went out there
with my groceries in hand

then I walked home
then I walked home

brewing a cup of coffee
takes time
and I sit, and I made love all day
and it was quite
refreshing
and we sit here, looking over
facebook posts and whatnot
and my **** is sore from *******
and I feel great
the coffee is brewing
and I will sip when it’s ready

and it was an effective
teaching tool
I also told her
to create, then to create another
and she did that too, and then
I put her picture on the wall
she was very happy

feeling in between, like no bubble can bring to the lips

conterfeit, lost in abyss, wanting so badly, want for a word that says, this
then grapple for eternity

stumble on stumbling letters, falling into place like a melody

existing in a moment in time, beat down and empowered, all there is to it, all there is to release it, all there is to compose!  to grasp!  Wait your turn that never comes

and I sit cross legged, with a  cup of coffee and I look back shaking my head, oh how far I've come, man here's to that

I ask forgiveness from my old dog, who I neglected...the poor boy is gone

****** stuck in muck, where can the process emerge, how can the subtlety grasp onto the big leviathan, allowing little particles of coconut goodness to sprinkle over towns, bringing a day of glory and joy

the power to forgive, between the auto-pilot of conversation, read out loud, pronounced as a competition!  

reverting back to that old way of sales pitch, selling forgiveness on the streets!  Tainted?  no, more like...genuine intent but lost in translation, lost in apathy, deaf ears, no

forgiveness, not to forget, but to make the personal decision, a selfish thing, really, to forgive yet never speak to the person ever again

I'll take a glass of that and raise you fifty

who could resist being up this early and watching the MOON DISAPPEAR before my eyes?  

I’m still here, but the moon decided to go to sleep


I feel very grandiose about this, I must have more stoicism than the moon, even


and I take a long pull from a ten dollar brut and I congratulate myself  in the way the french know, with a flick of a wrist and a nose into the frame..


could it be any more of a wonderful sweaty awful burden?

could I be more tempted?  I will lick it all like a puppy

my tongue will develop horrible callous and pallups

Id have to start using extra care listerine and pop them and watch the blood ooze down the mirror from my snarly, yellow tongue

but i swear, it would be worth it

I’d taste the smoke coming from the chimney

I’d taste the fluorescent bulbs in the billboard advert. reminding me about time..

I’d like the palm trees that are so stoic themselves they are of stone…

the freeway would taste like used cigarettes and budwiser and jizzy ribbed trojans


the balconies and rooftops would be clean, the gravel cared for at least a month ago,

three months ago

Round we had he moment


moment, moment moment

closure clour closure,


I held him close and wiped his tear, occationally,

I helped buid his shlter, fine

don't you see the wall?

going from lake to lake...

help me understand this buzzing

this echo chamber, glee out of misery

******!  Hell!  OHOHHH

dawness, dawn, cracking the time, cracking the rules, hearing them again again aagian, once or twice once or twice, to have them implanted on your feet but to still **** them up, to **** them up on purpose....that is the key...

flipping mcdonalds hamburgers. and I asked for tabasco sauce, and since I’m clumsy, I dropped the bottle and  vinegar cayenne spilled all over the counter, everyone in the classroom was ******, man, and I’m telling you this because it’s a good dream, and you look like you could use some livening up, so bare with me.  So I’m shunned, I’m embarrassed, I’m angry, a cocktail of awful, stressful emotions surround me, upsetting, and I feel there is no way out.  But something inside of me, that anger perhaps, that part of myself that hates my mother and wishes I was never born, that part seem to unshackle itself within my soul, and I jumped out of my seat, ignoring the last few bites of my second double cheeseburger, and I flew out the front door, and I’m outside the house I grew up, los altos, Jay street, nice place, and I run, out of my mind, I run left because that’s the fastest way to get out of sight and onto a busy street so I know I can get away easier.  Behind me I hear my father crying, WAIT, WAIT, seany, but I don’t LISTEN, I RUN and it feels like keroac when he went mad, yeah it feels like a cheetah must feel, all that hatred made me run faster, and I was making my way down the adjacent street el monte, and my father wasn’t following me anymore, and for a moment there was relief.  Then, of course, with any story of escape, there is conflict.  A ******* bear.  it sounds funny in retrospect, but I swear to god it was a bear, Chris, big and mean Grizzly in the middle of el monte street, no cars, just me and the bear.  I was petrified, almost enough to head back to the house, but the hatred stopped me, **** it all man, that’s what it was,  so my gut lead me another way.  No!  I didn’t fight the ******* bear, Chris, that’s stupid, didn’t you see the revenant?.  So I took a detour, running up north elmonte, the other direction.  The bear wasn’t chasing me anymore.  next thing you know, my hands are moving over a picket fence, and I come to an immediate clearing.  It’s the beach in Santa Cruz.  I swear.  Where my grandma lived, the same beach, at the point where we used to make our daily walks to put our toes in the sand, cold beach.  and there was something, something getting in the water, a rodent of some kind, a squirrel, a raccoon, and it got into the ocean and began swimming against the waves.  And I wasn’t running anymore, and I felt like I had crossed a finish line, like I had done everything I needed to do in this world, I was ready to go.  My mind was clear, in that moment.  and in that moment, my grandmothers voice was trailing off in the distance, not saying anything, just murmuring at the end of a sentence as she does “so it goes” in acceptance. she has acceptance in her voice.  And I woke up to my girlfriend’s alarm.

norstram apetite

dratatraacpampioliate illiter cy bragnainst fo preostate languastitside

archetypes by dreemons of mesi=sled beandeits, only seraches for their own tai;s wold tofind the atht rocks andthe s

levers spat tooo fast in theo thsky

branched and bargained like marhadded dag a like ddraggg

hampbolted by the porforalaimalice hoork a jork a  fork founded for dailaiin dapper mapper AMDHAFHD HATYTEr
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AMTER ATAJHATERRES

MAD HAETATERES
JAKECKAING TO THEIR OWN FECESS

LAIAND AN TORN TAKE YOUR ******* LAGHINGAS FOR A ******* NICTOINE HYRDRAAGTION


GO AHEAD AND WHIELR UNTIL THE FUACKING XOOR TF/inFINALLY SHUTS

Today started off with a  laugh
and mozart
and I'll tell you that it was funny, and it lasted the morning
the way she dances to him makes me live inside, sporadic and silly, and between us our youth makes us strong and vibrant
I have no secrets
for a second I wanted to say that I had a few
but the secrets have been
harboured
they don't matter to us anymore
in this particular love song
I sing it in the same tempo
as I always do
and some may search it in the search engine

but I bet that most won't
but that won't stop me from writing you a hundred more
until it fits just right

I'm dancing around stars, boo
I'm dancing in the moonlight

you like that line?
I thought you would

I'll take a break from writing
when the words are no longer coming
I'll shave my face, baby
when its time to become a member of society
but until then, I'll rise at 11:30 am
no shower
and mozart
with you singing along
and all the power in the world

you and me, silly
we're meant to be
meant to be
let me rephrase
I got you under my skin
let me imitate blue eyes for a moment
and may mine turn green
beauty is deep
and we've got each other to thank for that

Young expectations
beginning at the age of three
and making their way
through the centuries
feeling self conscious about
something, and having a say
feeling in your gut
that it isn't going
to work out
the people that come through
to help you along
the people that come through
to help you
along
and they warp into a sense of
wanting, yearning, looking for endings
relaxed, relaxed, relaxed, relaxed
and finding it optional
whether its going to work out at all

temptation arises out of every little shower head nozzle, they seep and they search and they cloak my body


I hardly move, I harly care if it is hot, if it is cold


it’s as if the forks squeak indefinitely but the feet are handcrafted and dropping E minor on a D and calling it’s square even, female singer, butler drummer

or more like a metal rod from a factory that has somehow made it’s way into a tether ball poll, one of the ones that stands for a hundred years until a desperate housewife calls it *****- and (they replace it with a post modern neck breaking device)


I feel humbled by the stony clay that surrounds my chest and enters my fingertips



and the razors on my lips turn up at tv channels I simply detest

will this engine cease?


sometimes I wish it would