Wriggling in my cast iron stew ***
was a bunch fried up lives with no soul

Biggering a smile lines up
With a thousand gallon malcontent pool.

Owed in after thoughts on rafters on left
bacon and inter muscular fat.
It's that and high blood pressure
that's on my mind when I'm at bat.

Fear.
Anyone had ever lived,
all you have to live is fear.

How many of you can feed yourself?
And are strong enough to build a home?

How sad... are stringy children who can't even cook a stone?

Greaseniness is which and when we had held air.

Pleasing is just bereivement and it's soley how much we sell air.

Blankets and coughing coughs had sloughed me on a deal.

I don't pain or run.

It's just feeling is all I feel.

Bleeding in a park bench,
Up you're ***.
Upended fast it the
Wrought-bent, upset,
Tortured-tilted dealing.

Sickened, ******, packed-apart narcissists
had held hate.

And placated nauseous fates.

Saddened.

Dicked apart.

Showed fascism and
hell-soaked ramen noodle dealings.

Really, I don't care.
But I rather have a hope,
than care about improper,
unhopeful, lawyer-made dealings.

Lost in the big ribble rabble of hoopla
amongst the slick linebackers, spinners, and hungry hogs and sows.
Outside licking a neck, and after scraping my back, peeled apart
I showed a sort of myself that only spilled when I'm all ripped up.

I flew against the wind in order to meet Mr. Wonderful this morning.

Had I known all he do was ignore, I might've had a second thought.

It's not that I hate him, or that he hates me.

He just seems so much more happy when I'm not around.

So, today I found him.

In a pile of laundry.

Soaked with **** and remorse.

It's much worse when it's him and not me.

Poetry *****.


And so do you.

Give up all of your ideas.

And we can watch you get blue in the face.


Poets are the band geeks
in the world after we all figured out music is cool.

Poetry is for us.

Poetry is for you.

Poetry is heavy handed.

Loving it is like loving a stray dog.

It'll turn you blue after you had all your emotions.


Poetry isn't new.
And neither is what you do,
or what you're feeling.

Poetry is just cheap words that act like crack to move you through your dealing that'll get you out on the other end.

So, spend life like you never hear my name.

It'll be just and fun and good, though it'll never be the same.

Flickered in a lamp
Was the last light I ever saw.

So it's time to fight
because I'm at my last straw.

We'd never had a night
Or held a monster head.

But instead let's let light
into us.
Into us all.

Please allow yourself some bed rest for what sort of wicked gang are we.

Seven days have held heaven above my head, they took everything.

They took my robe, staff, and bread.

So instead, instead of feeling sorry and running my self dead after
the cliff had opened her arms for me.

The earth can shake, and I can starve.

Freedom painted on the golden hillside,

when I close my eyes
that's all that I can see.

I learned how to forge fake glass in my home over the holiday.


I learned that frayed edges on the hem of otherwise pricey pants on happens to make the wax filled stance cost just that much more.

I held on to a basket of old receipts that lasted longer than my marriage.

It saved me thousands of dollars,

but still I disparage the process,

and have to much pride to counter act and access the process,

founded out of fired,
mired in pumpkin mud,

living life,
feeling fire and holding beauty,

but never able to forget that I'm a dud.

I'm producing a fanciful musical,

founding on impatient propriety.

Mulling indignation, stewed in salt and peppered annuity.

Sent in iron ore was the map to the shore of ever after
Placed in a rafter in a barn was stars, and stories, and glory from afar
Caked in resin was a guild of everything we ever word, a codex made of blood and wood that understood
all we ever where and every would be.

Dinner built in blood shot eyes
is honestly mostly meat
to even lay a blanket
on out ****** picnic feels real bleak.

let's not get up
stand up
lets not get too much air.

I didn't wear some socks today
I can feel silica in the air.

Roughy rubbed nightmares
scrubbed on the edges of my feet

I've rebuked all license of the
folks that think I'm neat.

Flanging on the fingertips of a fire,
While tipping out music,
To the holy goddess of desire.

She's the hottest girl,
that ever was.

She holds a guitar,
and that's not fair
because, how can we be cooler?

You took it all from me.
My life is a haze of social acceptance that I will never see.

MUCH

Lots of passive passes
Living on a cliff side
Shoals, seagulls run around like squirrels
God I love the sound of life rushing around

Blood.
Nooses.
Pale golden gooses.

Shedding,
Noxious cedar bedding
ridding us of pest and paupers.

Laying off noxious,
toxic, pickled, ******.

Annexing hate-held fractures feces
is making me think.

In my mind there is a place
Something I still can see
Breakfast on vacation
Accessed in a memory.

In my head was something
made out of clay and hell
but it's still so cold
tempered with love. live lovely bells

Every morning
Every day
We both needed each other
and breakfast
and a way to get back home again

To get home,
for dinner
love
and fights
and lovely heart built stories
made for your and my delight.

She shoved me in the corner after chipping her teeth on the tip of a ***** bottle.

Nodding off, and mottled in bits of brackets holding fast.

I sighed, I knew it wouldn't last.

Like, it hurt.

It hurt real bad.

But I let it pass,
and now it hurts a little less.

I'm still a mess and my clothes are *****.

But folks say that I'm still young.
They laugh when they found out
that I'm not even thirty.

nucka nucka  NUCKA

I found you in the crack
on the sidewalk.

Like an ant who had feared fire and loved honey you shoved me into a space. a little hole.

a foley.

a space-sent lollipop propped
up on
edges of heaven surged beds.

Instead I'll meld, build, and set upon places.

I know we're all poor so instead of wealth,
our award will be people and faces.

Every day a blade of grass doesn't sell it's soul to a ****
is a day that happens at every evening when we need
it most

So long ladle ladled parchment paper packages
can ladle me a bit?

in the corners of your eyes

inside the corners of your eyes.



How held up had you felt to not rub the corner of your eyes?

How tired must you've been to sin so much?

and not even care enough
to rub the corner of your eyes?

The last of us is lies
and all we do is make cheap soap.

Our bloodiness only helps us die,
and with out good leaders we've lost all hope.

Clippity Cloppity, Clippity Clop
A Rhyme is know to stop.

And so should you, but if you stew.
You would never know when to stop.

It's a heart upon ages
That never assuages
Just how when and should you would be.

So instead you let air
and life
tell you what is what's right.

And in giving so...
now you're less dead.

Is it comedic?

Old? Prosey? Wilted with rose old jokes?

Nosey? Poking stickers in stories that choke you?

Lazy? Grazing of tropes and cliches?

Or maybe it's dissuaging and scary?

And it'll knock you off of rhythm and scare you into and honest thought.

Maybe.

Maybe it's not.

Maybe all you're good for is a rotten degree doomed to rot beneath everyone who ever ate like an unseasoned potato who was ready to made with every veggie who's ever been to enlongate the of thinking youre good.
Just to think that you should.
Just to think that once you're alive you should be
alive forever, for all that can see.

Even though you're real bad,
and we'd rather have ****,
that knows what  it is,
that to have all the **** feel in charge, Like Le Mis.

Glow....

Row your boat about in an ocean of red...

Blood red molten soul

whirling and dipping

out over and under.


So....

Stand fast and crystalize ligature knots,
epoxy blots
cake frosty fast
everlasting feeling.

I know...

Planned, meals hold fat and
taste much tastier when the
hotness held in porcelain dolls,
and mattresses of food go good with
however well our day went.

I'm spent.

And so are you.

So eat.

And Pay.

Please go home.

So I can go home too.

How far should our infractions set upon us pain?

How long is hell and hoow often should we feel good

Happiness and Joy are two very strange things.

It seems like a lot of friends hanging out and telling secrets
at night, giving information that you will never hear.

They steal away and say everything that you thought
you should.
Blood is good, but so is food.
And my mood shouldn't determine what I need
because I bleed for everything and It makes me sick.

I tripped over a huge rock yesterday.

What the hell had really happened is kind of a mystery.

But, still I tried to help, and scraped my knees.

Weird.

I felt like I was being a hateful ******.
But, so was she.

Placing hateful showers up into high-held gelded guilds is a perfect way to be,
to make a soul show
patience,
when it came to hate.

So, not knowing how it really felt
to be in living hell
only shows us how far
that we've really fell.

Landing in both sockets were prongs that made my life
Lighting all around me while puffing on a pipe
Lit by fuel built fire is just like coal made light
Frightened by the guile of an act I feel is right.

Space and time
is only that
and can we
make
like...
life and persistence?

How often should we feel so bad,
and question our existence?

I used to blow up ****, and plow up
all old stories,
and i used to throw rock at old windows,
and soak in all my glory

so sticky sweet
all i want
is candy from the mexican kids
because it's so sour and so hot

I think i really like
Really like what I may be
A dead man who feels alive
when tied to live people's livery

She told me to calm down.
She told me to stay still.
She was my most favorite drug.
She was my xanax pill.

I took her with me everywhere.
She shook me late at night.
I laid in her house late in day.
God... I loved her. Loved her light

But she kept me as a pet.
Like a bird starved in a cage.
God...it's outrageous how my pain she could assuage.
I loved her, loved dearly
She made me a pie.
A pecan pie.
A pie taught by her mother.
God.. it made me cry.

I lost control.
It took a toll when I had to give her
Give her my mind and my food....

Windmill frenzy happenstance
Parked in pregnant gallant lance-staked cages.

Pages of paper from only old news
Eschewed all agenda
Bend build in propaganda and human feelings.

So long on coast of oceans had we plants,
and waiting for silk, love, and gold to float our way

It played upon stars, ajar in the air from old collisions.

So provisions placed for me only seem to be stories and memory.

I lived.
I had try to live with in her in a heart stained way.
Like lights on top of a hamburger shop.
Showing space, showing something we should stop for.
Because I haven't been paid.
I haven't been laid and
Neither had she.
So we should try to light a fire tonight
Still hanging out trying to see
Just how we should be.
It's not free, feeling another.
It's a fight you should show you should flee
and begin to be known.
Like a robin whose shown
a better feathered beat
A battered stray cat.
Clearly we have an understanding.

God....
How egregious are the lines I've left alive.

Patience,
How neediness is kept...contrived.

It's a hot bed.
That bleeding show a knot them.

And penned.
Fainting retribution.

It's a cold blue chip, in remission.
It's that piece that I am missin'

Only showing how it feels..



So,

AND

So It steals.

It takes away from me........!!!!

I grazed over a stained-glass marble work the had hung up in my office for fifty years too long.

I managed to mount a log of ******* on the wall before all of the college kids realized it was an atrocious idea.

So.....
(I did this)

I sent a saliva sealed manila envelope to the smartest people and the world.

And I sat and chew on my foot while everything burned in soggy peasant grass.

Good ideas last as long as atrocities.

you ****.
you never gave a ****.

You ate twice as much Mcdonalds as the
push ups you did.

You let your ID lead your life.

And you followed all the money.

So just because you're told you're funny...
you aint.

You're tire
and faint.
and sorry.

And I hate to say....
but a loser.

Who shows up dead.

Shriveled and spread out.

Layered.

With out.

Doubted and dead.

And made into a spread.

I'd made a cathedral made of mud,
and the local pigeon was our dove.

Our mass of candles stood,
massive sticks stood in for candles with no wicks.

On congregated and consecrated Sundays with the local cats,
some were stray, and some were ours, and some just liked the snacks we held in reception after service.

Speaking in front of the congregation made me nervous,
Sure, it wasn't Sunday,
No one knew.

They just did what kitties' do.

All kitties do is watch and play, and that's what I did too.

I played preacher and prayed with my fuzzy flock everyday

Sadly the fight of forever is never getting us anywhere, but
is just as fashionable as ever.

I feel clever folding my feelings and tucking the under my seat
beneath my feet.

Bad.
It's so bad how radical untamed rushed tactics
can't do a that **** thing.

That **** thing.

That **** thing that sings the harbinger song of patience.

Feeling alone.

It's not bad,

Unless you hate yourself.


It feels really bad,

But what's nice...

Is making for people.

TASTY FOOD.

From everything on your pantry shelf.

Time to make an hourglass,
Time to pass all feelings...

Time make sure that we
feel
all of Earth.
her underkneelings.

Time to take a second chance
and not hate life so much.

Time to plant some flowers.

It's time to make it such.

Somehow she said fire was the only way I live
Some how she said with out air, I would never find a way to give.

Somehow. Somehow.
Something she said.

It really hurt a lot.

Something space left me with things
I lived, but rather naught.

It'll be like sephyr to be happen about the hateful, killing, engagements she had endured in heaven.

Like a worm who isn't happy with the gruel and angst presented by all of the rotten planks, plants and pottery that are built and
help up in high regard, in light of all the molestation and ******
held by higher officials and gods made of grey hair and soft, demon skin.
Skin it would be a sin to hold for my soul, but on the shore of eden and the new world, it'll be a better pedigree than eyes
that can actually see.

I catapulted my ***-crack into a button-hill made of syrup.

Sticking into surges further built a bitter boy.

Gnawing on sugar cane make sure that noise
is only heard by boys who's dads can own ears.

Shearing hairs of boredom stored on the rear
of huge *****,
over dozens of years has finally amassed
a terminal degree of *******-based behavior.

I clocked in and rested a bit of work against my knuckles.

Bested,

I stuck a nest of broken bits under the chin of our
prize-winning sinner.


I gurgled and brimmed about happy.

Knacked, I wont be.

Around me, garbles can't see.

It just is.

Just.

Just what WILL BE.

I saw all sort of phantoms on the
held of gate
I grew all sorts of angry when that grey ***
ghost had make me hate

Only until after
all the smoke had had to clear
was only when this punk as ghost had flexed
force I had to feel

So I had to flounder
I pickled in a ***
I stuck my **** in tinder
and now Im father THOT

My cat shivered this morning,

So, I asked her if she's cold.

And my dog had moved a little slower,

And I know he's getting old.

Which is not okay with me,

But life don't work like that.




I made myself some tea, because it was really cold,

And stage a couple of cans on the counter,

While making breakfast, so I can feed my pets.


But after cooking my own food and looking in their eyes.

I cried a little bit and said

I'd rather die than see them sad, because they are my friends.


So, just today, and just because,

I'll share a little bit.



I'd rather share a moment than spend forever feeling bad,

I'd rather give my cat and dog sliver of bacon than see them sad.

I know saturated fats are bad for them, but they're just as bad for me.

I just like to see smile as they smack their lips
when they see that I don't hate then, and include them in my joy.

We only have so many years,
So much money,
So many hours.

So, let's go for a walk.



I'll get you snack when I get paid,
And I'll buy you each a toy.

Circled in a porcelain *** was wrought iron wires ripped in spirals.

Spicks and speckeled on the edges of oxidized was
only sticky sap and resin that built a prison of circumstantial evidence.

Penance is paid in pay grades and time off in tropical nations.

Make me believe our hearts should all grieve and pay for the insurance of patients.

Seven mentions, Seven mentions was all I had after
she died and it was up to me to check her phone.

It lessened the pain of death,
which felt right.

But also, it lessened the joy of life.

How did this happen?
Why is this happening?
What sort of deal did I do
that left a rust knife
shoved into me.

Blue veins bleed red blood.

White clouds can cry grey rain.

And perfect little packages can
abstain from turbulent life.

Living is a knife in the ribs,
barbecued in riddled coiled proteins.

It's obscene how dumb luck is.
It's obscene.

It doesn't even mean anything.
It's only a way to bring yourself back from where you came from.

Lifted in the bed i bought
I cold sweated out all my ******* thoughts.

I riffed with my buddy
in a car,
why we made a blood moon from a start

I blew a bowl on a moonlit lake
while we munched on cornnuts and catfish steak

I jumped on hills in his corolla
the morning before the night it was stolen

But it came back,
and so did he

and the next night we kept out lines out
for the next catfish in the sea

This past weekend I had scheduled an afternoon craft class,
this past weekend I did, as a chance to see and say
all sorts of fun stuff with my buddy.

I best buddy I had held in my heart for years,
the sort of meatbag that'll make you think,
but won't make you text.

So, I held fast the next week after classes were cancelled and I never got to see my friend.

So, my week ended and, and my gut was more wrended that I'd planned on.

Funny, moved on as I passes,
through all the gunk caked on my classes,
I was still able to see, and to speak,
so to speak.
so I sung.

Really hard.

I gave hell.

Heart heat held enough
to burn up every crux,
cornerstone breakapart brackets
tacked up and held up
with stickers and shushes.

misses and muffles,

strangers,
and a stifles,
carbohydrates and rifles.