Chasing...
Chasing trouble
Chasing sinful behavior
and facing on me once everyone is gone.

Forlorn for another's struggle
Forlorn for a family
but instead I have to go to bed
tonight with only me.

And that's the way I like.
Alone for my own sake.
But really I'm alone
because for those I love
it's just hell that's all I make.

Seeing as I'm tired now it'll feel less
Less while I sintered a hot dress
Off of my messy pal

I'd love to live in a rat's nest
Besting the next rat next to me
Making meals of apathy
Slovenly licking off plague fleas
Please leave me alive living in a rat's nest
Living off of cheese and liberal arts degrees.

I left a hard boiled egg, and dried chili in a pickle jar.

I had a briney, eggy, chilly pickle in my fridge for weeks.


You can't pick in a pickle jar frozen in time just to see.

It's a bullet in the eye that never had a chance to breath and see.


So, one day, maybe, if I'm brave,
I'll have the strength to eat

The flavor I fermented in a jar at the end of the world with solar heat.

Golden Hips.
Sealed with silver, molten edges.

Electrum lips.
Beckoned whips into searing sintered sedges.

At nighttime

Even when I wake up.



In spite of good ideas.
Even mine...

Will be likely misunderstood.

If everything was perfect,

and we were able to know what we want,


The fire would be put out,

and our entirely population would look much less malnourished,

and even more than that,

they would not look afraid.

Those poor souls would not look sooooooo gaunt.

Pressed upon the edges of lamp black were words.
It's absurd But so still I had to breath and convieve.
I have to live in a life where hate could take total control over me even thogh all I can see is pain. And I want to die. and you won't help. Good night! GNGNGNGNGNGN
Go to bed. Goood Night.

Light clicks off of keys
Clacking,
I gulped
ice cold water
and It made me breath.
And it made me think

Paper smells...
Wet paper
held in a cavern over night
while fires lit the walls.

I learned how to make lots of croissants today
But not in the traditional French way

I used the old way first,
with butter and forearm thirst.
Listing out my errors
Was heaven
Living in an failbuilt sunburst

So certainly it's striking
enough to have a beer
To celebrate the failures
The bring ending to a near

My brain my brain I cracked it
Autodidatic missions lessened feeling
crackled, wrecked, I wracked it
I wracked I wracked my brain
Stained in cacophony
Lacking in harmony
Hacking hacking
I wracked it
I wrecked my beautiful brain

Tell me that I never knew what it meant
when the wind blew threw the trees.

Tell it's only lens flare.

Tell me it's the green dots that appear only
when we saw green dots of the light
showing through the trees.

I set the precedent that sent my body reeling

I know it stole my heart and soul

but still I'm peeling back the layers.

Because I don't know, and I sure don't show it

but I'm blowing it *******

I'm stealing time from golden stables

and I'm going to steal the show.

Today I had some breakfast leftovers:
Normally not, but I had friends around.

Old pals and lovers were in town for a concert.

So I asserted myself and my pad,
and allowed loads of hippies to flop down
on my poorly maintained hardwood floors.

I'm sure it would rile them up if they knew
that all my repairs were
made of petroleum and unsustainable glue.

But even still,
while peeling potatoes,
I imagined my hashbrowns,
my real spuds
forming tornadoes on all
the tent towns and dreamers,
and all that would seem to know peace but not hate.

Because ignoring what you don't want to hear
is only ignoring your fate.

I chewed on parsley and daisies
They played like paisley flames
On the silk neckerchief she
Hung over my post last night

Gargle, boggle, google eyee bogles
Stack! Stalks, balking at raucous menageries.

I badgered my basic bougie bailiff.

Staggered, I berated a beleugered nation of basal biscuit-heads.

Dead. My eye were dead.

I bled out my eyes.

You're welcome.


I tried.

I let you be red.
And now I'm boiled up.

I led you into
Mordor and boiled your cup.

In digging a pitch garden made with stitches of ruined charcoal
I sowed into ten bowls made of silver
Ten showmen, made of clay and soul.

I knew enough to know I didn't have a second to have for myself first.

Still, it's worse to know I thirsted for a patchwork portion of stable
little points, painted on a thrift store surface.

I didn't care how clean or worn it was,
because it always does the same thing
and it stings my eyes
and dyes my curtains

It brings my lies
and paybacks certain.

Not knowing is enough.
Showing feels too tough.

I baked my show sinew, and stuck it in a stock ***.

It's a lot.
By god it is.
Caught in needlepoint necks makes my life something I could give.

Stuffing brittle remnants of dead little bits,
crammed in a stovepipe shaft
had lighted and lit up a huge fireball
over all of my peers and enemies.

It wasn't hard to see at all,
unless you liked living under a rock like me.

It was the sort of thing you regret never having saw,
and the sort of thing, if you were you
you would never see.

Seventy-five toads were buried in mud
They sent five of their best into the road for food
Mud toads slopping in rain played today
It rained today
Toad Roads for fun food it rained good today.

Seventy-five fires burned in the dirt
Dirt roads paid for by lords of land management
Friends of the fire brought whiskey and fiends
Out into the the road with mud toads, frogs, and good food.

Out in the fields seventy-five acres were making me wonder:
What good does brooding do?

Seventy-five years of bears bearing fire and fur
Bears burned all the broken boards, thistles, and bushes.

It's good, you know; It's good to know the mission of fish, and bears.

I've worked much harder on sounding off than making sounds,
and that's not making me as well rounded as I thought I'd be.

So, i'm gonna see what sorts of things that make people want to hear,
because if I'm hearing what they're feeling, then they'll hear just how I feel.

Lemme try to be compliant with who I was and who I am.
Let me lock a ice filled dinner into a sacred spot

I only have so many teeth
So many meals in my life
So I think i might try to like
Painful flavor and hard life

Pain pyres, maybe might
be a better idea
Than feeling like a
monster who feeds fear

I think i might make cupcakes.
For my favorite people
Or maybe breakfast suppertime
In my own atheist church steeple

Turns out that pasta, and hamburgers
may not be much a sin
And finding out that folks don't love
It's garbage self love in a bin

Pickled in my jelly jar
was a large milky sort of monster

Transmitted is my mind so far
was a memory omitted.

Tackled in a tackle box
while pickled in a pickle.

Living life like Goldilocks.
is living life a little.

cut cut CUT CUT
skinskinskink...
COOKCOOK COOK COOK  COOK
sin sin sin

SLEEP SLEEP
eat eat
SLEEP SLEEP
snore...
ignore..
ignore
"Shhh"
"Don't breathe..."

"Shhhhh!!!! baby boy!!"


"HUSH!"

"shh.."


"please baby boy"

"Ignore....nore........nore................."

How in the hell can that witch cast a spell
That'll feel like a billions piles
of half hearted hate and love that came late
and a bit of bitter pretension

Will it last while
to live in a pile
A bundle of social
redemption

Seeming in silk
Rebukes are like milk
Like licking a lich
who loves dead

I'll dread up a hope
And I'll soap up my being
It'll be like a
monster who has started without some seeing.

Just have me heave a bit of hope filled hate.
I'm sorry.
I'm berate.

And it's only a face filled, unmentioned **** face.

My bad.
It's sad,

So go ahead and sell my up the river.

I'd rather be a salt made liver
than find out I was just a bad boy.

It's not okay.

I'm just a boy.

Make me bad.

Make me furious and sad and hold me accountable.

I'm a **** face.

Let but bull and bubble up my lid made speech.

It's okay,
but it wont' be neat.

I never knew it would would take a girl for for me to grow.
I never knew that I would know so much about myself.

She taught me about bread and dogs.
To love life itself.

She was my most favorite piece.
Leasing all my love.
She took me. Took me on my knees.

I never felt love.
I never felt a girl.
Like. Like my dove. She made my heart unfurl.

It;s a wife shaped hole she left in my heart.
I'm trying to rebuild, but GOD it's hard to restart.
I just want to feed my friends... to help to make them live.
All I have is food, it's all I have to give...

Why I ranted past, and next to needs, that's the reason

I made so many abrupt ideas into how I feel.

I know I did it all night.

I know.

I'm alright.

This blows.

It's can be just right if you promise to pay attention
to very little, and let my buy time to be a regular part of life.

It's like folks no know fear,
and know no where to steer.
so where is purpose when folks think
that they know everything that's near?

Near is the beast and *******.
Near is the final gate.
All we is merciless grains
and hopeless meat.

I dug 6 graves 1 foot deep

For cupcakes that I make

I keep making them, even though the holes get steep.

I cup my makings into cardboard cartons
and I started marking little messages in my cupcake pardons.

Black and greyscale
With white light
Density is pigment
With white light
Colored pencils write
With white light
On pages covered in black.

Globs of scraggy oogle blorck
Cracked in ebbs of nibble naps

Scrapped in cork and oggled mek

Gorged of mega noogle neck.

It was tertiary.
And by that I mean it was territory.

And by that I mean it was tittilating.
And by that I mean it was terminal.
I mean, it had to end with a loud report.
We spent so long,
and the powder was so dry.
Your fire can't light this one.
The fuse is all wet.
It's over and done.

Solemn works is just sticky words.

I'm sorry that I'm absurd.

I hate brittle air

and

I hate bearing palps of air and stuff
I hate gruff
I hate air
I hate staring,


I'm sorry sorry sorry sorry for brittle built beings.

I hate the journey, and I hate what they see

Aptitude test
Last night I had a nightmare.
Last night I was a worm.
I did not have a spine,
but that was not my concern.
All I eat is dirt and ****,
and that's alright with me
I don't even have eyeballs
I hardly want to see.
All I am is fodder
For food
For good
Animal be.
I have to poach my culture for existence
and humanity.

How to dare to love:
Likes its easy, right?
Shoving out all of life.
Bereaved of life's misgivings.

How to share your love:
Spent, all night, with work.
Yet making dinner.
Veg and pork.

How to spare your love:
With sorries, and 'sorry dear'
Work takes life
and so does love
Loves a parasite endeared...

How to rake your love:
Send sorries
Send a lot!
Send, please repent my pleas
Love demands an awful lot.

How to spread your love:
With friend and family.
Kindness is a sickness
that's spread through revelry.

How to lose a lot:
Be mean.
Have hateful hate

How to spend a lot:
With indignance, and a painful gait.

How one feels like hell:
It's a spell cast by a wizard.
One who focused on how pain
can effect you in your inards.

How one finds a way:
A way to where?
Away to live that's just fine?

Away into the air.

How one finds the end:
More than bending in the river:
Let me so deliver:
Messages aren't so assuaged:
do not disgage from death.

It happened.




You're what's left.

While I made a batch of tortillas,
in the heaving air, a steam from my heavy ***
I thought there would aught to be a feeling made heavy
from students of flavor and feeling.
Wrapped up in husks and disposed of from dealings of life.

Like lead and lemon, mixed with hell, I dispelled how I felt.

And selled all hell had built up for me
Now I'm left all with *** knees and trees can't even make fruit.

Some would call it absolute, destute.

I built a greasy rafter aftershow to embloden my favorite actors.

I stand rainbows in corners fired about in brick-a-brack cookies.

It's morbid.

AND funny...



And they look at me like I'm more funny than they are.

And if I am?

What **?

Should I resend myself?

Dive in a bar?


Never.

I have a way to get by.

Get by in life.
Sorry, so do you.

We can burn up.
Or we can end up in a hedonistic stew,
after spending our lives melting, and doing out best,
doing our best to live a fun life, then wind up in a vat.

To live all day and make your best,
only to wind up into a battered smoked-out whiskey barrel.

A junk food vat.
Cake with nutrients.

Very 'not sterile.'

Caulked and sauntered in a evercornered in a vat of sugar goo.

I'd decide to liberate, and decriminalize my *******, but no one seemed to care.

I've always had honkin' *******, and they made a lot of people stare.

Soaked white shirts don't hide honkin' ******* on fat boys at the pool.

But my ******* don't make the headlines because they don't make layman drool.

Without arms with which to wrestle
In a broken bone built nest
I've wrested a dresser bound for a family of faded dresses and jackets

Wracked with guilt and pleasure
I'm a wreck of mindbreak messes
With mind rot written on my head
A time to walk in rancor-ridden obsessions

"Hey!"
"I hope you have had a wonderful morning!"
"I'm your milk dude"
"Yes ma'am, I'm apart of the diamond package."

"Yes, MA'AM! Yes we do... but the residue you find around
the corner of your bed is due to all the
fat Sedona sand skitters."

Yeah... yes ma'am. They ruin the land with their compostable cat litter"

It's a pity to ****** about,
so I rerouted my question.

"Umm... I came here to learn a lesson about life and love, and every little bit held in between."

"Okay, well you'll have to turn in, because there is a lot of sinful fog in the air, so maybe it's time to repair what we can and have time for."

Caverned in a cage, a cave
were mountains of stable shelf food along with baskets.
Baskets filled with food and horrid stories buried among the bits.
That shrapnel, that ****, that little bit of metal that finds a way.
Finds a way to stay lodged in my spinal column.
Laudnaumn is a painkiller
a time spent life spiller that'll take upon you strife and the life of a soldier most totally taken, spaken and spat, with lack of fine skills,
no skin to donate, no porridge to impregnate my brittle bitter being.
Now i'm saught after, and it's now that I'm seeing.

Pasted a "Help Wanted" notice on my local community wall

without following proper protocol,

because I was in a crisis,

and stalling emotions is a perfect, impatient way to

stall and stay away natural feelings,

while instead,

letting them ferment in a rotten brain until it all winded up dead.

There used to be music on the hill after dark.
I pretended that I had other plans but the stark
contrast of life and blood versus gold and cold mud
Had made a hut, all about people.
With gold steeples, a church steeple made of calcium cultivated out of all the rotten, wasted, and frozen cold goat's milk.

We'd knitted our pits into the peach.

"That'll light it up" we said.

And then we came to life.

Starting as blips on a grid,

It ended with a kiss.

I think I had a good idea
To build a new strong closet
So that can hold lions and my dreams I do deposit

Only problem that I have
is the rattle snakes
So home to have a path to my mind vermin take

As much as I would miss them.
I know they're just plague rat
But so sweet I wanna kiss them
A furry rodent that's like me.
But the that I don't kiss them, they'll
take my life from me.

I've never cried like the day my woman died.

First she was friendly.

She was my friend.

And she taught me to be good and then

and then she died
and
and
and
I cried over her.

I made sure
I made sure

I pretty sure I found some bugs in my pirate ship
Earwigs and some roaches are brimming at the hip
Sure it turns out would should have saved a lot more food
Because we are not the only life the lord determined good

So now I build a fire made out of barrel scraps
The whisky makes it higher and our work it does entrap

So give me a glass
a glass of water
I can only sip
I'm bare rehydrated
On the trip
On this pirate ship

Bugs
Little bitty bugs
With itty bitty legs

Hugs
Tiny widdle hugs
wrap around my legs
and it bugs me

Shrugs
Teeny bugs
Itty Widdle mugs
Smile and wave
at me

Tugs
Tug at my heart it does
Tugging
Holding on my pants
Grabbing the cloth
gathered at my knees.

Bugs.
Little bitty bugs
Biting at my shins
I begin a life of hope
But sins had shaped my hair
So I lugged in a soap opera chair

And I sat.
And I stared.

Dry hugs held in hope
Fried hope crisped the open air.
Listen, missed is open air. held in an open trope.

In the air I used to smell a sweet smell
In the ground, it was there too

In the trees was fruits of sweetness
But sad berries turned to blue

In shrubs and weeds I seated
My stories were seeded swell

But without water is weakness
I'm beholden to my well

Sandpaper shawl.
I schlepped back into class
in a sandpaper shawl after all the hell i'd been through.

I glued buttons on my
Sandpaper shawl
and scrawled in chalks all
of the meditations I learned
while I was trying to earn my black belt.

It' felt great.
I wouldn't no longer berate the less
cognizant mission.
Initiative is is alive form of protest.

It's the most and less of the human
full on experience.
Don't get delirious, live.
Please love
Please give

Abating all avarice and abominations,
By beings bold, being belly built.
Could calling cold courted crows
Deal dead? Deal dismissive degregation?
Each ear, each eye, every escape
Feels foley. Focusing for foresight
Goes good. Godly given grace.
How high hope has hindered hindsight hisses.
I indignate insight. I immolate indignation
Just joke, jostle justice jesters.
Keep keeling.
Loathe loaming living lilted leaning.
Me, moan. Milling molten mealing.