"The problem is that if you put a green
pepper in with a tomato, it turns brown."
Why not try an onion?
I ask myself as the conversation passes me
on the stairwell
Roommates wake each other up now
juicing
You can't argue with juicer that their new
obsession will not make them live to 120
or experience life on a knife's edge
Maybe our brains aren't that large, after all

thoughts are transmitted
via translucent dragonfly mosquitos
from the angeled mountains of an ancient africa
to the plagued fountains of a new chimerica
miracles of disease and possibility in this
naked play they bear
fruitwords
juicing gifts of malleable meaning clothes for being or
chains, chainings
and so you are
water and messaging
carried all from timelands so distant & vague you are forever a
vague and distant stranger to your self.

when a man or woman is cut
wide, and deep enough
they bleed
despair
and with the desperate drops flows all the
thought force of all the riversrunnininthabellyod'earth.
in these despedrops
the flickerin' reflexions of starbirds turn banal to beauty
meaning
dangerously alive
in them the wombman is mirrored countless
countless times each a
split second in their life a
minute detail in their endless skies.

today i made
upon leaving home
a wish
that an image would come to stand frozen
across my peepholepupil
of what it will not matter;
and that some one, whomever,
a dancer, a ***,
would come to stand staring
just intentsly enough
to have this moist unmatter
touch to fill their own eye.

this has all happened, just now, a blink before our ending -
all of it, together, when you told me
ah feigned casualty:
it's the sweetness that kills you
or was it
yr perfect just the way you are.

at the last i followed your passing with my gaze as your wake
the most intensfool one i could ever make
as your backs became horizons i
turned tilting to the old borderline
it stood as ever sealing the sea -
sealing a sea that heeeaved against the
plentyfullpollutionoftheshorelinepowerplantplantation inc smoke sky
beyond a wind oh
my window, ours
the wind wowed with that old border time
i saw the blue behemeoth
spotted four white dots in crescent form
and you see, looking through thus windowed i simply could not say
were they sailboats, fallenserapheathers
or reflexions of those electricpearlights upon waxfloressence
from the waning walls of the halls you just walked
out of
time
all around me
wail the waking walls of a maze my hazedazedgaze
your never.

Once the hum stops, I’ll take the mold from your belly button

                        And knit me a droopy pair of bunny ears

                        I’ll wear on my heart to make it throb again

                        Because you always have such rotten things to say

                        But I’m so buzzed, I can’t hear them

                                    So I will bug your rancid body soon

                        And I will memorize every souring flavor in my condensed milk

                        As I tap into a clearer signal



                        But our pulse will stop before the flies drop

                        Like all the fruitless calls I make to you

                                    Their driveling buzz doesn’t thrill like before, so



I’ve peeled back the skin from my fuzzy navel

                        And looped it into a noose

                        We wear around our sappy necks to keep our heads

                        Because I’ve told you we’ve gotten too heavy

                        But you’re too hung over to reach

                                    So we will ferment from the stem now

                        And concentrate [on] ourselves to a pulp

                                    And no one will be there to hear us congeal



Because our oozing flesh will rot beneath these buzzing ear muffs

                        Till the dregs drop like flies to our grave

There are two lessons taught here:
Remain oblivious to privilege,
Be empowered by poverty.
Dismiss the insinuations,
Laws and promises of economic pop culture.
Embrace the demoralization of each decade,
But remain oblivious to a year aligned,
A year designed to destabilize.

The coming event is no small production, but
Few can be bothered to see it coming.

He is nothing.
No matter how bad his hair,
How unnatural his tone,
How tall is towers,
How crimson his throne,
How fake his news
How loud his tweets
How racist his farts
How fascist his feast.
He is nothing
Compared to the banks.
He is nothing
Compared to their ranks
In the complex equation
Of the root of all evil.
He is nothing
Compared to those already assassinated.

But we embrace his scripted destruction,
Oblivious to the Man
Juicing the orange.

Some days you surface into,
and there's no distracting yourself from
that irrefutable inevitability that
- ultimately -
entropy will win.
No quantity of
authentic artisan coffee or online memes
or juicing can
pull you out of the
black hole gravity
of that one truth.
The evidence is everywhere:
the spiteful confusion of electrical cables
your sleep-stupid fingers
fumble and fail to untangle;
the mold on the bread you
swore would keep a few more days;
the putrid, burst-open remains of
a pink armchair, left to rot in a
stranger's front garden;
the scavenging army of crows that loiters,
waiting for you to die and, in the
meantime, walks ****** little footprints
around your eyes;
the oxidation of
so many dreams.

It's inescapable.
Might as well root for the winner.
Embrace the decay.
Take photographs of
rust, smashed glass, peeling paint, dead flowers.
Learn to love faded colours and the feel
of broken things.
Catalogue your most
interesting scars and mutilations.
And, while you can,
write poetry.

This is not a poem.
This is something I must say.
When struggling with anger,
When in a war with one's self,
fighting an endless, raging ocean of emotions,
one must find peace within.
I can go through the day and not be bothered,
I can gain the upper hand in any argument,
I am peaceful, happy, and healthy.
There are reasons for this,
reasons which are often mistaken
and I must beg you not to mistake them.
Just because I meditate,
does not mean I am a buddhist,
or am in a cult.
Because I eat much fruit
and smoothies
does not mean I'm an "L.A. snob"
Because my body is in shape and in tune with itself from Yoga,
again, does not have any connection to a religion
and does not make me an "L.A. snob"
Tai Chi,
Yoga,
Juicing,
Pilates,
Meditation,
Active in politics,
ecologically aware,
philosophical readings,
does not bind me to any one thing in particular.
You judge,
you sneer,
you make your silly little assumptions
and snort when I suggest you try it.
Caring about the world around me,
Knowing my body,
how to stay healthy and how to use it,
Understanding our impact on this Earth,
is not a crime.
Adults,
you laugh in my face and tell me I am silly,
that I am ignorant and easily manipulated
simply because I am opinionated when it comes to those who run our country.

I have become a better person and the world refuses to accept it
due to how I got here.
Meditation was my first step, and I implore you to do the same.
Not for religion, rebellion, attention, or because someone said so,
do it for yourself.
Meditation is clearing your mind, teaching yourself to be patient,
and focus. When having a bad day and someone bumps into you,
you can just as easily get angry and irritated,
or you could brush it off.
You see, meditation is a way to clear your mind.
I'm not saying it's the only way, or that it's the best,
but it's a way that helped me.
I'm not converting you,
I'm not pestering you,
I'm asking you,
because when I see that you're unhappy,
the kind of irritable, unhappy, aching person I used to be,
I want to see you be your best,
I mean no harm,
I simply want you to be happy.

This is not a poem.
This is a thing I must say.
To the adult upstairs who screams at me for being a religious, selfish, ignorant, horrible person,
simply because I found something that helps me, be a better me.
To the sneering strangers who think me odd for dressing in dark colors and conservatively, because the reason couldn't possibly be that I like the color, or that I prefer conservative clothes,
no, it's because I'm a satanic devil worshiper, and a *****.
To the snickering teenagers who run off to drink, smoke, and fill a void because they do not understand that.... that what?
I see these teenagers come to school with tears in their eyes and bruises on their heart,
I see them flinch in an instant from being vulnerable to vicious and vindictive, brushing it off and laughing at something that is not socially acceptable.

Do not do things for others.
Do them for yourself.
I cuss,
I have fun,
I act crazy,
but also poised,
knowledgable,
looked down upon as a degenerate,
but I simply don't care,
because I'm healthy, strong, opinionated,
driven, confident, understanding,
tactile,  and most importantly.
I'm happy.




Also Dapper,
Very dapper,
Dapper is a great word.
:)

Blow a dart through the eye of a needle
In a beetle's bull's eye's eye of the fetal
Position used to permission the perspiration of children
Flowing from the cycle wheels on their next revision-
Intermission-
The cat walks in the bathroom with the lights off,
Cat's cough, drops his neck soft loft, STOP
His paws from picking it and licking it off the top
Shelf of the urinary depository shelter shop-
Cat's pleasure walk-
The beetle's wife still cries to the beat
Beating butterfly kisses on the front left cheek
Tongue out, pierced through nose ring bling
Shine bright like the glossy wet stain, sting-
Half a toe dream-
"We call this recession", session dismissed for obsession
With questions about lessons learned by sections
In the left hand direction weeping willow pull our pension
From the pockets until the rocket red will start suspension!
Skin peeling regression!
Drizzle dribbling brizzles of bad mouth grizzle
Fat down throat smoke sizzle with frizzy hair frizzle!
Blood suckdown proud pretzel frazzle
Flowing mud slug suction cup dry slump saddle!
Have you watched your mind battle
The thoughts of many cattle
Pronged along like kids caught by tattle
Tale stories of dead bodies and hastles!
Watch them rattle-
Shattered glass got caught in the brains back
Spinal chord twisted in two ways tied around a racetrack
Task force grants permission for the Hazmat
Gas mask, tear burning sensation, blood, sweat and gun caps-
Gunshot whiplash-
Pulling out the hairy back hand wrist rip
Falling out grey death, black heart, sunk ship
Flipped over the backside walls to pavement
Too hard to bouncy ball back up to save it-
What a world we created-
Cracked skull thought shots, drink down the toxic
Hot spit, words flowing through split tongue box fit,
Cracked teeth lost kids, babies ******* down bottles lost in
Jungle jam, juicing through the ice box foxes sneak  in closets!
The world's spinning so fast, there's no way to stop it-
It's surprising how we don't see that we're all lost yet!

Salty water from the ocean's lips
kissing upon fresh raw skin
wetter than the shine of your eyes
when i knew you were holding back.
And i will sit upon the dunes
where we once sat
and write to you letters of love
soon to be lost in the wind.
Up on the cliff face
where five of us gathered,
slightly out of mind,
and soaked up the scenery.
We sat and stared
Juicing all before us,
Squeezing out all we could
Attempting to hold the moment forever.
But every moment ends,
as all else,
And eventually,
as the sun lowered his gaze,
we had to turn to leave.

You left what seems like a forever ago,
leaving only vague memories,
juiced and bottled
and stacked neatly in the pantry.

Dear diary:

Land sakes! Leofric cannot believe I carried through with it. But indeed, today I rode naked along the sparse, meager streets of ye old Coventry.

And whilst my long hair, let down for the occasion, did provide me a jot of modesty; alas! a strong breeze I am most certain granted uncivil eyes to plainly see my top half is much ado about nothing.

Nonetheless, an even more discomfiting fear shall be if some peeping tom espied his fair countess to be no natural blonde at all; just a fare-thee-well lemon juicing, miracle bra wearing charlatan.

On the plus side, I did achieve quite a lovely, even, 'no-lines' tan!

Joblessly jokers, jig and jump jubilantly,
Jabbering jargon, jesting and jostling,
Jiggiest Jokers, jokingly juicingly,
Jibing and jocular, jotting jokes jiffily.

Juggling jobs the jokesters are jucified?
Justly the Jokers’ joblessness justified?

Jillions of Jokers jobless in judgement,
Jillions of Jokers joining the juggernaut,
Jerking the jailers, jolting the judges,
Jest cannot jump the junctures of justice?

Judges are jarring, jumbo-jowled, *******,
Jury are jackals, jawless in joylessness,
Jealously jaundiced, as Judas of Jesus is,
Jabbing the Jokers, judging then jauntily,
Jumbo jewelled jellies, justify jeopardy?
Jeering and jinxing, by Jove and Jehovah,
Jokers are jousting the jingoist junta!

Judgement is juried, jettisoned joblessness,
Jokers are jetsam, joyless judiciousness,
Jacked in jail Jokers, jerking-off jadedly,
Jukebox is jingling, jazzing jams joyfully,
Juiceboxes juicing, jigging the jamboree,
Jokers with joints, jamming Jamaican-ly,
Jailbreak is jostled, Jokers are journeying,

Jokers in jeans, jumpsuits and jacketed,
Junked-out and junk out, Jokers are jaggedly,
Jobless and justified? Joining the Junkies?
Jumping the jackpot. Joyriding juicily.

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It will take longer to cook, slice up in to EIGHT portions and marinated SIX cups of Crisco shortening TWO eggs MCM women bags, involves a tabletop grill instead of a small ***, Phytochemicals located in vegetables as well as fruits have been located to cure disorders such as bronchial asthma. you have to be careful in deciding on, If you have to scrub shame on you for applying very a great deal heat or not plenty of essential oil. fold the leaf in half lengthwise and break the stem out from the middle. One day I was like, The.

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Across silence
Rude stares
In equal measure
Provoking a quandary.
Voiceless words
And your invisible
Ink rests surely, printed
To my ear;
Likewise, in argue
And question
Our roughage will continue
To grow far over
Neighbourly walls and fences
To watch foxes
As they play
In the low sun:
Are you my fox?
Playing gestfully
Through the shaking weeds
Of deception in your heart?
I can write
Your ink, spelling your spell,
Juicing flower heads
Of their perfection.
No escape - all stems riveted
To the salty earths and float
As they're cut, like balloons,
Or spiralling rosettes, bleached
Then crisped by the sun
As your voiceless words stare
And watch my heart
Separate and drift away.

1
A seed grows in my Heart.
                (no more than a summer melon’s)        
        Black, brilliant, roots
        crack veneer shell and sprout
        propagate
        deep into the marrow of my very life.  

Tender flesh juicing red,
Replace my sinew!
Take what once fueled the industry of vanity,
        the fell machinery of your demise,
        the coffee life,
        the algorithmania,
        the I deserve,
        the trite Insta-filter,
        the like and friend and tag and share
And cast it aside!—as you once were!—
And make me the vessel of your deliverance
And teach me again
        to see you
        to breathe you
        to feel you
        to love you
So that I may redeem some future, some place
        where my son can pull the blade from his stone before it is sent to quarry.

2
How I long for you!
        For air!
        For sun!
        For solitude!

        For green!
        For radiance!
        For decay!

        For life!
        For rot!
        For fungus!

        For bark!
        For sap!
        For dirt!

        For some well-wish,
        some clue,
                that we haven’t dug too hastily
                with spite and ego and industry and greed.

3
Henry! Let me in your house!  
        Show me to fish and to bake your bread!
Walt! Chant for me!
        Sow me a path with your electric melody!
                (you understand my dilemma, boy of the city and soul of the Earth)
Allen! I cry to you!
        Put your sunflower in my eyes
        And wipe away my tears through dusty gray.


        Arthur,
        It may never once was, yet let the future be.

Sometimes I feel
I am no longer writing for myself,
but rather becoming more like an elf.
Working and writing for everyone,
but myself.

I feel the need to keep my followers
entertained consistently and constantly
out of the fear I may lose my audience.

I feel I lost the purpose of my writing,
finding myself writing to the others liking
rather than expressing the voice within me.

For, once writing felt like a destress
but now it seems more of a stress.

I find myself beating my mind,
scraping for ideas,
juicing what's left within me,
to be drained
just to post consistently.

It's important to remember
to put yourself first above others.
To express to your likings and authenticity.
To not lose one self in the muddle of others
demands, voices and likings.
To remember the reason,
why you initially started.

And I am finally ready
to let you go
with a snap
of fingers
a toss of hair
like arcs of
autumn leaves
thrown
up into air
leafy shadows
of light
illuminating
my face
as I remove you
from my
personal
space
Once you were
my sunset glow
brilliant colors
juicing my flow
now I release them
back to the source
how nature helps
this
liberation force

"Bad God"


Addicted to strain and turmoil we ****
All chance of happiness to feel a thrill
Juicing the brain momentarily the
All in all of here and now no room left
For peace or compassion to arise so
Why do we feel surprise at their lack of
Existence and cry tears to whatever
God inhabits us to please please give me
Give me something i want but do not make it
Difficult for then you must be a bad god
And i will not be your friend any more

on this cold august morning
i feel melancholy because
i gave  love away to one man while
thinking of another man whose
heart sadly belongs to a kind woman whose bones show
all the way through her skin and whose face always looks
tired and mouth is
creased at the edges
and always billowing earnestly.

i gave love away again
body stained in blueduskhalflight
heart a plump and cold and wild piece
of fruit splitting
and juicing sweetly and silently within me.

i carved a space for myself in the flesh
of a man i barely know but find beautiful.
that is good enough reason for me by now.

i used to wait for the feeling of urgency and
hope one swallows
when beginning what they think will be the end.
the first moment of a body is a holy moment when you
think it will be the last body.

all the soulful forms i once treasured like heirlooms
now lie still
gathering dust in warped memory rooms-
they stay young and foolish and hopelessly recklessly gorgeous
they stay freshly freckled smooth watery eyed and kind hearted,
while i grow wise and brown with years and vicious with years
my collection of ghosts
preserve in their sleepily curling hands
some ****** up perfect version of loveandforever
that i once concocted

not so long ago it seems.