I just want to ask one question
Is the human race obeying the mathematical rule called BODMAS?
Just a refresher...  
Brackets, Orders, Division, Multiplication, Addition and Subtraction

We have created different brackets
where we enclose people like casket
He's black, she's white, they are rich,
those are poor, she's educated, he's religious, he's fat, she's slim... Brackets

People are treated differently
Based on the class that we've put them in
Some are raised to power like exponents
Others are trapped in like square roots...Orders

The segregation has only intensified our division
I don't fit in here, I belong over there
My group is stronger, those ones are losers... Division

Disunity and absence of love has caused
A multiplication of our problems
Threats, deportation, persecution
We don't like them, we'll bomb them
War, insurgency, terrorism, hate speech... Just problems Multiplication

Every second, our population is experiencing several additions
Our population keeps growing while
Our natural resources are being exploited
And depleting at a rate faster than our population growth
Our resources are experiencing severe subtractions

I just want to ask one more time...
Aren't we obeying BODMAS?

Some days i feel pretty, some days i feel eighty,
Right or wrong i must go on,
Believing there is a meaning behind
this chaos called life,
And that here i do belong...

She says that I'm overthinking small
situations and turning them into complex
equations, a mountain of igniting dungeons
beyond infinities, a labyrinth of swelling
light flickering without energy.

I gaze at the unfiltered alliteration in her
one-dimensional shape, the split derivatives
diverging towards a square of stained
subtractions.

My mind is the light source that transcends
destiny, a wall of mirrored depictions
aligning with my soul.  I am a critical thinker,
and I shall live in this realm forever.

On this day,
Twenty-eight years ago,
I realized that love is not divided...
Not halved between.
A father's love for his children...
Is a multiplication,
An expansion.

How do I explain?

Meanings of life change;
Additions and subtractions aside,
Love multiplies...matures:
Exult or suffer, it endures
Even the agony of division.

Mainly now, love suffers,
But always it endures.

The obsession
takes possession
of my thoughts.

Every waking hour
intent on feeding
Said addiction,

Wasting a wonderful
day’s worth of potential
on pleasures and rewards
that are digital abstractions,

Becoming subtractions
from the quality of my mind,
and my life.

Crossroad horizon colored purple blue and burned
Sister sadie purrs as the register drawer rings
And the horses all gallop and dash entrancing the sun.

A naked flower forms meteors in metered time.
When I was nineteen I lost every single fear.
Tear away the fabric, rip away the sheets, open up the signs;
There just ain't enough time in this world to be unkind.

Understand thy fellow brother.
See their shining God as ye' see yours.
Another night away from her
Is like being shot down double musket undeserved.

A lonesome river runs through the mountains gate.
A man who believes in himself understands that fate
Is neither fair or generous, only a state
That cannot be meddled with or stripped to debate.

Golden fawn springs from the bush to the forefront.
Twilight salutes in a dutiful stunt.
When I don't love, I don't live.
And when I don't live, I don't deserve to be.

Crystal bells, silver whistles and jade scorpions
They hang like a gang from my rooftop.
Apricot juice, dandelion wine, and attic finds
Are all a child's dreams until they stop.

Day here, day gone.

She complains about life, as
I wonder about the knife
Which Macbeth did hold,
Flashy like a maroon marigold.
Was it silver or was it a copper mold?
There are some secrets in this world
That should never be told.

Brown sister holds her books tight to her chest.
Her brother has been lost to some kind of quest.
The yellow ball sits on the edge of the corner pocket.
She grips in her hand an old rusty locket.

Near the Richmond train and the Sacramento river
Sits a dead man with eyes spilt into a frown.
His wife left him one morning to marry his brother John,
And he sits, waiting there for his soul to come along.

Abandoned love's color is that of a charcoal dove.
The bones of the pure cannot be broken or charred.
Blanket of stars partake in the ceremony of the monkeys.
I see the shaman and he's dressed as if he aims to be wed.

Oil on the streets. There's oil on my hands.
There's oil everywhere around us, but in the land.
Can't see through these eyes of mine anymore.
Can't breathe through this mouth or nose of mine neither.
Somethings telling me I've got to change my point of view,
Though where to start, I haven't a clue.

I like this place.
I like what I can do.
But some days,
I just feel cruel and I
Act like a drunken fool.

There's a place I can smell in my dreams, in my sleep, when I feel what we truly have.
And when it goes away, the only thing I can manage to feel is 6 feet down low and sad.
Let's get out of this place as soon as we can. I'll pack the bags and you pack the animals.
Out on the islands, away from all of man, we'll live by the eastern wind unplanned.

Clock strikes the fortieth page of the hundredth book of the eighth king.
The day man truly dies is when he forgets how to sing.
I cannot elope my mind to the calculations of times subtractions of the body.
Either everyone comes,

Or nobody.

Path trended and passed
In silence they weep and act
Aisle after aisle a memory sung
Trespassed as eventful melody

Spears of death sink inwards
Body trembles as it fades away
A belong to the bare soiled ground
As the whispers of the wind evaporate

I lost my shoes, my clothes all torn
Blended in moulded formed horns
Knees crashed on the pebbles
I recite my said and unsaid repentance

The bricks, blocks and boxes boast
Rising above the past I long lost
As the heat rise, they make passion
A traction, the subtractions,a surmise

The sunrise once bright disappears
The lens clogged in blurry vision
A bird within flutters and mutters
Drifty as the phone once held slide

Out of reach, out of touch, outer tours
Over sensed danger, the blackened day
Liberated in clear skies,unclouded reforms
The pounded bells echoes lullabies of calm

There is a multiplier deep inside
an identifier that confides in me
and divides,I see
by the actions of gene therapy.

It analyses,criticises,alters and devises new ways of splitting out my days into a hundred thousand newer kind of ways to break my heart.

Adding to the adding of, subtractions minus then because I age
it vents its rage and goes quite mad the copies that it makes are bad,not up to standard,randomly it sequences,imitations of my DNA.
and in these clones of which it does not seem to care,
I am somewhere falsified
in there
more imitations,creating limitations in which I find that I am locked.

These pistols of my life were loaded,cocked before I was born
and cannot be torn from me by hocus pocus or intervention surgery.

There will be,
me and me and me and me forever copied I will be that which I'm not,
another dot
Spot the differences?
I can
as I turn into a copy of a copy of a man.

My nostrils stay cold in the warm weather, cold in the rain, a forever remnant of the days of ******* and truck beds. I inhale and exhale the poison of cigarettes, but the shotgun electricity of the little white lines pierces the folds of memory. As much as I ache to forget, I can still feel the powder laying latent underneath my fingernails.

The days of wanting stress are replaced by wanting to alleviate it. I'd rather not sit and listen to your scratching your tense fingertip-tapping jitters. Silent leg shaking bouncing making my records skip. The dust-covered dumpster-dived needle has stress enough without your additions, subtractions, multiplications. You sneeze white and red, the signs of frustrated futures and presents. The record skips back to one, water stained, nothing changes.

I once played without direction and felt it cheap and unnecessary, like angels that breathe deeply underwater. Grasping for sympathy and votes of confidence. Forging intimate connections without it, needing wanting grabbing feebly into the air. Desperation never even gets a chance. We are strong as equals, love dissipating into the aether, waiting watching wandering wishing waking.

I tried to bend and not break, divide and not conquer. I tripped on the wire, skinned knees, forgetting. The clouds of gray hang low low in the air. I will hold strong to my promises, even in this time of turmoil and smashed faces. My foot will stay planted. I will move forward. I will keep on keep on keep on.

Even when they doubt me, I will keep on.

Fear and infractions,
Basic senses,
Subtle subtractions,
Delayed response,
Relayed reactions,
Play off the hint,
Winter hue,
Malice tint,
Hateless tasteless,
Faceless placeless,
Placed placement,
Playful payment,
Frivolous and fevered,
Tempered beliefs,
Believers,
Belay the bounty,
Beautiful and temptress trite,
Fracturing county,
Past tense recite,
Fast forward rewrite,
Rewound and respun,
Locked and lead loaded,
Geared and gunned,
Sudden and semi-accidental implosion,
Rewarming,
Sickly hex,
Weakened flex,
Internally overcasted and overtly storming,
Outwardly warning,
Slowly learning,
Forever turning,
And in turn,
Burnt and still laid burning,
Waking a ghostly turning,
Soundlessly and -ly burning,
Smokey on the peripheral,
Ethereal,
Eternally external,
Forcefully feared,
Into inferno,
Out of opinionated opressionables,
Que wide and willingly willed questionables,
Wordlessly whispers with the whim of the wind,
Beget blindness,
Begets mindless,
Begets beauty bound by which beauty begins,
Found fearfully,
Torn tearfully,
Retold beautifully,
Molded after mourning,
Mourned before morning,
Night neared,
Sadness teared,
Tearing soundly on edges,
Destruction and dutiful pirouette,
Tasted tyranny teem and endance pledge,
Irony stills,
And the air dare not forget.

Is the edge of the cliff
the time of your death?
Or the realities sudden wiff
of: "this is not your final breath".

Are the falling skies
tumbling over your head?
Or your happy moments in disguise,
from the tragic ending in red.

The conception of lives subtractions and additions
is the everlasting question to find lives prohobitions

I am ever so simply a woman and so I liquify from the waist down and on the eve of a disastrous morning, I use the tips of your your lips as marmalade and marinade within the notion of you. If I was to ever go mad, it'd surely be based on the mere idea that you once knew me as certain as you knew the difference between a prism and a square, just additions and subtractions of necessary and unnecessary lines.

On my first day as a tutor (a sad tale for tutors)
Said the boy, sir, your face looks like a horse
Shocked beyond words by the slapping commentary
I said how it matters boy show your book of history!

History, oh no, that’s a subject I abhor
It hasn’t anything that needs a tutor
The kings and queens and years of wars
Got no charm for me all the unending curse!

My hands itched hard to pull out his hair
Just a kid I said and it won’t be fair
I must put up with all the nonsense
Mend him and get my reward for patience!

Don’t talk like that boy bring your English book
How far you’ve progressed let me have a look
English, it’s so easy I can learn by myself
It’s one subject I need no tutor’s help!

It’s time I thought to use my last card of trump
Bring boy your copy of subtractions and sums
Surely you need there someone to guide you
He kept quiet and my hopes soared anew!

Maths, that’s truly something from you I need to learn
If you offer to teach me there’s no way I can spurn
But before we proceed his chuckles he could hardly hide
Do crawl on all fours to be the horse I love to ride!

A thousand bees stung me a million sparks flew
I knew my time was up wasn’t anything more to do
I wished to give his head the hardest hammer’*****
Just a kid I had to swallow made a hasty retreat!

The majority consensus is,
We are average.
Eyes behold beauty in tabloids,
But the Elephant Man was on the screen,
The exception.
We are not ugly or stunning,
Spending paper dreams on blemishes
That are all too human.
We are the common denominator
With assets and detractions,
Additions and subtractions,
Sharing invisible property lines,
Crossing borders, unnoticed.
On the scale, Einstein was above average,
With a handful of others.
We can read, that's what the average needs.
If Darwin is correct,
We'll all end up on the cover of The Enquirer.
In the meantime,
I'm comfortable with average.

Average health is above average,
Anything less is unacceptable,
Like living without an epiglottis,
Yet doable.
We spend less than we earn,
Yet the average person wins the lottery,
Then blows it all.
Isn't that true, Joe? Jane?
We're in the middle class.

I want to bandage the pain they cause while slicing your veins. Bleeding you dry while you're shackled and chained. Catch your thoughts in a bucket while they're draining your brain. Folding contorting and bending until you're considered the same. Making you in their image to deem you sane. You can be yourself now that you've changed. It's okay.
But It's not okay. I want to give you back the intelligence they stole. Make you remember what it's like to be whole. Reshape your body to it's original mold. It wasn't your heart, but the world that's cold. They're so sure they're right because it's what they were told. They never bothered to hear the sound in their soul.
The definition of wrong and right has been simplified to black and white. The shades in between cast out of the light. The in between truths got lost in the fight.
But you're beautiful. Not the addition, subtractions, division, and multiplication.. The original creation. You're incredible. The left over lacerations are minor additions to the very foundations that made you a miracle. So wear your scars with pride with me. Show the world how we came to be free. If it's worth it it'll never be easy. Freedom always came with a fee but when your soul is meant to sing there's no option but to fight to be.
Just be. Who you are is not a mistake, It's they who are mistaken. Regardless of your beliefs, you're the epitome of a heaven. Wear your skin with pride, stay humble and forgiving. It's the simplest of truths that get lost in our living.

what is the what, this simplicity, the great difference?


                                                ­  ~~<>~~
he reads certain words,^ then

the poet uncovered, stumbles upon, a rhythmic bearing, provoked,
his own bearing now  lost in contemplation, exits the cottage, wandering on the always wet grass, observed by animal menagerie,
espy him watchfully, a human directionless wanderer wondering, asking himself the meaning of it all, knowing answers reserved not him

we celebrate subtlety, process the minutiae of extracting an exactitude of  the precious précis of each momentary why, only when he honest confesses his ineptitude, can he truly begin to pluck words from the airy atmosphere to assemble them in format that mines the great difference in everything, the differential veins

the creatures, unshy, wish to contribute, suggesting editions, subtractions, this turn, this twist, this nuance, always clarifying, valuing utility beauteous, making the meaning perfectly clear in ways that make you gasp at words, their powerful, to define, then refine, then just plain be, be fine, finding, exploiting, drawing freehand the lines of distinction exacting
this great differences
                                                  ~­~<>~~
^
“and next to nothing is everything, all worth knowing,
you, write my poetry, as I write of you with breathless
ease and comfort, for the thoughts of all men in all
ages and lands, are original to where our eyes espy
each other, where our lips kiss to cross, cross to kiss,
what is the what, this simplicity, the great differences?”

Old blue jeans
haven’t faded yet,
still unblurred
as he moves
undeterred
by a painful past;

Slightly slumping,
shoulders sagging
like a soldier
who is dragging
his body back
from an unknown war.

Well earned
wrinkles on his face
are deeply ingrained
as deep blue eyes
shield a soft soul
from feeling
to cold.

Brown spotted skin,
but his hair is still black,
the pain is still there
in the past
as a matter
of facts
that others lack.

It is all superficial.
People can’t even see
the surface scars
that he hides
behind his sleeves.
Desert dry eyes
can no longer
sooth a parched heart.

Outside
of our ability
to perceive
is his grief,
strange subtractions
from his life
like his parents,
his friends,
and his wife,

All we can see
is a solitary
sad stranger.

We sculpted this nation.
We pulled the burning shreds
from what was left after.
After we discovered what there was.
What there was for us.
Our future.

We sculpted these states,
these laws,
these rights,
this nation.

We sculpt ourselves,
but why?
We sculpted our images,
our egos,
our words,
our hopes,
our dreams.
We sculpted ourselves.

But we have already been sculpted.
We need no additions,
no subtractions,
no edits,
no remodels.

We are we.
Humans
People
Beings.
We are we.
However sculpted we may be,
we are we.

i got the feeling i am coming back to what i am really meant to do
which is...FEEL the way i live and to pursue
my dreams i have already dreamed of, i feel its nothing new
my god is telling me to wake up and i am ready to open to my reality
romances my life to a complete false character is dull
i would rather be the human that feels all the emotions of rules
i am human i make mistakes,but, it seems some expect more out of me than what i give.
As if it isn't enough reaction. as if my bad days don't matter to the action
this movie i dreamed of..left out the sad attractions it comes with.
i breathe it all in. i take it with a grain of salt. I am not perfect.
But, my heavenly father tells me i am just perfect the way i am.
And if some can't accept my thoughts subtractions..than maybe i should move forward to the ones that feel the same satisfaction.
sometimes the good things want to end.. because in other places there things that need my attention.
May it be good or bad, there is always a balance in my smile that has some fractions.
i repeat i am not perfect in my attractions. Though God loves me for who i am. In all sinful actions.
I am moving forward with my divine guiders of peace and love within my past jacked sense.
I will no longer allow the feeling of disappointment in my mind that tracts and miss.
I am figuring out my love for my back to gained prints.


-becauseilovehim.

Tonight I looked into
An overdue doubt
Of mythic proportions
So come check it out

Of this federal system
Reserving its heist
For the terrified hostages'
Crisis zeitgeist

These zodiac killers
Who keep turning pages
In all of these doctrines
Is one for the ages

Immaculate in
It's deception conceptions
Omnipotent forces
Controlling elections

And rigging the game
For the bishops and crooks
To build their empires
On stacks of these books

Which sell like hot cakes  
They claimed were the towers
Of ivory patriots
Sharing their powers

When really the lies
Are as old as the story
Enslaving the masses
Since gold, god, and glory

First hungered for many
A few white horse christians
Waging their wars
Through apocalypse fictions

Then spreading the plagues
With addictive distractions
Dividing the factions
With taxing subtractions

And billing our rights
Constituting their claim
Must govern the people
In image and name

In his kingdom of fear
No home for the brave
When freedom is buried
In salvation's grave

Dug for the masses
And martyr's who bled
From the hole fatal truth
In the back of their head

His how long and your how long have you got depends not on how long you've been or on how many places you've seen, but on the microseconds you've counted in the midst of a dream and have they counted at all?

If that is truly the case then dreams must be the place where life is measured

I add up the subtractions which make the distractions of each day more bearable,
it's still one big carnival with plenty of clowns but no wild animals because now they're protected as we all should be.

And in saying 'no wild animals' I have excluded the audience who pretend to be civilised until the lights go down.

When on the Northern line travelling light and the weather is fine
one has a gay old time
( don't even go there)

It's Saturday and I'm away to meet family
a subdivision of ancestry but still humanity.

Nearly at Euston so better I put my skates on to rise on the escalator, a quick coffee to celebrate their arrival.

This poetry comes to you from me via several stations on the London tube network
I'd like to thank the interchange at the 'Bank'
and also the man who spilled coffee on my shoes.

Obviously I was never part of the plan
Show up attention demand
Whether you notice
Or not
That’s what I am
If I’m thinking favorably
That you would even notice me
Much less like what you see
Who knows how true it could be?
Subtractions from additionally
Connections telescopically
Tunnel visions unreasonably
Bordering on crazily
Maybe