Neosincarthinism

Neo-refers to neon
sin- refers to the worst of all events
carth-what? does it have to be a real word?
in- means inside
ism- I=if, S=salty, M=magic.

So altogether this Neosincarthinsim means:

Neon sin carth inside if salty magic.

Yes, now go run along. I had enough of my nonsense tonight.

VIRTUAL Surreal REALITY is Making a FOOL out of me...

In case you were not aware, I am the type for glamorous affairs.

Shadow of My Wrested Rights

You are not near me in days of the sunken sun.
In search of time and money only to consume none.
I have not obtained a gun and my life would seem empty
yet I view my image in a convex mirror
distortion of beauty has me fearful
of this ugly world I live in.
What faith should ever bother me?
Merciful savior of greed and lust, what shall Monday bring
forth for us? I deal out addictions for safety
and knives confront me
handled by ghosts.
Trap me in a wooden hut
deep into the forest so that I may not seek out humans again.

I remembered a reverie I once held dear to me as a little girl

I wanted to own moths 

so they could flutter around my room

and dust my bed and furniture from their

silky wings and fluffy bodies.

Till this day I keep this dream alive

to collect the delicate and soullessness forms

and preserve them for eternal love.

My room becomes their afterlife cocoon. 

~Fluffy Fuzz~

One day in the middle of warm weather June,
I lie on the floor and fluffy fuzz ball wanders over to me opon a breeze.
IT tickles my fingers and makes me sneeze
but I really love my fluffy fuzz ball, don't you see?
I take it for walks neath the sunshine
Oh why does no one understand how fuzz makes me smile?
The cheerful way the fluffy laughs
and the cute fluffy poops fly into the air...
things like those are quite unique to her.
I have named my fluffy fuzz Saddie
and she is mine and I'll share.
She accumulates lost of fluffy dust particles so she grows quite large,
She break pieces off her self and creates friends!
Here is a fluffy fuzz for you!

I am Horrible

Destructivism is a quality I keep up to date in my mind.
It explodes and decays into a watery willow train,
trails of tears scourer away the joy...
I lend my blame onto faith
for it's disruptive path perpetuates into my lap.
I am in need of change
just where does the horizon line end to begin again
and I can start up a new site of glory
to hail my insipid deeds upon?
Alas, I am lonely.
Where does one find a mate in a land
so debauched in cacophony?
I aim my victories toward Venus.
Near to the sun, it's scorched lands dry and gaseous,
bleed unto me the hot, heavy heat of infantry.
Let it be known that I can be reborn
into a monster more eviler then before.
Let no man tame me.
A soul herded by a leo and a cancer at the shore,
charged to attack
never a placid or lack.

Hello. I appear, disappear, and reappear again.

Not only does time seem to pass on by swiftly that a ghost without a future has to deal with exploitation of gentle scares on the Discovery or Travel or History channels. Humans tend to be prejudice toward hauntings. Perhaps the spirits and souls happen to be disturbed by the "living". Henceforth, it is in my right as a ghost to move about my solemn day where all colors fade to gray, never a black, yet all is bleak without a heart because I have forgotten what love was long ago. 

Ahhh, please let me have your time so that I may reflect back onto the years of my youth when I was in love. It was on a pleasant day nearing sunset in the town of Beverly. I brought out the trash to the curb to place the black plastic bag into the medium large tin bin showing some signs of rust. Across the street I catch a glimpse of this girl. She had medium length brown hair. The edges of her hair were all neatly trimmed and curled under. Her smile sparkled and cute dimples formed on her freckled cheeks. I could view the sunset in her eyes. She brightened up my life. From that day forward, since she had approached me that night of my simple chores for living in a house could bring me to her, we have been inseparable. Or at least I thought we were inseparable. We had known each other enough to live and share love to get married, but in her mind she descended into silent fits of madness. I dealt with it all I could until she took her own life with a stab from a kitchen knife to the heart right on the shores of Beverly. So, I had lived on my days in loneliness and never found love again because she was the only one of her kind. Her kind is in terms of not only the beauty on the surface, but a deeper involvement of trust and compatibility that a locked security was engraved to both of our brains. 

Alas, I have not come across her in my ghostly afterlife as much as I would have loved to join her again... but she cannot be lost forever. She is probably waiting for me too. It even hurts me to view upon the "living" and see how too many people displace love insight of other emotions such as fear. When one knows they are in love, then don't let your heart be chained to an unforgiving stone because that stone does not break, not even for a smile. Instead, your heart knows it must be free. Let it fly, if you will, giving the context for inspirational cheesy love metaphors. 

I will leave you here now. For I must disappear again. The rain might come soon and I rather take a walk then consume anymore of your precious time.

Cold War in my Head

No air can escape from my nose
nor can it rush in
so my mouth is agape
and I stare into distances
catching thoughts that seldom float by
because my head is so stuffy.

Let Us Calibrate to Celibrate

The rooftops crumble because you are full of destruction. 

Lions make fluffy pets to someone as scary as you. 

You swallow lollipops whole. 

And when you cry, your don't really cry at all because you are tough. 

No tears will drown you in sorrows. Let the weeping willows cry for you. 

Quote

"Cut a chrysalis open, and you will find a rotting caterpillar. What you will never find is that mythical creature, half caterpillar, half butterfly, a fit emblem of the human soul, for those whose cast of mind leads them to seek such emblems. No, the process of transformation consists almost entirely of decay." 

— Pat Barker, Regeneration

D'accord.

Si ton coeur est l'or, cette foi en vrai amour aurai toujours suis feu.

If your heart is gold, this faith in true love shall always have fire.

D'accord, l'arbre lourder fueille de fleurs aurais sont ont glace.

Okay, the trees heavy petal flowers would have had ice.

J'ai veu la triste oeuf et c'est trés triste.
J'ai veu triste l'oeuf. C'est trés triste.
J'ai vu l'oeuf triste et c'est une vivre.
Les jolie chanson est bête quand les gens chanté avec le moche mouche

What Happened

to chasing after perfection?
Were you, Ama, ever perfect at all?
Do not bother to answer those questions,
for those are unfair to ask in the first place.
However, please do explain what you plan to do
with your mind.
It is interesting to see what a girl you have become
when all that seems to happen now
is that you drag your feet as if you
developed roots that twist into the ground.
It is one thing to love trees,
but you cannot become one by no means.
That winter sun only shines very rarely
and you blame the clouds for your somber mood.
Obtain a positive star constellation
because night is the best time for living.
Travel to each star and accomplish a task there.
Don't let yourself float down to earth
once you believe you can fly
instead of this sedentary lifestyle you live in currently.

Messing around with memorized french words

La lune dansé avec  la maquette. Le soleil effacé le poir pour une chapitre deux. Dans le loin les toiles sur les tableaux huile chanson fueile. étoiles. toile. bandes. toiles d'araignée. toiles d'araignée français. Les fenêtres été décor avec toiles d'araignée. Mon dieu, par terre est j'aime le mur de vivre. Vivre vie pour les gens n'est pas jolie. L'amour est pas faux parce que la belle fille aurais mort. Je besoin l'amour. C'est ne amour pas. Je n'aurais pas amour  un homme jusque si practique geurre est amusant. N'oublier pas cette l'amour. 


Cache ta joie! Lourdeur. Pipeau. Ne pas manquer d'air.  Rater son suicide . J'ai raté toi. Je rater toi. Je aurais aime t'embrasser, mais toi est trop loin et je besoin votre amour. Qu'est-ce qu c'est? Toujours garder mon coeur parce que c'est triste. Un mot d'amour. Amoureux dans le noir et sont vrai tout.

Rotation

When nothing erupts in my mind because the words I do not speak shape out much of what should be felt. I left something next to your bed by accident just so I could travel back enough in one year to see you again. I do not care about the objects. I love the soul depicted here. Your heart is like a metronome. I see my eyes in reflection of the mirror as a sky. I would dive off the highest tree into your arms so lets never fly solo when we can see the world together through a telescope I welded myself from scraps of metal. Abandoned buildings became a sanctuary to us as we wandered afar from home. We gathered moss to create a bed and strewn leaves to form a net of caresses natural and motherly. Like a womb, we hoarded our delicate subtleties till sunlight illuminated the tops of our eyelashes. I gathered your nothingness into my somethingness to make it crafty and destroyed the devastation of what is to come. Wouldn't you say our love was equal and friendship was a trust to be unbroken through bonds? Addiction to the same puzzle nuzzled our noses and fretted for sleep. Dreams drove and left us with these. These are our hands to create a makeshift masterpiece. Dance in course of fleeting moths. We are dusty and fooled to be in love. It is trickery in reality, is a killer to the cause of nobility. So therefore it is proper to hate simultaneously to love as all black to white ratios need balance and support. You have my back and I have yours. Ccomrodory is important to survive in double lands multiplying too fast.

Dots Cover a Blank Screen to Make it Dark

Gruesome indispensable closed up fray the time of day breaks as they

call out the last one to hate on shay try a billion squabblers to trust may.

Months reel by barking hay giving shouts and screams to feel for fame

intuitively troubled depending upon schemes rhythmic dottings determine

hankering shallow men pressing on me galloping my rights away.

Enslaved in surreal shadows of a place unknown as they swallow my life

transferring my noise into energy and pain unbearable to legs shattering in weakness.

Do they know what they are doing to the youth?

Does the contemporary society feel any worth?

Can our voices work?

Important delays take shaking fears elaborating them to many ears. I wish I could not hear

my sisters depression of so many false claims determine their weight. 

Nights haunt the bodies that move so slow even though one would think

our numbers could bless a heaven in gold. We thought work was 

finished and I scrabbled to come ashore yet no relief was belayed 

and sharks poured into our shame.

Television was my perfect vision, but it was stolen by so many other eyes.

The images all portrayed us being splayed.

Commercials pictured us being paid. 

Mournful Mell Rose

Mell Rose is simply like a rose.
She blossomed out of a stem from a bush
and her skin gets prickly on defensive croons.
Her lips are soft and red and her hair fluffs out
in an amazing way.

She got killed the other day
and roses were laid around the scene of her murder.
This murder knew she loved roses as much as they
belonged in her name.
But the odd thing was
that her death was too common.
Just another beautiful face wiped out from this world.

Thalamus of Intentions

Tensions rise when the baked pie smells so sweet

you now cry.

I had warned you of the wax candles set aflame 

do most definitely burn.

The wax drips unforgivingly

you do not even blow it out.

You sit there and cast out daydreams of longing

for something to be done...

however I do not know what is to be done.

I cannot grasp the things you feel.

I hear your sorrows at night when you tare you bed to shreds

because your loved one left you, he sleeps forever on his death bed.

Your funeral shall be arranged when you are ill enough to care.

Just continue onto to see the sun in June.

We will travel to the beaches and see the lagoon.

I tread in dangerous waters of your waterless tears.

You might as well leak wax 

the same as the candle does

because in such turbid times

torment eats away as turmoil seeps

into our brains we barely eat

and we never sleep

so we melt to drift 

till we disappear 

into a

restful

slumber.  

Amygdala Menagerie

The collection of bird feathers are pinned to the wall.
You could name every single feather.
Intrinsically disbarred from man behaving like beast
has brought a woman to your side to calm the tempest fleece.
Your hair is no longer tattered
and you now see tall trees flatter
the gray sky in winter.
Her name is your name spelt backwards
because you rewound your clocks too many times
when those nights you sought for revenge.
Why must your heart beat when the love is lost
when she loves you more, she sees deep into your spirit.
Her soul magnifies unconcentrated lies.

Exiting Existence

Equilibrium detained a rebellion.
Stratagems revealed ambivalent frauds.
Forward winds rewind delicate laced wings.
Jade statues oozed out honey into open mouths
that lack sweetness because they speak harsh words.
Flowers turn deadly that smoke melodies in fog.

He haunted the edge of her hippocampus.
The core of her brain sought out death.
A bend in the road drifted out riffs
of a melancholy hymn that signaled
familiar ground.
At least their was a beehive of keys.
Each key opened a portal into an unknown
event in history.
Around the world there grew a fear
that nuclear holocaust would seem to endear
a trust worthiness unforeseen to bare.
Could he hear a whispering voice of another
lousy soul lost about the dreams in a wasteland?
He thinks he could be a hero,
but another must think that too.
Both thoughts of the same dream equal to blasphemy
and that shame leads onto a new.
He counted the keys for which to pick
to find that hidden door amongst the huge, but few, trees
that must have grown here for 300 years.
He searched and searched.

A girl spied on him from above.
She crawled and sprawled her limbs gracefully like a spider
on the branches. She could leap a great distance as she had taken
to flight like a dove. She made not a sound. The branches did not creek.
She held her breath and hummed when he sung.
She had snatched an antique key off the beehive.
His was a modern key.
They could both end up in different times,
yet no one ever knows.

Between the sparse standings of trees
grow flowers that are gray and fragile with death.
Android deer run ramped in this white bulge.
The deer are adapted to eat the flowers of death.
This forest of white atmosphere, black trees, a silver beehive,
gray flowers, and the deer are of velvet covered metal
are all encapsulated in an opaque bubble.

She takes off from a wavering branch
the whole tree quivers
and the weak branch breaks
her jump is not so powerful and she falls to the ground
deathly flowers poof out in a toxic dust all around her.
She acts fast to cover her nose and mouth with her periwinkle gossamer scarf.

The boy takes notice of her
and runs over to the dust cloud.
All the airborne poisons settle and he sees her pale face.

Deep with meaning.
Unknown season.
Latch onto sacred
scrolls of leanings.

A hollowed out niche in the trunk of the tree looks
cozy for seating two struck in a gaze.
Her back is sore from the fall,
he helps her up as they stagger to the noir tree trunk.

Sophistication

Echolocation is sophisticated when all humans long to be dolphins.
I cannot deter the halfblooded brutes. For they all shoot arrows at sharp angles.
You exaggerate claims of execution fame.
The gold of soft blades cut at your arms
and draw no oxygen.
It consumed your air.

Death is Anonymous.

Lunar essence affiliates all consumers of faith into a furry.
Sharks surround the hideous masks of favoritism.
There is no love in the dead pile of clouds.
Dust of shrunken feathers multiply
in vintage rose wood clocks
do they signify the greatest needs
of sexual desires
are ready to set off a bomb.
Time never lacks success.
It is humans that exceed in greed.
And only when the oceans run dry
that the harbor ships finally sink into fires
and we all die.

If you knew I was outside standing before a waterfall
Would you have watched me jump into the water?

***!Cutie!***

poupeegirl

Strangeness

Crawling on the ground in a circle.
You build up a wall of dust
it surrounds you like a cocoon.
Wouldn't we all love to be a moth?

New Shame

I have few bad intentions and all the rest may seem gracious,
I can't complain of the ways you make me pay for waiting
in my life's lonely hours where there seems to be nothing but
cruel pain when the ghosts flood the canvas of my blank stares
and stray dust particles rewind in the dim air.
I can resume my composure...
all must be well. For my head just aches. It is better if I nap.
Then my dreams partake in a flight of assaults to a resting brain.

Yes

Henceforth, write as one must to utterly describe such feelings in the mind. Yes?

La Femme

Quaint thoughts in a cozy compartment that overlooks La Seine.
In the dreary slate grey ceil, a formation of dotty birds in the distance swoops in movement
similarly matching up to notes on piano music played from the radio.
The girl is an artist of imagination and paints it so accordingly onto canvas
that it frightens her.
Even if she is beauty, what reflects in an artwork is strange and mysterious.
Illusions that she has fallen victim to reoccur in her memories.
Paris is a romantic city and thus, she loves her art.

I have a Mystery

Complexity is broken. Throw the shields away.
The sun light will come another day
when the sun will be ready to rise again.
And when my strength tightens my muscles
that is when I will be able to move.
I am a bolder at the top of a ledge
inches before the edge crumbles off into
a mystery of the world below.
I do not know the taste of wine
because the color is of blood.
I am not a vampire
however I do not possess any love.
The mirror can hardly capture my real face
unless I come to terms with my own mind.
Bitter cold hovers at high altitudes.
Too afraid to climb down softly
and I have to be the savior to my own soul.
Not a spirit out there who will save me,
for this I know. Somehow my independence will be in sight
and can carry my shoulders up high.

Unsolved Title Decision.

My faith was tested at the rate of concentration I have.
I have none at all and therefore I have not the power to concentrate on faith.
Love seems an insurmountable heap of luscious lead.
Loud crackling voices echo in my minds' ear.
Too many voices make the truest thoughts impure and tattered.
For it is far too crowded to be a blinding sun in someone's life.

Tired Mind

Steaming hypothetic of love
is neutralized under the sun.
If the stars were created this night
the ceilings would disintegrate above
and ambivalent musings trap our lungs.
I had a hunger pain that fanged away every second
and it consumed the rhythmic nature of my bones so much so
that they fell into softness of ruthless shame.
Unbalanced I became
departure from the same
into pieces of blame.
Hatred crept on me like ants
that march down a sidewalk
into my pants.
The heart dripped blood
flowers grew out of my mouth
where words once formed.
Feathers flew out of my nostrils.
Am I a lucky one
to be engaged in a natural change
into a sophisticated date?

I think not.

Winter is Approaching

Winter is approaching and my breath is stale and clear
in cold rooms I set my fears into high gear.
Motionless intuition takes away every wish
or every dream to hold you near.
Memorandums fade in a radioactive haze
because false distance is sparred.
Sporadic clandestine meetings take place in the dark
when I long for sleep and you want me to smile
even though some detail has gone awry.

Incongruent Iconography of Myself

I feel so logically illegitimate to the point of outcasting by social graces that I cannot keep up with the Jones'  in par with suave sophistication of an enlightened soul. I internalize my struggle to bettering myself when too many times I see myself fail. The struggle is all inside me. I create too many ghosts that symbolize my weaknesses, strengths, and fears. 

Momentous Memento

Surmounting the escapades of ridiculed shame clamored away
at the back of the bay behind the tattoo shop at the outskirts of town.
I traveled at dusk and dawn will never appear to those who need the sun most.
Tremendous thrills of buzzing skills work the ink from the needle into the skin
to create artwork.

Pool Sleeping

Beside a clear breath of floating beach balls upon unfrozen waters
I lie hopelessly enamored with the dazzling turquoise sky.
The corners of my towel curl as the sun dries the moisture
and the wet drops disappear as the sun rays lunge toward me.
Silent days of me making acquaintances with dragonflies as they perch
on my  fingertips seem eternal and never escape to the past
because that is where my imagination resides
in the solace of a still pool.
My heartbeats do not even rupture the surface
of balanced waters that reflect the sky.
This moment of forever is blissful that I drift into sleep
and time never announces itself
and that keeps me at peace.

Zentence.

It is time to lie it is time to fly but your findings of a grave stone are incomplete.

Ice Wings

Where are my wings in the quite times.
All I want is to fly away from noise and end up in silence
and to be perfectly lonely.

I am Pathologically Chilly

You don't even care if I am covered in chilly everywhere.
My mind is colorless when I think about cold death
and the smog of demonstrified snides are sly and fly
at the tops of their tiers when they capture my eyes
I am immediately stolen to a frozen room and I die there.

If this isn't the end for you, I want it to end before
your superficial lust turns sour to kiss and gone with dust.

Chilly and Chilled

I found that a clear cut path to a heart is to throw stones at it.
No love exist. Too simple to deal with, but it's simple to hear.
Remain chilly and cold so your mind freezes to the snow
and the roof of your lungs will no longer glow.

You Asked Me Questions. Here Is My Answer.

Silence is quite hard to fathom in the quickening still of the black lake.
Faint figures in the distance huddle for warmth.
The snow is about to fall.
And shadows will take part
in the flight of hollowing horrors
of hoarding a decent life.

Joy?

In the name to all that I have known has been a waste. I know nothing.
I never knew why the clock struck two or why there had to be skies of blue
interchangeably to gray to make me shudder with sadness.
My state of mind is shockingly deplorable and porous.
I am an unfit sponge in a dank murky pool
of cut up pieces of wisdom and joy
that has yet to be discovered.

In a Cell by the City

I am pleasantly surmised by the sodomized fleece
of an unabashed lad squandering away to the lands
by the hands of a gold miner rich of a fortuitous luck
and a schmuck of drooping flesh endlessly flapping
in the breeze where no pronounced features begin with please
tiring of a quiet life and hoping for something new
relieves a delicate revival of east meeting west
and back again to the times of days slaving under the sun
is just as bad as slaving over the hot stove
but one continuos to feast on benefits from the seed.
Please plant the last one with care.

As if life were to end without a quaking or a waking
and life would stop without a solution or resolution
no peace was made not even between man and woman
where aroused feelings fade away and time continued to make
promises to brake and a hand full of shattered glass is a landmark
to fame when you realize it could have been wit to gain a path
through a legionnaires lament weeping for apathy
but receiving scorn and short busts weaving hopelessly
displaced for a grain of rice that fell by my side.

If all comes downs to this and I may think to date
of a lucky man out of the blue got no love where his mother gave him none
were to think a lucky woman were able to give him some.
It is incorrect to think of being spared a straight line to hypnotize
nothing but loneliness for a bike to ride on to transport us to a place.
I cannot perform magic or I would have cured my life of bleeding wounds
to accomplish everything without love or gloom.

Distraught

Distraught, distracted, and disgusted
by the sight of a smashed pumpkin
nothing but knives hacked away
at the pumpkins smooth orange facade.

No Movement

Liquid night of a tall and slender block of silky hair dark as ravens feathers and
lighter then a gentle soul picking up wind in a heated debate
amongst friendly gatherers shoveling in space.
I had a head contained with passive thoughts moving too quick to formulate
an opinion. One side of me felt dead
the other side of me leapt nearer to an open flame of a fire.
Burning would be an option.
I kept awake to stare into the blank
and cold crept over me
because the fire dulled down.
The host approached me.
I closed my eyelids and that is the last anyone saw of me.
In my mind I arrived to a place of stone
a template drawn in gray lines carved into my skin
and drops of blood streamed.
Could this be everything I repressed?
Something lurking is watching over me
and I possess the time to find out what it could be
but my bones do not move me.

Brain Noise

All of the blue
was to ensue
the debate
about the day
you faked your brain.
You were not smart
enough to cheat death
and you broken body
told it all.
Your lies were all brought to light
and I loath you now until eternity.
I hope to never see your face again.
You should know how it feels to
become one with hell.

Commenting toward women being accused as witches more then men during the witch trails in MA.

Malleus Maleficarum discusses how women are more vulnerable to the devil and superstitions then men are. This reading claims women to be of weaker sex; weak in knowledge, memory, and sense of self since women can be impressionable. This also claims that women only want to please men, thus making them lusty and lewd creatures that perform their magic with their serene-like voices and sharp tongues inclined to lie at any time. Women are full of emotions and when a women weeps, it is in means of gaining attention and deceiving a male. Their carnal, fragile bodies of lust only want to lure men in just to perform their duty of destruction.

Eve is used as the earliest examples of woman kind and how she has been made as an unperfected form of male since she was created out of a bent rib. It was in her nature to eat the forbidden apple and to seduce Adam. Ever since then, Eve has given women an unforgiving curse. It is quite unfortunate because this sort of view has suppressed women throughout history. However, it is easy to stem into a feminist fight here (I am passionate about equality in present times into the future for women).

Men were threatened of the thought for women to possess this power because the men found a weakness for women in themselves. So before if a man were to break any strict laws of Puritan mannerisms, a woman should be blamed for the wrong doing. The men feared their own lust at this time and would not want to go against the church for the wanting of sex. Most of the witchcraftery is based upon sexual inclinations. As long as the men held the power and blamed a women for a wonton behavior, she could be executed immediately.

Martian

On electric brow, someone is more for
fear then a somersault into joy.
Rescuing the other before you
had arrived at a conclusion that distills
interaction between stars.

Winter Storm

A winter storm came hurdling over
the clouds of snow couldn't wait to see me.
I blushed as the first snowflake fell to touch me.
Snow is a miracle
and ice sickles are invisible unicorn horns
for all to enjoy.

Ominous designing designate the fine dinning
elaborating on schemes of sketchy scenes prescribed
by the gregarious doctor rolling a cigaret.
"He had a rough time last night, " mumbles the doctor,
regarding his patients near death experience.
"Death is but a flight of a key if were to have wings,"
explains June.

I caught a wind of boredom.
It taught me of sin and beldam.
Then the call of tin pipes echoed amongst processed mill
churning the tables for release of the will.

Habitual Perceptions

Tunnels of vast eclipsing doom
where the sun rose from the noon
had not been years since the dog crooned.
I ate soup there as I sat upon a stone wall to read
a hammering show room had nothing but tools.
However, it did suffice the fish held spice
so I fished all day till midnight.
I got up and left the cupboards empty
in belief you would rotate the bumptious
and release the sadness
if you only relied on habitual perceptions.

Frozen

Cold in the night
as it was cold in the day
no sun light ever grew near
the innards of the bay.
The gulls are overturned to let the flies eat
the rotting flesh
and you smell like incense.
It's smoke curls and hovers above
the exaggerated themes of
invisible proof
that I once lived there.

I Don't Love Anyone

This photo is from the artist Sarah Moon.

Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!

“

—	Sir Walter Scott, Marmion, Canto vi. Stanza 17. Scottish author & novelist (1771 - 1832)

Untitled Tilted Piece

Tigers have but two shades of blue.
When I become a casual collider,
convince me to spend my time sifting sand
to look for gold.
Splitting my splinters feeling felines
refines the suburban terrariums.
The breeze glides in on top of trucks
with tropical ease.

I Give Nothing Away

I give nothing away
except for a parking space I once occupied.
I give nothing away,
not elven columbines.
I gave a wink toward the shore
when once a while back a ship did sink there.
A devastating blow, but I am no longer lonely.
The beach is renowned for the mourning ghosts
weeping salty tears.
I strongly believe that sharing nothing is the best way
to live my life. What was ever said from my mouth
becomes lost. I hate to speak of what should be spoken.
I give nothing away to preserve the memory of staid, sullen, and gruesome
followings. I follow fate.
Oh my, I gave too much away.
But I have not moved my lips.
I will not speak this.
Nor will you,
lest you want a death wish...

Spell-Seekers Caverns

Separate memories enliven the large estate in the valley.
This valley is surrounded by mountains.
At the base of each mountain are numerous caves.
The caves have been created by powerful waterfalls and surging rivers.
The water no longer flows,
but empty cavities deep in bedrock exist.
I long to explore many of them.
I envision crystals and stalagmites everywhere.
A sparkly hell, an ephemeral arena
where I can practice my spells.

Gypsy in Gypsum Powder

Meanings in limitless flame destinations. My territory dwindles as pines mingle. I relish in the commentary the rocks give to the bushes and puddles of mud. I smooth my finger tips across the mush of the muddled puddle. Injaled in the frequent relapse of circumventing halos above my forehead hovers, luna moths dance a delicate pattern too and fro creating shadows on my face. A moonlight glow encapsulates my body, my aura is fighting away the darkness of an early sunset. I am a gypsy floundering in the woods of Ukraine searching for a bed of feathers to repair my tired soul. My caravan wishes it could fly me to a rich castle of nature.

Wanderings

Assume my new name and resume. Play the thoughts that run like antelopes across the grange. Rearrange the opals and moonstones by date at which they fell to earth. And you came to me on that day. No one else kept you away from tripping over the lakes. I needed cake and you brought it to me.

I shudder to think of the fine china plates that will brake
in the months earthquake.
Seasons of fancy French etiquette will take place.
Crowds in limousines will equivocate 

I was almost thought of as a silent figure that moves about briskly amongst the dirty leaves, roots, rocks and things. A tree stump almost tripped me, but I had caught myself. I had a feeling of fear grow deep in my eyes. The north star shined a true path in a dusky forest at night. Owls talked to me as if they knew me all my life. I was frightened to see anthropomorphic tree look like me. It came across me like wind. Flying daggers slashed my skin. In broad daylight I headed home. Out for nothingness but blind hope. Scattered chicken bones clattered on china plates, the bats occupy my attic. My cellar is home to a wild beast.

Here in the now of present gloomy matters, weaving on a loom seems comforting to do. I hope to create a tapestry depicting destruction of millions of lives. A new dawn shall rise again when the world becomes more rested. Nothing can stop pain from entering through the corridors, yet you or I could be the one to end pain and suffering by willing it away. Strength of a spleen does not determine the reality of a dream to come true.

Oregon, Origami, Oregano and Oreos

I try to spice up your life and let loose of sense
shake the fists and raise my head
bead jewels to an elastic bands
fling the ice cubes to dry salt flats
solidify the mashed potatoes I dumped in your pants
pick up a penny and leave a dime
behind you is a panda that wants to get burned
blowtorch a hole in the hands of the poor
unholy is the peach that killed the chief
I for one know it was not a deputy that wanted to die
but a sheriff committed suicide by jellybeans
and jello floats in new termed goals
and goats gloat of glories young and old
as the twinkle in your eye moves back and forth
I kiss your lips as you kiss mine
and the lemon drops from my mind
helping the damn break free and water integrates
the need for coolness in peace
as if we were laying in bed and dreaming
the stars glow to our healthy skin
and solar flares bend and alleviate the textured moss
hanging newly formed cobwebs singing tunes old and new
time passes so slow our imaginations roar
to partake in a birth of a lion that is king to all.

Clearly a Yes

Sometimes I ponder to think of what could have become
a surly mate such as yourself.
You never are knocked down to an orange rind
and you never lick the crumbs from someone's mess.
I respect you most endearingly to endure the shoveled mass
of unsolved mystery love propaganda...
however, do not detest for what I am about to do.
My actions may not have an answer to a question of, "Why?"
I cannot talk about it
it gets complex and becomes meaningless.
Incongruencies exclaim the partridge I have not claimed
and it still sits patiently on a bough in the pear tree.
It is not christmas yet, I did not receive my present.
Time for blossoms to bloom
and rose petals to swallow.
Impassionate crimes of lusty gloomy meadows
of creaking tower of crumbling fate.
The rubble and shrapnel makes sense now
because those are the pieces you used to create a web
and built magnificent structures to hibernate.
Call me for a date and we will negotiate obsolete fashions in taste
of the polar bears on thin ice
and the decline of duck enthusiasts!

To A New Beginning

Oceans upon oceans layer iridescent silky hands
combining salty pearls for young girls.
Sea foam does not wander so freely if it were not for
the seagulls gawky noise scaring the marooned tattered
sailors about the lagoon.
Not once did you lift your eyes to peek at the sunshine
as it glimmered on the rolling waves that crashed on the sand.
So I made you look.
I peeled back your eye lids as if I peeled at a banana skin.
Though you quiver and shake with fear,
at least you look at the beauty
that has only begun.

Lock You

Eyes and eyes and blinking eyes. 
Wall patterns full of eyes.
I leave to gather some moss now in forest.

Tree Love

Tilted tree, my limbs break for you.
My heart is cut by your metal leaves and my
skin feels rough like your bark.
You may swallow the water out of the nearby
pond. The rain will not come anytime soon.
You might die cold and lonely, but I will come
visit in any season, storm, or shades of grey
in the overcast blown sky...

When you loose you glitter patterned leaves,
I will pick them up for you.
I have an intention to use them...
To meld them into a sculpture.
I will transform into a tree.
Myself was meant to be you.
No medium could be more
grand then an old oak trees' wood.

My skin layers in more burnt umber, jagged,
shingle like shapes. My feet loose form and are
morphing into long and slender snake like roots
which weave through rocks in the healthy soil.
My arms are raise as boughs so birds to land on.
Smaller twigs grow into hefty branches budding with blossoms.
I will smell the sweet scent of flowers.

Lost

The further away you are,
the closer my mind feels
to the warmth of a bed of hot coals.
We seek out definitions to those we cannot
control our fate to.
We exploit spoiled oceans that are soups of waste
and yet we fail to contain an answer for hope.

The distance of land between us is not as far as
the underworld or as stars.
I reach for what is tangible such as a tangerine
or a cosmic dream.
I would pay gold for a ticket to a destination
that could be a possible utopia
to be truly alone since no one has reserved a
place for me in their lives.

Obsessive Daydreamer

Trapped in my own thoughts
of words left unsaid.
I wish to speak of them to a friend,
but they are nowhere near.
How can I function in a society that
involves action when all I do is
sit and think too much?
I entertain my imagination as I have a
continuous circus performing daring tricks
and astounding backflips.
I dizzy myself with images of flight, death as reality,
running free in flower fields, giving speeches, hosting parties,
contortion acts, opening my own gallery, skiing down a mountain,
hiking mountains, a marathon finisher, fashion designer, publishing a book,
dream Victorian house, conquering higher positions then men, traveling to everywhere,
doing everything
and anything.....
wait I daydreamed too much within this poem
I lost site of what I was writing about.

Does not matter anyways.
Aztec poetry is really amazing if you want to read something better.

Moth Fluff

Called once or twice.
You did not budge.
Touched and poked you.
You did not budge.
Waved my fingers in your face.
You did not blink.

Were you dead?
I did not think of the cause.
I did not call nine nine one.
I did not budge.

Did I sit beside you?
Yes, I did.
To be one with you.
To be still and silent
and to be strong.

Was I strong?
I was not strong as you.
I broke down in tears.
I drowned in sorrow.
Your expression was as blank
as my white gessoed canvas.

Twisted Tangles

Oh what tangled webs we tend to weave within the forgotten lives we did not lead.
And what can surpass this heap of breathing mass
to out do us all in the end?
My language is different from your thinking,
your thoughts may twist and turn until they burn.
The bell the rings from steeples on high,
dislocate crumbling to the ground.
My lies have been set in stone.
My eyes have not yet shone
a true tear since you have flown.
Your departure makes my purpose worth while.
I have announced my suicide
upon this dirty linen bed.
And no more shall I bend
the rules around slippery corners.
Nor shall I ever be here to take you back.
I will not even listen to a whisper
from your brain and back again.

At an End to Bee Colonies

There is nothing as joyful as a bright and chipper bee.
At every flap of her wing, her heart races thousand times more at a race to catch the sun.
She can fly to the highest tree tops and look down upon the velvety lime green grass
and think about the mistrust in the hive that causes quite a rush.
Every time the queen snatches a drone he might leave just as quick
and never return again.
Many of the lady workers buzz away with irrepressible shame,
lockless love drawers, hexagon in shape.
To support the hive, one must be the honey.
But we can't tame the buzz
when all is lost and gone.



*It is unfortunate that bees abandoned the hive. They are a very important insect to this earth and no one can figure out why the bees simply leave. One factor I have heard about was the cell phones or certain kind of radio waves the cell phones use.

Solution

Wishing of a world unpopulated
so that no hatred or memories could thrive in.
Sanatoriums scattered to those wandering life forms.
Hallucinatory steeples form where trees grow so tall
to form trapezoids.
They give one the feeling of contradiction.
Free birds roam weaving the seeds of life,
and the two feet of a woman run faster and farther
then a car once did.

Womb

Access denied. You may not have a reprise

Of the home you once occupied in your mother's womb

Be wary of the knives

You have to carry on with life deprived

From comforts of that room

Access denied. You may not have a reprise

Try to swallow the lies

That clog the wound

You are slashed by the knives

And bleed to no surprise

To your incomplete tasks you swoon

Access denied. You may not have a reprise

You are closed and left to surmise

Contemplate the feast of mushrooms

Cut away the excess worry with the knives

Like sharks' teeth strive

To kill you in your watery tomb

Access denied. You may not have a reprise

Be weary of the knives.

Surreptitiously Discovering Thoughts

Mapping of the mind.
Intwined in foil shines
flexible to the stiffest of twigs.