Monday, April 30, 2012


Symphony at altitude.

Oh remember

I render the conclusion unwarranted
because of the grease fire.
I understand the mistakes they make.
They are made for a reason.

newer pleasures

the door propped open
and opening greater still
the framework collapsed
an instant oatmeal was refreshed
like timesheet or time-traveling-sheep.
I wonder if we could
lolling till dawn do us part
repeat and rinse the sunshine
all over again the next day till sun rise.
Roses do fall with the sun.
But somewhere in a capsule,
the squirrels sells sex for target
practice of evil hunters that regret
to gather for the greater needs of self.
Absorption in longitude
harms a musket and revolvers charm.
Intermingling moguls stark,
cheering lemons creeping in dorms.
Indirect rape is a tricky case
because the anatomy barely moves
outside the ozone layers thin as sheet metal.
Full-metal-jacket grace
Develop antelopes all the time.
Requiring more manpower ever
dreamed of before.
No will.
No hate.

Trolling Dependencies

A redundant monitor strikes again
release the bicarbonate into snails.
Sneezing fitted for no tissue,
make sure the cobblestone is dry
as a whistle.
Third man sails home from work.
the streets become canals into my
ear drum ever beating to honor the
sandman in heart full of toes.
He forgot my flower seeds and
basil shall suffice.
They suffered through worse weather
in vehicle decline of winter.
The horse will read Proust.
Our hours shall dwindle away.
Divine sanctions stipend of pay.
Ejaculate more and more into my
ear canal of misery please dear.
My unworthy pupils, paid palpitations
wandering afar in misty' shanks.
They shackled him to boulders
larger then China.
Had they shook him ever so
slightly, our combs would
combine to produce the ultimate
brush for teeth and hair.
All is wonderful when the evolution
betters the state of affairs.

If You Have Indeed Been Running Round...

Your usual arm is more cylindrical
then your cankle
therefore looses in lush detail
dipping the spoon of ash
inside the barrel
of costly silver.

I cannot take my mind
seriously when a dowry is displayed
as much as disciples are laid.

Within psychical trenchcoatqs
and encroaching trench
touchstone thousands of
gem molecules in Pandora
of exploitative boxes.

A Russian roulette of mystery.
Deceive the doves,
loosen belt buckles tension,
eat me out again.

Laid and unladen primed of prude
luxurious rouge pronounced
upon placid seaweed
her pale lips spell out Tiger.

I cannot grow told

I cannot grow told of terrible seas
surpassed the screenery
in mesh fingers
scrunch the trilobite
towns of opium
decide the scorpion.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Disconnected Cuttlefish

bravery on both nonnegotiable
gothics turned turtle pastries
intact is spiked letter formulation
is too late discounted tracks.
Le canard for shovel that bill
down terribly deep
it upheavals me.

this poetry for the birds

so your boots
make each other masturbate
and the brain-side-salad
for they look lovingly into the howl
on the note it stated to and fro, me and shoulder should stay away.
boots jamming jamming into the snow
and we did stay
down were the turkey lay
it is lame like death snow
away, away, away
this poetry for the birds

Sunday, April 8, 2012

My Extracurricular Encampment

Topical tape
administered a face.
Blanket caves,
brutal shark shake.
Like earthquake gone high,
I refuse to levitate.
Milk turned sour,
forget a break,
musical box broken,
wound flashes open.
Unzip my jeans
and business is open.
No one see this occur.
Seasons stir the obscure.
I structured relief
to behave against me.
A struggle is worth more
then a gnat caught in a hole.

Exclude Ultimate Clues

Illustrative hair dashed about
piano keys because
you have seen three
tulips bloom in the
intricate sun ray patterns.
I danced on top of leaves
and threw about the seeds.
The language was taken
out of the air and a placid
vine grew from my inner peace.
The place of the most secret
and true cartoon
is the doom that drew
me and you.
We ended up here
so that the whole world may be
a creeping anchor into
the void of the speechless lust.
The illusion is so strong and savory
that it repels the other magnets away.
All the other girls that wish they could have some
are hopeless and lost.
Within all my luckless luck,
I ended up lucky to just
truly not feel the whole worry of longing.
I feel it in other ways,
but not this way.
I have the love that I should receive
is that all I ever need?
I am excluded and
I feel extra diluted
a flute that lost it's chorus.
A sailing ship with only a captain,
an elaborate scheme without mechanisms.
It is as is I am an amethyst buried deep in the ground
destined to be a dream, but ever sleeping.
Such as an gem is yet a stone,
I am really colorless and
lack in sparkle.
I jump out of ones memory
and into the fire.

Friday, April 6, 2012

Dethrone the Throttle

Optimyth of restoration
deactivates the devastation
to another station of
hardcore divination.

Dark Positives

Revelations encapsulate tigers
terraforming foam.
Reticulating splines
before and after the heat.
Humans slave away at hours
unaccounted for by forces
so mean and terrible
we decreed by innuendo
to undo the mischievous deeds.

Thursday, April 5, 2012


I feel like Lucifer.
However, not in the loose
sort of fur. It is rather
in a tight-as-a-drum
feeling, yet, I have already
popped and broken
my allegiance to
the alligator of the gladiator.
I return my reckoning toward
familiar gales,
the west wind sails,
the unwanted snail shells.
The old days won the freedom.
The future wins the closed doors.
Make the troubadour release the
sequence of an atomic explosion
and I shall give you
my recursion as if it is an exertion
of an excursion.
Accept the broken and forgive
the foragers of the deep.
For they only long to
please you.
Ink squares
pinched stairs
dramatic solar flares.
I glare at glaciers
crawling stone-toothed
abiding the dignity of the ground.

Monday, April 2, 2012

I cannot let my mind wander

it journeys into foreign ground.
The travesties of hope
leave my blooming sight.
My bones lock up,
I shiver as I perspire.
My mind is split between
creatures crawling about my floor
and the other half telling
me they are not there.
I really try hard
for reason to win,
yet temptation of sight and
alterness take over.
The soft side of me, the one that
wants to sleep is all but used up
in the grand scheme of my
paranoiac- anachronism grid.

Misinformation Misfortune

Tumultuous tidings
the sea is up-riding
the mass of purity
and plighting policies.

It is misfortune you write this. 
You see, there is misfortune in the lonely nights 
where a corner is devoid of joy.

Where for the sky is burning 
lilies that lacked
sensual treaties. 
Unmasked by those of fame.

Fawns that whimper,
quails that clipper,
and nails that chipper.

Stipend is but a cost
of those that help
but loath twice or more
within the same day.