Cum Grano Salis

Tripling the fantasies
for a better time
no one is the third wheel.

Its not an experience
the whole world can accept,
look into the music.

The support of the wind chimes,
a chimera on a breeze,
New Brunswick in the spring.

By no means of heavy travel
can love cross over very far
take my word before you speak.

The evening sets in
therefore we must sleep
the both hold me tightly.

The Small of Your Cheek (Emblazoned Abandonment Furniture Check Postponed of Inactivity Since the Second of March)

In the reciprocals of this evenings event,
the trash receptacles are dangling like testicles.
I tickle them, I make them blush,
and I bedazzle them with makeup.
Your forehead matches your foreskin.
What about the last evening of last year.
It went something like this.
You were strapped into a giant latex heel,
bleeding ribcage,
guttural language sparked imagination!
I was determined to have you pay.
Ignition is savory,
lemon drops to your open wounds.
You wish you could cry if you saw
what you looked like.

Get Serious

I think I should do some poetry contests and be like
whatever, I gave it a shot anyways.
Gotta get somewhere somehow.

Lower Thy Girdle

My heart is so invisible now.
I have deleted it and removed it
completely.
Don't want attachments.
No more love.
What is life?
This poem isn't worth it's title
but this is all that I feel right now.

∂ⅰк∑㎡๒∑ ㎡ㄩ₮◊㎡๒◊

∂ⅰк∑㎡๒∑ ㎡ㄩ₮◊㎡๒◊
∂ⅰк∑㎡๒∑ ㎡ㄩ₮◊㎡๒◊
∂ⅰк∑㎡๒∑ ㎡ㄩ₮◊㎡๒◊
∂ⅰк∑㎡๒∑ ㎡ㄩ₮◊㎡๒◊
∂ⅰк∑㎡๒∑ ㎡ㄩ₮◊㎡๒◊
∂ⅰк∑㎡๒∑ ㎡ㄩ₮◊㎡๒◊
∂ⅰк∑㎡๒∑ ㎡ㄩ₮◊㎡๒◊
∂ⅰк∑㎡๒∑ ㎡ㄩ₮◊㎡๒◊


this is my most influential poem
of the year.

Tickled Like "Pink"

Even-con-cory-vex
clowns in curry is sure to mix
every party antelope
gallops too slow in slope.
Sloshing fields of anchary,
a shrude for money tunes.

Like Things in Excess Never to Get Too Attached

Glacier glooming all protruding
topless Minerva meeting mildew
in the evenings shivers sleeping
swerving scorpions see you teething.
Moldings melt meth labs seeking
sloppy anachronisms burden deepening.
Thoughts endearing as mind eroding
protrusions shock slabs like cocks
seeping southward into tales of asylums
lynching all that deem to be the best
is beasts of misanthropic disproportion.
Bleeding before your steep steps of love
trophies full of empty love
in distant yet distinct emblems beef,
billow shout soothing pillows
shot in my inner heart
a coordinate of false claims
and phony appeals applied
to the chins of men that I hate.
Mild milking of meaty mermaids
miffed muffles for me.