Seeing the line walked among the rich and knowing I am not quite obtainable for a sensitive manner.

Speaking up to requested might of pursuit of thrones and to feel honorable by the knowledgeable insight of a foolish inmate.

Lowered bottles on top of worldly hypocrite’s eye lids.

Where is my stand, tall linking creation wearing the beat of my own generation to be looked upon.

For I have peered upon story lines that stare upon my own giddiness and i am stuck with my starlit loneliness.

I paved my head to the  lowered decks of the investing roof top clicking shattered glass to the mothers of my encore.

Woman in love, with confused mind level, I am a capable bean, not enough to feel your notch worthy gift.

I have tried and tried to say a word , single and separated with an attaching touch.

Which all said and not done, I am withdrawn from blank questions.

I wish to be you and kiss my true settled Smith.

Crickets and all, I can’t speak tangible snow flacks and press on your face.

Time tares the unicycle’s tread and I now center reasons of a tandem to get by.

Laced words linger the open sonnets, inspired by temptation of singing bent mornings to lullaby nights.

Longing odd touches on a patched idea, grown to a facial feature. 

Demanding romance, formed throughout the passion of insignificant carriage steps, paced on a remarkable question.

For all language spoken tongue, your’s stumbled onto and shattered trumpets and blue roses beat my broken whims.

Over in and out dims a bondage.

Emancipating vigorous lighting to make a demonic stream become my wet forthcoming. 

After all strides, I am twisted as my brother and his second laugh. 

Tiding you were, when all I thought was parading uncontrollable sails for subjective concepts.

Sinking I was, when all you thought was landing self served, substantial evidence of adventitious delusion.

We boil sensitive circumstance with no resolution…  

Sampled Eyes

Mutter fingers broke the bone of a well kept tolerance with conniving lust.

I am holy. I am the sanctuary.

I peel the mind of a welly slicked boy and shuttered a power of space and all cost, I am broken.

Drainage, flowing the hair lit must of our little room, where we could madly be.

Pain seeks to the tips of a slender mocking of our well breasted delight.

Whimsical we were on a broken, soundless set.

I wished to be stricken with love for you, boy,

as my thoughts lied deep within the rotting rape, behind white paint. 

I burst my agonizing terror of the maybes I would have done to the doll face,

on to the plated metal my hands should rightfully be.

For the bruised bones left me a line of desire to let honeymoons smirk upon my unwelcome chest.

So, I can be a nest for my words to become a stairway of regretful realizations, that I am in no foam bubble she hopes to pop.  

Beneath words breathing, speaker phone, head sets and immense fingers pleasuring the body.

Shivering infant, whining like a smothered cunt.

Suffocating to the throw up caused by a masturbation routine,

with the layered guesses of an ark saving her over and over again.   

Chronicles shitting out of the slips of her rip cage.

The beginning beggar’s stories that she is quite insane and can’t be saved. 

There is a plummeting bird with a chip beak.

Shutting his eyes, wanting to speak, pumping the blood to create a wasted heart beat.

For she is a lover who wants to drown in deceased,

and I found man’s mind lying time to click and clock, speeding up transit stops, 

so he can meet infinity and blissfully kiss feet. 

Obstinate Grief and Cantankerous Redundancy

I am growing and breaking. Inhaling and growing, then breaking again.

The old lady with loose teeth and absent underwear is my epiphany,

while I am a ritual of Ephesian prayer. 

I shall bang and beg the Muslims to surrender Allah to her grief. 

For lines of my hair are a paraplegia plague carrying the infant brother into a clouded shame of my nostalgic doubt. 

As faithful as I am, I am as foolish as well, bringing gold and frankincense to the President’s anti-christ.  

As I am much of a republican, I am as giving to the San Francisco shelter, raving gentles for me to handle with horny drought.

The Agnostic fear the responsibilities of mistake and lost Joesph, James, or Jake along the way. 

Which is a simple, reasonable cause of the heartache I played, in guilt of my master and cum. 

To find God is to seek through her bushes. 

I am ill with a Glaucoma touch from her face.

I am without fingers to meet religious state.

Shifting italic words appeared in the shaded space of my solar eclipse and sunken ship.

For these words were limped and redundant, you focused a disassembled memory to be a lapse of time.

Which is the cause of a retelling of nights you think you are alone. 

There is a member of your thoughts, loony foot of separation.  

The notepad of winter, that is now something of autumns repair. 

Now I stand the shards of reattachment, for cruel as the reaper maybe, he is nothing but an angel.

And feel it when you say damn as if that will become the soul based acknowledgment of love.

That it may bring the haunting nights that were for you to hinder and say nothing.

For these italic words were a blunt attempt to be me.

Since once they were my words.

Photographer

Soulless mouths in camera shy ways.

The black and white mind has captured the lingered banners of recruit county.

My love, my love, I touch your thumb and clean the stains of up rising.

Your plain the make-up, burn out the lucky numbers and the stay of over due funds.

I am here, hearing the taps and clicks of brighten grit.

So stand back for all paths are now debris and your left foot pounds coward homes,

while the right makes shady kicks for the bloody cunts.

Forecast Investment

Days have seeped through the sockets of old eyes.

They flood the cities as devil-like lust and harpoons pierce the sun’s deduction. 

My envious lunar smile, I wish the skull crushing words spreading our voices apart

could suck the air until we freeze back to winter.

For then we could stay vital on top of Pennsylvania avenue.

For then we could lose our souls indubitably.

A Way To Make It Through

With all these lines, we cross and seem handsome.

We look at the soil and with everything relevant I want to kiss my loves.

I have intertwined my barriers with some fullness of family I can’t carry.

I want to press my hands to tangible truth that we may be okay.

For I spent a summer looking at these loves becoming dirty debris,

and now to spend this agonizing autumn with them feeling cannibalistic.

My baring eyes on constant observation is now understanding why we are clothed.

With it, everything is heavy and bursting shallow silence.

This is my call towards desire of a single atom to break and surf my face.

My love, to hear your voice at the tip of illumination,

my breath is thickened and exhausted. 

For one after another day you just find the neon abused by father,

and lady luck in a daring attempt to shed shelter mama, you kissed her cunt

and became the shimmer fad of manly stands in all palms of hands, we think is a dream. 

We feed off of pastures and the neighbor’s farm, pacing the street, and kicking our feet towards our faces, and all we have to show is a smirk of glow.

My love, you are in a gutsy bleak stage, with this robotic romance, swaying your cans of a strong behalf.

Beheaded your own damn growth of distance and Lauren.

The crushed head in a gutter talking to a black man about her.

Leaving my hands, I avoided you that night.

 Lifting your megaphone towards holy shit, you made it to the winged help.

She instantly made a move to find you, in a manic shame, jamming an old harp,

a out of state collusion, you made a nesting thought that prided my tartness.

My love, she is in Hispanic courage.

You bend the word of these childish years, in a dynamic spice,

waiting for the drizzled span of an open field event, in conversation of virginity.

 I long for a returning of her homey desserts and his homey tunes.

They long for a shattered sheet,

upon a splintered secret of joining a fair night plea, a cluttered constancy of fare wells. 

My love, you have made an undeniable dent in the landing of yesterdays.

Squeezing your touch as if I could have that mark for my wrinkled tale.

He financed a pace of waits.

All I hear is the way he can make you feel more control than a planned minute,

finding seconds to make time in the corner of every brand of implanted cause of my membrane finding a reason to break my shoes from the ten thousand paced breaths,

when I said these words to you.  

And now the night is a thought, shifting swift lines we have yet to cross.

For a chill of winters nails scrap the idea,

and when, I will yet again strap settled waves to make a way to heavens bluff.